I'm a get up and go kinda girl....if I can handle something on my own, I will. No hangups about dining alone, going to the movies solo or doing it up at a concert with just me, myself and I. Probably stems from being an only child and a latchkey kid to boot...being a loner doesn't bother me in the least. Matter of fact, some of the best times I've had out socially was when I wasn't part of a herd of oncoming estrogen. A lot of times I've done it out of choice but more often than not, too many chicks I'm chill with are afflicted with an outbreak that's contagious if you remain in their company for too long.

B.A.S.S. = Broke-Ass Sista Syndrome.

In metro cities nationwide, it's a rampant epidemic of Celebrity Fit Club proportions. How many women do you know with the funds to get their weaves tightened up, the crust off their heels sandblasted, talons buffed down to a manageable arc, is always front and center to every sample sale in a 20 mile radius yet never has money to go out for drinks much less to chip in for gratuity? I'm nowhere near the tax bracket I aspire to, but I know when to put the breaks on and try to balance my frivolous nature with the black and white reality of the ass whuppin' monthly bills put on my spur of the moment tendencies. Suffice to say, I've known too many women that don't heed the same method and it's caused a fair share of problems.

So now, dropping dead weight without warning nor explanation ain't shit but second nature to me. I don't mind showing my girlfriends a good time, but mistaking my kindness for weakness by abusing the privilege of an occasional treat to a habitual trend? Ain't no postmortems on this one - your ass is grass. Do try not to catch a splinter from catching one to the dome while the swinging door hits you on the way out. Far too many times than I like to recall, I've gotten stuck in with the "oh, you got this one right, girl?" bullshit. Or the one about having issues with payroll, so the check ain't hit the mail yet. Yeah right, bitch. I've just about heard it all.

And it's always the ones who don't have but two nickels to rub together in savings yappin' about doing it way big. For example this broad I grew up with around the way is the prototype of B.A.S.S. behavior. I've gotten stiffed on recouping money owed from the shows she's tagged along to, the spur of the moment stops in Burger Joint at Le Parker Meridien and even the $10.85 to put The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill back in her CD collection. I've chalked those past lapses in judgment up to a learning experience and let that go. So, she calls me up and we're comparing notes for next weekend's plans.

Her: So what are you doing Saturday?
Me: I don't know yet. Nothing really set in concrete. I might stay in, but that's always subject to change. You working?
Her: Yeah, they've got me on my usual shift at the hospital.
Me: Oh word? Alright then...
Her: How was your trip you went on?
Me: It was great. Had a nice time. Very relaxing. I'm looking into doing another getaway soon.
Her: Where you going this time?
Me: I was scouting New Orleans before this hurricane popped up on the radar, so back to eying the Caribbean again.
Her: Who are you going away with this time?
Me: No one, really. I'll probably just fly solo and do me.
Her: You crazy?! You heard about what's going on abroad. That ain't safe, girl.
Me: Is my name Natalee Holloway? Common sense ain't left in my overnight bag... and come to think of it, prices for Aruba are looking right.
Her: Why didn't you ask me?
Me: You got the money set aside?
Her: Well, um...
Me: My point exactly.