the Super Sistah Blog

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Love is Like a Fist February 14, 2011

Filed under: General,Love-Relationships,Women's Issues — thesupersistah @ 5:54 pm
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Some individuals are afraid of love. Like all things that require risk, love is stamped with a handle with care or danger sign. For many, instead of a warm inviting fire, love is like a stove turned up too high. The flame is a liability that left unchecked can burn the house down and leave destruction behind. For some folks, relationships require caution. Every date and mate is approached with an orange and yellow neon caution sign that blinks uncontrollably. Instead of a sexy red dress, the outfit of choice is a red warning siren overhead that flashes DON’T TOUCH.  When in relationships these individuals only give the love they think they can spare and hoard the rest.  They keep the excess emotion locked within themselves so they have an emergency supply in times of famine and duress.  People have hurt them in the past so they protect their love like the military and surround it with a battalion of war ready soldiers.  The plan is to protect the heart from risk. But as with all things, love is like a fist. Holding the hand clenched tight doesn’t let anything precious out but it also doesn’t let anything valuable in. No one can win.

So for the lost in love, the hurt and humiliated, and most importantly, for the weary, let me tell you this on Valentine’s Day.  Love won’t kill you. It can’t.  Love is a gift meant to uplift, strengthen and build. The heart is a strong organ meant to beat despite the greatest tests. It’s meant to endure and not shatter or break like glass at the slightest trial. If I get biblical the Good Book says, to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill and a time to heal.  A time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance…

If there is a time for everything then there is a time for love. So this year and years following, let your hair down. Love hard and without restraint. Dance into love and let the emotion overwhelm you. Laugh because it’s allowed and remember that no matter what went wrong in the past. Today is a new beginning.

I wish all my readers all the love their hearts and hands can hold. Let it overflow and consume. May you jump from the top of the mountain into the abyss feet first with your eyes wide open. Wade into the murky waters of love with all your clothes on and let the refreshing waters of fearlessness cleanse all your doubts. If you loved unwisely in the past it’s not the love that you gave that was wrong, it was the recipient. Dust yourself off, leave the past behind you and present the next person a brand new revitalized heart. Love is currency, spend wisely.

Have you ever been afraid of love?

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A Little Bit Lesbian December 20, 2010

I love the ladies.  There, I’ve admitted it. I’ve said it out loud and I’m not ashamed. Stop!  I know what you’re thinking.  Take your mind out of the gutter! Erase mental images of me dominating some delicate chick half my size. The Super likes men with muscles. I’m curious about the bulge behind Adam’s fig leaf but still convinced that Eve is the best example of God’s creativity.  Many don’t agree.  Some women don’t like women.  If their best friend is drowning they will throw the single life raft to the dude they met yesterday at the DMV.  No matter the length or strength of the relationship as long as there is a man in the picture the friendship cannot survive.  Loving the ladies has nothing to do with sex.

I’m not, nor have I ever been a Spice Girl, but I believe in Girl Power. I don’t relate to women who are convinced that they’re nothing without a boo, a beau or a main squeeze—those that seek validation from men and have no sense of their own worth.  The Super is exceptional and I accept that there will always be women who will hate me because I’m me.  I don’t apologize. To me it’s better to think that I’m the Shit than to feel only slightly better than the dark smears on the ground.  Feeling less is easy; feeling extraordinary takes an effort. Sometimes we need our female friends to lift us up, pick us up and help us rise. Are the women of the rainbow the only ones that agree? Are Oprah and Gayle the only proof that being a little bit lesbian never hurt anybody?  Tell me, where my girls at?

Oprah & Gayle - A little bit Lesbian?

 

Girl Fight December 3, 2010

When men think of the words Girl Fight they instantly conjure visions of muddy girls in bikinis pulling hair and slapping each other hard enough to make panties fly.  When women fight in reality it’s less sexy.  Michelle Rodriquez is not bobbing and weaving Mohammed Ali style looking tough and sultry.  When they exchange words it usually involves hurt feelings, bruised egos and words hot enough to burn.  Women strike with verbal and not physical blows.  Despite having years of love to bind them and having formed ties as strong as Zena and her vaguely hetro sidekick, many women at the slightest provocation will lash out with acid glued to their tongues and give out disses as painful as fingers balled into fists.  What happened? 

I’ve never longed to be a man or pee without squatting, but I wish that women would learn to fight like men.  I’m digging their combat style.  A man will punch his BFF in the face; bloody his nose and put him in half nelson head lock.  Fast forward an hour.  They’ll have a talk containing less than five words and fight finished. Over.  No hard feelings.  Women? Not so much.  An angry woman will make a pact with the devil before she relents. What’s up with that? Why can’t women fight like men?   

"You fight like a girl"

 

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell November 12, 2010

Like the U.S. Military I have a strict Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy between me and my friends.  This has nothing to do with whom they bump uglies with and everything to do with the question of honesty. I’ve always had a problem with the truth.  They say that the truth will set you free. Bullshit!  Instead, throughout my life, the truth has gotten me yelled at, cussed out and disrespected.  For protection, I’ve tried lying, dissembling and making non-committal sounds of agreement in an attempt to keep my thoughts and my opinions to myself.  For the most part I’ve failed miserably.  To save myself from yelling matches with people who only wanted me to listen, I enacted the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy. I sent out summonses to all my friends with the notice that if they didn’t want an honest answer not to come to me.  If what they needed was a hand holding session and a good cry while their girlfriend agreed with all their Special Ed behavior, I was not the one.  I knew my weaknesses.

I’m the friend if you really wanted to know if you were fat, I’d tell you straight, ‘yup, sort of’.  If you really wanted to know if your boyfriend was cheating, I’d reply, “Yeah girl, I think he might be.”  If you really wanted to know if you sucked at your job, to your face I’d admit, “There’s definite room for improvement.” If you wanted the politically correct answer wrapped in bows and niceties I was the friend you skipped.  I thought everyone knew this.  I thought I made myself clear.  Nope. After a particularly brutal exchange with a friend I was kindly advised to, “Learn to lie a little bit.” Really?  Can’t do it.

If I see a friend headed for the train tracks I won’t tell them that I don’t see the Amtrak. I won’t ignore the danger signs, the blaring whistle and the steam engine blowing air up their ass. I won’t close my eyes and watch as they get run over.  If I have breath in my body I will yell, WATCH OUT!  I would want them to do the same for me. Apparently my desire to protect makes me a bitch.  The Super didn’t get the memo that lasting friendships are sustained by lying and backstabbing.  I get it now. Check!  Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie here I come! When asked a question I must learn to nod and agree.  It’s going to be hard. I need a support group like M.A.D .D – Mothers Against Drunk Driving.  Should I create F.A.D – Friends Against Deceiving? I’m considering it. Are you with me?

 

Only Packin’ Fashion? November 4, 2010

I’ve been talking to my girlfriends lately about men, the state of their relationships and the status of their love lives.  This is what I found out.  It seems that in the age of the metro-sexual, equal rights for women and female breadwinners, some men have lost something essential: their balls. This writer has to wonder if the severing came with the unfortunate rise of the denim destroyer otherwise known as the male skinny jean.  Should we boycott the trousers — light a bonfire and seek out Versace for doing the unthinkable: mutilating our men’s private parts?

If the thing that swings is what separates men from women why are some men so effeminate? I have pretty friends, not seven or eights, but hard tens with legs like super models.  Their as fine as any playmate and have enough skills in the bedroom to make their own sex tape minus Pam and Tommy.  These ladies are all sitting at home with their toy of choice: the vibrator. What the hell! When asked the reason for their foray into pleasure power tools, I was told that they don’t get asked out.  Has the world gone gay? Is there estrogen floating around in the drinking water? Someone please explain.

I confronted my male friend at work with the issue the next day.  Congregating around the water cooler I pointed out pretty co-worker after pretty co-worker who sashayed by us throwing him come hither looks.   The message was plain.  “Ask her out.” I suggested, elbowing him in the back.” He shook me off clearly irritated.  “Nah, I can’t.” he said. “She probably has a man and I’m done with rejection.” It was all I could do not to rear up and give him a backhand.  Aren’t men supposed to be brave, courageous and well…masculine?  Aren’t they taught to lead, to conquer and to eat challenges for breakfast like Corn Flakes?  When did this change?  Are we now in a world where men don’t hunt?  Is the species destined to go extinct because we are breeding men with no backbone?

I blame the jeans.

I’m all for style but I thought tight pants were for rock stars.  Where are the real men that still climb mountains, women and wear their clothes one size too big? Where are the ones that bring home the bacon but still cook in the bedroom?  As women are we destined to be the males in the relationships?  Are modern men only packin’ fashion?

The BallBra - When your only packin' fashion

 

Pretty Lonely October 29, 2010

Filed under: Beauty/Health,Love-Relationships,Women's Issues — thesupersistah @ 9:24 pm
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The Super has noticed an interesting phenomenon.  I noticed the trend as I strolled through the malls, visited the theater and while I walked through the city minding my own beeswax.  For the record, I believe that even if you have a face like reggae artist Shabba Ranks or Ugly Betty when she’s feeling stank, that everyone has their own special kind of beauty.  That said, there are girls walking the streets with bellies the size of army Special Forces tanks and with faces requiring bulletproof vests.  Some of these unfortunate ones stroll the sidewalks with mugs only slightly better looking the Color Purple’s Ms. Ceily.  But Don’t Cry for them Argentina, um,  I mean New York City, because they have what many of my slim and slammin’ friends do not have – boyfriends.  These ladies despite not being pretty in the face or slim in the waist, are sauntering down the avenue hand-in-hand with boyfriends and boo’s.  My Tyra Banks look-a-likes and Naomi Campbell wannabes are at home on Saturday nights eating Ben and Jerry’s.  What’s up with that? Can someone explain? Why are the pretty girls lonely while the less-than-lovely of the world have every Friday and Saturday nights jammed with dates? Are the lovely among us more picky and particular? Are they harder to please? Is there a reason all the pretty girls are lonely? Besides discreetly advertising in popular men’s magazines like professional pretties called prostitutes, what does a pretty girl have to do to get a date?  What do you think?

He's the beauty, she's the .....

 

Growing Old Money October 18, 2010

Filed under: Age/Aging,Love-Relationships — thesupersistah @ 8:59 pm
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Mom’s getting old–not Joan Rivers teetering on the edge of the crypt old, but more subtle and insidious. The changes are harder to spot when Botox isn’t involved but the evidence is glaring. She sleeps more and wakes later. Now she strolls instead of barrels ahead and stairs are harder to climb. She hugs me longer and with more intensity. Is she counting the touches, the kisses and storing up the affection she receives to take with her? Where is she going? It’s a hard process to watch. It’s not like I didn’t know that people age. I shouldn’t have expected mom to stay the same age she was when she wore the sequins bustier and blue leather skirt with the door-knocker earrings. I shouldn’t have expected her to be as lively as when jerry curls, cameo’s and Eddie Murphy tight pants were still in vogue, but the last time I saw her it really hit me that she wasn’t going to be around forever. I wasn’t the little girl she used to bounce on her knee and she wasn’t the fiery-tempered, saucy-tongued, take-no-nonsense mother she once was. She was slowing down. Like clocks, people slowly wind down until they wind to a stop. It’s the inevitable cycle of life for which no one is immune. Somehow the Super Sistah thought mom would be spared the kryptonite which was old age. Who was I fooling? So beyond the pain that comes with a good dose of reality, the Super started making plans and vows. Every instance in life can be used for motivation. Mom’s approaching retirement is inspiring me. This is what I’m envisioning. Dream with me.

 

Here comes the Super’s Mommy pushing the bad ass whip with the touch panel navigation system she doesn’t know how to use. The retirement home is the condo on the beach with the spectacular view of palm trees. Rest happens in the King size bed with the 1000 sheet thread count. She’s a combination of P.Diddy’s mom minus the horrible blond weave and Dynasty’s Joan Collins–rocking the fur coat in 100 degree weather. She’s ballin’ and moving on up straight George and Weezy style.
I’m making a music video in my mind because it’s all a dream that I have no idea how I ‘m going to make into reality. What I know is that there can be no alternative. I have to rewrite the future using my own script. I have to pay back my mother for all she’s done for me. Isn’t a child’s duty to make good on emotional debts? Aren’t we all born to pay what we owe? Speak to me.