Let's Do Better

I'm not really the biggest fan of New Year's resolutions. I find that they are a foolproof way to disappoint one's self or to make one's self look like the biggest loser ever (and not the good kind that are on tv losing weight). So, with that said, I decided while reflecting on my 2008, that I would not decide on one specific goal but that I would do everything in my power to live my life better in 2009 than I did last year. My consistent "resolution" is to improve in all areas I can with each passing year. So, in the name of all of that, I've compiled a list of things to help me and my people do better in 2009:

• Do regular breast cancer self-exams. Lumps are only good in Cream of Wheat.
• Start speaking life. Cut down on the negative speak and change your reality.
• Read books with more than 100 pages and sans pictures.
• Look up "sans"
• Watch at least two documentaries that aren't about dead rappers
• Recycle
• Stop throwing crap out of your car window.
• Work toward financial independence.
• Give up plastic bags and use canvas bags instead.
• Eat some vegetables everyday and accept the fact that corn is NOT a vegetable, people. Sheesh.
• Smile more. It really will make you feel better.
• Visit a museum. Try to see something on display besides the latest Jordans.
• Learn at least one new word per week. Switch up your vocab, playa, it won't hurt.
• Remember that panties belong underneath clothes and should never be peeking out of the top of a pair of pants or the bottom of a pair of shorts.
• Do some volunteer work.
• Mail at least one handwritten letter to a loved one.
• Buy a cd from a genre that you don't normally like.
• Send thank you cards when etiquette calls for it.
• Learn etiquette. It never killed anyone to know a salad fork form a dinner fork.
• Cook a gourmet meal for your friends.
• Go out of town at least twice for something other than a club.
• Buy yourself at least one high end item be it a purse, shoes, slacks... just get yourself something nice that did not come from a store that sells both clothes and antifreeze.
• If you are a rapper, please refrain from writing a song that contains the words, Obama along with b*tch, ho, p*ssy, f*ck, lick, or suck. Some things just don't go together.
• Pay your bills on time.
• Get your oil changed regularly (at least every four months)
• Brush your teeth before bed (I'm trying to incorporate this one)
• Check your blood pressure regularly.
• Watch or read some news each day (Nope, Sports Center doesn't count).
• Exercise at least three times a week (Yes, pop, lock, and droppin' it counts).

These are just a few suggestions to help us do better and be better for 2009. If you have some you'd like to share, I'd love to hear them!

The President of the United States of America

I know it isn't the politically correct thing to say but I really don't care right now. I'm gayed out this week. I know some gay people. Some I love, some I like, and some I absolutely can't stand but my feelings about being gay in general aren't what's making me so irritable this week. Yesterday I heard first thing in the morning on CNN, heard on my way to work on NPR, and read from my desk online at work about many folks in the LGBT community being angry with President-Elect, Barack Obama, for choosing Rick Warren to do the invocation at his Presidential Inauguration. The recurring themes I saw, heard, and read were, "We feel this is a personal attack" , "How could he do this to us when we supported and rallied for his presidential win?", "Doesn't he realize what he is doing to us with his choice? Rick Warren doesn't approve of our lifestyle", and my favorite, "How can he pick him when he supported Proposition 8?" And, to be as fair as I can be in my current mood, I understand that the LGBT community is pretty pissed off about the prospect of being denied the right to legally marry in California and were I the one being impacted, I'd be angry too. I recognize and understand that many of them feel disrespected and slighted. I get it. I really do. However, when will people wake up and realize that Barack Obama is the President-Elect of the United States of America? He is not the President-Elect of Gay America or Black America or Financially Challenged America or Rich America. He is the the President-Elect and soon to be President of the United States of America. He didn't run on a platform to champion all gay issues or all black issues. He ran on a platform of issues that impact all Americans and the sooner folks start to understand that, the better they will fair over the next four years. One of the things Obama fought so hard against during his campaign was the possibility of being beholden to special interest groups. While most of us hear that word and think about big oil companies, Hollywood producers, and evangelicals (by the way, where did that term come from? It seems synonymous with "snobby white man who thinks he knows what's best for everyone else"), it doesn't just stop there. It includes LGBT organizations and groups like the NAACP who represent certain cross-sections of the American population and their interests. It seems to me that if we really believe in what this man represents, we will back off a bit and let him do his job for the American people as a whole. It seems completely wrong to me to lord our votes over the man while trying to manipulate him to bend to our will. Besides, doesn't it seem hypocritical to attempt to make the President-Elect force the sort of behavior and thought process on a man that the LGBT community seems to already be fighting against everyday? How can I passionately argue for equality as long as it only applies to people who look like and live like me without appearing to be the biggest hypocrite ever? And since when is who delivers the invocation at a Presidential inauguration so extremely important? Why is persecution of someone for his beliefs okay as long as he thinks the opposite of a certain group of people? I thought this was America. One of the many things that makes it such a great place to be is the fact that we aren't all being forced to think and act the same way. We get to use our minds and make our own decisions whether it be one regarding who we share a bed with or where we worship on Sundays if we choose to worship at all. We get to choose what bubble to fill in when it's time to vote for a ballot measure, proposition, and those running for public office. These are the things that make America great and how can we possibly say we love these freedoms when we don't protect them for all people and yes, that means even the ones who don't think the way we do. I don't think Obama should have to go through a gay checklist before allowing any person to do a job for him in the White House or at his personal parties. And while I'm quite sure I will be blacked out, democrated out, republicaned out, and evangelicaled out many times before the end of the next four years, I still believe we must allow ourselves to think the way we believe while opening ourselves up to respectful and thoughtful dialogue from people with opposing thoughts. In the meantime, let's leave the running of our country to the future President of the United States of America.

He Went To Jared (Ugh)

I hate the jewelry commercials on tv. Two or three women sitting together with one gushing because some guy bought her an engagement ring while the others stare dreamy-eyed desperately trying to mask their envy while hoping that one day they'll "luck out" and get one too. Aside from the obvious sickening corniness of the commercials, I've noticed that the man always seems super calm and somewhat removed as he presents this all-important piece of jewelry. I suppose it's easy to be cool when he knows that the likelihood of being turned down is slim to none. In these commercials women look like desperate damsels and men seem like ring-bearing Lotharios. This makes me think I really hate those commercials less for their stomach-turning corny features and more for what they imply about the relationships between men and women.

I'll be the first to say that I think getting engaged is good news, provided one is engaged to the right person. Getting married is good news as well. (Provided the parties involved followed the aforementioned guideline of engagement.) I'm certainly not against romance and commitment in any way. I am, however, completely against the stereotype of the woman who eagerly awaits the invitation to marry some man so that her life can begin and the equally annoying stereotype of the man who is so aware that the woman is desperate that he can cure all ills with a little rock from the closest jewelry store.

I keep wondering how relationships reached this level of superficiality. I wonder when we got to the point where everything could be fixed with a wedding ceremony. If at least one woman would ask me, I'd tell her that getting married to the wrong person only serves to magnify all the existing problems. It doesn't fix anything. It just creates a miserable existence which is certainly not worth the ability to say she's now "Mrs. So and So" instead of plain old, "Miss". I would tell her how getting caught up in the "He Went To Jared" phenomenon without any real forethought or investigation into who he really is and how healthy the relationship really is for her, can ruin her peace of mind, her good thoughts about herself, and even her credit. I would tell her that just because something looks good on paper doesn't mean it looks good on her life. I would tell her that regret is a bitch and trying to save face in front of friends and family isn't an easy task.

Please don't get me wrong. Again, I totally support healthy courtships, healthy engagements, and even healthier marriages. I love the idea and look forward to the day when I experience one. However, it is that concept women and men should cling to without being willing to just settle for the ring.

Special Delivery

What does she have that I don't have? What did I do to make my parent leave me? What is so horrible about me that caused my romantic relationship or platonic friendship to end? Why did he/she do me like that? I'm sure at some point in time we have all asked these exact questions or one of its many variations. I certainly have wondered in my life how I could have changed the outcome of a situation by being a different person. I've thought maybe if I was thinner, prettier, smarter, wittier, funnier, more subservient, more accommodating, or smiled more often, perhaps I could have prevented the end of one of my human relationships. And while I'm sure that maybe I could work on and benefit from being more of all of the aforementioned, I have learned that a lot of the time it simply A) isn't my fault and B) is the absolute best result for which I could have hoped.

I know it sounds as if I'm absolving myself of any wrongdoing or responsibility for the end of certain familial, romantic, and platonic relationships but that isn't what I'm doing at all. I've said before that the ending of any type of toxic relationship is imperative for our own personal survival but I didn't speak to those relationships we think are good for us. The ones we are enjoying. The ones we crave when it's late at night. Some relationships are formed in such a way that we think we absolutely cannot survive without them and even if the opportunity to escape them presented itself, we would absolutely refuse it even if it really was the best thing for us.

Fortunately, God has a way of taking care of these strange bonds for us so that we can learn how that which we thought we could not live without is really so extraneous that we wonder why we ever thought we needed it in the first place. Sure, it takes a good amount of time to draw that conclusion in some cases but I've yet to find it to be wrong.

When discussing her mother's abandonment of her as a child, a very wise woman told me that once she got past the hurt of being left by the one person a child should be able to count on, she realized one very important point. Her mother didn't abandon her but instead she was delivered from the additional pain she would have endured had her mother been in her life to raise her. Sure, she suffered some pain and disappointment but once she realized how much worse her life would have been had her mother stuck around, she was grateful to not have to deal with the fallout.

So I've learned and am continuing to learn that she had a most valid point. I look back at all the folks who are no longer in my life because they chose to leave and I have to say that I do not regret their departure once the smoke clears. That girl didn't hurt my feelings by ending our "good" friendship, she saved me from her craziness. My father didn't destroy me by never being an active participant in my life. He helped to orchestrate my rescue from his destructiveness. And the man who didn't want to be with me but instead wanted to be with someone else? I wasn't dumped. I was DELIVERED.

I suppose as in most life situations, it's simply a lesson in perspective. Tomatoe tomato if you will. When I think of all the harm I've avoided because someone left me, instead of being hurt and disappointed, I am grateful for being rescued by way of a special delivery.

Around What Does Your Revolution Revolve?

In my generation it seems to be fashionable, fancy, fun, and cutting edge to speak about REVOLUTION. I mean, after all, many of the most prominent figures in African American history were revolutionaries. It sounds cool to bring up in conversation or conjure up in a poem the names of Mary McLeod Bethune, Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman 0r Brother Malcolm and there's nothing better than feeling extra smart and enlightened in front of a bunch of lessors. However, I've gotta say that all the talk is meaningless if there is no action following the gum flapping.

Gil said that the revolution wouldn't be televised. Unfortunately, he didn't tell me that it also won't be on the radio, in the newspaper, in blogs, in community centers, in government agencies, in our actions, or even in churches. He didn't tell me that the revolution would be invisible. Left to our own devices my generation seems inspired to speak yet uninspired to act upon those words. We talk an amazing game, but have nothing to back it up. In thinking about many of the people I know who love to holler out the word, REVOLUTION, I can think of a small few, if any really, who are actually turning the revolutionary wheel. Almost nobody volunteers in their respective communities. Nobody is tutoring. Nobody is mentoring. Nobody is feeding the hungry. Nobody is caring for the elderly. Nobody is starting a business. Nobody is donating money. And so, I have to ask, if one is so damned revolutionary, around what does that revolution revolve? What is at the center of this imaginary revolution I keep hearing about?

We scream revolution every chance we get yet we can't even manage to get young brothas to pull up their pants and stop providing unsolicited peep shows to the unfortunate souls around them. We pump our tightly balled fists in the air while wearing a black glove but we can't wait to put our arms down so we can run home to watch the latest booty shakin' video on BET. We extol the virtues of the beautiful revolutionary black woman but can't stop ourselves from calling her a ho or bitch. So, again, I'm trying to figure out around what this revolution I keep hearing about revolves? Sure, lighting incense is nice. Wearing one's hair in it's natural state is great. Putting some black art up on the walls is chic. However, what does any of that mean when it's time for action?

If the goal is truly to be revolutionary, then we can shock the world by doing the unimaginable. We can shut our mouths and get to work. It's hard to be revolutionary when one is talking all the time instead of doing. Let's put down the facade and pick up the real work. Now that is revolutionary.

They Don't Date No Mo'

Corny as it sounds, when I watched Happy Days as a kid I always thought Joanie and Richie's realities would someday be mine as well. Every Friday or Saturday night they seemed to be getting ready for a date. For some reason I took this to mean that as a teen/young adult, I'd have some kind of social calendar marked with steady dates. Boy was I mistaken. While I'm sure at some time people went on dates on a regular basis, it seems that in 2008 a date is an anomaly of sorts. At the overly ripe age of thirty four, I could probably count the number of actual dates I've had outside of the two or three boyfriends I've had in adulthood. I have to believe that something is wrong with that. So now I'm wondering what happened to the age old custom of dating. Of course I considered all the possibilities first; maybe I'm not very attractive, perhaps it's my ongoing disagreement with my bulging belly, or maybe I just don't seem all that interesting. However, at the risk of sounding unrealistically confident, I have to say that I don't think this change in tradition has anything at all to do with me. Removing myself from the equation still enables me to see the many young, attractive, intelligent, responsible, funny, and ambitious women I know who seem like viable choices on paper but suffer from consistent datelessness.

So, after all this pondering I still can't seem to pinpoint one specific reason why there is a dating drought these days but I do feel there may be several factors contributing to the demise of the Friday night date.

Young people no longer seem to socialized to date. Sure, lots of young people, particularly the young men, are encouraged to play the field but while that term once meant to wine and dine many different women until he could get his fill, it now seems to mean sleep with as many women as you can without spending a dime. How a date in the "olden" days used to consist of food and drink and perhaps a movie has changed to a glass of juice, a rented movie, and some pillow play. The whole idea of what constitutes a "date" has changed.

Now, people no longer date to see if they like a person. Now, they drink the juice, watch the movie and get naked then decide whether or not the person is likable and worthy of an "out in the public, real live, date". Somehow, we ended up functioning in reverse and backwards has become the new sensible. I haven't gotten there yet and am trying my very best to avoid coming along for the ride. Besides, I have found it incredibly difficult and mind numbing to get a cart to pull a horse.

Perhaps a little of it is the economy. I'm sure that at one point one could have had a good date with $25 (back when stamps were still around ten cents). Nowadays, a movie for two is $20 not to mention the additional $10- $15 it costs to buy snacks. Then dinner is going to be another $40 for a cheap restaurnt. I can understand why a man would wanna be sure about liking a woman before spending such a large amount of money. However, there are other ways to enjoy a cost effective date without completely blowing the budget. There are coffee dates, dessert dates, going for a walk and eating some ice cream dates, and even sitting on a park bench with a hot dog dates. I figure if a man is curious enough about me, he'll suggest one of those at the very least.

I think single people are also jaded these days. Traditional dating has gotten such bad press that folks are too busy trying to protect their over sized egos to take someone out. They figure paying for a date would kill their reputations and set them up to have some unsavory person take advantage of their kindness. Sure, the worst does happen sometimes but I refuse to believe that it's all the time. I think that if more people at least invested more time (before more money) talking to and getting to know a person, they wouldn't have to be so afraid about spending some money on dinner or some other type of activity.

Even though I know that many people seem bitter, upset, untrained, and downright illogical about the concept of "the date", I still cling to my old-fashioned, Happy Days ways and cling to the hope that I'll begin to have them more than once in a blue moon. I believe that if single people really want to, we can improve upon the bad name that dating has gotten. We'd probably all have better success with relationships if we spent more time talking and dating each other instead of quickly hopping into Horizontal Happyland. I believe dating can be good for the soul.

Woooosaaaa...

I'm exhausted. I feel like I haven't slept the best sleep in at least six months or taken a proper deep breath in the past eighteen. I already feel that it's cliche, but I really didn't ever think I would live to see the day when a black man would be preparing to lead my country. While his blackness certainly didn't dictate my vote, I can definitely say that a combination of his platform and swagger certainly did. The fact that he looks like he could be in my family is simply frosting on an already delicious cake.

He seems unflappable but not unmoved by the perplexing circumstances that surround him. He can seem stoic but also possesses the ability to comfort someone with a sincere touch. Nope, the brotha doesn't walk on water and I sure as hell don't want him to. That's what we have Jesus for. Now we have Obama for something else entirely.

Admittedly, I felt proud when I watched him walk out onto the stage, game face on, standing confidently behind that podium, testicles well intact (no thanks to Jesse). His look implied he had his mind on his mission and the desire to give the American public real talk about the work ahead. I came across people age 50+ who were registering and voting for the first time. I also came across some who hadn't bothered casting a ballot in years because the disenfranchisement had settled deep into their souls. So, while seeing him on that stage made me cry from amazement at what the American public was able to do simply by choosing to engage in the political process, I was also afraid and sad.

Nope, it wasn't the kind of fear on which his opposition seemed to have been running for the past eight years. It was the kind of fear that worries about the safety of my President-Elect. It was fear based on logic and the knowledge of the truth that while many support him, many who are angry, bitter, resentful, and even narrow-minded may seek to harm him instead of just resolving to disagree with his views. I felt sad that his every triumph as well as every misstep will be scrutinized to the point of oblivion. I shook my head at the possibility of black leaders attempting to hold him solely responsible for the plight of African-Americans in my country all the while expecting some type of hand out or hook up based on skin tone alone. I felt sad that he inherited a financial disaster and diplomatic disappointment. Despite my fears about what may happen, I knew in my heart that no matter how heartfelt and real his intentions are, he would be successful in my book if he managed to accomplish one third of what he wants to do within a four year span. I will say, however, that although I remain realistic about my expectations of what's ahead, my pride and excitement far outweighed my fear and sadness.

Today I got to witness history. I got to see something that I always thought of as an impossibility in my lifetime on this earth. Today I got to go to my polling place and fill in a bubble for someone I honestly believe. For the first time since I was old enough to vote, I drove away from that polling place feeling as if what I'd just done truly mattered. So, even though I'm a little nervous about his safety and the safety of all his appendages, I am more than hopeful about the direction the country in which I live will take during the next four years. I'm hopeful that that which is now reality will change and a new reality will spring up in its place. I am positive that we will be better off because of it.

You Weren't Supposed To Notice

I'm fat. I'm not a girl with a few extra pounds. I'm not pleasingly plump. I'm not thicker than a snicker and I definitely am not one of those who just has a little extra weight in all the right places. I'm fat. There, I said it and though I don't like it, I can at least admit it. I mean, that's the first step to recovery, right? Having said that, I still seem to have a problem when other people realize I'm fat too. Sure, for years now I thought I was carefully camouflaging all my bulges, rolls, meats, and cheeses with some pretty cute clothes. I knew how high my pants needed to be in order to contain my stomach(s). I knew that fitted tops also helped to contain my middle mass. I had control top panties for those special occasions and I even mastered the art of showing off the smaller parts while covering up the not-so-small ones. I thought I was doing quite well there for a while. Things were looking pretty good until I received a My Space friend request from a man I found to be quite attractive. My immediate thought was, "Oh boy! Someone cute wants to be friends with me. He isn't trying to sell me anything. He isn't some rapper who wants me to listen to his crappy music and he isn't the usually creepy, ugly weirdo who wants to ask me out on a date as if." To say the least, I was excited. I quickly approved his request and went to his page to lustfully look at his pictures. When I opened his page, to my chagrin, I found that everyone of his top ten or so friends were women who were at least a size 16 and up....up....up. My ego and my size 14 body immediately felt deflated (which should have been a good thing, right?). Was this man a chubby chaser and was he now adding me to his list because I fit the bill? See, it was all good when I thought I was the only one who knew I was fat. It became a different situation when others started to notice. My feelings were soooooo hurt. My fitted top suddenly felt tight. My control top panties began to roll down and I suddenly felt the need to open the top button on my carefully chosen jeans. Not only did I know I was fat, but my secret had gotten out to the public. Granted, I know I'm nowhere near a size 18 and I'm certainly not knocking any woman who is. That just isn't what I want to be. I want to be back to my once comfortable size 8 or 10. Yes, I work out and I fret about what I eat but I haven't put in the real work I know I must in order to make at least five of my seven stomachs go away and that's my choice. It's usually not too much of a problem to manage until I find myself being compared with some women who have me by at least fifty pounds. I suppose there isn't too much I can do about the perception of others now that my house of mirrors made of big panties with lots of spandex in them has been destroyed. I'm going to spend more time on the treadmill and less time in the drive thru. Hell, maybe people will notice that I'm actually getting smaller.

Toxicity

Lately I've been wondering what it is that sometimes makes us hold on to relationships that somehow choke the life out of us. We see the signs. We know the person doesn't have our best interest at heart either because he doesn't know how or because she just doesn't care enough to try and yet, we sometimes cling to the relationship as if it possesses some semblance of normalcy when there really is nothing normal about it at all.

Maybe we do it because from childhood most of us are taught about being a good friend. We learn about sharing, respect for others who are different from us, and even compassion. Perhaps as a result of this early conditioning on loving others and treating them well, we miss the equally important message on protecting our hearts and treating ourselves as well as we treat others. I learned The Golden Rule when I was a little girl. And while it certainly provided me with an important message on how to treat everyone else, it totally missed the mark on how to treat myself. Going a bit against the grain, I have to say that if we were all to treat ourselves the way we want other people to treat us, we would see a major decline in the toxic relationship department. I believe that in our efforts to be a good person and friend, we forgo what we need in the way of nurturing and care. What good is a friendship if only one party reaps benefits and the other only reaps pain?

Unfortunately, once we recognize that a relationship is of the unhealthy variety, we have to let it go. That can be the hard part since we seem to be programmed to believe that a good friend is a friend forever. While I definitely believe this to be true, the "good friend" part must go both ways in order for the friendship to be viable. Just as we prune trees, we must prune our relationships with others in order to foster growth in our own lives. Some limbs are cut off because they are diseased while others are simply cut back so they can grow better and stronger. If only human relationships were as simple as the trees.

I believe this calls for a new Golden Rule: Demand that others treat you as well as you treat yourself and them. I'm still working out the kinks but I think you can catch my drift.

Get It Together

Reading something like this makes me angry, sad, disappointed, and even more aware that young girls and women these days just don't know how much they are worth. I know that the phrase, "No body is worth fighting over" is familiar to most and maybe even a little trite but that doesn't make it any less valid than it has always been. I keep wondering when women will see that once the fight is over and the damage has been done, he still has maintained control of the upper hand. He still cheated, he still disrespected both women, and he still has the option to choose either or both women. In the end all that exists are injured bodies and broken emotional states. In this case I wonder where the guidance that these girls so desperately needed was.

Where were the parents that were supposed to tell them that they were special and beautiful already and how neither of them needed some boy to validate that? Where were the teachers, tutors, administrators, clergymen, and again, the parents who should have been encouraging these girls to be into schoolbooks instead of being worried about some silly boy? Where were the role models for this boy to encourage him to do the same? Where was the person who should've told him that the real test of a man is not how many girls fight over him but instead the boundlessness of his integrity? As angry as I am at this situation and the probably thousands others like it, I know the blame falls on the adults. We failed these kids and we will continue to fail ourselves if we don't start finding ways to instill the things that really matter into our kids. These young girl's self-worth never should have been called into question nor should it have ever been tied into whether or not some boy liked them. They should have been feeling good about themselves and their choices based on positive feedback from their parents and communities. A well-rounded, well-raised girl doesn't need to define herself by what boy likes her. We should have told them that.

And We Have Oppasable Thumbs Too

I am so absolutely sick of hearing things about Barack Obama when it comes to his ability to string together words that make complete and coherent sentences. Right before a comment meant to disparage him or call into question his ability to lead the country, there is often an initial statement regarding his speaking abilities. "I know he is a very eloquent speaker but..." OR "Don't let his articulate speeches fool you because..." OR "I know he is capable of riling up a crowd with his fine speeches, however...". It's all so disgusting to me. When did it become better to be a presidential candidate who speaks Cro-Magnon than to be one who can actually complete a thought verbally? When was the bar lowered to the point that people are actually annoyed when a man who spent at least seven years in college can speak coherently? Well, after a little bit of consideration (I didn't really have to work that hard) I've come to the conclusion that the problem isn't that he speaks well. The problem is that he's black and he speaks well and we all know that black people don't talk like that, right?

I mean black people have cornered the market on split verbs and misplaced prepositions so where does this guy get off thinking it's okay to use proper English? Who the hell does he think he is and doesn't he know that he is destroying the reputation for which we have worked so hard? We have done all we can to convince others that we are illiterate and here he comes with his subjects and predicates ruining everything. Damn you, Barack.

The look of disgust on his opponent's faces when they mention his speech making prowess and communicative excellence says it all. They can't believe this man speaks like this in spite of being black. Well, newsflash folks, black people have been articulate for years. We also have jobs, fall in love, marry, make babies, vote, and own property now. While many have been standing around shocked that the organ grinder's monkey can not only take change and tip his hat but also SPEAK, we have been establishing languages, forming civilizations, making strides in the arts, math, and yes people, even science. We are involved in politics, civil rights movements, and commentating. And yes, we even now have opposable thumbs. I know it's shocking but there was no way to break it to you gently. I know what you're thinking though. You are wondering how I can possibly be stringing these sentences together when I am also black. The answer is easy. I had Sarah Palin help me.

Pass The Pumice Please!

Okay, I admit that maybe I'm just a little obsessive, but I seem to be having the hardest time avoiding my need to lecture women all over town the slough the crust off their heels before wearing a pair of sandals, flip flops, or slingbacks, please and thank you. I know times are hard. The price of gas alone has all but killed my fun money. HOWEVER, I still have consistently managed to come up with the occasional five to seven dollars it takes to buy myself a pumice stone, an orange stick, and a one dollar bottle of nail polish. Yes, times are hard, but I manage. I mean, seriously, how can one afford to buy the aforementioned sandals, flip flops, or slingbacks without being able to afford the pedicure that MUST accompany them? I know my feet are my problem and I do everything I can to avoid making them someone else's. I just wish those around me would provide me with the same consideration. I don't think I'm asking too much by requesting ALL people to either take the time needed to rectify what's going on in that sandal or kindly familiarize yourself with the first pair of socks you see. It's the right thing to do.

White Privilege

I wish I would've written this but I didn't. I just thought it was something everyone should know. Mr. Wise gets it right again:

THIS IS YOUR NATION ON WHITE PRIVILEGE By Tim Wise

For those who still can't grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are constantly looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because "every family has challenges," even as black and Latino families with similar "challenges" are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.White privilege is when you can call yourself a "fuckin' redneck," like Bristol Palin's boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll "kick their fuckin' ass," and talk about how you like to "shoot shit" for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you're "untested."?White privilege is being able to say that you support the words "under God" in the pledge of allegiance because "if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it's good enough for me," and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the "under God" part wasn't added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.?White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you.?White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto was "Alaska first," and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she's being disrespectful.?White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you're being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college--you're somehow being mean, or even sexist.?White privilege is being able to convince white women who don't even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because all of a sudden your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a "second look."?White privilege is being able to fire people who didn't support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.?White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God's punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you're just a good church-going Christian, but if you're black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you're an extremist who probably hates America.?White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a "trick question," while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O'Reilly means you're dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.?White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism is, as Sarah Palin has referred to it a "light" burden.?And finally, white privilege is the only thing that could possibly allow someone to become president when he has voted with George W. Bush 90 percent of the time, even as unemployment is skyrocketing, people are losing their homes, inflation is rising, and the U.S. is increasingly isolated from world opinion, just because white voters aren't sure about that whole "change" thing. Ya know, it's just too vague and ill-defined, unlike, say, four more years of the same, which is very concrete and certain…?White privilege is, in short, the problem.

For Those Who Need Clarification...

Something else I wish I'd written. I don't know who the real author is...

I'm a little confused. Let me see if I have this straight.....* If you grow up in Hawaii, raised by your grandparents, you're 'exotic, different.'* Grow up in Alaska eating mooseburgers, a quintessential American story.* If your name is Barack you're a radical, unpatriotic Muslim.* Name your kids Willow, Trig and Track, you're a maverick.* Graduate from Harvard law School and you are unstable.* Attend 5 different small colleges before graduating, you're well grounded.* If you spend 3 years as a brilliant community organizer, become the first black President of the Harvard Law Review, create a voter registration drive that registers 150,000 new voters, spend 12 years as a Constitutional Law professor, spend 8 years as a State Senator representing a district with over 750,000 people, become chairman of the state Senate's Health and Human Services committee, spend 4 years in the United States Senate representing a state of 13 million people while sponsoring 131 bills and serving on the Foreign Affairs, Environment and Public Works and Veteran's Affairs committees, you don't have any real leadership experience.* If your total resume is: local weather girl, 4 years on the city council and 6 years as the mayor of a town with less than 7,000 people, 20 months as the governor of a state with only 650,000 people, then you're qualified to become the country's second highest ranking executive.* If you have been married to the same woman for 19 years while raising 2 beautiful daughters, all within Protestant churches, you're not a real Christian.* If you cheated on your first wife with a rich heiress, and left your disfigured wife and married the heiress the next month, you're a Christian.* If you teach responsible, age appropriate sex education, including the proper use of birth control, you are eroding the fiber of society.* If , while governor, you staunchly advocate abstinence only, with no other option in sex education in your state's school system while your unwed teen daughter ends up pregnant , you're very responsible. * If your wife is a Harvard graduate laywer who gave up a position in a prestigious law firm to work for the betterment of her inner city community, then gave that up to raise a family, your family's values don't represent America's.* If you're husband is nicknamed 'First Dude', with at least one DWI conviction and no college education, who didn't register to vote until age 25 and once was a member of a group that advocated the secession of Alaska from the USA, your family is extremely admirable.OK, much clearer now.

First Things First

I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about choices and priorities. I realize that sometimes the results of our actions are not desired but regardless of our desires, we have to ultimately be responsible and accept the consequences of our choices. I suppose I'm mostly thinking about the moves I see people make when they are parents. For many, there seems to be no acknowledgement of the fact that having a child means certain adjustments and sacrifices must be made for the benefit of that child. When a little one comes into one's life, some parties have to be missed, some dates have to be rescheduled, and some new shoes have to go on layaway in order to assure that the child has what he needs. For some reason this thinking which should be common to all parents seems to be foreign to many.

In recent times I've seen some of the most irresponsible and damaging behavior on the part of some young parents I know. Seven year olds have no business up at ten o'clock p.m. on a school night. Children should not be sleeping on a floor or couch at some strange woman's house while hes/her father goes in the bedroom to "blow the woman's back out". As difficult as it may be to believe, children need dinner which includes VEGETABLES. They need boundaries, a clean environment, to have morals and values taught to them both verbally and by living example. Children are not just another thing to add to one's life checklist. "Okay, school, check, job, check, nice place to live, check, good car, check, 2.5 babies, check." NO! Children should not be an afterthought or another chore that needs completing. They should be a priority and a source of pride and joy. One should feel some type of sense of obligation to one's children. They aren't a plant that needs to be watered once a week. They are human beings who need love and guidance on a consistent basis. Before having children or doing the thing that brings them into existence, one should consider if going to the club, never missing a party, taking spontaneous road trips, or spending money recklessly is more of a priority than raising a child. One shouldn't feel bad if those things are more important. There is a time for all to be selfish. However, that time no longer exists once a child comes onto the scene. Raise yourself and raise your child.

The Double Standard Thing

It's the age old thing. When men have sex, they are just being men. When women do it and love it, they are whores. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if it was just something people say with no one really taking stock in it. I believe what makes it so bad is the fact that so many women internalize this theory. Why must so much guilt, pain, and agony be attached to something so good? Why does he walk away feeling like he received a great gift while she walks away tormented for giving away the one gift she can never get back? I can't say I've ever asked a man, but I have a hard time believing he sits and ponders what she thinks of him as a man or if she'll ever call him again now that he's given up the goods. Why does that next morning or even the next few minutes have to feel so bad? I suppose it would also be better if men didn't so often seem to solidify those feelings. Before sex the woman gets the kind words and warm feelings about how much fun she is, how smart she is, how much he enjoys her company... All of that seems to change the minute sex becomes involved. The calls, text messages, and emails become scarce. The time he once had seems to be taken up by any and everything else yet he miraculously can find time to get more sex from you. In all this, the flip side exists. if you don't give it up "too soon" you may be rewarded with a real relationship (since only sluts give it up) but the downside is that you have to spend the rest of the time pretending not to be too freaky or to enjoy sex too much so as not to appear like a ho. O course, should you hold out for too long, you'll risk having him sleep with "a ho" in order to satisfy his sexual appetite while he pretends to be "waiting" for you. So, in all this, does a woman ever win? Is there ever a time when it's okay for a woman to actually get to feel good about her choice instead of feeling like she got robbed? Or worse, like she's betrayed her "good upbringing" by giving into something that's supposed to make her feel good? And really, how soon is too soon? In all this, it just seems best to keep it to yourself and deny yourself the pain of the pleasure.

Commentatin'

Those who can, do. Those who can't (anymore), commentate. I've been noticing something in sports commentating for a long time but during this year's Olympics it's been even more noticeable than usual. What is the deal with commentators who are no more than overly critical, washed up, envious, haters? While I understand these people are hired not just to commentate but also to analyze, why must they comment on every damn move that seems the tiniest bit wrong? Good grief, it's just so damned annoying. "Yes, Tom, it was a pretty good dive, but Jane's pinky finger was slightly bend while her partner's pinky finger on her right hand was pointing to the west". It's enough to make me want to reach inside my tv and slap the hate out of someone. Of course, I realize what a lot of the problem is. Most commentators either competed in the sport themselves at one time or they were some athletically-challenged young person who couldn't master any sport so he/she spend time in school studying how to insult them if you can't join them. It's just all so irritating. I mean, is it really necessary to comment on every single nuance? Perhaps commentators should try something new like simply saying, "That was awesome!" followed by some much desired silence. I would really like that.

I'm Mrs. John Doe

I remember addressing my high school graduation invitations (I wrote with a quill then). When the next envelope to be addressed was for a married couple, my mother tried to correct me and tell me that it should be addressed as Mr. and Mrs. John Doe. I completely lost it. I told her that both the husband and wife's names weren't John so why would I address it as such? She insisted that I do it that way. I stopped arguing about it since she paid for the invitations in the first place but it was to be my first experience with something that still annoys me to no end. The tradition of addressing letters in that way was established during a time when women were considered no more than what their husbands were. Their entire existence was founded in being so and so's wife. Before that, she was her father's daughter. Although women are constantly fighting now to keep equality in gender relationships, we have at least reached the point where the majority of Americans know that a woman is her own person and not just an extension of a men. Unfortunately, there still exists that small minority who insist on clinging to the old school of thought.

Many years ago I worked in a call center. Women would call all the time and describe themselves as Mrs. or Colonel John Doe. I would politely ask, "And how can I help you today, John"? I knew I was being a smart ass but I just couldn't handle the concept of a woman refusing to acknowledge that if she didn't have anything else, she at least had her own name. I know there are many men and women who feel this type of thinking is to radical and goes against the natural order of things but I can never get comfortable with the idea that being married to a man means that I will suffer a total loss of my identity. I mean, our names are the first thing we receive that tell everyone and ourselves, who we are. The name we are given at birth follows us to death. It is more than just a word others use to call us. It is part of what makes us who we are. It is how people recognize us and relate to us. When confronted with the question, "What's in a name?", I say EVERYTHING. Once we give up that name because we don't think it's good enough, we give up a piece of ourselves. Now, I'm not so radical that I don't believe in married couples sharing a last name. I just can't imagine giving up my entire identity so it can be defined by the fact that I am married to a man.

I never again addressed a letter using the man's name as the name for both spouses. I make sure I list each first name or The Doe Family or nothing at all. Some call it being contrary. I consider it part of my silent protest.

Pimpin Is Prissy

Rarely does Sean Combs say anything that leaves an impression on me. However, I have to give it to him for "bitchassness". It's running rampant in our communities and many seem to be embracing it as a way of life. I find one of the worst perpetrators of this newly coined phenomenon to be pimps. Yep, you read it right. I'm talking about pimps in general and the "fans" who seem to think being a pimp is the ultimate vocation and a prime example of what a man's man is. He wears the latest pimp finery, he drives a flashy car, and he has a bunch of women fawning over him and waiting to meet his every need. They even give him every dime they earn. I suppose a lot of non-pimping men think, "What's there not to like or admire about a pimp?" Well, that's why I'm here. I am going to tell everyone that being a pimp really isn't all that great or manly.

As stereotypical as it may be, when I see a man walking down the street dressed in a fluorescent color from head to toe, with perfectly coiffed hair caressing his shoulders, and a full length mink coat, I don't think he's on his way to a convention for macho men. Instead, I see a man who appears to be on his way to a convention for female impersonators. I don't like men who look like women but think they are manly. Are you kidding me? How manly can a pimp be when he has a flat iron, long fingernails covered with fiberglass and clear polish, and is drinking from a cup clearly made for an eight year old girl's tea party? That's manly? I don't see this as an example of what a real man should be. I see it as BITCHASSNESS at its best.

Regardless of the evidence of many things effeminate present in the swagger of a pimp, men and women alike admire this guy and many secretly wish to be like him. However, I'm trying to figure out how appearing as a clown in all aspects became the thing to which people aspire. Of course, this isn't the first memo I've missed. I keep wondering how we got to the point where a man who clearly hates women (probably because he isn't one), disrespects himself, his community, and his "employees", who capitalizes off of people when they are in their worst states of mind, and has absolutely no grasp of fashion, became the poster child for manliness. What happened to admiration for well-read men who respect themselves and those around them and who make personal integrity the ultimate goal to be achieved? Was there even really a time like that or am I just imagining again? Real or imagined, I'd love to see this happen today. Out with the bitchassness so we can let the real men through.

Thirty Dollars For Thirty Blessings

Alright already with the Jesus spam. Trust me, few love Jesus as much as I do. I think He's the absolute of all things good, right, and pure. However, if it's one thing I can't stand, it's Jesus spam. "Jesus wanted me to tell you He's sending a blessing your way", "God wants you to send this stupid email to forty of your closest friends", "If you close your eyes for thirty seconds after reading this email, you'll see one of God's angels". Give me a break please. Seriously. I'll be the first to admit that I believe God talks to me. Sometimes He gives me what I need to hear directly or through others. But I can safely say that in my thirty plus years Jesus has NEVER sent me a blessing because I forwarded a corny email to forty eight other unfortunate souls. It's bad enough that I get fictitious missing person reports, riddles that I never have the answer to even after I forward the email to ten of my friends, and articles featuring the country's dumbest criminals. Now I have to deal with Jesus spam and the fact that I may fail Him and the entire human race if I don't send Rev. So and So $500. I love Jesus. I really do, but I think that if he had a My Space page, he'd rarely visit it and he certainly wouldn't spend a bunch of time emailing people and sending them on fruitless missions. He'd be too busy saving souls. Perhaps those who send me Jesus spam should aspire to do the same.

Alex Trebek Should Shut Up

Ever since I was a little girl, I've loved Jeopardy. Something about being able to answer some random questions that no human being should be able to answer tickles me. Plus, I like to look at the nerds who tend to be in the contestant pool and try to figure out how many friends they have or don't have due to their lack of anything better to do and how many times they've been jumped, "pantsed", or thrown in garbage cans. Of all the evenings after work or school that I've sat down and watched the show, I became the most annoyed yesterday. As is often the case , all three contestants were neck and neck with scores. In final Jeopardy, the first two contestants didn't have the correct answer. The returning champion, however, had the answer correct. Instead of Alex just congratulating the man on his win, he had to take a moment to point out the fact that the man spelled the last name of the individual incorrectly. I wanted the man to just say, "Look mofo, I just won $30,000 sheerly based on the fact that my head is crammed with useless tidbits of information thereby giving me some leeway to fail to spell a name correctly. Hell, with this here money, I can buy a $30,000 corrective pen. What do you have to say about that jerk-off?". Of course, the man didn't say this. He said nothing. Sure, we're all smart with a handful of index cards with the answers written on them. Just once I'd like to see how nifty Alex is after dropping all his trusty cards on the floor. Not such a Smarty Art now, huh, Alex? Just once I wish someone would put that smug and annoying fool in his place. I got your Jeopardy, Alex. And it's right here.

It Wasn't Like This When I Left Home, I Swear!

I left home this morning feeling kinda cute. My outfit was on point (or so I thought) and I tried something different with my hair that I thought was cute. I left the house feeling good and a little proud of myself for making the extra effort which I rarely do for work (who wants to get dressed up for a bunch of old fat guys anyway). I spent most of the day sitting in my cell, or cubicle, depending on who you ask. About an hour before my work day ended, I went into the restroom and took a look in the mirror at what I thought was my handiwork. I LOOKED A MESS. My hair looked like I needed an appointment in the very worst way. My eyes looked puffy and tired like I hadn't slept in two days. My skin looked dry which made the makeup in my bag desperately call out to me and my outfit made me look fat. I was shocked to say the least. I kept trying to figure out the difference between the lighting at my house and the lighting at work and what kind of evil force in my car or cubicle made me go from sugar to shit in just a few short hours. I mean, was I that disillusioned that I could think I was cute in the comfort of my own home but later learn that I really looked a mess in the public eye? What the hell happened to me and why didn't my coworker pull me to the side to to tell me that I looked like I just rolled over and showed up for the party? After careful consideration, I've decided that in order to avoid further fashion humiliation, I need to hire myself an Overall Look Improver. This person with his/her amazing attention to details will give me the once over prior to me leaving the house in the morning followed by a midday review right after lunch. I can't go wrong with the extra help. I obviously can't do it for myself but I may be able to do it for others. I'm currently taking applications.

It Isn't Cute

When I look around me at what's happening in the world, I often ask the question, "Just what the hell is going on here?" Once again, I found myself asking it this morning. I was reading the "news" and came across an article talking about how Jamie Lynn Spears, teenage mom extraordinaire, is on the cover of OK Magazine (again) posing with her brand new baby. The heading read, "Being a mom is the best feeling in the world!" and shows Jamie Lynn holding her baby and wearing an ugly, old lady dress (I guess that was supposed to make her seem conservative or wholesome). I stared at the picture for a long time shaking my head because I couldn't understand A) when being a teenaged mom became cute B) when a teenaged girl living with and making a baby with an adult male became acceptable C) when it became alright to be in the two previous mentioned scenarios as long as one has plenty of money.

Where I came from, being a teenage mother was never the cool thing to do. We didn't high-five and idolize girls who got pregnant when I was in jr. high and high school. While we may have continued friendships, we definitely resolved to not end up in the same situation and we certainly never celebrated the impending pregnancy of our teenaged friends as though the event was the best thing that could have happened to her. If a friend announced she was pregnant, we were all instantly sad and at sixteen I certainly did not have the wherewithal to go out and purchase a bunch of baby gifts. Hell, at that age, I didn't even know what a registry was let alone a binky. Now many girls seem to get excited at the possibility of being pregnant. They become rock stars with 9 month contracts guaranteeing their high status while young boys walk around chest butting each other as if depositing sperm into a young girl is some amazing feat. Now this problem has traveled from the hood to the mainstream and has suddenly become acceptable. A teen aged mother is on the cover of a magazine holding her baby and smiling as if she has not a care in the world and because she's young and wealthy, it's cute. While I don't think she should ever be ashamed of her child, I do not in any way find this scenario attractive. Even less attractive is the fact that she is now living with her grown-man boyfriend while raising said baby.

At which point is everyone going to be angry about the fact that this under aged girl is not only now a mother, but is "engaged" to a boy who had been having sex with her illegally? When did it become okay for a then sixteen year old girl to move in with her nineteen year old boyfriend? Was there something I missed? Having a baby has never made a girl a grown up and the last I checked, she's still a minor and should therefore have her baby-bearing ass at home until her mother has filled her legal obligation to raise her. Letting the girl play house with a grown man doesn't at all seem to be the thing a good mother would do as far as I can see. Maybe I'm holding on to common sense and old-fashioned values a little too hard...but I doubt it. Unfortunately, these days it seems as though standards are less important than money.

The recurring point I come across is that the entire situation is cool because, after all, she has lots of money to support the child. To me, this way of thinking completely disregards the real issues. Teen pregnancy has never been a problem simply because of money. Furthermore, while money is needed in order to take care of a child's basic needs, it doesn't prepare a sixteen or seventeen year old for parenthood. Money buys things but unfortunately, there still hasn't been a way found to use money to buy wisdom, knowledge, maturity/, or common sense, all of which are needed to raise a child. Money won't change a teen parent's age, life experience, or mental capacity to understand what it means to be permanently responsible for the well-being of another person.

I wish the double standard between teen moms with money and those without a pot to piss in were eradicated. It's never the best look for a child to have a baby as a teenager. Sure, there will always be those who make different choices that lead to pregnancy. However, these choices should not be celebrated.

Does TV Make You Dumb?

Just recently I heard my coworker say in her most superior voice, "I don't watch a lot of tv. It doesn't even occur to me to come home and turn it on because there are so many other things I could be doing". Well, I thought, good for you but who really cares? What makes one feel that watching less tv implies that one is smarter, better, and wiser than the average bear? While I certainly don't consider myself a tv junkie, one of the first things I do after getting home is turn on my tv. My main motivation is my desire to see if anything major is happening and to assure that I don't have to run and hide under my kitchen table. Hell, sometimes it's even so I can catch one of my favorite shows. Television is so many things to me. It can be fun, educational, and entertaining. It can incite fear, tears of happiness, tears from pain, and even laughter. I would even go so far as to say that in some cases, tv can change one's life. Even though I'm not bound to my home by what may come on tv, I can comfortably say that I like and enjoy television and the last I checked, I'm far from a dummy. I watch tv just about every day and yet I manage to use complete sentences to write this blog. (By the way, a big part of the reason for that is the fact that I had a little Sesame Street in my life.) I guess I did all that fussing to say that tv doesn't make one dumber any more than not watching makes one smarter. The existence of balance and the constant pursuit of knowledge from all sources is ultimately what makes one smart. It is the lack thereof that breeds dummies.

Not The Mama

Does anyone besides me remember that show, Dinosaurs? Anyway, the baby dinosaur only loved his mother and since all of his points of reference came from her, he would call his father "Not The Mama" instead of dad. The mother never seemed to correct him. Lest my point escape me, I'll get right to it. Even though moms are about as good as you can get, fathers have an equally important role in positively impacting children. Unfortunately, in the age of absentee sperm donors and scorned mothers, the relevance of a father's role is often lost. This seems to cause a lot of women to think they can do it all. No doubt, single mothers have a hard way to go and they do way more than their fair share when it comes to raising the children. However, mothers are not fathers. I know it's probably not popular for me to say so, but I think it's wrong for a woman to say she was both a mother and a father to her children. I'm sorry to burst bubbles, but mommies can't be daddies and vice versa.

There was a specific plan in place when the family was designed and just as two people are required to create a life, those same two are required to nurture that life. I believe that both the mother and the father have duties that are specific to their genders. They have experiences and knowledge that only a mother or father could pass on to a child. It is when a child misses out on the presence of one or the other that a void is created. Certain information is missing. Certain experiences are lost and this negatively impacts the child. I think it also causes the child to be just as bitter as the single parent is.

I love my mother to death. I had a terrible, deadbeat father and am totally grateful that my mother was there to take care of me and attempt to pick up some of his slack. However, she mothered me. She didn't father me because she just couldn't. I missed some things due to his lack of interest or concern in being a parent. It certainly wasn't my mother's fault but I think some of it might have been had she spent those years raising me complaining and ranting about how she was a mother AND a father to me. My mom was one of the smart ones. She knew she mothered me like no other would or could and that mothering is what helped me turn out to be the fussing, ranting, complaining, blogger I am today. She also knew she wasn't being a dad to me.

I suppose I just think women, and men who single parent, need to think carefully about the words they say and what those words really imply. I'm sure there are ways to make one's children feel whole without inserting bitter opinions about his/her sorry other parent or an entire gender. There must be a method in which the primary caretaker can feel appreciated without negating the role of the other parent even if that presence is missing from the household. Just a thought.

Thumb Vacation

Have you ever been mid-text and almost dropped your phone due to thumb cramping? Well if you have, this is a sign that you, like me, may need to limit your text time. With all the alleged ways we use to have quicker and more convenient conversations (i.e. texting and IMs), I wonder if we have actually lost the ability to have a good verbal chat or to write a nice letter or email. While I am the first to admit that I don't much care for talking on the phone, I do still appreciate a personal touch to my conversations. And frankly, at this age, I don't appreciate having to use the little bit of thumb mobility I have left typing a note on a tiny keypad in order to avoid discussing real feelings via some other means of communicating. These days, thanks to those nifty text messages, all sorts of things seem to be handled through more impersonal methods.

People start and end relationships by text message. Booty calls are arranged by text (wow, isn't it at least worth dialing?) Students are beginning to use text language in school papers out of mere habit. Friends text entire conversations so as not to miss any of their favorite tv show. Jokes and dirty cartoons arrive via text messaging and even my mother can manage to send me a text even though she doesn't know much else about how her phone works. Even though I'm not in love with the idea of texting for everything all the time, I found myself texting recently while sitting in church. It seems to me as though this has gone from a way of relaying a quick message to an invasive and impersonal way of talking to those we claim to love. This leads me to wonder what happened to the personal touch. The touch that didn't involve a keypad on a cell phone.

I miss getting a good letter electronically or from the good old post office. I miss sentences complete with subject and predicate. I miss punctuation. I miss YOU instead of U. I mostly miss knowing that someone put some time, thought, and energy into a conversation with me. Somehow that seems to have gotten lost in the world of texting.

At this point I don't know if I'm just too old for texting or just old-fashioned. Whichever it is, I'd like to keep my texting to a minimum and my real talk to the maximum.

Lovin' It

After all the years gone by, I never thought it would happen but it finally did. Cupid got an arrow in me. I've been struck by the love bug. I'm all giddy. I have butterflies. I'm in love and not with just any man. I'm in love with the most amazing man ever . He's handsome, but not overwhelmingly so. He's the kind women notice but he's still just normal enough to keep them from swooning. He's in shape but not a gym rat. He's incredibly intelligent and well-read without a hint of pretentiousness. He's down for brunch or the greasiest of delights at the local greasy spoon. He listens without just pretending to do so. He talks but rarely without thinking first. He loves God but without the self-righteous, holy roller factor. He's a lover unlike any other only without the unnecessary bragging. He anticipates my needs yet isn't afraid to ask me what I want. He's unselfish with his time but never crowds me and he has no problem spending his money without the risk of being showy or frivolous. He's not just my lover, he's my best friend. Yes, I must say, he is the most amazing man. Now all I have to do is meet him.

Stifling Of Tomfoolery In The Theater Would Be Appreciated By All

Apparently I made a grave mistake on Friday morning when I decided to take in a movie to start off my July 4th holiday. Since the price of gas is so ridiculous I can't even speak the dollar amount out loud without feeling sick, I really did believe that I would be able to enjoy a quiet and entertaining time at the 10:30 a.m. show. I walked up to the booth, got myself a ticket, and proceeded into the theater. I picked the exact seat I wanted and sank down to enjoy the relaxation of a good movie. I started by enjoying a few movie quizzes and previews. Everything was lovely until, all the usual tomfoolery (which we all know I hate) that often accompanies a trip to see a movie, reared its ugly head. After some thought and an hour and a half of irritation, I decided it would be best to come up with a list containing my very own movie etiquette laws. Hopefully, those who can read, will take a look at this and try to adhere for the sake of others.

1. Stop bringing children under the age of ten to grown up movies. I mean, seriously, it is time to stop the insanity. Nobody thinks your baby is cute when he/she is jumping on seats, crying, talking loudly, crawling around on the floor, or asking a bunch of stupid questions. What makes you think I want to pay my money so that I can spend as many as three hours being annoyed by your brat? If you don't have a sitter, stay your ass at home and catch the movie on DVD. This is getting so out of hand. And stop looking at people crazy when they give you the stink eye for having your baby with you at the movies. In case you didn't know it, the movies are not the same as a daycare. Get it together people.
2. Find yourself a nice soft snack to eat. Who the hell decided that popcorn would be the perfect snack to eat during a movie when there is supposed to be silence? I hate it when a crucial point in the movie has been reached and the dialogue is missed because the schmuck beside you is crunching his popcorn as if it were his last meal before execution. When you feel the need for popcorn, eat a peanut butter cup instead.
3. Turn off your damn phone. A ringing phone is just as annoying as the chomping of popcorn if not worse. Also, if you should happen to forget to turn it off, have the decency to be embarrassed that it's ringing and turn it off. Do not answer the phone and start engaging the person in a conversation about how you're at the movies and yeah, it's pretty good, and yep, Andre is up there with you too but Lill Boo Boo couldn't make it 'cuz his baby's mom is trippin'. This just serves to make you appear dumber than you already look. Take my word for it and turn the phone off.
4. Don't show up to the movie fifteen minutes into it then decide you want to sit in the middle of a row causing ten people to be inconvenienced while you are trying to make your way to a seat. Get there on time and once you do, get your ass somewhere and sit down.
5. DO NOT repeat everything you heard said during the movie. Most of the people in the room heard it the first time and the last I checked, parrots are not welcome in movie theaters (even though whiny and fidgety babies are).
6. DO NOT have a conversation out loud about who you think the killer is. I don't pay money to guess. If I spend $10 for a movie, I don't want to do any guessing. I don't want to do anything but sit and watch the movie.

I hope these little tips on movie etiquette will help all those who read it. Thank you.

A Swift Kick In The Ass

Have you ever been sleeping so deeply for so long that you didn't even realize you weren't conscious? Today I received a wake up call that was so true and so on time that it made me disgusted about how much time I've spent oversleeping. I suppose there are times when only someone who knows you best can wake you up. While I was asleep, others tried to softly call my name, gently nudge me, or even rub my back with the softest of hands to try to bring me to the land of the living. None of those attempts worked. I suppose everyone thought I'd just stay asleep but all that changed today when someone who knows me best woke me up by clanging cymbals, ripping the covers off my bed of self-loathing, and kicking me square in the ass. I can say it was one of the harshest awakenings I've ever had, but at least now I'm with the living and ready to experience what I've been depriving myself of while making love to my sheets of doubt, disgust, disappointment, and self-judgment. I guess that's what it takes sometimes; a real friend who knows you inside and out to tell you that you're being and idiot by staying asleep while everyone else is awake and partaking in life's good things. Sometimes everything that's wrong feels so powerful that burrowing into the blankets and resting my head upon an extra soft pillow seems to be the best solution. Unfortunately, no matter how long you sleep, naptime is just a band aid for the gaping wound. Sure, I'm still a little groggy and I don't think I'll be able to fully function until I've had some breakfast, but at least I'm not asleep anymore. Good morning.

So What Do You Have In The Short, Curvy,Busty, Bottom-Heavy Variety?

So this is the time of year when I always get excited thinking I'm going to come up on the swimsuit of the century. Every damn magazine has a cover headline telling readers all over the world that contained within the pages, in between all the ads that remind a girl how fat and unattractive she really is, is the definitive list of swimsuits for every body type. Ignoring all previous year's disappointments, I grab the magazine off the rack, and flip through the pages until I get to said article. Without fail, I'm angry and disgusted as soon as I see the options. Listed there's always, top heavy (yeah, that's me, check!), bottom heavy (yeah, that's me too, check!), big thighs (sigh, yeah, that's me too, check!), and petite (yep, that's me too. I'm only 4' 11", check!). While it certainly sounds like I'm hitting the jackpot, I'm not, because all of these are separate categories. Apparently there is a rule that says I can only be one of these but not a combination of many. Apparently these articles are telling me that I'm not allowed to go near any water for any reason other than bathing because my body is way too complicated for a swimsuit. Unfortunately, summer isn't the only time of year the media plays with my emotions. It also happens curing the cold seasons when I purchase the magazines swearing they can help me find the perfect pair of jeans for my body type. Alas, I'm always disappointed by these fictitious stories as well. It I let the media and fashion industry decide what's best for my body type, I'd be walking around in a house dress or hospital scrubs. Surely, there must be some way to take all my "attributes" and combine them to make one fabulous article about how a petite, curvy, top heavy, bottom heavy, thick thighed woman can fine the perfect jeans and swimsuit. Hopefully I'll see that day before jeans and swimsuits go out of style.

Plus Size Penance

Even though I'm constantly working on it, these days I teeter between the "average" size world and the "plus-size" world. I've been fortunate enough to be able to avoid the plus size stores so far but am deathly afraid that I'll gain three more pounds and be introduced to a world I don't want to meet. My main fear isn't the health issues that sometimes come along with weight gain. My real concern is the ugly, matronly, tent-like clothes I see in stores and online "made especially for the plus-sized girl". I mean, as if enough pain and inconvenience isn't already attached to being overweight, now we are being punished by being forced to wear the ugliest clothes money can buy. When I look back in history at what used to be considered attractive, I can't help but wonder what happened. When did a nice round belly and full breasts become detriments instead of amazing attributes? Over time what was once beautiful has turned into something ugly, undesirable, and deserving of some of the most hideous apparel anyone has ever seen? I mean, aren't the sneers and rejection enough? Can the plus sized gal at least be allowed to look cute during her discomfort? I really don't think that's too much to ask. It seems to me it's a lot more difficult to attempt staying under the radar when dressed attractively. It's kind of hard to be low key while wearing a tent-shaped top coupled with what appear to be your grandmother's elastic waist pants off the Sears sale rack. I've often considered the possibility of designing pretty clothes for big women but I have no artistic talents and I don't know that clothes can be designed from stick figure drawings. Alas, I suppose my only option at this point is to stay on the treadmill with as much diligence as possible all the while hoping I can make it back into the junior's section and my dignity. A girl can dream.

When A Little Bump and Grind Goes Bad

Since the initial surfacing of the dreaded R. Kelly video tape and his subsequent acquittal of all charges, I've had quite a few internal and external conversations about his situation. Sure, I had all the obvious conversations about how disgusting he is, how he is a child predator, and I even made a firm decision to not buy anymore of his music because I just couldn't see me helping to pay someone's legal fees when he is on trial for child pornography. I guess you could say I went through all the normal righteous indignations. Having said that, my attention turned to less traveled trains of thought. I wonder why A) I wasn't angry when he married Aaliyah and B) although he is just as wrong as wrong can be, what are we going to do about the thought process of the young girls who think it's okay to have sex with a grown man?

I wonder if it was the sexy mystique, the gyrating hips, that one covered up eye, and the fact that she told me that age wasn't nothin' but a number that made me feel like Aaliyah was grown up enough to marry a too grown man. When I first got word of the nuptials my initial and seemingly semi-permanent reaction was shock. I knew she was only fourteen which was way below the legal marrying age and I knew he was far from fourteen yet something in me allowed it to be shocking but not anger inducing. Why didn't I get pissed off at him for sleeping with an underage girl knowing all that I knew at that time? How could I be so ignorant as to let a few sensual dance moves and a little double entendre keep me from missing out on my opportunity to get on my soap box to preach about how unbelievably disgusting this man was for preying on the affections of a child? I guess I, like many others, got caught up in the hype. Chuck D told me not to believe it, but I failed to listen. R. Kelly didn't marry a mature, hip, sexy, sensual, talented, young woman. He married a child. I should've been livid but I wasn't. I was too busy liking R. Kelly. I was too busy swaying my hips from side to side, humming his melodies, watching his videos, and thinking about how I wanted to try out everything he was singing about to be pissed off by the fact that he married someone younger than my then, twenty year old self. Somehow I doubt that I was the only one who forgot to get mad. The media wasn't mad. BET wasn't mad. None of my friends were mad. We were just shocked that her parents ok'd something so grown up. I guess we were too caught up and maybe even too young to be angry. Somehow I think had we not been so wrapped up in his charisma, we could have saved a few more young girls from the worst kind of bump and grind. I suppose I have to be somewhat fair though. After all, he didn't do what he did without willing participants.

Something is happening with our young girls. Things are clearly amiss when a young girl willingly sleeps with a grown man and thinks it's the thing to do. What method of child rearing failed here? While I think it is unfortunate that he will not be imprisoned for his wrongdoings, I am mostly concerned about the mental prison that has captured these young girl's minds. Perhaps I'm a square, but at fourteen, I wasn't thinking about letting anyone in my pants but I sure as hell wasn't thinking about letting a grown man in my pants. Hell, at fourteen I didn't even know any grown man outside of the ones who shared my DNA. Who are these mothers and fathers and grandmothers and older siblings that are convincing these children that they can do whatever they want with their bodies even if it will cause them permanent damage? I can imagine the words of the mommas as they send their daughters out like sheep to the slaughter; "Girl you better use what you got to get what you want". What happened along life's path they has made it acceptable for a child who should be at softball practice to instead skip that and go to some grown man's house for a little afternoon delight? How did this one particular girl know what to do and execute it better than I ever could? It frightens me that R. Kelly didn't have to pursue these girls. Often times, they came to him with the full knowledge of how he got down. See, while I was too busy not being mad at R. Kelly, the babies were taking notes on what they needed to do to hook up with him. So I'm wondering what the hell we have done wrong in the child-rearing arena that has led us to this point? Just as much as he needs to be locked up and counseled, we need our daughters to get the help they need. We must go back to that place where a young girl's body was sacred and pure and her thoughts were of school and sports and maybe even the cute boy in her 3rd period class. We have to get back to the place where little girls were little girls and not babies dressed in grown woman's clothing learning grown woman lessons at ten years old. That's the place I'm from and it has sustained me well into my thirties so I can guarantee that it's a good place from which to be. Now I just need to know how we can get back there taking our babies with us...