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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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"

 

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 .....

 

The Art of Letting Go July 27, 2010

Filed under: Love-Relationships — thesupersistah @ 2:31 am
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Super Sistah has been accused of being a Vulcan, a robot and a person with her feelings under tight control.  My closest friends often marvel at my inability to feel pain and treat me with a mixture of admiration and scorn.  Supposedly nothing can touch me.  They’re all morons.  If I’m like Spock, then like him, underneath my seemingly calm exterior is a teeming caldron of bubbling and explosive emotions. I’m not dead inside. I feel plenty. What I’ve mastered; however, is the art of the blank stare— the poker face.  My mastery over the muscles in my face has been both the bright light and bane of my existence.  I get hurt often. People have said and done things to mortally wound me. Most of them are unaware of the damage they’ve inflicted.   Only when I’m alone do I drop the bloody bandage around my heart to reveal the hemorrhaging going on inside. My room runs red but I clean it privately.  I don’t recommend this as a coping strategy. It’s not always healthy. But a friend of mine who’s the exact opposite recently broke up with a boyfriend who she begged on bended knee to give her a second chance.  

She’s the crying type; the expressive one.   She’s probably the more emotionally healthy one between us.  Recently she asked me for some of my coping strategies for when I cut off, let go or dead the men in my past who have hurt me.  She wanted me to write it down step-by-step.  Here you go, Symone. 

The Art of Letting Go – Aka – Deading Douche Bags 

Step 1 – Acknowledge that you got played, hurt and humiliated  

Pretending that your feelings weren’t hurt is a pathetic practice of self-denial. You can’t lie to yourself. Just like the movie Inception, your sub-conscious truth is always trying to break through. Acknowledge your pain. You can’t run away. 

Step 2 – Forgive yourself for being stupid, optimistic, giddy or blind  

We all want love and acceptance and will go to extraordinary lengths to secure our heart’s desire.  If we have gone overboard and thrown ourselves over the deep end, continually calling ourselves a stupid son of a bitch, a dumb hoe and a friggin idiot, won’t make the pain go away. The shit you pile on your head will only intensify the heartbreak.  Forgive yourself for loving more than you should have.   

Step 3 – Erase, eradicate, destroy, burn and blow up any lingering evidence of the moron who used to be your boyfriend  

Constantly reading old emails, dialing his number, staring at his Valentine’s Day card will only remind you of the one day that he wasn’t a dip shit.  It will lull you in to forgetting the other 364 days that he was a bastard and a brain-dead fool. 

Step 4 – When you mess up, don’t close all the windows and turn on the gas  

Like all twelve step programs sometimes we fall off the wagon. If you call or give him some ass and you remember the instant your panties hit the floor why you hate him, give yourself a do-over.  You’re human but make sure you don’t make the same mistake twice.  Go back to step 1 and repeat. 

Step 5 – Remember who you are.  Remember that you deserve better.  Remember that you only get what you think you deserve.   

If he hurt and humiliated you and you let him, remind yourself that the shitty experience you just lived through will be the norm for the rest of your life.  No one will respect and treat you right if you can’t treat yourself right first.  Tell yourself that you’re steel.  Infuse that truth into your spine. Stand upright. 

Step 6 – If you grow weak and start to think that he wasn’t so bad.  Kick your own ass and punch yourself in the face.  A beat down will be the least of what you deserve. 

Hope this helps.   

Letting Go

 

The End of Cliff and Clair? July 25, 2010

Filed under: Love-Relationships,Race/Ethic Issues — thesupersistah @ 11:14 pm
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Super Sistah likes to travel and she likes to visit all sorts of places all over the globe.  Recently she visited the neighbors to the North —Canada.  In this cold air country, the home of the maple leaf, the moose and the booted Mountie, I discovered something disturbing about the black male inhabitants who call the place home.   Now black people are black people everywhere and dependent on our geographical location there are things that mark us culturally.  As I wandered through the malls, the restaurants and streets in this country renowned for its beautiful landscape, low crime rates and its civility, I kept on wondering why I found some of the men there lacking. If we know a little bit of our history we know that many slaves escaped to the North and sought out freedom and assimilation there.  Was that why the men seemed a little watered down to me? I couldn’t figure out what I had against these brothers to the North and then it hit me.   

Despite its stereotype as a very white country, there are places in Canada teeming with women of color from every country and continent on the globe.  In Canada the black women are multi-cultural, spicy and flavorful.  Yet as I walked through the place it struck me forcefully that it seemed black women had no power and no prestige. Super Sistah saw black men pass sisters by without a glance or a look. What was the cause?  How did we get to a place in time where black men had so many options that it wasn’t even a consideration to date within their race?  It seemed wrong somehow that beautiful black women didn’t even warrant a steamy look or an overly long, potentially raunchy stare.  It was sad and it was soul-destroying.  As I looked around, I saw black men with ever race of other on the planet.  I rarely saw a Michelle Obama, a Halle Berry or a Gabrielle Union attached to a black man’s side.  It occurred, but it was rarer than it should be. Instead brothers strolled on with hands clasped with all versions of Pretty Pale, Sorta Exotic, Almost Ethnic, Barely Black and everything in between.  I can’t tell people who to love but when did the Cosby Show’s Clair and Cliff become obsolete?  

Is dating and mating exclusively other considered a preference? Is this place in the North a sign of things to come? Is this the beginning of the systematic demise of black love?  

Cliff & Clair Huxtable