Growing Pains

I grew up in East Chicago, IN, a small town outside of Chicago. The area I was raised in, Calumet, was a tight-knit community.  A lot of us were related to each other by blood or baby mama. Many had roots originating in the South. Most, to my knowledge, coming from Alabama and Georgia. 

Back then, as was customary during that time, the community was active in the kids' lives. I remember getting in trouble and my mother hearing about it from two or three people before she made it home. Stories about neighbors whipping each other's kids are common. 

That era began to die out as I was a teenager. In came new age where kids were talking back to adults without any fear of consequences. I even got bit by the bug in high school. 

I tried to get a friend out of class and the teacher slammed (or shut the door harder than I like) the door on me. As the door was closing, I called her a bitch. The teacher told the Dean or someone and I was called into an interrogation. After lying for what seemed like hours, I finally admitted to it and got suspension AND detention. My uncle was watching me while my mother was on a trip. I got in trouble by him and then had to wait in suspense for my mom. When she came home, I got a good old fashioned...well let's just say I regretted it. 

My treatment of the teacher was not an isolated incident. At that time, disrespect for peers and authority was on the rise. But, we knew exactly who to test, especially since corporal punishment was still allowed. The teacher I called a bitch was a white woman. Had it been one of the black teachers or a few select white ones, the outcome would've been different. I don't even know if I'd have made it to the office unscathed by words or wood (paddle).  

Today, twenty years later, not only can the teacher not touch kids, neither can the neighbors or parents. This may be a benefit since there's a thin line between discipline and abuse. People can hardly communicate without feelings being hurt. People think they have free reign over what they can say and do to each other. Adults don't always know how to reach the kids. Kids don't always want to be reached. Both sometimes repel others by their words and action. 

Who's minding the store? Who's making sure that the produce is fresh and the product protected? That core values are upheld while remaining current with trends? How can balance between the fluid roles of teacher and student be achieved?

I don't know the answers.  But one thing I know for sure is I'm glad social media didn't exist when I was navigating through adolescence and early adulthood! 

Maybe I Deserve

Do you ever think about what you deserve? If you do, you likely think about  deserving happiness, a raise, a treat, etc. Good/positive things. But, do you ever think about those things that you should have experienced and were spared from? 

Every time I talk to someone, I deserve to be treated rudely. Not because I'm a rude person...now. However, once upon a time, rudeness and defensiveness were my default setting...and it still lingers if I'm not careful. 

I deserve to be judged for how I look, talk, act because I've judged people by those things. I deserve to have my belongings stolen, my property damaged, my heart broken, my feelings hurt, to be laughed at, to be made to feel stupid or dumb, lots of things that I've done to people where payback wouldn't be a surprise. 

I practice seeing the good in all things so that whether positive or negative things come my way, I can usually see the silver lining. If something bad happens, I try not to get upset. It usually pales in comparison to the havoc I've wreaked and is still more bearable than what I likely deserve (for example, I deserve a speeding ticket everyday but rarely get them). When good comes into my life, I appreciate it because things could be a lot worse, as it is indeed a lot worse for many people. 

*You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both and there you have the facts of life.*

Honey Shots

Last week my son was sick. This morning my throat is scratchy and I hardly ever get sick. Today will be a day of working from bed downing honey shots (spoonful of honey sprinkled with cinnamon followed by a slice of lemon). And drinking tea with the above ingredients and apple cider vinegar. 

What home remedies do you use for illnesses? We stay stocked with ACV and each drink it first thing in the morning with a glass of water. 

We Likes to Party

I enjoy being around people (at times), but I have an awesome time alone! I didn't always like being by myself. Early in my career I did a lot of solo traveling and had to get used to alone time. 

On the company dime, I began treating myself to nice dinners. At first, I kept a barrier up. It began with books or magazines and moved to cellphones when they became popular. 

No more. In public, I'm just fine sitting alone at a bar or restaurant table and enjoying my company. In the car, we sing. At home, we dance, watch TV or read. We likes to party with each other. 

One should not be surprised to see us laughing at some goofy thing we did. There are tons of inside jokes shared between us. We travel well together and rarely get into arguments. 

I urge you to get to know you. That may become the best thing to you since sliced bread! 

The Fabulous Fabulous

If I tried to list all the blessings in my life I'd run out of unlimited, weekend AND mobile-to-mobile minutes. My life is not free of complaint-worthy things. I just choose not to worry about them...for too long, anyway. 

I have an absolutely FABULOUS Husband. We don't always see eye to eye. Sometimes it feels like we're not only on different pages, but in different books. But in the end and through it all, we have each other's backs (fronts and sides).  We have common goals for our relationship and family. We are each other's very best friend and confidante. We fall sleep and wake up touching some part of the other. We wake up with a kiss, leave the house with a kiss, leave the table in a restaurant to go to the bathroom with a kiss and a returning kiss awaits after each separation. We are each other's "person," a la Grey's Anatomy. 

Our son is a fabulous son. Of course he's not the robot we would like him to be, keeping his room clean, his shoes tied, his grades at straight A's, etc. But he is a learning source, allowing us to learn more about ourselves as we interact with him and keeping our education refreshed as we help him with his studies. He keeps us on the go, giving me a much needed reason to get out the house (and to the gym for steam showers!). He gives us hope that he will be a greater person and reach higher heights than either of us. He is the vessel through which we teach what we preach and put our ideals to the test. 

My contact list is fabulous. Even though I mostly interact socially with people in public forums, like Facebook, I know that if I reach out privately to just about any of them for something simple or complex, they'd be front and center. I know that if I needed a place to lay my head or a bite to eat, someone would make themselves available. 

My hair is fabulous. I can wear it in a plethora of ways and look good (I guess that makes my face fabulous, too). I've had it cut super low (and according to an aunt, looked like a bulldagger), short Halle Berry style, long and straight representing the "Indiannnnn in my fammmm-ly" and wild and kinky for our native Africa. I'm happy to have it in my life. 

My personality is pretty fabulous. I'm quirky, defensive, offensive, sensitive, hard, soft, annoying, know-it-ally, funny, sarcastic, uplifting, creative, exciting, curious, understanding, misunderstood, close-minded, open-minded, seeking, sharing, shy, innocent, private, open, quiet, talkative, introspective, demanding, advisory, teacher, student, generous, frugal....at one time or another. Even with all these multiple-personalities, people aren't repulsed by me. I think I'm (genuinely) liked by at least 61% of everyone who meets me. The other 39% will be eventually won over. 

My secret performer game is fabulous. I sing better in the shower than Whitney Houston in her prime, I'm a better actor than Denzel, better comic than Richard Pryor, better chair dancer than Rhythm Nation Janet Jackson. I author more mental books than James Patterson and my flow is way nicer than Jay-Z. I'm a sextuple threat!

I could go on and on about all the fabulosity Life has bestowed upon me, but I've run out of anytime minutes for the moment. I'll say that the reason I can even recognize all these thigs as fabulous is because I know that my outlook on life is what determines whether things are hot or not. My life is HAWT! I'll re-read this when I forget how truly fortunate I am. 

Visionary

I've been thinking or talking about making a vision board for the longest. A couple weeks ago I was asked if I had one. Yesterday it was mentioned twice in a video and TV show I was watching. 

So, I'm finally heeding the hint. I'm dragging the family in and we're going to do a family project. The deadline is the end of this month! 

I'll make the final project my first Instagram post...maybe. 

Family Secrets

I recently read a post about a girl looking to trace her family roots but being unable to do so because her grandmother died without ever revealing to her father who his dad is/was. As a result, she and her father feel like a piece of them is missing. 

I grew up knowing my paternal grandparents to be X and Y referring to them as Granddaddy and Grandma. My dad and I eventually had a comversation about his birth dad. Unfortunately, this was after his dad had died. 

I imagine that somewhere along the line I knew Granddaddy and I weren't blood since my dad didn't have his last name (someone may have even told me, so I won't rely on memory). As is often the case, this makes me think of a scene in The Color Purple. Celie found out that her abusive dad is actually her stepdad and says, "Pa ain't pa." So Granddaddy wasn't my blood relative but he was certainly still Granddaddy, and always treated me as such. 

I have a couple siblings I've never communicated with. One is a boy slightly younger than me, S from Tennessee. The other is quite a few years younger, R from somewhere I can't remember. There is also a sister, K, with whom I keep in contact. I plan to meet her by next year!

I didn't care too much about having sisters that I didn't know. I was pissed when I found out about S, though. Not because he existed, but because we were in the same dating range. At the time, I had just graduated college and often road tripped. What if I'd met him and we "connected" not knowing we were related???

It almost happened with one of my brothers and our aunt (but technically she's not our aunt since we don't share the same blood). It's happened with two of my cousins. All because kids were being created in or kept secret. Or because family members weren't claiming each other. Either way, it sucks when you've established feelings for someone to only find out that you're related. 

What's the point of keeping family secrets? Who are they protecting? Who are they hurting? Sometimes, the people who were involved are dead. Are you really trying to protect their deceased legacy by keeping secrets that are hurting the living? 

Families are suffering because secrets are killing them slowly. This addresses the secrets about genealogy. But if "simple" secrets are being kept, there's no telling what else is under the rug or in the closet. 

Speedy Nevarez

I do things quickly. I work fast, type fast, walk fast, and of course drive fast. I do things like I'm being timed. Rushing. And for what? It's not like I'm getting bonus points by reaching the finish line first. 

When I was younger I used to be slow...well, do things slowly. I walked super slow in the school halls so nobody would pay me attention. Lol maybe I watched Animal Planet and saw how sloths survive in the wilderness. 

I'm not sure what changed my pace in life. I have to remind myself sometimes to slow down...other times my Husband or cops remind me. Yikes! 

Life isn't going anywhere and my rushing won't help spin the earth any quicker. It will just get me to the red light faster and I'll be waiting with the rest of the traffic. 

Note to self: Breathe. Relax. Pace yourself. 

Who Am I?

These three words got a lot of airtime in my mind today. Everything I know about my heritage is supposition. The assumption is that because my skin is dark brown that I'm a descendant of slaves from Africa. Which is fine, since all life is from Africa. But, who's to say that my ancestors weren't free people from dark communities in Asia, The Middle East, etc.?

Why is African American or Black American slave descendant my default? That's the same with White Americans going on the premise that their ancestors were slave owners and not slaves...I mean indentured servants who migrated to America. 

And then, even if I AM from Africa, that's not telling me anything. Africa is a big ass CONTINENT while others get to rep their COUNTRY. I got my DNA tested and it shows me being from The Middle East which also is useless information since the M. E. used to be part of Africa and people from M. E. were indentured in Africa. 

A common reason that "African American" people do not know their history is because it was lost during slavery. But why don't I know my history from the past 100-200 years? And does it really matter? 

As a human, I know what I'm capable of being/doing, so will will it motivate me more knowing that my family ancestors did this or that? Does it allow me to puff my chest in pride based on their accomplishments? I know American history books paint a biased picture, so all I need to do is color in the faces and know that whoever did it descended from the same Source I did...

Sigh. To close this chapter, I know for sure that I am American (for the moment). So I'll keep ticking "other" or "prefer not to answer" unless I can enter American as a choice. 

The Secret Life of QD

I am an excellent secret keeper. A large part of that is because I forget things people tell me. But, if you tell me a secret that I do remember, it's going down with me. Even if we break up or if I'm upset. 

I also keep my own secrets. Well, I used to. Now that I'm married, I like to practice transparency. However, being see through can be nerve wracking. Combined with my motor-mouthedness (another new word) is my Husband's innate way of reading body language and vibes, so nothing gets unsaid. 

Even when I can sneak things past him, I try make a habit not to, especially since he's going to probe until he knows what's going on. I even tell him all my irrelevant dirty little secrets (like stealing earrings from McCrory's when I was a kid). It feels good to release hidden parts of myself that have often been locked up for years and years. 

Today I made a mistake setting up an bill to be paid too early and almost overdrew our checking account. I was going to hide the error (as my Husband is just finding out as he reads this), but I spilled the beans. I can't handle being on pins and needles. Plus it messes up the atmosphere in the house. And I wouldn't be able to hide it for long because messing up my money (or anything) can sometimes put me in a funky mood...Virgos don't like mistakes. 

She Will Neither Hunger Nor Thirst

"Is the glass half empty or half full?" That is the question. At one point of my life, I was certainly a half empty kind of girl. I lived a life of lack and want. It felt like I should have more, be doing more, more, more, more. 

Somewhere along the line, with practice, I became thisssss close to being half full. One of my friends calls me a cynic, so you can probably conclude how hard it is to get the half full concept for me. I'm a Virgo. Perhaps that explains it. Even though the glass was half full, it sometimes felt too good to be true and that misfortune would once again knock on my door.  

Now I'm an "I don't care if it's half full or half empty, I'm thirsty and am going to drink it" kind of person. I try to remember that I am enough, have enough, know enough, enough, enough, enough to sate my thirst. I'm quenched in the desert, mountain, snowstorm or rain...when I remember that enough is enough and it's all I need. 

Fuck a Dollar and a Dream

I am a very generous person. I'm quick to donate for just about any cause: funerals, backpacks for kids returning to school, clean water in Africa, whatever. 

That's fine when it comes to charity, but it's not such a good habit to have in relationships. I tended to date boys/men who needed help, be it financial or emotional. 

I had a flashback of one instance today. I was supporting an ex in his endeavor to become a talent manager. He was saving his money and my money went to pay the bills. I was doing everything I could to make ends meet: car title and 401k loans, credit cards, bouncing checks, paying bills late, whatever. 

It's totally not his fault that I was willing to drown myself so his dream could float. But, from that, I hold dear the words of the late, great Notorious B. I. G. in his song Big Poppa: Tremendous cream, fuck a dollar and a dream. 

I did not feel any anger or regret when I had the flashback today. I was just happy that I finally learned that lesson. I always say that life will keep teaching you the same lessons until you learn them. 

It feels awesome to be the saved one and not the savior...or, to be more accurate, experience a symbiotic relationship. 

Plateau Problems

Doing a blog a day for 40 days sounded like a great idea when I had it. But it's Day 5 and what do I have to talk about? I guess now is a good time to talk about one of my needs for improvement. 

I am a plateauer (new word, meaning "one who plateaus"). I guess it's less about reaching a plateau and more about becoming disinterested and "over it." Which, I suppose is being a quitter. Nah, "plateauer" has more panache.  

I've started and stopped so many things! Which results in wasted money. Hundreds over the past few years. I've bought golf clubs, shoes and clothes and have only been on the course a handful of times...in street clothes, using one or two clubs. 

I have tons of workout and yoga clothes and hardly do either. When I do go to the gym, it's to wash and steam my hair. Otherwise, I sit at the basketball court watching our son practice. I do go to an average of one yoga class a month (maybe). Oh yeah, that made me remember the roller blades taking up space in the closet. 

I've not gotten very far with learning Spanish on Rosetta Stone. But, to my credit that was a gift for my Husband and not directly for me...and anyway, I remember most of what I learned in high school and college. 

I started out going to college to be a doctor (pediatrician or anesthesiologist). I switched to Chemistry because I didn't want to listen to the monotonous Botany teacher or look at her butt-long ponytail. Technically, that doesn't qualify as quitting. She forced me out since the class was a requirement for a Biology degree at the time. I may be the reason it became an elective. 

There are a couple things that I stay consistent with. One is keeping track of where our money goes. Once you've been broke (and depressed), that's not a place to which you willingly return. And, since I don't like having to get up everyday and work, I'm doing what I can to minimize expenses so I can retire. 

I'm also a voracious reader. I feel bad if I start a book and don't finish it. Well, that mainly goes for fiction. I've started and stopped reading "Think and Grow Rich" and "A New Earth" five or six times. But, if you put a James Patterson book in front of me, I won't stop until it's finished. 

Duh!!! I haven't quit the job I've had over the last 16 years. So maybe I'm not a quitter as long as I'm getting paid. 

Hmmm why do I feel like this revelation is a bad thing. Now I have some things to thing about. 

Yooouuuuuu Are Getting Sleeepppyyy

I've been intrigued by hypnotism for as long as I can remember. I wondered if I could be put under and if someone really make a person bark like a dog. 

I've seen coupons for hypnosis but never bought them because I didn't want to tell people that I was getting hypnotherapy. But, one day I bought three sessions. And then after using those up, I got three more. 

Hypnotherapy is more like a deep relaxation session with affirmations. I have the best sleep in that chair. Before we begin, we talk about what the ssssion should focus on. My session last week was actually about seeing if I had any blockages preventing me from writing or if I was hiding any fears. 

She then finds a script that meets my needs. The one she used last week was "Path to Freedom."

She starts off talking about liquid relaxation flowing through my body and then does a countdown from 5 with each lower number taking me into a deeper relaxation...she never swings a pendant and says, "Youuuuu are getting sleepppyyy," like they do in the movies.  By the time she gets to 1, I'm usually asleep (or deeply relaxed) and don't remember things until she's counting up to 5 to bring me back to awareness. 

On my last session, I set the tape recorder to try to get a sense of what happens. But doggone it if I didn't go to sleep while replaying the session!

I didn't uncover any fears during the session that I could remember. But, I had a pretty violent dream that night. 

A man was trying to choke me to death and I was fighting back. I gave a primal scream and then fought back even harder. At some point, in real life, my Husband grabbed my arm and I started scratching him. I woke up breathing hard and panicked. 

Thankfully, I wasn't fignting back as hard as I thought...or he was in a deep sleep...because he didn't remember it happening when I brought it up the next afternoon. I still don't know how that dream relates to my reluctance to write. 

I have one final session with Debbie (unless she posts another Living Social coupon). Maybe she can let me know if the dream was connected to our session. 

Have you or would you visit a hypnotherapist? I think it's made me calmer and more centered. 

Love Means Never Having to Say, "I'm Sorry"

"Love means never having to say you're sorry" is a popular saying. Until today, I didn't know it was taken from a novel and 1970 film called "Love Story" starring AIi MacGraw and Ryan O'Neal (thanks Yahoo! search). 

Anyway, I call BS on this quote. Love is saying you're sorry as often as needed. I transgress often against my two closest loved ones, Rick and Deuce).  I apologize, even when it bruises my ego and I have to mull over my apology for a bit. 

I've turned the phrase around in my mind trying to see when it would ever make sense and I'm coming up empty handed. Well, I guess if you're perfect and make no mistakes you never have to apologize but that's about it. 

It's possible that someone out there guards their thoughts, words and actions so closely that they never step on anyone's toes, but that's not me. Not even close.

I have good intentions. But I sometimes say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or the right thing at the wrong time. Or in the wrong tone. And things can go wrong. 

I apologize...usually the same day. Out of love for the person I offend and for myself. For my peace of mind. And peace in my home and surroundings. So unless I don't know how to love, then love means never missing the opportunity to say you're sorry (or to apologize if you're a person who doesn't call yourself "sorry"...the whole "whatever you say after "I am" is what you believe/are/will be thing"). 

You May Say I'm a Dreamer

I have a gift. Or maybe it's a honed skill. Anyway, sometimes the things I think come true. So do some of my dreams...the ones while I'm asleep, not my wishes.  

Maybe not exactly how I dream it, but some events in real life link to dreams that I've had. I took a Facebook quiz about spiritual gifts and it even said I'm a dreamer. 

I also have déjà vu frequently. And see the same numbers on the clock often. Hmm maybe I should stop choosing Quick Pick for my lottery tickets and select numbers. 

A couple years ago, while home alone, I saw my deceased mother-in-law's shadow. Right after that, when I left the room, some papers that I'd been working on were gone.  My Husband and I still joke about her "thieving" ways! 

Do you have any quirks? Or weird things that often happen? Did I mention I don't think humans are the only intelligent life? Am I the only one?

Who's Telling Your Story?

As Black History Month winds down, and after watching and reading a myriad of movies, videos and books about Black culture, I'm left wondering who is telling my story? 

Black Entertainment Television (BET) is currently airing a mini-series called "The Book of Negroes" that provides yet another perspective of initial Black life in America. An early scene in the movie had the enslaved Africans calling out their native names awaiting on the ship for the departure to America: Ayo, Aminata, Abiba, Fola. In the next scene, their white captor announces his name as Tom and changes Aminata's name to Mary. 

Just the other day, I wondered what my name would be had it not been for slavery. Perhaps one day I will find a name that resonates with my Spirit. As of now, Dalia, when pronounced Dale-ya, will do. I'll keep an ear open as I continue to write my story. 

40 Days of Me

Today is the beginning of Lent, where many of my friends on social media are giving up bad habits, such as makeup, Instagram, cursing, fried foods and liquor. Since I don't practice Lent (and like cursing and liquor), I got the notion to pick up a new habit. For 40 days, beginning today, I pledge to myself to blog a new entry. 

I recently wrote the Universe a letter on Facebook outlining my perfect day. It included working when I want, spending time with my family and practicing yoga. As soon as I posted the letter, my Spirit whispered, "Then write."

I've been practicing listening to my inner self, so hearing my Spirit and following my intuition have been becoming easier. When I heard that whisper, I laughed. 

My Husband tells me I should write. My Facebook friends tell me to write. My hypnotherapist tells me to write. I write for my job. I write for my mystery shopping gigs. 

All these signs, signals and people are pointing me to my Path. What do I do? Procrastinate. There's an archaic saying, "Use it or lose it," so for the next 40 days, that's what I'm going to do. Who knows, this may be the beginning of my retirement plan. 

Let's roll!

Let Me In!

I was thinking about the ritual of baptism. I was baptized at a young age because I didn't want to feel left out. 

On first Sundays, kids my age were being dipped in the pool and getting to eat the crackers and juice, while I sat there as an outsider. So, one day, when the "doors of the church were opened," I went to the front and joined church. I knew, from years of observing, that I should answer yes to all the questions (Do you take Jesus as your personal savior? Do you believe XYZ?), even though I didn't know what those things REALLY meant from a personal perspective. 

The notion of being/feeling left out is one that I would feel for many years to come, and would lead to many poor decisions. But, that's a different story, so back to the topic(s) at hand. 

I looked up when Jesus was baptized last week after a discussion where I posited that kids should not be baptized. Jesus, according to the internet-explained timelines of the bible, was baptized around 30 years old. I didn't search to see if accounts of John the Baptist mentioned kids being baptized (but Christians follow Jesus, not other people, right?). So if Jesus, a great example of living according to God's will, wasn't baptized until he was an adult and I know from personal experience that I shouldn't have been baptized as a kid, and I know adults who have been re-baptized, I'm going to go ahead with the idea that I'm onto something. 

Anyway, my thoughts wandered further into how crazy it is that I was even exposed to exclusionary practices, especially as a kid, especially in a "safe" place. When Jesus, according to the bible, gave communion, he did it with his few associates. There were no onlookers made to feel like outsiders in the room. If churches ONLY want select people to take communion, do that (I almost cursed) stuff in a private service. Kids and "you ain't on my level because you didn't join church" / "you still have sin in your heart" adults shouldn't be exposed to it. 

What has been your experience with baptism, communion or feeling left out in life?

Karma is a Blessing

None of our life stories are unique. Yes, there may be nuances of the details, but the central theme is not uncommon. I share my story in the hopes that it will free someone from a similar struggle. I have been reading "The Art of Living Out Loud" by Meg Blackburn Losey recently. After each chapter, Dr. Losey gives exercises. All of these exercises are for the reader to be introspective. Out of the 9 chapters I've read thus far, I believe I've done only of them...halfway...and fell asleep during the task. Just like I learned with meditation, it was not a good idea for me to do a breathing exercise lying down with the lights off while tired. I was resistant to the exercises because I was not too interested in delving into the whys of my past more than I already do on a day to day basis. I have good reason. One time I dug too deep and came to the shocking realization that I was molested by as neighbor as a child. Although I haven't fully participated in the exercises, I read them all at the end of the chapter. Since I wasn't trying to find out anything else that may take years to accept, I just settled on doing the "easy" ones...make that one. Well, a "problem" I have is fairly good recall of things I've read. One of them, about patterns that resurface in our lives, came to me today and made me realize some hard truths about my recurring behaviors and actions. All of a sudden, I remembered incident after incident and relationship after relationship that had one thing in common: I was rejected and did anything I could to be included, wanted, accepted after that rejection. When I noticed that trend, I actually started smiling! I wasn't happy that this is the person that I had been. I was happy because I believe that recognizing the pattern loosed the shackles it held on me. Dr. Losey said that once one changes or alters how they respond to a pattern, the pattern will stop. Well, the pattern would have had no chance to stop had I not identified it and acknowledged that it was my modus operandi. Now the fun part begins: I get to wait until the karmic repercussions wane. I've put people through some less than favorable circumstances by continuing my patterns. I've done unto others and now it's time to be done unto. My thought is that by realizing the forces that are in play I will be aware that "this too shall pass" and will be open to the lessons I will gain. Until next time, Queen Dalia

Masterfully Cleansed

When I used to look in the mirror, I saw a pretty face, nice hair, ok boobs, fat stomach, flabby thighs......you see how the compliments decrease the lower my eyes travel?

I had talked/thought about doing the cleanse for months on end, but until my cousin  sent me an invite to a fb group I hadn't made the mental decision to do so. While the invitation was sent innocently on her end, it was actually a call to action for me to really get my body in order so that I can maintain my health.

I've heard of others doing the fast and how hard it would be not to eat for 7 days and how bad the lemonade tasted. Luckily for me, that made me more dedicated to completing the cleanse AND made it easier somehow.

I know I can be greedy as hell, but I actually loved the lemonade mixture of cayenne pepper, maple syrup and lemon juice. Throughout the 7 days I experienced little hunger and no bad side effects. HOWEVER, if I had drunk the lemonade in more consistent intervals, even the slight dizziness and headaches could have probably been avoided.

On day 5 of the fast, I incorporated exercise....and it kicked my ass! However, the visual results were more immediate because the fat that was once covering my muscles had been decreased (or maybe it's all in my imagination). On Day 6 of 7 of my Master Cleanse journey I looked in the mirror, gasped and said, "OMG, my stomach is gone!!!" (see my one pack!!!!)

When I started, I was 143 pounds and today I am 141 or so. Most people say they lost 10-14 pounds on the cleanse, but I imagine they had more weight to spare than I do.

The biggest excitement for me was losing all that belly fat! I don't care about scale numbers. Looking at me and being surprised at the transformation was AWESOME. It was an immediate image booster which made me reconsider my entire body and its beauty.

Does It Matter If You're Black or White?

Today I put up some posts about John Mayer who said he's not open to dating black women. Later, I was called a racist by one of my non-black friends.

I could very well be a racist if it's based on my dating history. I've never dated anyone outside of my race. There have been offers....and subsequent rejections. I think the culture differences are too much for me. I can imagine me going over his family's house and hearing something racial or some lil kid trying to touch my hair....not a good ending.

So, am I racist or closed-minded? I know that I used to have a whole mental notebook of who I would not date (white, have kids, etc.). But, I have come to realize that I am limiting myself. I love all types of food (yes everything with me goes back to food), so why wouldn't I at least see if I'd LIKE men from other cultures.

If you see me "playing in the snow" (white man) or "making tacos" (latin) or "fixing computers" (asian), don't trip. I'm just sampling from life's buffet.......oops, just heard this last paragraph is racist too. DAMNIT!

Update 1-8-2019...black people cant be racist! Here’s a post I saw almost 2 hours ago on Facebook regarding generalized  statements. 

You can research for yourself why black people cannot be racist if you aren’t already aware, but here’s the relevant definition that people (is who want to call non-whites “racists”,(especially in America) overlook. We have  no systems that execute he principles of racism. 

 

New Construction Zone

A house was built on a rocky foundation. There were ingredients missing from the inside of the concrete, but the blueprints were so pretty that the imperfections were ignored. As time went on, the house began to shift. The homeowners noticed, but did not do anything to remedy the situation.

Soon, the homeowners got accustomed to the home and its uneven floors and cracked walls because the outside of the house was picture perfect. They then planted a small garden from which one long stemmed rose bloomed.

As things within the walls of the house grew increasingly worse, that rose continued to blossom. The house was ignored, but the rose continued to be watered and cultivated.

So is the story of my marriage. From the outside, we were perfect. The wedding was grand and beautiful. But, behind closed doors, problems had gone unaddressed and eventually I got too tired to bother fixing them.

But Son. He is the shining spot in this dim situation. He is the primary concern. Although the foundation has crumbled and the structure has fallen, the rose is worth all efforts to save. As the inhabitants of this broken structure regroup and relocate, we must remember that he is what matters.

Today, we took the first step. Communication was not poured in with foundation as it was set, but today it was implemented. I realized that baby mama drama didn't have to be a factor in moving forward as long as Son is kept as the primary topic. Although I was not the poster child of a successful marriage, I am confident that I can be a good role model in stress-free co-parenting.

Update 1-8-2019...nope, that stress-free co-parenting thing flopped, though I tried. 

That Time of the Month

It's that time of the month again. Not when Mother Nature pays a visit, but when Peter, Paul, AT&T and the rest come a-knocking. It's the time when I cross my fingers that my expense checks are deposited before the bills are deducted. When I curse myself for forgetting that I wasn't supposed to use my debit card and wind up paying an extra $35 for something that would have only cost $3.50. It's that time when I wonder if I should quit my cushy job and do more work for more money or find supplemental income.

And then the time comes when I say fuck it (excuse my English) and let the worries go. It all works out in the end anyway. I just have to ignore all the pretty red writing that pops up when I look at the online bank statement and wait until everything catches up in a few days. You'd think I'd stop procrastinating and submit my expense reports in a timelier manner, huh?

You Take the Good You Take the Bad

Today is the prequel to what was supposed to be my big day, one which I've looked forward to and dreaded for over 8 weeks. Tomorrow was my bellydance debut at recital, but I'm not gonna make it.

I came to Vegas for work and deliberately chose a redeye departure that would return me to my orgination well before the dress rehearsal scheduled this afternoon. Well, that flight didn't work out so well. It was cancelled at the last minute and the earliest flight gets me in just as the mandatory recital dress rehearsal begins.

Sigh. I'm sad about missing the recital. I'm glad I didn't ride a plane with mechanical problems. I'm irritated that I wasted some money on a bellydance session and didn't reap the fruits of my labor.

Just as one part of the ordeal upsets me, I think of something small that makes it better, like not having to wait too long in line to have my flight rebooked and hotel assigned. I guess life is all about ups and downs, give and take, this and that. So today I look for to balancing my yin with my yang and not over-focusing on either of them.

"Basketball Jones" by E. Lynn Harris

Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened. ~"Basketball Jones" by E. Lynn Harris

Tatted Up

I've been thinking about getting a tattoo for a while, but couldn't quite decide what to get or where to get it. I knew that I was getting one on my trip to Indy because it was on my To-Do list, along with skydiving.

I made an "appointment" Friday with my friend K who was supposed to tell our friend C to hook me up. Well K told C we were hanging out. Luckily C is flexible and was able to do the tat.

I just decided this afternoon to get my horoscope symbol. I'm a pretty textbook Virgo. Yep, I'm critical of myself and others, dependable, loyal, etc.

So, I took a bottle of coconut rum to K’a to mix with his Lemon Strawberry Hawaiian Punch. S met me there and we sat around for an hour looking at tat mags, drinking our libations, talking and listening to music as I bought myself some time.

I was mad nervous. I'd heard mixed messages about the amount of pain to expect. K and C said if I had a baby I could handle a tat. The problem with that is I had a C-section and didn't feel any labor pains...and when I did have pain after the surgery I was too drugged up to care.

Once I sat in the chair in K’s kitchen (yeah, we're hood like that), I spent over 10 minutes asking every question I could think of: What's that? Why do you need that? How long will the tracing stay on in case I bolt? K cracked everybody up saying I sounded like the little boy in the Kobe and LeBron commercials.

After C clarified that even if I said stop he was to keep going, we got started. The pain was very minor for the most part. I think I had scared myself so much that it was a piece of cake. There were moments where I could feel more intense levels of pain, but they were few and far between.

C said he was proud of me. S said I made her want to get one (but she won't). K said I'd get another in 6 months because they're addicting. I reminded K that I'm stubborn and would wait a year just to prove him wrong.

When I got home, I told my mother I had a rash on my neck so she could look. She let out a yelp in surprise and said she never thought I'd get a tattoo. Once she found out that the equipment was sterile and that C was experienced, she was cool.

Son asked, "MiMi, what's that tattoo say?” "What you get that tattoo for?” and the dreaded, "Can I have a tattoo?" I guess he gets his inquisitive nature from his mama.

I have no regrets about getting it. The tat is small and can be covered in a business setting. It's kind of exhilarating and freeing, considering how square I've been for most of my life.

P.S., I'm not going to hell for desecrating my body with a pagan symbol :-D

4th of July Lessons

Sometimes, you don't appreciate your parents until you have a child of your own. Spending time with my son this past weekend made me see just how much my mother sacrificed for my brother and me.

As a child, I did not realize the tedium of standing in 2 hour-long lines in the middle of the summer at Great America for a 2-minute rollercoaster ride. I did not comprehend the pain one endures sitting outside in mosquito infested parks to watch fireworks among thousands of other families with hyperactive kids.

Over the weekend, I learned that parents stand on their feet when they don't want to and get bitten by random bugs because seeing joy in their kids' eyes is worth it.

So today, as I scratch insect bites and hope they are not from poisonous spiders, gingerly apply ointment to my sunburned shoulders and try to catch up on some much needed rest, I will not complain. I will focus on memories of my son's pure, unadulterated happiness and rest securely in the fact that I did not stand in his way.

Thanks Mommy for the lessons that you didn't know you were teaching!

Why I Do It

In a heated exchange with a family member, I was once told that I haven't been through anything and my life has been too easy. That short spiel, which was intended to offend and silence me, did just the opposite.

It made me realize that portraying a life of perfection while inwardly fighting struggles and battles was doing a disservice to the world around me. It made me wonder how much my younger niece and cousins were hiding because they did not think I could understand what they were going through or thought that I would judge them for the lives they were leading.

So, at the risk of being called crazy, silly or a Certified Loon (not to be confused with a lunatic), I share my story. This includes the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the pretty and the ugly. I open myself to ridicule and scrutiny to show the youth in my life that I am not perfect and they don't have to be either.

I don't write for the over 30 crowd, although people of all ages can benefit from openness and honesty. I write for Natalie, Nayira, Jas, Jode, Michayla, Lauren, Tasha, Jessica, Quetta, Trina, and those who are going through, have gone through or will soon go through growing pains. If I can help just one of them, then my exposure is not in vain.

If I, a 32-year-old wife and mother, have body issues, then surely a 20 year old whose body is still undergoing changes may have them as well. If I look in the mirror and can't always see the beautiful face that others compliment, then it is my duty to share that.

I can no longer support the Ms. Goody Two Shoes persona. I have problems, insecurities and shortcomings. I am bitchy and short-tempered when I'm hungry, just wake up and periodically throughout the day. I have done a lot of growing and still have much yet to do. I also have a lot of wonderful attributes. If I don't share all of me, then I do a disservice to the younger generation who looks at me as a role model or otherwise.

All of Me is Created Equal

I have dimples in my cheeks and chin. I inherited them from my father and I love them dearly. I have dimples in other places, too. I inherited them from ice cream. Those I was not feeling so much.

I wonder what made dimples in one place superior to those in other locations. More importantly, why do I frown upon any part of my body when God created me as a faultless specimen?

I have stretch marks, which I cannot attribute to Deuce residing in my belly. So what? My thighs have always, and will always rub together. Who cares? My stomach will always be pudgy, my pinky toes will always have corns, my left eye will always be a little lazy (or is it the right one?), my calves will always be skinny, my elbows will always be dark, the circles under my eyes will never be lightened and my tig ole bitties shall rise to salute the sun nevermore.

That's just my reality. I accept these things and will not consider them flaws. I will acknowledge them for what they are: my perfection as seen through God’s eyes. Who am I to say that the creation formed of God’s divine hands is less than a masterpiece? Who are you?