Saturday, December 19, 2009

WandaLuv's Blog Blast!

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Sunday, December 06, 2009

Don't Drop Da Ball

We all love sports. Men love the battle, the camaraderie, the victories and defeats. Ladies love to see men in uniform being rough, ooh wee, and the money that comes with it. With the fun that a sport brings, there are rules that must be followed. You must stay inbounds, don’t foul out, no illegal contact, and don’t drop da ball.

Athletes work so hard to abide by the rules while on an authorized playing field. They don’t want to be the one to cause the team a penalty that may lead to a game loss. Yeah, on an authorized playing field they are a true team player. They hold on to da ball tight, they even wear a cup to assist in their effort. Don’t drop da ball – by any means necessary!

I can’t understand how they follow the rules for one team, but not the other. Is it because the other team isn’t equal? Is the other team not satisfying their needs? Does the other team not know their place? Till death do us part should make the other team equal to everything. Maybe till death do us part is in intensive care and needs a life saving operation, because by the looks of things, that sucka is on its way outta here.

People get married for the sake of having a wedding, not a marriage. We say that a woman wants a glamorous wedding more so that a man, but I don’t think so. Men want to look fly at a ceremony without putting in the work. They don’t lift a finger to help; just tell their boys to show up in a suit and get ready to drink.

“Well, I paid for whatever she wanted!”

Sorry, you paid for what you wanted. You paid for her to quit nagging you about this or that; you paid for silence and peace of mind. Money and peace will never be equal. The more peace a person has, the more piece of money they will have to pay to keep people from disturbing it. Funny, after all theses years we still haven’t learned that you can’t pay for peace.

The news during the new millennium has had many stories involving dropped balls, and the 90’s, the 80’s, and insert your decade here _____ dayum! Lawd, what happened, have cups gone out of style?

Do golfers wear cups? Maybe that’s Tiger Woods excuse. He has hit da balls on courses all over the world and I know he knows golf rules. When da ball is going towards the wrong target yell fore! That fool saw da balls going in the wrong direction and didn’t say a thing! Now he has to pay a penalty for his team…

Do basketball players wear cups? Maybe that’s Kobe Bryant’s excuse. He knows da balls are supposed to be dribbled on a basketball court. Since when did they put a basketball court in a hotel room that can only be played on from the backside? He is still paying interest on his team’s penalty…

Michael Jordan simply got confused. He tried to play basketball and golf and mixed up the rules. He didn’t know if he should yell fore or call a time-out. Instead of taking a step back and re-reading the rules, he just dunked da balls and swung da putter hoping for a good score. Not! Paying a team penalty for life ain’t no joke; no wonder he sells draws…

Steve McNair. I’m not saying anything. Till death do us part.

Michael Strahan should have put da ball between that field goal gap in his teeth instead of another woman’s flesh. Now he’s taking da balls to a field that has had funny balls in it for years. I hope da balls have a sense of humor and a lot of money…

OJ Simpson’s balls made him go crazy. If da balls aren’t getting enough playing time they just back up and burst.

Wilt Chamberlain was a ball-aholic. He didn’t get the nickname The Big Dipper solely for his skills on the court. I hope da balls were covered when he dipped them; passing illicit coatings around – barf, gag, vomit, shit, that’s nasty!

What has our society evolved into? When God made Eve for Adam did He have a wedding ceremony, or did He say “Here, Adam, tear it up and do what you want with it. And when you’re ready, take da balls wherever you want.” That doesn’t sound right to me, but maybe my hearing is shot.

Whose responsibility is it to keep track of da balls? Which team with the contract should make sure da balls don’t end up in the wrong game? Maybe we will figure that out one day; but until then, don’t drop da ball.

I luv yah'll.

Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
Coming Soon - The Life of Luv

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Blind Eyes

What is for you is for you. That is one statement that I have found to be entirely true in my life. Other people are not supposed to understand your you. We are not supposed to try and make them understand; when you come to realize that, you’ll be alright.

Pain comes when you understand and accept that some people don’t care about who you are, what your plans are, or what you have accomplished. They care when you’re riding the high wave, but when that wave dips, you better get ready for their version of suffering. Some words shouldn’t be spoken aloud – especially when the target hears them. Beware of the situation and surroundings when you run your mouth because although your lips may stop, the words keep on going.

Your parents are the vessel that physically brought you here, but God created you long before they connected. He made you a teacher and a student. We all have a story to tell and have all learned a lesson from someone. Life forces us take on many roles and the teacher/student partnership is one that we must manage simultaneously. It can be difficult at times trying to understand the why come they don’t get me and trying to make them understand you at the same time. Years of tears may fall from frustration that we view as a disappointment. Understand this – there is nothing disappointing about you.

An honest heart makes mistakes. An honest heart hurts from the mistakes that is has made. An honest heart will continue on until it corrects the mistakes and prospers.

People always have something to say and if or how what they say upsets you, oh well. If you are not doing what they want you to do or allowing them to manage your finances with their hands deep in your pockets, you are of no use to them. When the wave dissipates, so do you. Living flesh doesn’t dissolve so easily – I’m still here. Don’t act like you can’t see me, you look so awkward.

So many smile in your face folks. Stop the fake presentations; no matter how good you think you look your teeth are yellow, your lips are chapped, your face is ashy, and, uh, I can see through you. I don’t think that God made that your you, but hey, that is so not for me to understand.

Don’t expect anyone to realize your dreams. Blind eyes see what they want to see. It’s sad to find out that folks are only down with you when you’re up, family members included. When He puts you in position for your you, you have to take all that comes with it and keep on. Look at some situations as a temporary assignment – you have your time limit, you’re learning something new about people everyday, and you get what you need until the nest phase arrives.

I have said that when God taps you on your shoulder don’t shrug it off. I used to shrug it off all the time. He took me and shook me by my shoulders then. He has prepared me for people like you. A sista is ready – bring on the blessings!

The wave is forming again but blind eyes can’t see it and this time, it’s going to ride high for eternity.

I luv yah’ll.

Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
Coming Soon - The Life of Luv

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Miss Luv's Books is LIVE!

Hey Yah'll!

Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story and LuvMe are now available for purchase EVERYWHERE! WOOHOO!

Please visit your local bookstore and request Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story and LuvMe, by Wanda D. Hudson or publisher, Miss Luv's Books, or order online at any online retailer! You can also order from my website -

Aww, Lawd, the hot choco-latte is in the air! Mmmmm, doesn't (don't) it smell sweet?

Wanda D. Hudson

Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story

LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little luv

Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life

Coming Soon - The Life of Luv

"Remember, Everybody Needs A Little Luv"

Sunday, November 15, 2009

John T. Wills - Author of Just a Season

Hey yah'll!

I had the pleasure of interviewing a wonderful author on Wanda's Way, Sunday November 15th! John T. Wills, the author of, Just a Season, stopped in and left us with WOW! Download the show at , or listen over on your right! In the meantime, read what makes up this wonderfula man, and an excerpt from, Just a Season! Enjoy :-)

Biography -

John Thomas Wills has earned a Master’s Degree in Business Administration, he's been a professor, a businessman, author, past officer of several business and community boards, a volunteer and friend to many. Regardless of the worldly titles given, John prefers to be called a man. Any accolades the author has received he attributes to the teachings and solid foundation provided by a loving grandfather. This great man assertively implanted the concept that knowledge is power, which developed into the understanding that education is the single most important ingredient necessary to neutralize those forces that breed poverty and despair. This philosophy planted the seeds that cultivated a life, which is “Just a Season.”

Synopsis for Just a Season -

Just a Season is a luminous story into the life of a man who, in the midst of pain and loss, journeys back in time to reexamine all the important people, circumstances, and intellectual fervor that contributed to the richness of his life. This fictional narrative begins with a grief-stricken father visiting the grave site of his beloved son who was killed in a tragic accident; a moment that he and no other loving parent should ever have to face. As he sadly gazes at his son's headstone and reads what is inscribed there, the dates 1981 - 2001 bring about an illuminating discovery.

The tiny dash that separates the years of one's birth and death represents the whole of a person's life. So if this tiny dash were to tell his life's story, what would it say? In Just a Season, the dash of this man's life is revealed and what emerges from the pages of this book is a legacy of true benevolence and grace.

Praise for Just a Season -

"Just a Season is a thought provoking novel by author, John T. Wills. ...focusing on various topics such as pain, suffering, love and life. The characters and the plot are captured very well. It is very well written from beginning to end. This is one of those books, where you cannot judge the book based on its title and cover." Congratulations well done! -- Afrika Asha Abney

". . . Thank you for your example of tenderness and discipline in what I know is a story of love, delicately shared with readers in a way that says, this life, though brief, is significant. So hold it in highest regard for "the dash" is our legacy to love ones, indeed to the world, which we are blessed to share, albeit, for Just a Season." Excellent! --Sistah Joy, Poet, Cable TV Host

"Wills pulls you in from the very first page... Just a Season is a heart-wrenching story about growing up and believing in yourself. I highly recommend this book to young men in high school, trying to find themselves and feeling like they have nowhere to turn."
Cheryl Hayes, APOOO Book Club

"This is the stuff movies are made of... not since Roots have I read anything that so succinctly chronicles an African American story." Amazing!!!
Cheryl Vauls, Library Services

"Not since The Color Purple have I read a book that evoked such emotions. John T. Wills possesses the ability to transport the reader directly into the life and struggles of his main characters story. I was educated in a way that did not afford me the benefit of truly understanding the significance of the historical events taught from a stand alone perspective. This book actually touched my heart and inspired me to increase the equity in my "dash"! Excellent
Tonja Covington

"John T. Wills captures male bonding between generations and lets the reader passively watch as family love and closeness unfold on the pages . . ."
Outstanding -- A great read -- Cheryl Robinson, Host and Executive Producer of

"JUST A SEASON is laced with thought-provoking commentary on the Vietnam War, the assassinations of the 1960s, the migration of crack cocaine into inner-city neighborhoods, and a myriad of other ills that have rocked America. This is a very good piece intertwined with several history lessons spanning many decades."
Dawn Reeves, RAWSISTAZ Book Club

"John T. Wills particulars each notion so eloquently that you feel that you're actually right there with him... this is an inflicting history lesson that I believe all African American males should experience." JUST A SEASON is a pivotal read

"From the first page you are transported into John's world as if you are there and are experiencing it with him. I am amazed at how John is able to use the events of the time to let you know where you are in time. I felt as if I was teleported... his ability to describe what was going on during that time makes me extremely proud of my heritage. You will come away with a feeling of, now I know why that is. I thoroughly enjoyed "Just a Season".
Mia L. Haynes

"Just a Season is a work of love, respect and honor... A book filled with the wonder of life, and the pain and growth encountered in living it." Outstanding!
Ron Watson, Editor, New Book Reviews.Org

"in the final analysis the tiny little dash represents the whole of a person's life . If someone, for whatever reason, were to tell the story concealed within my dash. What might they say? ". A thought provoking and powerful read that will forever resonate within my soul . . . Speechless

This novel is 9 X 6 inches in size, 370 pages embracing the wonders of a life.
Visit: to read a chapter, reviews, and more information.

Excerpt - Granddaddys Lessons

What do you think???

I’d like to offer a few thoughts concerning man/people love God who he/they cannot see, but cannot love the physical being of a the current political discourse on the health care debate. I’ve often asked myself; how can man who he can see? If we were about to witness the Second Coming of our Lord, another question would be; what would Jesus say? Believing and knowing that his life was lived in service of the least of thee and died for our sins - I wonder if he would react much in the way he did with the thieves in the temple.

I’ve watched the outrageous antics displayed during many of these town hall meeting where the opponents of something as morally correct as helping the sick are just “acting a fool”. Many of these folks are Republicans, it’s safe to assume, who believe in the sanctity of marriage, call themselves compassionate conservatives or Christian Conservatives, and believe in the right to life. Yet, they display such outrage and bigotry over an issue that would greatly benefit so many lives.

These are, many of them, the same folks who don’t believe our current elected president is the president. In this democracy to be qualified for the job one needs to be born in America to which most reasonable people would agree Hawaii, where records clearly indicate President Obama was born, is part of America. Then of course one must be elected by a majority of voters, which he was and by some accounts a “Landslide”. These same folks are all for bringing democracy to countries around the world but they apparently are not willing to accept it when it works here. I suppose this is the hypocrisy of democracy.

While watching television coverage of the town hall debates my thoughts were, I’ve seen this before – like in 1960. At one town hall event a news report covering the issue asked someone attending the rally; what is your concern? She said, “We want our country back”. As if the country was overthrown. The elderly woman went on to say “she wanted to restore the country back to what the founding fathers wanted in the Constitution”.

I looked at her wondering if she was aware that the Constitution was signed in 1887 by all white men excluding everybody but them. The founding fathers she referred to lived in a time when they owned human beings as chattel and women had no rights whatsoever. However, she was correct in that the Constitution affords us the right to free speech no matter how ridiculous it might be.

In her rage, she also said she does not want the government in her life making medical decisions for her. Hmmm – like the insurance company’s and HMO’s are doing now, if you are lucky enough to have insurance. She went on to say that “Obama wants the government to kill old people, socialize medicine, and take away our Medicare”. The lady who looked to be in her seventies and was wearing a t-shirt that said supports the troops obviously did not understand that both entities are government systems providing medical services that are socialized not to mention, I am sure, took advantage of Social Security. To be respectful this lady was surely among the low information crowd.

Standing near her in the frame of my television screen were people carrying signs with an erratic horary of issues. The most disrespectful was a sign that had the president looking like Hitler, arguably the worst man to every live. This might just be the reason for the Nazi remarks that could very well be a codeword for N- --- (n word) much in the way they throw around words like communist or socialist when referring to our president. Let’s be clear, the real issue is the face of what America looks like; a black President, a Jewish Chief of Staff, newly appointed Latin Supreme Court Justice, a woman Speaker of the House of Representatives – faces of ultimate power that are no longer all white men.

I don’t have to go back thirty or forty years because these people are the same ones we saw last summer attending rallies held by President Obama’s campaign opponent. However, I am old enough to remember the Jim Crow era when bigotry was a way of life and segregation was the law of the land. The problem is, I think, most African Americans have forgotten what it was like to be “Colored” and in spite of wanting to forget that myself I believe we are about to have a “Columbus Experience”. By that I mean we are going to discover America that “Real America” the now former Governor decried during the campaign because the actions of these people are eerily similar to the racism of a time I’d hoped to never see again.

I am an avid history buff. I just love knowing about the past because to know it and understand it allows you a glimpse into the future. For example, I can recall somewhere around 1860 when there was a movement by many states with a perverse idea called “secession”, which occurred and the United States split into two countries. The reason, as we all know, was about money and the profits gained from the institution of Slavery. Today the issue has again been raised for the same reasons – money, profits, and race.

Recently conservatives held what they called “Tea Parties” in many cities around the nation because they believe the country is going in the wrong direction. I suppose this was to symbolize the Boston Tea Party where the colonists were planting the seed of revolt. It is the same thing that was done in 1860 - revolt. Before I go on, let me say that they seemed to forget what course the nation was on during the last eight years when terror was the main concern.

When you talk about secession and government revolt – it’s called treason and that is brought about by terror. As much as we’ve heard about terror over the last eight years this mindset/behavior rises to the level of a greater evil. Let me highlight the most inflammatory act perpetrated to date. The other day a protester showed up for a town hall meeting held by the President of the United States - ARMED. “Strapped”, yes with a gun – a side arm in plain view where the president was speaking.

At another town hall event there was a guy arrested by the Secret Service because the protester was holding a sign that said he wanted to kill President Obama and his whole family. At the same event there were several signs that said, “Death to the tyrant”. This can’t be simply about health care reform. It’s been reported that the president receives 4-5 hundred death threats a day and with America’s horrible history of assassinations we should be very concerned. Let’s not forget the decade of the 1960’s where we lost a President, a King, an X, a Senator, and several other prominent leaders to assassination.

The actions of these people and let’s not leave out the radio commentators they listen to, who want the president to fail, spew their venom creating a very dangerous environment is reminiscent of the 1960’s. Surely there are a lot of mean spirited evil people in this world and evil is not usually associated with Jesus. Therefore, I think we know what Jesus would say, maybe something like - let’s turn to each other not on each other.


Sunday, November 08, 2009

EXCERPT ALERT - LuvMe - This Rhythm is Rated L

“Just come open the door. I’m outside your apartment.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The phone landed somewhere as I ran to the door faster than I did before. This time when I opened it, Sheree stood before me with a long red coat on and a pair of thigh high red boots. She breezed past me and dropped her coat to the floor. The floor mat to the game Twister was wrapped around her body. She unwrapped it and let it fall. No other covering was on her. There was nothing that could do her justice. I closed the door.

“Take off your clothes.”

Without questions my ragged jogging pants and tee shirt came off. We faced each other naked – like a stand off, with her boots giving her more leverage than me.

“I want you to do what I say and do it well. Do you understand?”

My head shook up and down, then again, up and down, then again. I was dizzy within her.

“Go and get the ice bucket.”

Sheree’s voice came to me like a dominatrix in training. She spoke like she had one more test to pass before she could hold the crown. Her voice was forceful, soothing, and pleading from within for love. I listened.When I returned to the room with the bucket as she requested she had spread the mat out, and was standing at one end of it.

“Lay the bucket in the center of the mat on the yellow circle.”

I obeyed.

“Stand in the middle of the mat with my p**** over the bucket.”

As I began to move I heard My, My, My from the CD. I wanted to cry out that I was in love. A figure eight, a coke bottle, her waist, her thighs, her breasts, I, I…I couldn’t believe she stood before me. Her legs were spread a bit and I noticed a small tattoo high on her inner left thigh. I wanted to suck it.

“Left hand blue.”

The blue circle was to my rear so I bent back and placed my hand on it.

“Right hand green.”

The green circle was also to my rear. My bending more to the rear made my middle come down low over the ice bucket. I held my head back and let it hang. My body was open wide to her. She had me. Finally, I was hers.

The touch of her tongue blazed me to my heart. It pumped with anticipation. Sheree was between my legs teaching me how to love us. The ice gliding around me gave me a sensation of hot, cold, cool, and flaming at the same time. My mind ran far and came back close as she gently crawled over my body. My position was the same, my back was inner arched and my legs were open wide. She kissed my chest, my breasts, my belly button, and came back up to my neck. A tear escaped me.

“Right foot red.”

I slid my foot forward not knowing where it was going to end. I didn’t care; I just wanted to please Sheree.

“Left foot yellow.”This time the motion left me laying flat on my back with my eyes facing my baby. We took each other in within a twisted rhythm of euphoric colors. Her tender breasts lay on mine and my tears continued.

“Don’t cry, lover.”

Our lips met. I wrapped my arms around her trying to press her into me. Her hips, her ass, and her back belonged to me. I squeezed them all. My, My, My, our love came in yellow, red, blue, and green. A game so simple, yet so complex. The bucket tipped and a sensation came. More sensations followed. A game that taught me to release my fears in love.

The game taught Sheree to love the one her release is with. That night we played more than a mere child’s game. We dealt our cards, we rolled our dice, and ultimately we hit the Lotto. We won them all and have never stopped pleasing each other. We decided that night that we would work on having a relationship. Sheree thought all a relationship consisted of was sex, freaky or not. I didn’t know sex was a major part of one. That was seven years ago. To this day, Sheree makes me proud to say that my rhythm is rated L.


Alright, that's it! The excerpt above if from the erotic/romantic short story collection, LuvMe! Get LuvMe as a part of The SEXY Special! Buy Wait for Love: a Black Girl's Story - LuvMe is FREE! Awww, Lawd, the hot choco-latte is coming! Don't miss out!

Listen to Wanda's Way on internet talk radio

Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Anthology

Sunday, October 18, 2009

EXCERPT ALERT - Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story

Terrance started a fight with me that morning over my use of water. He said I should pay the water bill, along with the rent, because I was bigger than him and used more of it. It was early and I was cranky from not having much s...leep the night before. He had his friends over for an all night party on a Tuesday. None of them had jobs, so no one had anywhere to be but where they were. I didn’t feel like hearing what he had to say, so I replied with a smart quick tongue, hoping to silence him.

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve said to date. I guess you expect me to pay the cable, gas, light, and phone bill as well since your pathetic ass isn’t man enough to do it. Shut up, Terrance. It’s too early for your mouth.”

My response caught him off guard because his reply to me was that of silence. I started walking towards the bathroom to get dressed when I heard him running up behind me. My face was met with his head when I turned towards him. The fool head butted me. His exact target was my eye. I fell backwards on the floor and grabbed my face in pain. Gray stars and filthy vultures circled my face and moaned a song of gloom; it hurt so bad.

While I was on the floor crying and screaming how sick I thought Terrance was, he started kicking me in my back, sides, and face, while yelling in crazy man lingo.

“Don’t you ever talk back to me, you fat, sloppy bitch! Your stupid ass is going to pay every bill that comes into this house whether I have a job or not! Now get your sorry ass up and fix me some breakfast!”

He stopped kicking me and walked away muttering words under his breath that only a psychotic nut would understand. I managed to get up and went into the bathroom to look at my face. My left eye watched my right eye swell up, and my right eye noticed my left eye was red and puffy. My black eyes were on their way.

I took my nightgown off and looked at my stomach in the mirror. It was bruised and I imagined my back was, as well. There was no need to look because I’d felt this way before. I wanted to call into work, but I was already absent two days that week and couldn’t afford to miss anymore.

My right eyeball was no longer visible, and I’d have to wear a pair of light colored shades all day as I’d done before. I was at the point of not even bothering to put on makeup to try and cover it up, knowing what I was hiding, as did everyone else. I’m not sure who was who, but I came out of the bathroom to see Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde standing in my living room in the form of Terrance’s body.

“Hey, baby. I have some interviews to go on today, so I’ll drop you off at work. I put your purse and jacket in the car, and I want to stop and grab you some breakfast, so hurry your sweet self up.”

He walked out the door and I stood in the middle of the room waiting for an answer. Someone needed to tell me Terrance was sick and I wasn’t the person that had his cure. Sure, I had the answer; I just didn’t feel like talking to myself.


Alright, yah'll! It's about to go down! Did you order your copy yet? The SEXY Special is still in effect! Buy Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story - LuvMe is FREE! Mmmm, I smell hot chocolate :-)

Listen to Wanda's Way on internet talk radio

Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Anthology

Sunday, October 11, 2009

You Down With NPP?

Different times call for different initials. Most of us remember the catchy hook; yea, you know me. Well, it can surely fit today. I’m down with NPP! The Noble Peace Prize was awarded to our President Barack Obama! Next phrase – are you ready for some football?

Is it sad to say that our President now has to stick diligently to a plan for every move he makes? Stick to the playbook, Sir, because if you sneeze during a speech at the United Nations, a statement will be released detailing the severity of it. Aww, Lawd, he got the swine! He’s trying to infect his views on the world! Impeach is ass! After all, a Nobel Peace Prize recipient does not have any flaws. Some say he received it to soon – he hasn’t done anything. I guess they weren’t on the nominating committee.

We all live history; some of it is printed in text books, most of it isn’t. This particular day, Friday October 9th, 2009, is a part of my minds legacy. See, on this day I volunteered at a fund raiser for Northeast Public Radio – NPR. I was a part of the valiant personnel who answered telephones, and recorded pledges from people who desired to keep NPR going strong. Giving up money in a recession? Some folks need to mind their own recession business and stop inflecting negative views on others – just my opinion. Broke isn’t always Poor. Poor isn’t always Po’. Yah’ll know what I’m saying…

The enthusiasm that filled the room was amazing. Not just for seeing the station reach its goal, but also for our President winning the Nobel Peace Prize. I received calls from people pledging amounts that ranged from twenty-five dollars to one thousand dollars. Amazing. The part of the pledgers and my conversation that made me feel validated was not the fact that they so effortlessly divulged personal information, but that they wanted to leave a comment to be read over the air – name included. They wanted people to know that they enjoyed the station AND that they were so proud of OUR President for being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

I noticed that I was the only black volunteer during the time that I was there, which was between the hours of 8am and 3pm. There were maybe 25-40 people in room at various times. Did they notice, too? I’m sure they did, but I got the vibe that on that day it didn’t matter. The more things stay the same, the more they change. I know, I said it “backwards” but I meant it moving forward. Many times I have been the only black person in the room and it mattered, and it was noticed. I filled the quota. Somebody’s job had been done.

Twenty years later I wasn’t a quota – I was a welcomed addition to a cause. A cause to keep an informative station on the air, and a valuable asset to show that we as a people desire the same things. Validation. Shoot, I want a cup of coffee and a donut for breakfast sometimes just like everyone else. I want to provide for my family and have job security just like everyone else. I want to commend our President on his achievement just like everyone else.

I do believe that certain things will always be present between races. There are differences that, well, make us different. It’s okay. Racism, hmm, well, it exists. To finally physically see people of a different race applaud and rally behind a man that my race let the world borrow because he is ours, is incredible. WE (and WE encompasses yah’ll, too) voted for him. WE support him through all adversity. WE all are united and can sing the jingle proudly – You Down With NPP? Yea, you know me!

Listen to Wanda's Way on internet talk radio

Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Anthology

Friday, September 04, 2009

Uhm, What Are You Selling?

A child’s favorite pastime during summer months is the infamous ice cream truck. To hear the delightful bell, horn, or looped melody approaching causes a thunderous amount of unexplainable joy. The feeling is one that never leaves your senses. As an adult, even after the onset of lactose intolerance, one still feels a slight urgency to purchase one or two scoops.

Having a small child means you must have money each time the top ten melody goes into rotation. Recently my family changed zip codes, but in all of my sexy years on this earth, I have only known Mr. Softee. A blue and white truck with a cool looking cone dressed up to every child’s fancy. Mr. Softee definitely isn’t prejudiced, he serves everybody. You don’t need a number, just get in line and watch your toes – eager children could care less about your twenty-five dollar pedicure.

The truck is equipped for the hearing impaired – the loud top ten hit that can be heard from miles away, and the blind. – the looped music that continuously plays over and over, so don’t worry if you make a few wrong turns - keep tapping that walking stick until you find it.

My new zip code doesn’t include Mr. Softee but the new and improved text message aged Mr. Ding-a-Ling! WHAT? Yes, Mr. Ding-a-Ling! Is it just me or when you read this did your mind go kiddie playground porn-tastic?

The first time I saw the truck thankfully I was alone. The laughter that exploded from me! My goodness, a person laughing alone could be categorized as a bad drug mix. “Oh, she must have taken some of the good stuff’” is the statement that I looked like.

Am I a horny woman looking for a quick orgasm at each corner? Hmmm, I don’t think so. The thought that ran through my mind after my laughter subsided was, “And we wonder why our kids feel that oral sex isn't sex! We hear the dayum bell and they run to the truck with our money to get their licks on!”

Yesterday Mr. Ding-a-Ling stopped on the street that we live on. My daughter and I ran down the stairs, but unfortunately he pulled off before we made it. My child cried an anguished, “No!” and continued to cry as we made it back up the stairs. It took me at least ten minutes to console her. My untold thought, “Shit, I didn’t want you licking none of his stuff anyway.”

Mr. Ding-a-Ling had his way. He returned three hours later. I heard him, grabbed my wallet, yelled out to Doobah, “Come’on!” and dayum near broke my neck getting down the stairs. Doobah yelled, “Don’t leave me!’ but I was already down the stairs on the sidewalk. Mr. Ding-a-Ling would not leave us this time.

Maybe I am a horny woman. Although Mr. Softee is the keeper of some of my life’s most fond memories, I really don’t want to meet a man that proudly says, “Hi, my name is Mr. Softee.” Mr. Ding-a-Ling is straight to the point. That name on an ice cream truck though, for me, keeps me asking, Uhm, What Are You Selling?

Wanda D. Hudson
Okay, WHY is the ice cream truck called Mr. Ding-a-Ling? And we wonder why our kids feel that oral sex isn't sex! We hear the dayum bell and they run to the truck with our money to get their licks on...LuvPing is SEXY!
LuvTweet, LuvPress, LuvSpace, LuvBlog and now LuvPing! Dayum...It's all SEXY!

Monday, August 17, 2009

Inspected by God

Long time no see, where have you been? These are a few of the questions that I have been asked lately. I usually answer that I have been here, but there is no set definition of my here. The middle of last year crashed for me. Many of you know that I lost my father on June 4th, 2008. Within weeks shortly thereafter my life began to collapse. There were no battery cables to hook up to for a reviving jump.

There is a paragraph in my first novel, Wait for Love: A Black Girl’s Story that details the characters feelings on grief. I had never experienced grief, and wrote it believing that her reactions were how someone would feel. The words were on point. Your mind wanders; your heart aches, and you continue to break down while hateful blood churns through your veins. Bluntly put, that shit hurts.

My 2008-2009 has been difficult. I lost my drive to write or to do anything productive for my personal gain. The post below mentions my daily routine. That particular routine came to an end in late June. That was it – I had enough. I will always miss my daddy, but grief can kiss my ass. I’m so sick of it handling me like I’m a foolish punk. It told me what to say, when to say it, and when to shut my mouth. It allowed me to tolerate behavior that is absolutely unacceptable in my professional, and personal life.

Why do people do you dirty? Why do people set out to do you dirty? Why do people think that you don’t know they did you dirty? Some of the things I put up with – please… This post is not written to belittle anyone or bring negativity to light. A few months ago I let it go. My life was tired of waiting on me. The inner turmoil that I caused myself was enough stress for three strokes. I thought my child would find me dead and there would be no one here for her.

We all suffer through something. As long as we have the ability to get THROUGH it, we can continue to prosper. Some of us don’t. Wallowing in misery and blaming everyone else was simply not it for me. My father died. I said it. I knew he was sick, I knew he was going to die, but I didn’t want him to. My father died. I said it again and I’m okay. I can still function on this earth. I can still be here and not feel guilty because he isn’t. I still love him.

Coming to grips with the fact that life will roll on whether you can hang or not was rough. I have struggled financially, mentally and physically. Making the wrong decisions, whew, that gets old. The past ten years have been a serious lesson. I was scored on a curve and barely passed. I’ll never say I may be black, I may be ugly – we love you Celie, but I’m still here. I’m SEXY, I’m talented, and I’m still here.

Sometimes when we make a purchase there is a small piece of paper inside of the item with an inspectors number on it. If there is a problem with the item you can exchange it or get your money back, but you may never meet the inspector. I was Inspected by God; you can’t exchange me and I‘m priceless. My inspector is available whenever I need Him.
I’ve been stretched to the limit and have returned better than before. I’m not refurbished, damaged or rebuilt. Just upgraded. The original version gets the job done; this version – keep breathing and you may understand. When you step out on faith, He takes all of your doubts, fears and mistakes. He will forgive you.

The SEXY One has been Inspected by God; are you ready?

Listen to Wanda's Way on internet talk radio

Wanda D. Hudson
Wait for Love: A Black Girl's Story
LuvMe - Because Everybody Needs A Little Luv
Coming Soon - A Sheltered Life
Contributing Author -
Succulent - Chocolate Flava 2
Purple Panties - An Anthology

Monday, February 23, 2009

Working Depression, Please Fire Me

My daddy died today. Well, actually he died June 4th, 2008, but each day is the same for me. Now I lay me down to sleep doesn’t work. When I close my eyes I see my daddy lying in his coffin. I know he is not going to get up, so the vision never changes. My mornings are identical; I wake up tired and want to stay in the bed until. If I didn’t have to “live” I wouldn’t. Routine – open my eyes and listen to my mind complain, get Dasia ready, take her to school, and go to work and “function.” Thank God for Dasia. Monday through Friday I remain under my sheets until I’m late enough for work - not enough for my boss to complain, but enough for me to fuss as to why I continue to fall into the late schedule. People lose their jobs everyday, but my working depression won’t fire me.

I’ll settle for a layoff if it’s long term and the position won’t call me back. I can’t shake this. One minute anger is my best friend, the next hate, and I try to reason with it all. Tolerating things that I paid no attention to previously burns holes into my soul. My mouth, oh, the words that can come from my mouth. My dreams tremble me. One night I had one about a basement full of rats. The setting was on a street that my family resided on when I was a child, but in a neighbor’s apartment. The rats crawled into the cement wall, the wall closed and all their tales fell off. The next one I can remember contained dogs, spit, singing and skin. Working depression, please fire me.

I don’t write anymore. I figured getting this out might help. Lying on a couch talking about my feelings would be a waste of time and money. I’d make myself late or not show up. The someone that I need to talk to is dead. The woman that raised my father said it would get better; she died less a month after my daddy did. What am I looking forward to?

Patience is invisible in my world, although I’m not as mean as I was a few months ago. That’s my opinion. I still like to blast certain people who say dumb things with no meaning. You can’t have an opinion about someone else’s opinion, but I don’t care. I’m talking shut them down and get out my face blast. Rude for Miss WandaLuv, but effective.

See, I had this multimillion-dollar empire planned for my family. The dream that my daddy chased all his life ran to me. Miss Luv’s Books was formed, NYC was the place where my astronomical comedy career would blossom - my father would lavish in it. He pushed me, he told me that I was still young and it took work. My daddy told me to keep at it. “Babygirl people work their whole lives to make it; you got plenty of time.” I wish I had enough time for him.

My prior life of hustling for it is somewhere. I don’t make any effort to develop the uniqueness that is I. In all honesty – I’m all fucked up. Just tired, angry and aggravated. Am I going to commit suicide? Hell naw, fool! My daddy would kill me! This is my attempt at getting back to the swing of things. Misery could care less about who it chooses for company.

On March 2nd I’ll be forty-three. Before June 4th I loved my birthday. I’d buy myself a present, go out or celebrate with friends. When I turned thirty I threw my own birthday party. What a vain heffa I was. This year I will think about how my daddy felt the day that I was born. He had something that was for him and still is his. I’ll get it together one day.

When will these weird dreams stop? Why do I wake up tired when I don’t dream? Why do I keep seeing him lying in that coffin? By the way, he was laid out in a gold-ish tan colored suit that matched the coffin. He was always a suit wearing well-dressed man. My father’s love of clothes, his laugh that I can still hear, and his voice. These are some of the things that I never want to forget. Do you forget?

I want to sell books and perform on stage. Book clubs need me to make their meetings exciting. Comedy shows need a little luv. My Blog Talk Radio Show – Wanda’s Way - was HOT. Wait for Love: A Black Girl’s Story, LuvMe, the book and the fragrance, and A Sheltered Life need me to make it. I need a stimulus plan custom designed for me.

How do you live with depression? It’s easy. Take a shower, go to work, go back home, take a shit, and go to bed. Plenty of us do it everyday. Many of us have been doing it for years. When distress happens in your life most of us call our mother. My mother doesn’t care to talk about my daddy. They were divorced after twenty-seven years of marriage. They both remarried, but she still brings up things that happened in 1970. The husband-wife relationship is totally different than the father-daughter one. The first person I called when I found about my daddy was her. She told me to be strong. She didn’t realize that she was talking to a baby and babies aren’t supposed to be strong. I don’t give a damn about her past and I guess she doesn’t care about my present. All fucked up.

A good job is challenging to find and to quit a job is idiotic, but one day I have to resign from this one. No unemployment for quitters, which would mean no Cheetos for Dasia…back to my first request. Working Depression, Please Fire Me.

I love you, Daddy.

Wanda D. Hudson