Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Skinny Pictures

As I was leafing through a box of old pictures I cam across some photos from my days at Penn State. The next box had several pictures taken right after a Jenny Craig endorsement in the mid 90's. In the college pix I was a size 13. Post Jenny I was a size 8 (for about three months). I can't remember ever thinking I was thin, but it sure would be nice to be either of those sizes again.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

The Hot Young Perspective

Me? Hot and young? It all depends on where I hang out. When my friend, who is a huge Jay-Z fan, dragged me to the rapper's 40/40 club in New York a few years ago, I felt far from young and hot. I have never felt colder or older. Why didn't someone tell me that the 40/40 uniform for women included stilletos, a halter, booty shorts and a cool hat? Not that I would have worn the uniform. It just would've been nice to know.

The line to get in the club looked like a hip hop video audition. We got in, because my friend looks hot and young. Walking through the packed bar I felt so overdressed and underappreciated. After awhile my friend got really annoyed. Jay-Z wasn't there that night and as we made our way from one room of pounding music to another, men tugged her and bugged her to get her attention. What was I doing? Well, one guy asked me to tap my friend on the shoulder to help him get her attention. Finally, I felt useful.

I have found a place where I feel really hot and young. The men there are always trying to get my attention. They want to engage me in conversation. They'd keep me talking all day if I let them. I get compliments on my hair, my smile and once a man went out of his way to let me know how good I looked in my sweats. I've been asked out for coffee, offered a ride home and one guy gave me a fistful of useful coupons.

Where is this magical place where an 80's girl can turn so many heads? I'll give you a hint. It's a place where 80's guys go to pick up their prescriptions! These aren't guys who partied in the 80's. They are IN their 80's. My hot spot is my local CVS! I live just a mile or two away from a large retirement community.

As a freshman or sophomore in high school it was so cool to be hit on by a senior. At the local CVS? Well, if the problem with men your age is immaturity. The pharmacy line has all the maturity you'll ever need.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

The R-Word, The B-Word and the F-Word

For what seems like the millionth time, CNN is running the clip from "The View" where Elizabeth breaks down over not using the N-word. I haven't seen her this upset since Rosie left.
Between the clips CNN has interviews with people we should consider important. Sure they're opinion should count. After all they've earned enough notoriety to be asked to talk about the N-word on CNN. One guy gave his opinion, but added that he probably shouldn't be commenting because he's not Black. His statement of the obvious left the anchor in stitches! Had the Rev. Jesse Jackson not touched off the latest round of heated N-word discussion, we all know he would have been the first guy to get the call from the news networks.

I probably shouldn't be commenting on the N-word either. Like Jesse and all the so-called experts, no one can speak for all African-Americans. Not all of us even like to be called African American (I use Black, African-American and people of color). In this blog posting I only speak for me.

I can remember every single time I've been in a confrontation caused by the N-word. Mary Feltham called me the N-Word on a school bus. Sadly it happened just a few months after I stood up for Mary when Nicky said she was a whale that all the kids should "harpoon" with their pens. I spent several months believing that's what all white kids at school really thought of me.

There was a group of stoners from my high school who called mom and me the N-word after she told them they shouldn't be sitting on other people's cars in the parking lot of the Somerset, NJ K-mart.

One day at work my friend, Heather, used the word to describe some jobless teens who lived a few streets away. I told her that it was NEVER okay to use the word. She thought it was okay because she wasn't talking about me. I told her again that it was NEVER okay to use the word. She apologized and promised to never use the word again. Heather also vowed to correct other people when they used it. We're still friends.

A woman lashed out at me with the N-word during a spat over a parking space at a Michael's craft store. She could have whipped me with her dirty panties and it wouldn't have felt more degrading and hurtful. I did my best to shout back something hateful. I told her that my family members who weren't in gangs worked for the D.M.V. and that we'd work together to make her life miserable. I thought the D.M.V. threat alone should've been enough scare her away from using that hate word again.

Sadly during that nasty encounter, coming up with what I considered a menacing yet creative threat didn't make the N-Word sting any less. I vowed to change my attitude about the word. Those who used it weren't calling me worthless, they were showing their feelings of worthlessness. I've been working on that attitude change for seven years. I still find the N-word hurtful.

A co-worker has a son with Down's Syndrome. He overheard his kid calling another child the R-word. No matter how much I preach about the R-word, I still hear teens and 20-somethings using it. Can we substitute the word, "wack?"

I've heard girlfriends use the B-word with each other, but when it comes from a skank in the restroom who spilled beer on you, there's about to be a girl fight.

I've heard gay guys toss around the F-word. I'm pretty sure those same gay guys wouldn't think it was amusing if the F-word was yelled at them from a pick-up truck on a lonely country road.

I simply can't understand why some people believe it is so unfair for Blacks to use the N-word when Whites are forbidden. I think of it like this. I might refer to myself as a big girl and tell people that I suffer from "chubitis," but my friends don't make fun of my weight. I hope they aren't upset that they don't get to call me a fat chick in front of my face.

The firey N-word argument isn't about usage for me. The argument is about why you'd want to use it if you knew it would evoke feelings of pain and anger.

I figure they'll be two reactions to this entry. My friends will vow to never use the word. People who'd like to hurt me or rile me up will post about how I'm too sensitive and tell me that Black people are hypocrits. I won't know the color of the people who post. It won't matter anyway. We'll never get all Black folks and all white folks to agree on this issue. Hopefully we'll find common ground with another R-word.... RESPECT (cue Aretha Franklin)

Sunday, July 6, 2008


Remember the show "Touched by an Angel?" I'd watch it every Sunday and without fail would be in tears about ten minutes before the show ended. My water works would begin around the time Monica lit up and revealed that she was an angel sent by God.

I'm one of those nutsy people who believes I have encountered angels. No, they didn't light up and tell me they were angels. They were people God used to comfort me, encourage me or rescue me when I needed lotsa help. I can't remember all of their names. A few were in my life for just a few hours. Some remain friends and a couple are family members. I'm sure most don't know how much they affected my life and one would "punch me in the throat" (his catch phrase, not mine) if I told him that he served as my angel one day.

Is it a coincidence that these angels were there when I needed them most? An accident that some of these folks acted completely out of character? Random acts of kindness? Nope, my angels...

There was the guy with the incredibly skinny arms (no bigger than a broomstick) who unlocked my car and fixed my tires on a deserted back road near Newark, Ohio. A Columbus police officer who prayed with me in a production studio after I told him I was too upset to interview him. An antique store owner who dropped by my doomed consignment store with a card and a bottle of wine offering words of encouragement during my nasty divorce. A coworker who brought flowers the day after I told him I'd finally accepted the fact that I'd never get pregnant. Friends who sat with my mother in the hospital when I had to go to work.

I may never be able to return the "angel-ness" to them. I don't think that's the point of angel-hood. I think its about slowing down enough to listen. Its about offering help even when you haven't been asked. It's also about knowing when your angel task is done and moving along to the next assignment. In basketball its called an "assist" and you get credit for it. But in angel world you don't keep score. I'm still learning the angel game. I just hope I'll know what to do when the Coach calls me off the bench.