Tuesday, March 31, 2009


First, let me say that though I'm not a fan, I am reading Steve Harvey's book, Act Like a Woman, Think Like a Man. Steve is not overly prolific nor is he Einstein but, he writes/doles out “advice” that make sense; things that I knew but needed a refresher on, from the male perspective.

In the book, he writes about gold diggers. Essentially, some men label all women gold digger and according to Steve, "Men have it set up so well that we’ve got women thinking that if they remotely expect a man to pay for their dinner or buy them a drink at the bar or set any financial requirement for their man, they're a gold digger." Part of me is shaking my head at that. What independent, money-earning, self-respecting sister would have that!?!? But, if there are brothers out there like that, there are sisters willing to accept a man’s foolishness.

Now, gold diggers do exist and Betsy’s version is this: any person (brothers included) who wants someone else to purchase something they damn well can't afford. For instance, any date I go on, I can always cover me + ol' boy if I had to under an extreme circumstance (dude got jacked on the way to meet me) + my taxi ride home. Now, if a person says, "I know this is our second date but I need you to pay my rent this month. You got me?," ol' girl/boy is a gold digger. Ditto for the broads who believes each date is worth someone buying her a Louis Vuitton bag (what to men try to trick women for anyway? Electronics? Brothers, please advise.)

Anyway, the bigger issue is not gold digging; whomever you are, you're getting played. Let go of leeches in your life.

Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy Baller Ice

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


I’m not a fan of anything or anyone that makes extra work for me so when I see people scooping up dog poop in a plastic bag, I chuckle inwardly. Other times, I see people looking downright downtrodden, like they’re on their last walk of life and yet there they are, gripping the leash of a dog. I like quiet pets like fish. They add to the d├ęcor of my bookshelf, never make a sound and they seem to always be at ease.

Then there are the people with dogs that are the size of ponies. What NYC-apartment can accommodate a 4-ft tall dog? What does the bark sound like? A bullhorn in your ear? What about the dog fart? I bet that smell permeates the air quick fast and the owner has to grab a gas mask! What’s even more annoying is the people that convene on the corner with the dogs like it’s a convention. After a long day of work, the last thing I want to do is try to scoot by 8 barking dogs when I’m trying to get home. Those folks have the audacity to look annoyed at Betsy because I don’t want to stop to pet their Rottweiler with the drooling fangs. Sure…

Finally, the kissing and licking (which I only reserve for my boo!). My stomach goes topsy-turvy when I see people bending down to kiss a dog on the mouth and have their face licked. Inevitably the dog starts humping the person, who clearly enjoys it. The wet-faced person is hooting with laughter and the dog is barking loudly. The next thing you know, you have bestiality. LOL.

Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy Baller Ice

Saturday, March 21, 2009


Yes, yes folks! I’m back to writing. Two weeks felt like an eternity.

A few things happened in my hiatus from you:

Story #1: My friends and I went to a party and afterwards, Friend A cops the digits of a dude. The next day Friend B tells me the dude sent her a message saying tell her friend (Friend A) to delete his number because he wants to holler at her (Friend B). Dude acquired Friend B's number from his homeboy who was trying to holler at her but couldn't make the party. The guy that initially hollered at Friend B told the grimey dude to take care of her (which meant swinging us into VIP). Can dudes be any more shadey? He doesn’t even know the nature of the girlfriend relationship – perhaps Friend A and B are best friends, cousins, whatever. On top of that, he’s violating his friendship with his boy who hollered at Friend B. Makes my trifling list.

Story #2: A friend once said Betsy works at a zoo after I gave the synopsis of the foolishness that continually transpires in the office.

I recently attended a group work event and at the end, naturally, people heading home in the same direction - as in riding the same train - tend to travel together. Our little group started out as five but after too much milling about two of us, myself and a male colleague, decided to jet. A few days later, another colleague (aka Nutzo) dramatically runs in my office saying, "I'm going to scratch your face," and "Meet me at 6 pm because it's going down." What the frig is this? Junior high school where people schedule fights? I just looked at her like, "What does this pesticide want?" Apparently, another colleague who was not in the original group of five but was told by someone else that Dude left with me. Ol’ girl then told Nutzo who used to date Dude and poof! was the office gossip of the day. "They left the event together. Something must be brewing between them," the non-busy Coffee Clutchers whispered. How trifling. The only thing I’m interested in at this point is winning a few hundred bucks for our college basketball pool. That’s a trip to St. Thomas!

Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy Baller Ice

Wednesday, March 4, 2009


I Corinthians 13

For the first time in my life that I can remember, I’ve given up on love. Just absolutely positively don’t believe in it.

I woke up today just after 6 am feeling fantastic. The sun was shining, I felt good energy and was looking forward to productive day. Then something happened. I read a chapter of II Corinthians then flipped to my all-time favorite, I Corinthians 13. I love that chapter because it tells me everything that love isn’t, is and how grand it really can be which encourages me to keep believing. Not today.

Things started to go downhill when I could hardly remember the chapter. This was a chapter that has warmed my heart for years yet most of the words eluded me. Then, very unexpectedly, I started thinking about my past relationships. Most of those men I could have lived without but I went against my spirit, allowing my mind and treacherous heart to dictate. Obviously, those relationships ran amuck.

The thing is, though I look amazing, internally, I’m terrible. I feel like the fat 8th grade kid with knee-length shorts that roll up when I walk. Now I’m in a gym class getting ready to play dodge ball and the team captains have been chosen. I’m hoping and praying that I won’t get picked last. It’s down to me and another kid – the one that wears glasses and has one leg shorter than the other. “Please pick me,” I silently pray. I don’t want to be last but my name isn’t even called. The short leg kid is called to a team and I, fat kid walked over sullenly to a team that doesn’t want me.

Who is that team? Love. Team love. Team love doesn’t want me. It doesn’t matter how much I pour into it, into him, it doesn’t seem to be reciprocated. I try to work with brothers, find the potential in them but that leaves me with the short end of the stick. Laying on my back this morning, hot, silent tears streamed over my cheeks to eventually become a damp-puddle like mess on my pillow. I’m not depressed nor am I PMS-ing; I’m just sad. What’s even worse is that I have a presentation in an hour and I’m still tearing up. Thank goodness for glasses and the fact that I recently had the flu which will account for my slightly puffy eyes and sniffling. URGH! Heartache is so real!

I meet men. Lots of them. They’re great on paper, everything I could want. Mr. Master’s Degree, Ivy-league grad, lawyer, doctor, Wall Street exec. You name it, they’re hollering (yes, present tense). But guess what, all that good on paper means nothing to me. I don’t care if you graduated from Yale or Harvard. If you’re a good, blue-collar man that graduated from a trade school and you make me happy, that’s good enough. And honestly, I don’t even care about your educational background as long as you contribute to my happiness. I have three degrees. That’s enough for both of us. Furthermore, none of my degrees are making me any money now.

So folks, Betsy is having a horrible day. Love makes me sad today. I’m tired of being chosen last or somewhere in the middle. Why is your work more important than me? Why are other people more important than me? Why are material possessions more important than me? You should love me enough to forsake all others.

When I had the flu, where were these dudes? Nowhere but truthfully, I didn’t call them because laying in my bed with an almost 103˚ fever, I realized they didn’t mean much to me either. (One did encourage me to feel better soon so we could go to dinner. Like I was intentionally slowing up my healing.)

There was one guy I thought about. An ex, which is perhaps part of the reason I’m all broken-up. I still f*cking love him. My heart and body loves this man even though my mind and spirit know he’s not right. He’s never going to just fight for me. Just drop everything in the world to meet me at work because I’m having a terrible day or pick up the kids from school because I have a migraine or call out sick with me to watch movies in bed all day. He’s not going to do that and it sucks. My spirit is yelling at my heart to let go of him and sometimes my spirit wins. Today, my spirit loss. Got knocked in the head with the damn dodge ball!!

On better day, I want MY team captain to want me on his team. I want him to hope and pray that he wins the coin toss so he can choose me first. And only me.

A departure from my usual musing but maybe I’ll feel better later to right something funny.

Lata Lovelies,

Monday, March 2, 2009


In the midst of analyzing friendships I found pictures of exes. Some, like Diddy, I’m still cool with but the others…what should I do with their picture? What do you do you’re your ex’s picture?

There’s one dude who’s doing well for himself but I used to accidentally take the most jacked up pictures of him. I’m talking tight, tight t-shirt that looks like he borrowed it from a toddler when brother wore a 2x. His stomach was hanging out; his gold-rimmed glasses were lopsided as was his gap-toothed grin. He really wasn’t as ferocious as I’m making him seem now but back then, Cloud 9 clouded my judgment. Anyway, there’s this little part of me that wants to keep it because if he ever becomes rich and famous before me I can sell it to a tabloid for some quick cash. I suppose I could just throw it away…

Then there are the videos. Understand this – ain’t no man gon’ make any PG-13+ rated video with me in it – and expect to keep the footage. Brothers, however, have been ‘generous’ and allowed me to make videos of them and take the most charming pictures. My favorite is a guy wearing my hair bonnet…and nothing else. I know, it’s terrible to put his business out there but I didn’t say his name and it sure is a funny picture.

A male friend said he ‘meant’ to delete his ‘sex with his ex’ videos from years ago – including the ones of his baby mom’s. Is he holding on to it for the everyone-bring-your-homemade-video-and-we-can-make-it-the-America’s Funniest, Awkward Sex/Intimacy Videos party? I suppose my paranoia always kicked it and saved me...

But seriously, does anyone really delete videos, pictures, etc?

Wonder what the married folks did with their single days stuff…hold on to it and when you're mad at your spouse, head to the basement and reminisce? LOL. Or did you discard before you said your vows. Just curious...

Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy Baller Ice