A dear friend of mine recently celebrated his 40th year on the earth with a big, splashy birthday bash. For someone who remembers sixteen clearly that number seems huge. It hovers around the corner taunting me with the knowledge that I will eventually be that age in the next 10, 5, 4, 2 years, months, weeks, ah forget it! What difference does it make when I will get there, it just matters that I will get there too soon. My point is that as I celebrated with my friend, I looked around the club and thought to myself, damn! Where does the time go? As I rocked my thirty something year-old self to Michael Jackson, as I shimmied and shuffled to Mary J Blige, and as I attempted to keep up with the new tunes that requires a far more agile waistline than mine, I surveyed the crowd and had trouble reconciling the faces of the people I saw. The faces didn’t match the kids I knew from the playground or the smiling teenagers from the school yearbook. Who were all these old people? When did we all get grown with worry lines, kids, mortgages, Dodge Caravans and mommy style?

Don’t get me wrong, some of us had put up a ferocious fight with father time. There was evidence of the struggle being waged by the use of concealer to disguise dark circles, the use of spanxs to fight flab, and the determination to eradicate fashion faux pas with a steady diet of Vogue. Still time had marched on and exposed us as frauds. It showed when the music began and folks launched into the Cabbage Patch followed by the Running Man. It showed when some of us started to Bogle with a hint of Dutty Wine. It was evident when the livelier of us attempted to form what was slightly reminiscent of a Soul Train line. Many who had long ago given into laugh lines didn’t even attempt to shake their groove thing. Instead they sat in dark corners and tapped their feet to what they could catch of the beat.

It didn’t help my aging spirit that a young relative I dragged to the party with me, laughed as I attempted to Get Down On It with Kool & the Gang. Repeatedly through the night, she reminded me kindly that I looked GREAT and I only looked a little tired around the eyes. Gee, thanks. With all sincerity she said, it’s inevitable that as you get older you lose all your swag. I don’t know if I agree.

Like the celebrities that fight time with Botox, face lifts, crop tops and miniskirts in winter, should we refuse to give into time? Should we fight getting older or just throw in the towel? Do we rage against the dying of the light to quote my boy Dylan Thomas? Or do we hold on to our youthfulness and sexiness with both feet and hands?  Is being an Old Ass an eventuality or are we as Old as we choose?

Guess what, Super? I’ve found a man!

Word? (I love when I get a chance to say that.)

Yup, he’s good between the sheets, he’s kind and I think we’re on our way to being in love.

Your man-less drought has come to an end. Thank you, Lord! (She’ll now buy a lot less batteries.)

I know, I’m sooo excited! (Her voice goes up one octave in glee.)

Where did you meet him? (I want to know so me and all my friends can go there.)

Online.

Oh. (My excitement fades considerably.)

He has a good job, he’s cute and he’s interested in marriage.(Which means she’s already tried on his last name for size.)

That’s great news, Heather. (And it is, because Heather’s blonde hair, green eyes and kick ass corporate job hasn’t made finding love any easier.)

It’s better than great, it’s awesome. Now we just have to find the right guy for you. (She’s not being snarky, she’s being sincere.)

Still perky, happy and over-the-moon, Heather disconnects and is gone.

The interchange with one of my BFFs leaves me with a question in my mind. Is dating online not for black girls? I ask this because Heather’s story is not unique. Many of my non-black friends have found love in cyberspace. In contrast, the single sistahs journey into the dating dot-com world has been riddled with horror stories more terrifying than the movie Scream.

On the popular BlackPeopleMeet.com, eHarmony and PlentyofFish, the success rates have been hit or miss. On these sites that draw the dark and delicious, the ladies of my acquaintance have found the dude with ten baby mothers, the freakazoid out for nothing but some tail, and the guy that is married but has found the Internet an effective way to cheat on his wife.

While the trials of my sistah-friends looking for love online may be a tad bit overstated, this much is true; only a few of the fortunate ones have crossed cultural lines and found love and interracial bliss. Only a lucky few have found Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome and happily went off to jump the broom.  Generally, they, unlike my “other” girlfriends, did not find the executive, the nature enthusiast or the dude who has an open heart and a grammatically correct personal profile. For the vast majority, the PC and their profile has produced only disappointing results.

So I ask my readers in all sincerity, is dating dot-com NOT for the Dark & Lovely? The jury is still out.

Want to thank all the Super fans who supported me, my blog and my book this year. Thanks for the love, the support, the kind words and the encouragement when it was needed and necessary. I haven’t forgotten all those who have been in my corner for 2012. Here’s to a bigger, brighter and better 2013.

Looking back on 2012 it has been a good year. I haven’t scaled any mountains, rescued any kids, adopted any dogs or run for office, but I’ve accomplished some things I never thought that I could. In 12 months I’ve:

• Established my own publishing company and published my first book which is fulfilling a dream I’ve had since I was 16
• Written 29 blog posts this year (probably should have written more)
• Been a guest on 5 book promotion blog talk radio shows
• Celebrated a successful book launch
• Lost some real, Twitter and Facebook friends but I have gained so many more
• Worked off 10 stubborn pounds. The holiday lasagna and red velvet cake has only made me gain back 2. Whew!
• Visited 3 different countries and in doing so reconnected with family and friends
• Inched closer to accepting who and what I am with the Lord’s help

All is good. In the past, always wanting an expecting more has led to a sense of dissatisfaction no matter what I’ve managed to accomplish. This year, I’m just giving thanks. I’m thankful that unlike parents in Connecticut, I haven’t lost a child. Like some soldiers in Afghanistan, I haven’t lost hope or a limb. I’m grateful that unlike some of the homeless wandering the streets, I have a roof over my head. When the New Year comes to an end, as human beings, we lament about all the things we should have accomplished but didn’t. All the things we tried to do but failed. All the goals we wanted to reach but fell short. This year I’m trying something new. I’m practicing gratitude. I’m living with a spirit of expectation and thanks. I’m loving with an open heart and participating in life on a day-by-day basis knowing that hard days will come, but that I’ve been blessed. It’s easy to remember the bad things that have happened in 2012 but can you list and remember the good?

Despite the Mayan doomsday prophecy, we’re all still here. Despite scary hockey mask Jason, the number 13 can still mean something good. Whether you’re in church clapping your hands or in the club raising your glass for cheers, will you remember all the things you should be grateful for in the last year?  Do you believe that a good New Year is dependent on a New Attitude?

Wishing all the Super fans, both old and new, a prosperous and happy 2013!

I am not my hair. I am not this skin. I am not your expectations. I am the soul that lives within.    India Arie – I Am Not My Hair

Speaking from the standpoint of a woman who has no clue what her natural hair looks like, I hesitate to jump in feet first to the natural versus processed hair debate. I’m in no position to judge what a woman wants to do with her wig, weave, locks or tresses. Recently, however; I had a brief debate with a gentleman who told me that women who are natural are less influenced by the man and are more in touch with their Africaness. Ahh, okay. While my picture has never graced the cover of the Dark & Lovely box and I’ve never been photographed pro Panther with an Afro pick in my hair and my fist raised, I’m still a sister to the core. Sadly, it seems I don’t have the hair to prove it.

I dig my sisters sporting the fro, the loose wave, the all-out kink and the buzz cut. That they have embraced their beauty outside of the Yaki versus Remy hair war–it cost $200 for a decent weavologist to take my hair from Badu to Beyoncé blood feud—I’ve been at the hairstylist for three hours trying to torture my hair beautiful power struggle, is great. I admire the Shea butter, coconut oil and Miss Jessie Pudding wearing sisters. I do not, however; bestow them with an instant American Express All Black card of consciousness because their hair is kinky and mine is straight. No can do. I know natural ladies who have never read, much less written a book. I know women sporting an Afro for the mere reason that the perm made all their hair fall out. They are not addicted to the creamy crack based on any political stance. To say so would be ludicrous. While natural and beautiful, these women are neither less nor more blacker than me. Naturalness is a choice, a decision, a lifestyle change and I dig it. But I Am Not My Hair and a woman’s hair is not the sum of her parts. I have 99 problems but my relaxer ain’t one.

One day I will leave the lure of the pressing comb, the perm and the flat iron behind. I will not be drawn to the long ponytail to supposedly validate my existence. I will reject the establishment and go full-fledged I’m natural and a woman hear me roar. Not today though, today I have to go to work and the gas bill is due.

Does it make sense to divide women based on natural versus straight, dark-skinned versus light-skinned or field versus house chick? Can the processed and the permed sister still call herself black, conscious and African if she’s still Getting Wiggy With It?

Super, congratulations on your new book but I must confess that I object to your book title on all levels. Signed your friend … Anonymous

It’s happened. It’s started already. Because of the title of my newly released book: Don’t Let the White Girl Win, some folks are accusing me of being a hater. Others, the more polite ones, dig the title but ask me in hushed tones, are you sure you want to call your book that? People won’t understand. You know the P.C. police are going to eat your ass alive. I stand by my book and its contents and to those who challenge me I say, mi nuh tek back nuh talk, that’s patois for yeah that’s my book title so what?

That said, to satisfy the curious as well as the furious, let me give you a peek into the table of contents of my mind. First of all folks, the book isn’t about hate or intolerance. It’s about winning and succeeding. It’s about helping black women abandon failed techniques and strategies for improving their lives. It’s about competition and truth. It’s about empowering women to be the best versions of themselves. I use white women in this book for comparative analysis. Although I speak of the other girl in real life terms, ultimately, she symbolizes any object, person or thing that women of color perceive as an obstacle to their happiness. They are not defiled or reviled in this book. What would be the point? Who has the time or the energy to spend 194 pages complaining, blaming and whining? I don’t. While I don’t downplay or dismiss the reality of some black men quitting the Negro Love League to play for the other team, the focus of the guide is not on white women. Instead, it’s where it should be, which is on helping black women win at everything that their minds and hearts can imagine or conceive. If some readers haven’t discovered this, then that’s because they haven’t taken the time to read past chapter one. There is more to this book besides its outrageous cover.

So to the naysayers, the Negative Nancy’s and the quick to judge: Bitter Black Girl books are written for and by Bitter Black Girls. Super Sistah books are written for Better Black Girls, Beautiful Black Girls and Black Girls that Rock.

My Little Black Book has resulted in controversy with bouts of serious comedy. Don’t Let The White Girl Win has turned some readers on while scaring others off. Have you judged this little black book by its cover without reading what’s inside?

On Saturday, November 24th @ 227 Lounge, I had such an amazing turn out at the Toronto Launch of the Self-Help Guide for Single Sisters entitled: Don’t Let The White Girl Win. So glad that despite the outrageous and controversial title both men and women came out to support the project fully accepting that you should never judge a book by its cover. Many came to celebrate, ask questions, mingle and buy more books than I could have hoped for.

Thanks everyone for your tremendous support. If you missed the launch but heard all the positive vibes flowing my way and would like to purchase a copy. Get one here or here or directly from the publisher here.

My fans and friends are truly Super. Thanks everyone.

LIKE the book here: www.facebook.com/DontLetTheWhiteGirlWin

I want it. Got to have it. Need it bad. Can’t get enough. The Super, me, Stephanie to my friends, can now say that I’m a success. I’m an author, officially. Not only a blogger whose words were one hack job away from obscurity or whose written legacy was at the mercy of my web host’s control-freak grip. Now my words and thoughts have moved offline and are forever captured for posterity in print. Yeah. Hooray. Gold star for me you think? Nein (No in German), non (No in French) and Nee (No in Dutch) and kuzimu hakuna (Hell no in Swahili). I think by now you get my point in whatever language you happen to speak.

Like me, lots of women of my acquaintance are very accomplished. They have a great career, a bad ass crib and enough clothes and shoes to inspire envy. They should be happy and for the most part they are, but like some women are nymphomaniacs who can’t get enough sex, some women are success nymphos who can’t get enough of the next. Like reggae singer I Wayne sings, Can’t satisfy her. She needs more wood for the fire. The fire for more that burns in some women is like a disease. Not unlike the euphoria a good orgasm brings, for some the rush of being at their best doesn’t last past the dying embers of the post coital cigarette. Inhale in and exhale out, now what bridge can be built, what ladder can be climbed, what bear can she fight with her bare hands and win? Lord Jesus, can you please calm down and chill! For these women I’m sharing the sound of my internal secret-self crying out in distress. The sound is ignored as we turn our attention instead to our To-Do list:

• Conquered the world? No check.
• Found the ideal man? No check.
• As rich as Croesus? No check.
• As fit and diesel as the Jamaican track team chicks? No check, no check, no check.

Sigh, despair and all our previous accomplishments are blown to bits. For indulging in this self-destructive nonsense I’m handing out slaps with a closed hand fist. Ladies, take the time to pat yourself on the back. Take the time to appreciate yourself. You may not get another chance. A successful life is not measured in accolades but in the moments and seconds in life that can’t be replaced. Breathe. Enjoy all that you’ve accomplished and then relax and release. The best time of your life is right in front of you. Stop chasing what’s next.

Are you incapable of living in the moment? Are you too preoccupied to experience a good cry, a good laugh or good sex? Are you Ms. Can’t Get Enough–What’s Next?

Join me on Dr. Vibe’s Radio show tonight as I discuss my new book: Don’t Let The White Girl Win. Dr. Vibe’s show is a podcast for black men & those who love them. It’s a perfect place for a Super Sistah to get her point across.

Tune in and stay tuned @ 9pm EST. Wednesday, November 7, 2012.

Don’t Miss It!

The Super Sistah herself, Self-Help Author Stephanie Small, hits blog talk radio for her first guest appearance to discuss her newly released book: Don’t Let The White Girl Win @ 8:00pm on November 3, 2012.

Patrick, the host, has a lot of questions and Stephanie has all the answers. Tune in!

Listen to Triangle Variety Radio Show – Blog Talk Radio interview HERE.