The following is a random list of things I love to eat, and what I eat them with. I mostly bake. I don’t like fried foods, except for French Fries.

Bacon Cheeseburger – medium
Steak – nearly raw, pink
Lamb – with curry
Cornish Hen

I don’t like the chicken that’s out there. Although organic and antibiotic-free chicken are showing up in the stores. I want the non-Frankenstein-big-breast chicken. I still don’t like the way the meat looks or smells. I’ve been cutting back on the beef, haven’t had it in a long time. I don’t like the oily odd chewy taste of it.

Olive Oil
Sea Salt
Black Pepper
Chili Pepper

The spicier the dish, the more I like. I love Indian food.


Long Grain Rice
Spanish Rice
Basmati Rice

I have to work on getting into Brown Rice and cooking it with Coconut Oil.

Veggies, Legumes, Nuts
Spinach – baby
Spinach – frozen
Asparagus – in salads, baked, boiled or lightly salted
Yellow Sweet / Vidalia Onion
Chic Peas
Kidney Beans
Portobello Mushrooms
Romaine Lettuce
Tomatoes (plum, cherry)

Beef Patti
Pad Thai
Sushi – California Roll, Spicy Tuna Roll
Penne Pasta (Spinach)
Spaghetti (whole wheat)

Fruit, Snack
Dried papaya
Jelly-Belly Beans


Black Women: Look Out for Number One

Black Women, please put yourself first.

I think it’s great that there are many resources (online, library, books, tapes, etc.) available for the betterment of black women. However, I always have a beef with those that clamor for black women to make changes. These proposals often ask: what can a black woman do to benefit others, but not what the black woman can do for herself.

I make no bones about looking out for myself.

Like a passenger on a plane, black women must put the oxygen mask on herself first. You cannot help others if you aren’t breathing. You cannot help others if your financial house is not in order. You cannot help others if your priorities are messed up. You cannot fix others, if you are still broken.

I have a fantastic family. I love the way I was brought up. No one in my family, especially my Mother and Father ever made me think my well being had to be sacrificed to please anyone. You get my drift? My stuff belonged to me. My well being came first – as well as my siblings. I wasn’t raised to be second to anyone.

So I’m often perplexed when I read, see, or know of black women who feel guilty if they aren’t throwing themselves under the bus for people. I realize that they might not even be aware of it. But no woman should be a sacrificial lamb.

Be a sistah to yourself first.

Learn to be selfish. It’s a good thing. Be loyal to yourself. So next time someone says, “You’re so selfish.” Reply with, “Yes, I am, that’s why I’m living well.”

Give vanity a try! Looking great makes you feel great! It’s good for your overall emotional and physical health!

Guilt is a wasteful emotion. Don’t ever let anyone use this on you.

Giving your time is just as precious as giving your life. Don’t be so caviler about it.

Get into the habit of saying, “No.” Don’t hem and haw.

If people want you to ride or die for them, let them ride or die for you first.

Agreeing with someone doesn’t make you a follower, doormat, or groupie. Disagreeing with someone doesn’t (or shouldn’t) make you an enemy, even if you enjoy playing Devil’s Advocate. Intelligent people appreciate well thought-out criticism.

Don’t feel obligated to anyone. They could be using you. You know the deal: they do you one favor and the next thing you know, you are repaying that one favor over a lifetime.

People are clumsy at self-expression, not everyone is glib and verbally gifted. Cut the inarticulate, and possibly the ignorant, some slack. Not everyone is aiming for your jugular.

Last, but not least, you are not a bank, a charity, or a non-profit organization. Don’t be afraid to ask for your money. Don’t be afraid to charge for your time and effort.

Don’t get in the habit of purchasing affection. Life gets rough when you run out of money.

Not everybody is going to like you, but they should, at least, respect you.


Hair Again – The Vanity Check

I lurk on a number of hair boards. I’m surprised that there’s still a debate over hair types. Let me be specific: some black women (almost monthly) often wonder whether 100% African Americans (black parents and grand parents, allowing for multi-ethnic, multi-racial great-grandparents) can grow hair past their shoulders. My hair type might be what they seek: nappy, cnapps, 4 a-b-c-z, cotton-like, fine, medium, and completely uncombable. Combs are so overrated. (snicker)

There’s quite a demand for proof of long hair. A good search into fotki could provide these ladies with the answers they seek. I’m constantly impressed by the variety of natural hair styles I see. I wish I was as creative. I can’t create clean and precise parts for nothing. The pictures are of unraveled bantu knots (aloe vera and castor oil) before I condition wash.

I don’t post responses; this blog isn’t a response to those requests. I never doubted that black women can grow long hair – almost every girl I knew during my childhood had long hair.

I was one of the bald ones. It bothered me sometimes. I was certain that it was genetics since my aunts weren’t long haired. I only knew what one of my grandmothers looked like. Her hair was shoulder length, so my expectations weren’t high. As I got older I figured that this dry and cold climate was my enemy. I was always making plans to live in the South. All the women down there seem to have very long hair.

However, over the past few years, I’ve finally figured out what worked: moisture and leaving it alone. Duh.