Phenomenally

This is in dedication to all of the women out there who do the every day balance between “superhero” and “around the way girl”. Everyday we get up and deal with the ugliness in this world, but we manage to do it with grace and style. We manage to hold our own in a man’s world without compromising our womanhood or femininity. Whether we’re being a student, being a CEO, being a mommy, being a lover, just being, or all of these we’re all phenomenal women.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

-Maya Angelou

Stop The Madness Now!

When will shit like this stop?!

I refuse to believe that a bunch of COLLEGE students don’t see how throwing a party and dressing like this could be remotely considered unoffensive:

Two separate incidents at separate colleges, this time at Clemson University. Some kind of fraternity, Delta Iota Kappa (more like Dumbass Ignant Kids) threw this party as a Martin Luther King, Jr. day party/celebration. So when does dressing in blackface equate honoring a great man? Right, that’s exactly what I thought…it doesn’t!

There have been more parties like this being trickled throughout the media, so I guess maybe I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am. But I’m having a hard time getting past the statement that gets echoed each and everytime a party like this gets leaked or posted on Facebook, etc : “We really didn’t mean it to be offensive”. Riiiiiight, and your great great granddaddy didn’t see it as offensive either when he was buyin and selling negroes for sport. Riiiiight. Save that damn arguement for someone stupid enough to believe it.

I don’t know why the universities aren’t imposing harsher discipline on the people who participate in these parties. Seriously, how can I trust a University’s commitment to harmonious diversity and multiculturalism when they brush stuff like this under the rug. I dunno, maybe they thought that since they weren’t saying the N-word like Michael Richards, then no one would be mad. *Rolls Eyes*

Double Dutch Bus

That was my JAM! “Dizzouble Dizzutch! Dizzouble Dizzutch!”

A few weekends ago when the weather was still resembling Miami, a bunch of my friends and I were feeling nostalgic (well actually someone started singing “Back in the days when I was young, I’m not a kid anymore, but some days I sit and wish I was a kid again…”), so we went to the church parking lot next door to where I live and played some of our favorite playground games. We played a mini-me version of dodgeball for about 20 minutes, then got down with the ropes. It took a minute for us to get our legs back under us, but it seems like double dutch is like riding a bike…once you learn, you never forget.

While we were playing, a group of about 4 or 5 girls walked by and asked us what we were doing. We told them that we were playing double dutch and invited them to join in. They didn’t even know what they game was, which was almost surprising to me, because many little girls seem to have an instinct of what to do with two jump ropes when the see them. I don’t even remember learning how to jump double dutch, I just remember always being outside perfecting my in-the-rope wannabe stunts from the time I was about six or so.

We showed the girls how to turn the ropes, then how to jump in the moving ropes, and then how to actually jump with the right rhythm. We tried to show them how to do some tricks in the ropes, but they weren’t getting it. After about 10 minutes, the girls had enough. They said that jumping rope was too much work and essentially too physical. They got tired very easily and were out of breath after only a minute or two in the rope, not even at a breakneck speed. One of them even asked if there was a double dutch game on xbox or playstation, because it would be easier that way and she wouldn’t have to sweat.

Well. Damn. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

Once those girls went about their business, we decided to dust off our four-square skills. As simple as this game is, I have never been good at it, so of course I got my ass handed to me with the obligatory “you can’t handle dis!” line of BS. Of course I have to redeem myself, so we’re going to go to Dave and Buster’s this weekend so I can whoop somebody up on those games!

Anyway, we had too much fun, but we all made a bee-line for the IcyHot the next morning. I couldn’t help but laugh when ol’ girl who was talking mess during the four-square game called me tombout (yeah I said it, leave my eblackabonics alone!), “Tash, I’m tryin to tell you you can’t handle….*silence*….*grunt*…Gotdamn I’m sore, I think I pulled something”.

Mmm hmm, yeah, see…that’s what you get for talking mess. But wait, can one of yall send me some more IcyHot please? *Immediately inserts foot in mouth*

Soooo, what were some of your favorite playground games?

In Pursuit of Trashyness

My apartment complex is a pretty nice little place, many of us are single or are young couples, some with little children. We tend to be very tidy people and mostly keep to ourselves. However, there is always that exception to the norm. These people have me wondering if it’s time to move or if I should get grimey and do something to teach them a lesson.

My next-building-over neighbors are some mullet-having, tight-jeans wearing, cheap beer drinking, trashy-ass people. I mean, these people are the type to toss trash out to the dumpster from their windows—their apartment is situated about 15-20 feet from the dumpster outside. Now I’ve seen nasty people before, but these trailer-trash rejects absolutely take the cake.

A girlfriend of mine lives in the apartment directly under them, so I’ve had a few too many run ins. These people will walk around in public with fly unzipped, gut hanging out, gray grizzly mountain man beard (YES the woman too), suspenders over a grody looking plaid flannel shirt looking like they haven’t showered since the Vietnam War. And the worst part is they’re passing this horrendous trash trait to their kids. I’m not immune to juvenile “bathroom” humor, but they’re teaching their seven and nine year olds that it’s perfectly cute to walk around belching and passing gas and laughing about it. Every time I see one of them, I can’t help but think of the movie, “Deliverance” and I hear the dueling banjos song. They honestly look like they were dropped in Maryland from the Ozarks and used to be neighbors to the “Green Acres” or the “Beverly Hillbillies” casts.

Yesterday though, I got my fill. I stopped by my girlfriend’s place after I got done with my errands, and of course who do I see but the dirty lady. I nodded my head hello and she nodded back then seriously stuck her hand in her pants, scratched her pandora’s box then sniffed her muthafuggin hand. Why she did this in front of me, I have no clue. But as I’m standing there waiting for my friend to come to the door she proceeded to scratch her ass then hocked the biggest, nastiest sounding loogie and spat it in front of the laundry room door. What in the name of holy purple rain?! Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

Of course, me having the mouth I have just said, “That’s fuckin disgusting. Take that shit outside you dirty ass ingrate”. And this woman had the nerve to say, “It ain’t my damn house, so I don’t give a good damn”. Yo, I was seriously about to lose my dignity and spit on her, but thank goodness my friend opened the door so I didn’t get the chance, because I know some mess would have popped off from there.

I truly don’t understand how people can be so disrespectful to the places that they live and carry themselves in such a manner. I don’t care that you don’t own it, you still live there and should take care of it in a respectful way. I know people have reported them to the leasing office, but nothing has been done. I don’t know how to effectively get them to change or get them to want to move or be evicted. I’m at my wits end though. I really don’t know how the people who actually live in that building deal with their constant cigarette smells, the beer spills everywhere, and the bottles they leave strewn around. What can I do?

Five Things

Aulelia and JaySpice both tagged me, so here you go…

Five Things Yall Didn’t Know About Me

1. When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up to be a rodeo clown
My mom took us to Texas for the first time to visit family when I was about 5 or 6. We went to see a rodeo, and I was enamored with the rodeo clowns. For a period of about a year, all I wanted was western wear and lasso lessons.

2. I’m a Michael Jackson semi-stan
I ADORED MJ with every fiber of my being as a small child, and the first time I saw the Thriller video (well actually The Making Of..), I knew I wanted to take dance lessons so I could be like him and his backup dancers, and maybe be in his next big video spectacle. I used to run around with the red leather jacket and one white glove, with one of my gramma’s jheri curl wigs on–this was the 80s, so she was allowed to have a wig like that . To this day, I still love old school Mike,can still do the dances blindfolded, and will get real defensive if people start talking sideways about the old music. I think he’s out of his mind now though and needs Jesus, Madea, another hit CD, and someone to tell him the truth about his noses.

3. I have playdoh and legos at my desk at all times.
I keep a secret stash of playdoh and a little box of legos at my desk at work. When I get all stressed out, I take a half-hour time out and take it back to my childhood and make some tangle-eyed lego creation or get my playdoh design skills on.

4. I’m inked
Not a big deal, but I’ve got two tattoos. One is one my back of an ankh and my middle name, and has a double meaning depending on what language you are interpreting my middle name from. The tattoo can either mean “Life Warrior” or “Life With a Pure Heart”, and in my case both apply. I’ve also got one on my right leg in memory of my grandmother.

5. I can solve a Rubix cube
If you give me 5 minutes, I can usually solve most rubix cubes. I don’t compete in the timed competitions, but the fastest I’ve solved one is 1 minute 30 seconds.

Who’s next? I pick Golden Silence and Tndrhrt

Friday Flashback

This week it’s Ice Cube, “Today Was a Good Day”

Happy Friday!!!

To Whom It May Concern

Normally I’m not a shy person. I can usually say what’s on my mind with relative ease to anyone,regardless of how much “power” they hold. That being said, there are some things that i just haven’t been able to say to various people in my life, so I’m taking this time to write them short letters to say the things I need to say.

“…You make me feel like a little bitty girl in the best way possible. I can’t help but be happy when I see your name in my inbox or whatever and when you say the things that you know make me smile. You’re so different from the rest and in a short time have taught me a lot about the relativity of happiness and how to be happy and confident in every situation I’m in…”

“…Thank you for everything that you do for me. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re everything I want and hope to be when I grow up. I love you more than life itself…”

“…You stepped in when you didn’t have to. Most people just ignore the “problem” and don’t make it their responsibility. I can’t thank you enough. I’ve never really said thank you other than in cards, but you don’t take to that sentimental thing well. So just know that I wouldn’t trade you for the world, and I’m glad you came around when you did…”

“…It’s not me, it’s you. My patience has grown incredibly thin, and I’m truly ready to throw sharp objects at you. I smile at you and go trhough the motions of faux friendship (if that’s what you want to call it), but deep inside I’m starting to detest you. When you call, I want to cry because I already know. I already know. You drain my soul, really you do. Honestly, you could be such a good contributing member of society if you just learned to grow the fuck up and not be so goddamned juvenile about things…”

“…Starting over is so hard. Seems like everywhere I would go I would think of you. I would be alright for a little while, but the minute I saw your name on my email or I saw a picture of you, I couldn’t take it. I’m sorry for being terrible to you and pushing you away when all I wanted was for you to stay. I wish I hadn’t done those things and that we could have been what everyone thought we were. I miss you, but I’m truly happy for you now. And I’m glad we happened. You taught me a lot just being you. I love you with my whole entire heart and soul, just not in that way anymore and that’s the way it should be. I still cry sometimes though. I don’t know why. But I’m happy now too…”

“…It was a long road that had so many nasty bumps along the way, but I thank you for those times. You are the reason I’m not afraid to fall in love again, you made things easy but at the time I didn’t realize what you sacrificed to do that, because it was hard for me. I’ll ALWAYS love you and you’ll ALWAYS have a ride or die friend in me. I would take a bullet for you…”

“…So many years later, it’s not the same as it was when we were little girls. But it will never change from that first day we met so so long ago. Thanks for having my back even when you know I fucked up and didn’t deserve it. No matter what you do, where you go, how little we talk, you’ll always be by bestest…”

Some of these people I see and speak to every day, but I’ve just never been able to get myself to give voice to those words. I don’t care if they never read all of this, I just needed to know that the words are out there.

Beltway Buggin’

Everyday I’m on that asphalt go-kart track also known as I-495, The Capital Beltway, The Capital Parking Lot, Hell, or whatever you want to call it. Without fail, I see some crap-tastic demonstrations of driving skills and other mess that sends me into unflattering bouts of road rage. This morning, I think I forgot my calmness at home, because it was all cussin, fussin, and middle fanger flailin from Laurel to Vienna. So even though the people I’m talking about will probably never read this, I’m gonna put them out there anyway.

Silver Benz Truck w/Delaware Tags- Get your gotdamned finger out your nose. You are a grown ass man, if you’re going to “pick and roll” like that in your car, at least do it in the dark

Black Yukon w/the basketball clingy stickers on the back- Two words bytch: turn signal. Those are the little arrows pointing to the right and left on your dasboard near the speedometer. When you want to change lanes, use those so you can tell the people behind you that you’re gonna be making a move.

Red Honda CR-V w/unreadable MD Tags- Blind Spot. Check it before you change lanes. And don’t get indignant when I honk at you when you almost knock me into oblivion while you try to change lanes. Yeah, I was in your bind spot, not purposefully though. This is why you HAVE to check this.

Black BMW 325i- Bruh, this is NOT the time to pull out your fuggin Norelco and shave your beard. Get up 20 minutes earlier so you can do that shat. We can see you!

Green Minivan- Hit the MFin gas! You need to keep up with the flow of traffic. If you want to drive slower, go to the right! The Beltway is slow enough as it is, don’t contribute to this problem

White Honda Civic- Have you never seen someone get a ticket before? It’s usually the same thing each time: cops flash lights, cops pull person over, cop stands at person’s window and writes ticket, both parties leave. It happens every day, so there’s no need to sit and stare at it, slowing down traffic.

Green Jeep- Don’t look over at me then make googly eyes. It’s too early to flirt. Go take a cold shower

Yellow Ford Escape- Put your novel down, NOW. You do NOT read while operating a vehicle, EVER. I don’t care if traffic is moving slowly.

White Mazda Protege- Take the Krispy Kremes out of your mouth. You’re driving fine, but you can barely fit in your car, so you shouldn’t be eating donuts.

Silver Car, Couldn’t tell the model- You don’t need to have your cat in your car walking around the back windshield. That’s what cat carriers are made for. If you don’t have one, you can borrow mine if you need–cuz that mess scared me. I didn’t know if the cat was alive or stuffed until it got up and stretched.

Yeah, we need to look at other commuting options. I take Metro to work sometimes, but it’s just as bad. I think it’s about time I find a new job not so daggone far away, preferrably in the city and not a damn suburb.

Little Girl, Interrupted

After I left the dance studio yesterday morning, I went to work but couldn’t really think straight. I was pretty much operating on autopilot thinking about all of the things I wanted to say to my lost dance student. So when I got home, I called her and offered to take her to dinner to talk. I really wanted to get into her head to see what she’s been thinking about and let her know that she can come to me if she needs. I didn’t tell her that I heard her conversation, but instead told her that I’m talking to each of the girls this way because I know it’s a hard age for them. So I let her tell me what’s going on in her own words.

Me: “If you ever have anything at all you need to talk about and you feel like you can’t go to anyone else, I’m here to listen, ok. I just want you to know that”

Keisha: “Thank you. Miss Tasha, can I tell you something?”

Me: “Of course.”

Keisha: “My boyfriend wants to do it but I’m scared because I know that’s how you get babies and I know you can get sick”

Me: “Well that’s something you shouldn’t do until you feel right and ideally when you’re really in love. How old is your boyfriend?”

Keisha: “In love? I don’t know. But he’s really cute though and I don’t want him to dump me. (nervous laugh) He’s 16″

I am in mourning for this poor girl’s spirit after hearing what she told me, and I also understand why she has the attitude toward sex and men that she does. Not unlike many girls, she’s being raised by a single mother. When I heard that, I wasn’t satisfied with the answer–many people before and after her were raised by single parents and don’t have those attittudes toward sex and physical love, so I knew there was something deeper. It turns out that her mother is teaching her the wrong way how to be a woman.

Keisha: “Well, my mother stays talking about how a man never loves a woman because she’s a woman. He loves her because she has a pussy cat”

Me: “Let me get this straight. Your mother tells you that the only thing a man loves is a woman’s genitals?”

Keisha: “Yeah. What’s wrong with that? All my aunts and cousins say it’s true too. And my mom says that once I do it, it’ll hurt but then after that it won’t anymore. But if I wait till I’m married it will hurt even more. She doesn’t know that my boyfriend wants to do it now though. I think she might be mad if she knew because she would say that like I’m too young and not mature. But she’s wrong. I’m mature.”

I pretty much flatlined after she said that. The rest of the conversation went similarly, basically her mama is teaching her to be a hoe. Her situation is rough and she doesn’t know it. I’ve got her in a delicate position now, and I know I have to be very careful how I deal with her. I’ve got her trust, and I don’t want to betray that by getting all preachy on her and telling her she’s wrong for carrying on with her way-too-old boyfriend the way she is. Nor do I want to tell her that her aunts, cousin, and mom are wrong right now. I’m going to wait until our trust is a little more solid. I did my best and managed to succeed in convincing her that she at least needs to think more about the decision to have sex, and she promised me that she would and told me that she won’t do it this weekend. I don’t know how well I can hold on to an 11 year old’s promise, but if she breaks the promise, I’ll still be there to hold her hand if she needs it.

This morning at around 3, she called me crying to tell me thank you, then hung up. I didn’t bother calling back, because I know what she meant. I never thought being a dance teacher a few days a week would lead me to be in this position, but if I can help put this girl on a different path in her life then that’s more satisfying then watching their group bring home all the first place trophies in the world.

Sex, Lies, and Tap Shoes

If you weren’t already aware, I’ve been tap dancing for most of my life, and have been teaching for about seven years. This past September, I started teaching a competition class for 5-8 year olds and a regular performance class for 9-11 year olds. I teach my older girls two mornings a week.

Now I know that girls this age can be a handful. That whole pre-teen, ‘tween phase is really awkward for most as they try to figure out who they are and what they want to be, but I’m really worried about these girls. This morning, just as we were getting ready to stretch, I caught a bit of a conversation that really disturbed me.

Keisha*: “I think I’ma get up with him on Saturday”

Meija*: “You mean do it with him?”

Keisha: “Yeah” (whispered something very low—couldn’t hear it) “I know Carmen and Da’Ron did it, and she said it didn’t hurt too bad”

Meija: “Oh my God. Well I don’t know. That’s such like a crazy thing to decide. And where will you do it? And what if he tells everyone? You’re gonna get called a hoe.”

Keisha: “Well you know he’s having a party or whatever on Saturday night so we’re gonna tell his mom that he’s going to my house after it and tell my pops that I’mma stay there like a sleepover. So could you act like you gonna stay there too?”

Meija: “ I dunno K. That’s real extra. I don’t like lying like that”

Keisha: “I know. But do it for me. And I know I need to get condoms. You think your brother will buy some for me if I give him the money?”

Meija: “We can talk later, ok?”

(*using their middle names*)

I managed to catch most of that exchange using the record feature on my phone, and I’m glad because I really didn’t want to believe what I was hearing. I know the girls didn’t think I was listening to them so they were really candid. Normally, I would have said something or sat them down and talked to them about the decisions that they’re making, but out of respect for their privacy (you know, since I was eavesdropping and all) I didn’t.

I guess unlike most people, I’m not shocked by what they were talking about. Both girls are 11, so yes I’m saddened that kids that young are being faced with decisions like that and their parents either don’t know or don’t really give too much of a damn. If they’re lucky, they might have a cool parent to help them navigate the waters of the physical manifestation of internal emotion and everything surrounding it. I’ll be talking about that in another post soon.

I could sit here and blame BET, MTV, rappers, or really most any other media outlet for turning our young people into mini reflections of our larger society and its afflictions–oversexualized, undersexed, grossly misinformed, and scared. But it goes a whole lot deeper than that. What they see on TV are two-dimensional images of what goes on in reality, but when they see their parents and the other adults in their lives shamelessly participating in questionable activities, the line between media fiction and flesh-and-blood reality becomes blurred. When a parent explains away all of their own deviant behavior but is insistent about telling their child not to do the same thing, the child ends up confused and more often than not will emulate the actions of that person.

Me lamenting the fact that these girls are still babies making grown-up decisions won’t change their situations. Even when they make the ‘right’ decisions, everyday they are still being made to choose. They’re growing up entirely too fast, and I’m worried that by the time they get to be adults, they’re going to be burned out. They will have had all kinds of “adult” experiences, so some may be feeling like there’s nothing left for them at age 30. And I worry that these issues will have to be dealt with at younger and younger ages, almost to the point where once you leave Kindergarten, you have to make grown-folks decisions. I doubt (well, I hope anyway) it doesn’t get that serious. But truth be told, in terms of what people are doing and the choices they have to make, it appears that 11 is the new 21. This is part of the why I’m afraid to have kids–too much for them to deal with too young.