That Makes Lap #2
Begrudgingly, I arose Sunday morning and forced myself to prepare for the weekly worship service. My intentions were to wake up early enough to attend the first service at 8am. This service consists of: no announcements, only one praise and worship song, no solo from the praise dancers, no choir, a 1-hour sermon, and then the offering. Basically, the service skips over all the pre-holy ghost madness, and dives straight into the sermon–an hour and a half, and you’re done. Unfortunately, I didn’t wake up until 7:55, and instead of rushing, I decided to drag around and prepare myself for the 10:30 service.
Upon entering the church, I realized that the praise and worship singers had already begun their soulful and joyous renditions of popular worship songs. Nothing unusual. For those of you who may not be familiar with the term, i.e. those of who haven’t set foot in a church in years, they are a group of 4-8 talented singers who create a welcoming environment with a mini-concert as members arrive to serve the Lord. Side note: That description is good enough to be in Wikipedia—Yes, I am a genius. The first selection is usually a fast-paced song purposely chosen to prepare the members for the joyous day, while the next selection is either a slow and highly emotional song, or an additional fast song. Both of these B selections are meant to drive you into “the spirit.” Either of these songs will lead to slow, wailing and tears, or quick-stepping and falling out. This usually happens every Sunday.
Sad to say, I am still a work in progress, so every now and then I’ll give an “Amen”, or a clap. The farthest I’ll go will be a few tears (can’t mess up the eyeliner). One day, I’ll be in the full-blown-shouting-Hallelujah-falling-out-over-the-pews stage. I admire those who have allowed themselves to enter this stage of their relationship with God. Because I am not quite there, every Sunday I have ample time to observe those who participate in the spirit to the fullest. This Sunday was no different.
After warming up the members with a lovely, fast-paced A selection, the octet of singers let us have it once again, but this time, harder and faster. Side note: I am referring to the chords–faster keys, harder drums, more bass, etc. Apparently, the selection was “my song” for many members. The intro hadn’t even ran it’s course before people were standing up clapping and rocking. I, of course, was preparing for what was to come. Now the singing would begin:
- First verse
- Second verse
- Third verse
- Second and third verse again–this time with crowd participation
- Ad libs from the each of the singers
- Drum solo
After the first set of ad libs, the action unfolded. By this time, various members of the congregation were sprawled out crying, wailing, or my favorite–dancing. In particular, I had my eye on a woman who was dancing, and then suddenly broke out into a full sprint. Yes, a sprint, and in the church. Of course, this wasn’t my first time witnessing a runner, but this lady was an exception. First of all, this lady was not equipped with the breasts of a runner. She had breasts that women like myself dream about having until we talk to one of our girlfriends who hates her large breasts:
- Can’t work out–they get in the way
- Hard to find cute tops that actually fit
- Hard to find a good, sexy bra
- Back pain
- Sweat underneath—DISGUSTING, but I had to add it.
After watching the blur of hair and breasts pass me, I then noticed Sister Double D taking the curve and making a second victory lap for Jesus. Two laps! I wasn’t prepared for the victory lap and found myself in tears. Trying to conceal my laughter, I noticed one of the ushers passing out tissues and thought, “What if everyone thinks the spirit has touched me and driven me to tears?” Now I’d have to keep up the act, behaving as if I were on the straight and narrow. Eventually, the church members would hear about my nights being posted up at the bar, cussing like a sailor, and would ultimately think I was double-spirited: Heathen Monday through Friday, Sanctified and Righteous on Sunday. This is too much pressure.
Overall, I don’t think anyone was really paying any attention to me at all.
Sincerely, ty!
Mad About March Madness
Yesterday, the Ides of March, literally swept away the Sweet Sixteen wishes and Elite Eight dreams of many NCAA championship hopefuls. The bittersweet losses filled the airwaves with streams of commentary such as, “Well, we came out and did our best,” or my favorite, “If you’re in the tournament long enough, you’re going to go down…It’s not our birth-rite each year.” The latter coming from Duke’s Coach K. Funny how he attempts to ease the loss with the rationality of, “Hey, we can’t win every year.”
Now, as I type away, the top college teams in the nation are rebounding their way to the victorious dance. Aren’t you excited? You must admit you thrive off the roaring crowds proudly draped in their schools’ colors, the cheerleaders with sparkly outfits, the fans with body paint, and of course, Dick Vitale baaabyyyy. Question: Why do the cheerleaders wait until March Madness to wear the sparkles? Putting sequins on cheer-leading uniforms doesn’t make them better, just shiny. Speaking of spirit, “Dick’s got spirit, yes he does do. Dick’s got spirit. How about you?” For me, Dick Vitale is often times the highlight of the game—He might as well put on a shiny suit too.
The fact that you’re reading this paragraph lets me know that either you’re okay with my enthusiasm for the NCAA tournament, or you’re just as excited as I am. With that being said, I invite you to keep up with my tournament bracket results. This is considering that you 1)don’t have a life 2)don’t have crap to do at work–like me, or 3)actually think I really know anything about college basketball. So far, I’m not doing bad at all. However, my theory for choosing the winning teams is very unconventional: “UNC, that’s the team Michael Jordan played for. Guess I’ll go with them. FSU? Oh yeah, the guy with the hair–I like him. Guess I’ll go with them too. Holy Cross? Sounds like a Christian college. Oh well, God doesn’t show favor during the tournament, so I’ll go with S. Illinois.” Hopefully this information has discouraged anyone interested in gambling from using my predictions.
As you can see, when it comes to basketball, I’m really not an expert; I’m just an excited fan. Don’t get me wrong, I do know a good team when I see one. On the other-hand, I am a woman and on occasion the outward appearance of a team, constitutes a win. “Uhm! The team in the red is looking good. Go Big Red! Go Big Red!” That’s how it usually works, but I do have a few select teams in which my loyalty will never drift: Texas (of course), Duke (even though they lost), UNC (Mr. Jordan’s alma mater), and Maryland (the cute fellas).
So what have we learned today:
- Apparently, being in the Final Four 14 times excuses losing in the first round–according to Coach K.
- Sequins aren’t a good look for cheerleaders, nor Dick Vitale.
- The outcome of the tournament can be determined by how nice the players’ abs look.
- Michael Jordan’s attendance at UNC most likely has nothing to do with the team’s current standings in the tournament.
Sincerely,
ty!
Back to Being Black
We’re not even a full week outside of Black History Month, and black folks are already acting a fool. Didn’t the constant stream of Black facts mean anything to you? Now that the 28 days of blackness is over, we as black people must find other ways to rub it America’s face that we are owed more than an entire month to celebrate our greatness. Unfortunately March 01 ended all of that and black folks are back to what the media thinks is the norm–Black folks being black folks. No more images of great black heroes that will forever fill history books. No more hyped-up panels, meetings, or discussion groups to examine ways to improve the current state of Black America. Until next February, we’ll have to suffer as the scale tips more toward negative images of blacks.
At the beginning of this week, the media exposed a video of a young, black boy presenting his 2 and 5 year-old nephews with a joint. Yes, to smoke. The toddlers then both impressively and confidently proceeded to puff, inhale, and exhale. In other words, they knew how to get blowed—not even a cough. They must have had some practice. The toddlers’ uncle, Demetrius McCoy, must be great with kids. My uncle only every offered me advice about men. This guy is obviously a better uncle than mine. He entertains them, teaches them how to master difficult techniques, and involves them in his extra-curricular activities. What a great uncle! Demetrius does apologize for his actions. Funny how the footage of the incident doesn’t show any sincerity. Sorry black people, this one’s our fault.
You may have also heard about Bobby Brown’s recent renege on his commitment to a radio station. The station, in exchange for Brown’s promise to be a week long guest/employee, posted bond for his recent jail visit. As of now, Bobby is a free man, but somehow hasn’t made it to the station. What’s keeping him? Guess he’s just being Bobby Brown.
Why do blacks behave as so? Is it in our genes, or do we just do it to give the media something to talk about. I too am guilty of creating a negative image of blacks. Yes, I have committed black-on-black crime. I hate to tell on myself, but I feel so ashamed.
A few days a week, I go to a local recreation center to exercise. Although I have a membership at a much better gym with nicer amenities, sometimes I like to be around “my people.” My gym is full of older, white people who just smile and wave. The rec center is full of nothing but my people who love to laugh, chat, and are basically a source of constant entertainment. That is except for the cutest little, freckled-face white boy–he always makes my day. Lookout for more on him in the future.
After work, I battle the stop and go traffic and head to the rec. At the rec, my exercise options are lifting weights, running, or doing group aerobics. Lifting weights is out of the question, and aerobics requires focus and coordination. After the long work day and the strenuous drive, those are two things that I don’t want to think about. The best way for me to shake off the work day is to run. This would require a treadmill. Unfortunately, the rec center only offers one treadmill to it’s members. It’s not the rec’s fault; the center is maintained by the city and must take what they can get. The problem lies in the availability of the treadmill, which is basically “first come, first serve.” So in order to be first, I must 1)fight through traffic 2)change into work-out clothes 3)be the first to grab the key to the treadmill. Sometimes I’m victorious, sometimes I’m not.
Solution: Scheme my way into getting the treadmill key before anyone else can get a chance.
At first, I had no problem getting to the treadmill. Then suddenly, these two middle-aged women decided they wanted to use the treadmill too. No problem, you say. I should be glad that my fellow sistahs are concerned about their health, right? Uhmmm, yes there is a problem. Those heifers take turns WALKING on the treadmill—each for 30 minutes. Walking is not helping them. They need to take their asses to the group aerobics so they can feel the burn like all the other middle-aged women. Now you may think I’m over-exaggerating, but the treadmill is kind of like my work-out sanctuary. Just as well, they would be better off busting their buns in the aerobics class for an hour than pussy-footing it on the treadmill. Believe me, I’ve attended the group class before and it ‘ain’t no joke.’ So where does this leave me now? Back to my scheme.
- Leave work 5 minutes early to get a head start on rush hour traffic
- Grab treadmill key as soon as I get to the rec center
- Run on the treadmill for 45 minutes forcing the women to join the aerobics class
This may seem petty to you, but I’m actually helping them out in the end. They’re never going to make their target weight by walking for 30 minutes. And it’s not like they’re doing any strenuous walking anyway. The women, and sometimes men, who take the group class have experienced great weight loss. So as you can see, I’m not hating, I’m helping. Technically, it’s not black-on-black crime anyway.
Sincerely,
ty!
P.S. Please click on the links provided for further details and insight on the topics mentioned, in particular the calories converter. There’s the proof.
