Ahhh Summer.  In like a tortoise, out like a hare; I do believe we are finally free of freezing temps.

Buckingham Fountain, Blues and Gospel Music Festivals, Navy Pier Fireworks, Chosen Few House Picnic, Taste of Chicago, Movies in the Park, Ravinia, Venetian Night– summertime Chi means different things to different residents.  Yet the city of big shoulders unanimously heaves a huge sigh of relief as it discards its jackets and scarves.  Before we do, however, there’s something I must also get off my chest, a “bone” to pick if you will.

Ladies I beseech you.  If we are Adam’s ribs (and not just some piece of meat), may I suggest the following twelve BBQ (Barbie Cute) tips  in our quest to attract that summer love, potentially become his year round boo, or simply look fabulous for ourselves?

1. Although we may retire for the evening looking like a cross between Tupac Shakur and Sylvia, the Queen of Soul Food—bandanas (rags, scarves, etc.) and bonnets are not to be worn outside.
2. Embassador of ethnic beauty, Rachel Odom (www.RachelOBeaty.com), can shed more light on the dark side of too much liquid foundation and too little SPF than I can, but I do know that my “T”-zone is often “capitalized” during summer months.  Freshen your face often (clean, moisturize and powder) to prevent looking like Harold’s next chick in the frying pan.
3. Moving right along the anatomy, can we have real talk ladies?  As you enter a room, if your “girls” had a theme song, it should be the smooth, mellow sounds of “Summer Breeze” by the Isley Brothers, not “It’s Time for the Percolator” (by Cajmere). Ya’ll know what I’m talkin’ about.  Get those cups fitted properly.
4. To everything there is a season.  For undergarments (e.g. flesh tones, strapless, etc.) there is a reason.
5. Sleeveless plus swimming equals shaving.
6. Children are to be seen and not heard.  Baby powder is to be sprinkled, not seen.
7. Fifty Shades of Grey is a book trilogy, not a skin palette.  Bath & Body Works, Carol’s Daughter, Vaseline—pick you pleasure.  Ashy is not the new sexy.  (Single Girl Summer by Deanna Kimberly Burrell is an even hotter beach read).
8. Not all leggings are created equal.  Longer tops may be necessary, and tuck-ins are prohibited.
9. Make sure your summer whites, are white.
10. The season for harvesting corn is fall; therefore precautions must be taken when peeling shoes off of one’s feet and exposing them to the summer solstice.  Toes divided by flip flops, equals a pedicure.  If your big toes resemble hitchhikers or your pinky toes look like they’re giving the “hang loose” sign, choose footwear accordingly.  There is a surplus of sandals to select from that camouflage such imperfections.
11. Know your limits.  If Grey Goose makes you a loose chick, drink responsibly.
12. Final food for thought– please reconsider referring to a certain type of tank top by the same name as married males who commit domestic violence.  Abuse of ourselves or our sisters is never in style.  We were made from his rib, because we’re close to His heart ;).

Happy Summer!

Celeste

This isn’t business, it’s personal.

I mean, don’t get me wrong.  I’ve had dreams of being a fabulous “baby chick,” writing out of this world  blogs and as a result perhaps living a more glamorous life—but my heart…well, it’s leading me to stay closer to earth and expose more of my real self.  In the words of Alfred Lord Tennyson, “The shell must break before the bird can fly…”  Little did I know that a visit to my father’s house would cause my emotions to fly south and lead me to put quill to paper.

As I sat perched in my dad’s garage, watching him tinker and listening to him talk, the little girl in me was enamored– but as a grown woman I stood secretly engulfed in feelings of abandonment.  The girl and woman later extended an olive branch to one another when he called to warn me that an excessive amount of oil had leaked from my car onto his driveway.  My dad met me at the service department of the local dealership.  It appeared he’d changed out of his jeans and t-shirt and into a cape.  He became my hero.  In my female experience, walking into an auto repair shop is like entering quicksand.  Yet at one fell swoop he saved me from an abyss of unnecessary repairs and demanded that this maiden be treated fairly.

Late is better than never.

I am grateful for the relationship we’ve established as adults, but I still miss the one we didn’t have when I was a child.  I want to move forward, but Poppa being a rollin’ stone irritates– like a pebble in a shoe.  I step with trepidation.  As a result, all of my other relationships with men have been rocky.  The woman I’ve become understands that sometimes doors close and affairs end.  The little girl is still waiting by the window, willing the doorbell or phone to start ringing.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words…

The word bastard means a person born to unmarried parents.  It is also used to describe someone who is despicable or disliked.  The definition of illegitimate is to be born out of wedlock; against the rules, or not in accordance with social norms and customs.  No one ever called me these names, but for years I nestled into society’s classification of who I am.  Only recently have I begun to migrate and soar into my life’s purpose.

Parents, even if you don’t have feelings for each other anymore please love, honor and cherish the commitment to your children.  In the pecking order of life, they should be a priority.  Mothers, for all of your maternal instincts you cannot replace the fraternal order of fatherhood.  Fathers, you are your daughter’s first love.  How you talk to and play with her dictates which men she’ll “talk to” and whether or not they’ll “play” her.  And to those whose lives may share the same flight pattern as mine—allow forgiveness to take you to higher heights.  Focus on who you can become, not how you came to be.

There I was minding my own business, filling my gas tank before heading in to work.  It was “Fun Friday,” a day of spelling tests and dressing down.  I therefore had on my “going to teach little boys” corduroy pants, not my “getting ready to school these men” jeans.  I was not looking to be found.  That’s when it happened.  I bumped into him.

A nice, tall, fit brother was the pump 13 to my pump 12.  I politely said good morning to him and cursed myself for the aforementioned fashion choice.  To my surprise, however, he seemed oblivious to Old Navy and open to the Prada possibilities.  We exchanged numbers and before I could punch the time clock a few blocks away he was texting me about how my smile rivaled the sun in getting his day off to a glorious start.

I found it refreshing that he didn’t stall, but broke the ‘wait three days’ before calling rule.  We went from talking, to first date, to dating– faster than a NASCAR race.  Putting my heart in neutral and taking some time off from dating seemed to have finally paid off.  It appeared I’d traded in a pickup for luxury.  Yes Triple A had come to save me honey; he was attentive, attractive and available.  He quickly offered that no he wasn’t married (or in a relationship), no kids, no games.  He actually wanted to go out, not just ‘get it in.’ Then one day, about a month or so later I got a call that brought things to a screeching halt.

His fiancée’s name wasn’t Charlene, but she surely burned rubber on my dreams of riding off into the sunset.

After our conversation in which she and I discovered we had been, shall I say, waiting at the same bus stop (clearly he was not a two seater), I met “Charlene” in person.  Crazy I know.   But there was no hair pullin’ or nail scratchin’.  Instead her tearful eyes were my life’s rearview mirror.  You see, almost a year prior I was in her seat.  Now here I sat at a crossroads, considering yielding to temptation.  Love’s multiple dead ends had me thinking about detouring from my values.  Should I become The Other Woman? Or should I get out now and continue the walk alone?  I decided to take the high road.

Sisters I am convinced that we are often taken for a ride because too many of us are willing to carpool, or share a man.  Does he have license to lie, lure and then leave us? No.  But we also shouldn’t go around giving “permits.”  I’m not judging those who take this route, but I choose to believe there’s more for me.  My future husband may be traveling from Jamaica on horseback and stuck in traffic, but this Mustang Sally is going to stay the course.  Any step toward another woman’s man is a moving violation.