Haag writes in the book’s introduction that her “first goal in this book is to give voice to this yearning, and to the low-conflict, melancholy marriage, and to show the millions of us who are in these ambivalent marriages that we’re not alone” (xII). But what is immediately apparent is that Haag is looking for justification. She is seeking a reason to explain why she is (1) not happy with her husband (2) too scared to change her life (3) a bad mother. In other words, when a women who is unhappy in her marriage and disappointed in her life choices writes a book about the trouble with marriage as a whole, all you get is a book that reads like a list of multiple reasons to cheat.

I was turned off almost instantly as the last thing we need in this world is a book that supports the destruction of the family unit – especially one that does it through pseudo-psychology. Marriage is not an institution whose outcome relies on the decisions and acts of others. It is only as good as the two people involved and when one does not take the vetting process seriously, you end up with Pamela Haag’s “Post-Romantic Age” marriage – a marriage of regret, emptiness, and personal failures. Haag misses the mark when it comes to explaining the various kinds of marriages that exist in the world. She tries too hard to put them in a box of her own making instead of allowing them to be what they are – reflections of those people involved in them.

Take her anecdotal couple “Peter and Alice” who marry not out of love but because Alice wanted a baby and Peter has good sperm. That’s right, Alice marries Peter not because she is attracted to him or because he makes her happy, but because she wanted a baby.  Suffice it to say, their sex life is boring and Alice is unhappy…

Um, excuse Ms. Haag, I call foul! This sham of a marriage is not the norm nor did it ever have a chance in hell of surviving or being one of happiness. Yet, Haag blames marriage and not the shallow, stupidity of a woman who was obviously not ready to be a mom let alone a wife. And this is not the first couple she uses to further her “anti-marriage agenda.”

There is Bill who married his best friend and has been in a sexless marriage for 20 years. He tells Haag, who has met him on-line, that he is unhappy about the sexless marriage, not because he misses the intimacy and connection with his wife, but because she will not agree to an open-relationship or a swinger lifestyle and threatens to divorce him if he cheats. Again, this sounds bogus! Almost like something one would say when seeking to begin an affair with someone who has no way of verifying the validity of his words. And of course Haag takes this at face value ignoring the myriad of reasons that his marriage my be sexless. Obviously cultivating intimacy takes work and is not as simple as saying, “spread ‘em baby, I’m looking for love!”

And the book continues with these kinds of stories. What could have been an honest look at the state of marriage today is turned into a joke. Haag’s sophomoric research and failure to remove her own disdain for marriage from her writing does nothing to help her accomplish what she says is her goal. Like Manning Marable’s book on Malcolm X, too many of her assumptions are unsupported and presented for nothing more than shock value. And it’s a shame too. Marriage is complex and deserves more than a biased exploration.

*This book review is a part of the TLC Book Tour. I received a copy of the book from TLC.

I yelled “Goodbye!” to my husband from the window he left open and took my time emerging from my bedroom. I did not feel like showering and could only put together clothes that did not match and earrings that were loud and cheap. Confused and stupider, I emerged from my bedroom only to find my house in disarray. My children had gotten into my collection of lint and decided to throw it all over our living room. Unable to find the broom or vacuum, I bent down and swept it up with my hair. When it came time to wash it, as hard as I tried I could not remember how or if I ever had. I felt lazy, craved chicken and suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to smoke weed laced with crack with Trick Daddy. Adorned in lint, I could feel my naps grow tighter, my skin grow darker and my lips grow fuller and fuller. A thin shield of ash formed across my skin and the more I licked it, the ashier I became.

I left for work late because I forgot to pay attention to the time and on the way out, I asked the garbage man to watch my kids and to give me five dollars for the bus ride there. Mistaking me for the raccoon that had been terrorizing our neighborhood, he pulled out a stick and hit me over the head. By the time I came to, he had already fled, leaving the garbage piled up in our front yard. Enjoying the smell, I sat amongst the garbage for a moment licking my ash and thinking about how much I loved salt and welfare. During my walk to work, I felt itchy and angry. I battled with deciding whether to steal something or protest. I decided instead to dance, scratch, and yell incoherent things to the people walking in and out of the local Starbucks. A police officer tried to arrest me. Despite my waning intellect, my superior athletic skills proved no match as I outran him through the streets of my town.

Remembering I had to go to work, I stopped off at McDonalds to dance and scratch with the patrons outside the store. Loving it, I enjoyed a super-sized value meal and took a nap on top of the ball pit under the slide in the children’s play area. The manager woke me up to join me in a short dance and scratch but then asked me to leave because I was distracting his employees. When I finally got to work, I had trouble getting in. Although the door was unlocked, I felt more comfortable sneaking in a window and I had trouble finding a window that I could break, instead of just opening. When I finally made it in, feeling hungry, sneaky and violent, I snuck into the break room and stole everyone’s food and drink. I wrote menacing notes in place of the food in breath fog and spilled flavored drink all over the floor without cleaning up. I took another nap before heading to my office. I dreamt about drug crimes, Hip Hop videos and yelling the word, “Bitch.”

When I finally found my way to office, my boss was waiting and fired me instantly. Among other things, he declared that my hair made me blacker and accused me of lying on my application about my Native American lineage. On the way out, none of my co-workers made eye contact. One, a cross-dressing black man named, Tyler Martin, did a short dance and scratch in solidarity, which, despite my unemployment, made me laugh all the way down the elevator and out of the building. I loved to laugh. When I exited, the police officer I thought I had outrun was waiting for me with handcuffs. I was indicted, convicted of Being Nappy and sentenced to life wandering the continent of Africa. The Judge offered to suspend my sentence if I agreed to serve three hours in a local beauty salon and be treated with Affirm Hair Relaxer and two packs of Indian Remy 1B hair. I chose the latter.

I’d like to thank Wendy Williams for her thoughtful commentary on Viola Davis’s choice to go natural for the Oscars for inspiring me to turn my life around. I would also like to thank hair relaxer, the people of India and celebrity hairstylist, André Walker.

Note: This post was fiction and meant to be satirical. Any feelings that were hurt in the drafting of the post were purely accidental. The author of this post is a mother of two who recently decided to go natural. Surprisingly, her husband has not left her, she kept her job, she continues to fight the urge to scratch and dance and she has not entered a life of crime. In fact, she thinks she looks kind of cute.

There are so many things I want to say about Ms. Houston but the words are having trouble finding my mouth. I was hoping that she would be able to kick the butts of her demons and come out on top again. I hoped that the years of stress, sadness, anger, loneliness, and heartache would not win out in the long run and know we will never know if she could. We don’t know how she died, but it is irrelevant.

The above image of Ms. Houston that I will always remember: the album cover of her 1990 album “Whitney Houston.” Not only was her voice stunning, but her beauty was too. She gave black girls everywhere hope and let us know that our natural beauty was enough despite what others said. I am honored to have witnessed her talent in my lifetime. Unmatched by any other, Ms. Houston taught me to hope, to love, to feel. While many people want to write her off as a drug addict and a troubled soul, I will always remember her as the epitome of human: flawed and truly gifted.

Rest in Peace Whitney Houston. You’ve had your “One Moment in Time” and left your mark on us all. But now it is time to rest.

My family is dealing with a medical issue that has, and I say this as honestly as I can and with no trace of exaggeration, scared me like nothing I have ever experienced.  And I’ve – we’ve been faced with some doozies.

My husband has a 6 cm nodule on his thyroid that may or may not be cancer. And in the time that it took for him to drive five minutes to the urgent care facility near our house (a trip that he made for something completely unrelated to this) and be seen by the on-call doctor, our lives changed drastically. In a matter of minutes, my family’s security has been dismantled and I am finding it hard to see the future…

Read More at A Million Moms

At 34, I am no longer naive enough to believe that skin color doesn’t change things. I see it more as half of an interracial couple and the mother of a biracial child than I probably did ever before. I see it at family functions when I am often the only Black person because my side of the family is not local. I see it when we travel or go out to dinner. I even see it when we are sitting at home watching a movie or homeschooling. When cashiers think that we are two separate customers I know it’s because our skin color is different. When we go to the doctor’s office and he stands to come in with me, I see the double-take by the nurse as she has to figure us out. When the woman in the grocery store called me the “nanny” as my family of three finished our shopping, I knew it’s because of my skin color and nothing else. And as much as I want to say color doesn’t matter, it obviously does.

So, we talk about race and color a lot in our home. With a 5 year old who says, with pride, that she is “Tan,” color is something that is present and will aways be present. She knows that I am Black and that her dad is White and she recognizes that our family is different from others because we are not the same color. And we, as a family, embrace those color differences. We acknowledge that the assumptions made about us and those that we make about ourselves are in large part due to our skin color and how we are treated because of it. We have made it a point to teach my daughter that color does not designation intelligence, beauty, nor anything else.

Recognizing how color has driven people throughout history and how it continues to do so can make us more sensitive to the challenges that others face. It can help us to see  that the world is not an equal place for all and that as much as we would like to say that things are changing, some things are very much the same. I firmly believe that recognizing color and all that doing so entails can encourage us to make real changes to create a better world. So I say very loudly that “I SEE COLOR!”

Are you embracing the diversity of color in your life?

The transgender equal rights law will make Massachusetts the 16th state to treat transgender citizens as a protected class. The law modifies language in Massachusetts statute to protect all individuals from discrimination, regardless of gender identities. This change will create equal protections for transgender individuals seeking employment, housing, credit and education. There are approximately 33,000 transgender residents living in Massachusetts.  -from Colorlines

2. Find Our Missing Shines A Media Spotlight Where It’s Sorely Needed 

Like other news magazines, the show, which debuted this week, focuses on the unsolved mysteries of missing persons that any crime junkie will find thrilling. The only difference between the cases featured on this show and programs like Dateline and 20/20 is the color of the victims’ skin. Host S. Epatha Merkerson (of Law and Order) focuses solely on the oft-ignored ignored cases of missing people of color. Aside from the victims, it’s important to point out that there is absolutely nothing about Find Our Missing that codes it as a ‘Black Show’. Yes, the cases are about our own [African-American] missing, but there is nothing about them that should prevent them from getting the same attention from the network programs. - from RACIALICIOUS

3. Has Christianity Become a “Get Out of Jail Free Card” for African Americans?

The bottom line is this: If a man’s spiritual journey leads him to a unique place, this message from God is no less authentic than the one received by those who’ve been socialized since birth to buy into a set of rules and protocols that get them into heaven in spite of any dastardly thing they’ve done.  Part of the allure of a faith can be the rewards of conformity, as well as the threat of punishment from deviation. There is nothing more tempting than to know that saying a few simple words can clear my soul of any horrible things I’ve done to others. There is also nothing more frightening than to hear that my lack of compliance will result in burning in hell for all of eternity. That, my friends, is a very powerful marketing plan. At worst, it is a form of coercion that would lead Michelle Obama to call the anti-bully police. -from Huffington Post: BlackVoices

4. Wanted: More Black Entrepreneurs

Job cuts in the debt-strapped public sector, where one in five black workers is employed, have had an outsize impact on the African American community. Labor Dept. data show some 280,000 public employee positions were cut last year, even as the overall economy added 1.64 million jobs. Black unemployment increased to 15.8 percent in December, more than twice the level for whites. So black business leaders are shifting focus to addressing issues in the small business sector, where most new jobs are created and African Americans haven’t fared well. -from BusinessWeek

5. Black Women are Standing in a Crooked Room

When they confront race and gender stereotypes, black women are standing in a crooked room, and they have to figure out which way is up. Bombarded with warped images of their humanity, some black women tilt and bend themselves to fit the distortion. It may be surprising that some gyrate half-naked in degrading hip-hop videos that reinforce the image of black women’s lewdness. It may be shock ing that some black women actors seem willing to embody the historically degrading image of Mammy by accepting movie roles where they are cast as the nurturing caretakers of white women and children. It may seem inexplicable that a respected black woman educator would stamp her foot, jab her finger in a black man’s face, and scream while trying to make a point on national television, thereby reconfirming the notion that black women are irrationally angry. To understand why black women’s public actions and political strategies sometimes seem tilted in ways that accommodate the degrading stereotypes about them, it is important to appreciate the structural constraints that influence their behavior. It can be hard to stand up straight in a crooked room. -from Jezebel

6. The Justifiable Anger of Black Women … For Those Who Should Know Better (But Don’t)

As we know, our First Lady, Michelle Obama, recently answered back in an interview about the latest Obama gossip book, where she’s less-than-overtly portrayed as the ubiquitous embodiment of an “angry black woman.”

It’s been interesting to see how the public have responded to that interview; indeed, that the book should be taken with any credence at all is mind-boggling, because – as a friend of mine says – it’s all third party hearsay. The people directly involved weren’t interviewed at all. -from Osborne Ink

7. Black Women in European Politics: from Struggle to Success

Nowadays, it is a common occurrence to witness African-born women having successful careers in Europe. Despite the evident challenges, many of them have also distinguished themselves in politics. Still, it was not so long ago that such success would have seemed impossible. To achieve greatness, these women have often come a long way, both literally and figuratively. -from Global Voices Online

8. Why are we Expected to Line up for Red Tails but not Pariah?

Interesting enough, Red Tails was created by the same guy who brought us Jar Jar Binks, the computer-animated character who appeared in the Star Wars prequels and which generated much controversy over its racially charged, Rastafarian mimicry.   So why there is such a heavy emphasis on supporting Lucas’ Red Tails while genuine black films like Pariah are left to their own devices? -from Madame Noire

9. The Big C’s Big Black Problem

Is “overweight underachiever with an endless arsenal of clever one-liners” a euphemism for sassy fat black girl? Why yes it is. Enter Sidibe, or Andrea, a student who cuts class, uses foul language, and proudly does not exercise. She is all attitude and doesn’t give a flying expletive what you think of it. When she was first introduced, I audibly expelled air — seriously? This again? Don’t we already have plenty of series with largely white casts flanked by sassy black tropes? Hiya, Mercedes from Glee, Donna from Parks & Recreation, Ava on Up All Night, Raineesha on the now defunct Reno 911!, Miranda on Grey’s Anatomy! And please don’t say “quit hating” — I love all those shows, The Big C included. I just know they have problems. -from Clutch Magazine

10. It wasn’t Pretty, but Philly Mayor Nutter was Speaking Truth about Bad Parents

While I agree that politicians must be held to a higher standard in controlling the words that fall from their lips, I was not disturbed at all when I read the mayor’s comments because he didn’t say anything that nearly all of us would have said in the privacy of our homes when we heard the details of this tragic and ridiculous shooting. -from My Brown Baby

Jay-Z is no longer going using the word “bitch” in his songs because the birth of his and Beyonce’s daughter has catapulted him into reflection making the 43 year old man-child realize the error of his ways. Cue the sappy music and “aws” because we are witnessing pure love.

All of those waiting in the wings to call me a hater, your cries fall on deaf ears. I have high expectations and I refuse to bow down to the undeserving. And Jay-Z is undeserving!

Is our community so devoid of positivity that we must praise an act of “duh” without being honest with ourselves?

I’m buying it as much as I bought Tupac’s Dear Mama and I’m calling it what it is: too little too late. One act does not make up for a lifetime of cultural damage. It does not heal the millions of women hurt because his music influenced some boys/men to objectify, belittle, and ridicule them. His career, his money, everything he will be able to provide to his little girl was built on the genitalia of the women he’s degraded.

If a man cannot respect his own mother cannot respect his wife he CANNOT truly respect his daughter.

Remember, Jay-z CHOSE to use this word repeatedly. He’s not an addict who got clean because his child was born. He’s a man who chose to disrespect his mother, his wife, and all the other daughters in the world with a word. A despicable word.

Loud applause? I think not! I’ll reserve my applause for black men advocating positive change in a real way because when we examine the basics, Jay-z’s actions are watered down and nothing more than a publicity stunt.

But then my brain takes over when I consider America’s dark history of lynching, mutilating and murdering African American fathers, sons, mothers and daughters—all-too-many times for no other reason than because the accused was black and the accusers reveled in the killing. Evidence of wrongdoing was inconsequential. Emmit Till. The Scottsboro Boys. The Brothers Griffin. Those are the names we know. Scores more, we don’t. But their deaths sear my soul.

Her words mirror my sentiment- the Death Penalty makes sense in an “eye for an eye” sort of way. Unfortunately, it is far

too easy for a person (especially a person of color) to be wrongfully accused and found guilty. Human beings are fallible. We make mistakes, we are prejudiced, we are irrational, and we are filled with fear. Those traits makes it far too difficult for our Justice System to be flawless. Combined with our country’s history of hatred and our continued systematic racism and classism, there is just no way that the Death Penalty can be a solution.

What comes to my mind is that this is another fuck-up in a long line of events that has made me so sad for our country. I am a Patriot! I love America and the ideals that once propelled us to greatness. But as of late, my love of the United States has been replace by sadness and uneasiness, I don’t see good things for us; I see horrible times. And if Troy Davis, a man whose guilt is as questionable as Sarah Palin’s intelligence, is put to death, the future of this county is bleaker than ever. There is no denying that. If we cannot rely of the Supreme Court of the United States to do the right thing – if they don’t intervene in a more permanent way – we may as well burn The Constitution of the United States of America and head back into an age of darkness.

I have often spoken of Bowen’s Theory of Social Regression. The premise is that every society gets to a point when it starts to regress:

The “symptoms” of societal regression include a growth of crime and violence, an increasing divorce rate, a more litigious attitude, a greater polarization between racial groups, less principled decision-making by leaders, the drug abuse epidemic, an increase in bankruptcy, and a focus on rights over responsibilities.

I hang my head in shame and sadness as I see our regression on full display. The United States is a joke! We are a shell of what we could be – a mirage of greatness. This is a fight for the very soul of the United States of America. But the fight, the struggle for equality, respect, awareness – it has to continue beyond Mr. Davis. So this is our “Welcome Back” post. I can’t ignore it anymore.

My teen love story – over a number of posts I will be sharing my first love story.  As you read over the coming posts, you will understand that I had to purge the past.  I must say it has helped me heal some. Part 1 is here.

Months later I’m in my room and my mom bursts in the door and demands me to pull my shirt up.

WTH!!!

I’m stunned and don’t know why.

She had a dream…she is hollering and demanding me to expose my breasts. She looks for swelling and gently squeezes my nipple.  Oh Lord, milk…I want to DIE.  I’m pregnant and didn’t even know it?

Before I know it she is beating my ass, she is kicking my ass and I don’t even fight back I’m so mortified and ashamed. My grand mother breaks it up.  My mom is sobbing, I’m sobbing.

I just want to DIE.

We avoid each other for 2 days.  I miss school for the 1st day.  I called him to tell him and he’s stunned but happy.  Explains it’s not the best situation for us, we’re too young, but he’s happy and wants to do this.  Through tears I explain how it went down and he doesn’t understand my mom’s reaction.  We argue.

“I’m her only child! I’ve let her down!”  I hang up.

When my mom finally does talk to me she is crying and explains she was waiting until I was 16 to talk to me about sex.  I’m crying and apologetic.  She leaves me.  We avoid each other for days, seems like an eternity. He’s unreachable.

I want to die.

“Nutrition wise, it is better for the children to eat at the school,” principal Elsa Carmona told the paper of the years-old policy. “It’s about … the excellent quality food that they are able to serve (in the lunchroom). It’s milk versus a Coke.”   Principal Carmona needs some educating. She’s looking ignorant. I get their issue:  milk vs. Coke.  I respect their concerns but not how they go about resolving the issue.  Address the parents individually that pack unhealthy lunches for their children.  DUH.  Educate those ignorant to the labels on packaged foods and explain the affects of high salt and high sugar on their child’s behavior, you don’t decide for the entire school to ban lunches from home.  Banning parents from sending lunch promotes ignorance. It’s my prerogative as a parent to send my child’s lunch and if I send it they better eat it.  Better yet, as a stay at home mom – don’t make me come up there during lunch time to sit with my child and watch them eat MY lunch from home.

As a parent I have my concerns about school lunch.  Is it fresh? Is it delicious?  Will my child eat it?  Are the portions large enough?  If it’s a hot meal, is it served cold or warm enough? Was it prepared with clean hands? Did the staff wear hair nets? When was the last time the cafeteria was inspected?  What grade did it receive? Is the USDA doing their job? *side eye* Let’s address all of that.

The issue has now become telling me, as a parent, what I can/can’t send for my child’s lunch.  NOBODY can tell me that, I’m not having it and I am sure I am not alone on this issue. Educate the parents sending the unhealthy lunches and leave the rest of us who have common sense alone.

original article: http://yhoo.it/fKml73