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?

Despite 5 inch heels that can crack backs and shatter a short man’s ego, in spite of six-figure incomes ballin enough to make the blue collar brother cry, and contrary to the societal shift that has put some sisters in the driver’s seat, still, after years of evolution, women still haven’t changed. No matter how powerful and professional a woman may seem on the outside, she still wants a man with strength and with cojones of steel (figuratively that is, literally might be a tad unsightly).

Enough already with the question, ‘can I kiss you?’ If you have to ask then the answer is probably NO! Take the kiss already and be done with it! Rejection, the occasional slap for presumptuousness, is a part of life. All the heehawing, feet shuffling and hand ringing is enough to drive a strong woman crazy. Men must remember their caveman roots and take charge. I’m not saying to headlock and drag a woman off to some dark place by her hair, but if she has to instruct, teach and perform tutorials on how to woe and win her then her interest has probably already waned. You’ve lost, so long sucker. Hit the Road Jack cause she won’t be coming back no more, no more, no more, no more. Hit the road jack… sorry the tune got stuck in my head and I got sidetracked. The point I’m trying to make is that the feeble, the weak-willed and the fearful have no chance in the battle of the sexes. If the article I read recently is correct and 40% of households are now headed by female breadwinners, then things are bout’ to change. Who Runs the World? Girls apparently.  How does the old school dude compete with women who are bringing the heat?

A bit of advice for my male readers, although some women won’t agree with me, I say bring it back to the biblical days. Get your Adam on before the unfortunate snake. Be almighty like my man Moses on the mountaintop. Direct and lead like bad boy Noah showing the beasts of the earth who’s boss. Attracting women is all about swagger, strength and steel.  If you have to ask, plead and persuade then you have no chance. Power and personality are attractive to women no matter the amount of loot she might be packing in her purse.  If a man fears failure and is easily intimidated then the next woman he meets he should ask her if she has a pair of panties she can spare. God gifted men with testosterone for a reason. Come to the love battle prepared to win.

If both the man and the woman wears the pants in the relationship then who’s boss?

Mom’s getting old–not Joan Rivers teetering on the edge of the crypt old, but more subtle and insidious. The changes are harder to spot when Botox isn’t involved but the evidence is glaring. She sleeps more and wakes later. Now she strolls instead of barrels ahead and stairs are harder to climb. She hugs me longer and with more intensity. Is she counting the touches, the kisses and storing up the affection she receives to take with her? Where is she going? It’s a hard process to watch. It’s not like I didn’t know that people age. I shouldn’t have expected mom to stay the same age she was when she wore the sequins bustier and blue leather skirt with the door-knocker earrings. I shouldn’t have expected her to be as lively as when jerry curls, cameo’s and Eddie Murphy tight pants were still in vogue, but the last time I saw her it really hit me that she wasn’t going to be around forever. I wasn’t the little girl she used to bounce on her knee and she wasn’t the fiery-tempered, saucy-tongued, take-no-nonsense mother she once was. She was slowing down. Like clocks, people slowly wind down until they wind to a stop. It’s the inevitable cycle of life for which no one is immune. Somehow the Super Sistah thought mom would be spared the kryptonite which was old age. Who was I fooling? So beyond the pain that comes with a good dose of reality, the Super started making plans and vows. Every instance in life can be used for motivation. Mom’s approaching retirement is inspiring me. This is what I’m envisioning. Dream with me.

Here comes the Super’s Mommy pushing the bad ass whip with the touch panel navigation system she doesn’t know how to use. The retirement home is the condo on the beach with the spectacular view of palm trees. Rest happens in the King size bed with the 1000 sheet thread count. She’s a combination of P.Diddy’s mom minus the horrible blond weave and Dynasty’s Joan Collins–rocking the fur coat in 100 degree weather. She’s ballin’ and moving on up straight George and Weezy style.

I’m making a music video in my mind because it’s all a dream that I have no idea how I ‘m going to make into reality. What I know is that there can be no alternative. I have to rewrite the future using my own script. I have to pay back my mother for all she’s done for me. Isn’t a child’s duty to make good on emotional debts? Aren’t we all born to pay what we owe? Speak to me.

Even Super Sistah needs a 9-5.  But like a million other Americans I was a victim of the tough U.S job market. Where I live in New York it was brutal with nary a job, a hustle or a gig in sight. I had all the credentials and looked good on paper, but after job interview after job interview I still found myself unemployed. How does a success coach teach success when she herself feels like a failure?  It was a contradiction in terms.  So I had to make a choice.  Give up or give in. I gave in and at some point during my layoff I stopped asking God why me and started asking him why now.  This is the answer he gave me.

First, I’m not my job and my job is not me. I tied my identity to my job title so that when it was taken away from me I felt like a loser and a failure. I was good for nothing. I didn’t want to go out and meet people because I didn’t want to be asked the inevitable question, what do you do exactly?  I was reluctant to give the answer that I was a blogger, writer and coach but that money and me were now enemies.  I didn’t want to explain that all my savings had gone into maintaining my lifestyle in one of the most expensive cities in the world.  Simply put, I didn’t want to explain that I was broke.  Being without any paper wasn’t sexy. So instead I stayed inside and ate, wrote and let depression take over me.   My friends didn’t call, didn’t visit and were not as supportive as I’d hoped they would be. Some disappeared off the grid. None of them lent me a dime, an ear or a shoulder to cry on.  These were the same people who I lifted up, encouraged  and coached for free when my life was good. The lesson I learned from the reversal was that no one wanted to see me down and destitute or crying in my soup bawling out to the heavens, why me.  So I picked myself up. I stopped eating and went back to the gym. I starting writing and put my words into a book and started a blog. I started telling myself encouraging words and most importantly I surrendered the process to God. Worrying was killing me.  I asked myself some important questions like who am I and who do I want to be? The answer in my case was that I wanted to be a writer and have my words change people internally. I finished writing a book and I couldn’t have done that had I been working from 9-5.  I wanted to be happy and go back to the place where I felt confident, full of myself and on top of the world. To do this I had to abandon fear, worry and shame and forget about what other people thought about me. It was a difficult task but I persevered and by doing so rediscovered the Super in me.

Super Sistah is happy to announce that just yesterday after months of pounding the payment she didn’t just get one job offer, she got three. When you surrender, trust and try things turn around. Remember when God gives, he gives abundantly.