Angry Black Bitch

Tonight I will claim the title of angry black bitch! Normally, I don't take kindly to being called a bitch but tonight I just feel like cussing the shit out of everybody so I'll do it here. Kids, cover them ears.

I cannot even go into what pissed me off today because it was a barrage of serious fuck-ups including but not limited to the signing of a 2-yr lease for an apartment. Let's just say, it was too deep to get into details. What I have taken from the way I was treated today is that motherfuckers don't give me the courtesy and respect that I deserve and give to others. So, I have decided that I will definitely need a law degree. I have been going back and forth about law school some experiences of late have brought me to a seriously angry place because of the way I was treated. I felt powerless and I HATE that feeling. Although a law degree doesn't make me omnipotent, it does tend to make people believe that there may be significant repercussions for their bad behavior. Whether it's the threat of losing money to losing their freedom, lawyers can intimidate for real and I need some of that intimidation power. It's become clear to me, people only respond to heavily laden threats at times followed by action. As a lawyer, I can sue the shit out of motherfuckers that piss me off. At least I can send them a threatening letter that tells them how easily and successfully I can destroy their lives if they don't do right by me. At this point, without the degree, I'm simply appealing to people's absent consciences. I haven't been very successful.

Unfortunately, no matter how intelligent, well-spoken and fair you are, you can't make people treat you with respect and levity. I swear I'm going to break on the next person who insults my intelligence, talks down to me, cuts me off on the road (I consider that disrespectful, like it or not!), dismisses me, passes on their responsibilities at work to me and a host of other shit that just boils my blood.

I'm not Albert Einstein but I am quite intelligent. I am no Halle Berry but I am beautiful. And I ain't no Mother Teresa but I am definitely kind. For so many reasons, I am worthy of a lot more respect and consideration than I receive on a daily basis. There comes a point when you get sick and fucking tired of giving love, kindness, respect and positive energy to other people and not getting it back. There's only so much goodness I can put into the world without getting some back. I need to replenish my resources. This is why black women are given a bad rap! Black women are some of the most caring, kind women I know. Why then are we labeled as angry and abrasive? I know! Because we get to a motherfucking point when we get tired of doing right by motherfuckers when no-motherfucking-body is doing right by us! There is only so much a person can take. I can't keep giving. I need some goodness for myself.

Let me tell you something: I know I am an amazing human being. I don't have to guess. You know why? Because I put a lot of effort and thought into how I treat other people. I am not always successful in being as good to others as I would like but I can sincerely say that I am constantly striving to be better. You know what? Other motherfuckers don't give a fuck about how they treat other people. They are concerned with getting money. They want money and power so that they don't HAVE to treat people like me with respect. Silly me. I've been living my life by The Golden Rule all this time, believing that the good I put out into the universe will come back to me somehow. Right now, I am not feeling one iota of goodness and, to be honest, I want my goodness back so I can use it on myself! If I spent half the energy I take trying to be good to others, I could be rich, powerful and happy myself. It's really something to think about.

I'm just tired of people half-assing shit with me. If I pay for a service, I expect that service to be worth the money I paid for it. Don't disrespect me as if I am getting that service for free. I deserve to be treated well. Don't assume that I don't understand something because I am a black woman. On the contrary, I tend to be significantly more intelligent than the people who try to talk down to me. Today, a woman who uses the phrase "for all intensive purposes" tried to convince ME that I did not understand the simple concept of an incentive. The problem was, she didn't understand the concept of professionalism and respect. Did I tell her that maybe she should think about what an intensive purpose was before she tried to school me? No, because I'm trying to be good.

A couple of weeks ago, a mechanic I brought my car to mistook me for a dumb bitch. You know how this goes. A little lady brings her car in because it's making a funny sound or something smells like it's burning and, because she's a little lady, she obviously has no idea what she's talking about. Furthermore, she couldn't possibly understand an explanation of basic car problems because she has a vagine! So, it must be necessary to speak to her like a child when you explain what's wrong with her car. I'm used to this shit. Yes it pisses me off to no end, but I'm not surprised by it anymore. This scenario, in particular was on a whole other level. After telling these mechanics that my car was stalling I listened to them tell me that the car did not stall when they drove it. When I told them that my car regularly rolls backwards while it's in drive and my foot is on the gas on a moderate hill, I was told that I may have "too much stuff" in the back of my car. Hmmm, so, all of a sudden this "stuff" is heavy enough to make a car in drive roll backwards down a hill? Let me make sure you understand that when I say "roll", I don't mean a couple of feet backwards. I mean yards. I mean that if I don't mash the brakes, turn the car off and back on again, I will be rolling back until kingdom come. I tried it a few times and I got angry honks from the people behind me who thought I was on a suicide mission. Normal? I'd say not. In their quest to prove that I'm dumb and don't understand cars, one of the mechanics asked me how long it takes my car to warm up once I start up the engine. When I replied that it takes a really long time and doesn't really warm up until I start driving, another mechanic proceeded to painstakingly show me how to TURN THE HEAT ON in a car I have owned for at least 4 winters. He pressed the little button and EARNESTLY explained to me that the light has to be on for me to feel the heat. Do you think he would have assumed that I was talking about the heat in my car if he thought me to be a truly thinking human being? Who doesn't know how to turn on the heat in a car they have owned for YEARS? Who doesn't know how to turn the heat on in a car they just got into? Come on!

What pisses me off is that I KNOW I'm more intelligent than most of the people who insult my intelligence. I suppose the reason they do so is precisely their lack of intelligence. It doesn't allow them to broaden their perspective enough to conceive of me as capable of complex thoughts. Even with this knowledge it still pisses me the hell off. I would say being treated like an idiot is one of my top three pet peeves. Exacerbating circumstances occur when I know that treatment is a result of me being a woman, being black or both. It often is.

By the way, I took the stuff out of the back of the car just for shits and giggles. I'll give you one guess as to whether that shit is still rolling backwards down hills at alarming rates. Any suggestions?

Almond Milk

Almond milk

Amazing with cereal, super awkward with chocolate chip cookies.

That is all.

Monica is amazing!

This was one of those performances I watched in awe and that is mostly because of Monica.  Now, I love Keyshia Cole.  She is a passionate and beautiful artist but this wasn't her moment.  Although she did alright, she was pitchy.  She gets nervous often when she performs live and you can hear it in her voice. 

Monica proves herself to be a seasoned veteran and an explosive talent in this performance.  I mean, she is just a natural.  I have been meaning to post this video for quite some time but...you know how that goes.

Anyhoo, I LOVE Monica and have gained a new respect for her artistry and skill in the past 3-4 years.  What makes it better is that she has proven herself to be a classy and beautiful person inside and out as well.  That just makes her music sound 10 times better.  Enjoy Monica's performance here.

Blogging for Survival

Thus far, it has been extremely difficult for me to blog. It's been hard to express my feelings because they were so intertwined with someone else that I felt I was exposing him by expressing myself. If you know me, you know I perish without self-expression. It is who I am. It is what I do. For better or for worse, I thrive on expression.

That being said, I feel I've been frozen. Before I got into my 3-year relationship that just ended, I was a person with many friends and hobbies. I spent lots of time with family and friends and valued my interactions with everyone I came into contact with. I always had opinions to express and ideas to share. Being in a relationship has stifled that for me. I don't know why that part of me perished but I am sure that I want it back desperately.

So, I am blogging to survive. I am going to over-share like a motherfucker. There is nothing I have experienced that is new under the sun so I will share it without hesitation. I am no longer concerned with offending, alienating, or exposing anyone. I am going to say what I feel. I still have tact and plan to use it but I will not be private to a fault anymore. Being private is part of what kept me in a semi-unhappy relationship for too long. I love and trust the input of my family and friends. I have been missing their contributions to my life. I thought I was protecting my relationship by being private. I thought I was sending a message to the man I love about how much I cared for him by taking pains to keep my feelings and thoughts to myself. I didn't want to subject him to criticism or ridicule. Unfortunately, this desire to protect him made me lose myself. I want me back.

So, I am blogging to survive.

Nappy-headed hoes and other musings

So I posted the following on Facebook this morning. "Lord forgive me for calling that girl a "nappy-headed hoe" last night. Although the name was astonishingly perfect, it still doesn't excuse me being mean." Surprisingly, I received a lot of feedback so I figured I would post about it here in more detail.

First of all, let me make it clear that I do not dislike nappy hair. I've been wearing my hair natural my whole life. It started with my mother not letting me get a perm until I reached a certain age. By the time she let me, I didn't want one anymore. Needless to say, I've been a "nappy-headed hoe" my whole life. I was natural before it was hip. I was perm-free before it became a badge of honor for everyday card-carrying Black Nationalist. When I was in my early teens people would continually ask me "So when are you going to get a perm?" and "Don't you think you're getting a little too old for the curly hair thing?" And then they'd try to use positive reinforcement every time I got a blow-out by telling me "You look so nice with straight hair. You should keep it that way!" My conservative Jamaican aunt would continually ask me if I'd combed my hair that day and my even more conservative 90-year old Jamaican aunt sincerely expressed concerns about why I was growing dreadlocks (I was not growing locks).

Even with those comments, I think most would agree, my hair has always looked "put together." I have always worn my natural hair extremely neatly. It's probably due to the fact that I cultivated my natural look in a time without much acceptance for natural hair in almost any state but I have always been obsessed with looking neat. Honestly, if I walk out the house looking wild, I have always secretly believed I looked akin to a runaway slave. I'm not even gonna lie.

That being said, I don't think that every girl who wears her hair natural should wear it conservatively. One should express their own personality with all aspects of their style. My personal penchance for structure (read:anal retentive OCD) is clearly expressed with the way I choose to style my hair but I see lots of women who wear a more whimsical style beautifully. For the record, I'm learning to break out of my strict Caribbean upbringing by letting my hair wild a little more often. People always respond with praise to my wild hair days.

Needless to say, I am not biased against a little wild nappyness. What I do not like is a woman who figures that, because her hair is natural, WHATEVER she chooses to do with it is a good look. Let's be real here. God made us naturally beautiful but he gave us hands for a reason. They should be used to arrange one's hair on their head in an aesthetically pleasing form. At least that is what I believe. I am tired of girls using natural hair as an excuse to come out their house looking tore up. These women are giving natural hair a bad name.

I bumped into a girl like this last night. Actually, she bumped into me. That's why she became the object of this post. To be honest, if she had never started bumping into me and my friend repeatedly and unnecessarily while dancing off-beat and flailing her horrible hair in our faces, I would have just regarded her as a poor girl who hadn't quite mastered her hair yet. But it was this bothersome behaviour that made her the target of my ire and thus christened her "the nappy-headed hoe."

There were actually a number of nappy-headed hoes at the party I went to last night. I'm not surprised as "The Freedom Party" is pretty much their scene. I have nothing but love for The Freedom Party. I am now officially too old to be going to parties where the DJ is going through the top-played 10 Hot 97 records of the past 10 years. The Freedom Party is where music lovers come to church. It's a party where everyone is focused on the music and they're singing along to every word.

This party attracts a different crowd. At their best, they are naturally beautiful, intelligent positive people of color who want to go to a party with a good vibe and not have to hear about bitches crawling from the window to the wall with skeet skeet skeet on their backs getting superman'd and all other types of ignorance. At their worst, they attract a bunch of self-righteous negroes who believe their education and enlightenment give them the right to look down on people whose hair doesn't look like a bird's nest and don't feel the need to always wear earth-toned linens and "I *heart* my hair" tees to prove they love black people.

Last night, the balance was off. There were some beautiful positive people there just having a great time dancing to the music but they were overpowered by a number of nappy-headed hoes who looked like they ran out of moisturizer before they finished their hairstyle so they had to pretend that's how they meant to look. The particular young lady that I took issue with looked as if she actually worked hard to make her hair look dry and trashy. I wish I had a picture but I'll try to paint a picture for you all. The hair was dyed reddish brown. A hair color that you think only still exists in a Blaxploitation film. It's definitely not a modern auburn. I don't even think this color comes in a box. It looked like she poured scalding hot water on one of my mother's sweaters from the 70's until the color began to bleed and then soaked her hair in it. I didn't know hair color could be vintage until I looked at hers.

Anyhoo, the hair looked in need of a wash. It wasn't curly but it wasn't knotty throughout. Just at the ends, like she had attempted to run a comb through it but gave up and only succeeded in pushing all the naps to the end. Is this a style? No, seriously. Because I'm seeing a lot of women with this and it honestly looks like they didn't finish combing their hair. Anyway, it seems that once she gave up on "combing it through", she then haphazardly placed a few bobby pins in various parts of the hair with no rhyme or reason. Furthermore, I don't even know what she was attempting to hold with those pins. What resulted was a badly clipped, un-sexy mess.

Maybe the bad lighting did her wrong. If that's the case, I sincerely apologize to that nappy-headed hoe for so harshly judging her. Unfortunately, it's more likely that she was just a nappy-headed hoe. And in accordance with her "free spirit" hairstyling, this black lovechild was swaying back and forth like she was auditioning for Alvin Ailey and not in the middle of a packed party in a Brooklyn basement.

The first 10 times she bumped into me, I thought, "Fine. She's having a good time and has a loosely held concept of personal space. I'm not gonna get angry because this is a party of positive people."  Seriously, I really have to talk myself down in these situations. I have an anger management problem. This is my self-help. But after being bumped and pushed around for a half-hour, I could make no more excuses. This nappy-headed hoe was about to get it.

So, I pulled out the comb I usually carry around in my purse for moments like this and placed myself behind her carefully so I could be perfectly poised for the task at hand. I waited until a song transition when my nappy-headed friend would undoubtedly hesitate before failing at an attempt to catch the beat of a new song and grabbed her by the forehead. I tackled her and pinned her down to the ground like a wrestler or like my mother used to do me on Sunday nights after a laborious whole day of hair-washing and proceeded to run a comb from the roots of her hair to the ends. But alas, the task I had taken on was more than I could have ever imagined. The comb would not move. The hair was much too dry. So I called for back up.

"Joanne!" I cried to my friend. "Please grab that spray bottle and carrot cream from my purse!" Joanne gave me the tools I desired and I went to work. My nappy-headed friend didn't know what hit her. By the time she figured it all out I had moisturized and combed those ends, rearranged those sadly placed pins and made this child a woman again. I let her up (I had been holding her down this whole time) and she slowly and incredulously placed her hands on her hair. Smiling slowly, she realized what had been done and thanked me. The young man dancing with her thanked me even more for she had been assaulting his face with her dry-ass hair. I put my tools away and went back to dancing, secure in the knowledge that I was changing the world, one nappy-headed hoe at at a time

Disclaimer: I shouldn't need one because this is my blog and I can be as ign'ant as I want on here but I love black women and I want to make sure that it's clear how much I love natural hair of all textures, fully support black women going natural and have never used the n'word (nappy) so much in my life. Please know that I have no problem with nappy-headed hoes. I have a problem with dry-ass, lazy hair-styled hoes.

I Heart Mike Tyson's Running Man

Every Little Step with Mike Tyson & Wayne Brady from Mike Tyson

A few friends of mine already posted this video on Facebook but I had to share because Mike Tyson is the most endearing dancer I've ever seen. He's so animated and excited in this video it makes me wanna ask, "What ear-biting incident?" and "Robin Who?" Who can deny that face and those sincerely executed 90's moves? Lub-dub goes my heart.

On another note, I know it's common knowledge that Bobby Brown is a full-blown crackhead, among other things but am I the only person who gasped in horror at 2:30 when he opens his shirt and goes "aaaaahhhh"? Where are his teeth? I don't know if there's a couple missing or they just spread themselves apart. This is the "King of R&B"? Meanwhile, Whitney can't sing anymore.

These folks are just fanning the flames of a fire in which my childhood memories, heroes and innocence are all burning. Luckily, I'm quite good at separating who these people have become from the people I loved when I was a child. It's really helped me preserve good memories. You should try it. It works with people you know too! Just don't do it on a significant other because it'll be the reason you stay in a relationship too long. Then you'll wake up one day and realise that you don't even know the person you're with anymore because you've been too busy loving up who they used to be. Anyhoo, I have more than digressed. That is all for now.

Female Road Warrior

The best part of my day happened like this:

It's 1:45 pm and I'm pulling my well-loved (read, beat-up) minivan over on Third Avenue near 62nd Street to snag a parking spot that just opened up. My mother(professional back-seat driver) and I had been frantically looking for a spot because we were late for an appointment. As I quickly park in the spot, a middle-aged, heavy set white man who had been leaning on the meter exclaims:

"Whoa! You drive that van like a man!"

Me: "Why, thank you!"

Him: "Girl. I was standing here thinking that has got to be a man driving that van and then I see you!"

Me: *girly giggles and blushing*

That means a lot coming from a man. I take special pride in my ability to drive like a man. I can handle myself on the road. I'm a feminist and all, but when it comes to driving, it's an insult to call me a woman driver. Women drivers are hesitant, doubtful, passive and unfocused. When I'm driving, it is the main event. I'm not going to wait and see if the cab in front of me is going to pick up that group of drunk girls 50 feet ahead. I'm gonna overtake his ass so that I don't get caught behind him when he does. You feel me? You know what pisses me the hell off? I'm minding my business, speeding down the West Side Highway after another day of work and some blonde bitch in a black navigator nearly runs me into the damn Hudson river because she's yapping away on her cellphone. My thing is that if you don't weigh more than 150 pounds, you shouldn't be driving an SUV. I can't tell you how many times some little white girl has almost killed me because she can't drive a damn SUV. The worst part is that they're always alone in the car. Why are you driving an SUV alone?

One of my pet peeves is when random men on the street try to tell me how to operate my vehicle because I'm a woman. I can parallel park without keenly watching the vigorous hand motions you're making. I can do a broken u-turn without your guidance. I can merge into traffic and change lanes without your OK. I know I have breasts and I can look really cute and sweet to the untrained eye but I'm actually a crazy bitch behind the wheel. When you get in my car just put on your seat belt and prepare yourself for a thrilling (yet completely safe!) journey. I'm actually thinking of turning my minivan into a theme park ride. I'm just saying. Ask any of my friends how far-fetched that is.

But for real though, behind the wheel, I'm racist, sexist, classist (firefox says this isn't a word), ageist, homophobic, Islamophobic (I just wanted to say that)...you name it. Basically I hate everybody on the road that isn't me. I have a very specific and strongly held stereotype for every single type of driver and they're all negative! There are some neighborhoods I won't even drive through cause demographics have consistently proven them unnavigable! Yeah, this may sound horrible but I have tried and tested these theories. They are not coincidental!

One of my craziest moments in the car was one morning when I had to jump out of bed to move the car (street cleaning shit) and I hadn't combed my hair. This was when I was unemployed and lived on Second Avenue where they're building a subway! It was not a good combination. There were so few parking spaces that I would often park in a spot where I'd have to move my car early the next morning because, after driving around my neighborhood for hours falling asleep at the wheel, it was clear I wouldn't be getting the parking I needed that night. It also means that many a morning I overslept and ended up jumping out of my sleep and running out of the house wearing my baggy thermal underwear (which my boyfriend titled "the no-sex leggings") tucked into rain boots and a granny sweater to make sure I didn't get a ticket. Unemployed bitches cannot afford tickets. Anyhoo, I digress. This was a morning like any other but I suppose my hair was looking extra matted. I honestly didn't give a fuck because, if I remember correctly, I was having an emotionally dramatic personal crisis and just hated the world. So this dude believes I cut him off and he comes after me honking and cussing. Naturally, I respond in kind being lewd and lascivious as only I can be and I apparently shocked him because he got this horrified look on his face and said, "Go comb your hair!" He promptly speeds away leaving me, matted afro and all staring, dropped jaw in disbelief on how I just got played by this corny ass white man. I mean, yes, my hair looked a little wild but damn. My hair had nothing to do with it. That was a low blow. I drove home in silence. I guess he shut me the hell up.

Ahhh...driving in this city is a trip. Pun intended.

Update

So, I still haven't started updating this blog enough to expect any readers but I'm gonna keep on until I get a little better. I have made some changes since my last post that are improving the quality of my life. I have lost about 20 pounds! I can fit into the clothes that I had to pack away when I started gaining weight and I'm planning on losing another 15-20 lbs. Yay! Also, I moved earlier this month into a bigger apartment that I love! I can't write much more right now but I will be coming back for another update soon. This post is a little insipid for my taste. I need to impart some angry black woman-ness on my imaginary readers.

Tired of being fat

I've got a real problem on my hands that I've been too embarrassed to admit aloud. I am fat. Right now, I am about 30 pounds heavier than I should be. I can't fit my clothes. I refuse to buy bigger clothes because I feel that gives me license to stay fat. I guess I figure that if I make myself miserable enough by forcing myself to wear ill-fitting clothes, I will lose weight. If I get tired of looking at all the clothes in my closet that I can't/won't wear because I'm too fat to look the way I want to look in them, I will lose weight. If I (at first) refuse to cut my hair until my face gets slimmer and (later) decide to cut it and suffer with a too fat face for my haircut, I will definitely lose the weight. So far it hasn't worked. My vanity hasn't kicked in. I just feel and look like shit. And I've been too embarrassed to admit how out of control I feel. It is scary because, in the past, just deciding I would lose weight usually did the trick. Back then, I had probably gained weight because I had been overindulging. Now, even when I'm super aware of my portion control and the types of food I eat, I'm still fat. I guess I am officially old. Anyhoo, I guess I feel like I can admit this here because, as I said in my last post, I AM TALKING TO MYSELF. Well, self, you need to get your shit together because your vanity is remembering the days that you were a sexy bitch and we are not ready to let go of that. I am only 26 (albeit dangerously close to 27) after all. I have the rest of my life to be unattractive. Maybe writing it down will help me make a better commitment than just thinking of it. Perhaps if I get a reader or two in the next month, they can help motivate me. Well, here goes. I am going to lose weight because I want my life back. Here is how much weight I am going to lose: 20 pounds. That's just the beginning because I really would like to lose 30 altogether but 20 is a start. Stay tuned for how exactly I will do this because, at this point, I have no freaking idea.

Schizophrenic moves

At this point, I think it's pretty safe to say I'm writing to myself. There's no way that any of the three readers I had at some point are still checking my blog every week or so after MONTHS of absolutely no signs of life. Nonetheless, I'm mustering up the courage to write, to talk to no one. I'm actually pretty good at that. I talk to myself all the time. I was actually talking to myself quite excitedly in the car today when I realized that people in other cars can see me and are most likely clever enough to notice that I am not singing along to the radio but more likely having a schizo-like conversation with one of the people who live within my head. So yeah, talking to myself should be cool.