the Super Sistah Blog

Be Super. Watch Yourself Soar

Warrior War Cry January 25, 2011

I can see it now, Rocky running up the stairs with his hands thrown in the air.  The music is blaring in his ears making him take the steps two at a time. No one can stop him.  He’s invincible.  I can see it now, Lenox Lewis entering the stadium with his white silk hood covering the dreads of his hair.  In the background the DJ blasts, “I’m going to chase those crazy baldheads out of town.” The crowd goes wild. That’s his jam. The Rastafarian boxer uses the Bob Marley classic to strike fear into his close-cropped challengers.  He’s Sampson and his hair is his strength. His music makes him powerful.

Every woman needs a theme song. It’s the song that is going to motivate and energize us when life gets us down.  It’s the song that you put into your CD player and turn it up full blast.  It’s the song that speaks to who you are and inspires you to settle into your fighting stance when people come to do battle. It uplifts and it warns your enemies not to mess or they’ll have a fight on their hands.

The rapper Kool Moe Dee wrote a song just for me.  It’s the song that makes me sing out loud and launch into the running man no matter whose watching.  If I’m down it gives me life.  My choice is very fluorescent socks and acid wash jeans but I don’t care.  I didn’t choose my song.  It chose me. From the moment I heard the chorus, “how ya like me now?” I knew that it was my war cry. The song settled into my soul and took root.  It was the song that I was going to sing when all my dreams were realized. I would ask the haters, “how ya like me now?” If someone doubted my talent, told me I couldn’t do something and proclaimed that I would fail, the minute I proved them wrong, I would ask the question, “how ya like me now?” It’s the theme song for the underdog and it fits me perfectly. I don’t play it all the time. I don’t play it everyday. I play it when life gets tough; when I’m on the verge of failing or giving up. I play it when I think I can’t go on. I play it in my head so much that the real song isn’t necessary.  I can succeed. I can win. My song says I can.  Cultivate a theme song and if you don’t have one borrow mine temporarily.  Win at everything.  When you have defeated all your detractors ask them with only the barest hint of sarcasm, “how ya like me now?”


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Bitter Best Friend January 18, 2011

My sister says that when I walk down the street people see me coming. She claims I have a bounce to my step and an attitude that says here I come or for my Jamaican readers, “see mi ya.” I never gave her observation much thought.  But recently I realized that not only was I not bouncing, I was dragging and moving slow. There was no pep to my step and no fire in my blood.  I started to disappear. When I entered a room no one did a double take and when I walked down the street no one’s gaze held mine. These were things that happened to me regularly which I had taken for granted as my right. People always stared at me. I never knew why. Didn’t care.  It certainly wasn’t because I was beautiful or had any striking features that made me stand out.  I generally attributed the curious stares to the fact that when I was ready I knew how to vibrate. I knew how to unconsciously convey the message, “look at me, I’m important.” Someone must have blown up my bull horn because I’d gone silent. I attribute this silencing to the old saying that ‘you are what you say you are.’

Recently I fought with my evil twin. Amidst all the hoorays, good jobs and high fives I gave myself, I was also sneaking in some put downs. As I told myself I was pretty behind my back I whispered for a big girl.  While I told myself I was smart, snidely I said, so why aren’t you more successful, dumb ass? While I was telling myself I was well-liked, to my secret self I admitted, yeah for someone who has no friends. I was my own bitter best friend like the sister that always has positive things to say to you while hiding the voodoo doll with your likeness in her backpack.

I have to kill the secret side conversations going on in my  head. When negative thoughts intrude shake the venom free. Learn to push pause on the auto play button when its starts to sing songs of acrimony. I’m not the positive affirmation chick with the Hare Krishna Hammer pants and tambourine so this is going to take some work.  Does anyone have any techniques that might help that doesn’t include shaving my head bald except for two wispy ponytails on the side?

 

Bitch & Her Boots January 12, 2011

I had a pair of bitchin’ moon boots back when I was young. I don’t want to date myself but for the infants they are like slouchy boots minus twenty plus years. Back then I already had a healthy self-esteem but in those boots I thought I was the shit. Coming to school that day I was all swagger with my beaded braids swinging, shoulders thrown back and an attitude that already screamed F*%# You, even though I was too young to swear. I was fierce and gangster. I was unaware, but already I had a kiss my ass mentality forming inside. I started down the school playground and treated it like a runway. I began with a sedate walk but as I neared my friends I could have sworn I heard the beat of Billy Jean playing in my ear. With every step I took the concrete path lit up just for me.  Michael’s glimmer socks and loafers couldn’t touch me. I had on my moon boots and I was on fire.  I expected my friends to love the look, congratulate me on my style and ask me to be their pre-pubescent stylist. Instead I got dirty looks, hate and whispers. Huh. What the hell!  Come again? I didn’t understand what everyone was so mad about. It didn’t matter. I never wore my moon boots again. Today, I wish I could pull that little girl aside and warn her not kill her fabulousness on the playground. It would take decades to rebuild.  I missed my chance. I’ll do it now.  

Remember this: “If you’re remarkable, it’s likely that someone won’t like you. That’s part of being remarkable. Nobody gets unanimous praise. The best the timid can hope for is to be unnoticed. Criticism comes to those who stand out(Seth Godin).”  

Folks are going to hate you anyway so you might as well give them their money’s worth. I’m digging in my closet for my boots as I speak. I have to push past Prince’s silk ruffled shirt and high heels, Gaga’s meat dress and Michael’s glitter glove. Ah, there they are – my moon boots. Long time no see, love. It’s time for a wear.

What have you hidden away that you plan to dust off and rock this year?

Willow rocks her boots

 

the Super Sistah Video Blog December 17, 2010

Not all women are super heroes but all are meant to be. Be Super. Watch yourself Soar!

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Beauty Backlash November 27, 2010

The Super is not a girly girl. I’m more butch than Barbie.   I’m the type of girl whose looks are deceiving. I look like I invest a lot of time in maintaining the pretty. But it’s a lie.  Like all women I like to keep myself up but I find my beauty regime time-consuming and tedious.  The problem is that I love the fellas and men like bees are attracted to honey. So I make myself up in the morning (not on the train though I find that annoying.) I wax, not because I think a little forest ever hurt anybody, but because a strip is more civilized.  I wear Victoria Secret undies but near laundry week the pair might be ripped and unraveling.  I keep my hair tight. Michelle O has nothing on me. But I skip the expensive stylist for the bargain basement blow out for $19.99. I like to look good—on a budget.  Watching me trot down the street though might deceive you.  I look casually expensive.  Less Gucci and more J.Crew but my clothes are out of season and off the rack.  For me clearance signs evoke ecstasy.  I look like beauty is important but I’m a fraud. The truth is that I will go weeks without a manicure until my hands look like broken and chipped claws.  I only know that a pedicure is in order because my toe nails cut through my sheets.  My manicurist mutters curse words in Chinese every time she sees me.  I get my eyebrows done regularly because even I know a unibrow isn’t sexy.  Having said all that,  I recently became a slave to the pretty.

I decided that my lashes weren’t long enough.  I wanted them long and sultry.  Big mistake.  I couldn’t see. My eyelids felt like they were being held down by bricks and I my eyes were so red I thought my cornea had dropped out.  After a full day of walking around with lashes like bat wings, I gave in.  There was no point in being pretty if I couldn’t see.   A total waste of money which has led to a beauty backslash.  In protest, this week I’m wearing my granny panties,  my hair in a bun and I’m letting my legs get hairy.  Even the most ardent beauty enthusiast needs a reprieve.

Have you suffered for beauty?

 

Who’s Bad? November 17, 2010

It’s difficult, challenging and downright hard to be good.  Being bad is easy. It requires no effort at all. Waking up in the morning spitting fire and brimstone takes no extra synapses for the brain.  It’s a matter of giving into base impulses and letting it ride. Being evil, mean and nasty only requires letting loose the restraints of the tongue and temper and voila: people are wishing you a victim of a hit and run.  Ouch.  Evil is infectious and the more you hate the more it spreads.  The easier it is to relax your moral code, the easier it is for the universe to give you all that you’ve earned: possibly an anonymous push into an oncoming train.  Watch your back!

Instead of constantly standing sideways on the subway platform learn to smile, laugh and forgive.  The face has to manipulate no muscles to frown.  Happiness is not a birthright.  It’s the product of constant and persistent study, commitment to being better and faith.  It requires a continuous battle between the devil on your left shoulder and the angel on your right.  Can I get an Amen?  I’m preaching y’all.  The Super is meditating on this message because recently I’ve felt myself being lured to the dark side. I struggle to keep my halo on straight.  Some days it sports a dark ring and is cocked to the side–B-boy style.  This dark angel is regularly tempted to let the evil genie inside her have full reign. It’s a struggle to resist.  I do it by avoiding people who inspire me to give out bitch slaps. I want to improve but sometimes it’s hard.  Like the rest of the world, The Super is a work in progress and the many times I fall are only exceeded by the times I rise.  If MJ were here he’d ask me, ‘Who’s Bad?’ I’d answer, I’m bad.  But in a good way.

Are you bad?

Who's Bad?

 

The Most Super Sistah October 12, 2010

People are losing jobs, homes are being foreclosed upon and the state of the economy and America’s financial future is at risk.  Things are looking bad for a good portion of the population but as the gospel artist Donnie McClurkin sings, We All Fall Down, But We Get Up.  So instead of worrying about things I can’t change, I’m making plans–big plans for the future.  These plans center around a Google search I did recently.  I typed my name into the engine and what I found invigorated me, inspired me and quite frankly lit a fire under my ass.  When I looked myself up on the internet I found nothing. Nada.  Zip.  As far as Google was concerned I was a non-entity.  Now I know this shouldn’t affect me nor have any impact on my self-worth but it still left an impression.  Right then and there I decided something important:  I wasn’t going to be anonymous.  Like Zorro’s signature Z, I planned to carve my name into the side of the planet and let the S blaze.  I would make an impact and endeavor to be more Super than even the most accomplished Sistah.  The plan centered on being the most successful me.

The Man of Steel who? When people thought of the word Super it would be my name called and then Superman after me.  Some are already calling me delusional but they only think so because they have yet to see me put thought into action. I’m conceiving my ambitions first before I make them into reality.  We all have to have goals right?  As I write yet another blog for a slow-growing fan base, I’m a regular human being with only super-powered ambition. But the seeds of power grow first in the mind before they can bloom in the heart and spread out across the land.  Today I’m dreaming.  I’m dreaming that the next time I Google my name, my name will dominate the first three pages exclusively.  I’m dreaming that when I examine my heart it is filled with the pride of my accomplishments and a peace that comes from knowing that I have lived up to my greatest potential.

I can’t find my name in the search engine today.  But the day is just beginning.  I don’t know about you but my ambition is to see myself on Mount Olympus with the rest of the Gods and Oprah Winfrey.  I’ll race you to the top of the mountain.  Do you think that you can beat me?