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?”


 

Running Scared January 3, 2011

“Every Sistah is Super.” That’s my one line opener. I say this to women I give my Super Sistah postcard to in a never-ending attempt to build my brand. In cutthroat, aggressive, neck rolling city like New York City I tend to drop the card in the new reader’s hands and take off in something resembling a dead run. I’m not scared I tell you! The Super is fearless……sort of. In the midst of doing a better Bolt than Usain, I tell myself that I’m not running exactly, instead I’m avoiding the “oh no she didn’t” blank stare and the, “you better get out of my face with that” look with a hint of crazy eyes. Timing is everything in these interactions.

With a pounding heart, I say my line– rushing the words, drop the card and haul ass.  But recently my split second timing was off and WHAM my head bounced off the closing train doors. I was trapped.  I was surrounded by a half a dozen women with my card in their hands. It was like Fear Factor x 10. I turned slowly ready for the rejection of seeing my cards littering the floor with the rest of the trash. What I got was a row of teeth.

“I’m Super? Really? What’s the blog about?” The responses should have delighted me. I felt sad. I could tell by the mirrored looks of expectancy and surprise that no one had told these women that they were wonderful. My little sales pitch was their only positive affirmation. The mere idea was troubling. No wonder I expected rejection, cynicism and negativity from the women I was trying to reach. Obviously, I didn’t believe my own message. Everyone needs to know that they’re special and important. It’s what gives us the fuel we need to keep moving forward. So to my readers, I believe that you’re all extraordinary women. We all need encouragement. I include myself. If I know what I’m doing is important maybe the next time I hand someone my card I might just reduce my speed to a quick walk instead of a run.

Are you facing your fears or are you running scared?

 

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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Eat a Tiger with Little Chews December 13, 2010

How do you eat a Tiger? With little chews. If you have ever been overwhelmed by trying to pursue your dreams then you know how daunting trying to succeed can be. Recently I had a chat with my sister.  She’s trying to be Super but is struggling.  I instantly gave her some encouragement. What kind of success coach would I be if I didn’t help my family? Usually when any of us start something new we are overwhelmed by the vastness of our ambitions and the energy required to scale mountains, slay dragons and banish thoughts of doubt and insecurity. We want to succeed but we think failure is a real option.  Soon our doubts become our reality and we give in and give up. No can do.  It’s important to understand that every day is an opportunity to succeed.  No one wakes up and is miraculously sitting in the penthouse with a Bentley parked outside sipping cocktails with P.Diddy.  How you grasp your dreams is by one action, step and move at a time.  Every stamp licked, every bill paid, every resume sent and every class taken is a step in the right direction. Those who try to do everything at once usually find themselves frustrated and defeated.

Think of success as a dripping faucet.  Every drop of water is merging with previous drops.  The water line is rising until it reaches uncontrollable levels and overflows.  Once the water escapes the confines of the sink it has broken through and can no longer be contained. Every day is an opportunity to burst the pipe and get the things you want and need. The sun should never set on your day without having tackled some problem, made some progress or done something (anything) that is taking you steadily in the direction you want to go.  A tiger is a big animal with many parts but even the most insignificant of us can have him for a meal if we eat him diligently.

“BURPPPPPPPP………!” Excuse me everyone, how rude. Forgive me, I launched my website today(www.thesupersistah.com) and wrote this blog so still have bits of tiger between my teeth. I’m not satisfied, are you? Bon Appétit.

Eat him before he eats you.

 

 

Fat Ass December 8, 2010

Recently someone called me fat – to my face – out loud.  They basically called me a pig, an oink away from being bacon.  I wish I could tell you it was some deranged kid with Tourette’s; it wasn’t.  Supposedly I gave offense and as punishment I was on the receiving end of words like a whip’s lash on wet skin.  I used all my super powers to shield my self-esteem but my mind set the moment to record and has been pressing rewind.  That’s the power of words, they reverberate.

The Super has never been tiny.  Like most women I have weight issues.  Was that why someone with no noticeable body fat chose that particular insult against me? Did they mean to inflict pain or were they just meaningless words said in a single moment of cruelty. I can’t decide. So instead I turn my attention to the words themselves and analyze them for truth.  Am I fat ass?  If you asked me I’d admit to being P.H.A.T (pretty, hot and tempting), but now I have to reassess. Truth be told, I’m meaty, strong and thick. If I was a biscuit I would be buttery with barely a hint of lard. I’m smaller than the average American woman and a few inches taller. I’m a bit of an amazon just a few muscles short of being Serena. But I digress.  The question I guess is not really if being twelve pounds over my BMI makes me obese, but whether I dismiss words hurled in heat.  Tell me people, despite provocation, real or imagined, is any insult acceptable when thrown with force? Tell me what you think?

Fat Ass

 

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?

 

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?