Why I no longer can consider myself chocolate.

As the spokeswoman for the African American(a PC term for black folks) community at my workplace, I feel it is my responsibility to give an educated, well-thought out, humorous, retrospect regarding all things A-A. So of course I was asked my opinions about the Candy Man, formerly known as Mayor Ray Nagin. As I ranted and raved about the images that A-A leaders are presenting to the world, my co-worker posed a question that has really changed the way I see myself. She wanted to know how I felt about him using the specific word chocolate. Here's the thing, I have always referred to myself as chocolate complexioned. Even as a child when my grandmother would call me her chocolate baby doll. Even when on the school yard playground I was known as "do-do brown". Even in the 80's when my skin color was a crime against beauty, I was chocolate. I said was (past tense) because now I cannot in good conscience use the term with the same vigor. The Candy Man has ruined my self-imposed term of endearment. No longer can the sweet confection be fulfilling in my world. Mayor Nagin owes me an apology.

So now what do I call the beautiful dark brown skin that God so wonderfully painted on me. I can think of no name that is as sweet and satifying. I mean let's face it espresso, mahogany, chicory, and "do-do brown" just doesn't cut it. Well, maybe mahogany isn't so bad unless you take into account the movie character.

Is the Higher Power Sadistic?

I know that this sounds like blasphemy, but I have to get this off my chest. What up with needless suffering. How can a God be so loving and so vengeful at the same time. My friend, Red, calls me weeping her heart out because her 4 month old baby cousin has been diagnosed with leukemia. The only crime that this child committed was being born. How is this fair? How is this love? In the short 4 months of life, she has lived and been loved. What is more pure than that? All I can say is God, give her a break. Give her a chance to live, to exist in love a little longer, to know that she was loved purely without fail. Please God, there is enough hurt in the world. Could you just bless this little speck of mankind for a little longer. Am I asking too much from a God that created the heavens and earth and everything in between. I think not.

Katrina, Katrina, on my mind.

Katrina will forever be a name synonomis with death, destruction, suffering, homelessness, helplessness, and hopelessness to name a few. As I co-exist each day as a survivor, I wonder will there ever be a time when we will let Katrina lapse from our constant focus. Will there be a day when we won't think about her even once. Will we eventually feel like human beings again. Will we ever know true happiness and security in our community. Will there ever be another community to belong to. Right now I cannot see it. I cannot see past the water lines and sheetrock. I cannot get past the nails that pierce my tires each week. I cannot remove myself from the white boxes that are now desired lodging. I do not see the 30 minutes I spend each morning hovering for a parking spot being shorten any time soon.

As we try to move forward and embrace 2006, I wonder, is August 29, 2005 the new D-Day.

Are cell phones a human lo-jack?

Do you remember when there were no cell phones? When people could actually be unavailable and not be required to talk for hours about absolutely nothing. Or not have to talk to loved ones in a series of 20 to 30 hurried conversations that reduce them to Rain Man's "special cousin"(yes, no, uh-huh, uh-uh, really, your kidding, say what?). Or when the only distractions you had while driving were reaching over to the back seat to bust your kids in the head; using your free hand to tune your radio just right; applying mascara, lipstick, blush, base, concealer, and powder; or reaching in the bag for the "right out of the grease" french fries from your favorite fast food joint.

We have all been duped into thinking that cell phones are necessary when in fact they are nothing more than a tracking device cleverly packaged in a slim, convenient, hip-holstered house arrest format. Granted they do have some neat features like the ability to allow the user to hang up on people and blame it on the reception or to record a database of numbers that we're to stupid to remember. But on a whole, cell phones are trouble. They give everyone the appearance that you are always available, i.e. 24/7, 365, 525,600 minutes, etc, etc, etc.

Oh, I know you got a cell phone for emergencies. But when was the matter of "Where you at? or What you doing?", a reason to call 911. Let's face it, we have no privacy and absolutely no recourse when the inevitable question comes up, "I called you on your cell phone but I got your voicemail, where were you?". I vote for cell phone liberation!

Is marriage the new death penalty?

As I relax and unwind after a day of hard insignificant work, I await my mates return from work. I hear his rumbling in the other room and get excited. He enters the bedroom to moan and complain about the only day that matters, his. He then retires in front of the T.V. to reassert himself in his standing couch potato role. After a while, he decides that it may be time to spend a little quiet time with me (isn't that wonderful). In all of 30 seconds he assesses that I am still alive, have no internal injuries, or broken bones, so I still have the ability to feed his overly round midsection. Therefore, I am still of use to him. He is pleased.

At this time, I contemplate if hell is indeed on Earth. I have morphed into coupledom and have lost my single girl zest for life. I have forsaked my Diva attitude to compromise with a Neanderthal. He clubbed me from behind and branded his marking on my finger. I am no longer free. My only solace is in the belief that maybe one day he will slip and fall and become uncharacteristically romantic. I pray for amnesia.

I Am My Grandmother's Daughter!

I discovered during a holiday trip to see my family (they evacuated to Memphis following Katrina) that I am my grandmother's daughter. While backing my cousin in a "family meeting", my seventy year old grandmother turns on me like a rabid dog and goes on the attack. This lady procedes to try to slap me silly. Needless to say, I had to hold her back. At this point I realized that I was looking in the mirror. When angry, I lash out. Now I realize exactly where it comes from. A Breakthrough!

I hate people with normal lives!

I have always been a loving person and I adore people, but the past 4 months have taught me that misery loves company. So I cannot wish you well if you have lost nothing. I cannot sympathize with you when your pet is sick or celebrate your new promotion because chances are I am either homeless, unemployed, downsized, on food stamps, waiting on a FEMA; check, trailer, loan, rental assistance and/or all of the above. I am living in a city, state, and community that is trying to heal and healing requires acknowledgement of the problem. But this problem will not go away anytime in the near future. Right now it is all about us, the survivors of Katrina. I would love to say that I relish in seeing happiness around the world, but I would rather see less suffering and more progress in my own hometown first. Forgive me for wanting better of myself, my family, my friends, my co-workers, and my loved ones.