Words…

And in the end, there were words.

They say that words are things and you can speak things into existence. They say that people may forget what you do, but they never forget what you say. So why is it, that most people seem to be oblivious when it comes to the words they speak. Why are people often so willing to speak so casually without understanding the power of the words they use? Words of Affirmation is my love language. It’s no wonder that words have the power to build me up and break me down. The use of words or the absence therein can play both like a violin strumming directly to my heart or like broken piano keys butchering Chopins beautiful Fantasie-Impromptu.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then the ears are the doorways to the heart.

There is a famous bible verse that says,” Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks”. There is no measuring of words because it is not the mouth, but the heart that determines our truth.

Words will either reveal or illuminate the truth..but they will never camouflage it.

I can do it all…I just dont have to.

I remember this time last year vividly. I was sitting at my desk at work when all of a sudden a big bright light came across my computer screen and wouldn’t go away. “Damn”, I thought. “I don’t have time for my computer to go out on me!” At the time I had a gazillion projects due and would have been screwed by the death of my pc because I never back my work up like IT has repeatedly instructed. I decided to walk away from the computer figuring all it needed was a break from my incessant key board pecking, desk top publishing, internet surfing, Facebook posting, IM chatting abuse.

 I walked to the kitchen to refill my coffee but the light seemed to follow me. At this point I’m shielding my vision with my hands like you do when you leave your sunglasses at home on the sunniest day imaginable and the sun seems like it is literally sitting on your shoulder. Hummm. Maybe it wasn’t the computer after all.

I returned to my computer just in time for a new message to pop up on my screen. As I began to read the message I realized I had no idea what it said. My first thought was that either the sender of this email was a complete idiot and didn’t have a good command of the English language (someone fire him stat) or the email was in Spanglish? However, another glance at my 27 inch monitor confirmed that it was indeed English. I could read the words but I wasn’t sure what they meant. I called my boyfriend and told him I felt something was wrong. I was also thinking damn, because I couldn’t remember his name?? Why am I forgetting stuff? This was getting really scary so I hightailed it to the emergency room.

I spent several days in and out of the hospital lying in cold rooms that were pitch black with a loved one standing over me holding my hand and staring at me with a worried smile. I took a spinal fluid test (sweet mother of Christ that was uncomfortable) and a MRI. I had really cute hair extensions at the time and I swore if they asked me to take them out because they interfered with the brain scan I was going to tell them I’d rather die first, lol. I also took a battery of heart tests, a urine test, and  blood tests. Whatever tests they had, I took it.

After it was all said and done it was determined that I didn’t have a stroke as was initially speculated nor brain hemorrhaging or anything else serious enough for me to file for FMLA and take a much needed paid vacation (some people get all the luck). I was diagnosed with Complex Migraines. What is that you ask? It’s something that you never want to experience. Imagine a vaginal child birth with no pain medication and pushing out a 12 pound baby and then multiply that by say, Five. Yea, that’s what they feel like.

Now for a person that has never even had headaches before, much less migraines, I was dumbfounded by this new diagnosis. I felt fine and life was finally going the way I wanted it to. What could have been the cause of migraines after all these years? Well apparently migraines of this nature are triggered by stress!  GO FIGURE! Only problem is I didn’t feel stressed.

(I guess there is some truth to the celebrity claim of being hospitalized for stress and dehydration. All this time I thought it was crack!)

At the time I was only working 40 hours a week, commuting 10 hours and 300 miles a week, teaching cardio kickboxing 5 hours a week (most after working a full day of work), studying karate 6 hours a week, and being a single mom 168 hours a week. Not to mention supplementing my free time with friends, a boyfriend and Facebooking. Who in the world has time to be stressed. I was too BUSY to be stressed! I had a kid who was acting up in school who required my attention 28 hours out of a 24 hour day and I had just start working full time after being unemployed long enough to see my credit score and checking account drop into negative digits. God had yet to bless me with a six figure salary and a personal assistant. I didn’t have the time to be stressed.

Or maybe, as my doctor pointed out, I was too busy to notice.

DAMN! I hate when a man is right! Even if that man happens to be my doctor and holds the key to life and death, or at the very least, a prescription to very effective pain management medication. Fine! Okay Doc, I say, what do I need to do to get rid of these migraines? He replies, you need to get rid of some of your activities and relax a bit. I look at him crazy with one eye brow crocked up thinking I was probably more likely to get rid of my hair extensions.

I returned home with my prescriptions in my hand and a promise to figure out a way to eliminate some stress. But honestly I had no intentions of doing such a thing. I mean, I am a single parent. And by single I mean SINGULAR. I work, clean, work, cook, work, help with homework, work, do laundry, work, and entertain the kid all by my lonesome. It’s been like this for so long that I am not sure if its by design, due to the lack of a dependable support system or because it’s a badge of honor.

As I discussed my quandary over drinks with a friend she looks at me sweetly and says, “Super K (that’s what she calls me) maybe it’s all three. We all realize that you can do it all by yourself, but just because you can doesn’t mean you have to”. She might have a point. However, I hate needing people, I hate asking for help and I hate being disappointed. Asking for help and depending on people is worse than being on government assistance. At least I expect them to be egregious, ignorant and selfish. When I get dissed by a family member or friend in my time of need it’s the worst kind of crime. Help? Nah, I’ll pass. I eventually cut an activity or two and got my schedule down to a more reasonable pace. I was now only busy 20 out of the 24 hours a day. And yes, I did consider this an improvement.

It wasn’t until last night, however, as I was sitting on my bathroom floor crying into the phone that my girlfriend’s words came back to me. A year later my schedule is still busy, I am still a single mom and I am still struggling to get everything done on my own. My migraines are less frequent but still there nonetheless. Yesterday my son complained that kids were making fun of his hair at school. He decided he wanted to grow an afro. He has beautiful curly jet black hair so he has the ideal hair for this style. However, I’m so busy I can’t manage to get him to the barbershop regularly enough to keep it maintained.

Damn, I cried into the phone, I’m surrounded by useless people! (sorry, this was how I felt at the time). I never ask for help. Is it to much to ask for someone to just help me get him to the barber shop? My friend listened sympathetically and after my 10 minute rant asked in a very matter of fact manner, “Well, Kimmah, who did you ask for help.”

Of course I was stumped. Who had I asked? I mean, I had insinuated hadn’t I. I had mentioned to a person or two. People KNOW that I don’t have any help. I mean, they do don’t they?

Closed mouths don’t get fed. My grandmother always said that and the phrase passed in big neon letters across my glassy eyes and tear stained face as the moment of revelation hit me. I spend so much time proving to the world that I can DO IT BY MYSELF that I forget that I don’t have to. I complain if I have a boss that micromanages and can’t delegate yet in my own personal life I don’t trust anyone to help me when my plate is just too full.

So okay. Let’s just be clear. I can do it by myself. I can stay up with a sick child, sleep 3 hours and still pull a 12 hour day on 3 cups of coffee and not a single morsel of food. I can search the internet for 5^th grade math equations that were long forgotten just to make sure I’m helping with homework correctly. I can sit through a 3 hour movie in 3D with a migraine just to reward my kid for a job well done. I can do all of these things and then some with no assistance from another human being. However, I realize that I don’t have to.

So the next time I call, don’t go sending me to voice mail. I may be calling you to shoot the breeze or I may be calling in need of a little help. If you say no, don’t worry. I won’t write you off. I’ll just ask someone else. (maybe)

Another Time: Evolution of the Break-up

I remember the first time it happened. I walked the nearly two miles back to my house. Smiling as the rain drops mixed with tears. Feeling cleansed of the pressure and uncertainty of young confused love. It was a tight grip that I couldn’t shake loose. But I had escaped its powerful, intoxicating aura. That halo that sits atop the world when love is right but comes crashing down in a ring of fire when it’s wrong was gone. I was free. Or so I thought.

I remember another time. I asked him politely to bring me my tooth brush. “Why do you need your tooth brush he asked? You’re not coming back are you?” Of course I lied. I surveyed his bedroom for a final time and tucked my toothbrush neatly into my jacket pocket. I grab his face with both hands, splaying my fingers lovingly along his cheek bones as I pulled him into me for a passionate kiss. “I’ll see you soon”. As I descended the wooden steps of his house, I looked back and waved and knew that was the last time I would see him. I was free. Or so I thought.

I remember another time. It was our first fight and our last. In the wee hours of the morning he demanded I pack my things and leave. I looked at the three month old in my arms and cried. Later that morning, I walked into my mothers’ bedroom noticeably laden with cancer medications. She pulled me into her arms, now frail from chemo and radiation, and held me until the tears stopped. My mother held me, I held my son, and at that moment, I knew I was free. Or so I thought.

I remember another time. I was prepared for a fight. How dare him! He pulled in front of my building and I was down those stairs so fast it was as if the devil himself were chasing me. I swiftly threw the dumbbell through his window. I taunted him to come out. “I dare you,” I chided. He did not dare. It must have been the look of frenzied anger and anguish in my eyes. As he drove away I prayed that I was free. But I knew that I was not.

I remember another time. I didn’t see it coming. I sat in the ladies room outside of the wedding we were to attend together reading and rereading the text I had just received. I don’t think I am the man for you it said. Apparently, I responded, you’re not a man at all. I held my head high and gracefully walked back into the reception, grabbing a glass of champagne as I rejoined my party. “I just got dumped at a wedding!” I said jokingly. “How ironic!” The tears could wait. They would wait.

I don’t want to be free, I just look forward to the moment when there will be no more “another times”.

What I learned when I learned to leave..

They say that depending on the relationship you have with your father, you either date someone just like him or the exact opposite of him. But what about when you never knew your father? What kind of guys do you date then? What kind of guys do you date when you don’t have a marker of what a real man really is? Hell, what kind of man do you date when you don’t have a marker for what a real man really isn’t?

Outside of the two months my father was around during my sophomore year in boarding school (of course he was around when I wasn’t; personally because I think he was trying to tap moms but I digress) I only have two memories of my father. My first memory is when I was about 9 or 10 years old. My father came to my house and my mother let him take me to McDonalds. I remember being nervous because I didn’t know if this man was going to bring me back to my mother. Nevertheless, I went along willingly because I was so intrigued. I wanted to know what a daddy looked like.

Would he be funny, smart, nice or mean? Would he be tall or short? Would he buy me a happy meal? LOL. I can say that the moment was totally anticlimactic. Looking back he was probably as nervous about being alone with me, his child that he didn’t know, as I was being alone with him. Though I shared his face, his eyes, his lips and his smile we were strangers to each other. He brought me back home with a promise to see me again soon.

Soon just so happened to be 5 or 6 years later.

I remember my mom telling me my father wanted to see me. As a single parent I doubt that was the truth. My mother probably tracked him down and called HIM to tell him that I was missing a father in my life and that I needed him. I can imagine him agreeing to the meeting to assuage his own guilty conscious. I agreed to meet him in the local Wendy’s with the understanding that my best friend would come along. I needed a buffer between the two of us. I was young and rebellious and angry and pretty pissed off at him for abandoning me. I only agreed to see him so he could see how great a child I turned out to be despite his lack of involvement, at which point I would deny him the opportunity to be in my life.

The only thing I remember about that meeting was that we both liked ketchup and a lot of pepper on everything. I left that day teetering between wanting to show him that I didn’t need him and wanting to tell him that I did. In the end, I didn’t have to make that decision. He left again and never came back.

As I begin to date and to fall in love and out of love (repeatedly) my only marker for the kind of man that I wanted was that I knew I wanted one that didn’t leave. I wanted a man that knew how to stay and fight. That would ride or die with me no matter what. I wanted a man that took the good with the bad. And I adopted this same principal. And unfortunately for me, my execution was flawless.

My first real relationship was at 17 with the neighborhood thug. I remember finding out months into our dating that he wasn’t 19 like he told me but 25 years old. I remember times I’d lie in bed, paralyzed with fear because he drank entirely too much and even my young mind comprehended what too much was. In my world drunk meant jealous and jealousy meant trouble and trouble meant a bad night for Kimmah.

I remember leaving the park one night and having the back windows shot out over his screaming voice telling me to stay down. I remember the broken glass removed from my hair and the relief that the blood wasn’t from a bullet wound.

I remember drunken yelling matches where no words escaped my mouth as rowdy friends played spades and dominos from the room next door, either oblivious or unconcerned with the scene that was unraveling behind the closed door.

There is the story of another ex boyfriend that told me that he wasn’t sexually attracted to me because my thighs touched. And yes, this was when my size dropped down to a zero (unbeknownst to me). I stayed two years before I realized that I was being subjected to an emotionally abusive man. There are more stories but I don’t have nearly enough time to discuss them in detail.

People may ask me why I stayed. Well, the only honest answer I have is that I didn’t know how to leave. I had convinced myself that when you love someone you stay. When a child equates leaving to sadness it’s easy for the adult to equate happiness with staying. Even though at the time I didn’t consciously realize that’s what I was doing.

I eventually learned how to leave. I learned that real love doesn’t hurt all the time and that sometimes leaving makes you happier than staying. It was then that I began to explore what a real man is and what it felt like to be in the company of such a man. It was then I began to understand that no man was indeed better than a bad man. I’m happy that I learned that lesson sooner than later. Sure I wasted sometime but I can finally say I have a marker for what a man is.

All the frogs I kissed along the way did serve their purpose. They showed me what I didn’t want, so that I could begin to explore what I did. And through those experiences I learned how to recognize my prince amongst a pond of frogs.

I love you! Now what??

I remember the first time I fell in love. I was in high school and 15 years old. His name was Ronald Allen and I thought he was the love of my life. He fit all of my requirements: he was cute, tall, lived in the neighborhood and was willing to cut class all day with me. His parents gave him an allowance and he always bought me candy and 25 cent chips. Basic high school stuff. Plus he was funny as shit (like Martin Lawrence funny).

Back in those days, love was simple. Requirements were minimal and responsibilities were null. Back in those days I was still reading Harlequin romances novels and Sweet Valley High books. I though that love arrived on a white horse and hand delivered you to the perfect house with the white picket fence. Back in those days I thought once you uttered the words “I love you” that all would be right in the world. I sincerely thought the work was getting the other person to fall in love. Back in the day, I didn’t know shit.

Love is so black and white when you’re young. You’re either in love or you aren’t. But as we grow and evolve so do our expectations and requirements. Love becomes less black and white and develops a lot of gray area. When you’re older the work in relationships isn’t getting to the “I love you” part. Quite the contrary: Relationships don’t really begin until after I love you.  

A lot of people are in love with the idea of falling in love. You’re never higher than your first kiss, your first date or making love for the first time. The nervousness and anxiety you feel when you say I love you first and hope and pray the other person is looking through those same rose tinged glasses and is brave enough to say it back.

The bible says love is patient; love is kind, it is not proud, it is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs. But what happens when love loses its temper? What about when love gets tired of fighting the good fight and doesn’t want to be bothered? What about when love has to endure a recession, loses a job, loses a house, loses a child, can’t bare a child, has to take care of an ailing in-law, etc, etc. What happen when loves becomes a burden? Will love still make you high?

So what DOES happen after I love you? Does your love weather the storms or get swept away in the tide? Love was definitely easier when I was younger and before my life was blemished with….lets say life’s challenges. But it has also never been so fulfilling. Awaking in the trenches in full combat gear and looking at someone with the same dazed and confused look as you with their army green on. Looking at that person, long after the first and second high has worn off but knowing that you’re not battling life alone. After I say I love you, I am fully prepared for the fight.

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

May I buy you a drink?

I remember back in my single days getting dolled up to go to the social event of the night. Any email or text message titled “Black Professionals Event” was enough to send out a red alert to my crew to discuss who was wearing what, who was driving, how late we could get there and still get in for free followed by day long email threads on the last event attended and how we hoped this one would bare better results.

We’d all scramble home quickly to get dressed trying to work that “I look this good effortlessly” look even though we knew it took 2 hours getting dressed and the outfit we were rocking just had the tags ripped off. All this effort to get to the event just to stand perched at the end of the bar with the crew you arrived with for 2 ½ hours with 1 hour shoes on (ouch). All the while drinking $10 watered down drinks and watching all the eye candy either chat it up with their guys or the chick with the fierce weave and shoes you’d gladly trade Mr. Right for.

For years I used to pump myself up and say the very next time I went out I was going to walk up to a guy who I found attractive and offer him a drink. After all, what’s sexier than a sexy woman offering to buy a man a drink? It’s not a man’s ultimate fantasy by far (I believe that involves two women and multiple drinks but I digress) but I know many a man who’d appreciate the gesture. However, for all my pumping up I always backed down when the situation presented itself.

Last week, week two of my experiment for those who are keeping up, I was finally able to get some scouting in. I took my bait to an event and we commenced to do some scouting on some unsuspecting souls. I have to admit, I was little nervous. Not only because it was my first night out but because the shoe was on the other foot. My bait and I were where men normally find themselves. In the awkward position of walking up to a complete stranger and trying to not make an ass out of ourselves. But in all honestly, after the initial jitters wore off, I actually found it exhilarating and empowering. And wondering, why don’t women do this more often?

Now, I know in my original post (A Few Good Men) I said that women should not chase men and they shouldn’t. However, does that mean that we can’t approach men? Yaw’ll like that right? Well the men at this event certainly did. I met two candidates, one who made it to the interview process (yes there is a formal interview process) and both seemed quite intrigued by attractive women chatting them up and trying to get to know them. I think I might be on to something?

One of the traits I find to be attractive in men is confidence, not arrogance, but confidence. Sometimes we refer to it as “swagger” but it’s really self-confidence. Confidences in their appearance, in what they bring to the table, in what they have to offer and who they are as a person. When a man walks up to you and he’s confident in himself you should be able to smell it before he does arrives at your feet. And the confidence is typically what sales you before he opens his mouth.

Those same rules apply to women also. Women can do everything men do (I stop short at proposing but this is my blog so sue me) so why not this? Women work just as hard and can play just as hard. So the next time you go out and see a man, summon up your inner swag and walk over and offer to buy him a drink. I guarantee you’ll get better results than playing the odds and waiting to see if he comes to you. Either that or he goes home with Ms. Fierce Weave and Shoes and you get to wait for the next email or text and impending round of maybe next time. 

Until next time,

The List Mistress

Fraternal Graduate/Alumni Chapters

Remember School Daze? Stomp the Yard? Drum Line? Those are just some of the movies that depict the African American college experience; specifically the Greek Fraternity. Though I’ve heard arguments that Black Greek’s haven’t been accurately portrayed, Hollywood is no less fascinated with this historically rich part of our ancestry. Who doesn’t remember step shows on the Quad, Hell week, fraternities and sororities strolling the entire night through college parties chanting loudly and with well deserved pride? Not to mention being the envy of those who didn’t make the cut? Surely you can recount that “Special Line” that crossed at 12:01 am on the Yard with a certain flair that did it like no other or the guy who made you swear off an entire fraternity because his swag was just that crazy!

This weekend I had the distinct privilege to be invited to the Alpha Phi Alpha House Party Fundraiser Event and I wasn’t sure what I was going to see. To my surprise, I was apart of none of those things. See, the boys from the college days of yester-year have grown into men of today and I must say that I liked what I saw!

(Now before I continue, I am not going to blow smoke up anyone’s arse. J I do know some of these brothers on a personal level; However, I have never been around them where there was music, dancing, WOMEN and liquor so this was a different environment.)

As a 31 year old woman, never in a million years would I have considered a fraternity party a place where mature, dateable men could be found. I think people automatically think step shows, drinking and college pranks when the word fraternity is mentioned, but in this case that was certainly not so.

Undergraduate chapters and graduate/alumi chapters represent men at two different places in their life. Graduate/alumi chapters are made up of men that have either joined a fraternity in college and want to continue the true vision of why fraternities were created in the first place (to promote brotherhood, uplift black men, create leaders and provide service for our communities). Or they are men who didn’t join a fraternity in college and choose to wait until after they finished their degree and join a graduate/alumni chapter.

Why do I take the time to mention these things you ask? So you know the stock of men that are at events such as these. These are men that care about the communities that they live in. Not only do they care but some came back to the communities they came from to give back in their areas of academic expertise or other areas they felt they are needed in the most. If you look at some of their websites, you will see they give out scholarships to send young boys to college, they participate in big brother/little brother programs, they have created outreach programs within inner city neighborhoods, they go to food pantries and feed the homeless and the list goes on.

Now for some it’s important to have a brother who is good looking and believe you me there was PLENTY of eye candy to be seen! (MAN!). I swear there was this one brother that looked just like Morris Chestnut! GOOD LAWD! LOL! And it doesn’t hurt that ALL of these brothers have college experience, most have graduated with at least a four year degree (a requirement when you join in a graduate/alumi chapter) and some have postgraduate degrees. But when you are looking for a quality brother, a desirable quality is a man who has a sense of community. A man who does not think of himself, but who is concerned with the well being of others. A man who will vest his time, money and resources into the cultivation of his community and selflessly give without the intent of receiving. These are the type of MEN that I desire for my list and the type of men that I hope you desire for yourselves as well.

Now, if you weren’t able to make this event, fear not, The List Mistress is on the job! Look back often, as I will be updating my blog with local events from some of the local Graduate/Alumi Fraternity Chapters. Below you will find a list of websites that you can check regularly as they may have updates before I am able to post them.

Sincerely,
The List Mistress

 

Events:

Blu Tuesday hosted by
Iota Nu Sigma Chapter
Phi Beta Sigma Chapter

Tuesday, June 9, 2009 at the Chaise Lounge from 6pm until

Tuesday, August 11, 2009 at ZED 451, time TBD.

Websites:

Alpha Phi Alpha

http://www.idl1906.com/

Kappa Alpha Psi

http://www.chicagoalumni.org/  

http://www.evergreenpark-alumni.org/

Phi Beta Sigma

http://www.epsilonchisigma.org/

http://www.iotanusigma.com/site2/

Omega Psi Phi

http://www.nupi-chapterques.org

http://rhogammagamma.org

Luke Warm Reception…

Luke Warm Reception….

Not exactly the warm reception I was hoping for but hey, it is what it is. Not that I was expecting a home coming parade and marching band but I did think folks would be a little more excited about this social experiment than they are. Men are always proclaiming how wrong they are being portrayed, how good they are and oh, yeah, I take care of my kids. (News flash: you’re supposed to.) But when I start talking about how I am going to go out canvassing for all of their fellow brethren and asking suggestion as to where all of the good brothers are; suspiciously, the room falls deafeningly silent. I would say I could hear a pin drop, except for it was being covered by the one brother in the room laughing hysterically at my naïveté. I see you brother. LOL!

And the woman; well lets just say, I’m not surprised but I am a little hurt. I knew they would be disagreeable and I knew some sisters wouldn’t be feeling me. I knew I’d get some stares or silent petitions but I thought at the least that there would be some women out there holding out hope that I would succeed. Because honestly doesn’t my success represent that there would in fact be a Good Black Man out there for a woman who truly desires one.

Well, it’s like showing up to your birthday party all pimped out and no one is there but the DJ and caterer and they just showed up because they’re getting paid! It’s disappointing. But I am not deterred. I committed 12 weeks and I’m giving it 12 weeks. I am convinced that there are good black men out here and I am going to prove to the skeptics that they are.

So off I go! Wish me luck. Or not…

A Few Good Men

Male Bashing. We’ve all done it. We’re all guilty of it. Present company included. How could we not? The media has completely brain washed us for years. Practically spoon feeding us morsel by morsel of how there are no good black men and we gladly open our mouths wide, let the lies slide down our throats and politely ask for more. They’ve convinced us that our black men are all washed up, in jail, with multiple baby mamas, living off of the system, unemployed, under-educated, uneducated and some times just plain ole unmotivated.

And for the small percentage of black men they tell us that don’t fall into these categories, well they are just dogs. They are liars, cheaters, commitment phobic’s, with bad credit and venereal diseases. Let’s not forget those brothers living on the Down Low. Apparently you’d have a better chance winning a gun fight with a bag of pop rocks than catching a good quality black man. And if you believe that, I have island in the South of France I’d like to sale you.

Now forgive me for sounding cynical but I find that rather hard to believe. For several reasons: One, having been found by a good black man I know they exist. Notice I didn’t say I found him, but he found me. Now this is chuch for those who don’t know, but the man finds the woman not the other way around. If you’re chasing him and he’s running away, doesn’t mean he’s not a good guy, it just means he’s not the one for you.

Reason Two: Good black men are like produce in the grocery store. The apples will always be with the apples and the oranges will always be with the oranges. What do I mean by this? Like attracts like.  I notice that the more quality men that I meet, the more quality men I meet. No, you didn’t read that wrong. The general rule of thumb is that men on their BUSINESS like to hang around men doing the same thing. I know very few stock brokers hanging out with street pharmacist. So in essence it’s like finding the ant that just pillaged the picnic and is headed back to the ant hill with the goods…just follow it back to the colony and JACKPOT!

Reason Three: Being the mother to a beautiful black young boy and having friends who are also raising beautiful, strong black boys it worries me that this is the legacy that they are inheriting. Are they really growing up where people are expecting them to not be shit? I can count on both hands some exemplary examples of black men that I would be proud to have as friends, male role models to my son and mentors.

This brings me to the point of my blog aka THE HITT LIST. (I know, about damn time right!) My boss told me the other day that it’s fine to come with complaints but I better come with facts and solutions because no one likes a whiner. Well, I certainly can’t complain about other people complaints without my own cold hard facts to back it up. Good Black Men do exist and I am going to prove it.

For the next 12 weeks I am going to dispel the myth by conducting a social experiment of my own. Armed with my own charm, a digital camera, note pad and a single gal pal (bait) I am going to scourer the City of Chicago’s nightlife and art and social scene in search of  “A few Good Men”. My goal is find 10 good single quality black men from all walks of life and from all parts of the city to prove that they do indeed exist!

This requires a little audience participation so PLEASE, PLEASE don’t be shy. Ladies, I need your help here! What makes up a GOOD guy? I need to know, what am I looking for while I am out looking? And Fellas, I’m talking to the good ones, where are yaw’ll hanging out these days? What places should I be canvassing on my quest for the 10 on my Hitt List? I’m taking suggestions and as always commentary is appreciated.

Well there you have it ladies and gentlemen. My journey begins June 1^st and by hell or high water I will have that list by the end of summer. So I guess the only question is who will make the list?