What Have I Done????

OK -- today, I started day one of my two-week, no-carb fast-a-thon in an effort to lose 10 pounds before my girlfriend's wedding next month. Good news: I made it through the first day. Bad news: I am inadvertently ruining my daughter's self-esteem. My Hannah Montana, High School Musical-loving 6-year-old is having weight issues. At SIX! Apparently, there's a little girl at her school (as my daughter calls her 'the bully of all fat people') who teases her relentlessly about her toddler tummy --you know that pooch kids get that make them look like they belong on a Sally Struthers infomercial. (By the way, for all you tofu, granola eating moms out there -- her pediatrician assures me that she'll literally grow out of it as long as she remains an active 6-year-old.)

The problem is that now she's convinced that she needs to "lose weight." She walks around sucking in her tummy and proclaiming how much weight she's lost. It was cute at first, but tonight's conversation turned MY tummy. She told me that she wanted to be "skinny so she could be beautiful." And then she said she thought I'd be happy if she lost her tummy. Now mind you, I've never told her that she was anything but beautiful, but apparently I didn't have to ... my own actions said it all. I'm sure she's overheard me on the phone with girlfriends obsessing over having gained 10 pounds or complaining about "having nothing to wear." How could I look her in her face and tell her 'to hell with the school bullies of the world'...how could I tell her that she's beautiful and smart and wonderful and that no matter what she should be happy with who she is on the inside and out. That she should be comfortable --downright cozy--in her own skin. If I'm not?

No, this story does not end with me scarfing down a loaf of bread. There's nothing wrong with healthy eating. But it does force me to examine my motivations. I'm a smart, attractive, wonderful woman -- what gives anyone the right to tell me that I'm not? I've been on this "thing" for a few weeks now because I've been choosing men who are only attracted to a certain sized woman. But that's not my fault. It's not even theirs. It just IS. But that's not all there IS. And I think I just might be ready -- with my daughter's help -- to explore what the rest has to offer.

BFFs

I CAN'T WAIT for the next girls weekend out. Since I gave birth to my Maimee (who just started kindergarten --- I still can't believe it!), my friends and I have been getting together at least once a year for a little R&R. Just little trips ... Birmingham, Chatt, New Orleans, Florida beaches, and this fall will mark our second annual retreat to the mountains of East Tennessee. A toast to the fabulous, beautiful, talented women who keep me sane!

Killing Me Loudly

I didn't want to watch the ABC Primetime special on the AIDS epidemic in Black America. In fact, I kept the television turned to another channel and then turned it off altogether. It took a couple of people calling to rouse me and make me turn to the program. You see, I AM Black America -- stubborn, afraid, embarrassed, ignorant, confused ... and silent. Black America has essentially tried to mute a problem that is screaming at us from the neighborhoods, the schools and even the church pews. I was disappointed -- to say the least -- at how our "leaders" and by leaders I mean easily recognizable figures (the leaders have left the building) skirted the issue when asked why this killer has been allowed to roam among us for so long. And that's what it is -- a murderer (like the cops who killed Amadou Diallo or the boys in Texas who dragged James Byrd to his death). Where are the marches Rev. Al? Where are the riots? There are none --because in this case --there is no white man to blame. Just us. Selfish and insecure Black men who, let's face it, just want the best of both worlds. Booty and the bride. And clueless insecure Black women who would rather "chance it" than live the single life. And church leaders, teachers, parents and community "activists" who don't seem to have anything to say. But it's not ALL our fault. The mainstream media has been just as silent. They don't seem to pay attention to what's happening in their backyard until it show up on the front porch. So the question de jour is -- what are we gonna do about it now?

Survival of the Fittest Becomes a Reality (Show)

You will never believe this ... OK, maybe you will after Cube's insane realitydrama "Black and White," but the new season of Survivor will find contestants divided into teams by race. Yep -- race. There will be a Black team, a white team, Asian and Latino teams. I think the insanity of this idea is obvious and inherent, but my question de jour is : what happens if the white team wins?

While We're on Dating ...

Here's a question I posed to several female friends of varying ethnic backgrounds:

In today's technologically advanced society, it only reasons that the rules of dating must change slightly to keep pace. That said, are e-mails the equivalent of a phone call?

Fellas: feel free to weigh in ...

She's Playing Hard to Get ...

... and she won't admit that she likes me ... she liiikes me. Soul For Real, y'all. Fresh from 1995. What y'all know about "Candy Rain?"

OK, sorry, flashback. Here's the thing. I am horrible, HORRIBLE at playing hard to get. I lose every time. I am a Cancer, which means I am a hopeless romantic. If I'm into you -- I'm INTO you. And yes, sometimes it can be perceived as a bit clingy. But I promise I only have the best intentions (i.e. the "birthday box" incident)

Backstory: I was seeing this guy long distance and I really liked him. We laughed at the same jokes; we both listened to NPR in the mornings (I know, I'm a nerd); and our "quality time" was spent following the 2004 presidential election together. So after about six months, I thought we were at the point where nice little tokens of affection were perfectly acceptable. Wrong. He was a 30-something year old college student who quit his job and left everything to go back to school -- big turn on for a nerd like me. So for his birthday, I wanted to send him an old-fashioned college care package. He's a bowler, so I packed an electronic bowling game. He's a whiz at Black sports trivia, so I found a Black sports encyclopedia on e-bay and packed it. I also packed a sports trivia desk calendar, his favorite sports movie, The Jackie Robinson Story (which I found at Wallyworld in the $1 DVD bin!! -- don't sleep on Wallyworld's DVD collection)and some football and basketball-shaped chocolates. There was a theme! And I threw in some lip balm (for those chilly Illinois winters) and some homemade chocolate chip cookies for good measure. OK, maybe it was overkill for a dude who wasn't officially my boyfriend. But seriously y'all, I wasn't trying to "make a statement." That's just the kind of hokey, Cancer-like stuff I do. I make Easter baskets for people who are stuck working over the holiday. I send lasagna to coworkers who have had surgery. [Blame my parents!] But instead of saying, gee thanks for caring about my ungrateful ass, he decided to stop talking to me. Period.

Turns out ... my mistake was being too nice, too available, too caring and much, much too considerate. Turns out, men really do want women who (in the beginning) treat them like shit. Turns out ... if you don't call a man for three weeks, he'll end up calling you every day for a month (until day 31, when you pick up the phone and call him, then he's MIA again).

I'm hard-headed and it took me a while to learn, but I'm getting there. This guy I'm bonkers about ended up calling me out of the blue after a three week hiatus. Fighting the urge to e-mail or call someone whose very voice puts me in a calmer mood was brutal. But my girls and my diminishing pride got me through it. HOWEVER, I must add that I'm not at all happy about my confirmation. I mean, why does it have to be this way? Why can't a man be happy that a nice, smart, attractive woman wants to talk to him at all? Why does he feel like he's giving up control (of his life, basically) if he doesn't get to set all the boundaries of the courtship? And all you religious zealots, don't give me that "that's how Adam pursued Eve" mess. Because Adam didn't pursue Eve. God put Adam to sleep and when he woke up, Eve was there. Actually, in a perfect world, that how ALL relationships would start. Ha!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

That's all anybody wants. That's what we want at work; from our kids and our spouses. That's what we're looking for in the hood, on the streets ... with our music and our art. And I believe that's all John Mark Karr, the alleged killer of JonBenet Ramsey wants -- a little respect. Now I'm not saying that if this man killed that little girl, that he shouldn't fry like chicken at a church picnic. But I don't believe he did it. There, I said it. I think he's bullshitting everybody (and wasting the time, energy and money that should be devoted to finding the real killer) and I think he's making these phony confessions to get a little attention and dare say I -- a little respect. What lengths will we as humans go to gain one of the most basic of needs? And why is this not one of our inalienable rights? Why is respect always referred to as something "earned" but not always deserved? Why do you have to fight to get respect? And why is it usually that the very things we do to gain respect (gang bangin', pimpin', etc.) end up being the things that cost us that respect? Just some things to ponder.

Where's Radio Raheem When You Need Him?

OK, so I just got back from Indy -- unfortunately for a business meeting and not the NABJ conference. But I drove up and back in the same day -- a total of 10 hours with nothing but the radio to keep me awake ... and entertained. Maybe I'm just exhausted. Maybe I'm disillusioned. Maybe I'm old school or just plain old. Maybe I'm an XM snob. Whatever the case, I am appalled ... appalled I say by how little recording artists, record executives and radio advertisers think of us, the Black consumer. Station after station -- song after song, all I heard was commentary on the Black female anatomy. From T-Pain (who really does bring this "T" pain) and his U and Dat mess (tryin to get to you and dat dooty) to Chamillionnaire's Grown and Sexy ...(you looked better from behind??????) And these were the mild songs. I know sex sells and I know sex is natural, a part of life, etc. But seriously, is that all we know? The media tells us we're one-track-minded. Last week it was all about the bling. This week, it's all about the booty. What will they decide for us next? We need to start taking back control of our art, our media and our minds. I'm going to bed, y'all.

Woman Thou Art ... Noosed?

This has been a pretty rough couple of weeks for Black women. First Arab newspapers ran a cartoon depicting Condoleeza Rice as pregnant with a monkey. Yes, a monkey. Then MTV2 decides they want to premier a cartoon-based series that "pokes fun" at the lavish lives of celebrities. Some of the satire includes a cartoon Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown living in a dumpster and mistaking dogs for their kids. But the cartoon that has put the network in the news (with the network's Black and female president taking most of the heat) is the episode during which a "cartoon" Snoop Dogg enters an establishment with his two ... well, bitches. Two women being led on dog collars and walking on all fours. The kicker is when one of the dog-women defecates on the floor of the establishment. I know ... gasp followed by head shaking following by a collective sigh. But ladies and gentlemen, the real tragedy of these depictions is that on the premier episode of VH1's Flava of Love 2, a live and in living color Black woman defecates on herself on national television. That sort of blew our whole "why would you depict such an atrocious act even in a cartoon" argument right out the water. Do we even have an argument anymore when little white boys are discussing the technical merits of Nelly's "Tip Drill" video and when we're hard-pressed to find a song on urban radio (even the love songs) that does not describe in full detail the ins and outs of the female anatomy and how and when we like to shake, pop, dip, etc. said anatomy?
So here's the questions de jour: 1) Why do people think subjects are less offensive if they're portrayed in a cartoon? 2)Are Black women (like Flava's doo-doo princess)reacting to the negative images of Black women in the media OR is the media simply reacting to and reporting the negative actions of Black women? Makes you say, hmmmm.

Check Out My Profile ...

Main Entry: profiling
Function: noun
: the act or process of extrapolating information about a person based on known traits or tendencies ; specifically : the act of suspecting or targeting a person on the basis of observed characteristics or behavior

The other day, I was listening to a CNN panel discussion on the new security tactics being employed by the airports given the recent thwarted terrorist attacks and how they might unfairly target people of Middle Eastern descent. One of the panelists – a former U.S. Air Marshall – was criticizing these tactics, saying that they are not strong enough. He says that there should be more screening (i.e. profiling) based on ethnicity and national origin instead of less. His reasoning is “logical”: most of the terrorist plots and attacks, he says, are carried out by people of a certain ethnicity or background. But then again … this doesn’t take into account the Richard Reids or Timothy McVeighs of the world, of which there are many.

Now I don’t even attempt to equate my experience with that of those victimized by that type of thinking, but I’m pretty sure I had my own “profiling moment” at the mall today. I went to JC Penny on my lunch break to return two packs of girls underwear – price tag: $10.56. I know that “returns” can be a sketchy business, so I made sure all my bases were covered. Items to be returned unopened. Check. Original sales receipt with said items clearly marked. Check. Original bag sales items came in. Check. So I present all my “items” to the saleswoman. She checks the merchandise, checks the receipt. Checks the merchandise again. Then she scans the merchandise and scans the receipt. They match. Check. Then even though by scanning the receipt, the money automatically is refunded back to the card I used to charge the purchase, she asks to see the card – to make sure the numbers match. No problem. They do. Check. Then she asks to see my ID. A bit overkill, but not unusual. But what gets me is she looks back and forth from the card to the ID for a full 25 seconds! I counted. And if you’re doubting how long 25 seconds is in the world of retail, try counting to 25, inserting “Mississippi” between numbers. Go ahead, try it. Yep, THAT long, y’all.

But here’s the twist … the saleswoman was a young Black woman. So here’s my questions du jour: what’s the difference between prudence and profiling AND how do you know anymore if you’re being profiled?