A day of gratitude

This year is the first year, possibly since I've been a blogger, that I didn't write a Mother's Day post.  I had every intention of doing one.  I woke up, wrote two different drafts.  My friend Mo sent me Read more

Diversification of Bonds

The year is 1981.  My four year-old self had just watched Superman kick Zod's entire ass and it was glorious.  In 1981, Superman was THE superhero movie to see.  It had action, conflict and even romance.  The Christopher Reeve Read more

Ooh, Child...

Yall. I cried for Alfre Woodard dyin. I cried for Delroy Lindo as a single dad. I cried for little black girls who have to grow up too fast. - @MeLaMachinko Crooklyn was a movie that I loved from the first time Read more

Action Mel

Today is one of those days that I don't feel like being the life of the party or having a clever quip.  I don't want to be the unstoppable force of nature that I am 95% of the time. Read more

There comes a time in every man's life

"I think I want to live with my dad." I always knew that the day would come where he would need more than I could give him as a mother and a mentor.  I'm glad it happened before he was Read more

Domestic Violence

Aware Pt. 2

Just walk out the door.  When you leave an abusive marriage, you are surrounded by a forcefield, making you impervious to all future harm.  Once you pull yourself up by  your bootstraps, end your chronic need for a relationship, conquer your fear of being alone, you drive into a new world filled with pink sunsets.

According to the movies.

I become angered whenever an individual casually says, “Why don’t you just leave?”  It indicates an ignorance about the mechanics involved with abuse and rebuilding one’s life.  As though a person who has made controlling and misusing a person their favorite pastime, will just let that go without a fight.

Of course, escaping an abusive relationship is a huge step in the right direction, it is just that – a step.  My first real life account of domestic violence was Tracey Thurman (now Motuzick), when I was about 11 or 12.  She met Charles “Buck” Thurman in 1979, married him in the spring of 1981, and they separated in the autumn of 1982.  For eight months, he stalked and harassed her to the point that her friends filed a complaint on her behalf.  In this time, she called the police on Thurman 19 times.  On June 10, 1983, Thurman violated a restraining order, prompting Motuzick to call the police.  When the police arrived, Thurman attacked Tracey, stabbing her 13 times.  The police officer, in a profound lack of judgment, took the knife, but left Thurman unsecured, allowing him to grab their son, and stomp on Tracey one final time, breaking her neck. Tracey’s account of this story can be heard here.  Connecticut’s Family Violence Prevention and Response Act of 1986 was essentially created after Tracey’s ordeal.  The most prominent change is that the abused individual is no longer asked “do you want to press charge,” but rather it is up to the assessment of law enforcement to determine whether or not a crime has been committed.  Again, progress.

And yet, Yvette Cade still happened. Yvette’s tragedy received national attention, thanks in part to Oprah Winfrey having her on her show.  Again, this is the case of an estranged couple, where a wife had taken out a protective order against her husband.  What makes this story different, however, is that Prince George’s District Court Judge, Richard A. Palumbo, dismissed Yvette’s protective order three weeks prior.  Her estranged husband, Roger Hargrave, showed up at her job at T-Mobile, doused her with a Sprite bottle filled with gasoline, and set her on fire.  She spent three months in the hospital, and has had dozens of surgeries.  Her physical appearance has been altered forever, due to having the guts to leave an abusive situation.

There is no magic bullet once you find yourself in an abusive situation.  Most domestic violence resources will prepare you for the threats that loom once you leave.  Once you remove the abuser’s primary means of control – unfettered access to you – most times they become even more unstable.  I was stalked for a year and a half.  In that time, I had developed my own personal police officer (who came so often, I don’t think he believed that I was not still involved with my ex-husband), and he assaulted me in a public hallway outside of my cousin’s home.  It wasn’t until he was ultimately arrested, I refused to drop the charges, and they (miraculously) had record of every single report against him I had ever filed, that he stopped harassing me regularly.  (This, however, did not stop him from physically abusing his current estranged wife, including breaking her jaw.)

One of the most eerie facets of domestic violence is the offender being positively oblivious to their problem.  Thurman originally was there to beg for Tracey’s return, yet when he was angered by the police presence, savagely beat her.  Hargrave, shortly before his trial, attempted to call Yvette from jail.  I am willing to wager that any woman who has endured domestic violence could recount a similar story.  I would also believe that they would admit that they still exist with a certain amount of fear.  Even now, almost eight years later, when my ex-husband was in town for a mere 18 hours for Finge’s graduation, I was ridden with an enormous amount of anxiety.  It’s not something that you just “snap out of.”

I commend Tracey Motuzick and Yvette Cade for using their experiences to help other women.  Tracey is still involved with The Susan B. Anthony Project. Through the Yvette Cade Fund, Yvette has used her own story and testimony to push for legislation to protect victims of domestic violence.

The path to leaving is not easy.  Abusive people will use anything at their disposal manipulate you into coming back.  Your friends, family, church members, children – nothing is off limits to them.  There were days where I didn’t know if he would be outside of my job, or sitting in my home waiting for me.  Despite the fear and uncertainty, it is all worth it.  I have never regretted the day I chose my own well being, and the well being of my children, over an unstable person so mired in his own insecurities and self-hatred, his only outlet was to attack.

It can’t be said enough.  Your safety is worth the struggle.

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Domestic Violence, Uncategorized 5 Comments

When I grow up

“___ is the new ____.”

Peter Pan syndrome is rampant.  There are a thousand reasons offered as to why we shouldn’t have to grow up, or feel our age.  In truth, yes, we should not allow our age to stop us from achieving goals and dreaming big.  I know of several people who did not quit their dream of higher education, obtaining degrees in their 40s, 50s, and even 60s.  It’s important to dream, have goals, and not be deterred.  This takes true grit.

Dear 40 year-old aspiring rappers and those of your ilk, this does not apply to you.

Certain behaviors carry expiration dates, and we would do well to adhere to them.  Trying to break into the rap game on the verge of being a “Pe-Paw” is one example, but by no means is it alone.  I find a lot of people, in the name of still claiming or holding onto youth, being absolutely silly.  It would be absolutely foolish to assert that once a person hits 30, their entertainment should only consist of baccarat, macrame, and Newshour with Jim Lehrer.  However, there comes a certain time where we know better, and are charged to do better.

I won’t go long with this, but people, grow up!  Easily, 75% of the unfavorable circumstances we deal with can be traced back to some sort of immaturity, whether it’s the inability to control one’s tongue, spending or body parts.  Get it together!

Tired of playin’ ’round here.

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 1 Comment

“I want some of that purple stuff…” (c) Dave Chappelle

Some ideas sound good, others are good; however, the meeting of the twain is not always inevitable.  Mayor Bloomberg and Governor Paterson, respectively of New York City and State, have petitioned the federal government to eliminate sugary drinks as eligible purchase items for food stamp recipients.  Health initiatives are not new to Bloomberg, as New York has become all but smoke free under his administration.  It’s not surprising that he would tackle the growing problem of obesity.  Sodas and similar beverages hold little to no nutritional value, and are directly linked to obesity.  Additionally, anyone who simply goes outside in the morning has seen a small child gulping down a sugar boosted drink, quite possibly accompanied by an equally unhealthy honey bun.  The eating habits of this country are out of control.

In support of this initiative, New York City Health Commissioner Dr. Thomas A. Farley and New York State Health Commissioner Dr. Richard F. Daines penned the op-ed article “No Food Stamps for Sodas” in the New York Times today, stating:

The city’s proposed program would not reduce participants’ food stamp benefits or their ability to feed their families a nutritionally adequate diet.  They would still receive every penny of support they now get, meaning they would have as much, if not more, to spend on nutritious food.  And they could still purchase soda if they chose — just not with taxpayer dollars.

Simple enough.  Something needs to be done.  Something other than this half-cocked, presumptuous proposal.

Let’s first address the aspect of what is and is not being done with taxpayer dollars.  We live in the United States of America, where money is so much of a religion, the words “In God We Trust” are printed on it.  After seeing the ten thousandth person joke/comment about their tax dollars being spent on food stamps and welfare, I decided to research how much was actually being spent on those programs.  I had to do a lot of digging to find the answer. The percentage, when I looked it up in 2004, was in the single digits.  Don’t believe the hype – this country is not going broke taking care of poor people.

But so what?  The people receiving this money are receiving taxpayer dollars, right?  So why should they be able to buy a Coke at my expense?  Perhaps because they’re buying it at their expense.  Though it would be convenient to believe that every food stamp recipient is a welfare queen that does nothing but drink, smoke, and collect government funds, many recipients work; some work full time jobs or are full time students.  Every working American can recall that sickening moment when they looked at their first pay stub, and realized that Uncle Sam’s cut goes all the way down to the bone. 

What’s that son?  You only made $85 for two weeks?  You sure?  Looks to me like you made $75 for two weeks.  *snatches your ten dollars from your boss’ hand*

This jack-move does not exclude people who scrub floors, bag groceries and hold down other honest jobs for peanuts.  Annually, a minimum wage employee, working 40 hours weekly, will earn $17,160.00 before taxes.*  Two children would put an individual with this income below the federal poverty level.  In theory, one could use this example to espouse the benefits of higher education and achievement.  Yet that begs the question, in a nation full of doctors, lawyers and engineers, who’s going to mop the floor?  Who will work for the business owners who unscrupulously schedule a person to work 28 hours weekly, because at 30 hours, they would qualify for health benefits?  Once someone steps up and assumes these tasks, how much are you willing to pay them?  These jobs almost invariably start at minimum wage.  It is ludicrous to assert that these tax-payers do not have the right to marry, procreate and feed their families.  I would be remiss if I did not point out to tax-payers not on public assistance, that they are looking to levy higher taxes on soda purchases as well, so before you wage war against the under privileged, put down your cash purchased soda and mull that over.

Things such as this pick up speed, because middle class American’s of all walks of life, will only look at the term “government assistance,” and immediately turn up their noses.  Momentarily they forget that, oft times, they are within $1,000-$2,000 annually from public assistance themselves.  They won’t address some of the public programs that they have lied about to attain eligibility.  (People talk, and every single one of you at least knows someone who has done it, if you haven’t fudged a bit yourself.)  A large swath of the United States is in the middle to lower-middle class trenches, but unquestioningly will leap on the side of the privileged on this matter.  The majority of working people would be forced to make a bee-line the welfare line when faced with unemployment.  But until then, it is okay to cast shame and aspersions on those in need, without thinking for one moment that those on assistance were once working stiffs like them.

In addition to the concern about tax-payer dollars, Bloomberg simply wants to see if this will have an effect on New York City’s obesity rate.  As a mayor, he could set an example, causing a ripple effect throughout the US.  Well, what about as a business owner?  According to the New York Times, his company, Bloomberg LP, offers free snacks to its employees.  Included amongst those free snacks are sodas, far as the eye can see.  Why did his initiative not begin there?

The only reason this proposal will quite likely fail, is because of the effect that it will have on larger business owners, such as Coke and Pepsi.  Of course, this forces the question, if we are penalizing the consumer, WHY are we not obligating these soda companies to start their own health initiatives?  Why isn’t it being demanded of Coke to build free or low-cost fitness facilities?  Or even further, why are supermarkets and distributors not being taken to task for the price-gouging that makes healthy eating so much more expensive?*  And if they start on soda, what will cause them to stop there?  Agendas such as this start in on those without voices, but there is quite often a distasteful ripple effect in bigger picture.

A larger scale proposal, impacting sellers and consumers would indicate sincerity in tackling this countries obesity problem.  Until then, the message will read, “You’re poor, you don’t deserve this, so I will make this unaffordable to you simply because I can.”

*I would absolutely LOVE to hear why a thigh and a breast can come from the same chicken, yet the less healthy thigh is $0.99 a pound, whereas the breast is upwards of $6.00.  Is there a rare all-breasted chicken of which I am unaware?

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in The Audacity of Broke, Uncategorized 3 Comments

Who’s bad?

You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fuckin’ fingers and say, “That’s the bad guy.” So… what that make you? Good? You’re not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don’t have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So say good night to the bad guy!

- Tony Montana Scarface

Once upon a time, I was married.  I hated it.  We were mismatched, ill-equipped and just flat-out wrong for one another.  I left–without a clear-cut game plan.  We were part a community that frowned on divorce.  If there was no clear evidence of cheating you were, for lack of a better term, stuck.  He knew this, and though I knew he was cheating, I didn’t know he was cheating, and guilt tripped myself into passivity.  We remained married and added another kid into the mix.  Ever the maverick and rebel, I chose being “a good girl” over being smart.*  I can not stress to anyone how ridiculous it is for an individual to make major life altering decisions at 21. It was then that I realized, we weren’t together due to love and commitment.  We were like two people in a public bathroom, waiting each other out for the chance to funk it up.  So after the last bad scene in a string of bad scenes, I took the kids and we left.

It was rough, because where I suffered the marriage in silence, he was very vocal in suffering his embarrassment.  On the surface, I left, so he had the high ground.  He went to church, played Tank songs, and whenever he had the children, he made sure they looked dirty and pitiful.  Poor urchins with their crazy mother who didn’t want to be married anymore.  It didn’t matter that they were in my custody and I received no support; he was to be pitied.   I had to stand the hard-line amidst ridicule, ostracism and ultimately threats to my personal safety.

At the end of the day, I’m not afraid to be the hammer.  I believe that as much as it might burn, if something isn’t working, it just isn’t working.  Rough times, yes, I believe that’s to be weathered.  But there was nothing salvageable about that marriage.  There are tons of relationships – even outside of the romantic spectrum – that are like that.  Even if it’s a bad job, or a friendship that has become healthy or one-sided, no one wants to be the trigger man.  It’s much easy to play the role of “He just stopped speaking to me,” or “She just gave her two weeks notice without any reason,” because the victim role is easy.  Irrespective of the toxicity that precedes the leap into villainy, we have this compulsion to need to be the one wronged.

So I ask, why can’t we just decide that something is wrong for us and press on.  Why does there have to be closure, and discussions, and all the other nonsensical rituals that allow us to be trapped in things that are wrong for us?  This isn’t a call for chronic callousness and irresponsibility, and there are definitely some circumstances where discussion and discourse are needed. I didn’t walk away from my marriage and never speak to homie again.  We still had two kids to care for, and custody and visitation to arrange.  We spoke on that.  However, the circumstances of divorce was something I refused to hash out, because we’d covered all of that before.  Everyone has regrettable actions in their past, but I can say with certainty that I have never regretted removing the kids and myself from that situation.

I think, whenever something seems daunting, it would behoove us to have the balls to get up and make something happen.  Just because I did this in this aspect of my life, it doesn’t mean I do it always.  I think I just needed to remind myself that I could.

*No, being the good girl does not equate being dumb, but to disregard self-preservation in favor of the mere appearance of good is absolute insanity.

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Jewels, Stormy Weather, Uncategorized 3 Comments

Like Rama Lama Lama, Kadinga Dadinga Dong

Hey Loves!

Last week was a really “off” week for me. I’m paying the price for being a cog in someone else’s dream, rather than achieving my own, and it’s caused some serious blockage, including in my writing.  However, I don’t feel like hitting yall with all that.  In the midst of my flux, I saw a tweet that made me giggle heartily:

RT @imkishabish: IF WE ON A DATE AND YOU DRINK FROM MY STRAW… #WEGOTOGETHER NOW!

So I shared it with my friends, and realized that we all have these “rules” – seemingly innocuous actions which hold major implications – that we subconsciously abide by.  Now, I am the queen of full disclosure, and my official stance is unless we have the “we go together” talk, we don’t go together. However, there are some things that are just *this side* of extra,that cause us to feel a person is more than just a casual dating acquaintance.  So, all in good fun, I present to you, “You Know How I Know We Go Together?”

  • If you call me at my job to pick up your mama and bring her to Safeway, WE GO TOGETHER NOW.
  • If your brother calls my phone looking for you and starts of the call with “Hey Big Head,” WE GO TOGETHER NOW.
  • If you go in my fridge and just start warming stuff up, WE GO TOGETHER NOW.
  • If you fart and we both laugh, WE GO TOGETHER NOW.
  • If you ask me to iron your shirt and I use th ironing board AND the starch, WE GO TOGETHER NOW.
  • If you take my last Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi or the last of my Raisin Bran and I let you live, WE GO TOGETHER NOW.
  • If I am talking about an aunt, and you say, “The one with the diabetes or the one with the crazy husband,” not only do WE GO TOGETHER NOW, but I will also do something extra freaky to you for remembering my stories.

Despite being clustered, I have a few things going on, but I promise, I’ll be coming through with more posts.  Until then (and by “then,” I mean tomorrow) feel free to chime in with your own “We Go Together Rules.

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 1 Comment

…And all is right with the world

I was determined that come hell or high water, the kiddies would have an uneventful back to school experience this year, so this year they came home slightly earlier.  Since I made an impromptu trip home in June for Foxy’s funeral, I stayed here and let them fly back.  I didn’t expect them to be the same size as when they left, but holy damn.  Finge needs a job and Ladybug needs to be chaperoned until she’s 23.  We’ve been having a great time, but they have worn my righteous behind out.

My kid actually has a half day of school today for orientation, so that he can learn where everything is. He even catches the bus home.  Is this not getting the shaft in the worst order?  You have a day of school BEFORE you go to school?  Some old bullshit.

At one point, I mulled over the kids spending the school year with my sister, and I’m so glad I didn’t go with that.  I missed those guys.  We had the totally corny moment when they were coming up the walk way, and I peeked my head over to look for them.  I heard “MOMMYYYYYYYYY!” and that was awesome to me.  I live in the suburbs, and most of the parents in my kids’ school are married, often with stay at home moms.  Tons of events are held during the day, and of course, I can’t always attend.  We had a tumultuous year last year, and I thought the stability, and more traditional style of my sister’s household may have been a good idea, but my kids weren’t having that.  When I saw them running down the walk way, I knew I’d made the right choice.

I’m not traditional.  They will probably never come home and smell cookies, I hate play dates, and I would slit my throat before I threw a sleepover.  But they still like me, and I think I’m okay with that.

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 2 Comments

Open Letter

Dear Dr. Laura:

Forgive me if I seem discombobulated.  See, I heard your name mentioned in current, and seemingly relevant, conversation, so I thought I’d slipped into a time warp. At lunch this past Saturday, Cynthia said it best, when she asked, “Is this the 90s? Why the hell am I hearing and saying Dr. Laura’s name?”  This is officially getting old.  Is there a great meeting of forgotten white celebrities that hash out how they’ll scam themselves back into relevance?  Is there a great wheel that you spin with options such as “Pose Nude,” “Go to Rehab,” “Adopt a Minority PR Wet Dream Infant?”  So I would imagine that you, like Michael Richards and Mel Gibson, hit the “Racist Asshole” bonanza.  You were rude, you were dismissive, and yes, you were racist.  Let’s not lose that in translation.

I’ll be frank here: when a person above the age of 40 makes ignorant, “I miss the days of yore” type statments, I don’t expect it, but I am not surprised.  Part of this is because you come from a different time; a time where life thrived on exclusion.  We had no idea about other races and cultures, because life was conducive to people living in little enclaves that only included people of their own class and culture.  I don’t see that type of thing as telling.

What was telling, however, was your reaction and curt non-apology.  Your deliberate tone punctuated your statement with, “Happy now niggers?”  Yeah.  We all heard it.

So now you have decided to not renew your contract at the end of the year, because you want to, “regain my First Amendment rights.” To say nigger?  Color me confused again.  According to your non-apology, you were wrong, but you told Larry King that you were a victim of hate groups and you did not want to live in fear.  Okay…I’ll speak to you in terms you understand:

N-word 101 for Dr. Laura (Pardon me.  Every time I say your name in the 21st century, I have to check my Beta Max for the time. )

Though I doubt very seriously any interest group has threatened you, I can safely say that uttering the n-word any time after, let’s say 1972 may not guarantee you getting a mudhole stomped in your bony posterior, but it makes it a distinct possibility.  Black people don’t like white people saying that word.  Ever.  It’s not for you to decide that you would like to use it.  WHY do you want to use it?  (This goes for every white person that wonders why they can’t use it.  Do you think it tastes like raspberry gelato on your tongue?  It doesn’t.)  I say that you aren’t fearful enough.  If you knew like I know, you would not have dropped the n-bomb in the first place.

Additionally Doc, what you did was either wrong, or it wasn’t.  So you can’t say out of one side of your mouth that it was wrong, then out of the other, cry censorship and blame hate groups.  You, my dear, are the one who used hate speech.  You are the one who told the caller, who revered and respected you enough to go to you for advice, that bristling under her husband’s friends’ hate speech was her being hypersensitive.  But here’s where you are right:  we do NOT want to debate you.  As the great Negro philosopher Sean Carter once said, “A wise man told me don’t argue with fools/’Cause people from a distance can’t tell who’s who.”  We want your variety of ignorance eliminated — eradicated either.  There is no place for you.

So to you and your non-apology, I extend to you your much desired freedom.  The freedom to suck it, and kiss my EN-TIRE ass.  NOBODY’S FOOLING WITH YOU ANYWAY!

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 1 Comment

Quickie

Since I broke my ankle this Spring, I spent the first half of my summer basically chained to the crib. I’m off crutches, but still taking it slow.  I’ve devoted the past few weeks to diverting from the beaten path and getting out more.  Not the typical clubbing, but walking the mall, going to the movies, going to sociable places and doing sociable things.  Being at one with the universe, rather than behaving like a miserly tenant.  Yesterday, not only did I hit up the happening spot that is Busboys and Poets (which I loved), but I also dared to bare a little shoulder in the daylight hours.

The owners of the New Orleans standard Port of Call have opened a restaurant in the DC area named Desperados Burger.  I hear I should be prepared to get messy, but I grew up in the  land of the dressed roast beef po’boy, so I ain’t scared o’ no beef.  Today, it’s funky and rainy, but I refuse to let that keep me inside.  I’ve just really been feeling myself this past week, so I think other people should experience the good vibes that I’m emanating.  I don’t mean that in a conceited way (maybe slightly); but I mean that in the way of, I’m feeling good, and I want to be outdoors and positive and send good vibes to other people as well.

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 2 Comments

My Favorite Time to Hodge Podge

It’s no secret that I love Sundays.  I’m not good at the church thing, but I always felt that being away from the hustle and bustle of the week, our minds are more relaxed and receptive to spiritual messages on Sundays.  It’s a perfect day for lingering conversations with long winded relatives, slow walks to nowhere special and hearty meals that you can spend the rest of the weekend working off, if that’s your thing.  And honestly, is there any loving better than some good Sunday morning loving?  Methinks not.

Sunday morning is also my weigh in day, and I must say, when I see the scale going in the right direction, it makes me feel better about the upcoming week.  There’s a certain obligation to either undo the wrong that’s been done, or not take a dump on my hard work.  This week, there’s no undoing wrongs.  Your girl is on course.  This is a working definition of “what’s hot in these streets.”

I also love Sundays when I’m coming off of a great Saturday.  Yesterday, I spent the afternoon laughing harder than I’ve laughed in a while at nothing in particular.  That’s a good feeling.  I had a great afternoon, and it makes me realize that I need to get out more often.  If I didn’t have so much cleaning and whatnot to do today, I’d certainly hop back on the train and give this “getting out” thing another go.  When you leave your house, the compulsion to shove food in your face all but disappears.  This especially holds true when the McDonald’s offers NINE DOLLAR combos.  WTF?!

Next week, I’m finally going to check out Busboys and Poets and see what all the hullabaloo is about.  I haven’t settled on whether or not I’m going to the U Street location or the one on 5th & K, but I’m definitely hoping to have some delicious food and perhaps make a couple of new acquaintances.

I have the tattoo itch again.  I’ve been wanting the same tattoo on my right shoulder for ages now, but whenever I say “Yeah, I’m going to go for it,” I suddenly decide against.  I mean, I’m bored, so my only answer is to torture myself with a needle?  I’m not sure how healthy that is.  If I get it, I’ll be sure to post pics.  My other dilemma is that I can’t draw, so I would probably be walking around with something generic or someone else’s design.  Neither prospect is very inviting to me, but I’ll see.

For those who don’t know, Oyin Handmade’s Whipped Shea Butter gives me LIFE.  It’s 31 flavors of the bomb.  Since I’ve been using this stuff, my skin has felt like heaven on gossamer on some cool jazz that I don’t even know about yet.  I could be in the dingiest pair of chucks or the most worn pair of flip flops.  If my skin is feeling fabulous, I’m alright.  And my hair…YEESH!  I’m so loving how it feels these days, I can’t even explain it.  I’m overdue for a trim, but finding a good product line that is affordable and black owned just lifts me to unimaginable heights.

Now I just need to get my mind right and decide if I’m going to do yoga or pilates this morning.  I’m thinking my ankle might say “hell to the naw” to some of that yoga jazz.  Ah well, off to start my Sunday!

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 3 Comments

Humility

One of the biggest challenges in all of humanity is the act of being humble.  I believe that we were created in a spectacular manner, making us capable of great things.  With these capabilities, however, I believe comes the obligation to recognize that we aren’t always “at the wheel.”  This very evening, I found myself in the midst of a situation that is totally beyond my pay grade, as it were.  Instead of relaxing and realizing this was one of those situations where I was not necessarily in control and falling back a bit, I lost control.

The problem with me losing my cool, is that I’m a yeller.  All I know how to do is get loud and cuss you out.  And that’s what the individual on the business end of my rage got, which wasn’t exactly cool.  Now, that being said, this situation came about with him not exactly being in touch with his own  humility, but I can not control others; only myself.  Therefore, I just have to pray to do better going forward.  Few things are uglier than baby mama/daddy drama, so I won’t go into detail.  I will say that I have faith things will work out for the best.

That being said, this week, we will be getting back to our regularly scheduled blog dancerie.  I still have some issues that I would like to address regarding the infrastructure of New Orleans, and I’ve just got a whole lot of stuff to say about life in general.  The nomination process for the Black Weblog awards is closed, and I will know within the next week or so whether or not I’m a finalist.  Be it yay or nay, I want to thank all of you for your support, and I hope that you continue to read and maybe bring a friend.

Smooches and holleration!

Posted on by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized Leave a comment