Birth Announcement from a Recovering Slacker

I've been carrying this load for a bit and finally I have some news to share.

The results are in, folks.

It's a...book!

The final proof of Confessions of a Recovering Slacker has come back from the editor!

*throws confetti in the air*

That means, there are no more additions to be made, no more questions, or tweaks, or annoying details (that only I care about) that go into building a work from the heart.

I am both ecstatic and filled with a little something I can't describe.

It feels like indigestion, but it's, I don't know... Anxiety? Angst? Some other fancy "A" word that describes wanting to lose my lunch and curl up in a fetal position for a few?

It doesn't hurt, but it is not a pleasant feeling at all.

Anyway.

The next step is page formatting (boring), cover art (yay!) and submitting it to the distributors for its pending due date. Yes, good people, the baby will be here soon.

I'm filled with awe. (That's not the "A" word I was looking for.) It's a little overwhelming to be somewhat done with a project I've been working on and, yep, procrastinating about. But through prayer, intense labor and endurance, it's almost time for delivery.

Pray for me.

Sixteen Candles (Re-Post from 2007)

Okay, make that sixteen times two, plus two. And one for good luck. (How’s your math folks? LOL)

I’m going to be 34 in ten days. And I can’t wait! Yay!

I love birthdays.

There’s just something about them that make me smile.

For me birthdays are the close out of one chapter, the beginning of a new one; a reminder that God’s real; and a celebration of you. Your own special holiday, if you will. Why celebrate you? Shee-it why not? Lincoln and Washington have their own day, why shouldn’t you? Granted, one freed the slaves and the other was the first President, but personally, so long as you don’t have to go to work, I don’t see the difference.

Do you know I actually feel bad when people say they hate them? I always think they feel that way because they’ve been disappointed.

*If that’s you, I’m sah-wee! Tell me your birthday, and I’ll shout you out whether you like it or not! I rarely forget a birthday, so if you don’t hear from me, it’s cause we’ve lost contact, or I ain’t fuckin’ witcha!*

But every year, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been celebrating my birthday. And for the birthdays I don’t remember, there are yellowed photos that are curled at the edge, memorializing the big day.

Birthday parties are just one of those things we’ve always done for one another growing up in my house. I mean at the very least you’d get a cake. Even if it was homemade box cake, slightly lopsided on a plate. Even if there was a wooden matchstick as the candle because somebody forgot to buy. Even if it was just mom, sis and me, dad if he wasn’t working. And then little sis when she came along. A birthday was to be celebrated.

And that has always stayed with me.

It’s not all about doing something big, or fancy or having a big blowout. It’s always been about the company and the fun of celebrating with people I enjoy.

My favorite birthday so far, is the one where Salt and I went to Sou.th Beach, and were scared to get in that gorgeous blue green ocean because there’d been a rash of shark attacks.

But the water was so tantalizing, it beckoned. And well who says no, when seduced so effortlessly? You should have seen us in the shallow water, her keeping an eye on our stuff on the beach, me keeping an eye out for the sharks. Thinking back, I hoped she would have just followed my lead if I started scrambling, because um, sharks…me…gone! LOL. I don’t think ther would have been ANY words coming out of my mouth! LMAO.

Anyway, the night it was my birthday, we were going out on Oce.an Drive to eat, drink and be jazzy (Thanx Honey Libra!). On the elevator, on our way down, we ran into these dudes from Houston that we’d seen from afar. They were cuties. Even up close! And there was a tall one for me to kick it with and a short one for Salt. Nice match up. Cool.

Well, you already know what happened. The little one was all over me! And the big one was jocking Salt! It was hilarious! We were looking like Big Shirl.ey and Cole!! But we went out with them that night and had a blast in Wet Wi.llies; drinking Call-Me-a-Cab’s like it was wine at the Last Supper.

Sou.th Beach just provided the setting. Because truthfully, I had fun the year my family was away and my youngest sister and I ate pizza, blew out the candles on a sloped cake, and watched the MTV awards. Or in 1999, when Keys.hawn Johnson got stuck with a bill for a hungry, cocktail imbibing party of eight at Jus.tins and my friends quickly paid the eighty dollar bill for his party of TWO and dragged my drunk ass out quick fast! Sorry Key-Key, they made me do it!

Birthdays are what you make it. I’m just grateful mine, for the most part - I have a 94% success rate** so far - have been celebrated well. (**I think 2/33 is 94%. How’s your math? I should be asking how’s mine.)

I haven’t planned a thing for the big 3-4, and I’m okay with that. Whatever happens will be fine with me, so long as the company’s good. Birthday cake is a must. Matchstick candle is optional.



Love is Timeless

Nick Ashford

1942-2011

The first thought I had when I heard Nick Ashford passed away was, what is she gonna do? After being together for over forty years of highs, lows, and in between, what is Ms. Simpson going to do? They're not Ashford or Simpson. They are Ashford and Simpson. Together. It just doesn't make sense. I am sorry for the family's loss. For Ms. Simpson's loss especially.

The second thought was of their hit song, "Solid." That was a really good song that makes double sense as an adult. Still, I'd like to thank the boys in my 5th Grade class for forever tainting it. I'm finally at the point in my adult years that I don't break into giggles at the chorus.

The third thought was...what else did they sing? I couldn't seem to really remember.

*googling A-s-h-f-o-r-d-a-n-d...*

Whoa.

Their catalogue is just about everything our parents ever played, including "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing," and "You're All I Need to Get By" - the one that spawned one of my favorite hip hop love songs of all time.

The list (of mostly love songs) went on.

As I think about Nick Ashford's passing, I pray that Ms. Simpson and family are able to find comfort in the long and enduring love they shared that inadvertently shaped our views on love, life and helping each other in times of need.

May he Rest in Peace.

Basketball Wives: The Pumps and a Bump Edition

Two weeks ago, we all (who admit to watching) gasped collectively at the coming attractions: namely the drink splash heard ‘round the world.

I, for one, suffered through last week's gratuitous lip-locking and lump-head cake topper (highlight!) just to see this. But before we got to the drowning, two things took place that changed my take on this show.

Shaunie met with her manager to discuss her shoe line that will be making an international debut. During their conversation, she said, “I’ll never ever have to depend on anyone else ever again.”

Interesting.

Then, Eric and his friend were at the table and Eric said, something like, Ya dig...my last name. Ya dig.  50/50. Ya dig, you're who you are, ya dig because of...ya dig. She’s a basketball wife, ya dig, because I made her a basketball wife. Ya dig. She got her lip gloss line...ya dig, ya dig, ya dig?

Dug.

All this time, I figured the show was a way for the ex/almost ex/almost BBW's to collect residuals.  It is. But it’s more than that.

One of the things I grew up knowing was that I couldn’t expect anyone to come in and take care of me. From my earliest days of dating, my mother would insist I have vex money. If I was in danger or didn’t like the situation, I could take care of me. That practice has never left me.

What Shaunie has here is not only a few pay checks, but an Independence Rehab, of sorts.

You doubt? Fine. Ask a black woman what her plusses are. Many of us are programmed to rattle off the My Own mantra: Got my own house, my own car, I can pay my own bills. In fact, songs have been made about this superwoman: “Independent Part 1”, “Miss Independent”, “She Got Her Own” just to name a few.

The root of all those songs is that as women, we are fully capable of taking care of ourselves and bringing something to the table; and that men can be secure in knowing she’s at the table for the potluck dinner, not the all-she-can-eat buffet.

If you’ve been paying attention, throughout the last two seasons of BBW, the one thing besides bickering that has been steady, is the business mentions of each woman involved.

From what we've seen on the show, Shaunie has positioned herself at the helm of the BBW franchise and an international shoe line. Jennifer's hawking lip gloss, and has a cameo in a music video. Evelyn has a limited supply of Non-Factor T's and a luxury shoe boutique. Meeka arrived to the show with her Real Estate company in her pocket. Had she sat back and listened instead of talking, she might have been able to plug it. Royce has written a book and has an upcoming movie role (blink). Tami has a foundation and a potential career as an ultimate fighter. I don’t know what Suzy has planned, but TMZ might could help her out with a gig.

Shaunie and Eric revealed the soft pink belly in the world of Basketball Lives: that the breadwinner can become resentful if the hand that feeds is bitten - on national television, at that; and that depending on someone else to support you in a particular lifestyle is not all spa treatments and Egyptian cotton sheets.

I'm not saying there was no love between Jen and Eric. Or any of the other former wives, for that matter. But marriage is a business transaction. And both are based on balance. If one side weighs more, the scale will always tip in one direction creating no leverage or room for negotiation.

Show detractors (including me) cite the negative depiction of black women and their friendships as a poor example for the impressionable as reasons why the show is toxic. But I hope that young viewers are clear on the fact that wives can be discarded, left with nothing, or have to depend on someone who may only want her because she can be controlled. 

Those who ascribe to the gold digger philosophy may say independence is overrated; they can take the good with the bad. But as far as I know, self-sufficiency ain’t never hurt nobody.

Just ask the Rehabilitated Jen who was able to look Eric in the knot and say that she was not the same person he met ten years ago. And when she dried off from her swim, and got those 5-inch heels to walking, you best believe she had her vex money in hand.

A Love Affair with Jill Scott

It’s been ages since I’ve blogged.  

Sure, I have legitimate reasons why. But the real truth is I just didn’t want to.

We share our thoughts on Twitter, Facebook and God knows where else. Cyberspace has provided a forum where no thought, opinion or statement goes unheard. For me, there are moments where we need to, as my mother would say, go sit down and read a book. 

But if there’s one thing that can bring me out of my blog silence, it’s Jill Scott.

Three summers ago, I saw my friend Jill at Wingate Park in Brooklyn. She wooed us, she caught us, she loved us down. Miss Jill was in love and it showed. At Jones Beach Amphitheater, the lovin’ wasn’t as tender.  It was stronger, more fierce.

See, Jilly is still in love. But she’s in love with Jilly. And I love it. That’s a lot of love. I know.

I’ll be back to that in a sec.

In all honesty, I didn’t enjoy this concert as much as her last. The fact that Jill was sharing the stage was cool because I adore Mint Condition and Anthony Hamilton. But it felt rushed.

Mint Condition opened, but we missed them because well, the concert began on time. "You Send Me Swingin’" was on as we made our way from the parking lot. "Breakin' My Heart," as we stood on line for $13 burger and fries combos. The cashier told us the acts were running late.  

Finally seated, Dougie Fresh and Jazzy Jeff kept the sparse crowd going. Yes, sparse. I blame the economy, high ticket prices, greedy ticket brokers, and small marketing budgets for grown acts.

Now as I said, Dougie and Jazzy Jeff kept the crowd going in true block party fashion. Dougie, clearly drinking from the fountain of youth, was still Dougie'ing and the legendary Jazzy Jeff, made fantastic selections; every song, a feel good throwback. But the transition between records threw me off. I love a great DJ. In fact, I am a DJ snob. I appreciate the ones that blend songs seamlessly so I never miss my groove. With the legendary, well, you can call me Stella. Groove missing like a mutha.

But Anthony Hamilton? Fire. He pulled the crowd in with "I’m a Mess," "Comin’ From Where I’m From," "The Point of it All," "Cool," "Sister Big Bone," a tambourine moment that took us to chuch, "Charlene," and "A Heart is a House for Love." Yes, you heard right. From The Five Heartbeats. And then he was done. Too soon, I might add.

Dougie Fresh took to the stage with Jazzy Jeff again. Stella.

And finally, Miss Jilly arrived in an electric blue sequined mini dress. Bright, powerful, and ready.

Groove returneth.

Miss Scott opened with "Blessed," a cool Philly vibe giving thanks for her blessings. And then, Jilly took some chances mixing genres which I normally like. However, if I were home, I’d have skipped the next two. The problem with concerts? Can't do that. 

*checks/updates facebook and twitter*

Wait. Whoa.

This is where it got really good.

If you have the album, there is a track called "Le Boom Vent Suite." At about the 3:40 mark she slows it down.

Grown woman, making decisions and choices. Utilizing everything inside of me. My soul, my heart, my mind, my voice. So maybe in the middle of the night, when the dream just aint going right, I could use a tug, a hug, a kiss, something strong, something fit for a queen, something passionate. Something with esteem, a king that’ll knock a sister down, like booom.

I felt her.

The songs on her album The Light of the Sun have a soulful 70’s sound. Auto-tune never, funky and gritty as ever: the stuff my Daddy raised us on. Take that and add the smooth essence of a grown woman looking for the next love, recovering from the last; Learning to trust herself and rely on the whisper, the discernment; Knowing that we are not the sum of our parts, but of our whole; Understanding that the power is in our ‘rolling hills.’

Lightbulb moment for some, recognition and acknowledgement for others.

And then, of course she blessed us with "A Long Walk", "Come See Me", "Across My Mind", and the sexy time special: "Crown Royal." She did a cute call and response using the timeless A Tribe Called Quest model “You on point Jill? All time band.” which flowed into "Golden."

She closed out the show, and came back in a staged encore performance to sing "He Loves Me" and "Hear My Call," a plea for Him to help her understand why although she did all the right things, her relationship didn’t work.  Who hasn’t been there at least once?

Last Thursday night, we experienced the hurt of lost love, the uncertainty and thrill of new love, and the pleasure of self-love. Mind out of the gutter folks. 

It was a beautiful thing. It was classic Jill Scott. It was all love.