President Obama’s change of heart on the state of the marital union notwithstanding and press the pause button on what the Good Book says about same sex unions and its potential for eternal hellfire, to be gay or not to be gay, that is this writer’s question. It seems every time I turn around there’s a new person coming out of the closet and leaping from the bushes with a rainbow flag in full blaze. You remember the days when homosexuality was something to be hidden? Dem days are done. Leaving out the refusal of a certain Queen of hip hop to keep it real, recently it seems like many celebrities have decided to let freedom reign and declare their preferences loud and clear. Just in the last few years and days,  journalist Anderson Cooper, no surprise there, singer Frank Ocean, reggae artist Diana King, Don Lemon, Ricky Martin, Wanda Sykes and many, many more have decided to stop pretending. Despite what I may or may not feel about same sex marriage, I think it’s a good thing that people tell the truth. Too many people are hurt when men and women operate on the down low. In the black community it’s especially damaging when individuals fail to state their truth. The secrecy involved in hiding one’s sexuality results in destroyed families and ruined friendships. It doesn’t make sense to me to date the girl from high school, marry her and give her ten babies all the while pretending to like T & A (tits and ass) when you like D & A. Please don’t make me spell that one out. Stats say that 1-2% of the population is gay but I think they need to put a zero behind that number for us to even come close to the truth.

The moral of the story is whether you do the same sex thing for freakiness, for fun or for forever; it’s my opinion that no one should live their life in a cage. If James Brown were here he would advise the gay among us to say it loud: I’m gay and I’m proud.

Based on the world as it is today, is it now OK to be gay?

Can marrying the wrong person ruin your life? The Masked Crusader, the Super Sistah discusses her new blog post, Death by Ex. While reflecting on the death of Whitney Houston she asks her readers whether loving the wrong man can be a woman’s downfall? Post a response here. R.I.P Whitney, we’ll miss you.

the Super Sistah on Whitney Houston

Watch this video on YouTube.

Whitney we'll miss you.

Can the wrong man ruin your life? Yeah, he can! Recently Pop Diva Whitney Houston went home to meet her Lord. The lyrics, “I get so emotional, baby, every time I think of you” was set on replay when I heard.  I don’t pretend to know what goes on in the personal lives of celebrities, but as far as downward spirals go, I think Whitney’s began shortly after her husband put his diamond on her left. 

“As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he?” For those who haven’t read their Bible since the dark ages, no it wasn’t Yoda who said that, it was the Lord. I  don’t personally possess a Masters in Divinity but if this quote is correct then I should already be rich, thin, vastly intelligent and immune to insult and insecurity? Let me do a quick mental rundown of my bank account, my profile and my mindset.  Nope, if this was a test I would get an F for fail. Now I personally believe that both the Force and the Lord is with me. I wonder why then my thoughts haven’t manifested into a house on the hills and a Bentley?  Could it be that like most human beings my positive thoughts are combined with ones filled with doubt and negativity?

Our lives are often a direct reflection of what we think about regularly. If we dominate our thoughts with feelings of fear and anxiety then how can thoughts of abundance abound?  They cannot.  Light is a powerful force but it can’t fight the darkness without our help. If we want all the things promised to us then we must ask ourselves these questions:

• What are our first thoughts of the day? (Reflections on the past?  A replay of failed relationships? A catalog and mental list of mistakes made?)
• What do we say to ourselves when we look in the mirror? (I’m getting old or fat. I’m unattractive and out of shape? I’m not as pretty or smart as I used to be.)
• What do we say to ourselves when someone criticizes us? (They’re probably right. Maybe they know something I don’t know. Is it me?)
• What are the thoughts that run through our minds most often? (I’m not good enough. I’m not lovable. I’ll never make it or get to where I need to be.)

Positive thoughts need nourishment.  Like hot house flowers our image of ourselves and our feelings of personal power cannot flourish without attention, concentrated effort and care.  Before we can convince others that we are exceptional we have to first convince ourselves.  We have to get drunk on Jedi Juice which is a concoction made up of mental strength, visualization and discipline.  If we are what we think we are then we must think big.  The downtrodden and the defeated drink disappointment and fail while the ambitious drink Jedi Juice and win!

What is your drink of choice? Are you getting drunk off of your accomplishments or are you inebriated with your inability to succeed?

In the past as the 1st of January loomed I would get frantic. I’d dissect my year’s accomplishments one-by-one. What had I accomplished? What goal had I reached? What problem had I solved? Every impossible goal one could devise I had it on my to-do list. To me, the end of the year was like a final exam where all the questions of the universe had to be solved single-handedly. Needless to say I was ambitious. For many years I assessed my accomplishments for the twelve months based on the strictest criteria. If in the year I failed to reach a goal I set for myself then I considered that entire year a bust. Even before the last fireworks went off on the new month I’d have myself on the success hamster wheel with a new set of priorities, plans and pursuits.

Recently someone close to my heart went home to meet his Beloved.  He was here today and then gone like a raging flame suffocated by a lack of oxygen. When precious things are taken from us we wonder about the purpose of life and whether God has a plan. We ask ourselves, is there a point to all of this and what does it all mean? We ask knowing that we’ll never know for sure.  If we believe in a higher power we question whether the almighty is a naughty child with a doll with our likeness in one hand and a long piercing needle in his other fist.  Are our lives a prank? Why are we here? Even as we wrestle with our doubts, most of us cling to the belief that our lives have significance.  Instead of a mean spirited child we conjure images of God as a chess master devising plans and strategies too complex for mere mortals to understand? We use this image to give us comfort as we do our best to put our doubts and fears to rest.

No matter our religious philosophies, the core belief in all of us is that we are here for a reason.  Some of us forget our purpose as weeks and years pass by.  We slip into a coma while still standing on our two feet.  We forget what we were born to do.  Like the movie Inception, we must remind ourselves who we are so that we can awaken from a self-imposed sleep.  Death will come to us all but while we still breathe we must live life with purpose and passion.  Tomorrow may never get here.  The body may return to the earth but those who die fastest are those who live life with regret and dreams unfulfilled.  Look into your heart and examine your life, your pursuits and your passions. Question whether you’re on the right path.  If you were to die tomorrow what impact would you have had? Would you be remembered like a star that burns bright and then disappears? Would your soul live on in the souls of others? Would only the ones closest to you remember your name minutes after the words of prayer and forgetfulness have been read over your shut eyelids?

We must all figure out why we are put on the earth. What is our purpose? We all die but few of us live. Not one of us is promised tomorrow but while we exist we must change our lives and by default our destinies.

Are you alive or are you killing yourself softly by waiting for someone to give you permission to live?

Walk with faith & purpose.

We are taught from the cradle to forgive and forget. If you’ve every been trapped between the pews on a Sunday wearing a too tight dress and uncomfortable shoes, then you know that the good book says to turn the other cheek.  The ability to forgive is a virtue and a gift.  For many it doesn’t come naturally. It certainly doesn’t for me.  If someone hurts me I sit on the offense for weeks. I stew and create elaborate plans for retribution and revenge. Usually after I’ve completed plotting that person’s punishment my Christian self belatedly kicks in. I let the offender off with a warning but make it clear that the strike against them counts. Watch it! I’ve got my eyes on you. I forgive but the forgetting part is challenging for me. The scripture, ‘forgive as God forgave you’ would be easier to apply if it wasn’t for my upbringing.

My mother is an A+ woman but some die-hard Christians would question her parenting.  If anyone considered hurting my sister and I they understood that they did so at their own risk.  We were taught that forgiveness wasn’t a guarantee. It was conditional and was based on a brief list:

• How bad was the offense?
• Were they sorry for their crime?
• How many times had they made the same bullshit mistake?
• Was the offense intentional and premeditated to cause harm or pain?
• Should they have known better but didn’t do so because they didn’t give a Sh%t?
• Were they considered thoughtless knuckleheads therefore generally stupid as a norm?

This list was reviewed and gauged before a decision was reached. Some people got off with a warning while others were permanently cut off, dissed and dismissed. No one messed with us as individuals without having to pay the cost.  Those who complained that we were too harsh, unforgiving and mean got my mother’s famous forgiveness quote which was this: ‘Forgiveness is easy for the offender. When you hurt someone it’s in the perpetrators best interest to forget.  It isn’t the person that shits on the street that remembers, it’s the person who steps in it.’

Mom’s lesson was never to do anything that required forgiveness unless we intentionally meant to offend.  But I know as human beings we all make mistakes, have errors in judgment and lose our way. As I get older, I realize that if I want forgiveness when I mess up then I have to extend moments of grace. Holding a grudge charges too much emotional rent. Forgiveness can uplift and lighten the load on our soul.  But my mother was right about one thing, some things can be forgiven and some people’s transgressions against you just can’t be overlooked. In the cases when forgiveness isn’t possible my advice is to wipe away shitty people from your life and from your shoes.

Have you had to use wipes to clear away a shitty person from your life?

It’s been said that the Super is irreverent because I barely mention God or quote from the good book. Let it be known that the Super loves the Lord.  To silence my critics I’m gonna go Biblical on y’all for a quick sec acknowledging that there are some black folks who won’t take any advice seriously unless there’s an Amen attached to it. So for my Hallelujah Amen, Bible toting sister friends, this much used quote is for you:

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh.”

Ecclesiastes had it right. But some women have decided that they will only die, only uproot, only kill, only tear down and only weep. That madness has to end. If Jesus, or Jah for my Jamaican peeps, can be reborn so can you. This is how it’s done. It starts by banishing fear. If in your life you’ve killed joy, happiness and hope it’s time to murder the things that matter. Kill confusion. No woman is truly confused. What she calls confusion is an unwillingness to come to terms with the truth. The woman who lives in confusion is a woman incapacitated by two outcomes to her problems, neither one of which she likes. To stall and allow herself to avoid making tough decision she says she’s confused. Is she really? Nah, don’t think so. When we claim confusion, what we’re really saying is that we don’t like our choices. If the choice has to do with a man then usually we are torn between what our mind says and what our heart desires. Ladies, if your so called confusion has you locked in combat with yourself then the decision comes down to them or you. Choose you. Be selfish. The black woman has not allowed herself to think of her own needs exclusively since the beginning of time. I say that it’s our turn to put ourselves first. We’ve given so much to others we’ve left ourselves only fumes to exist. No man can love a woman who is dedicated to self-sacrifice. In the end, no matter how much he loves you, he will treat you how you treat yourself, with disregard. Kill confusion and stop delaying all the tough decisions you need to make in your life. If school is calling, then ring the bell girl. If a new man is waiting, then kick the old one to the curb. If a new chapter must be written in your life, start writing baby. If you must kill the old you to be reborn, then blow out the candles girlfriend, it’s your birthday. Be your own best friend and turn things around.

Have you lived in the darkness so long that you’ve forgotten what it means to love the light?

Excerpt taken from the upcoming Super Sistah Success Guide entitled: Don’t Let the White Girl Win.

I read this quote from #FreakyFact on Twitter – No need for revenge. Just sit back and wait. Those who hurt you will eventually screw up and if you’re lucky, God will let you watch.

Oh Lord, please grant me a front row seat. I had an ex that was so wicked after our breakup that I thought he and Lucifer must have been college roommates. I didn’t do anything to the dude. He cheated and I let him leave. I didn’t argue or fight.  I just released him into the atmosphere and prayed that I would never have to see his ass again. It seemed my Buddha Bless attitude riled him and got him mad. I should have cried more. I should have wept. I should have been so sad that I could have drowned myself in a sea of my own tears.  It wasn’t enough that every morning right before full consciousness coaxed me from sleep that the hole in my chest convinced me that I might have died. Nope. I should have lost fifty pounds or gained. I should have quit my job and lay face down across some tracks. I should have done a Superman off a high-rise. It wasn’t enough that heartache was killing me. He wanted to see the death for real.  In his mind, if the breakup didn’t destroy me then the love didn’t exist. He would have been convinced if I’d:

• Slept with 10 guys I couldn’t stand so they could help me forget
• Gone to bed with a picture of my him tucked under my pillow at night
• Committed myself to a daily 10 minute sobbing session in the bathroom stall
• Drove myself insane by having ‘our good times’ CD soundtrack on constant replay
• Grabbed the Haagen Dazs so I  could eat myself into a coma to stifle the pain
• Called his phone every hour ‘just to hear his voice’

Oh no, motherf*cker, you better bounce with that bullsh*t. I wasn’t going to let him win. The more he did to wound me the more I wanted him gone–Soprano style. I didn’t want to sit back and wait for God to do his thing. I wanted revenge now. The quote, ‘revenge is mine said the Lord’ seemed so wack. The Lord was taking his time. The dude was trying to hurt me. I wanted to defend myself black girl style. A baseball bat to the knee, a slashed tire or a clandestine call to my cousins to deliver a family beat down Brooklyn style. All these plots and plans filtered through my head but didn’t take root. Here’s why. I’d already won. He’d lost me. He’d already failed, he just couldn’t see as clearly as me. I’d already recovered. I thought of him less and less. He saved me from my biggest regret which was to love him long term. I owed him a hug of thanks and an Obama fist pump and dap. I believed in myself so was convinced that no matter how far I fell that with God at my back I would always rise.  His cruel intentions meant he had no such guarantee.  Don’t get me wrong, I still have his profile in my cross hairs but I plan to sit back and wait. He’ll get his one day. I’ve already gotten mine.

Is it better to wait for retribution or to seek revenge?

Don't move. I got your revenge right here.

God and I had a fist fight. God won.  He and I had a disagreement about how my life should turn out and we came to blows.  I thought he’d be easy to handle and benevolent being God and all, but he tricked me.  Things were going beautifully and then he caught me with an uppercut and WHAM, lights out; I was down for the count.

What’s your problem, Lord? I’m ‘saved.’  I pray when I want something, when I’m in trouble, when I’m desperate and when I ‘m at the end of my rope.  Every night before I go to bed I whisper a few unintelligible words of praise before I slip off into sleep.  Isn’t that enough? Hell, I even go to church some days and sing like I’m Whitney before the drugs.   Yeah, I wear pants instead of the required sistergirlfriend knee-length skirt, but Allah, Jehovah, Jah –  when did the Prince of Peace become so nitpicky?  Anyway, I didn’t come here to fight. I’m here to negotiate.  Here are my terms. The last time we spoke we weren’t vibing and one of us got hurt.  It ain’t happening again.  I’m stronger now so if we fight you won’t win.  You better recognize. I suggest a truce.  Take out your note pad, this is what I want.

First, I want you to send me a husband, preferably rich, tall, dark and handsome.  I want you to give me all the money I will ever need, lottery numbers only and no nine to five’s.  Secondly, I want some lovely, well-mannered and incredibly smart little ones.  Lord, don’t send me no bad ass kids.  Make sure to keep me healthy and happy.  Lastly Lord, remember that when I die I want immediate entrance to the pearly gates. I’m a VIP and if you don’t think so you better ask somebody.

If you agree to my terms I’ll give you not one, but two, prayers on Sunday– one in the morning and one at night.  I will stop swearing, fighting, fornicating and wishing death to my enemies. Agreed? If no, an eclipse.  If yes, a flash of lightning.

Do you fight God?  Who wins?

Get Ready for a Rumble

It’s difficult, challenging and downright hard to be good.  Being bad is easy. It requires no effort at all. Waking up in the morning spitting fire and brimstone takes no extra synapses for the brain.  It’s a matter of giving into base impulses and letting it ride. Being evil, mean and nasty only requires letting loose the restraints of the tongue and temper and voila: people are wishing you a victim of a hit and run.  Ouch.  Evil is infectious and the more you hate the more it spreads.  The easier it is to relax your moral code, the easier it is for the universe to give you all that you’ve earned: possibly an anonymous push into an oncoming train.  Watch your back!

Instead of constantly standing sideways on the subway platform learn to smile, laugh and forgive.  The face has to manipulate no muscles to frown.  Happiness is not a birthright.  It’s the product of constant and persistent study, commitment to being better and faith.  It requires a continuous battle between the devil on your left shoulder and the angel on your right.  Can I get an Amen?  I’m preaching y’all.  The Super is meditating on this message because recently I’ve felt myself being lured to the dark side. I struggle to keep my halo on straight.  Some days it sports a dark ring and is cocked to the side–B-boy style.  This dark angel is regularly tempted to let the evil genie inside her have full reign. It’s a struggle to resist.  I do it by avoiding people who inspire me to give out bitch slaps. I want to improve but sometimes it’s hard.  Like the rest of the world, The Super is a work in progress and the many times I fall are only exceeded by the times I rise.  If MJ were here he’d ask me, ’Who’s Bad?’ I’d answer, I’m bad.  But in a good way.

Are you bad?

Who's Bad?

Some people walk around with not just baggage but a suitcase filled with trouble, trauma, bitterness and regret. There are so filled with woe and worry that Erykah Badu’s song Bag Lady is on repeat blasting away in the CD player of their minds.  They can’t walk straight, their perpetually bent at the waist and don’t know how to walk with their heads held high. They’re letting the weight of their troubles hold them down.  For the Hang’em Low and Hang’me High sistahs on the verge of a high building leap, I have some advice for you. It’s Biblical so go ahead and get out your tambourine and be prepared to bang it and shout Amen when the message reaches you.  Wait for it. Wait for it.…Okay here we go.

Like the old children’s educational program Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, the message of the day is this: Put it in the Basket. In church a pastor said that what people do about their problems is that they pray about it and ask God deliver them but then spend years trying to deliver themselves.  He said if we want release, redemption and peace then we have to surrender all our burdens and troubles to God completely.  To illustrate his point he told the story of Jochebed and her son Moses.  When the new mother heard that the Egyptians were coming to kill all the first-born sons of all the households, she prayed for deliverance and an answer.  What her prayers revealed was that the only solution she had was to put her newborn son Moses in a fragile wicker basket and float him down the Nile unprotected.  Confronted with a crisis and the emotional trauma associated with her decision she put her troubles in God’s hands and trusted that he would see her through and provide a way out.  She put her baby—her troubles — in the basket and let go.  Like our Biblical sister we have to approach the past the same way.  We have to confess our pain to the almighty, pray for deliverance, forgive ourselves for whatever we have been beating ourselves up about and then Put it in the Basket.  Let the regrets float away from you with the knowledge that all will be well. Let it go.  Release it to the current, the breeze and the almighty and never think of it again. It’s dead. Killed, assassinated or drowned. You must kill the problem or confront it.  If like most women you’re having man trouble, for example a cheating spouse, then the same rule applies. You have two choices only.  You either confront your husband with the information with knowledge that the relationship may come to an end or you release it by forgiving him.  In doing this you’re letting all the mistakes he made with his infidelities go.  If you choose this option you can’t dwell, you can’t pine or have regrets. The affair is done and you’re done thinking about it.  Choose. This applies to ever situation that has had a negative impact on how you live your life.  Choosing to confront your problems is an act of bravery and boldness that not everyone may be ready for.   If you choose to release the hurt and leave it in God’s hands then you must remember to put it in the basket. Let go. Forgive and forget and walk straight with your head facing in only one direction. Forward. Hold your head high and the next time a problem comes up that you can’t solve, pray and while you’re waiting for an answer, stay permanently away from high buildings with open windows.

Put your troubles in the basket