The Relationship

Mel 7

Mel 9

Mel 21

I’ve been overweight for the past 13 years. Of course my weight did the obligatory yo-yoing, but I haven’t been within a healthy weight range since the Clinton administration. Literally. I never had a real weight struggle, and I thought that with time, the weight would just melt off. It didn’t. Gaining weight didn’t really have an impact on my family, social or dating life, so losing weight didn’t seem like an imperative to me. I’m not diabetic. My blood pressure is slightly below normal. My knees are a little worse for wear, but that was going to happen at 35 anyway, right?

Except, this New Year’s Eve, I spent twice as long in the mall than I should have, and spent twice as much as a thinner woman might have. And if that weren’t enough, my relationship with food is not normal. I’m from the South, arguably from a food Mecca, so a good meal borders on artistic expression. It’s how we show love and give comfort. That’s not new to me. I always enjoyed pastries and good meals. Just now, it seems to be more of a compulsion.

I want to go back. My relationship with food has to change. I’d like my relationship with food to NOT be dramatically referred to as “my relationship with food.” I think the way we gain weight is a disorder, but the obsession that this country has with losing weight is equally dysfunctional. Because it has so little to do with the actual losing of weight, and EVERYTHING to do with how the people surrounding you perceive you and how you perceive yourself.

If you look at daytime television, particularly channels geared toward women, it’s commercial after commercial for diets, “lifestyle changes,” diet products and anything else you can think of, and it’s slightly overkill. How do we find a happy medium, where food does not have to be the difference between victory or defeat? Have we gone so far, that we can’t just see how normal it is to enjoy a good meal, then stop after we have enjoyed a normal sized portion?

Year after year, I’ve come up with a plan of attack on my weight, and year after year, I’ve watched myself get larger and larger. I talk myself right into failure sometimes. “Well, I want to be smaller, but not AS small as I was.” It leads to me not pushing myself, and falling deeper into this dysfunctional relationship I have with my dinner plate.

So I’m trying a new strategy, where I begin to incorporate meals as normal parts of my day, rather than the parts of my day that I live for, then regret 20 minutes later. I’m also exploring what activities I should take up that I can enjoy without relying on the gym. When I was younger, though I did spend time at the gym, I also had a lot of activities that didn’t involve going to the gym at all. Simply put, I want my life back. And I’m gonna get it too.

Posted on January 12, 2012 by Beauty Jackson in Health & Wellness 2 Comments

Cult of Personality

“And during the few moments that we have left, we want to talk, right down to
earth, in a language that everybody here can easily understand.”

- Malcolm X (sampled in Living Colour’s “Cult of Personality”)

I’m just a woman. With a couple of kids, a job that pays the bills, a Hyundai with butterfly doors and a keyboard. And I want to be heard. I want to speak plainly, directly, and be understood. Judging by the hundreds of millions of people who divide their time between Twitter and Facebook, I’m not alone.

My desire to be heard is the reason I established my small presence on social media. What I enjoy most about it is the fact that I’m seriously an every day girl who has bits of awesome. It makes me think that the woman next to me on the train or the dude hooking up my latte might have a hidden awesome story of their own. Stay online long enough, and people assign certain characteristics to your “persona.” Or sometimes, we assign those characteristics to ourselves.

For the most part, people see me as a nerdy/funny girl/ranting maniac. I’m also very open about my stance and experiences with domestic violence, life as an expatriated New Orleanian, and struggles as a mother, who is also single and black. Being frank, but (hopefully) friendly is my calling card. I try not to treat subjects as taboo, but rather, get them out in the open.

When you’ve been around enough, certain things become running jokes (like me with “your dad,” and one of my very young friends being credited with creating the universe). Other times, people just sort of assign labels to you, which can at times be annoying and counter-productive if you’re attempting to establish discourse. Frankly, it’s just all part of the “cult.” Because for the most part, not even half of these people know you – a large percentage of the other half only KIND of know you.*

So when it comes to my personal relationships, I am fiercely private. I respect my privacy as well as the other person’s. I have three blood sisters who are on Twitter, and I don’t follow any of them. We have discussed our reasons for that, and mutually respect one another’s wishes. Though I occasionally use my children’s real names, I’m far more likely to use nicknames. While I may laugh at an innocuous funny or generic issue, I keep most challenges with them private.

That spills over into my dating life as well. I’m very hesitant to discuss who I’m seeing. It takes me a while to divulge whether I’m seeing anyone at all. Even one of my best friends gives me the side eye when she doesn’t hear about a fella until after we’re kaput. I’ve always been that way, if for no other reason than because it don’t have a damn thing to do with yall. I don’t think that people would single me out and attempt to torpedo my relationship. Quite frankly, I doubt THAT many people care about my romantic maneuvers one way or the other. But I care, and I care enough to guard my relationships with people.

I’ve developed friendships and relationships with people that I have met through social networking sites. When that happens, our friendship and interaction typically goes off grid. If I see a person as a confidante, then I like to keep a certain level of confidence. Not everyone will rock that way, and that’s understandable. But as much as I enjoy being heard, how I connect with my folk is something I like to keep very quiet.

*Sure, there are people who get on Twitter or Facebook and give the cheat codes to their entire existence. I’m not referring to them.

Posted on January 9, 2012 by Beauty Jackson in And That's Real 2 Comments

There are still firsts

Ignore the lumpy fro and look at the awesome background

I’ve lived life. There are lots of big things I have yet to do, like skydiving and seeing Table Mountain; but as far as everyday, tangible things go, I’ve done a lot of them. I sometimes forget that I still have a lot of everyday firsts left in me.

So last night, I participated in my first open mic. I was nervous and my voice caught and I…may or may not have jumped around on stage to “Niggas in Paris,” (the ratchet burrows itself deep down into my 9th ward bones), but I did it. And it was totally fun. Despite at times feeling like I choked through it, it seemed the people in the place dug it, and that also made me happy. I’m always conscious about how people will receive me. I can only be me, but I also wonder if, when the pressure is on, I’ll be choppy or off putting. And I managed to gulp down my nerves and make it through my (mercifully) short poem. I liked the feel of the mic though, so I can’t say this will be my last time. I guess we’ll see.

Posted on January 5, 2012 by Beauty Jackson in Mamba's Memoirs 6 Comments

possibilities

Hello world!

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Posted on January 4, 2012 by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 1 Comment

New Year, New ?

I’m optimistic. I love beginnings, because at the beginning, everything is possible. New days, new weeks, new months, new years. I try to approach it with how I can be better. Over the past year, I’ve realized that I was a little too kind to myself. There’s always a reason floating in the ether for me to ~~have~~ deserve ten more minutes of sleep, a late night bowl of ice cream, a night to party, one more drink. Self-indulgence is my achilles heel, and I’ve often joked about being a closet hedonist.

As great as 2011 was (and it WAS great), I became overwhelmed with this huge anxiety about what 2012 would bring. More specifically, do I have the stuff it takes to bring my goals to fruition. I look at the goals that I accomplished and wonder if I put in more work, could I have doubled that. What is it about me that gets to a certain point and stops? Fear? Coasting on my abilities? Laziness?

I’ve felt so angsty lately. What if I’ve waited to late to fulfill these goals? What if I screw everything up? What if my kids feel neglected in my pursuit for…whatever I’m pursuing. WHAT THE HELL AM I PURSUING?? I don’t know how I went from the land of “everything is possible” to utter doubt, but it bugs me more than anything.

Maybe with my tiny victories, I get to push myself to see what I’m really made of. The thing is, I like myself. I’m not unhappy with who I am. I just know that to an extent, it isolates me from my family. That’s still a hard pill for me to swallow. What if I’m living my life all wrong? I hate being afraid. It’s the reason that I’m so impetuous. I do things before my fear response gets to kick in.

If you don’t hesitate long enough to let the fear register, you don’t get the chance to be afraid. It’s the reason I walked out of my marriage on the way out to work; the reason I booked my ticket to DC the moment the idea hit me; it’s the reason I blurt out I love you as soon as I feel it. That extra second it takes could be the difference between altering my future and wondering what might have been. Is that foolish of me? Had I given myself the chance to (rightfully?) be afraid of pursuing a relationship with the ex husband, sure I could have avoided drama. I also would have avoided bringing two of the most awesome kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing into the world. If I hadn’t walked out that day, how much worse would things have gotten? If I hadn’t gone to DC and put everything on the line, I wouldn’t be missing out on so many family events, but I also might still be struggling to get published. As far as telling a person I loved them, well, there is nothing in this world that makes me feel freer, even if they don’t feel the same.

I just want to be a good person, and do the right things for my kids. Maybe be the type of person that my family can look up to, and not see me struggling all the damn time. Right now, my refrigerator is dying, I don’t have use of my car, and I just can’t seem to get anything right. That has me feeling hella defeated. I KNOW it’s gonna get better. I KNOW I’m just going through a bad spell, but you’ll be happy to know that I haven’t cried ONCE. I’m just having a teeny tiny moment.

For those of you who I know are going to pop up with words of encouragement, be it through comments, IMs or tweets, thank you in advance. I appreciate you more than you can possibly know.

Posted on January 3, 2012 by Beauty Jackson in Trouble Sleeping 1 Comment

bare

Closer to Fine

Well darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable
And lightness has a call that’s hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sail my ship of safety til I sank it
I’m crawling on your shores.

And I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
There’s more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

- “Closer to Fine” The Indigo Girls

There are less than 33 hours left 2011. A year that frankly, has been full of surprises. I’m published. That’s really a BFD to me. I also decided to walk out of my house and make the DMV my home. What makes this amazing is that I’ve managed to make new friends from here to Cali (despite the foibles I mentioned in my previous post). Life has been so kind to me this year, and I can’t begin to express my gratitude. I feel compelled to work harder for it. Earn some of the goodness that has come my way.

This summer, I wrote this. It was a reflection on the fearless girl I used to be. I mourned embracing the spirit that makes me hesitate; the spirit that stops me from jumping into shallow water and forces my eyes open when I roll down hill. Prudence isn’t an awful trait, but we can overdo it. I’ve got kids, so I can’t always go balls to the wall, but I made a conscious effort to let go the tiniest bit.

If reading my own past words wasn’t enough (it’s not – one of my largest goals this year is to really analyze other people’s thoughts) one of my favorite people shared this awesome piece on Twitter. Number 7 stuck with me the most:

7 :: If my parents / my grandma / God / whoever holds my sense of personal propriety in check was GONE (poof!) and there was no one to offend, upset, or disappoint… who would I become?

What unspeakably dark (or exquisitely light) truth would I tell? What would I (finally!) allow myself to write, publish, announce or create? What kind of closet would I come out of? What would I completely, at last, and fully… forgive?

One of the largest things I’ve tried to overcome is the accepting the woman I am, and not the one I’m expected to be. In no way are the people who shaped me wrong. I just can’t continue to beat myself up over finding my own way. I pray that I still employ the wisdom they’ve given me.

Life is so funny. Sometimes it punches you in the gut so that you can take stock of everything; other times, it gently wraps its arms around your waist, whispering sweet nothings, while making your heart feel light. Recently, life affably plopped down next to me on a bench, threw its arm across my shoulder and said, “Yo, let’s look at this sunrise and give today everything you’ve got.” I’ve said this before, and it bears repeating: Sometimes we can be so fearful of our own success and happiness, that we cripple ourselves with the lie that we’re waiting to be unafraid. We will ALWAYS be afraid. There’s a fear in the unknown.*

I don’t know that every decision I will make will be the perfect one. In fact, I can guarantee you that I will fuck up. I’m flawed. So are you. I plan on respecting the consequences of my flawed nature and being wise. But I don’t plan on being afraid. Not of failure, success, joy or pain. The truth is, there’s no one way to get to ANY of those things. We’re taught to believe that if you do this, and ONLY this, that will happen. This holds true for certain things in life, but not all.

And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.

* Much of the reason I quote myself is to hold myself accountable in my affirmations. I don’t want to say the things that motivate me, then forget them. Remembering that I have far to go is imperative.

Posted on December 30, 2011 by Beauty Jackson in Golden Leave a comment

The Pinocchio Effect

For those of you who have been around for the past three years, you probably know that I am an active tweeter. I actually have my most recent tweets in the toolbar to the right of the screen, if you’re interested. (You’re not. I’m so horribly out of pocket there, you really don’t want any part of it.) I’m just an interactive girl. An extrovert. I love speaking to those who address me regularly. It’s not uncommon for tweets to become IMs, which become texting, which becomes hanging out. Three of my CLOSEST friends I’ve made this past year, I met through Twitter.

A week or so ago, a young woman with whom I interacted regularly, was revealed to be a Pinocchio – not a real girl. She and I weren’t necessarily friends, but we spoke regularly and laughed at one another’s jokes. When she said that she got married, I congratulated her. I also congratulated her when she said she was pregnant. I prayed for her and her unborn when she told me she was going through cancer treatments. It turns out that whoever was being portrayed in those pictures, was not her. It’s such an odd feeling of betrayal. What does one get out of faking an existence?

This past week, someone I interacted with regularly via twitter and IM TOTALLY went off the meter on me. Since I respond to this person’s messages, as I spent time with my family, they proceeded to harass me not only all evening (during the Saints game), but all night, well into the morning. I SPECIFICALLY asked that they stop contacting me, and yet they continued to insist that I speak to them. Each time I shut off an avenue of communication, I discover another nook or cranny I didn’t consider. In a way, he was a Pinocchio as well, because he existed in a mind state that was not rooted in reality.

I’m a very what-you-see-is-what-you-get type person, so when a person misrepresents who they are, what they want from me, and how they behave, it troubles me greatly. What those two situations have done, is made me question the way I navigate twitter. Is the mystery girl someone who still follows me? It would stand to reason that “she” could be one of the people she regularly tweeted, to lend credence to her existence. Maybe the person she ACTUALLY is follows me as well. Do I tweet them regularly? It makes me worry when it comes to my e-stalker. Who’s to say that the next person I follow, that attempts to befriend me, isn’t him in disguise. I do not like being made to feel unsafe.

I joked earlier about having a stalker, but this actually has me low key shook. When a person misrepresents who they are, you are somewhat defenseless in how to approach them. It makes me sad, because I’ve met some AMAZING people through Twitter. But I need to feel secure, and I’m responsible for the security of other people. I’m hoping that people who attempt to be “creative” with reality, whether it’s lying about who they are, or deluding themselves into something that isn’t, give consideration to the people they impact. They should also give consideration to the fact that I am currently in the market for a weapon. I don’t believe in living in fear, so something has got to gie.

Most of all, I hope that those people leave me alone. Go right ahead and sell crazy somewhere else. I’m all stocked up.

Posted on December 29, 2011 by Beauty Jackson in Grown Folks' Business, Mamacita 3 Comments

mad vexed

Drew Dat

When I was a little girl, the New Orleans Saints weren’t such a hot team. They were bad. Abominable even. As a born and bred New Orleans girl, that was my team. Paper bags, “The Ain’ts,” you name it, I was there for them. Manning is a hallowed name in my home. But, come playoff and (definitely) Super Bowl time, I had to…explore other options. My options were Bret Favre (Gulf Coast boy) and Dan Marino (amazing by any measure). And I still love those guys.* Among the best to EVER do it.

But I’ll let you in on a secret: ~~I’m a bigger fan of~~ I TOTALLY stan for Andrew Christopher Brees.

Graduate of Purdue University, formerly of the San Diego Chargers, currently the bearer of jersey Number 9 of the New Orleans Saints. He is a badass. More than that, he’s just a nice guy. People can’t say nice enough things about Drew. He and his family have become New Orleans citizens. I will get in arguments over him like he’s my play cousin. Without him, we wouldn’t have won the 44th Super Bowl. He is GOLDEN in the book of any Saints fan. If he never did another great thing, we’d love him. And then last night this happened:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3wiFOgG6lGE]

It couldn’t have happened to a nicer, or more deserving guy. Deserving because he is driven in practice and doesn’t see this as HIS game or even HIS record. He simply wants to do his best. It’s the most elementary concept, one that most parents and teachers instill in us as quickly as possible. He does this for his fans and his teammates. He motivates and pulls the best out of eery one of those guys on the field. His teammates’ reaction to breaking the record tells you everything you need to know about how they feel about him. So when I read this article by Pete Prisco, I was more than a little annoyed.

The old “running up the score” bit. Drew Brees is not that guy. Nobody LIKES watching their team lose, much less be eviscerated on a nationally televised game. I get that. I spent many a game watching the Saints get stomped out, and every game sucked. The year the Colts won the Super Bowl, we played them in the opener. They beat us. Badly. It sucked. We LOST our opening game this season to the only man standing in the way of Drew Brees and the MVP trophy. But the onus is upon MY team to play better. Not the other team to make them look good. Drew Brees doesn’t play for the Atlanta Falcons (it hurts to type their name sans snarky misnomer), or Pete Prisco. Drew doesn’t even play for his own ego. In fact, Prisco’s article lets you know exactly who Drew plays for:

“I kind of got emotional before the game,” Brees said. “There was a kid as I was signing autographs who said, ‘I’m here to see you break the record.’ It made me think of when I was a kid.”

And none of that matters. Let’s discuss the fact that the other guys on the field, the ones NOT wearing New Orleans Saints’ uniforms are also professional football players. They play defense. It is their job to DEFEND the end zone. When you do not defend your end zone, the other team will score on you. It is not the other team’s job to make you feel good about it. If you’re tired of him scoring on you, stop him. Stop Sproles. Stop Graham. Stop this guy:

Yeah, he scored two years ago. Haven't heard from him since.

But to complain about running up the score? Ridiculous.

And I would be remiss if I did not share this tidbit: The Atlanta Falcons played the Jacksonville Jaguars on the 15th day of December, 2011 in the year of our Lord, and scored SEVEN times in the first three quarters, before the Jaguars even sniffed, not only the end zone, but the scoreboard. Feel free to verify.

But what about this unconscionable show of disrespect:

This comes a year after the Saints danced on the Falcons logo at the Georgia Dome after beating Atlanta last year with one player [Remi Ayodele] from that team that night saying, “I pissed on the Falcons logo.”

“That’s just who they are,” the Falcons player said. “We’ll see them down the road. We won’t forget any of it.”

Our boys don’t forget either. They don’t forget that Atlanta is not only a division rival, but a division rival with a player who likes to make disparaging Katrina comments shortly before facing the Saints. Sound familiar, Roddy White?

So, there will be no tears for the Falcons, their coaching staff, or their belief that they have earned some sort of extra consideration when their defense decides to phone it in. Play the game. Every drive counts. Every inch counts. If more Falcons had the drive of a Michael Turner or a Tony Gonzales, maybe they’d be a bigger threat. But the school yard taunts mean NOTHING if you’re not putting in the work to back it up. Until they do as a unit, the Falcons will ALWAYS come up short in the league.

In fact, I’ll just say the thing I’ve been erased three times in this post: “The Atlanta who? Fuck those guys.”

* Even now, I have a certain amount of sympathy for Favre, who found it so hard to leave the game he loved, and how he went out. What would I do if I was told I had to stop writing?

Posted on December 27, 2011 by Beauty Jackson in Uncategorized 4 Comments

Spring

Dear Spring,

Hey boo! When are you coming around? I know winter just got here, but I was hoping you would accept a personal request from a long time fan. What? Of course I love autumn, too. Let’s not speak in absolutes. We’re better than the filthy sith. The point is, I could go for the watery eyes, sneezing and all the other sinus distress you bring with your emerald glory. I just want some lush, dewy grass blades between my toes. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Christmas has come and gone, the New Year will soon be here, and football season is almost over. I’ve had my egg nog latte, Southern Comfort spiked warm drink, and the obligatory cold. Winter’s usefulness taps out pretty early.

But not you, Spring. You come in with pretty blossoms and brightly colored winged and buzzing creatures. You emancipate the body parts that have been oppressed all winter. Kids get to play a little longer and boys seem a little cuter when you’re around. Nobody complains when your temperate beauty hangs into summer just a little bit longer. Bring your gentle rains, your bees and your hay fever. Your berries, al fresco lunches and outdoor concerts make those things well worth it. I’m anxious to bare shoulders and throw on flip flops. Get here soon.

Your biggest fan,

B Jack

Posted on December 26, 2011 by Beauty Jackson in Golden 1 Comment

In the Mirror

What faces me in the mirror, is a woman who has a completely different idea of life, than she did one year ago. I did a lot of letting go, of everything. Expectation, resentment, stress and mostly fear. This past year, I found my voice and learned so much about who I am. Some of it worried me, other stuff made me proud. In many ways, I’ve finally embraced the DMV as home, and I think that was an important part of developing a sense of normalcy in my world.

I was also incredibly sad this year, for a lot of reasons. Rather than putting on a brave front and faking it until I made it, I just let the feelings flow until I was tapped out. I didn’t stop myself from crying. Every single thing I’d spent YEARS suppressing, I let those emotions fly free. I am so much better for that. Allowing myself that space to just be has helped me cope with things that would have reduced me to inconsolable tears a year ago. Giving myself the freedom to feel, and confronting every feeling, has helped me not have to put on a brave face. I actually cried more out of joy than sadness this year. I don’t believe I’ve done anything to deserve it, of course.

As far as the matter of love, I have so damn much. I have yet to meet my Chupacabra Hunter, but I opened myself to vulnerability, and loved the results. When I gave up the fear of being hurt, I recognized the true capacity of love. I’ve decided to spend the next year exploring what type of love will work for me. I plan on taking each day, tender moment, kiss, caress and, um…etcetera, as it comes. If it’s a feeling that lasts for five minutes, five days or five decades, I plan to savor the existing moment. Joy should know that I’ll be grasping it with hands and feet.

And then there’s the matter of friendships. There are people whom I let go of completely. There are people who I had to relegate to another part of my heart. There are also people who…we’re just on a different path right now. Each one of these situations are interesting, but they are also a part of life. I felt the slightest bit odd about that earlier today, but friendships, like any other relationships, go through evolutionary stages. No amount of pouting will change that. I spoke to a friend today and we discussed how the people who are supposed to be in your life, will be there. I can’t worry about who won’t be along or the rid.

Another thing I plan on claiming in the next year: a good night’s sleep. In fact, I plan on having several. I don’t think I’ve had one since I went home last holiday season.

This past year, I REALLY let my hair down. It was much needed and well deserved. But now I have to write the ship and balance my life. I know I can work hard. I know I can party hard. Now let’s combine the two into a well adjusted system. So this year, I plan on recapturing each and every morsel of my me-ness.

Posted on December 22, 2011 by Beauty Jackson in Affirmation 2 Comments

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