The Finish Line

Today I walked 3.5 miles in the Susan Komen Breast Cancer Walk/Run. Walking/Running for a good cause isn't such a big deal, however, while walking I realized something about myself-I don't finish what I start. Sure, undergrad counts but school was an expectation. I remember a youth camp activity from childhood where we told to climb a short steep hill. On my way up the hill, I paused at points just as everyone else did. I got to a place where I could see the hilltop but I gave up about 7/8 of the way. After it was all over, my youth pastor told us that the climbing exercise was a way for us to see how we think about our obstacles and goals. I remembered this situation today because somewhere around Mile 3 we walked by the car and I thought of the car as a "way out". I could also see the finish line and I was so distracted by the car that I almost forgot the significance of reaching the finish line. I realized that I start a lot of things and have great expectations but I finish few in the manner I set out to initially. The environment was very encouraging and supportive. Usually, the support and encourage lose their value after I hear it over and over again. Needless to say, I completed the walk and felt much better for pushing myself further. Its not how long it takes you run the race its that you finish strong.

Soul Food: Beat your Kids

I spoke with a childhood friend last night who informed me that her relationship with our other elementary school friend was becoming more and more strained. We rolled as a group of three: Mia*, Quita, and Me. After HS separated us, we kept up with each other through mutual friends and the blessing of facebook reunited Quita and I. Quita and I reminisced last night about the times when were on maximum security lock down by our moms and Mia was free. We laughed about being on punishment and not being able to receive "boy" phone calls until what seemed like an eternity, while Mia was able to do as she pleased. Mia had a boyfriend long before we were able to. Mia could go out with her boyfriend when Jackie and B (our moms) punished us for talking back. While Jackie and B kept Quita and I involved in school activities and busted their asses to make sure we "did better than they did" in life, Mia's mom let her get a job to support her interest in looking good and dressing fly.

Somewhere around junior year when Quita and I were making the grade...Mia got pregnant by that same boyfriend. While having a child is a celebratory occasion, it was waaaaay tooooo soon. Then Mia started hanging out with the other girls who had babies really early because they had more common ground with her than she had with us. We finished college. She is still working at the same place she worked at in High School. Although, we try to reach out to her (she is still our friend), she doesn't have any interest in kicking it with us.

The POINT: Life takes us all on very different journeys. No judgment is being rendered, just the recognition of differences. As my mother celebrates her 50th birthday today, I want to say thanks to her for promptly beating my ass when I thought I was being too grown too fast. Thanks for mean mugging all those niggas who were looking at my overdeveloped body before my mind caught up. Thanks for keeping me on maximum security lockdown that I may learn responsibility and discipline. Mom--You're the greatest:)

DOC

Press or Relax pt. 2

I haven't seen my own hair since the end of October. I have had a sew-in weave, braided extensions, and this past weekend I had to face the reality of -- my own hair. I had been dreading this moment for the last four months. My weave gave me the illusion that my hair was fabulously long and easy to maintain. As soon as the weave had run its course, I ran to the braid shop so that I wouldn't have to go through hair withdrawals or face the tragedy that rested on my scalp. I don't believe in "good" hair or "bad" hair, however, I do know that the hair God chose for me must have been a character building exercise. Sometimes I wish my mother would've met my father's sisters so she could've seen what my hair odds would've been if she married him. On my way to the salon, post-braids, I couldn't even put my hair in any somewhat presentable style. I simply put on a scarf and anxiously waited for the moment my stylist would be ready for me. As I sat on the couch in the waiting area near the window, I took off my scarf and my stylist walked over to see "how bad it was". A Jewish man walked by and took a double-take glance like he couldn't believe what the hell it was he saw. The woman sitting in the chair was getting a relaxer and I was tempted by familiarity. I knew that little cup of AFFIRM would solve all my problems. I got mad at myself because I couldn't remember why I wasn't relaxing my hair in the first place. I want to be free from hair woes. White women are free to have natural hair (non-chemically treated) and I want to be equally free. With black women, our hair is a link to our hearts. Walking out of the shop, with a hair cut and style that I absolutely hated, I longed for a relaxer. In fact, I really want one right now. Waiting for the glory of healthy hair and going through the rough phase is the hard part. I guess I have become subject to instant results...is it worth the wait?

Buffie the Body

I read a friend's blog earlier about his random encounter with "Buffie the Body" and I didn't know who he was referring to. After google-ing her (and don't act like you don't google people), I had two reactions: (reaction 1) damn...her ASS is HUGE. (reaction 2) damn...her ASS is really HUGE!!! How is it humanly possible to have a waist so small and an ASS sooooo BIG? Whatever that chick eats for Breakfast is about to be my new shit. Can you imagine going to the club with that chick? I can bet her friends are few; the game would be over as soon as they hit the club. Hell, with an ass like that ... I wouldn't need friends Better than that..she probably has a bunch of freeloading friends that reap the benefits her ass is able to retrieve. I bet guys give her their life insurance and SSN. Reesy said she's the new Hottentot Venus (google it). All her photos are ass shots...I mean she realized her ASS-et (no pun intended) and capitalized on it.

the POINT: I am about to find out what her daily routine is because if there are chicks like her walking around...I need to start eating effing AIR and doing ass squats for the next 24 months.


DOC

ADD-ON: She must have been the chick twista was talking about in the song Badunkadunk when he said..."even though you only walking it still looks like you shouldn't do that shit in public"

Hope is...(and yes I'm borrowing)

Previously disregarding the school janitor as an uneducated man with baby mama drama...then later finding out he is one semester short of earning his professional degree and works as a janitor because he is paying for his education on his own.