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.

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?

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.

A few days ago on Yahoo I read that by the year 2030 more than 50% of the population will be clinically obese. Lord help us all if a Big Mac and fries becomes the meal of choice.  Specifically the health of black women  has been on my mind. I often wonder if women of color take their health seriously? Do we spend as much time as we should maintaining a decent body weight for our heights? As black women are we an intricate part of the obesity epidemic? Have we gone past babyphat to just plain, fat, fat?

This is relevant to me because yesterday I ate a whole box of chocolate by myself: Toffifay for those of you who are wondering about my special brand of chocolate crack. I ate it joyfully but felt awful afterwards when I thought about what damage that 600-calorie snack was going to do to my waistline and to my BMI.

I’m sorry to bring this weight issue up again as I promised my readers in a moment of weakness that I would refrain from discussing my obsession with my body and all its moving parts. But in this post it’s not my body I’m focusing on, it’s everyone else’s health.

In my upcoming book I ask the question, are black women’s weight issues the reason for their dating challenges? Some say yes. Others say no. The jury is still out.

Weigh in on the weight issue and tell me if you think that black women have moved past babyphat to something else.

Like the best movies, the best books have trailers too. Check out the trailer for Don’t Let the White Girl Win available in paperback and eBook at Amazon & Barnes and Noble Online – October 29th.

One of the questions I’m often asked is if I feel women of color need rebuilding. Based on the premise of my book: Don’t Let the White Girl Win, another question I’m asked is if I feel that black women are losing the battle for the hearts of black men? My take is that many black women are in need of some sort of instruction. As for our men, I believe that if we are losing them that’s because many of us are losing ourselves. Inevitably someone will disagree with me about our apparent need of reconstruction. I believe that like the Bionic Woman, Jamie Sommers, circa 1976, black women need to be better, faster and stronger. Discounting the blessed sistahs who have it all figured out, who are emotionally stable and who have never felt marginalized or incapacitated by their mistakes, many sistahs are walking around wounded. Despite the fact that some of us exist in a fractured and splintered state, we’re still desperate for love. The love that we feel will complete us and make us whole. It’s a myth.

As women we cannot find and maintain love if we’re not at our best. Light attracts light and darkness dispels it. No woman can expect to find happiness while weighed down by the hurts and heartaches of her past. To believe it’s possible is to accept as truth a self-destructive fairytale. Women cannot expect to attract Mr. Right with only a portion of their hearts intact.  Even the best smoke screen will eventually reveal what hides beneath.

So to be a Better Black Woman, between the pages of my self-help guide I attempt to begin the healing process. Tempering harsh doses of reality with much needed laughter, I talk about the 5 B’s: Bias, Brainwashing, Beauty, Baggage and Better, and the lessons embedded in each that will lead us to a place of victory. What’s the prize besides triumphing over any and all rivals? It’s a successful life accompanied by healthy and happy relationships.

As a whole, are black women at their best or do we need rebuilding?

Read Don’t Let the White Girl Win available online at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Chapters on October 29, 2012.

I’m feeling bare, stripped, curiously naked and exposed. I’m addicted to privacy and have been from my youth; but there is a time for the dark and there is a time to let the light in. Besides the Superhero aspect of my pseudonym and all its inherent fabulousness, the mask of the Super Sistah appealed to the Clark Kent inside of me. I could be the studious, academic, introvert that is me but I could also switch to my gregarious, irreverent and theatrical side when the inclination arose. Existing behind a mask gave me a certain kind of freedom; I could say what I wanted and do what I wanted without risking censure or criticism.  After all, anything that was said against me was not said to my true self, the one I saw every day, but to my counterfeit and copy whose ego was not as easily bruised. But what happens when looking out through the world from behind a mask doesn’t suit? What happens when you have something critical and life changing to say? Can you send your representative to preach the message on your behalf? The Super inside of me said no and the real me agreed.

For a woman who likes privacy letting the world see my true self, without my protective layer, was scary. I had anxiety about how I would be perceived. I came across Michelle Obama at her conservative best if random strangers are to be believed, but inside I was all Halle Berry as Cat Woman— feral and fabulously decked out in leather spandex. In the end I had to choose; the safety of my masked crusader secret identity or to realize a lifelong dream. The dream of reaching women of color on a larger platform. I chose the dream and that dream has grown beyond the need for anonymity and the confines of my blog. My blog readers have encouraged me and inspired me. Their issues and anxieties and their struggles with life and relationships have led to a book, a belief and a movement. The relationship, dating and self-help guide: Don’t Let the White Girl Win comes out in October 2012. Between the pages, the message is irreverent, funny and infuriating but offers real guidance and counsel for rebuilding black women and their relationships. Despite the title, it’s not about the other girl, it’s about us. It’s a boot camp, tough-love guide for how, as women of color, we can help and heal each other and succeed. So I’m going naked, nude and as bare as the day I was born to introduce my fans to the real me. The me without the mask. Hello everyone, Stephanie here.

Are you hiding behind a mask? Have you ever made the fear of exposing your true self get in the way of your destiny?

Black History Month was in February. Did you notice? No? Me neither. The month designed to highlight the contributions that African-Americans have made to the country went by without fanfare. To highlight how little the month meant to some, TV host Jimmy Kimmel sent a reporter out onto the streets of L.A to interview and ask unsuspecting white people a loaded question: Who is your favorite black person (See video here)? Caught off guard but eager to participate, white people dropped names like Jamie Foxx, Chris Rock, quoted some rap songs and replied, “I don’t watch much television.” As a defense mechanism some folks just blinked into the camera clearly stumped. Obviously the exercise was meant to be funny and highlight our cultural divide but I found the interviews demoralizing and just plain sad. 12% of the population is made up of African-Americans but all the general public could come up with as inspirational figures were some comedians, rappers and actors. It’s no wonder MLK can’t realize his dream, his descendants are in a living nightmare. Clearly Jimmy meant to poke fun at the ignorance of Middle America but I think his test demonstrated just how much more we have to learn about each other.  It’s not just white Americans that have to learn more about black people but we have to learn more about ourselves.

Ask me who my favorite black person is and I’ll say: God (don’t get me started on this one), Malcolm X, mom, me, Oprah or The President and the First Lady. My list is vast but I was overly optimistic to think that I would hear even one of my answers on someone else’s lips. Although I was disillusioned, the Super is not about attack, attack and sick him boy on the white race. I am the recipient of a full public school education so I know my Anglo-Saxon history. Ask me though who my favorite white person is and sadly Brad Pitt kept on leaping to mind. Before you ask, the answer is yes, I’m slightly ashamed.  After further reflection, President Lincoln danced to the forefront of my brain, I gave JFK a whirl and I got jiggy with some Shakespeare? On short notice I think any of these will do? Ultimately, if it’s a melting pot we want just one month won’t bridge the gap.  To understand we must interact.

Who’s your favorite black person? If Americans know nothing about Black History can we declare Melting Pot My Ass a holiday?