Category: Uncategorized

Busy as a. . .

(image)

I’ve got a bunch of creative things cooking, metaphorically and really and truly.  Per usual, I am here, there and everywhere with balls in the air, irons in the fire, running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off and every other analogy for being insanely busy.

Ironically, the blog is part of this swell of creativity I find myself in and yet, I have yet to find time to write about what’s been going on.  It’s not top secret, I just am taking on a few more things in addition to everything else so that this little piece of the blogosphere gets a make-over.  I feel so bad! I haven’t even told you about my trip to NYC last week. Four of the best days, ever.

Times Square
Rent the Runway
Harlem
SoHo
Tirbeca Beauty Spa
Tamarind
Century 21
The Plaza
Todd English Food Hall
The Met
Matisse
Madison Avenue.
Subways (by myself, like I was born doing it!)

Those are just the highlights, but really, I can sum it up in just one word:

Louboutin.

Victory is mine! And it’s a great story, too.  Just bear with me as I get my act together to bring you a better blog, more stories, more recipes, more things Hilary with One L!

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IN: ON: February 25, 2013 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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February 14th, 2013

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Last year, I over-achieved with Mo’s card to the exclusion of any Valentine cards for Co.  Oops! This year, I was way ahead of the game.  I had found this cute idea on Pinterest (obvi) shortly after I had wrapped up Mo’s lollipop filled Valentine.  When February rolled around, I remembered that I had pinned this cute idea and got to work.

Basically, you take a bunch of funny pictures of your little person.  Using a program like Picasa or Google +, you can collage the pictures and add text.  Print out the collages on regular paper )or get extra fancy and print them on cardstock) and affix them to Hershey Kiss filled baggies.   Ta-Da!  Done and done.  I think the most time consuming part was the picture taking and the collage making.  I have yet to get on Pinterest today and see what catches my eye for next year.  Something tells me, I might be hitting up the drugstore for a box of perforated [insert Cartoon Character of Choice] Valentines.

Yeah, right. . .we all know I’m going to be at tit again.  As a matter of fact, a friend of mine sent me the following entry from The Bloggess about Valentine’s Day Under-Achiveing, which simply re-enforced my Type A commitment to this foolishness. I’ll leave you with the link here.  Happy Love Day, y’all!

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IN: ON: February 14, 2013 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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Sticks and Stones

I got called a “skinny bitch” yesterday.

True story.

Vivi and I were running errands at the mall.  As we threaded our way through the women’s’ department at Macy’s, I saw two women putting together the sunglass boat in the middle of the floor.  My eyes quickly cast over in their direction before continuing to navigate between the racks and rounders to the elevator.

No sooner than I took my eyes of the pyramid of sunglass boxes, did I hear one of the women call my name.  I turn, and as she’s confidently striding toward me, I realize it’s K, cousin of my really good college friend, A.

“K?” I’m surprised to see her here; I thought she lived out of state. While K and I have a relationship that is tied solely to our relationship to A, I’ve met her enough times to know, she’s got a really grating personality.  She’s brash and brusque, which can be misconstrued as rude. Not to mention insanely irritating.  Actually, it’s not misconstrued. . .she’s brash and brusque and sometimes irritating.

K’s personality runs on one-upping and self-deprecation, with the latter being far from of that “aw, shucks” variety.  She vacillates between talking about eating Snicker bars while laying up on the sofa as she watches A place in a body building contest (true story) and talking about her new promotion (“I hate it”) with no trace of pride, inviting you to ask about it so she can gripe about it.

“I knew I recognized that blonde puff!” she hooted, triumphantly.  Guess I’ll never be a bank robber, what with this hair.  She and I caught up a bit, trading updates on our jobs (her aforementioned promotion), being in RIC (really enjoying it), and how A was doing (amazing).

Then the conversation stalled for a heartbeat.  I mean, I did have things to do, but I didn’t want to be all, “Hey! Bye!” about it. Like I said, her cousin A is a really good friend of mine and I really enjoy their family.  So, remembering that K was a mom, too,  I went on to ask how her little person was doing.

She gave me this chapter and verse, complete with a voice re-enactment, of how her four-year old daughter is effectively running things at their house. K was in full one upping mode because she began with, “You know how your kid does, XYZ? Well let me tell you about mine!”  Evidently, her daughter is the type that makes the Devil say “#@$!,” when her little Stride Rites hit the floor.

United by motherhood, I nodded my head in sympathy to her plight and said, “Oh, I know. I’ve got a 7 year old and 5 year old, too.”

K eyeballed me up, down and sideways. “Skinny bitch!” she cawed.

I don’t remember much else after that.  I was kind of perplexed at the backhanded compliment she had just dished up.  I’m working on taking a compliment with just a simple thanks.  This, however, didn’t feel like a compliment as much as it did an attack. So, I reverted to thanking it away by saying something like, “Oh, please. You see I’m in my work-out clothes. I’m no A, getting all tight and toned for that contest.” With that, I effectively put K back on track with her self-flagellation about her weight, her hair, her kid and whatever else she could offer up to me to look at and point out all the flaws.

It wasn’t until I was at home later on that afternoon that I thought back on what had transpired.  I mean, “Skinny Bitch” is a phrase that gets tossed around quite a bit among women, usually in jest, but there is always a little bite behind it.  As in, “I’m recognizing your relative thinness in comparison to mine and while kudos to you, I’m angry that I’m still struggling.”

I’ve got a friend who has to work exceedingly hard to put and keep weight on.  The first time I heard about her situation, I was all, “Must be nice!”, but I didn’t say it to her face.  Oh, I’ve thought it a thousand times over.  One day, I grew up and realized that I have no idea what she’s going through.  It could be completely exhausting for her, just as it is enervating to me.  We are two sides of the same coin.   I know that she’s not just walking around stuffing her face full of Chipotle, Coldstone Creamery and the like.  She’s doing shakes and lifting weights, and all kinds of combos so that she can look and feel good when she puts on her clothes.  “Look and feel good when [she] puts on her clothes” – – – that sounds really familiar.

K called me a Skinny Bitch, the title of a New York Times best selling book that is a rough and tough approach to weight loss.


“Authors Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin are your new smart-mouthed girlfriends who won’t mince words and will finally tell you the truth about what you’re feeding yourself. And they’ll guide you on making intelligent and educated decisions about food. They may be bitches, but they are skinny bitches. And you’ll be one too-after you get with the program and start eating right.”
-excerpted from www.SkinnyBitch.net
I’m pretty sure, this wasn’t what K had in mind when she said it, though.  I’ve heard that by taking possession of a harmful word away from your detractors, then it becomes less harmful.  Think about in Pitch Perfect Rebel Wilson’s character introduces herself as “Fat Amy”:

Aubrey: What’s your name? 
Fat Amy: Fat Amy. 
Aubrey: You call yourself Fat Amy? 
Fat Amy: Yeah, so twig bitches like you don’t do it behind my back. 

I get it, oh believe me, I get it.  I’m pretty sure I high-fived the TV, too. Still, I’m not taking bitch as a personal banner and I’m not going to call anyone else that either.  As for skinny, well you can call me skinny all day, everyday and twice on Sunday. . .

  
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IN: ON: February 12, 2013 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
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#fashionfail: the saga continues

So, about a month ago, I posted the photo below:
curly_girlie78 I’m having serious buyer’s remorse with this shirt. I junk the cardigan helps but I’m wishing I hadn’t cut the tags 🙁 can it be saved? Lets discuss! #ootd



You might have even read the original post and weighed in.  I have tried to make this shirt work and it just doesn’t.  I think it’s too short on me.  When I look back online at the image from J.Crew, the model wearing it makes it look like there are shirttails hanging out.  I think that’s what the problem is!  There aren’t any shirttails on the actual shirt! False advertising!

Look at this! A trompe l’oeil!
(source)
Is that a shirttail or is the shirt just jauntily bunched up on her belt loop? Either way, it don’t look like that when I put it on.  See Exhibit A above.  Maybe I need to wear a cami underneath and let it peek out?  I need the length, otherwise, I look like a very short-waisted square.  

Even as I type this, I know that I’m not going to try it again with a cami underneath! That would mean getting my hopes up one more time only to have them dashed when the shirt fails to deliver.  That shirt mocks me from my closet!  Every time I go in there, it just sits there, unworn.  We’re going to have to part ways.  

A few days ago, I heard about this website called Poshmark, which is this website where you can buy and sell fashion. You snap a few pics of your clothes, shoes, accessories or whatever, provide a description, the actual price and the price you’ll take.  Presto! Change-o! Whatever’s taking up valuable real estate in your closet can become someone else’s problem favorite outfit! Check out my listings because I really want to move give these things a good home! 

Call it spring cleaning. Call it purging to making room for new stuff.  Whatever you want to call it, I’m trying to thin the herd that is my closet and wear what works best for me.  We all know I love me some striped shirts:
I may need a stripe-tervention (this isn’t even all of them!)
and I’m trying wear clothes that flatter my body type.  I’m a pear or a triangle with hourglass dreams.  I buy clothes based on fit, not by the number on the tag (and I have been everything from single digits to double digits but you’d never know, aside from the fact that I just told you, because I wear what fits).  Still, I’ve been walking around feeling like my outfits are incomplete.  Coco Chanel famously said, “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off.”

If I did that, I’d be missing a shoe, or my wedding run, or my pants.  That piece of advice wasn’t really working for me and I kept thinking that I needed to add something.  I would put on a belt, only to have my eye gravitate right toward the buckle, which magnified my problem area — you know that area between my neck and my knees).  I would try to tuck the shirt in and have the belt lat flat against my waistband only to look like a stuffed sausage en route to carpool.  Ugh! I have scarves and hats and a bevy of necklaces and bracelets, but I can’t ever put them together in a way that made sense. It’s like fashion math; jeans + top + (shoes /inclement weather) * big hair =  still in my underwear after 15 minutes of looking. 

 I started people watching for outfit ideas.  I was in Target and saw this older lady in a cowl neck gray top, coral pants and leopard print shoes with gold hoop earrings.  I’m pretty sure I have similar pieces, so I made mental note and put something together at home.  I saw another woman wearing red cords, a chambray shirt and nude flats. While the red cords and I didn’t see eye to eye, I did have some red twill pants, a chambray shirt and nude flats.  I threw an oatmeal colored sweater on top and thought, “Okay, I’m getting it.”  

One of my dear sorority sisters N., came for a visit the other day and talk turned to fashion and investing in quality pieces.  She and I both had succumbed to shopping at stores for basic pieces over and over again rather than buying the more expensive piece, one time.  We’re both at a place (chronologically and financially) where we can stop buying the throw-away pieces and really invest.  It’s a tough nut to swallow, though. 

Case in point: I received an expensive pair of shoes as a gift recently.  I wasn’t sure if they were the right size, so I bought a second pair in the size down to compare. I planned to take whichever pair didn’t fit back to the store.  

Easy enough.  Between the time the second pair arrived and the time I made it back to the store, I continued to educate myself on wardrobe essentials courtesy of my stack of magazines.  One thing I didn’t have in my closet was a pair of black, patent leather pumps. I had a pair of black pumps that I probably bought when I was in college; they’ve clearly seen better days.  Time to upgrade.

When I took the two pairs of shoes back to the store, I figured I’d check out the patent leather pumps, too.  Long story short, I exchanged the second pair of shoes for a nice pair of pumps.  The clerk asked me for my card so she could apply the difference.  Now, math has never been my strong suit, and I assumed I was getting some money back.  I carried my little happy hips out of the store and visited a few more shops before my brain caught up to my wallet.

I actually PAID MORE money for the pumps than for the shoes I was returning (let’s just say, I couldn’t swallow a triple digit pair of shoes, no matter what Rachel Zoe, Tim Gunn, Lloyd Boston and Stacy London say).  I went right back to the store, up to customer service (’cause I was too embarrassed to back to the shoe department) and laid it on the counter. 

The customer service rep was happy to help me with my return, though he did do a spit-take when he saw the date and time of purchase on the receipt.  

Me: Hi. I’d like to return these shoes (hands over receipt).
Him: Sure, I’d be happy to help you with that. (looks over receipt).  Looks like you bough these. . .15 minutes ago?! (insert spit-take here)
Me: Um, yeah. 
Him: massive eye roll

I guess when it comes to investment pieces, I’ve got to start small (smaller than shoes anyway). As I related this story to N. , I was doing a mental record of her outfit: yellow and white striped sweater, green scarf, blue skinny jeans, brown boots.  Hmmm, yes, I have all of these pieces.  Why haven’t I put them together like this before?! So, the next day was an homage to N.

(thanks, N.!)


Bonus for me! With all the striped shirts I have, I’ve got a few alterna-tops I can pair with these jeans for a similar look with a totally different color scheme.  After N. left, I went back to my files – the torn out pages from Glamour, Real Simple and People with headlines like Your 10 Essential Wardrobe Must Haves! Rachel Zoe Decodes Your Closet! and Victoria Beckham’s Guide to Style!  You can imagine the pile I’ve amassed.  It’s starting to pay off, though.  Now, when I’m getting dressed in something other than Work-Out Chic, I scan my dog eared pages for some insight.  


The belt and I have decided to try it again.  Belt down low, bad.   Belt up high, much better.  Observe.


ready for church
just another day in the life. . .
It’s coming along, slowly but surely.  I’m glad I’m taking pictures as I go because I’m sure there will be a day when I walk into the closet and really have no idea what to wear.  

Side note:

I’m doing one of the many February Photo Challenges that’s floating around the internet.  Day 4’s picture was OOTD (outfit of the day).  The day got away from me and I ended up trading my pj’s for workout clothes and back again.  I have read somewhere that if you invest in quality workout wear, you’re more likely to wear it to work out.  


Yeah, that sounds like some crap to me, too.  I’m just trying to get it right and tight, maybe make the leap from pear to hourglass.  I might just have a belt to help with that, too.





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IN: ON: February 11, 2013 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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Overheard

My kids are pretty funny. 

best.dress-up picture.ever

They come by it honestly, I suppose. I mean, I’m the funniest person that I know. I kid. No, really, I am pretty funny.  Well, sometimes, but never when I intend to be. But whatever.

Anyway, the girls and I spend quite a bit of time in the car going to and fro, fro and to school, gymnastics, the always dreaded Kumon and the like.  When Vivi burst onto the scene we had to do some creative configuring in the car to accommodate everyone and their carseat.  Mo was already in a booster, and upgraded (that’s debatable) to a spot in the very back of the car.  Co kept her five-point harness and first officer position behind the passenger seat, while V took prime real estate behind the driver.

This arrangement worked out well for a while, until Mo and Co realized having a conversation was really impossible. Mo would lean forward to ask Co a question. Co was so ensconced in her carseat, all she could do was flail her arms and legs as she fruitlessly tried to turn her head in response.  Quite a bit of shouting, “What did you say?” took place.  Add to the fact that dear, sweet Co was all thumbs when it came to buckling up her car seat, no matter how many times I  implored dear, sweet Morgan to help her. I found myself doing Gabby Douglas type contortions to reach round and snap her in because inevitably, she would wait until I was all buckled up to announce, “I’m having a problem with my car seat”, or simply grunt, grunt, grunt in frustration that she couldn’t make the clasps close across her little bird chest.

Yes, I know that I could have (and probably should have) just gone around to the side of the car to check on her before I got in my own seat, but that would be the smart, and practical thing to do. Besides, she’s got a Montessori, “I-can-do-it-myself” mentality and who am I to get in the way of progress.  And of course, if I had done that, well, then I wouldn’t have anything to talk about now, would I?

*full disclaimer* I make sure that my children are properly secured in their seats before operating an automobile.

Anyway, the seating was less than ideal. Eventually, Co made weight (finally), which meant she could move to a booster.  Woo-woo!  Talk about a graduation day; I flipped the seats around and now, Mo and Co were seat mates once again.  Catching them in the rear view mirror was like watching a Waldorf and Statler reunion, albeit a modern day version starring two elementary aged Black children, but I digress.  It’s the dialogue that has got me shaking my head.

For instance, over the week-end, they had watched My Little Pony on the Hub (yes, I let my kids watch TV. Probably more than I should, but hey, sometimes, I like to pee without an audience). The next day on the way to school, I was informed that I would be taking Rainbow Dash and Prance-a-lot  to the Pretty Pony Academy in – – -wait for it – – – Canterlot. Oy. I don’t watch MLP, so I don’t know if this is made up or not, but whatever.  On the ride, every time we passed some landmark they knew, Rainbow Dash, or maybe it was Prance-a-Lot, would exclaim, “Oh look, pony sister! Only a few more miles until Pony Academy in Canterlot. I’m so excited, I’m tossing my mane!”

Seriously.

This said in all serious and with accents, mind you.  I mean, not like British or French accents, but the type of voices little girls do when they are trying to convey gravity and maturity. For my girls, that’s something akin to a Southern Belle impersonation in a high register.

Fast forward to after school the other day.  Mo and Co settled into the backseat, passing snacks between them and plotting what they wanted to play once they got home.

Mo: Well, we could play Monster High. I could be Clawdeen Wolf and you could be my sister, Howleen.

Co: No, we did that last time we played Monster High. Let’s play Mermaid Splash palace and put the sprinkler in the backyard.

*and here’s where I had to stop that little seed from taking root.  Sure, it’s 70 degrees outside, but it is January, after all. *

Mo: Let’s play princesses!  What princess are you going to be? But wait, Co, you have to pick one of the brave princesses, like Merida or Pocahontas or  something.  NOT one of the “Help! Help!” princesses.

^^ That right there was a proud mommy moment!

Later on, I reminded the girls that whatever they decided to play and wherever they decided to play, they would have to clean it up when they were done.

“Yes, Mommy,” came the monotone response.  Then there was a pause followed by this little gem.

Co: I don’t have to clean my room because I never play in there. tra-la-la-la-la.

Okay, she didn’t really say tea-la-la-la-la, but she might as well have! I mean, that was too much.  If that’s her thought process at 5? Oy, are we in for it.

During the Super Bowl last night, Mo tossed up the following tidbits:

(during Alicia Keys singing of the National Anthem) “Take that, Beyonce!”

(when they showed a picture of Colin Kaepernick on TV) “Wait, is he Persian?!” — I’ll admit, I haven’t followed the 49ers since I would play Tecmo Bowl on the Nintendo and hit Jerry Rice high and tight for the Hail Mary touchdown pass.  First time I’ve seen the 49ers on TV all season, so I asked the Hubs, “Is he Persian?” and who knew? Mo had been listening the whole time.

(during a commercial for the Beyonce Half-Time Show) slapping her own forehead “Ugh! She’s SO dramatic! I can’t take all her drama!”

Let me clarify all the shade that Mo is tossing towards Bey.  She’s overheard me talking about how I’m just OBed (over-Beyonced).  The chick is everywhere.  I’m not detracting from her abilities as an entertainer.  She’s the consummate performer. I listen to her music when it comes on the radio. I workout to her songs on my iPod.  HOWEVER, I’m tired of seeing her all over the place. Like Taylor Swift. And Lena Dunham. Ugh, don’t even get me started on those two.  It’s like that scene in Mean Girls when Gretchen keeps trying to make “fetch” happen.

In this, case however, it’s happened. The world domination of Beyonce has happened.  I get it. Stop beating me about the head with it! I’m liable to get a concussion.

Better not say that too loudly.  Somebody’s bound to repeat it.

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IN: ON: February 4, 2013 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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Three Days Makes a Habit

I heard this somewhere once.  If you’re trying to break a habit or create a new one, if you persevere for three days, after that, it’ll become part of your overall modus operandi.

I’ll calling bull on that.

The Hubs and I are working on having better eating habits, not just in the new year, but going forward.We have several friends who have been making the switch from omnivores to vegetarians, pescatarians, and a few vegans.  I’m not quite sure I can get down with veganism, but I doff my hat to those that do.  We’ve been told to read “The Omnivore’s Dilema” and watch “Forks over Knives”, as well as scores of other books, articles and documentaries that list how we are slowly poisoning ourselves from the inside out with the consumption of processed foods and hormone infused proteins.  I know, I know.  There’s no reason a chicken breast should be as big as my quadricep.  That would be a really big chicken.  Really big.

Not only do our friends make some good points about healthful eating, but our bodies are starting mutiny.  The ol’ metabolism is slowing down for both of us, stuff gravitates towards the mid-section way faster and sticks around way longer than it used to.  So, in addition to making sure we get our fruits and veggies in, we are also working on cutting back on red meat consumption.  I give you, Meatless Mondays.

Mondays are hard enough, but no meat on top of it? It’s agony.

I’m already a finicky eater. This is a well established and well documented fact.  Trying to come up with some additional meals that don’t include meat (and in this case meat for us is beef, chicken, or pork) is tricky.  Case in point: The first Meatless Monday we had, the Hubs was away on a business trip.  I didn’t tell the girls about the new plan; I decided to just serve up the meals and see what happened.  Breakfast was easy enough — cereal and fruit all around.  Lunch for the girls included PB&J, fruit, some popcorn, and maybe a cookie.  For me, I had a salad and a bowl of lentil soup.  So far, so good.

Around dinner time, the Hubs texted me and asked how things were going.  He told me that he was planning on having a vegetable medley of some sort while he was out doing his business trip stuff.  I didn’t want to have to go out to the store and buy some vegetarian options, but the pantry was mocking me with it’s bareness and preponderance of meaty options.

Getting creative, I pulled out some pasta, bread crumbs, and broccoli.  I cooked the pasta per the directions on the box.  I sautéed the broccoli with a little EVOO, salt and pepper.  I then toasted the panko breadcrumbs with EVOO, s&p, and some rosemary flakes.  So far so good.  Reserving a little bit of the pasta water, I mixed the noodles, the crumbs and the broccoli altogether, just as Mo came wandering into the kitchen.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”  She saw me fold the broccoli into the bowl and she flipped out. “Don’t! No, don’t mix it!”   The agony on her face was palpable.  Quickly, I told her to relax and to go wash her hands.  I served up small bowls of this pasta primavera-ish concoction and we all sat down.

One guess as to how well it went over.

Mo and Co pushed the past around on their plates.  And pushed it around. And pushed it around.

“Where’s the chicken?” Mo asked, carefully separating broccoli from spaghetti.

“There isn’t any tonight,” I said simply.  I didn’t plan on going into it; I didn’t have the energy.

“What’s for dessert?” ask Co, per usual.

At this point, I  didn’t want to eat the pasta either, but I couldn’t let them know that.  I’m the grown-up! I’m going to make Meatless Monday work, dang it!  So I told them that they could either eat what I had made or. . .and I cast about for a suitable alternative that I wouldn’t have to do much with in order for them to eat it.  Bananas.

There were four bananas on top of the fridge that had their toe on the line of over-ripeness.  I told the girls they could eat the pasta or eat the bananas or go to bed.

They took the bananas.

And then, had the nerve to eat the bananas while having the following conversation.

Mo: This is the most delicious banana I have ever had!

Co:  Me, too!

Mo:  Don’t you just love bananas?

Co: Yes! Yes, I do!  And this banana is the best.

Mo: I wish we could eat bananas everyday.

Co: I’m going to have another banana for dessert.

You think FLOTUS gave an epic eye roll to Boehner at the inauguration? Who do you think she learned it from?

In any event, Meatless Monday is progressing.  It’s been three weeks, so it’s not quite a habit.  I think it has to be three consecutive days to make a habit.  Three consecutive days without meat might lead to some ramifications for which I refuse to be held responsible.  I can’t say what it might be, but use your imagination.

In truth, our Meatless Monday dinners are improving.  Pinterest, The Pioneer Woman, and Food Network have become really good resources.  There have been quite a few bean based soups simmering on the stovetop.  Still,  I would give anything for a hamburger right now.  I’ve been on tumblr, stalking burgers.

(image)

Mmmmm. . . .burgers. . .

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IN: ON: January 23, 2013 TAGS: , , , , BY: Hilary
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Nostalgia

On January 15th, 2013, my sorority, Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated,  celebrated it’s 105th anniversary.  Two days prior to that, Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated celebrated their Centennial anniversary.

Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and pretty much every social media out there, practically imploded at the constant stream of updates, pictures, tweets, and collages that kept spooling in over the course of those two days.  And with good reason, too.  The women who belong to these respective organizations, along with countless other women who make up the membership of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Incorporated and Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Incorporated, have a deep personal relationship with one another and the purpose of their organizations.

Scholarship. Service. Sisterhood.

It doesn’t stop once you graduate from college, either. Graduate chapters abound, enabling these Black Greeks to continue in service, scholarship and sisterhood as they navigate life after college.  Not only does graduate membership help honor ones commitment to an organization, but it is a safe haven as well.  Whenever I have relocated from one city to another, I know that if I find a graduate chapter of AKA, I will be welcomed without hesitation.

If anyone has watched Spike Lee’s iconic movie, “School Daze” or caught any of the earliest episodes of the Cosby show spin-off “A Different World”, you might have a general, albeit hyperbolized, idea of Black Greek Life on campus.  Historically speaking, Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated was the first sorority established for Black women on the campus of Howard University in 1908.  Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated, Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Incorporated and Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Incorporated were founded in 1913, 1920, and 1922 respectively.  I’m not going to get into the who’s, why’s, and what for’s that cause the formation of several different sororities, but suffice it to say, as a result, certain stereotypes have emerged.

Certainly, those of us Sister Greeks can poke fun at ourselves and at one another, especially when it’s done in a light hearted way.  There are other times, when ladies can take themselves a bit too seriously, and feelings get hurt.  I’m firmly a member of the first camp, and so are the women with whom I surround myself.  That fact was never made more clear than on January 13th and January 15th of this year.

This is a picture of me and the group of ladies I rolled with during college.  Dara and Cheri were my freshman and sophomore roommates, respectively.  I met Courtney and Leasa when we were 13 and at camp together. Roberta and Mia I met as a freshman and we went on to remain friends well into adulthood.

R to L: Leasa, Cheri, Dara, Hilary, Courtney, Roberta and Mia

I look at this picture and realize this was one of the last times we all were together before we became members of our respective sororities.  Right to left, it breaks down like this — AKA, DST, AKA, AKA, DST, DST, and down in front, DST.  And please, if you have some comment about who chose what based on their skin color, or how easy it is to pick me out of the crowd, let me be the first to tell you:

1. I know.
2. This picture is close to 20 years old; there aren’t any more observations to make about those facts. 
3. It’s already been mentioned
4. Keep that shiggity to yourself.

Despite all of the stereotypes and perceived animosity or throwing of shade and hateration that surrounds the two organizations, I look at this picture and think, “Not in this little pocket.” Sure, over the years, we have grown apart through distance, work, relationships.  But we keep up with one another, renewing friendships and establishing others.  This pictures makes me happy and a little sad.  Happy because those smiles are so genuine. We were having a great night. We were young and blissfully unaware that there things much harder than mid-terms and summer internships coming down the pike.  Ignorance is bliss, right?

In any event, after talking about friendships and the people who belong in your life will come and stay, seeing this picture was a visual representation of that idea.  As I said, DST celebrated their Founder’s Day on January 13th and as it was their centennial year, the volume of messages and photos was immense and not unexpected.

I sent personal messages to a few of my sister greeks with whom I am particularly close, but as you know, I’m not given to status updates.  I let other people update their statuses with well wishes and shout outs to specific folks.  I’m not above co-siging on things like that, so I did.  I “liked” my fair share of photos from their Centennial event as well as updates.  SN: “like” sometimes isn’t enough to really convey how I feel about a picture or an update.   I need a +1, or a “me too”, or a love button or something that conveys a “what he/she said”.

And sure, there were plenty of the joke type of updates, particularly the riff on the Kanye West/Taylor Swift speech.

(boy, everything becomes a meme)
But overall, there was a lot of Black Greek love going on.  Even one of my line sisters got in the act.

Here it goes! (Uh-hum) Congratulations to the lovely ladies of Delta Sigma Theta for 100 years of service. I am truly honored to call many of these women some of “bestest” (better than best) friends. Here’s to another 100 years of opportunity to ruin every DST picture I can. Remember at the top of every pyramid is my pinkie :). Pinkies Up…Love you ladies! — 

That’s the type of relationship we have with one another.  Exactly.

Two days later, the AKAs celebrated their Founder’s Day and my inbox was flooded with well-wishes from my sorority sisters, near and far.  As I was scrolling through them FB alerted me that I got tagged in a post.  It read:

although you are not my sorority sisters, you are still my greek sisters – happy founders day to my aka loveliesTiffany D., Dara D., Hilary D., LaVonne C., Margo S., Angel S., Candi A., Nicole G., Melissa D., Karen S.

Touching, right? I immediately thought of the photo above and just how far we’ve come as sister, women, and friends.  Despite the colors we wear or the letters on our chests, we’re still the same group of girls that came to the campus of William and Mary in the fall of 1996, graduated in the spring of 2000 and had all manner of adventures in between.

We’re coming up on our 15 year college reunion, and I would love to recreate this photo, maybe even expand upon it to include those young ladies we’ve brought up behind us.  Because like I said before, it doesn’t end with graduation.  It’s really only the beginning, and what a run we’ve had so far. 

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IN: ON: January 21, 2013 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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