a terrible thing to waste.

"Sub...ssss...I'm sorry."

"That's ok", says the interviewer.

"Eh...em...Sub...sss...sssh. I don't know how to say that...sorry."

"It's subsidy. Try the next one."

"Un..ssssah...I'm sorry..."

"Unsubsidized."

"Right. Eee...eeee...Eeeeqwideee."

The lady sitting next to me gives me a high eye brow with a slow nod of disapproval. Her time is being wasted. She shakes her head and as she looks down into her Coach bag she whispers gently, "Equity". He body language says, "Duh".

I stare into my tender palms trying to say the word in my head over and over with hopes of transmitting the sound to this sister across the room via telepathy but instead I simply reply, "Yeah" to the woman sitting next to me. My body language screaming, "Despair". Half of the class was eliminated from the interviewing process because they could not read a script effectively and could not pronounce a series of given words; words like "familiarity" and "pathetic".

"If you liked it then you shoulda' put a ring on it...if you liked it then you shoulda' put a ring on it..."

Is...that...her phone ringing? Did she really...

That's another blog.

Everyone in the room was a person of color except for the interviewer. Her hair was reddish-orange, she had a few wayward teeth, spoke with a soft tone, and on today, she seemed nice, the typical non threatening type sent in to display a certain amount of liberal authority without scaring us militant folk away. No, this wasn't JP Morgan Chase or the Stock Exchange but a simple "run of the mill" type job to get over the recessional hump, yet they had their expectations. Her voice didn't lack compassion, she was patient and sincere. Or was it indifference or for lack of a better word..."familiarity"? It almost reminded me of being back in grade school when the teacher would call on us tiny tots to read a sentence from the reading book...

"Jill and Sally sat under the tree and ate apples..." I would gloat and wait for my cousin to go next so we all could laugh. She would stumble over her words and the teacher would tell her...

"Sound it out." She would. Many students would refuse to read aloud but would rather act out and instead of reading, would be placed in a "time out" or would be made to sit in the corner. Only this time we were all adults and the corner wasn't some magical place where we could escape the world of all our fears and make funny faces for our classmates approval. This new corner is called real life and Ms.Celie ain't coming to save Ms.Sophia from bagging up those groceries for old Ms.Millie.

I have always loved to read. I can remember having a ton of books within arms reach ever since I was a small child. I lived in libraries and even used to sneak in the High School library where I read Maya Angelou's "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" for the first time wearing baggy jeans and Jordan gym shoes hoping no one would see me. I joined the Speech team and quit when I realized I was surrounded by a bunch of nerdy White folks that everyone picked on and never looked back. Was I like them? When I became an adult, I fell asleep on the floor in the solitude of my bedroom reading "The Price of the Ticket" because I was scared of going to bed out of fear that I had grasped some piece of heaven or some hidden puzzle to life that only comes before death and that tomorrow I would never wake up. True story. I lose myself in words, tales, stories and definition. So when I looked around the room as the script was passed from one person to the next, I couldn't help but wonder: Who dropped the literary ball in their lives?

When the interviewer called the selected few into the next room to dismiss them, I'm sure she didn't offer any after school classes or opportunities to enhance their reading skills. She probably didn't suggest a reading course at a community college because that would have been deemed innappropriate. No, we don't do that in today's society, the dog eat dog world of America. But instead, they were more than likely sent out the door with whatever was left of their integrity. Afterall, it's not their job to prepare these grown adults for the workforce.

My mother moved me around a lot throughout my childhood school years. I know what its like to get excited to see a fresh, new and unmarked textbook and know the difference between teachers who are giving their career their all versus those who are just babysitting a bunch of children who seem to be irritating the hell out of them. I remember being in my 3rd grade classroom in the city and having a teacher scream all day as children threw chairs and slipped out of the closet door to run the halls. If I hadn't known any difference before then, I would have thought it were the norm. I wrote a letter to the principle and was moved to another class which was so different, I thought I was in another school. I wonder if it was the fact that the teacher was better or if we thought she was better because she was White. "Why would she come to this neighborhood and teach our bad Black asses anyway...Right?" You've all seen the movies like "Dangerous Minds" with Michelle Pfeiffer. The great White hope comes into the down trodden inner city where there are these barbaric, sullen children waiting for them in the dark ages of "Urban" school systems.

But my question is....Why and How? Can we totally blame the school system for the blatant illiteracy and unwillingness to prepare the proper path leading our people to a realistic position in this world? Or do we blame the parents? It's really a tough call considering that illiteracy is most likely passed on through generations until someone is ready and willing to break the cycle. However, I understand how easy it is to just say...fuck it...

SugarFree. [Part 4]

“Aye man, aye…Vince! Ain’t that your girl over there?” Dante elbows Vincent in his ribs spilling vodka and cranberry juice on Vincent’s jeans. Vincent stands to his feet wiping the seat of his pants with napkins trying his best to conceal his anger.

“Damn man, why do you always have be so sloppy when you drink and who are you talking about?” Vincent sighs at his friend’s laughter and takes his seat. Dante is stomping his feet and pointing in the direction of the stage where Sugar is dancing and Vincent’s eyes follow.

“Your ass was in the bathroom and damn near missed the whole show dog. It was crazy. She got these big ass titties, she was twirling around on the pole…well, she wasn’t that good on the pole but, man she got down on the floor and did that thang, yes sir! Go ahead and get you a lap dance.” Dante slams his glass down and motions the waitress over to his table for another drink.

“You know that’s not what we’re here for and you need to slow down on those drinks.” Dante brushes him off and turns in his chair to give the waitress his order. Vincent watches Babygirl slide into a secluded room with one of the patrons.

“Sugar...”

Sugar makes her way down the steps leading away from the stage still trembling nervously with legs that are so weak that they may give way at any moment. Carrying her clothing in front of her, she held money she collected pressed against her chest, bills scatter to the ground beneath her and Chanel stops her in her tracks.

“Yeah?” Sugar replies harshly waiting for a rude remark.

Chanel bends over and grabs the loose bills and hands them to her and says, “You dropped something.”

Sugar looks puzzled and realizes there are countless dollar bills surrounding her on the floor. “Oh my god, thank you, thank you so much, I-“

Sugar takes the bills from her hand and gets down on her knees to pick up a few strays. Chanel squats down with her and cuts her off.

“You didn’t see it. Uh huh…Yeah well you better pay attention around here. Somebody coulda’ got you real quick slim. You weren’t half bad on stage, I was surprised.”

“Forreal? Well, when me and my sister were young, we used to go to a performing arts school and dance was our forte’. My sister turned out to be a better dancer than me though. She did ballet…”

Sugar stops herself from rambling on wishing she had kept her mouth closed. She didn’t understand why Chanel was being so nice to her all of a sudden. Sugar bundles her money onto her garter belt and ties it with the rubber band she was wearing on her wrist. The ladies stand to their feet.

“Check this out, a lot of the ladies usually get dressed in one of the rooms up here instead of walking down all of those long flights of stairs. See that room over there?” Chanel points to the dark room in the corner directly across from the stages entrance.

“Yeah.”

“You can step up in there and get dressed and come right back out and get that money girl. Don’t say I ain’t neva’ helped you out around here.” Chanel says smiling. “Folks try to give me a bad reputation.”

“Thank you Chanel.”

“No problem, Oh and by the way…I’m lovin’ those shoes.” Chanel glares down at her feet and turns on her heels and walks away.

Sugar makes her way for the room where private dances are normally held. As she pushes through the hanging beads the cool air swirls around her body and kisses her skin receiving her with comfort. Breaking through the darkness she holds her hands out until she feels a chair and a small leather couch. She places her shoes and dollar bills down in the chair next to her. As she stumbles around she balances herself with one hand against the wall to remove her shoes and hears movement in the distance. The room feels rather large. With her eyes squinted tightly, she notices a dim light around a corner. As she turns the corner, her eyes grow larger as her chest becomes heavy and goose bumps move up her arms.

“Who the hell is that?” says the startled man who accompanied Babygirl to the back room.

Sugar watches Babygirl’s head rotate and dance between the legs of the Asian man as its submerged deep into his lap. Her lips are covering his penis as she stops suddenly and slowly looks up to notice Sugar standing in front of them. Sugar turns quickly practically running through the room to gather her belongings and makes her way back onto the main floor of Club Moet. Still undressed and now barefoot, she notices the handsome gentleman from the parking lot staring at her and belts through the double doors, down the stairs and into the dressing room.

measuring success & self worth.

***Update***

Since I have been stalked, contacted by the "young chic" who was briefly mentioned in this blog and she wishes that I would not discuss her in my blogs anymore...I've decided to "scratch out" (LOL) anything that may pertain to her specifically... 7/2/2009....

So, here I was glancing at some of the gossip columns...(yeah I look at them from time to time) and not solely for the celebrity gossip but for the responses that people leave in regards to the choices and lifestyles that "famous" people lead. I find it so very interesting how people view others who are in a certain position, who have obtained a certain amount of wealth and status as if they are different than themselves. This theory that "having" something, whether it is a degree or some status quo makes someone immune to the reality of life is really becoming peculiar to me.

One of the topics of discussion was a Tyra Banks show. The episode was regarding interracial dating and one of the guests on her show was a Black woman explaining her distraught about being Black and rejected by men of different races.

Black Woman: “No one understands how hard it is for a black woman. I’m educated. I was always raised to be able to take care of myself because if a black man didn’t want me then I would have to still be able to raise my kids and take care of myself. But what hurts so much is that even after accomplishing all this, black men don’t want me, white men don’t want me, asian men don’t want me, latin men don’t want me and it is so discouraging because at the end of the day I hear these stereotypes [about black women]. I’m loud. I’m aggressive. I’m gonna beat my man up or whatever and that is not the case”

Okay, did you catch it? Two things bothered me in this statement in which I would like to expound on:

1. I was always raised to be able to take care of myself because if a black man didn’t want me then I would have to still be able to raise my kids and take care of myself.

So, she was taught that a Black woman should take care of herself because a Black man may not want her, and will leave her with children to raise by herself? Wow. Seems that her mother (or whoever raised her) had a little bit of anger and resentment towards Black men and instilled that into her own child. Reminds me of the Willie Lynch letter and the theory that Black women have to be strong and independent because Black men are weak, and uncommitted to the Black family by nature or by force.

I often wonder if White women, Asian women, & Latina women get together and have these same types of discussions. Do Asian women sit down and say, "Please my daughter, whatever you do, become successful because an Asian man will leave you". Do White women do this? There is no denying that the institution of marriage has a very high failure rate in America in general across all racial and ethnic lines. Are Black relationships the only ones that suffer?

There is something to be said about Black women who flat out "hate" themselves and Black men...because why else would a Black woman think that Black men will leave and walk out on their children is the norm and to be expected and accepted?

2. But what hurts so much is that even after accomplishing all this, black men don’t want me, white men don’t want me, asian men don’t want me, latin men don’t want me...

This is how I used to view relationships. I had to be something/someone enormously spectacular in order to be capable of receiving love from a man because everyone knows that if one doesn't have a certain amount of status, material things, education, etc. thenn they are not worthy or capable of having a meaningful relationship. Instead of being honest about how I was struggling in college, I became this great collegiate who was on her way to becoming a lawyer. Instead of admitting that I was a mom who still lived at home with my own mom, I was "letting my mom live with me", lol... This is the typical measurement of worth by the value of outside sources that coincides with a persons self esteem and view of themselves.

I remember getting into an argument with my ex's new girlfriend with her telling me how successful she was because she had just graduated from college and how I was just working a "job". I advised her of how she was simply an "educated fool" and how could I determine this as fact? Well, of course because of the man she's dating who also is only working a "job" and may I also add, has never been to college. It's perfectly plausible for her to love a man who doesn't meet the criteria and standards that she herself lives up to and places on other women. What's good for the goose apparently isn't good for the gander...

Someone wasn't wearing their thinking cap.

For some, simply being the "chosen one" is enough to boost self esteem and give a false sense of love.

Like I said, I once had the same attitude.

The law of attraction is very real. Instead of trying to attract a mate because of the "things" that you feel are "virtues" like education, money, cars, beauty, and wealth let's work on that self worth, self respect, kindness, and generosity that will attract a mate who is WORTH having in the first place. There is nothing wrong with being educated and making a way for yourself as long as you do not use this as some type of validation that places you in a position above all others.

So what are we really dealing with here Black women? Are we truly dealing with the fact that Black men don't want us or are we dealing with some issues that may be pertaining to us as individuals? Do we love us? Why is there so much value in the Black community on "having a man" and not just the right man, but any man? I remember dating my ex and going through the abuse and having a friend tell me in so many ways that I gave her hope that she could have the same thing. I would often tell her some of the details (of our seemingly picture perfect bond) but not all of them and she made me feel like I was complaining and making things out to be bigger than the were. Not until I finally left him (and she knew it all) did she realize that the problems I was having were warning signs that I should've taken in order to escape a long time ago.

This need to project a certain image of success prevented me from seeing the truth. The fact that my self esteem was low and the way I valued myself was based on things outside of me, what others thought and the fear of loneliness=failure.

If someone doesn't want you, your world doesn't have to end. Just find someone who does and for the right reasons.

How do you measure your self worth?

men love their sports.

get in the game.

Off the cuff & straight from the hip...

beware of the rant...these thoughts are not carefully put together in any particular logical sequence...


men are not as stupid and defenseless to women as many of them make themselves out to be...a lot of times we (women) have to deal with a road we paved to bad intentions by ignoring the windows of opportunity to tell the truth or observe it..."You were looking soooo good last night baby...I wanted to--" Is really him asking you whether or not the door is open to talk about sex, see what type of woman you are, (does she laugh it off *insecurity*, does she stand firm and tell you she's not that type of girl, or does she admit to having the same sexual feelings) and which direction he will go from here. This is the nature of a man's test. We often think they can't smell the desperation, seduction, loneliness, excitement, and bullshit...but they do...at least, not a man who is looking for Mrs.Right...Mr.Right will always reject Mrs.Anygoodmanwilldo...

Men are not easily controlled, but those who like to be, pretend to be. They tell you what they want you to know. I honestly believe any man who is "caught" doing anything, has already made it up in his mind that he doesn't care about getting "caught". He wants to be.

Where is all of this coming from you ask? While visiting a male friends myspace page...I had the pleasure of hearing the Jamie Fox song "I don't need it". Hooooooooooot...where have I been? Anyway, how many of us women have (at some point) thought that having a man meant using "tactics" and booby traps, instead of actually having something tangible to offer?

These past couple of weeks I had the opportunity to observe the actions of other men. I told myself, "Self...be observant...be still...listen...and play the game." Men have games of their own. If we as women can eliminate the ideal that all men are simply sex crazed and easily manipulated, we will understand the way they really think. Society tells us what (most) men like on a physical level, drills it into our heads to buy this product for our hair, another for our skin, another for beauty, another for weight loss...these products are made to enhance the way we feel about our image and hopefully the way others view us which in many cases...attracts people to us. I think that many of us spend too much time developing an outer image that will hopefully attract someone to us who is easily influenced/and or handicapped by the superficial.

I believe the man and his "chase" is symbolic of the work he will eventually put into the relationship, the art of keeping his woman and whether or not she can be easily captured by any man who glides along into her life.

So in short, let the brother chase you, take your time, and don't be an easy prey willing to be conquered...

flight lessons.

In walks a skinny brown skinned girl, 20 minutes late. Behind her the smell of trees and nag champa.

The blind counselor on campus stopped her earlier to inform her: "Young lady, you have a very confident walk."

"Thank you brother."

She strides into class, head held high and wrapped in fabric...

"I, Orishanla, am born of Olodummare, Uan Mariqueno. Olofi made me father and mother of the sky and of the earth. I was always sanctified and old. I was never able to be a child, to live the life of an ordinary woman...But I have my sixteen roads. I have humility. I am loving, vengeful, voluptuous, and simple. I am father, mother king, and queen. I am wise an serene. I am the mistress of destiny. (She laughs) And I am also nothing. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit...this white hair of mine reflects all mysteries. I have the power of all minds, and I bring retribution to those whose minds are evil. One day the clear eyes of providence will be mine and then I will watch over everyone--the good and the bad. I will give to each what he deserves, the ones who create and those who destroy. And also, and this will come soon, I will give to all the forgiveness I have never refused my own children." -Excerpt from Shango de Ima by Pepe Carril

"She is too flip. Don't you have any elders around you that you could mimic?" says Baba.

"No. They all passed on before I came and when I was young. I don't have nobody."


"Obatala's hands wouldn't be on her hips and waving all around in the sky."

Is this man crazy? I'm a poet. I memorized this thing in an hour or two and everyone else is in here reading their parts off of the paper. I was late to class and still on point! And I'm HIGH!!! They suck. I'm the shit...too "flip"...huh!

"Where is your research?" He glares at me.

I was completely ignorant of Yoruba culture and the Orishas at the time. During this moment in my life I was still clinging on to the little bit of Israelite spiritualism that I still believed in (which was fading fast). I picked the part of Obatala while other students played what I thought were sad, worthless and boring roles. For the first time, I actually enjoyed smoking weed. I used to "tweek" out and vow to never get high again and it worked well until I met someone I really liked getting high with and that took the edge off. (Being alone with my thoughts is enough to ascend and sit on the highest clouds-- didn't need anything to enhance them).

Baba Ifantunji wore white on a daily from head to toe. He was the instructor of my Acting class at Chicago State University in the Spring of 2004. I signed up because I thought..."easy A". I could never figure him out. After class I once asked him, "Baba what is your zodiac sign?" I'm sure he's a mean and strict Taurus...yeah...or no...a complicated and unmoved Capricorn, that's it! I laughed to myself. His response: "I am all things."

AAAAAArrrrrrrrgh!!!! He be' getting on my nerrrrrrrrrves! Big time.

"You are going to fail this class simply by being late and absent. I am taking points off."

"Dang Baba...I wish I hadn't picked this part, it's too hard. Can I change it?"

"No. It's too late now."

I wanted to go back and forth with him on the subject but somehow knew that "No meant No" with him...I moved on...

Baba had little instances in which he would offer us the chance to receive extra credit by attending plays on campus. I recognized some of the sisters in the plays not only from on campus but from some of the movements going on outside of school. Some of these sisters would bring Baba baskets of fruit and I thought they were tripping out on something. Beautiful sisters swinging their hips, singing tunes and telling folk tales to the children in attendance. It was live...but for some reason I thought Baba hated me so I didn't give the class all I had.

Inevitably, I failed and to much surprise and shock to others within the class. I was shocked seeing how shocked they were.

Over the years, I hung on to that piece of paper (and as I did my research)slowly thoughts crept into my mind about how I may have been disrespectful, how Obatala was having fun with me and whooping my ass at the same time, how Baba knew, and how he also knew how badly I was going to come crashing down off of my high horse and learn humility. How did I manage to pass several tests without a textbook while being absent and not pass the biggest one of them all?

thank you Baba.