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Archive for the month “May, 2014”

Star Search Loser Moments

People love to talk about the 80s talent show, “Star Search” and how today’s biggest stars often lost the contest when they were much younger. I loved and wanted to be on so bad besides “Showtime At the Apollo.”

Even if you aren’t an entertainer, you have Star Search Loser Moments, the moment where you worked really hard for something and you felt you should have won/succeeded and you came up short. The stars didn’t align, and maybe your talent didn’t come up short, but the person judging you are serving as the referee thought your performance was good, but just not as good as the person who won…AT THAT MOMENT.

It’s a super tough pill to swallow. It’s the stuff parent and coach pep talks are made of. You go to the porch Laura Winslow and let grandma drop knowledge so you can live to over achieve another day. ABC shows did a fantastic job of showing these moments set to really sappy background music.

At any rate, when we lose, we get mad, we think about how hard we’ve worked and we do the mental debate of what we deserved, and if the winner was really that much better than us.

And you know what? Most of the time, especially when it comes to going out for a job or being selected for a program or a scholarship, you don’t even get to see who your competition was so you can dissect all of those things. You just didn’t win.

I think about missed opportunities and wondered what was the difference that kept me from it. The further away I am from those losses, I see that they weren’t losses after all and that I still ended up where I needed to be. Everything depends on the moment, but will that one moment bring you to where you are supposed to be at the right time?

I have noticed one thing about opportunities I didn’t get. The next opportunity that came along was always bigger, better and frighteningly close to what my heart really wanted.

So if you tried really hard at something and you didn’t get picked and it was something that was really, really awesome, keep trying hard. Keep getting better because the next thing, that thing that was made just for you and your purpose will top anything else you originally hoped for.

Just ask Beyonce, Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguillera. Just ask Michael Jordan who was cut from his middle school high school team. You may not be on top right now, but you can’t stop working at it because once you get there, you won’t just be great, you’ll be setting a new bar for greatness.

Watch Beyonce discuss the Star Search Loss here. I hope the Beygency doesn’t block it. Eek! But she really breaks it down in the first two minutes, so nicely!!

J’s Pre Wedding Poem

She said, “girl, that was a good poem.”
“I’m going to hire you when I get married.”
I say, why wait?
You see, the man who finds you, and woos you and proves he will care for you– that’s the kind of poetry that will write itself.
The look in his eyes when he looks into yours will be far more powerful than any thing my pen can write.
The deep meaning in his words, when he says, “I love you,” will tear the house down more than anything I could say in a punctuated phrase in a room full of people admiring God’s good work of placing you two together.
Your man is somewhere writing your poem right now, in deep thought and contemplation on how to properly prepare himself for a moment not yet known, yet necessary to his growth as a man– where he will ask and hope you’ll say yes.
And you will. You’ve waited, you’ve had messups and blunders, crooks and liars and you’ve learned my dear how to spot the fakes. He will be like no one else, and you’ll be glad for that. You’ll feel peace and butterflies in the pit of your stomach at the same time, and somehow they will co-exist in perfect harmony.
Girl, I’ma write your poem now, because I believe he’s writing his vows, building his life just right so you can fit in it perfectly. He does not know who he’s working so hard for, but he knows he has to. He knows he has to get it right.
Because you are beautifully blunt.
He’s going to grow to love that scowl, because he won’t see it as if he’s done something wrong, he’ll see it as an opportunity to correct himself.
He will appreciate your ability to argue, he’ll be glad to have a fierce advocate in you for himself, for your children.
I could write on about how you met and fell in love, but that is his story to write with you.
I could write on about how you will face this new life together.
But that is his story to write with you.
You say, “girl, string some words together for that special day.”
And I say, “why wait?”
You deserve a great love poem right now.

PDA In Church Is Just Too Much…

I was sitting in church yesterday after a long hiatus. I didn’t want to go, but I felt really compelled to be there. All in all, I’m glad I went. I needed it. But back to the initial thought of this post.

Sitting in a row ahead of me was an attractive young woman. She was into the service, it was all to the good. Maybe about 15 minutes later a male companion arrives and sits next to her.

For the duration of the service, she is rubbing his back, laying her head on his shoulder, holding his hand and in my opinion, just being extra. It wasn’t a packed service, so I kind of had the feeling she was putting on this show just for me.

Actually sister, I’m happy you have a man. I’m super happy for you that he joins you and is just as enthusiastic about worship and the word as you are, because this brother was taking notes and everything. He was all in.

But, your holy equivalent of peeing on your territory was too much, and in fact it was distracting.

I won’t front. If you are really into church, going to God’s house together is a really awesome feeling. And when your loved one actually wants to be there and is getting something out of it, you do feel mighty good about it. I knew I’d wave my hands a little more when I had my rock on my finger, but I was never to the point where I was PePe Le Pewing with my man throughout the entire service.

I have to say, she had him trained. When they do the obligatory say hi to five people thing, one, she didn’t even speak to me. Two, this brother gave me a high-five. I guess a handshake is just too much and a hug is certainly out of the question.

Whenever they do the greeting thing at church, I never hug men who are clearly with women. I don’t know them like that. And I honestly barely hug other men. Some of the older cat daddies seem to love this portion of the service and they will climb over about six rows to get to you, but hey, get in where you fit in.

The whole exercise in insecurity was comical to me. I get the competition is horribly stiff for finding a man in church especially if there are single men in your church.

I even understand how women can get super territorial of a man, when entering into a space where there is usually more women than men, and women looking for men. But I think this kind of paranoia in church is really, really scary.

Really scary.

A dear friend of mine was talking about getting a friend request from a high school rival of mine.

“Didn’t so and so hate us, you especially?” she asked.


As we talked, I told her she did happen to manage to get married and have a pretty cute kid. Which made me launch into the, how the heck are these mean ass women getting married? To which my awesome friend responded,

“Oh well. That just means they have a longer life sentence.”

I fell out. That perspective made me think again about the *dare I say it again* gift of the season of being single.

So, basically if you are a church chick, and you have a man and your man loves going to church like you do, I congratulate you. I’m happy for you, because if I believe in God, which I do, I already know your man is NOT my man, but that the Good Lord has someone just for me. But please, please, please have a little faith. You don’t have to spend the entire service proving to people outside of your relationship that you’re in one. We get it. That’s your man.

We ain’t here for you, boo. I’m just trying to get my mind and spirit right before I walk into another crazy week.

Am I A Jerk?

The older I get and the longer I’m single, I really struggle with whether or not my reactions to dating and relationships are unreasonable.
After all, there’s compromise and give and take and thinking of others besides yourself.
But after moving my very hectic schedule around for a potential date with a handsome guy who says that I “talk too much” (see, I let that one go) “But sometimes you say really interesting things. I love that about you” I decided since I needed some handsome male energy, I’d stay up til the wee hours to write a paper that’s due tomorrow. A girl needs a little fun.
Welp, after confirming our date, he asks me if any of the places I had to suggest had televisions. I told him they did.
Then I told him I was hoping his focus would be on me.
“I will focus. But I really want to watch the game.”

For some reason, handsome or not. That text made me livid. I rushed to text my best male friend to help me react or not react, but he took too long. So I told my date we should postpone.

He hasn’t responded.

And that further shows me he’s not really that interested in me. Even though he claims he is.

If I’m going to move my schedule around and stay up all night to get my homework done, it needs to be worth it, for someone who values me and my time. I’m not playing second fiddle to the NBA Playoffs today. I forgot about this guy’s obsession with basketball. But I’m in no mood to compete for his attention tonight. I enjoy sports, but cmon, man. I do feel my reaction may be knee-jerk and I may be a little inflexible, but I also feel like I put a lot of effort into even taking time to go out with him. So looks like I’ll be in my sweats working on my paper tonight.

I hate fighting with myself about not taking this L and possibly ending up alone for the rest of my life because I couldn’t accept a little basketball with my dinner and drinks.

Oh well.

REBLOG:Here, A Hypocrite Lives: I Probably Get It Wrong On Leslie Jones But I Tried

When I saw Leslie Jones on Saturday Night Live doing that Weekend Update skit, it brought out so many feelings in me. I discussed her kind of comedy with a friend. It’s similar to that of Sheryl Underwood– the self-deprecating humor of being a big, dark woman, embracing “masculine” features that stupid people put on them over their development as black women. It kills me when she’s on the Steve Harvey show describing herself as men. She does this often. There’s hurt there. That’s obvious. And comedians tell you that they draw on pain and they draw on their truth. But when it comes to these female comedians, whose truth are they really drawing on, when hurtful people lied to them about their beauty and significance and their value? That kind of humor puts my limited privilege as a lighter-skinned black woman on front street, but it doesn’t make it less hurtful, that my black sisters take this on and this is their reality and that this is a coping mechanism.
But is it a double standard? Kevin Hart can make jokes about being short… But I still can’t find the humor in a black woman reducing her own body and her color and her self-worth in such a way.
I think it’s far easier to make fun of yourself for being clumsy, or a bad dancer, or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Maybe she was attempting to be revolutionary and calling out the elephant in the room maybe she was giving a big f U to all of the folks who never accepted her and saw her beauty or placed a qualifier on it… “for a big girl.” “For a black girl.”
I don’t know. But I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. Here we are in the age of Oprah, and Michelle Obama and Misty Copeland and Kerry Washington and Lupita and then we have Love and Hip Hop and Leslie Jones. It hurts. It hurts terribly. Tressiemc put together all of the thoughts and the frustrations I felt so eloquently, dripping with the pain and the unease of being a witness to such a thing. I really had to share it.


I want badly to get this right. That, of course, means that there is no way humanly possible for me to get this right.

I want to get this right for the usual reasons. I want Twitchy and professional feminists and black nationalists and the identity policy and FOX news ambassadors to stay out of my comment section. I also want to get this right because I spent a fair amount of time this week explaining to mostly non-black academic labor organizers why they are nowhere near adept or oppressed enough to use slavery metaphors. Then, too, this is the week that Miley Cyrus called me old for publicly ruminating on the tensions of her adoption of a specific kind of black female affect in a capitalist beauty structure where chicks like me stay losing, even when we’re paid to dance like we’re winning.

And, Miley’s is some of the…

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