More than…

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Silver Screen.”

Young black women, you are more than your thighs and your hips. You are beautiful, strong, powerful. I want more from you. Take your place.

~Madea’s Family Reunion(2006)

I am a big fan of Madea the character from writer,director, and producer Tyler Perry.  It’s hard for me to determine my favorite movie, but I do enjoy watching many of Tyler Perry films, Madea’s Family Reunion is one movie that I can watch over and over without becoming overwhelmed or bored. There are many quotes from Tyler Perry’s films that are inspirational and thought-provoking but I imagine this implies to most movies, but one quote I particularly like; “Young black women, you are more than your thighs and your hips. You are beautiful, strong, powerful…” Although this was targeted to black women, this quote implies to all women of every nationality, race, ethnicity, and religion.

Women, young women, girls need to know they are more than their bodies. What is on the outside is superficial, it changes, so we should not become overly obsessed with what is on the outside. We are spirit, souls with emotions, opinions, thoughts, and experiences that make us into who we are. There is nothing wrong with working on outward beauty, but we really need to focus on who we really are, how we think, react, believe, focus on being kind, making good decisions, living wiser. Our outward appearances, inner beauty, and wisdom makes us who we are.

Although there is nothing wrong looking spectacular on the outside, everything we do should be for ourselves, not to get some “guys” attention, we should want the attention to be on what make us “tick” not how our butts and thighs look. So what do you think? Do you agree?


I’m sorry I have offended thee….

This short prose is in response to a daily prompt challenge https://adorablyobnoxious.wordpress.com/2014/12/16/daily-prompt-wronged-objects/

Imagine that your furniture, appliances, and other inanimate objects at home had feelings and emotions, to which item would you owe the biggest apology?









My Dear Sofa, I owe you the greatest apology. Clearly you deserved much respect than the way I have treated you over the years. Yes it is proper to sit, lounge, or even take the occasional nap, but it is not proper to, let’s say for the occasional “sexual healing.” For that heavy petting, caressing, bumping and grinding, I’m sorry.

Now that I’m older and I sit to think of the “pleasantries” that have taken place on you, I am sure my “little” actions were not at all pleasant for you. Again, I’m sorry. You deserve to be worshiped, cherished, groomed, pampered and adorned, so now I adorn you with every embellishment that I can afford, I lounge, relax on you, caress you, and maybe the occasional nap, but I will no longer treat you the way I did in the past, I just hope that you forgive me for my past transgressions.





What makes a good storyteller?  When I was young attending elementary school there was once this young boy whom I thought was a great storyteller. He knew exactly how to draw people in…creating and keeping his audience. He was very entertaining and engaging, it was more than the words he used it was his tone, voice, and style all the elements that make up a good story. The way he acted out his words to the story was like that of a mime, a clown, or a comedian. This young boy was a character on its own, he too, just like the characters he created was very colorful, charismatic, he kind of reminded me of Red Skeleton or any of the earlier comedians (I’m sure I just told my age here), and he had the ability, the talent to make people really like him, or admire him even when they did not want to.

I thought he was very creative, inventive beyond his age, even though the stories he told may have not been true he seem to make them believable not only to me but to many of the school mates. He led me to want to know, live with, these characters. He told stories of his family, their crazy acts, behavior and beliefs. My young “friend” really kept us entertained on boring recess days, he had the ability to make us laugh especially when he would act out the voices and actions of his characters.

With this in mind that is what makes a good storyteller having the ability to keep the audience entertained through words, opening the imagination by being very descriptive, creating vivid images. Having the ability to create emotions rather it’s laughter, love, sadness, or happiness. A good storyteller have the skill to make the audience fall in love with or hate the characters, create the desire to want to tag along for the adventure, more importantly a good storyteller moves the audience in some sort of way either by causing the desire to act or react.

I hope someday to be this good storyteller. I believe it takes time sometimes it’s dependent on how I, as the storyteller, is moved by the story I have to tell. So what do you think are the qualities of a good storyteller.

This post is in response to the Daily Prompt: Spinning Yarns, what makes a good storyteller.


Today’s Daily Prompt is all about Halloween, no matter how you feel about this “holiday,” sometimes you have to do something a little fun or step out from the comfort zone.

This is the time of year I hate the most when grubby, snotty nose kids with their disgusting hands digging into my big giant bowl full of candy. And those costumes, these kids, if you want to call them that, think they are the cuties and they try to be so nice, so friendly, the ungrateful, little or big, ingrates.

My doorbell can’t get any rest tonight, just as fast as a close the door here comes a grimy, candy snatchers, grabbing at my too good for kids candy. Eeeeh can’t wait ’til this night is over with, why can’t they stay home with their parents and gobble their own candies, leave mine alone. Then again, I don’t have to buy candy, I can refuse to participate.

I noticed the bowl seemed very light, when I looked into the bowl, this is when I noticed it was empty, I panicked. My heart started to race, my palms and fingers started to sweat, I almost dropped the bowl. What do I do now? How can I keep this bratty kids coming to my door? I thought about dressing in as grim reaper. No! that’s an invitation to my door. Maybe a crime scene tape with a chalk drawn body. No! also an invitation to my house. Then a bright idea really entered my mind, well at least I hope it’s a bright idea. I know I had to act as quickly as possible, it’s a good thing I’m fairly organized.

So I made sure the door was unlocked and hope my house would not be invaded by a thief. I made sure the entire house was totally dark and quiet. I hid upstairs within the deepest crevice in the hallway and stooped low when my first victim stepped inside my abode. When I heard those creepy little voices saying “Hello” or complaining about being scared and wanting to leave. My tricked door slammed and I heard them beginning to scream, then my tricked out tape recorder clicked on with the sound of big dogs barking. Dressed in chains, I began to stomp down the hall attempting to mimic the running of dogs, just as fast as I stomped down the hall, the kids, I have no idea how many ran screaming from my house. I was laughing so hard I could barely contain myself.

This is one time I will value the power of word of mouth.

First Day

My long time girlfriend and I met while I attended first grade. I remember this like it was my actual first day of school. I was this loner who was better playing alone than with others, but when one day my one friend was not in school, little did I know I would meet another friend who would turn out to be my long time friend. In response to a Daily Prompt, I am to re-write this scene but in the other person’s perspective. So here it goes.

I saw her playing all by herself underneath a tree. She was lining up rocks and sticks making them act like kids, I never saw anyone play like this. She was so tiny, so scrawny, I thought she was in kindergarten but I realized this could not be right because the play yard was full of first and second graders. She can’t be a second grader, she’s too small. She’s too small to be a first grader. Maybe she’s someone’s kid, but I don’t see no parent. I walked up to her and introduced myself.


She looked up at me.


“Are you lost?”

Playing with her make believe dolls. “No!”

“You go here?”

She looked up at me again, this time she gave me a puzzled look.

“Yes!, Why?”

“You’re so tiny.”

“I’m in the first grade, I’m suppose to be tiny.”

“Not that tiny.” “What are you doing?”


“I know that.” “I mean what are you playing.”

“I’m just playing.”

“I never saw anyone play like you.”

She just playing with her rocks and sticks not paying me no mind.

“You’re playing by yourself?” “I mean don’t you have any friends?”

Still playing with the rocks and sticks, not looking at me. “I have one friend but she did not come to school today so I’m playing by myself.”

“Isn’t that kind of….weird?”

Looking up at me this time giving me a “mean” look. “I’m an only child…it’s not weird!”

“Oh!, that explains it.”

There was some moments of silence and I’m feeling a bit uneasy.

“My name is Dolores.”

“My name is LaDonna.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“You have to take that up with my mother.”

I laughed then she laughed.

“Do you want to be friends?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I feel the need to protect you, like a little sister or cousin.”

“Yeah, you are kind of big.” Giving me a puzzling look. “Are you a….second grader?”

“No!” “I’m in the first.” “I’m just very tall…and big.”

“I have to say I don’t see many first graders your size…at least not girls.”

She smiled, I smiled back.

Since then we became best friends for life. Yes we had our arguments and moments we did not speak to each other. We grew up, had separate lives, but never apart. We can both say that our friendship outlasted any of our relationships with men.

Not In a Million Years

You can offer me a million dollars and I still won’t eat them. I can’t imagine for the life of me how many people can bare to eat this “delicacy.” If you are from the South, this is a very common dish, in fact you’re not considered “Southern” if you don’t eat or like this dish, what is this “fancy” feast….chitterlings. They look unappetizing before and after cooking them.

Now just in case you are unfamiliar with these delightful treat it is usually the small intestines of a pig (I chose not to do a picture of this, who wants to see intestines?) but sometimes it can be other animals such as cattle or some other animal.

I don’t care how they are “dressed;” chilli-pepper sauce, extra butter, mustard sauce, soy sauce….I don’t want them. When I think about chitterlings I’m reminded of green eggs and ham, I know it is “good” to try new things, but this one food item I can live without trying, no regrets, no sorrows, leave these southern delights off my plate.

Walk through the Forest



Finally a day that is cool enough to enjoy life, go for a walk, ride a bike, or sit outside on your porch. The past few days have been scorching, so hot that one could actually save on gas, go outside and allow the sun to cook the food. On this cool day I decided to go for a walk in a nearby trail. Walking through this pathway is almost like walking through a rainforest, I imagine, I mean I haven’t actually been to a rainforest, would love to someday, I guess, but it’s the woods or the forest some people may say, personally I don’t know the difference.

As I walk further down the path I am shaded by the canopy of trees which created such a cool relaxing breeze, I started to listen to the birds converse with each other, I wish I could understand their language, maybe I would be able to join in, maybe I can see if they were talking about me, I mean I’m somewhat invading their territory, I’m sure a lot of people who walk or run these trails also violate their home. I began to get tired and started to wish for a place to sit and rest, I thought I may have to turn around and walk back home but I can spot a bench further down the path.

I thought this would be great to sit in the middle of an umbrella of trees, watching how nature live and not really thinking about anything. As I got closer to the bench I had to wipe my eyes, twice, there was an orangutan sitting on the far right side of the bench. I thought I was daydreaming or maybe I was delirious,maybe it was a good idea that I sat down for awhile, maybe I was really fatigued and my eyes was playing tricks on me. 

I approached the bench, the monkey was still there, my tiredness was worse than I thought. The orangutan did nothing, just stared at me as I was staring at him, I sat down on the far left side of the bench, intentionally trying to avoid eye contact just in case this “scene” was for real and wasn’t a figment of my imagination. I sat for a while, not thinking, not talking, staring up at some very tall, fully leaved trees, then it began. 


I turned my head to stare at the orangutan and he spoke, again,


All I could do is stare in disbelief, my fatigue is really worse than I thought or I need to lay off the vodka for a few days.