Archive for August, 2012


Don’t make me act like a man

In the book/movie “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man,” Steve Harvey seeks to provide the ladies with the answer key to the well-guarded man code. Most times, I tend to agree with what “Uncle Steve” shares with his fans on this subject, but what happens when a woman has to do more than just think like a man? Sometimes, unc’, we also have to act like a man. By that I mean sometimes our menfolk ain’t handling their business the way they should, and the ladies are left with no alternative but to slip our freshly pedicured toes into some scuffed up Timberlands (or wing-tipped shoes for my white collar brothas) to handle business.

We prefer our man to take the car to the auto mechanic. We rather our man sit in the barbershop with the boys while they get their hair cut. We appreciate an old-fashioned fella who remembers to pull out his wallet to pay for the meals (even if it’s from a joint account). And, yes! We expect a man to open – and hold open – a building door, garage door, trap door, any door for us to pass through.

As my girl Jill Scott cooed “even though I can do all these things…(by my damn self) …we need you.”

But, if our man asks us to cut the grass, take out the trash, or jumps behind us if a brawl breaks out, we might want to leave our lady-like mannerisms behind and man up.


Daddy’s girl








I wish my father could just let go and forgive himself. I see him still trying to make up for time lost that can never be regained. If only he could see that I love him for who he is today and that I forgive him for the mistakes he made years ago. I’m way past crying over bumps and bruises never kissed or special days that he missed. I love him for the father he is today. No matter what story the past holds, I love my father and will always be my daddy’s girl.



For those who know me, you know that there are few things in life that leave me speechless.
Republican Senator Todd Akin’s comment that women don’t get pregnant from “legitimate rape” …

See the foolishness for yourself at Senator Todd Akin comments regarding rape and abortion.




Once young, in love

We thought we knew it all

Damn the odds that were stacked against us

We’d do better


So we dove in, mindless of the rocks beneath the surface

Lies, love, and more lies

We tried to make it last

If not for us, then what about the kids?

Yelling, fighting

Children huddled together, comforting one another

As the security of us shattered into pieces

Years past, memories faded

Or at least tucked neatly away

For me…

Today’s forecast calls for hope and promise

Overcast by bitterness and hurt

Still crying over the past

I once loved you

Now, I’m trying not to hate you


What if…?

Someone once asked me, if given a choice, would I turn back the clock to erase portions of my past?

 Sure, I wish I would have been a little wiser about whom I called friend, and maybe I spent too many seconds, minutes, hours in relationships that would clearly lead to a dead end. But, every joy I’ve experienced, every pain suffered, every accomplishment achieved, and every hurt caused has made me who I am today. If I were to tinker with time to right one wrong or to delay one day, who’s to say that I would be where I am today?

 Sitting here wondering…


The Prototype

When I first met my husband, I didn’t think he was “my type.” My type was that Morris Chesnut-looking brother (or at least it was in my dreams). And, according to his family, I didn’t fit his Eva Mendes preference either. The fact is, neither one of us fit the physical mold of what we thought our type was. It wasn’t until later that I learned that “my type” was someone who would be man enough to accept my strength, witty enough to challenge my intellect, and open enough to accept the love I had to share. My husband was not just my type, he was the one designed just for me. The prototype.

And, just think, all these years I was too busy trying on Keds when God had a pair of Jimmy Choos waiting on me. Ain’t it funny how your blessing can come wrapped in a package you wouldn’t expect?


To my friends…

We’ve laughed, cried, plotted, and dreamed together over the years

30+ year old tales of ponytail battles on the schoolyard playground

Translation shops to faux-fighting in the clubs of Miami

Squeaky wardrobe malfunctions

Countless bottles of Pinot Grigio, Riesling, and Moscato

The ever present ear and shoulder to cry on

We’ve been down like four flat tires through the thick and thin

Ya’ll are not just my friends but my family.

Muah! Love ya!


Division of Labor

When I was pregnant years ago, I remember announcing the news by saying “we’re pregnant.” I thought by saying “we” I could invest my partner in the pregnancy as much as I was. I understood that because men cannot experience or feel the changes that occur within a woman’s body with pregnancy, they may not bond as quickly (or at all) with the baby and possibly lead to feelings of disassociation from the man. So by referencing the physical journey as a change that we both were experiencing, I convinced myself that this slight act might encourage a stronger bond between him and the baby. But, truthfully, I believe that I was actually trying to convince myself that I wasn’t alone in the process and that this unexpected bundle was truly one of joy and not trepidation.

 Over the years I’ve heard countless stories of other women – single, married, or in a “committed relationship” – who experienced much of the same anxiety that I felt. At a time when a woman should feel overjoyed at the prospect of bringing life into the world, she also can experience feelings of rejection and confusion from that same man who whispered words of love in her ear while planting seeds of deception.

Perhaps we (meaning both the man and woman) just got caught up in the moment and misinterpreted R. Kelly’s “Half on a Baby” all wrong. Or, we are too literal in our translation of the word “half.” It just seems that all too often this division of labor is not one that truly means 50/50.

 Most women can attest that half doesn’t come into play when the baby wakes up in the middle of the night, is sick, needs to eat, is crying, is misbehaving, and the list goes on. And, Lord help us when the love is gone. You can practically forget about half of anything.

Surely whomever came up with the saying that “a woman’s work is never done” was talking about a mother.


The WHY? Chromosome

Swapping tales about the crazy things that men say or do, women are often left shaking their heads and wondering “WHY?

     Why would he say that?

     Why did he do that?

     Why would he think that was okay?

Well, the answer lies within the question itself. Science has demonstrated that most male characteristics are attributed to the genetic makeup found along the Y chromosome. However, while most would agree with this conclusion, some might argue that we should instead refer to this as the “WHY? chromosome” because it damn sure leaves one with a lot of unanswered questions.

 Take a look at the following examples of the WHY chromosome in action, along with examples from the male, mutated genes better known as the WTH?! and WTF?! chromosomes.

  •  Washing the baby with shampoo because “she wanted bubbles.” (WHY?)
  • Staying out until sunrise and wondering why your woman is mad as hell. (WHY?)
  • Saying you’re at work but you are pictured online posing in the club. (WHY?)
  • Requesting gas money to transport the kids when he’s never paid a penny of child support. (WTH?!)
  • Asking the ex-wife to contribute towards his wedding to another woman. (WTF?!) 


Perhaps we can convince the nation’s scientists to shave a couple of dollars off of the “head lice on a hedgehog study” to explore a magic cure for what ails the whY chromosome. All those in favor, say WHY?