There is just something about him...

Living in Atlanta has short circuited my Gay-dar. When I moved here the gay population was so large and so flamboyant that I would need to be blindfolded to miss it. Then the Down Low lifestyle was revealed to mainstream media leaving me paranoid about every man I saw - from Joe the Plumer on up to celebrity icons. I started to believe all men were switch hitters.

(I think it's a good time to mention that it makes me no never mind what anyone's sexual preference is. I'll leave it up to our maker to judge that matter. Gay or straight, He made us all. )

But as I was saying, my over exposure followed by acute paranoia led to a sudden desensitization. It's to the point now that I have no awareness. Unless a man is over the top with his halter and eyeliner, I seem to miss the subtle clues. And here is why it matters.

I currently have a crush on a gay guy.

I am a married woman, but I do notice a good looking man. So this crush thing isn't going anywhere. But from time to time when a member of the opposite sex, dresses well, speaks well, smells nice and has a "mysterious" air about himself, I tend to notice. I admire those traits. So when my coworkers pointed out the man bag, immaculately groomed hair, and lavender polo being sported by my new found crush, I was left wondering once again: Why are so many gay men such good catches?

Random Acts of Kindness

Recently, I've been buying thank you cards. There was no particular reason other than I liked the cards, I find them on clearance and I believe in keeping some handy. There is nothing like a tangible expression of appreciation.

I think it's a lost art. Most of the time we tell a person "thanks" or send texts and emails, but a card is more lasting and permanent. While on jaunts to this store or that one, I began collecting the drastically marked down and overlooked cards.

I decided that I would personally revive the art of giving thanks and take the time to acknowledge the good deeds that come my way. The next time I had something to be thankful for, I'd be ready.

Then it happened. As if the universe was responding to my challenge, I was showered with random acts of kindness.

Act I
A coworker with a daughter just 6 months older than my own brings in two bags full of gently used hand me downs. These wintery items were right on time, since my toddler was rapidly outgrowing her 2Ts. The 3Ts she passed along are the perfect fit for her legs and this blustery season.

Act II
On Halloween my daughter's daycare had a Fall Festival. But my husband didn't drop her off early enough to enjoy the morning's outdoor activities i.e. bounce house, popcorn, cotton candy. By the time she got to class it was lunch time followed by naptime. Unfortunately, the parents assigned to bring party items neglected to do so. I was pained to think she would have no party activity, especially since she'd been anticipating it for two weeks. I left work, went to Wally World and picked up juice boxes, cupcakes, cookies and chips for their afternoon. Then Mimi the Bee, her honorary godmother ordered Pizza Hut and sent it to my baby's class. She saved the day and turned the 2A class into party central.

Act III
A coworker and I often speak about what we want to be when we grow up. We talk about dreams deferred or partially developed. I told Coworker about an article I read that explained the benefits of writing a bucket list or those things you wish to accomplish before death. Then out of the blue a package arrived at my home. It was the most thoughtful and appropriate gift I've received in a while. It was a Permission to Dream Journal complete with prompts and motivational quotes to help me outline my wildest dreams and plan out more practical goals. It's perfect.

Those thank you cards were put to good use.

Morning Glory

I'm developing a new habit. It's an addiction of sorts. And believe me, I never thought I would fall prey to this kind of activity, but it is so refreshing and exhilarating that I find myself wondering how I stayed away from it for so long.

I'm exercising!

It's not that I've never worked out before. In fact, I've been taking 30-minute walks on a daily basis since the spring. But now...now I'm getting up before the sun to head to a gym and do an hour of the unthinkable. I'm spinning. Let me explain. These spin classes are the most excruciating form of cardio that's been dreamed up to date. This is all in my opinion of course.

To spin, you perch on the narrow and rigid seat of a stationery bicycle and, then you spin the wheel by peddling ferociously. The best part is increasing the tension of the wheel at intervals dictated by the instructor. Turning that wheel to the right makes it more and more difficult to push those pedals in smooth rotations. For fun, the instructor asks you to simultaneously stand and pedal or jump up and down while pedaling. It's an adventure every time, these sixty minutes of sweat.

The most surprising part is how much I enjoy the burn. But more than that I think it's the awareness of becoming fully awake in my body, mind and spirit before starting my day. It's dark when I wake up and dark when I descend into the train station to make my trip to the gym. It's cold and the world is barely turning. The greater population is yawning as I climb out of the station and head for the athletic club. There is never more than a handful of participants in the class, but we're there waking up. Honoring our temples. And it feels precisely like worship when we dismount the bikes and get in a full body stretch. This is the way to start the day. My muscles are elated when I hit the showers and when I head back out toward the train, the sun salutes me and my heart smiles. I feel blessed. I am alive.

M.E.E.T.I.N.G.

Most Egregious Exercise Toward Inefficiency Now Going.

I loathe going to meetings. I sit there thinking of more effective ways my minutes could be used. Then I start giving it to my legal pad. The others may think I'm writing copious notes or they may be too busy fabricating text themselves to notice. I make up grocery lists, to-do lists, budgets,word activities, write short stories and draw geometric images. Then I check the clock, make a comment and dig into writing again. Sometimes I even try to transcribe the dialogue in the room.

Meetings are such a waste of time. By the end, nothing has been accomplished, resolved or discovered. Why bother?

Who's singing that anyway?

Wayne Brady released an album. It's called "A Long Time Coming" I saw it with my own eyes on the racks at Target. I just let out a little puff and kept it moving. I had no faith in the man's ability to produce an entire album about anything anyone could relate to. He's a comedian. I know he has a nice lil voice but I've never heard him sing for real, for real.

On that show Whose Line is it Anyway, he would have the best made up songs and on Don't Forget the Lyrics he's proved he can carry a tune. But those shows are mainstream America. It's slap stick, cornball activity.

My mom is more courageous. She took a chance, went ahead and bought the cd. After listening to it she said it was really nice. She's in her fifties, it's okay for her to like him. But what would be my excuse? I wouldn't be so easily persuaded. But then, I heard someone call in to a radio show giving Wayne some really positive feedback. Humph!

I couldn't take it anymore I had to know. I looked him up on on YouTube. And amidst all the lame, corny sketches of him doing improv comedy I found some songs. I am pleasantly surprised. I still won't buy it but maybe I'll copy my mom's into my iTunes.

Today could be the deadline. Don't miss it.

Good question, but...

she's not gonna answer it. During the vice presidential debate Sarah Palin made it clear that she was not going to follow the rules. Palin refused to answer a few questions and chose instead to "redirect" the dialogue to unrelated topics. Like when she was asked about a mortgage bill and she decided to talk about energy. But I like her swagger. I think I'm going to apply that strategy in my own life.

The next time my supervisor asks me to complete a project I'm going to tell her. "You may not like what I have to say, but no. I'm not going to do that. Now let me tell you about my 8th grade dance. Like many American women, I'm sure you remember your first dance as well"

Ladies Night

Partying like it's 1999!
And I'm not just saying that. I'm a bonafide member of the c/o '99. That's the year I graduated from high school and entered the world of higher education, freedom, parties and well...liberating experiences. I had a flashback to those good times this weekend at the Classic*. My alma mater, FAMU, represented well. The band and the team both left TSU feeling like a step child.
Then, I got my party on with some familiar faces. It was fabulous and I was fierce thanks to my girls who were on makeup and hair detail. We had an authentic ladies' night and there is nothing else like it.

[Classic-when rival black colleges meet on an annual basis to pit football teams and marching bands against each other. These events bring out students and alumni alike to reconnect, reminisce and celebrate. lol]

Jazmine Sullivan

I have a bit of an obsession at the moment. This young lady named Jazmine has hit the music scene with a fury. No! That's an understatement. This singer/song writer just bust the windows out with some hard hitting and universally relatable truths.

And her smoky smooth voice really gets the message under your skin. I get goose bumps when listening to the track "In Love with Another Man." I feel like I'm eavesdropping on a conversation that I wish I'd had the courage to have at some point in my life. She's so gut wrenchingly honest.

With "Lions, Tigers and Bears" it feels like she picked fears right out of our collective and deepest thoughts. The message is much deeper than the title may suggest. "I'm not scared of Lions and Tigers and Bears, but I'm scared of loving you....why do we love love, when love seems to hate us?"

But the lyrics are just amplified by the rich and haunting melodies and that soulful voice. That voice! This is one for the ages, I'm sure we'll be crying, drinking, and (fill in the blank) to Jazmine for some time to come.

Superwoman gets a sidekick

I saw Alicia Keys in concert back in the spring. The tickets were free. Otherwise, I wouldn't have attended. It's not that I don't like Alicia Keys, she's just someone I'd never felt compelled to see in person. I like most of her songs that I hear on mainstream radio and that's as far as it goes.

Well, that's how far it went, until that night in Philips Arena. That's when I became a fan. There is something so real about her, so authentic. And hearing her describe her songs and give us explanations behind the lyrics and inspirations helped me really see that. One song in particular I'd heard on the radio but it went right over my head. I thought it was a bit cliche Superwoman. We've heard that one before, big whoop. The melody didn't grab me, nor did her vocals. It was nice, but that was about it.

Then, on May 21 while impressing me with an awesomely charismatic show, she started talking about something every woman can relate to. The blues. She listed the usual remedies - shopping, calling a girlfriend, partying. But she expressed how one day she felt so blue that none of the above consoled her. So she decided to write some words of encouragement for herself and realized those words could be motivational for all women in all capacities of life: motherhood, matrimony, professionalism, activism...

That song, "Superwoman" has been my anthem ever since. Because I feel tired most days from working 8 hours at the office, then coming home to work another 4 to 6 of overtime with my toddler, in my kitchen, the bedroom, on my laptop, on the phone. It's exhausting, but most women maintain similar schedules.

I, too, am a super woman. But thankfully I'm getting a sidekick, a nanny/sitter, to pick up the slack on a regular basis so that I can devote just a little more time to being myself, writing, working on freelance projects and studying design, which will ultimately earn me a few more titles. And that's just, well.. super!

Petroleum Problem

There is a gas shortage in the metro-Atlanta area and it's pretty frightening. I am nervous, uneasy and not altogether confident about this situation. And it's not the risk of being trapped at home unable to commute. It's the thought of being attacked by other consumers in mass hysteria.

Hurricane Ike hit Texas two weeks ago. At the time, I refused to buy gas because I felt stations were price gouging. It took a week for it to catch up to me when my gas light came on this weekend. The prices were still too high, but I had to submit. 

To my chagrin my trusty BP was sold out, the Shell down the street was also out and the Chevron, all the Mom & Pops...

The QT up ahead was my last hope. As I approached, I saw that not only was gas available, but that there were about 100 or more cars also in need. Horns were blaring, curse words and fists were flying in the air. I was nervous. I in no way intended to get attacked over some unleaded.

I took a deep breath and pulled in. My car is extremely compact so I had no trouble squeezing up behind a Chevy Malibu to wait my turn. Other cars were creating a bottle neck in an attempt to circle the other fully-occupied pumps. I waited in the madness. 

When my turn arrived I got out and patiently pumped my gas. Then one crafty lady backed her bumper right up to mine. She was waiting her turn, then she did the unthinkable and left her car unattended to enter the station. 

Did I mention my car is compact? It was full before she reached the doors! I imagined the maniacs ramming her car out of the way or forming a mob to lift and toss that emerald green Corolla. So I moved as slowly as possible, taking my time to put the pump back, pull out my receipt and recap my tank. She reappeared to ask me if I was finished. I told her yes and she made the unbelievable decision to reenter the station. 

I'd had enough!  The horns were blowing incessantly, growing to a crescendo. I decided it was her or me and got back inside my car. Thankfully, for the sake of her little Toyota, she returned as I turned on the engine and drove safely away. I hope the shortage ends soon, my nerves can't handle much more of this.  

Sol-Angel and the Hadley Street Dreams

 I Decided to take a chance and spend the 9.99 at Target on the sophomore album from Beyonce's lil sister. After seeing her perform the single on Fashion Rocks last week, I couldn't stop singing the tune. It's so retro, which is just right for me. 

I am delighted to have discovered that Solange stands far apart from her iconic big sister.  And she declares that point right away in the opening interlude. "I'm not her and never will be....Let my starlight shine on it's own. I'm no sister. I'm just my God-given name." 

 Solange departs down a more nostalgic path full of Motown-inspired rhythms. The track "Ode to Marvin" is a clear tribute to Marvin Gaye's classic "What's Going On" in topic and tune. And the bulk of the tracks are fueled by real instruments instead of synthesizers and sound machines used by many artists today.

Her lyrics are edgy and her voice is a bit raw, but in a good way. It's a refreshing redux of the funkadelic past. I visualize people roller skating around a rink in bell bottoms to this one. 

Recuperating and it feels so good

What day is it anyway? I missed a week's worth of activity. I was hit, stricken, downtrodden and  blind sided. The culprit is yet unidentified. However, the prime suspect is Strep throat. Labor Day weekend I had a fun-filled Saturday full of shopping, family, friends and a kids' party. I even bounced around in a moon walk. So the exhaustion I felt by night fall seemed reasonable. 

Then, some time down in the evening, as I sat enjoying a comedy show with friends, the jokes stopped being funny. The food was excruciatingly painful to consume and I was freezing. Wasn't anybody else cold? Just like that - I was feverish and slightly delirious. I spent the next 48 hours in bed - too weak to move. 

On Monday, while the country was observing a national holiday, eating barbecue, relaxing and such. I longed for the return to business as usual. I was waiting for the blasted holiday to pass so I could go see a doctor. 

As soon as the sun rose, I hit Park Central Family Practice. Then, I waited for a diagnosis and a cure, some relief. After some poking, x-rays and prodding, Dr. Manlove-Simmons surmised I have strep and prescribed some antibiotics. I'm on the road to recovery.

 

I'm in love

Annointed, Chosen, Destined - he's all of the above. Call it what you want, this man was made to bring this change, at this time, to this country. I couldn't imagine the United States getting this wrong or watching it be stolen or taken away. 

I just watched his acceptance speech and I'm amazed, energized and elated. There is something fascinating about watching history in the making. It's a feeling that for the rest of my life, I will remember this. What I was doing and where I was the moment this country - that once considered Blacks to be property - elected a Black man as the candidate of a major political party. 

It's like Martin Luther King Jr. said in his I Have a Dream speech: "America has written a promissory note that has come back marked insufficient funds." For that reason, 45 years ago, Americans marched to cash in that bad check and we may have received some of the funds but clearly there was still a balance remaining to be satisfied. 

Obama is the reconciler of that account. What I love the most is that he is so much like all of us. He truly represents the majority of Americans and is not ashamed to say so. 

So I pray for Obama lately more than I pray for myself. I'm proud of my country lately, more than I've been since 9-11 and I am hopeful and ready for Change. 

 

Whoa! What happened to JoJo?

In case you missed it. K-ci and JoJo of Jodeci fame are apparently on drugs. Why are celebrities so prone to addictions? It's making me reconsider auditioning for American Idol, if I make it to Hollywood I may never come back. I may end up strung out on the 101, telling Diane Sawyer, "crack is whack," or just whacking my head on the stage in the middle of a performance.

That's what happens to JoJo in this YouTube video. He just falls out. It's shocking, yet hilarious. This is sad. But I can't stop laughing at it. Maybe I'm laughing because of the absurdity. It's almost like something comedians would do in a parody or some slap stick physical comedy movie. 

Poor JoJo. He always came off as the grounded, "good" brother. Maybe their former producers will step in and do an intervention. Clive is getting Whitney back on track. I hope someone gets to these brothers before it's too late. 

Watch it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RVjLN8mFYTI

Kenmore I need you!

Somethings not right. I don't know if it's the full moon or weather conditions, but my oven stopped working. I am borderline distraught. The range still works on my gas stove, but that oven is out of order. 

Where will I roast all these vegetables I just bought from the market? How will I bake my signature crab dip for this weekend's get together? Who should I even call to fix this problem?

Of course, I'm going the do-it-yourself route first.  According to the internet boards, this could be a case of an extinguished pilot light. Four years and now the pilot wants to go out! I may be able to climb under there somewhere and reset it. But I'm deathly afraid of having the gas line get ruptured and blow up in my face. If anyone is out there just pray for me, and my Kenmore. But most of all pray for my husband that he is not injured while following my web-based instructions.  

I just want to cook. 

Toe-mented

My husband has a habit of kicking me right in the shins while we're in bed. He'll turn to face me and curl his body into a semi-fetal position then swing his legs out until his feet dead end on my shins. 

Ouch! 

This time, I'm actually cut. His talons broke the skin and I have a wound. I had to spring from bed,  interrupting my restful state, to douse it with peroxide and apply Neosporin. And here I sit hours later with it stinging like a paper cut.

He's taking the denial stance saying things like, "My nails aren't even that long ...I just trimmed them...I don't know how you got cut" I'll tell you how. You sliced me with your overgrown keratin. I know you're reading this, Husband. 

Get the clippers!

Walkin' it out

I'm at it again. Walking the streets of Midtown in my work clothes and sneakers. Whatever! 

I don't care what you think. I even do squats and crunch my side obliques at the stop lights. 

When I have a six pack and buns of steel, we'll see if I still look "crazy"

I'll admit. I used to judge.  I'd think, "No way! What is she doing?" whenever I saw a woman power walking in the middle of the day in her good clothes. But now I am so down for the cause - with the exception of walking in my work clothes. I bring a change. 

Early in the spring, the ladies in my department made a pact - no pregnancies required! We agreed to get focused about getting fit. That meant no one would bring in Krispy Kreme or bags of chocolate for the candy dish. We were all unhappy with our physiques. It was time to act.

Accountability ensued. So now, when someone expresses a desire to eat Dunkin Donuts we lovingly discourage her. And, together, we walk about 1-mile each day. It's group mentality at its finest. 

In the food court: "Are you sure you want fries with that?"

In the break room: "You know coffee isn't fattening until you add all that cream and sugar"

After some time off: "Did you work out this weekend?"

Before a walk: "That's no excuse! I have extra socks."

Vacation Mojo

My office mate and coworker is eagerly anticipating her vacation. It's so obvious, there she is working like a cyclone to empty every inbox. Files that have been sitting on the shelf for nearly a year have disappeared. She even brought in a Dustbuster!

Coworker over there is experiencing something I survived just one week ago. It's Vacation Mojo - the fury and fervor we all find for our work just before we embark on an anticipated absence. We're prompted to tie up loose ends and address everything that's urgent and outstanding. 

No one wants to risk being found out when they're away. It would be horrifying for our bosses to need something done and realize you haven't done it. Because, inevitably the minute you're out the door and out of touch, someone will need something from your desk. Then, they'll be riffling through your stuff and, if necessary, IT will be called in to unlock your desktop. God forbid! 

They may open your internet browser and see your favorites menu: Amazon, YouTube, Yahoo. The company intranet? That's not even in your history. 

So my friends, it's in our best interests to have everything in order. And all deadlines met because you won't be around to defend yourself if they're not.

If your desk is a mess and crumbs are sprinkled between the QWERTYUIOP of your keyboard, anyone who stops by will notice how you squander company property. You won't be there as a distraction, so they'll see your disregard in all it's glory. 

That is why we all catch a case of Vacation Mojo before departing for an absence. That's why Coworker over there is on her knees with that DustBuster. 

Hey Mister

There was a man in the food court today who was clearly smitten. As I approached, he stood there dumbfounded with a smile he couldn't contain and offered me his place in line. 

I declined. I needed time to figure out if my $5 would be enough to cover my lunch. I calculated then confirmed with one of the regulars. She assured me it would be $4.60. Good, now I can order something with confidence. But there he stood. I could see him in my peripheral, watching me and stalling his transaction. It's okay. I get it. I'm jazzy today. 

I did just remix my look. I'd started to hate my hair. It just hung there mocking me, looking so plain and vacillating between medium and short lengths. I'd cut it from shoulder length into a long bob around Christmas. And true to it's name, it kept bobbing up and down a couple of inches every six weeks. I'd get it trimmed and six weeks later need to trim it again. 

Enough! I told my stylist to just kick it up a notch. Then BAM! -  just like Emeril, she chopped that hair away from my head like she was trimming fat from a ribeye. Now, the back of my neck can breathe. It feels grreat and I'm so liberated. 

I'm more attractive, thinner and my posture has improved. Isn't that amazing? I have more swagger in my strut and a brighter twinkle in my eye. I feel good, so that makes me look better. It's true. 

Don't believe me?

Ask the man in the food court who waited lingering over the condiments, just so he could smile at me again and offer his assistance. But it's okay. I can get my own napkins. You just keep standing there looking as I walk away. I didn't even look back.