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How do we choose the ingredients to yield a well-balanced life?
How do we choose the ingredients to yield a well-balanced life?
How do we choose the ingredients to yield a well-balanced life?
How do we choose the ingredients to yield a well-balanced life?
How do we choose the ingredients to yield a well-balanced life?
Simple Question: Who you got?
How do we choose the ingredients to yield a well-balanced life?
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- I am an 11-year veteran of the United States Air Force who left to pursue personal interests and dreams. I am in the highlight of my life...what better time to make the most of my skills and God-given talents. I am a chemist who serves as a legislative liaison for the Department of Defense. My motto: Life is all about Chemistry!
My passion is education. Improve education and we can change the world...particulary when we get our children and educators excited about math and science. If we don't do something soon, other nations will truly leave us in their technologically advanced dust! Our legislators hold the key. Grassroots efforts are vital, but we also need advocates on Capitol Hill.
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KC
The Phenomenal Women Group, Inc. is a partner in SISTERHOOD DAY at Madison Square Garden!!
This event is for all women across all organizations to come together, network, and share in the embodiment of Sisterhood.
Come join WNBA Legend Kym Hampton at a glorious day of female networking. Hear powerful words of wisdom and sisterly advice from the Executive Director of the Mary J. Blige and Steve Stoute Foundation for the Advancement of Women Now Inc. (FFAWN). Enjoy a spirited basketball game and cheer on the NY Liberty.
A portion of the proceeds will be donated to The Mary J. Blige and Steve Stoute Foundation for the Advancement of Women Now. Inc (FFAWN). For more information about FFAWN, visit www.FFAWN.org.
EVENT DETAILS
When: Sunday, September 13, 2009
Time: 2:00PM – 4:00PM (Fab Networking Event)
4:00PM – 6:0PM (The Game)
Where: Madison Square Garden
2 Penn Plaza
New York, NY
Cost: $40.00 includes networking event, game and donation to FFAWN
To purchase tickets to the event please click the link below and use the SISTERHOOD access code.
https://oss.ticketmaster.com/html/go.htmI?l=EN&t=liberty&o=3159228&g=527
Promo Code is SISTERHOOD
ACCESS TO THIS EVENT ONLY AVAILABLE VIA ONLINE TICKET SALES
NO BOX OFFICE SALES ON THIS EVENT.
Partner organizations include:
The Phenomenal Women Group, Inc.
Pretty Thoughts of a Hot Chick
Girlfriends Get-Together
FFAWN
Madison Square Garden
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Supporting Organizations:
Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Inc - Delta Beta Zeta Chapter
Omega Phi Beta Sorority, Inc.
National Association of University Women
Mocha Sisters Organization®
Real Sisters Rising
BDPA-NY Chapter
Urban Momentum Network
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
• Portion of the proceeds will be donated to Mary J Bilge FFAWN organization
• Meet and greet with WNBA Legend Kym Hampton
• Experience the excitement of a NY Liberty game
• Meet and network with similar minded organizations
• Meet and greet with different organizations and their members
• Ask about vending opportunities
Send an email to events@thephenomenalwomen.org with the subject line “Sisterhood @ MSG” for information
Does Station 9 have a web site? I should look into them.
Cheers Cicely,
Christopher
Thanx
August 24, 2009 Blessings are mine in 2009“The breaker is come up before them.”
— Micah 2:13
Inasmuch as Jesus has gone before us, things remain not as they would have been had he never passed that way. He has conquered every foe that obstructed the way. Cheer up now thou faint-hearted warrior. Not only has Christ travelled the road, but he has slain thine enemies. Dost thou dread sin? He has nailed it to his cross. Dost thou fear death? He has been the death of Death. Art thou afraid of hell? He has barred it against the advent of any of his children; they shall never see the gulf of perdition. Whatever foes may be before the Christian, they are all overcome. There are lions, but their teeth are broken; there are serpents, but their fangs are extracted; there are rivers, but they are bridged or fordable; there are flames, but we wear that matchless garment which renders us invulnerable to fire. The sword that has been forged against us is already blunted; the instruments of war which the enemy is preparing have already lost their point. God has taken away in the person of Christ all the power that anything can have to hurt us. Well then, the army may safely march on, and you may go joyously along your journey, for all your enemies are conquered beforehand. What shall you do but march on to take the prey? They are beaten, they are vanquished; all you have to do is to divide the spoil. You shall, it is true, often engage in combat; but your fight shall be with a vanquished foe. His head is broken; he may attempt to injure you, but his strength shall not be sufficient for his malicious design. Your victory shall be easy, and your treasure shall be beyond all count.
“Proclaim aloud the Saviour’s fame,
Who bears the Breaker’s wondrous name;
Sweet name; and it becomes him well,
Who breaks down earth, sin, death, and hell.”
Be Blessed,
MATCHMAKER/Gibran Tariq
1
As an old-fashioned matchmaker, Samantha Givens found the present
conversation distressing, but perhaps this is what she deserved for turning the art of being
a busybody into a very lucrative consulting business. Traditionally, in the African-
American community, hooking young singles up was charity work, something the
matrons on the block did to get the “good” girls onto the Mommy track with a halfway
decent man. If this was at all possible. It had suddenly gotten harder to butter young
black men up with the idea of being genuinely dedicated to one girl when the natural
order of the urban environment had so conveniently arranged it so that women
outnumbered men ten to one. And what kind of fucking (no pun intended) parity was
that?
Anyway, that was when it had all become political to Samantha. Since there
would never be parity in the urban dating scene, and since men in the hood would never
opt to become the sole support of a household, Samantha had decided upon something
revolutionary. Why enlist her services pairing the golden girls of urban America with
less ambitious black men when there were alternatives? No doubt, these up and coming
sheroes had to, by now, be dissatisfied with thugs who felt privileged to do no more than
wait until one of these “prized” good bitches fell into their laps. Perhaps these niggas
needed to be taught a lesson.
Samantha was, however, pulled back to her current dilemma when Oren Hall, the
man in her office, started uttering weary threats. “I want results”, he pleaded. His tone
was desperate.
Samantha experienced a tightening in her throat, but still spoke calmly. “I feel
that by maximizing the value of the entire class, I better all the girls’ chances of success”.
“Fuck values”, Hall spat. “Let’s talk results. How about that?”
It would have been both unprofessional and unladylike to curse back so Samantha
held her tongue for a split second while she weighed her thoughts. Instinctively, she
knew she couldn’t afford to lose such a respected patron of her school as Oren Hall, but it
pained her to know that his daughter just might be the one most likely not to succeed. “I
think you’re going about this entirely wrong?”
“I am, am I?” Hall took a chance and peeked at Samantha’s large breasts, but
once he realized he wouldn’t have time enough to give them the proper eyeballing they
demanded, he quickly looked away. More or less what he saw in her chocolate-colored
face was mixed signals, but he, quite actually, wasn’t thinking about them. Although he
wasn’t sure why, he found he was trying to reach a conclusion about why he felt she was
so appealing to him.
Finally, after a few, slow seconds had passed, he unconsciously nodded his head
in awe. Samantha Givens was absolutely beautiful. Suddenly, he felt like he was
dreaming, and he vaguely wondered how she would react if she knew what he was
thinking. He shook his head to clear it.
Samantha smiled. She always did when men stared at her and the sweat appeared
on their brows. She knew the smile only added to the illusion, but she also knew that the
longer they ogled her, the easier it would be for her to defuse them.
At 45, she was a dazzling combination of natural beauty and “store bought”
perfection, everything so flawlessly sculpted that no matter how penetrating the scrutiny
or how direct the examination, no man could discern where one ended or where the other
began. She smiled once more.
And without preamble, Oren Hall wished Samantha Givens was a hooker. He
certainly would pay for her, but when he thought about it, he’d already paid her a huge
sum of money, although for an altogether different cause. And that was precisely the
reason for his visit.
“What the hell has gone wrong?” he asked, the muscles in his dark face tight.
Samantha didn’t admire him for asking that question because in her business she
always tried to ignore or dismiss the fact that anything could go wrong, but in reality it
had. She was an expert, obsessed with projecting the right image, but his daughter
represented a problem. Samantha’s lips curled up in a smirk. She sighed. “I’ll schedule
her for another strategy session”.
They’re worthless”.
Samantha sat at her desk, tight-lipped, allowing the queasiness in her stomach to
recede before she glared at her visitor. “I know what I’m doing”. She held her breath and
when Hall didn’t explode in anger, she touched the portfolio in front of her gently. “The
greater your reach,” she explained softly, “the greater the risks of something going
wrong”. Samantha received another shock when her visitor remained silent. “You do
understand, then, don’t you?”
Hall’s dark, brown eyes widened. “What I do understand better than most, Miss
Givens, is that a man should always get what he pays for”. He glared. “And there is
nothing sophisticated about that”.
Across the desk, Samantha gasped. “Oren, please”.
“Then what will it take to get things right?”
That blunt announcement embarrassed Samantha, but still she refused too stumble
into a truth-or-consequences type conversation with the blue-chip father of her most
problematic student. That would remind her of failure, and the one thing she didn’t ever
expect to experience was missing the mark although now she was abjectedly close. “May
I be honest, yet nonjudgmental?”
Why not?” Hall made an exasperated gesture. “Go for it?”
If anyone had wanted to know, Oren Hall’s strong, handsome face looked as if it
was meant to be on a plaque or a bronzed bust outside of an African palace. But it was by
no means nice. Not even close. And that much was certain. Then there was his daughter.
Paris Hall.
Samantha mumbled the name silently, her tongue rolling clumsily over the curves
of each alphabet, falling off the final letter like it was a lopsided Tower of Babel.
As she observed Oren Hall, she was tempted to tell him the truth, but decided
against the idea. He probably already knew that his daughter was the problem. How
could he not know?
“MatchMakers Incorporated, as you know, did not find its fame by accident, and
the reason is simple. I take my responsibilities seriously and I deliver”. Samantha’s voice
grew more confident as the sincerity of her conviction helped work the butterflies out of
her stomach. “I represent people, such as yourself, who want only the very best life
possible for their beloved daughters and I find nothing complicated about that at all-----"
“I’m only concerned about Paris”.
“So am I and to my last breath, I’m committed to finding the perfect match for
her”.
Hall smiled. “There is only one match for Paris. The big one”
“But don’t you think-------?”
“No, I don’t, dammit”. Hall took a deep breath. “I want my daughter matched up
and married to the white boy most likely to have his ass in the White House in 2016”.
Samantha’s head began to throb. Terribly.
*****************************************************************************
MatchMakers Incorporated was discreetly located on the seventh floor of the
Wallace Brown Building, and could be very easily mistaken for any business other that
what it actually was, which was precisely the point. Even though “The Match” had been
operating for almost a decade, it required a special recommendation from someone in the
know to be granted the privilege of becoming a client. Outside of these few people, no
one knew anything. And it was best kept that way.
Everything about “The Match” was awe-inspiring, carved, whether rationally or
irrationally, from Samantha’s prized obsession which would some day result in the
ultimate pay-dirt for one very fortunate client. Samantha didn’t, however, think it would
be Paris Hall. Unfortunately, that would be no surprise.
Inside the opulent office, every piece of furniture reeked of spectacle, quite a
difference from what Samantha had known growing up in Arkansas, but even at this level
of “having-it-all”, she still possessed doubts. She squirmed in her expensive, leather
chair.
She finished her spring water. She was doing far better than any of her sorority
sisters from college, most of whom had been plucked up by niggas with attitude. God,
Samantha winced, NWAs had always been too heavyweight for her, the combination of
needing to feel important and the raw talent for getting into trouble was a sort of racial
insanity that she had been determined to avoid.
But along came Tyrone, and when Samantha discovered she lacked the ability to
get past his head-turning good looks, she was too lost in his dynamic personality to
decipher whether or not it would be wise to allow herself to function under the control of
Tyrone’s single, redeeming asset: his sexual prowess.
Then the physical abuse started, but long before the external bruises, there had
been the common sense warnings from both friends and strangers who felt it necessary to
remind her that she was much too smart and beautiful to stay with a man so good at
kicking her ass until little by little she stopped defending him. Abruptly, she left and
mostly everyone was certain that it was just in time.
Granted asylum in a friend’s cramped apartment, and propped up with painkillers
and Mountain Dew, Samantha healed as MatchMakers Incorporated grew out of the
screams of her unpleasant memories. Still, she didn’t figure on her little ol’ scheme
turning into the thrilling enterprise it had now become and she absolutely refused to
apologize for it..
First and foremost “The Match”, when stripped of all its pretensions, was nothing
more than an agency to assist the romantic plight of ordinary black women, but then with
an air of feminist bravado, it had taken on a new direction; had grown a second head One
much more sinister than the initial, more noble one.
Discovering that she was as natural a matchmaker as her mother had been was not
at all startling. Hooking people up was an inherited skill, she reasoned. However, it
would not be until she was hired as VIP of Development and Marketing at Brown Lady
Industries that she became impressed with how dumb and unambitious it would be to
simply pair beautiful, black women up for love when she was in the unique position to
reward them with real trophies: rich, white men who ran the country. To hook a President
would be the ultimate quest.
Samantha assessed her chances and found her scheme was not that far-fetched.
Already, she had hitched many beautiful, black sistas with prominent white lobbyists,
lawyers, doctors, and congressmen. A President was not out of the question, however, it
wouldn’t be Paris Hall who would marry him.
It was a fact that Paris Hall was the most beautiful female she had ever seen and
sure enough the girl was brilliant, but deep down, Miss Hall had all the makings of a
cookie-cutter, ghetto, Hoochie Mama. Samantha grew weak in the knees. Imagine a
bitch like that on Pennsylvania Avenue. Taking everything into account, her good looks
and good schooling aside, Paris Hall was the absolute antithesis of what would be
expected of a First Lady. As if being black would not be enough.
Other than Miss Hall, though, the rest of her clients were the crème de la crème of
black America, handpicked urban divas who were schooled to track white men of wealth
and social influence. And all of them, Miss Hall, nonewithstanding, were supremely
capable, high-class political groupies. That thought elicited a smile from Samantha. She
understood that she had produced a designer line of living, breathing, black gold-diggers,
female predators who, when married to the right men, would be in a position to rule the
country.
And to Samantha, there was no better plan than that.
What is going to be your focus? What kind of grant are you looking to apply for?
Email me on my personal when the opportunity presents itself.
Have a Terrific Tuesday!
Tres
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