“I grew up with them boys, they don’t deserve to be in jail for all them years. She made it up, It never happen”. The young baby face boy who had only been in high school for a couple of weeks were referring to the crimes that occur summer 2007 in Dunbar Village, a housing project where he grew up and currently resides. The boys were his friends, people he had known all his life. The immigrant Haitian woman and child who lives were torn apart due to these boys were inconsequential in his world, the only meaning they have were that they were the ones who took his friends away. His statement resolves all guilt from the young men and their actions, while placing the blame solely on the victim. Swallowing hard I look deep into the eyes of this young man, who was the same age of some of the assailants of the crime who ages ranged from 13- 18 years old. Was I looking at somebody who could have possibly participated in these crimes? When hearing about the horrific crime that occurred in Dunbar Village and the number of assailants, one can’t help but wonder why didn’t any of the 10 males try and stop the crime or even turn themselves in? How can anyone be a part of the sadistic actions that were committed? Someone had to be a voice of reason; someone had to know that this was wrong and needed to be stopped. Perhaps the blame lay on the assailants intoxicated state or the momentum of the crime along with mob mentality. But this young man was sober and alone and didn’t see the guilt that lay in the young man’s hands.  This boy was has long reached the point in his life where he can differentiate between right and wrong. He has a mother, sister and according to him a girlfriend would he be ok with someone commenting the same atrocities on them. This boy who sees nothing wrong with a brutal attack on a woman and her child, only sympathizing with the assailants, he is sadly like so many in our community. When this story first broke, a certain level of disgust and outrage is expected from the residents of the community, but there was none instead there was anger from the news coverage of the crime. “So a lady was raped. Big deal,” resident Paticiea Matlock said with disgust. “There’s too much other crime happening here.” (AP, 2007) How a woman could declare the rape of another woman no big deal? How could she not feel for another human being that shared her same neighborhood? Where was the empathy for a fellow poor, black woman in America?

Dunbar Village is a neighbor jaded by experiences of poverty, crime, murder and rape. The stories of the people in this housing project are share a theme of hurt, betrayal and abandonment. Their voices and pain often overshadowed by the pretty beaches and bright Florida sun, angry because it takes a brutal rape for people in their city, state, country and world to know that they are there, that they are hurting. So they will stand and try to protect their boys and the name of their community because even if it means disregarding the pain inflicted on this poor Haitian immigrant woman and her son.

2 years later four of the ten men have been convicted of the crime, with more arrest still to come. Dunbar Village now has better security including a working gate and surveillance camera. Plans are under way to destroy the 60 year old housing complex in hopes to build a safer affordable housing community. Sadly the wounds are still present in the victim and the community has or will ever get over this crime. When there are a thousands of community similar to Dunbar Village, who residents lack the same access to opportunity, share in the epidemic of fatherless children, drugs and crime run rampant all making for the perfect conditions to create children to inflict this type of terror on their communities; What do you do to stop this from ever happening again. What is our responsibility in this? What are you going to do?

-Just Tab…but hopefully inciting just the change this world needs.

*I purposely didn’t go into the exact crimes that were committed in order not to glorified or inflict any more pain on this woman and her family then needed. For more information on the crimes you can visit http://www.palmbeachpost.com/news/content/local_news/epaper/2009/08/28/0828dunbar.html*

The wait is over, the pretty one is back. I know you missed me. Its been a long time, I shouldnt left you with a dope blog to step to.

To fill you in…  Obama won. I graduated from Temple with my Master’s. I moved from Philadelphia to West Palm Beach. I got a dog her name is Isis. Yeah that’s about it.

So yeah expected a more regular present from me.

-Just Tab.

It’s that time of the year, where the weather begins to dip. The wind comes back and the air is full of frost. Sweater, scarves and jackets help keep us warm during the day. Which is great, because Lord knows I love sweaters and vest and all things argyle. The night time though…which is supposed to be the right time, but it’s the wrong time in the fall/winter to be sleeping alone. In my younger days I was very open with me bed, someone new every night. I had repeats of course but I did enjoy the thrill of waking up to a new face. Hey I like to spoon and cuddle.  DON’T JUDGE ME! The body heat of two (platonic) friends kept the heating bill low and me with a smile. The more the merrier, one night I had as many as five people in my bed. The world needs more cuddling. I have learned now after I have gotten older that I can’t just allow anyone and everyone in my bed. Did you know some people aren’t satisfied with just cuddling? And they want to do nasty unchristian like things to me in the bed. “Excuse me sir, just because I have on my bra and panties doesn’t mean I want to do anything. The bed is for sleeping and that’s what’s I plan on doing.” Well after a couple “miscommunications” I decided to close my open bed policy. This has left me with a dilemma, how do I keep warm on cold nights in Philly? The heating bill last winter was ridiculous $150-200 for just me! I have come up with a solution…stuffed animals. I know sounds easy right, but the key is to attach an electric heating pad to the stuffed animal. Perhaps I will even get a recording of some light snoring to lull me into dream land. This gives the feeling of another person being present in my bed, without having to explain to them we aren’t having sex.  Hopefully until I have that human touch next to me, this will do. Let’s pray the heating pad doesn’t start a fire while I am sleeping.

Good day my Tabians and I wish you very warm nights

I move at my own speed.

My parents learn early on that I won’t do anything unless I am ready to. Until I am moved to do it.

The million ads for the upcoming election, guilt speeches, merchandise and political coverage has not swayed me or made me want to decide to vote for a candidate.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t moved. I didn’t care.

Not that I care now about either candidate.

But what I do care about is Black People.

I heart America.

But my blood flows for and because of Black people.

With that being said, I could not attend the Congressional Black Caucus. See thousands of black people on their grind, with their power suits and blackberry’s working for the advancement of my race. Go to seminars about the problems/solutions for the black community. What was needed in our community, what was working and what was failing? Hear my people, see my people and not wonder what I was doing to help our cause.  Be motivated by the call to arms, to fix our community.

Walk around and see the Obama pins attached to the suits, the Obama paraphernalia being sold, the Obama chants and not feel the enthusiasm of my people. I haven’t seen black people this excited and united since the OJ verdict. This is even more significant because this excitement didn’t involve the penal system.

So I decided.

I decided that if voting for this man would energize black people, instill a sense of pride and bring “hope” to my people.

That if voting for him makes some black boy believe that he can be anything in the world. That he can achieve greatness. That when a  Black parent tells their child they can be anything in the world they believe it. That if voting for Barack shows America that a functioning black family is the norm rather than the exception. If it makes one black man think about marrying his girlfriend or baby mama,  cause he wants to make her his “Michelle”, his life partner cause Barack did.

I argued that the only reason that black men supported Barack is because they saw him as an extension of their black masculinity and that it was a purely ego induced support. So what? My Black brothers have been beaten down so  much they deserve a little ego stroking, rebuild some of the confidence that was lost by the years of emasculation they endured by the popular culture. I love the pride that shines through them when they speak of Barack.

I didn’t have this crazy change of heart and suddenly become his biggest supporter. I am not fully over the Jeremiah Wright incident and the symptoms of Bitchassness, Barack displayed.

I will be honest. The size of his ears freaks me out, although I know he can’t control the size of them. I would still really like if he got them pin closer to his head.  It will be hard watching those ears on presidential addresses if he does get elected.

I don’t agree with Barack on a lot of issue. I still believe that atmosphere surrounding him is of messianic proportion. That he can’t possible do all the things that people expect and save us from the evil republicans. But if he does just 2% of what people expect, inspired just one kid, or better yet spark the mind of someone and commit them to change the world. Then that’s more than enough in my book.

I love Black people, more then I love my political affiliations. I hold Black people closer to my heart then I hold particular election issues. So if my people believe that Obama is the right man for us and the nation, that’s more than enough for me.

I won’t be difficult, I won’t be different. I choose us instead of me. So if Barrack ends up being the worse president ever, I will be ok. Because sometimes if the ship is going to sink it’s better to go down with everyone, then to be safe on the shore alone.

Everyone has their own reasons why they vote for a candidate and these are mine.

I ordered my absentee ballot.

It’s official. My vote is with Barack Hussein Obama.

He doesn’t get a free ride. He still must be held accountable for his policies and actions by the black community, the nation and even the rest of the world. We must challenge him in order to assure he stays on point. But he does get my vote.

Don’t expect me to be wearing any Obama merchandise though….

Like most Americans I get my life lesson and advice from popular culture. This past Sunday, I was watching “The Wiz” and I was struck by the realness of the message. So please indulge me for a bit as I talk a little bit about what I learn from “The Wiz”.

Most people are familiar with the story of “The Wiz”, the African-American version of the beloved classic American film “The Wizard of Oz”. “The Wiz” was first produced on Broadway in 1975. The 1970’s was the height of the Black Power Movement, “Black is Beautiful” and everybody (that was hip) was rocking the Afro.  Blacks were nappy and happy! A time when even Michael Jackson rocked the dark skin and fro. As African-Americans / Blacks (or whatever was the politically correct term at that time) begun to embraced their blackness the only logical thing to do was to throw some “blackness” on a white classic. Of course, this is the antithesis of Afro centrism. Why redo a “white” American classic when you can just do a completely original Black show? I guess Broadway and Hollywood wasn’t ready for “Medea’s Family Reunion” or “Medea goes to Jail” in 1975. Back to the point, “The Wiz” was highly successful on Broadway, winning two Tony awards. It brought a little uptown Harlem flair to the downtown audiences. Allowing the upper crest of white America to be entertained by an all black cast that they would never associate with in public unless to prove there liberalism. While the film was a favorite in the black community, it wasn’t as commercially successful as it staged counterpart or the original “Wizard of Oz”.

My Quick Synopsis: Dorothy and her dog Todo gets lost. Ends up far away from her Harlem home. Kills a witch and get some fly silver shoes. Goes to find the Wiz for help going home. Along the way she picks up some friends who are lacking/ looking for something as well. Tin man needs a heart, the Scarecrow needs a brain, and the Lion needs Courage. The foursome journey on the yellow brick road to see the Wiz and get their wishes granted. After some difficulties getting to the Emerald City, they met the Wiz. He sends them on a near impossible assignment, they succeed. Come back; figure out that Wiz is a fake! Disappointed, because how are they going to get their wishes granted now?

This is where the lesson/ sermon come into play. Dorothy shows her friends that they have always had what they have been looking for inside themselves.

While Dorothy did such a good job explaining to her friends the beauty they had within them, she failed to realize the power she had inside of her. “If You Believe” performed by Glinda the good witch reminded her that “No one can change the path that you must go, believe what you feel, know that you are right because the time will come around when you say it’s yours. Believe in yourself right from the start, Believe in the magic that’s in your heart”. 

As I was watching the film on Sunday those words really resonated in my soul, yes I have a soul. I was spending too much time trying to convince people of the plan, mostly because I wasn’t totally convinced myself. There are times when you have to stop doing things just because it’s what’s expected and follow whatever dreams that’s in your heart. If God/ The Supreme Deity/ Allah/ Buddah/ Oprah /whoever planted it inside you, it’s there for a reason so until we really believe we can achieve our dreams it will never manifest itself into being. It’s easily to forget how much confidence and just having faith can contribute to success. I can get anyone I want, not because I am so attractive (but I am), intelligent (I’m the smartest person I know), charming (have you seen my smile) or funny (I am occasionally) but because I am so confident I can pull most anyone.  When I approach someone it’s already ingrained in my head that they want me bad, the belief is so strong they believe it too! Don’t believe me? As you read this you are having an incredible urge to call me and express your undying love and adoration for me. It’s ok, you don’t have to call. I already know! My task now is to use this same confidence and belief in myself I use in my pimp game to achieve my dreams and ultimately success as I define it.

And that was just from “When you believe”, I have about another 13 pages on how “Home” impacted my vision for the future and for myself. But I won’t bore you with that. 

I can barely remember the sermon the pastor preached on Sunday, but the message that I am applying to my life this week is coming from “The Wiz”.

So Tabians, Ease on down the road and don’t you carry anything that might be a load, don’t let nobody bring you no bad news and just believe in yourself, you are a lion the greatest one of them all (next to me).

I have a confession to make. I have never voted and I don’t have this overwhelming desire to vote. This might be the politically incorrect sentiment to have but its how I feel. The last time I remember voting for anything was homecoming election 2006 and I can’t even tell you who I voted for then. I can assure you it was somebody black and that they didn’t win. Before you judge and tell me how people fought and died for my right to vote.  Let me first explain how I have tried to vote.

Election 2004, was the first election that the majority of my friends were allowed to vote in. Unfortunately due to the fact that I was a young buck I had yet to meet the required age to vote. That didn’t stop me from participating in all the get out the vote rallies, mostly because they gave away free food and those cool “November 2″ shirts in fun colors. I even volunteered to campaign for a candidate. I worked in a 4 hour shifts delivering upside down M stickers and posters to people in Tallahassee who were registered with the party that this candidate was affiliated with. I attended Black Student Union events while wearing the upside down M shirt. Whenever I was approached about why I was campaigning for this particular candidate, I assured my fellow African-Americans that I wasn’t of age to vote so it didn’t really  matter who I was campaigning for. I wasn’t voting for him, or anyone else for that matter. This spared me some of the “traitor to your race” speeches.  It felt good to be part of a national campaign even if I was one of 2 African-Americans I saw at the Florida campaign headquarters, and the fact that this political party paid $50 for 4 hour shifts of delivering merchandise to already hyped supporters made the feeling even better. I remember visiting one particular house and the family was so grateful that there was young people helping to get this particular candidate elected they formed a prayer circle and we prayed. Hey, I’m never going to say no to a good prayer, I need all the prayer I can get. Well, fortunately or unfortunately for some this candidate managed to win the presidential election.  I went to a couple of the events for young people in this political party but didn’t really do much after.

I finally got around to registering to vote around Sept 2006. I needed a replacement license and the guy at the counter asked me was I registered. It seem as good as time as any to register, when I registered I used my permanent/ parents address. I do plan on living with them, when I finish school. They happen to be the best roommates I ever had and I don’t have to pay rent. Yes sir, I will be that 55 year old living with the folks, bringing dates into my childhood room and even vacationing with them.  My dad sent me my voter registration card but I never got it. Dan US mail. I asked for an absentee ballot since I was still in Tallahassee to vote in the Governor election. Never got it.  Didn’t stress it, the candidate I was going to vote for won anyway.  When I finally moved back to Palm Beach (Did I mention the roommates/parents  also buy grocery and cook) I never put in the effort to get a new voter registration card or pay enough attention to home town politics to be incited to vote in the city election.

Fast forward to 2008 and the primary election hype, by this time I had temporarily left my parents abode to continue my education in the city of Philadelphia. I was still registered to vote at my parent’s house in West Palm Beach (I’ll be back soon mommy and daddy).  Florida never does anything the easy way and decided to move up their primary election to play a more prominent role in the nation primary season. This moved was not approved by the Republican or Democratic National parties and Florida delegates were taken away as a punishment. People half heartedly campaign in Florida. The Republicans ended up giving Fl half of their delegates, but the controversy regarding the delegates gave me an excuse why I didn’t request an absentee ballot. My vote wasn’t going to count. Plus it was just a primary.

I lived in Pennsylvania, a state that became a huge battleground state for the Democratic Party. I could have registered to vote here and switch party affiliation to be a part of “history”, but truthfully I had no interest in being consider a resident of the state of Pennsylvania and was not yet ready stop being Floridian. 

I am interested in politics, yet I’m indifferent to the candidates. I watch all the news shows, read the articles and learn all I can about the election. Yet, I wasn’t and haven’t been moved to support any particular candidate. I am watching the political race like it’s a reality show, “Who want to be President of the United States of America” grand prize an all expense paid trip to the White House, your choice of sexy interns, and access to Air Force 1.  I think my friends are annoyed about how entertained I am yet, emotionally unattached to this race. My friend who lives in Atlanta, pledge Delta and major in business who shall remain unnamed refuses to engage in any political conversation with me that don’t involve which candidate we want to have sex with. My lack of enthusiasm for the election is in direct contrast to this fashionable support of Obama, The shirts, pins and music videos. I think I am going to start a line of Obama condoms “I HOPE this chick don’t get pregnant”  or “Before you CHANGE the way that chick walks strap one of these on” or “Don’t use this and your life will be CHANGED in 9 months” as slogans. I am glad Hillary is out of the election, she is the only one I vehemently opposed. So I can just chill and watch the show. I mean how much difference is an Obama presidency versus a McCain Presidency. Don’t answer. I know that’s horrible, this position is the leader of the free World. It’s very important task with a lot of power. The person elected is the face of our country for four years. How dare I claim to be a student of history and a graduate student in African-American studies and not particular care who wins and actually say that they are both equal? Come on, Tab have some racial pride and support the first Black President. The economy is in the tank and all the Bush administration fault, right? It’s horrible that I know in years to come I’m going to have to lie about my support of Obama so I can seem down with the cause.

Indifference is a horrible thing, when you just don’t care it’s a lot harder for someone to convince you to support a candidate then when you have one you are passionate about. Honestly, I feel kind of jealous that I don’t have this urge to cry when Obama speaks or feel this pride that all my friends feel. Palin being a woman, who manages her family and still lives out her own ambitions doesn’t inspire me as a woman to believe I can do it all. McCain being old does make me excited about being young and wasting away my life, because if he can run for president at 72 I can wait until I am 35ish to actually start with my life plan. People are living crazy long! I am grateful to the many people who fought and sacrificed to give me the choice on whether or not I can exercise my right to vote. Being both black and a woman, voting is a right many people didn’t believe I deserved.

But don’t rule me out just yet. There is seven weeks left until the Presidential Election plenty enough time for me to gain passion. To get behind a candidate and truly feel a part of the democratic process, to feel a part of history. To not have to lie to my children about my role in this historic election. At the end of the day this is the ultimate reality show, this person will be a part of our nation’s story forever. At the end of the day there is no funny reunion show, no sequel or a spin off show. This is real life and it’s time for me to stop being entertained and become engaged in the political process.

What better election then this to cast my first vote?

One of the biggest misconceptions about me is that I’m a social butterfly. I assure you this isn’t true, just some lie put out by the left-wing media to paint me as approachable. True, the majority of the time I do have a smile on my face or I am laughing, but that’s mostly because I am making fun of people in my head or thinking something very inappropriate. This unfortunately has given me a reputation as being friendly.  Allow me to dispel this myth.

There is a wonderful piece of technology that allows me to keep my interaction with the public to a limit, while still remaining somewhat social. My blackberry. Through my blackberry I maintain contact via text messages, email, internet and most importantly the blackberry messaging to the world. I love the fact that I can respond or create emails will driving or wherever I am. Blackberry messaging allows me to share my love of making fun of the people I come in daily contact with to my friends. I can even send them pictures of the random “hot, ghetto mess” here in Philadelphia.

Lately is has become apparent that the blackberry has taken over my life. I am rapidly losing my ability to communicate with people face to face, it is so strange to interact with people who you primarily communicate through email or text messages actually speak. They have voices and all this body language, it can quite overwhelming. I barely even hear my friend’s voices, it’s always weird when they actually call me. I honestly can’t remember the last time Tamara called me or even if she has ever called me.

When friends actually are in my presence they have the tendency to become very disappointed with me. I am not as cute, charming or witty in person. Text messages allow me the opportunity to gather my thoughts and come up with a smart remark; it’s harder to do that in person when you are put on the spot. They expect me to laugh and be talkative; I barely use my voice anymore because all my communication is non-verbal (via the blackberry). Sometimes when I hear myself speaks its freaks me out, it has become such an unfamiliar sound.

The internet on my phone has also become a crutch; I get random urges to Google things during conversations. How many kids does Brad and Angelina have, what high school did Chad Johnson go to? These are important questions that need answers and through the blackberry they are only seconds away. I met a man at the club who claimed to be a football player, I had to excuse myself to the bathroom to Google him and make sure his story was accurate. How can one be a proper gold digger without a blackberry?

I check facebook and myspace 145 times a day, people status updates alert me to world events.  I have found that whenever I go to a club I end up with new facebook friends. The random people who jump in my pictures all want to be tagged, so why not just add them right there in the club. I have mastered the art of texting while dancing, cleaning, eating, driving, reading, kissing and basically everything else. I text message people even while I am in their presence, it’s easier to communicate that way. There are some things easier said via text. Plus it’s a great way to share private jokes without making the butt of the joke feel uncomfortable.

I try not to discriminate but it is hard for me to even think of letting a non-blackberry user become my friend or even date me. How are we suppose to develop a healthy relationship if I can’t use blackberry messenger to see if you have read my text messages? These non-blackberry users always feel disrespected on dates when I pay more attention to my phone. A blackberry user would know that I can handle multiple tasks on my phone while engaging in a conversation with them. Also, if I am using my blackberry a considerable amount of time when I am with you, it says more about you being uninteresting then about me being rude.

The first thing I reach for in the morning is my blackberry, I have to check the messages that I missed because my dumb body needed rest. As I try and focus on my morning devotionals, in the back of my mind all I am thinking of is my blackberry. It’s compromising my devotion to baby Jesus.  I’m considering texting my prayers to him, I sound more sincere through writing.  I am proud to say that the one place that I never take my blackberry is church; I can’t even place that type of temptation in front of me. The Devil is a liar.

My blackberry has become my refuge in uncomfortable social situations, I may not know anyone in a new environment but I can always count on my blackberry messenger friends to be there for me, for them to care about my every move (JG) and talk me through these unfamiliar social settings. I spent the first 45 minutes of watching the FSU game with the Seminole Alumni Association pried to my cell phone. It had been a while since I have been around so many preppy white people, I had to readjust myself. As more of my friends get blackberrys I see the problem getting bigger. I’m about to invest in a heating pad for my hand due to the carpo tundra syndrome I am sure I am developing.

One of my favorite pastimes has become blackberry TV watching. When you live alone you want to share some of the ridiculousness that is on TV today with others, but it’s frustrating trying to watch TV and talk on the phone with friends.  Depending on what television show it is I communicate via the blackberry and text messages with 3-15 people through the course of the show. I like knowing what my friends are thinking about the show. By the end of the night my texting hand is exhausted. After faithfully watching Nancy Grace for months now and listening to her brilliant insights Tamara and I have almost found little Caylee Anthony.

I wrestled with the question; Do I really have a blackberry addiction? On the surface it appears that I might, but after taking a closer look under the surface I know the true issue. I just don’t like being in the presence of people.  Sadly, we must communicate with people in order to survive. I am using my blackberry as a coping mechanism for my social apathy disorder. The first step is admitting there is a problem, right. I admit it. I am anti-social living my life through my blackberry. Sad, I know so I am adopting several ways to fix this problem.

1.       No adding facebook friends in the club.

2.       When I am in a new environment, I will reach out and make new friends. No depending on my blackberry messaging friends to get me through.

3.       Call at least 2 people a week that our primary means of communication is blackberry messaging or text messaging. So that we can become comfortable with each other voices

4.       Set the blackberry to go off from 12-8 am. Less temptation.  I used to turn off my phone freshman year of college after 10:30 because no one needed to speak to me that late unless they wanted me to engage in fornication.

5.       Limit active blackberry messaging conversations to 4 at a time.

6.       Make a new friend who doesn’t have a blackberry each week.

7.       Wait at least 20 minutes into the first date to decide if the person is interesting enough to pause my blackberry usage.

I understand this is not going to be an easy situation to fix. I am counting on the support from the Tabians as I journey into this world with part time blackberry usage.  Sometimes even Great ones like myself have weakness, as great as I am (compared to you), I am only Just Tab!

I must place a disclaimer on this. I am not a hater…that much…anymore…

If you want to know what people are thinking just check facebook statuses. Last night the general consensuses was Michelle Obama was the greatest Black woman to ever breathe, every girl wanted to be her and every boy wanted to be her husband. I received text messages “Did you see Michelle’s speech”. Um no, I planned to. I really did. I turn on the television and all the pre-speech hype was getting annoying and not helping my already pissy moved. I just wanted to hear the woman speak and not commentators talking about what she might say. I turned off the television.

Sidebar: Did anyone see how BET covered the speech with Cousin Jeff, trying to pretend that it was a legitimate news channel?

Anyway, thanks to the wonders of On Demand by Comcast I got to watch the speech today. This is of course after the speech was hyped up by the commentators and my facebook groupies (friends) to be the greatest speech ever. I mean people claimed they cried over this thing.

The speech begins with her being introduced by her older brother, who shares those eerie sleepy eyes of hers that freak me out. He goes on to give cute childhood stories and how their family is the American Dream. Whatever, not impressed.

Michelle enters to give her speech to some great music. Her dress is fitting her well, showing her great shoulders. Her hair look phenomenal, someone actually convinced her to throw some perm on those edges. Even I can’t say anything negative about her appearance. Her speech was good, I guess. She got her point across, she doesn’t hate America, she loves Barrack, she is the American dream, she struggled, they are just like middle-America, and you should elect her husband. I guess her antidotes were cute and moving. I actually kind of feel bad I wasn’t moved by her speech like the rest of black America. Every radio station was biging her up like she was some black female savior.

“And as I tuck that little girl and her little sister into bed at night, I think about how one day, they’ll have families of their own. And one day, they – and your sons and daughters – will tell their own children about what we did together in this election. They’ll tell them how this time, we listened to our hopes, instead of our fears. How this time, we decided to stop doubting and to start dreaming.”

I swear she was talking to people like me when she said that. Because I am not sure how I feel about this hope thing. I am so afraid of Blacks and Americans putting so much hope in these people and being let down. They can’t possible live up to the hype around them. At the end of the day, they are politicians trying to get elected. I got caught up in “greatness” of Obama speech after the Rev. Wright controversy; he could no more disown Rev. Wright as he could the black community. Well he did, when the going got tough. I wish I could stop doubting and believing but it’s going to take more than a cute couple and two cute little girls to make me believe in this change. Sorry, I am not yet a believer. At the same time, I am so protective of them; I talk so much crap about them. I am the first to critique them, but don’t let Fox News, or anyone else talk about how unpatriotic and un-American she is, I am ready to fight. At the end of the day she is my sister and he is my brother. I can talk about them, but don’t anyone outside of the family try them.

I guess we shall see if this change is really possible.

Last thing is it just me or does it look like Michelle has tobacco or something in her mouth whenever she speaks.

Its almost 4 in the morning. What are you doing? I just got done eating ribs. St. Louis cut, I wish they were baby backs.  Pork is great at anytime. It’s how I keep my abs.

July 15^th I decided to give up alcohol for a month. This decision came after a fun night involving a bottle of rum, an empty stomach, love songs, a cell phone and no sleep. I can promise you this was an entertaining night, and will be documented in the autobiography (Working title: Give up now you will never be as Great as Tab). Well, let’s just say the next day after finally getting some sleep; I decided that maybe me and my good friend Mr. Liquor should take a break.

Anyway today marks one month since I removed Liquor from my life.

Yay!

I have been really good. I fought the temptation. Stayed sober. Didn’t slip once. Besides that one time that I had a sip of Moet. Just one or two sips… but champagne isn’t really liquor. Just like tuna isn’t really fish.

I saved some good money by not having a drink with every meal. I think I was planning my life around happy hour. Sad, I know…but also very fun.

Bring on the empty calories, Random kisses, spilling my soul, text messages that should have never been sent. Dancing on Table tops.  I’m ready for the Jesus juice!

Now, if only I can give up pork for 30 days…

I hate going to the doctor. It freaks me out, I start believing I have some crazy aliment or they are going to tell me I’m going to die…tomorrow! Doctors are such freaks always poking people with needles, making me pee in cups and take off my clothes. It’s never a pleasant experience. Last year, my heart was nearly broken when my mother informed me that my pediatrician would no longer see me. I felt like a rejected lover, I thought me and this doctor had a bond, we had been together since I was born. Yes, I could no longer fit into the chairs at the office and kids keep asking me “Where’s your kid”, not knowing I was the patient. But I was comfortable at the pediatrician; they gave out smiley face band-aids, lollipops and I could catch up on the latest issue of “Highlights” magazine. It was hard letting go of this part of my life, but I figured that I did just graduate from college I should probably go to an adult doctor.

I had a funny feeling about my new doctor, some thing about the fact that my mom, dad, grand mom, grand dad and brother went to her didn’t sit well with me. My biggest concern was that she was a black woman ( I am not a hater, I love Black woman, When I grow up I’m going to be a Black women); it would be like talking to my mom/grand mom about personal issues. Weird. I feel like black woman are always judging me. Well the first time I went to see her, it was ok. I even overlooked the fact that I got a plain Band-Aid with no cartoons after they stole my blood for “samples”.

Fast forward to today. My second annual check up with this lady. The standard questions, whatever. She asks me what I am doing about my acne, and how great my skin used to be! (Damn, Damn, Damn Philadelphia for mutilating my beautiful face) That put me on edge, I’m a bit sensitive about my new found skin issues. But nevertheless I am still PRETTY. Then she asked me why I kept my hair low. “Because I am lazy, it’s easy”. This set homegirl off on this “Don’t you know that hair is a woman’s glory, you shouldn’t cut your hair, even a fro is better then that”. Really!!!!!! This my dear Tabians, would never happen if I went to a white doctor. Never. I told her I never know what to do with my hair when I grow it out. She replied “Wash it and pray about, God will tell you what to do with it”. In my mind I was thinking “(Female dog) did you just tell me to pray about my hair!” Again, one of the reason I hate that she is also the entire family doctor, she knows my dad is a pastor, so I stay calm and just nod and smile. I thought she was done. Then she decided to tell me “Because, really you look like a boy. If you weren’t so cute in the face I would think you were a boy, but boys aren’t that cute. You look like a boy from behind.” REALLY!!!!

1. How does she know that “the boy look”, wasn’t the look I was going for.
2. She obviously missed the donk in the back and the breast in the front. No one really was going to think I’m a dude.
3. I wasn’t even wearing boys clothes, this wasn’t “gay boy chic” day. It was casual Tab day.  I was wearing fitted red khakis, a white polo tee, earrings and a purse.
4. Did I ask her for her opinion about my hair?
5. Oh yea, WHAT IN THE WORLD DID THIS HAVE TO DO WITH MY CHECK UP.

Black people and their inappropriateness. We feel the need to get into everybody business. When I was in high school my assistant principal prayed for me in her office, to rid me of the spirit of anger that was invading my soul. I do appreciate the non-traditional approach, but is it just me or was this doctor lady completely out of line? I had never had a woman tell me I needed hair as my crown of glory. I expect that from the ignorant male ministers in church but not my doctor.

Please believe this is my last visit with home girl. I am sticking with white doctors who stay the HELL out of your fashion choices.

But the story has a good ending. She irrigated my ears…yeah they were a little backed up thanks to Q-tips. I can actually hear now!!! No more “Huh” or “You said what”.

I’m going to keep my hair short for as long as I want and I’m going to keep being JUST TAB!