Happy “Thanksgibing” back….

It’s Thanksgiving day people, not TURKEY DAY.  Yes, many people eat turkey, I get it, I eat plenty of it myself.  But this was a day set aside to give thanks to God for all of his blessings.  A day started by a group of people who had seen the worst kind of heartache, and for a extended period of time.  And still, they had been provided for, and recognized that.  And were deeply thankful to the One who had given them life.

So HAPPY THANKSGIVING everyone.

And “Happy Thanksgibing back.”

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ON DREAMS….and Miley Cyrus

I dream.  Alot.  Every night.  And often -a little too often- my dreams come true.  Once, I met a guy in my dream the night before I ACTUALLY met him.  Another time, I dreamed that a co-worker was going to receive flowers from her boyfriend…for the first time ever.  It totally happened.

Miley Cyrus

Miley. Freakin. Cyrus.  I’m overwhelmed by sadness for this girl.  It’s reminiscent of something I felt years ago after waking up from a dream I had about Hayley Williams.  (Lead singer for the Rock band Paramore.)

I spent some time with Hayley personally, right as the band was getting big.  She was sweet, genuine, level-headed, and eccentric. Still a teenager.  This dream occurred years before half the band left, claiming that the fun-but-quirky Christian kid they knew, had changed.  Irreconcilable differences.  I had no idea of the relational difficulties she would end up having, or that topless pictures of her would end up online.

To me, she was just the creative, Christian girl trying to make it in the big, bad world of Rock music.

So in my dream one night, I went to a party at Hayley’s house.  And I brought my dog.  You know how in dreams, things are never as they would be in real life.  Things that would be strange in reality, are normal in a dream, and vice versa.

Well, in the dream, her house was a sort of multi-level wigwam.  Strange right?  But I had my dog with me, at a party.  Not weird to my dream-consciousness.

As it became clear that people didn’t like the presence of my dog, (she’s not purse-sized) I stepped outside for some air.  On the front lawn, I saw an incredibly large, majestic, white bird flying in circles over Hayley’s house.  Curious.

Don’t know why THAT was curious, but me bringing the dog wasn’t.

Not 5 minutes later Hayley came storming out, her finger in my face.  “Get your bird away from my house.”

I was stunned, and sought desperately to clear up the misunderstanding.  “Hayley, it’s not my bird.  I swear!”

“Just get it out of here,” she insisted.  “It’s not welcome here.”  She turned and went back inside, slamming the door. (Do wigwams have doors?)

I awoke from this dream, and was immediately overcome with sadness for Hayley.  I began praying for her, without even knowing why, or what I was asking for.

In the months after, she began popping up more and more in the media.  Drugs, bad boyfriends, topless photo scandal… then: two of the band members left, stating that Hayley never saw them as equals, but viewed the band as the “Hayley show.”

Had my dream outlined the spiritually decent of a starlet?  The white bird.  Did it represent the Holy Spirit?  Why was I convicted to pray for her after waking up from this awkward-party dream?

It’s the same thing with Miley.  Although I didn’t dream about her, I feel the same type of sadness, or disturbance, if you will.  In my spirit.  This girl is hurting beyond belief.  And I find it interesting that most of Pop culture experienced sadness at her behavior as well.  People who are, for the most part, pro-”twerking” and not against public grinding during a musical performance.  We are disheartened, seeing much of ourselves in her, albeit a younger version. In our own ways, we too stripped down to our skivvies and pranced around, wearing a neon sign that said “look at me!  Love me!  Take me seriously!”

Even those of us who remained fully clothed did that, in some way or another.  We’re all sad for her.  Because deep down we know that in effort to prove that she is an adult, she did nothing but act like a child.  Lost and hurt.

How to get accepted into Black culture

White among Black

I am white.  I live in a very white part of town, (Mid-sizedtown, USA) go to a very white church, and hang out with mostly white people. Being white is okay, but it’s a little…vanilla for me. Had I gotten to choose the culture from which I sprouted, it would hands down be African-American.

Now let’s get one thing straight right here, I am NOT racist.  It seems as though that term is launched at every other person who acknowledges that there’s a difference between being Caucasian and being Black.  I, in no way, mean any disrespect, I just don’t see the point in trying to argue that we’re all the same.  Yes, we’re all of equal value, but WE’RE NOT ALL THE SAME.  And that’s totally awesome! We must acknowledge that this world of ours is made up of a vast array of experiences, skin types, languages, hair colors, and cultural background, and there’s so much to be learned from people who had a different upbringing from ourselves.  How to fry chicken, for instance.  Among other things.

Even though I’m white (on the outside), I have lately been paying more attention to who I am on the inside: BLACK.  I’m not a buxom, middle-aged Black woman, with spiral-curly hair, who waves her index finger, arches her eyebrow, and purses her lips when she talks.  I am the tall, slender, fashionable black woman, who never wears animal prints. My kinky curls are under control.  I’m loud and boisterous only when the situation calls for it, and can manifest the appropriate amount of attitude when people need a good verbal slap across the face.

The problem?  I’m not black.  But I’ve been trying a few ways to get accepted into Black culture, and I’ve hit on some foolproof actions.  Follow these 6 steps, and you’ll be guaranteed a spot in the club.  And in this club, somebody always getting krunk.

1. DON’T ASK PERMISSION.  If you ask for permission to join the group, the answer will most likely be no.  But if you assume that you’re “one of them,” no one will ask questions.  (This usually goes for most social groups in any setting.)  Let’s say you’re at a crowded restaurant at lunch time, and all the tables are taken, except for one large “communal” style table, almost-full of African-American women.  Don’t ask “do you mind if I sit here?”  Walk right up, pretend you’ve been friends with these ladies forever, and say “you girls are so sweet for saving me a seat!  You be looking out for a sister, I appreciate that.”  And sit down.  Just sit down.

2. USE SLANG.  Without being over-the-top.  You gotta know what you can pull off.  For instance, some people can get away with “B!+@&, while we out hanging at AJ’s crib, she showed us her threads she be throwing down the Benjamins fo, and then that new playa of hers roll up, and give this sermon on keeping up wit’ all her bling…” Others of you, will have to make do with “girl, when we went to AJ’s house, she showed us her expensive clothes, then her boyfriend came in and complained about buying all of her nice jewelry,” with a nice “it was cray-cray” thrown in there.

3. DRESS A LITTLE ON THE WILD SIDE.  Black women are daring, in ways that us boring white girls would never have the imagination to be.  Now, you have to know how to work it no matter what you’re wearing, and don’t go too far off the deep end.  It will look as though you’re trying too hard.  Whatever you wear, you gotta throw in some attitude.

4. ALWAYS THANK THEM.  You’re out shopping, and a black woman says that she likes your purse.  Don’t just smile.  Make firm eye contact, cock your head and bit, and say “thanks girl.”  And if you want extra points, you can throw in a “you know I love me some leather/stripes/buckles/whatever.”

5. PUT “ASS” AFTER ANY WORD.  You might be offended.  But it’s true, and you know it. It works.  100% of the time. In fact, this is a great one to start with, since you don’t need no have developed any of the other aforementioned skills to pull this one off.  “My lazy-ass cat won’t even go in the litter box.”  “Her ugly-ass dress should never have left the store.”  “That hot-ass barista is looking at you.”  Even stuff white people like can have an urban flair when you throw this word in.

6.  BE LOUD, and LATE.  For those of you white folk who are a little too white, this one will be tough.  But the basic idea is that you want to speak loud enough to draw some attention to yourself.  And always run on CPT.  (For those who don’t know what that means, you’ll have to Google the Urban translation, because if you’re white, you’re not allowed to say it.)