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. 

Haagen Heaven

This may sound a bit sacrilegious but eating Haagen Dazs ice cream bars is a spiritual experience for me. When I need a hiatus from the hustle - mothering, working, cooking, cleaning, laundering, etc. I drive myself to the gas station, as unassuming as it may seem, and pick out an almond and milk chocolate bar. 

It's so rich and indulgent. I usually don't make the 1-mile drive back to my house. I crack open that box and inner wrapper before I'm even out of the QuickTrip parking lot.

Then, gingerly I bite into the milk chocolate shell. I must be delicate because a forceful bite might crumble the coating and corrupt the experience. This needs to be savored, slowly. With that said, it shouldn't be surprising that I'm still working on it when I pull into my driveway. I sit in the car, this is too euphoric to interrupt by going inside. There is a 2-year-old and a husband in there, who will either expect me to share, or disturb my peace by talking to me. 

I can wait. 

I sit in the car. 

Alone. 

Nibbling.

The windows are rolled down, the engine is off and the seat is reclined. I'm elated and the breeze wafts through the car. The family doesn't even know I'm home, because deliberately I haven't opened the garage door. This is my time. Honestly, I'm not home. I'm enjoying a little piece of heaven. 

Boyz II Men

I saw them in concert this weekend. Mike is missing so we didn't get the baritone breakdowns, i.e. "Girl I'm sorry, please forgive me for all the wrong I've done."

But it was still utterly delightful! Husband and I both enjoyed them so. It begs the question "What ever happened to Boyz II Men?" They are still amazing singers and their songs are exceptionally romantic and touching. Once, around about 2001, Vibe magazine did a feature article on the boyz and the long and short of it was, that people were over R&B - just done listening to the harmonies and crooning. It was (and has been for some time now) the year of Hip Hop, a lot of bass, cursing and percussion. Didn't Lil' Wayne just beat Mariah Carey to platinum record sales? Whitney abandoned us for more street-inspired activities. Even Janet is on the hip hop bandwagon.

It doesn't matter. People like me and the hundreds who were gathered under the stars listening to the Water Run Dry, will maintain our support and appreciation for songs about love and heartbreak. The boyz haven't come to the end of the road yet. 

Purple is beautiful

I saw The Color Purple stage play last night. Look what God has done! Alice Walker's novel confirmed for me at age seventeen that I wanted to be a writer. I remember sitting in my bedroom one summer day and reading the entire book. I don't remember leaving the space. For hours, I read about Celie, her sister Netty and Mister. It was disturbing, amazing and inspiring. 

Was it fiction? Naw! The story was too good, you can't make that stuff up! I ended the day spent and ironically refreshed. The women - black women - in the story endured physical and sexual abuse, colonization, racism, incest, infidelity and remained strong. 

It makes me wonder about all the untold stories of our grandmothers and great grandmothers and their mothers. I think about the ones who were just as talented, if not more talented, than we are today. The ones who were smart enough to be engineers or astronauts, but unfortunately not privileged enough to be born into a time period and society that acknowledged them at all. 

Purple really gets me thinking that the tensions and stresses I face pale in comparison. I've never been enslaved, beaten or forbidden to learn. No one forced me to marry and my marriage doesn't require me to submit my will, passions or self-respect. 

In much of Walker's writing she refers to black women as the mules of the world, the ones who everyone rides on. The ones who carry the weight of everything, the bulk of the work. I'm not sure I believe that philosophy whole heartedly applies to today's black woman.  

However, I do understand it. 

I'm vividly aware of how we rank in society, the stereotypes, the misconceptions the errant perceptions and the accurate ones. Some of us are marginalized and misguided. Others fall at the opposite end of the spectrum. We've been educated, enlightened - and as such, elevated to a new ranking. One that often garners respect. Look what God has done.

Oh sister!

I have a kid sister.
She may be 6' 2'' but she is still the youngest, the baby.
Yes, she is my little sister.

Since infancy, she's had a way about her - a determination and proclivity to be wreckless, wild and live with astonishing abandon. As a baby, they defined her refusal to be calm or quiet as cholic. Then, as a toddler she set into disregarding the constructs and tradition of bed time. Regularly, we would find Sister sprawled out on the sofa in the morning with juice boxes strewn about and Barney or KidSongs VHS cassettes jutting from the VCR.

Occasionally a family member making a 3 a.m. run to the restroom would spot her there on the sofa engrossed and delighting in children's programming. She was left uninterrupted. It was her way.


During the elementary years, her school attendance became an issue. Sister forfeited as many school days as possible. One night I found a letter on the dining room table. It read:

Please, don't wake me up!

I am not planning to go to school today!

I woke up earlier (around 4:12) feeling very sick! So leave me B! PLEASE!

I'll go tomorrow. 

This note may have worked if I wasn't home from college to discover her proposal. It was about midnight when I spotted the decree, and showed it to my mother. Sister was 10 at the time.

Mother mastered the art of parent-teacher negotiations and streamlined the process of completing science fair projects - whatever it took to get Sister to the next semester, grade level, milestone. There were moments of promise. Once, Sister did take up basketball as an extracurricular. But during practice she asked the coach to be excused to drink some water. That was the last he saw of Sister.

Sister is 19 now, she's graduated from high school but her determination has not diminished. It's currently focused on doing precisely what makes her feel good instead of anything that will make her better. To my knowledge, her days are spent sleeping and the nights are full of shenanigans, i.e street fights, shoplifting, parties. If you ask her what she's doing with herself she will accurately tell you "Nothing." I wonder if that will ever will change.

Bleeding Love

I love reality TV shows. They're addictive. You're probably hooked on at least one of them too. How can we avoid it? They're on every network. And we get multiple versions of the same concept. Each station has a dance show, a talent competition and some form of game show.

I'm more into the performance variety, myself. I got it bad too.

If someone is dancing or singing. I'm watching it. Fox is where I get my best fixes.

I'm so fascinated. I think it's because I have an inner performer. I really admire people who have the audacity to use their gifts to make a living. It's not very practical if you think about it. It's rather courageous. I mean, I'd be hard pressed to get anyone to pay me for singing and dancing...although I love to do both. I'm still trying to find some people to pay me to write!

American Idol, Season 7 totally derailed my Bible study attendance. It's shameful. I know it, but I repented and God forgives me. I don't care what you think. Right now I'm devoted to So You Think You Can Dance. Can you blame me? Look at these children!

This is it!

I tried this blogging thing 2 years ago. I made about 3 entries and stopped. I didn't know what to write about, why I was doing it or really who would care. But I have a plan this time. 

I will keep my stories here. 

And do I have stories, good stories about having a toddler, being a woman, a wife and working for a faith-based organization that promulgates beliefs very different from my own. In this organization, I spent time as a receptionist. That's how I came to know a man named Jesus, and I'm not being spiritual. There is a gentlemen who identifies himself as "Christ" and visits my employer regularly. I'll tell his story later. 

Oh yes. I have stories to tell and a variety of other things I just need to get out of my head. 

At some point, I plan to drive potential employers here to sample my writing voice, my style, flow and grammatically correct copy. Publications don't live by faith, they believe only in those things that can be seen. 

See me write.