When a Homeless man is murdered; it doesn’t hurt ANY less than if he had a roof over his head

He was becoming my friend. I met Shakespeare while crossing the street on the corner of Lincoln Blvd and Rose Ave.  I’d just moved to Venice; which is a place I NEVER thought I’d live. While I love the Beach and the Beach community; Venice Beach, Ca is NOT like Santa Monica, Marina Del Rey, Pacific Palisades and certainly NOT Malibu. VeniceBeach is a Culture of transients, wealthy, mentally ill, The unstable to The stable, those in flux and those who have either made a choice to live on the streets Or the choice has been made for them. Some refer to   The Venice Community as:

.  A slice of Heaven

.  Weird

.  Strange

.  Interesting

.  Exotic

.  Creepy

.  Dirty

.  Beautiful   

I can attest to the fact that VeniceBeach is ALL of that and more.  My boss  would joke that I would know the names of ALL of the homeless people, in my neighborhood, in a matter of weeks. Sometime I feel like I’d rather know their names, than the names of those who live in apartments, condos and homes homes

As Shakespeare and I walked in the same direction, a connection was quickly made. I had NO idea he was homeless. It never dawned on me that his very handsome, YOUNG, charming man with a smile that made you feel safe, would be calling the Streets of VeniceBeach his home.  We exchanged instagram information and parted ways after I invited him to try our water when our new store opened in a few weeks. 

He took me up on my offer and showed up for water a month later. We quickly built a friendship and within a couple of weeks, I would hired Shakespeare to work as a part of our “Street Team Marketing” passing out coupons and taking photos with prospective new customers. He’d come into the store and we’d talk about EVERYTHING under the sun. I would share half of my lunch with him or treat him to a lunch at Whole Foods. I quickly found myself offering to allow him to take a shower at my place or even crash when the timing was right. He was my bruther. I would sometimes look at him as the son I could’ve easily had. Although he was an old soul at 26 years young; we had a lot in common. I was championing for this young man. I saw pure light in  every blink of his eye and in  every word he spoke. Jascent-Jamal Warren, A.K.A., Shakespeare, The word smith, shared his desires of becoming a BETTER man. He said, “I want to be better, not just for a woman…my Queen, but for myself.”  He was intelligent, hard-working, hungry for knowledge and thirsty for peace…inner-peace. He was Homeless by choice. He was college educated with a strong work ethic. This was a young artist who simply got tired of the 9-to-5 vortex that most have come to believe as the norm. Sure, being homeless was a consequence of his decisions; however, it was also his price for Freedom. Shakespeare lived his life as a FREE man. I admired his courage. It takes courage to wake up and NOT know for sure where your next meal is coming from, where or if you will get a shower or where you’ll lie your head at night. Thank God we live in Southern California, where the weather is mostly conducive to living a homeless lifestyle. And a lifestyle it is.

Saturday night, Aug 29th, just hours before Shakespeare would be gunned down by, who we believe to be a stranger, who had an issue with him and some other homeless people sleeping in front of the Cadillac Hotel on Ocean Front Walk.  I had been thinking about calling him and telling him to walk to Marina Del Rey and get my house key. I’m feeling heavy and feeling some sort of way about not having done that.  Had I offered him my home for the night; maybe he would still be alive. My rational self also knows that we come into this physical space with Free-Will.  And although it was not my will for this young man to not fulfill his purpose, maybe Spirit…the Universe (God) knew his time here had been fulfilled. 

I often ask myself, “Why am I still here?” I believe I’m clear on my purpose and then something like this makes me question and second guess my purpose. I know that my friendship with Shakespeare was real and special. WE happened for a reason and now a Season. My heart is still heavy and I feel deeply saddened  by the death of my new friend. I feel ANGER and Disgust for those who disregard and discard those without a home; as if they too, aren't worthy of respect, understanding and love. Can you imagine going days, weeks, months and even years without people acknowledging you and speaking to you; as opposed to shouting at you. Can you imagine what it must be like NOT being held and told you are loved.    What must it be like to not engage in dialogue and to be stimulated by human conversation. You too would begin to talk to yourself. It must be a lonely existence. While I'm experiencing these many emotions; I'm also feeling Blessed and honored for having known him.  

My sister advised me NOT to allow the loss of this dear soul to deter me from getting close to other homeless people.  I miss Shakespeare. I will miss  watching him grow into the man  he told me he always wanted to be.  R.I.P.

My hope is that WE will come to learn, sooner than later, that there is NO separation between Us. We are all connected. Having a home, car, money, jewelry, a job and OPPORTUNITY makes you NO better than those who don't have. It makes you fortunate

Fee King
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Malibu is STANKY! Malibu is Nae-Nae!!

The last place in the World I ever thought I, Fylicia Renee’ King, a.k.a., Fee King, would be doing the Stanky leg and the Nae Nae, would be in Malibu, CA. OR, should I say learning how to perfect my “Stanky leg”

Live long enough and expect life to throw a few curve balls at you

I jumped out of bed at 5:40 this morning; excited to drive to Malibu for our first Sponsored event with the American Cancer Association’s Relay for Life Fundraiser.

As usual, I am going to be the Elephant on the internet when I say that women don’t always show one another love. Especially women in the Health and Fitness arena. Some women tend to be a little clickish in the fitness arena. There! I said it.  I know some may disagree; however, it has been my experience in this industry for nearly 20 years, that SOME women tend to be a little competitive and the green eyed monster rears her ugly head at times.  However, Not these ladies on this day in Sunny Malibu, California.

The event started with the Opening Keynote address by a TWO time cancer survivor, named Adrienne Slaughter, who also happens to be a single leg amputee since the age of 14. She and I instantly hit it off.  Her aura was so ferociously bright; that her lack of having two legs seemed  irrelevant. She was a vibrant and  interesting woman with a  positive outlook on life and her situation; which really isn’t a situation at all. She’s a SURVIVOR. She shared her story of:

.  FAITH

.  COURAGE

.  TENANCITY     AND

.  POSITIVITY

Her story, unexpectedly brought tears to my eyes.  It wasn’t from feeling sorry for her. Her story reminded me of those I’ve loved and lost to the dreadful disease called:  CANCER. When I lost my High School Sweetheart to cancer  in 1987.  My Best friend, lost her battle with cancer in 2009.  Last, but not least, when I lost my beloved mother to Cancer in 2011.  I was quickly reminded that I have something more in common with these ladies than the reason I was there; which was to share the gift of hydration.  We have CANCER in common. Her story reinforced that I really have  NO problems at all.  Her story reminded me  that God uses the strong as messengers for Hope.

Next coming to the stage was a fitness trainer named Coach Neda of JÄM (Juicy Athletic Moves)  When she invited EVERYONE to the grassy green area for a 30-min dance infused workout; I’ll be honest. I said to myself, “Self, you know this is about to be some rythmless aerobic-Esque style grape vine-doin dance routine to some bootleg Hip-Hop House infused music.”  I’m Keep’n it 100 right now. That’s what I thought.  Boy was I wrong. This is why making assumptions, makes an ASS out of Me and …ME!

For a minute, I thought they were filming a scene from “Malibu’s Most Wanted Part II” and nobody gave me my sides. LoL  Nedra of Malibu is The TRUTH. Nothing better than seeing a group of 40 + year old  women doing the “Stanky Leg” , “Breaking their legs” doing the “Nae-Nae” and having FUN!  It was less about getting the dance steps right and more about being in the moment, connected to your body and simply doing your best.

What I loved about Neda’s class this morning was her:

.  PASSION

.  COMMITMENT to the routine

.  ABILITY to incorporate the dance steps with movements that targeted the abs, glutes and thighs

.  POSITIVE and OUTGOING ENERGY 

.  ABILITY to instruct while performing

I have made new friends in fitness and I am excited.

Not only can White men Jump, but  “White women can dance”.   LoL

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HOT Buttery, Butt-Naked, Yummy, Delicious Man Flesh Cinematic Fantasy FUN 2 be had @ Magic Mike XXL

I'm just going to dive right in on this one.  I don't believe in OBJECTIFYING men; however, Tatum Channing is...is...is White Chocolate!  There! I said it. Fee's FIVE Top Reasons to go and see Magic Mike XXL:

.  You've been celibate for a while and you're straddling the fence

.  You're newly single

.  You've been married for a while and things are starting to get stale

.  You LOVE seeing nearly naked men getting their ultimate groove on while wearing a G-String.

There! That's all I have for you!! LOL

I had absolutely NO intention on ever going to see Magic Mike XXL. I was at the Third Street Promenade on  4th of July and wanted to kill sometime.  I  ended up at the ticket counter purchasing a ticket for ONE.

As I stood in line, a guy comes up and stands next to me and says, "I'll probably be the only man going to see this movie"  That's when I knew, I was in for a ride. And what a ride it was.

Now, I'll be honest. I found the first 20-30 minutes of the movie to drag a little bit. It wasn't grounded in much reality for me. There were scenes in the film that were not very believable. Additionally, without giving much of the story line away, the stakes for Tatum, a.k.a., Magic Mike's character, were not high enough.  I found myself re-writing the scene where he decides to join his old buddies for one last romp as a male exotic dancer.  Missing the good ole bump-N-Grind days of stripping to Genuine's "Pony" was NOT a strong enough choice for me to believe that's why he went back on the road. After all, his character had a somewhat stable career and was on the fast track to success. And he got to keep his clothes on doing it. However, Tatum has moves that are  Big Screen worthy. Actually, Tatum has moves that can be done right here in my loft. LOL  The man can dance. He dances in a way that can't be taught. His dance moves can unrealistically set the bar too high for the average man. Once I got over that weak story like and decided not to ask for my money back, the movie got good.

As soon as Jada Pinkett-Smith's character was introduced; it was on. As soon as they took us into the debauchery full of:
.  FINE
.  FIT
.  FIRM
.  GLISTENING
.  SWEATY, HOT and tantalizing Mounds of chocolate testosterone of varying shades, builds and heights; The roller coaster ride of thunderous emotions was on display for everyone in that movie theatre to experience.

I found myself clapping, cat calling, whistling and calling out "WhooHoo"  I could not believe how vocal I was.  I have NEVER, EVER, EVER been that vocal in a movie theater. I was singing the song, "All I do is WIN". I was cheering and ogling the characters. I was having a good ole time all by MYSELF.

Every actor, from Tatum Channing, Michael Straham, CSI's Adam Rodrigues, Amy Smart, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Joe Manganiello to Andi McDowell, brought something undeniably scrumptious to their character. I loved how these people didn't take themselves too seriously. You can tell they had a good time filming this movie. Andi McDowell will surprise you. There is something for EVERY woman and gay man in this film

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.

What happens when U STOP being tied to other's opinions of You!!

Yesterday, I said I will speak and greet every person I come into contact with today with a Smile and a hello, good morning or good afternoon.  I know what you're thinking, "That's easy for you Fee, "you're always friendly and happy"!  NOT! I work at it people. I make a conscious decision to do my absolute best EVERYDAY. We are bombarded with too a borage of:
.  Choices
.  Options
.  Stimuli
.  Colorful Characters
.  Loud Noises, etc, etc, etc

I live in a community, called the Beach community; which I absolutely love. However, I am bombarded with people, who in my opinion, have  "The Sense of Entitlement Sydrome"  We ALL know what they look like, how they behave, what they drive and even what their voices sound like. Well, except for those who are displaying these annoying attributes. I'll stop there.

I also live in a community of the land of the homeless, disenfranchised and often times mentally ill. I love all of it; as it allows me the opportunity to rise to the challenge of being:

.  Kind

.  Forgiving

.  Compassionate

.  Real

.  Authentic

  .    Loving     - Or NOT!

.  True to myself

I'm nearly hit by a car or either feel the rush of a driver to get out of their way, either while I'm crossing the street, in a cross walk or when riding  my bike. So, at times, my guard is up and I'm a little tense and feeling aggressive. I digress. lol

I enter my new favorite; yet unfavorite coffee shop on Rose called "The Groundworks". I LOVE the coffee, but am not in love with the atmosphere. The staff isn't overly friendly or really friendly and warm at all. It's not like my Urth Cafe. I had a moment of reflection and decided to see if it was me. Am I the one creating this sort of tension and distance between myself, the staff and the other customers when I walk in. I will take 30% of the responsibility, but not all of it. So, yesterday, with my NEW intentions set forth, I decided no matter what and no matter WHO; I am going to smile, greet people I come into contact with; while checking  my energy and attitude at the door. It sort of worked. While waiting for my coffee barista to brew my small almond latte, extra hot with a little room, the woman standing next to me sizes me up. She looked me up and down from head to toe beginning at my paint speckled adiddas animal print running shoes to my not so eloquently wrapped head wrap. And, she did it unapologetically. Before I could react with some sistah-girl sass and attitude, she smiled and quipped, "I Love it. "I love your whole look"  That is working from the scarf, to the polka dot blue dress over the jeans with deliberate holes and the SHOES...I LOVE those tennis shoes." 

 I burst out laughing. I couldn't help but tell her that if my sister were here, she would tell both of us that I looked a Hot mess and to go home and start over.  Nothing was matching and I didn't care.  (Photo insert) I was comfortable and on my way to do the FINAL cleaning and exit from the OLD apt in Santa Monica to the NEW apt, career and lifestyle I am creating in Venice. And it's true - I don't give a damn what people think about what I'm wearing, how I'm wearing it and why I'm wearing. My WHY is so crystal clear; that the only person who's opinion of me that matters is Mine.  Living in a Beach community, people tend to be extremely casual. That's why I love it over here. Now, I know how to put it together when I need and want to; however, most of the time there is no need and I don't want to.

With that being said, when we decide to just be US; then the opinions of others matters less and less.  When we realize the energy we are receiving from others might be due to our own stuff and our projecting of our own stuff on to others; we then empower ourselves to do something about it... or NOT. I personally like, when people are happy AND grateful that I am patronizing their business. So, I will continue to buy my coffee from Groundworks coffee; while I expect my Positive, Bubbly and Effervescent Energy to rub off on them. lol     If it takes longer than I like; they will come to realize that they are not the only show in town.

Define and Focus on Your WHY today and EVERYDAY

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Ya Hollywood Fitness GotoGurl!: My neighbors called the cops on my “Black (Male) H...

Ya Hollywood Fitness GotoGurl!: My neighbors called the cops on my “Black (Male) H...: I know that racism, sexism and classicism is alive and well.  Although I am Not a black man, I tend to think I have some idea of what it ...

My neighbors called the cops on my “Black (Male) Housekeeper”

I know that racism, sexism and classicism is alive and well.  Although I am Not a black man, I tend to think I have some idea of what it means to be a Black Man.  Today, I realized I have NO idea. 

I hired a new housekeeping company a few days ago by the name of handy.com to clean my place once a week while I’m vacationing in Maui.  It’s a new app that allows you to book cleaning professionals via the app or via their website.  And, your first cleaning is ONLY $29.99.  You pay for what you get people. Remember you read it here. I digress. That’s another story that I plan to blog about.

I was shocked when my new cleaning professional, Daryl, informed me that he was unable to clean my apartment this morning due to being ushered off of the property by Santa Monica P.D for loitering.  WTFreak! He had to have been at the wrong complex, I thought.  Prior to having this phone conversation with Daryl, the only plausible reason I could come up with for this young man to be asked to leave an unsecured apartment building, would be because he’s a Black-American. After speaking with Daryl, I could tell he was a brutha. He's very polite, articulate and professional. Yet, he’s still BLACK! I live in a small beach community, where it’s not unusual to see new faces several times a day. My neighbors enjoy entertaining; as well as subletting their apartments, on a short term basis. Therefore, it’s very common to see faces that you don’t recognize. Although, I’m pretty much the ONLY black face you'll see on the premises, my neighbors seem to be very:

.  open-minded

.  well socialized

.  non-bigotry (Is that a real word)

kind of people.   My neighbor (s) aren’t prejudiced. My neighbors don’t racially profile. After all, they like me. Oh! That’s right. I’m not a threat. I’m NOT a loaded walking Black man. 

My cleaning professional arrived thirty minutes prior to his scheduled cleaning time.  While awaiting instructions on where to pick the key up from, he decided to sit in the back seat of his vehicle to have a phone conversation with the handy.com dispatcher.  Additionally, he took a walk to the beach, while he killed time waiting for a response as to where he could pick up the key. Within less than 30-minutes of being on the property where I reside, in Santa Monica Ca, an African-American police officer approached his vehicle with a barrage of questions. My new housekeeping professional was able to show the officer his credentials; as well as explained why he was on the premises.  The young man, my new and now former, housekeeping professional shared with me that he’s from Los Angeles and knows how these things work.  WTFreak! No one should be accustomed to how THIS works.  The police officer, gave him that look that ONLY minorities give one another, when they know some bull shit has just gone down; however, it’s best that you move along, so as to not cause any further issues.

Not only am I embarrassed, but I am disappointed. The old Fylicia couldn’t wait to get home; so she could go off on her neighbors. But, what good would that do?  You can’t fight ignorance with ignorance. Here we are in the year 2015 and this type of ignorance is still happening. My heart is heavy. I felt bad for this young man. I don’t have the answer; however, I am open to coming up with some solutions.  Please weigh in on this issue.

Black Lives Matter!

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What Up My NIGGA!!

I was asked by a very good friend of mine, who just soo happens  NOT be of Black-American ancestry, why do black people greet one another with:  “What up my nigger!  He also wanted to know why Black people get upset when non-blacks are heard using this word. I was excited for this opportunity to, firstly give him a brief history of the word, from my perspective. However, I had to begin by lovingly explaining to him the difference between the two words; so that he wouldn’t make any inappropriate public mistakes…if you catch my drift.  There is a difference between:  

                                   .  Nigger                               AND

.  Niggah

I also took this opportunity to share with my good friend, that in ALL of my years on this Earth and my travels both in this country and abroad, that NOT one of my Black-American friends has EVER greeted me in such a despicable, degrading and disrespectful way.  No two black person’s are alike.

Being from another country and of another culture, he thinks that if WE, meaning black people, openly and publicly refer to one another by the “N” word, then why is it upsetting to Us that others reference US that way.  Herein lies the issue with the “N” word. This is why this word had to be buried and need not continue to be resurrected. 

Once considered a term of endearment amongst those in the black community. Although, some black people would argue that they have NEVER used the word. Um! Okay. I, on the other had, have used the word. However, now that I know better…I do better.  I liken the “N” word to chitterlings. Black-American slaves were fed the worst part of the pig. They, in turn turned this negative into a positive, by preparing the pig’s intestines in a way that was palatable.  These creative and resourceful Black people would infuse;  seasonings and a more suitable way of cleaning the innards of the pig; which over the course of time became a delicatessen in some homes. Still is today for some Black households.  They did the same with the “N” word. We changed the spelling and the pronunciation of this ugly word and tricked ourselves into thinking we were  creating some sort of solidarity and communion with one another when we referenced each other with “What up my Ni____!  It bothers me when I hear people, both young and old, referencing one another by this word. Its’ not cute. I don’t like it and I don’t think it’s necessary. Although, I grew up in the rap music culture; I blame rap for making this word accessible to ALL.  Not good. Not good at all. 

I went on to explain to my friend the difference in Us, Black people, using the word and white people using the word.  The history of the word nigger, originating around 1587, is often traced to the Latin word niger, meaning Black. This word became the noun, Negro (Black person) in English, and has been used to describe and refer to both Black-Americans and the Subsaharan African people’s as a form of:

.  inferiority

.  lesser in class

.  criticism

.  hostility

.  disregard

.  disrespect

My friend walked away with a better understanding; as did I. I get the hoopla over the word. I understand why some people would argue, if you can say it, then why can’t I. As my mother used to tell me growing up:  “Do as I say, Not as I do”. Know thyself and know OUR worth!

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Fibroids have NO Power over US!

I was around eight years old when my mother sent my sister and I to stay with my grandmother’s fishing buddy, Ms. Y’vetta, in Omaha, Ne. When you’re eight years old in the early 70’s, raised by a very strong, dominating and independent black mother, you don’t have the wherewithal,  the vocabulary, nor the courage to ask WHY?  You just do as you’re told.  My mother was never one to feel obligated to explain, to her children, why she was doing what she was doing. But, we trusted her and would follow her to the ends of the World if she said “Let’s go.”

Not until I was around thirty or thirty-one years of age, would I know why we were sent to stay with Ms. Yvetta for that short stint. 

I don’t recall exactly how old I was when I called my mother to tell her I had been diagnosed with uterine fibroid tumors, but I believe I was in my very early thirties. She didn’t seem surprised by my news. She dismissed it and replied, “Oh, I had those before when I was in my twenties.” “I had them removed when you and Nikki were little girls.”  In her nonchalant way of being, she told me she had a complete hysterectomy.  I realized the time we stayed with our grandmother’s friend, was the time my mother had her fibroid removal surgery. 

I’d known since I was a teenager that something was growing inside of me and it wasn’t a baby. It was a feeling I had. I used to get sharp knife-like pains in my abdomen days after my menstrual cycle. I complained to my mother about them and she told me, They’re just woman pains…’It means you’re becoming a woman,” She said.  She would speak in code that way; all mysterious sounding. lol.  I had no idea what pain in my abdomen had to do with becoming

a woman. I figured she didn’t either, so I dropped it.

By my early thirties, the tumors had grown so large and were growing fast, that it began to negatively affect nearly EVERY area of my life.  I was tired all the time. I was irritable and my uterus was the size of a 5-month pregnant woman. I opted for two procedures:

.  An Embolization

.  Partial Myoectomy.

I went with these procedures, because they were less invasive and would supposedly preserve my fertility, in the event, I ever decided to have children.  My sister flew down from Maryland to help me with the surgeries.  My mother, being the comic relief in the family, called the hospital a few days after my first procedure, to tell the doctor to give me a bikini incision; because I was an actress and might have to wear a bathing suit in a movie or tv show.  BYE! Momma. She also assumed I had a hysterectomy; although I told her about the procedures I opted to have. To know her, was to love her.  Bless her heart.

I was told, by my physician, that my fibroids would shrink by up to 50% after the embolization procedure. That hasn’t quite happened. Although I feel much better than I did eight years ago - I know that it's due to my DETERMINED spirit, the deep love and appreciation I have for my life condition, my meditation practice, exercise, a cleaner diet, more research and the work of my new chiropractor, Dr. Shanfar.  These uterine fibroids will be released from my body. I don’t know the “HOW”; however, I do believe it’s possible.  I've seen it come to fruition in my dreams.

Dr. Shanfar's approach to healing is to treat the whole person and not just the symptoms. She does this unique suction cup technique; which is painful, but you feel it moving the energy around and releasing scar tissue. Dr. Shanfar does this by incorporating nutrition, herbs, manipulation of the spine, joints of the extremities, and yoga poses, which have healing benefits for the mind and the body.

Dr. Shanfar’s technique  is one of the only absolutely non-invasive methods of healing where no external object will invade the very highly evolved system of intelligence that is the human body.  She is the first person, outside of myself, who is truly concerned; while being proactive with helping me to release these tumors from my uterus.  I went to her for my shoulder, my sciatic nerve and the clicking in ankles. Seeing her about my fibroids was the furthest from my mind. What I do know is that there are NO accidents. All things are in their divine order. And what doesn’t kill me, will make you stronger.  

I don’t typically allow people to touch my stomach. Not my massage therapist, not myself or my boyfriend. The work that Dr. Shanfar has been doing with me is  allowing me to unblock that sacred area. I now touch my own stomach. I massage my stomach. I lather my tummy with lotion, coconut oil and peppermint oil. I talk to my fibroids. I am learning to show compassion; which in turn I believe will help me to release them; as I no longer need them. I have many beliefs on why I developed  fibroids at an early age. That to be shared in a later blog.  What does matter is knowing that I have the power to release them from my body.

I share this with you because there are thousands of women suffering from fibroid tumors, uterine cysts and an array of other fertility-related situations. If me sharing my story gives another woman the power to start healing through her suffering; then my sharing will not have gone in vain.  I proudly wear the temporary scars from the suctioning technique that I have done twice a week. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Fuck Fibroids. They have no power over me and they have NO power over you.

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Are ALL the GOOD men in prison?

I've always had both a Fear and a Fascination with prison. My two biggest Fears in life have been:
.  Being a single mother
.  Going to prison

I'm claustrophobic; so I know I would lose my mind living in a 5 By 7 cell.  There's just certain things I know to be true about myself and that's one of them.

My mother, Donna-Marie Alvoid, God rest her beautiful soul, almost had me believing that ALL of the GOOD men were in deed in prison.

I'll never forget driving from Omaha, Ne to Lincoln, Ne to meet my mommas new boyfriend:  Edward Jackson. My younger sister and I would play in the background with the other visitor's children, while she and Mr. Edward talked and made  googly eyes at one another.  Mr. Edward was FINE too. He was that in-mate number 22, orange jump suit wearing, incarcerated, been lifting weights ALL day and eating mostly protein kinda-Fine.  He was buffed beyond belief with a creamy colored caramel vaseline-smooth skin and a smile that could put Bill Dee Williams out of show business.  The man was FINE!

My mom used to say to  me; which always felt more like advice that wasn't so good, that I needed to stop fooling with these FREE men and get me an inmate kinda love.  (I'm paraphrasing) I must've been all of thirteen or fourteen at the time of this advice.

As I watched the verdict being handed down in the Aaron Hernandez case yesterday morning, I was reminded of my mother's sentiment, that ALL the good men were in prison. Now,  I don't know if she meant that ALL the FINE men were in prison or if she really thought ALL of the hard working, educated, intelligent, conscious men, who really didn't commit that crime that landed him behind bars, kinda good man were in prison.

As the camera panned to Aaron Hernandez's expression when the verdict was handed down, I couldn't help but think, "Damn that man is FINE!"  I found myself looking around the gym to see if anyone heard my inner voice speaking outloud. He was nicely dressed with a fresh hair cut,  clear skin and a strong jaw line. He looked nothing like a murderer to me.  Good thing I wasn't on the jury.


Now that I'm older, I'd like to think I  understand what my mother may have meant when she said, "ALL the good men were in prison."  I believe she believed that soo many of our men (black men), who could've done something good with their lives, contributed to society in an impactful way, taken care of their children, loved their woman; simply made poor choices that landed them in prison.  And yes, the odds were and still are stacked against them.  It's not that ALL of them are BAD people. I don't believe there are BAD people; only people who make BAD choices and exhibit BAD behavior.  Aaron Hernandez is a man who apparently made BAD choice after BAD choice after BAD choice. His time has now come to the pay the piper.  

As for the notion that ALL of the good men are in prison; I think I'll take my chances with  a FREE man.

Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl
@Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl
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DON'T Ever think U are better; cause you're light skinned!!

I was reminded of my skin color, being lighter than my sibling and most of the other women on my mother’s side of the family. I remember the first time I came home with a tan. I had no idea black people COULD tan. I was around ten years old. I’d played at the local community pool:  Miller Park, for what seemed like hours just baking in that Omaha, Ne summer-time sun.  I had the time of my life. One would think I was a swimmer, by the amount of time I spent hanging out at the pool.  Thats exactly what I was doing…hanging out and playing in the water; rather than actually swimming.  I arrived home in the early evening and was met with my mother sneering at me from the hallway saying to me:

 “DON’T ever think you bettah than anybody else in this house, cause you light skinned!” 

I was reminded of that statement yesterday, as I sat baking in the hot pasadena, Ca sun for over NINE hours.  I had no idea I was burnt until I reached behind me, this morning, to wash my back. OMGoodness! It hurt! The worst part about being out in the sun ALL day, was ALLOWING myself to get dehydrated. 

Although I did pack 2 liters of my 9.5. Alkaline water; it was not nearly enough to get me through 9 hours of flea marketing in the hot 80-something degree sun.  I had moments of thinking about the children of Tanzania and other parts of Africa and India, who don’t have access to clean water flowing from their faucets.  Additionally, these children might go several days without drinking any water. And here I was feeling sorry for myself. It’s not that I couldn’t get any water. It’s that I refused to spend $5 damn dollars for a bottle of water, that’s probably city tap water with fancy labeling bottled  in toxic plastic.  I figured if those babies  and moms of Africa and India; as well as other under developed countries can go days without water; surely can I go a few extra hours without water.  Well, here in lies the difference between us with our FIRST World problems and those with Third World problems:

.  At least we CAN drink the  water that flows from our tap and not get sick or die immediately

.  At least we DO have access to FREE water

.  We DON’T have to walk for miles just to fetch dirty river water to drink

.  Our bodies have become accustomed to having water on a pretty frequent basis

.  We get a lot of water from the food we eat; especially if we eat fruit and drink tea, coffee and those gosh-awful energy drinks

Although I know each one of our issues, circumstances and problems are relative; I couldn’t help but feel as if I was acting spoiled and a little entitled by the illusion that I NEEDED more than the 2 liters of water I packed with me.

Maybe or maybe not. Either way, by the end of my Awesome flea market experience of selling my favorite leggings with my girl, Too Tite Tonya Jones, I left Pasadena with a sunburn and a bout of severe dehydration that left me with an intense headache that is still slightly lingering today.

If this sounds like I’m complaining, it’s because I am.  Just a little bit. However, it’s mostly me offering you the opportunity to really show gratitude for what we have in this country; while being mindful of what We can do, collectively, as a people, community and country to help those who were simply born in a disadvantaged situation.  Don't take water for granted. Appreciate the water that we have flowing from our faucets, fire hydrants and water hoses.

As a ten-year old girl, I didn’t know what my mother meant by telling me not to think I was better than anyone else; only that I knew it was something serious and she meant business. I could tell by her tone that she was giving me a warning.  I now realize that when people think that WE think we’re better or cuter or smarter than them; it’s not OUR truth. It simply means that THEY, themselves, think that we are all of those things.  While I don’t believe my mother thought her first born  was better than she, my sister or other family members were. I believe she was preparing me to deal with the opinion of others. She wanted to keep me humble; while being prepared for the backlash of being perceived as different.  I, personally like my summer-time darker skin. I wish I could get as black as the night.

Love yourselves!

Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl

@yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl

Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl@gmail.com

How do you know when you're ready 2 let Go and Let GOD!

August 2011, I cried a tearful goodbye to my Black Jeep wrangler i affectionately named “Jeep Chronicles.” As I watched the tow truck take her away to her new owners, I was both sad and relieved. I had NO idea of my “HOW.” 

How was I going to:

.  To go grocery shopping

.  Get to the gym, The Santa Monica Stairs, Runyon Canyon

.  Spend time with friends

.  Get to the airport

.  LIVE

What I did know what that life did Not begin and end with my jeep wrangler. Although, at times, it did feel as though my identity as Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl and Fee King, the actor, were directly tied to that jeep. It was all about the look. I’d roll around Hollywood, Santa Monica and  LA, with the top down, my frohawk blowing in the wind,  my “No More Muffin Top” Logo on my back spare tire, jamming Tupac, Ledisi, Jaheim, Mary J. Blige and Luther Vandross.

I really thought I was the SHIT.  Then it all came to an end. I was done. I was definitely going through a shift in my life. I was over registering my jeep. I was sick and tired of putting my hard earned quarters into parking meters. I was frustrated with traffic. I loathed getting on the freeway.  I thought I would lose my freakin-A mind if my jeep got towed one more time due to outstanding tickets Maybe that one was due to my irresponsibility.

I walked away and NEVER looked back. I didn’t wonder, nor did I care what my actor, producer and writer friend’s would think if they saw Fee King on the bus or even worse…walking. You see, La is NOT a public transportation town. 

I had FAITH, CONFIDENCE and a DESIRE to design the life I wanted to live; which was a life of less stress.  

How did I do it you ask?

.  I prayed for patience and humility

.  I meditated for clarity and clearness

.  I believed in myself and God

.  I stayed Positive amidst the storms and challenges

.  I down-sized my circle of influence

.  I got a zip car membership  AND

.  I GOT A BUSS PASS!

Because I moved to Santa Monica, one would think the transition to riding a bike would be natural, right? NOT! Here’s the thing. I was turning 41. I hadn’t ridden a bike since I was in elementary school and I was terrified of a car door opening on me, while I was passing. I had vision of seeing myself flying over the handle bars of my beach cruiser, landing in the middle of the street and too embarrassed to get up. 

Three years later, all of that would change. I began dating a man who loved to cycle. This man does 100-mile rides. I mean he’s got the outfits to match. He’s suited and booted with the padded jumpsuit style shorts, the matching cycle jersey and the clip-in peddle shoes. I’m sure these things have real names, but I don’t know what they are because i’ve vowed to NEVER become that girl. What I will do; however, is continue to hop on my new bike as often as I can to either transport me to work, to the movie theater or simply taking a two and half hour trek from Santa Monica to Hermosa Beach.  No matter what mood I’m in when I get on that bike. I’m instantly catapulted into a place of pure bliss, freedom and gratitude.

I had no idea of the HOW four years ago. As I continue to live, learn and grow - I’m learning to trust my gut instinct and my intuition while living my life with FAITH.  People still look at my quizically when I tell them that I don’t have a car and that it’s by choice. What I do have, is a great life. One which is met with obstacles, challenges, triumphs and successes that keep me in a perpetual state of compassion for myself and others.  Can you believe this black girl (Woman) rides a bike?? WhooHoo!!

Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl

@Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl

Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl@gmail.com

Now I know where ALL the happy white people are...in Church!!

Love will make you do some crazy things. My boyfriend asked me to go to church with he and his family Saturday evening in Santa Clarita. I haven’t been to church in seven or eight years.  When we started dating, I told him I didn’t go to church and that i’ve been there, done that and i have the t-shirt to prove it. I also told him that i believe in God and that I have a personal relationship with God.  Lastly, I told him I had no interest in conversion. I’m opposed to labels and I take issue with people throwing around the title of being a “Christian” to loosely and then passing judgement if you’ve decided to NOT prescribed to organized religion.

So, here I am ironing my red party dress preparing to enter the doors of the church house with my man in tow. Thank goodness he phones me to tell me that they dress casual at this church. At least I wore a skirt. 

We arrived in Santa Clarita, after a 50-minute drive. Who drives nearly an hour to worship?  The same people who drive nearly an hour for a Jay Z or Beyonce concert I’m sure. No judgement. We walk up to the church and it looks like a mini concert hall with outdoor seating, big flat screen t.v.’s all around and a coffee shop.  We walk in to be greeted by what appeared to be happy people, smiling and welcoming us.  Now, I am treading lightly on water when I say this next statement.  But, here goes.  I have NEVER been in a room full of so many caucasian people smiling at me and greeting me with hellos. I’m just saying that …that has NOT been MY experience.  One after the other welcomed me. Several women gently pushed past other women to tell me how much they loved my hair. I seriously thought I was on candid camera. If only WE could all be that kind, loving and sincere with one another when we’re pushing our carts passed one another in the grocery store, at a traffic light or at a K-Mart blue light special. I’m just saying!  

We walk into the cathedral. Yes, I called it a cathedral. This was the largest church I’d ever been in.  It had stadium style seating and the room was dark. I almost thought we were waiting for Prince to hit the stage. The  the room became even darker before the stage lit up revealing  N’sync-like Christian Rock band.  WTFreak!  Young girls, between the ages of seven and nine were one row behind us singing the lyrics from the large flat screen tv screen projectors that scrolled: “King of Kings and  “our Savior saves”, yada! yada! yada!  They were adorable.  The band.. slash choir sang two songs too many; however, they played well together and had powerful voices. I liked them. I was on my feet swaying back and forth clapping my hand to my thighs. I was into it.   However, I did feel myself getting off beat.  I’m not sure what that was about; except that it frustrated me trying to get back on beat, in a church setting.

I couldn’t help but scan the congregation. I was one of maybe five black people; including the older black lady who was a choir member.  I know what you’re thinking:  Fee is always noticing race.  I notice OUR differences; yet celebrate our similarities.  I grew up visiting Baptist and The Kingdom Hall church, where black people attended church primarily with other black people.  I always wondered if white people went to church at all.  When I watched Tammy Faye Baker on TV, I thought it was a PBS special. I din’t know it was a real church.  lol

Not to mention, the last time I attended church, there were no women with rocking semi-backless dresses. There were no women walking around the church house with their entire G-String showing. Now, I’m not passing judgement; I’m just sharing the facts. My eyes and ears are recalling what I took in.

Soon after the choir/band performed, the collection bag followed. When I attended church, it was referred to as the “collection plate”.  Not only has the name changed, but they have an app. It’s called the “offering app”  WTFreak. 

The pastor, of “Real life Church” entered the stage area to address his audience. This is what he called them. I’m not making this up. Last time I attended church, they were referred to as “The congregation” or “paritioners” .  But, this is a new day and things have obviously changed. Pastor Rusty was a combination of stand up comedian, Adam Sandler, meets motivational speaker,Tony Robbins. He had a motivational speaker kind of vibe about himself.  

My take away from my experience at “Real Life Church’s” Easter Service is that this Christian Church is all about community. I get why families see the importance of worshipping with their children, family and friends. There was a sense of camaraderie and of belongingness. It was also confirmed to me that WE are far stronger together than we are SEGREGATED.  There was good energy resonating throughout the entire building. I would personally love to sit down and interview Pastor Rusty; as he’s got a good business model going on that I believe could be duplicated in any industry.

Now, will I return to “Real Life Church” for the Real people? Sure, why not.  Will I become a regular every Sunday church-goer?  Nah! However, I was enlightened and actually left with a better sense of what Easter is and why it’s celebrated Easter.  It’s less about the cadbury chocolate eggs and pas coloring dipped boiled eggs, chocolate covered hallow bunny rabbits and more about Jesus Christ resurrecting after three days, giving his followers hope because of the shedding of his blood. It’s still little murky for me. As a young girl, I would ask my mother questions about Jesus and the bible and she always told me, “We never question the bible”.  That was her way of saying, “Hell if I know and to stop asking her.”  So, here I am today, asking the questions and admitting that I don’t know much about the bible.  However, I am willing to learn; as I have a seeking spirit.

Yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl

@yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl

yahollywoodfitnessgotogurl@gmail.com