As my friend Big Mike says, my “lurker to commenter ratio is off the charts“. Had I known you folks were lurking perhaps I would have started giving away stuff MUCH sooner. Thus, I would have been poorer because of it. Even getting a salary raise isn’t going to help because there are shoes calling my name even as I write.

Everything in my life seems to be at an in between stage.

Today, I can’t decide whether to listen to Belle & Sebastian or some old school Rapper’s Delight.

My new office (with brand new furniture! no nicks! I have all the keys to the file cabinets still!) is in between because everything is everywhere and each time I go to do something I stop and wonder, “Where should I put these Emergency Pair of Pantyhose?” and then I can’t work until I figure something that mundane out in my brain.

Moving offices again meant that I have to look at all the things I used when I was a teacher and downsize again. The first time I got rid of a lot of stuff, but I held onto things I really loved and now it’s time to cut the cord. Again with the in between. This one is bittersweet, though, because I reminisce about my time teaching in the classroom.

The humidity levels are way high and I want to go curly but I’m in between because I feel like flat-ironing my hair and not having to mess with it or all those products I have to use on it.

My writing has taken a stance to me and shaken its fist at me because I want to be raw, honest, and truthful but I don’t want to hurt people in my life so that’s making me feel stuck.

My car loan is at that awkward point where I wonder about trading it in for a hybrid vehicle to save gas and also drive something zippy! Everyone wants to drive a zippy car!

While I’m grateful for my new position and love working where I am an opportunity plopped in my lap to get my doctorate degree. From Harvard. The invitation came from someone who works at Harvard. Did I mention it was Harvard? Still, my children are still growing up that puts me in yet another ‘in between’ stage.

All I can deal with today is Emergency Pantyhose placement. After that it’s a crapshoot.

Dont’ forget! Enter the contest below to further Big Mike’s theory, but leave me some love here, too. You know, so I can do the math and figure out the ratio stuff.

Summer, in all its glory, is slipping through my fingertips. Sun rays slide down my window pane leaving me to wonder when is too soon to put away that tankini and those sarongs I’m so fond of wearing.

Tomorrow is my first day back at work as Big Important Assistant Principal (I resisted the urge to write Big Important Ass because I’m a grown up). I will long for warm sun rays and ice cold lemonade as I sit in a new air conditioned office waiting to welcome students, parents, and teachers as we usher in a new school year. Missing the eccentricities and fragrant fruit and flowers at my local Farmer’s Market (as well as the all the characters you meet there). My hope for waking up late and turning on the news as I enjoy a delicious daybreak cup of coffee will end and be replaced by either getting a pot of coffee started as I style my hair or rushing into a drive-through coffee hut. All of my favorite things of the summer are leaving me to do the very hard work of educators.

What better reason to giveaway a Prize Pack full of what I’ve come to cherish this oh-so-wonderful Summer of ‘08?

Giveaway #1: A copy of Beverly Donofrio’s book which I read this summer and related to so well that I actually started writing my own memoir of being a teen mom.

Giveaway #2: Some goodies from the extra crap I carted home from The People’s Party. JUST FOR YOU. Ok, so I really liked some of the things in there and donated the rest, but I have $20 in gift cards to Land’s End. They’re currently having a sale which is one of my favorite things NO MATTER WHAT TIME OF YEAR.

Giveaway #3: Being such a Shoe Lover I have also become somewhat of a Foot Worshipper in that I must take care of my tootsies by using insoles and such. But this year I found Dr. Scholl’s Rub Relief Strips to be my dearest friend. The small design of the packaging makes it easy for travel as well.

Giveaway #4: Coffee is always in fashion. How’s about a $20 gift card to a big giant conglomerate?

Giveaway #5: Sometimes I wish I were smart enough to find out what the demographics of this site are to see what kind of people read it. Are you exercise gurus? Vegans who secretly like to add chicken broth to your mashed potatoes? Clown college graduates hoping to recruit me? With that said, I think mostly women read me though I know of several male bloggers (and a few male readers in general) who visit as well. Still, a Bath & Body Works certificate in the amount of $20 is a nice prize.

Leave a comment in this post until Friday August 1, 2008 at midnight (or email me directly if you’re having trouble or you’re JUST THAT DIFFICULT and no, I won’t hold that against you in the random drawing) to be entered.

Best of luck! To both the winner and to me. I might need it more than you.

*Edited to add that this Giveaway is linked to Bloggy Giveaways*

Comments Closed

During the panel on which I spoke as a speaker (as opposed to “spoke as a presenter” or “spoke as a high-class hooker”) there were moments when I questioned myself with the same thought that came through my head when I was asked to speak in the first place: Why am I up here and why does what I say matter? It happened, I suppose, because being a woman and raising a daughter today means a whole different thing than when I was a girl. Some of the images women are presented with, and hopefully reject, are simply more in sheer number than when I was young.

After speaking on a panel so many women came up to introduce themselves or shake hands or ask more questions and there were touching comments and thoughtful reiterations of our discussion. One woman approached me and said that she didn’t have a blog but loved to read them. Her comment was this:

How do you find what you need to have in order to be happy with your body and your looks? Because you can do it easily; you’re tall and attractive and it’s easy for you.

After I gasped from the underhanded compliment, I answered her this way:

I wasn’t always happy with my body. Or my looks, for that matter. You’d never guess the weight I actually am because I hid it with my height and you’d never know that I have several cavities in my mouth because I’ve learned that when someone tells you have a nice smile you simply thank them and accept it. Don’t give away all your ugly secrets. Tracee had already mentioned how women tell their daughters how beautiful they are and in the next breath use self-deprecatory speech which sends a mixed message to them. There’s no magic pill I can give you. But it takes practice.

After we hugged and shed a few tears, I realized that women don’t know how to do this. We can blame media all we want, but we have to continue to redefine the images of beauty.

I’m going to declare big calf muscles in my legs as strong AND sexy.

I’m going to figure out a way to accentuate my naturally curly (not kinky, I hate that word) hair.

I’m going to go ahead and buy that dress I like because it makes my curves stand out and I’M OK WITH THAT.

These are all things I have said to myself. Confidence building takes time. Parenting while you’re doing that takes effort on top of that. But it can be done. Trust me, there are days when I feel like a slimy troll, but I don’t announce that to the world. The ugly days I keep to myself and that isn’t just about body image, that’s about my feelings and my mood. You can’t just puke it out for the world to see and expect people to wonder where you get your flare and good attitude. People pick up what you’re laying down.

One of the other things I mentioned was about being a tall woman. Even though I have mentioned that before I found no less than 10 people who make mention of it when they meet me in person. Does that bother me? Hell no. In junior high I hated it. Especially flu and cold season during dances when every short boy came up to my chest and it was striped with snot after slow dancing. But now? I love it and have come to appreciate it as an added bonus in how I walk into a room.

Some women are intimidated by that and, while I am cognizant of those insecurities, they are no longer my problem. Do you know that every woman who stopped me to introduce herself at BlogHer was instantly crushed in a hug from me? I know that it’s difficult to walk up to a stranger (even though that gene is missing from my own DNA, but that’s from Middle Child Syndrome) but do it! You probably won’t be disappointed! If you are, back away slowly and don’t lose eye contact. You know, like when you’re faced with a rabid dog.

My proudest moment from the entire weekend in San Francisco came when my daughter spoke at the end of that session. Here is a snippet of what she said:

As someone who just came out of my graduation from college, and the end of my parenting: at the end of the day, no matter what they said to me, it was my choice. I was one of those A&F kids. I was multiracial and I could pass. But I appreciate that Mom never bought me those clothes; if I wanted them, I had to buy them myself. I remember thinking “I’m really uncomfortable in these size zero pants.” As much parenting as she did, there was some blockage that I put up. It really does start at good parenting, but when it was my choice, and I could make those decisions about the clothes, that’s when it really turned me on. So keep going; it helps.

She’s a wise one, that daughter of mine. Keep going. It helps.

Laurie has the entire conversation live-blogged here. I wrote something for her site a few weeks ago and that can be found here.

Do you remember this post? By my friend, Heather B?

Sit tight, my sweets. I have a story to tell and it’s the kind that I would do better in person because I do all the voices and I have incredible facial expressions (someone once told me at an audition for a play that I have a good face “at rest” and since I have no control over what that could conceivably mean, the only guess is that I don’t look like I’m dead when there isn’t a smile on my face? or that it’s the face people make when they’re trying to pass off a silent fart in a public place?) and I also use my entire body to relate a narrative.

On my tall frame it’s either terrifying or exciting. It’s like a choose-your-own-genre for story telling from an Amazonish chick educator in heels reasonable flats.

First, I must introduce you to the cast of my own version of the movie “Heathers”.

This is the real Heather. Heather B from No Pasa Nada.

This is Heather #2. Karen from Chookooloonks who took this picture of me for her new project.

This is Heather #3. Lorraine from Ask Wifey.

“The extreme always seems to make an impression.” (Heathers, 1989)

And this is me. Heather #4.

“Some people need different kinds of convincing than others.” (Heathers, 1989)

Finally, I must link to a picture taken of Heathers 1,2 and 4 (and it includes Heather #2’s real-life sister - her fake-life sister is somewhere off the coast of Trinidad which is really confusing because Karen…ahem! Heather #2 actually IS from Trinidad.)

Now, this is important to remember and if needed, grab a pen and keep track. Perhaps you’d like to do a diagram and use subtitles? How about a web-interface-design-widget? (I just threw a bunch of geeky lingo together for that last one. It’s not a real thing. Is it?) Ready for the important part: THESE ARE FOUR DIFFERENT WOMEN.

Up next: WE FIND IT HILARIOUS THAT WE’RE MISTAKEN FOR ONE ANOTHER.

Let’s be honest, some of the time we’re in complete disbelief when this happens. Let’s color a scene, shall we? Imagine you are at a cocktail party and someone comes up to you and asks, “What size shoe do you wear?” Because, in all actuality, this is common cocktail party conversation when one is in a department store such as Macy’s. The scene is best if you’re downstage left and the new character, let’s call her Chiye-tanka (because Sasquatch sounds mean and I don’t mean to imply that a bipedal hominoid approached me at this party) enters from the escalator. Or thereabouts.

“Eleven. Why?”

“Because they’re letting us big-footed women go in the backroom to see the larger sized shoes! Want to go?”

“YES.” This is said much louder than originally intended, but the sheer excitement and rendering of a Bigfoot sighting has impaired my ability to use anything other than monosyllabic words.

“Are you Heather B?” she asks.

Aw, hell no.

What a quandary I’m now in. On the one hand, this woman is going to take me to the last remaining size 11s in the store. The ones that are fashionable. The ones not yet taken by the trannies and cross dressers who seem to buy the one and only pair of heels in my local stores.

On the other hand, my brain has an entire conversation in the span of about 3.8 seconds: Is she serious? Where’s the camera? Someone has PUT HER UP TO THIS. Surely, someone has a tiny Flip video and they’re streaming this live across the internet to see what my reaction will be. What would Jesus think of them teasing me like this? GASP. She’s not kidding me at all and she truly believes that I’m Heather B! Because all Black folk look the same! How dare she! But she wants to take me to the shoes! The pretty pretty shoes! Man, I should mess her UP and take off these here heels and smash them into her forehead. But there could be new sexy shoes in the back. WHERE IS ALL THAT FREE WINE?

Alas, I go to find the shoes. These shoes, in fact.

While I’m trying them on I remember that there is a party going on and I’m purring over footwear. Women are celebrating with pinot grigio and gazpacho. My need to get back to the festivities forces me to be bold to the salesman salesboy whom I coyly ask, “These are 40% off, aren’t they?”

Either my desperation or his fatigue with 800 women overtaking all 7 floors of Macy’s forces him to say, “Yes, they are.”

At this point, any reasonable character would completely forgive the faux pas of the Yeti.

But then she tells me that my new purchase matches my dress better anyway.

Which brings my stage left foot to her center stage ass and now I can see why it’s necessary for main characters to die in movies and on Broadway.

In all fairness, there was a moment when I turned to go pay for my shoes and Mallory didn’t know that I moved from the spot I was standing in (stage left, remember?) and she almost called Heather #3 “Mom”. No, I’m not mad at my daughter for this almost-error. Plus, she didn’t try to hate on my pink stiletto shoe choice.

Exit stage right.

*alternate titles*

“See How I’m Avoiding BlogHer Redux?”

and

“Climbing Back On The Planet After BlogHer”

No less than five times today I sat at my wonky computer and tried writing. Because the mouse pad is broken I didn’t even take it to San Francisco with me. She’s let me down so much that I refuse to name her. I miss my former delicious laptop, Jayne, something fierce. It’s time for me to break down and purchase a new Apple and my eyes have been on the MacBook Pro for a while.

Did you hear what I just said? I DIDN’T TAKE A COMPUTER TO A BLOGGING CONFERENCE.

Sometimes my Crazy just jumps right out for the world to behold.

But, hey! Check it! I made it in the newspaper. That was fun.

So was meeting the editor of Redbook and having her crush on me. Score!

My mother has enjoyed looking through my pictures of BlogHer, but she is insanely jealous that she didn’t get to go with us. Say something nice about her in the comments if you would.

I was talking to her about the unbelievable amount of compliments I got last week and what a freakin’ high that is because I’ve been so down in the dumps that it was nice to feel appreciated either for my clothes or my brain or my hair (which Her Bad Mother petted and I let her because gaaahhhh). Let me plainly state here, however, that I am most happy with the ones that sound like this:

“You’re your own woman and you say what you want and you kick ass.”

Well, ok! I’m going to NOT be like women tend to be and I’m going to accept that compliment and say THANK YOU, DELICIOUS PEOPLE. It’s been a long journey of figuring out who I am and who I’m not and saying what you want and learning constantly is where I want to be. Again, thank you.

When I get a compliment I normally ask people if they’d like a pony. I was telling my mother this while we discussed post-BlogHer feelings and my nephew said something sweet to me about getting ice cream for everyone after dinner.

“Oh, sweetie. Do you want a pony?”

He laughs and tells me something to the effect of You so crazy, but my mom pipes up her wants.

“Oh, hell. I want a stallion.”

Don’t we all, mom? Don’t we all?

more BlogHer thoughts to come…