I'm the proud mother of a bubbly, bright 12-year-old girl named Skylar. She reminds me a lot of myself when I was that age, back when you couldn't see the ugly paneling on my bedroom walls because they were plastered with posters of The Boys and New Edition, and my soundtrack to life was created by my own personal she-roes: Janet Jackson and Mary J. Blige...

Anyone who has ever spent time in the house of the Lord knows that church folks are liable to haul off and say just about anything, and not be shy about it either. So I didn't think it at all strange when an older woman launched into a long lecture to the young people on the dos and don'ts of decorum. I was in the middle of a silent prayer for her to get a gentler version of the Sandman Sims treatment when one of her comments backslapped me to attention...

My mama has given me loads of good advice over the years, but one that always sticks out: if someone is truly sorry for hurting you, they'll apologize like they're hurting, too. So with Mommy's words ringing in my ears, I believe sincerity, humility and timeliness are the hallmarks of a real apology. You know... the kind that doesn't have to be wrangled or shamed from the source...

Cell phones are convenient. Cell phones are helpful. Cell phones are full of functionality. But posited in the wrong hands, cell phones can be weapons of the utterly obnoxious. I could probably brainstorm two dozen instances when cell phone users have irked my nerves just this week. So I can only imagine what it was like to be a passenger riding in the same Amtrak train car as Lakeysha Beard...

Picture it: me (in heels) and an attractive guy about my age stand on the platform of the subway station. The unfolding plot: In a train car full of chaos, a lone seat opens up to offer comfort, stability and sweet foot relief to one lucky passenger. Across that crowded vessel he -- the beautiful chocolatey man with locs -- and I, the less-than-graceful sista girl, simultaneously spotted the opportunity to sit. I was a little closer, but four-inch stilettos ain't the kind of shoes that allow most of us to pivot, turn and break into an effortless sprint...

This is the time of year I live for: when it gets warm enough to say sayonara to wool coats, sweaters, even my beloved boots, and switch them out for pretty sundresses, jumpers, and sandals. I feel better in the summer. And if you ask me, I look better, too. My skin glows, my feet are cuter, my outfits are better...

Twitter and I just don't get along. I'll Facebook 'til carpal tunnel locks my fingers up, but I just don't enjoy the fast-paced world of tweets and twitpics. I was glad I stopped by yesterday, though, because I stumbled on news that Keyshia Cole married her NBA baller boo over the weekend. My first thought was go 'head, y'all! Because even though I'm smack dab in my eternal singledom, I'm genuinely happy for any couple who finds each other, from celebrity mash-ups to Pookie and Clandetta down the block. Even with all the bells and whistles of the new millennium, there's nothing like a good ol' fashioned love story...

Riding the Metro here in beautiful Washington, DC is fast sometimes, nerve-wracking frequently, but good for a story always. A few days ago, I managed to wrangle a seat when a band of loud, obnoxious teenagers — and y'all already know they were Black — got on the train just a-carryin' on. They tussled, they cussed, they hollered like they were at a barbecue in the park, not on an itty bitty train car in the early rush hour commute. I was glad they were having fun but they were cramping my style...

I'm going to warn you now: if you've never had a time in your life when you were wondering when God was going to show up, you probably aren't going to feel where I'm about to come from. I know there are plenty of good church folks who've never, ever had a "Really, Lord?" era when they've been teetering on the verge of going off, going numb or going crazy. You're able to pay your bills on time. Feeling good and healthy. Marriage and relationships all going swell. Kids acting right. I praise God for y'all. But I'm not talking to you...

Let's clear the air about a few things from the rip so we don't have to address the nefarious accusation that I am a hater: Melyssa Ford is a human roller coaster of womanly parts and windy curves that sway and pop in all the ideal places. She's a certified brickhouse. Janelle Harris is a stout and stubby editorial geek who gets far too much satisfaction from setting new records at the buffet to pursue the perfect Coke bottle physique. Them cornbread squares ain't gonna eat themselves...