Monday, September 22, 2014

What is so wrong about being a Black Woman

     Hey, y'all. I usually hate writing when I'm angry, but I've been trying to cool down on this all day and it's just not working for me. Lately, it seems like everywhere I look, Black Women are being attacked for various reasons. We're too proud, we're too loud, we're too big, we're too... whatever the fuck the complaint is about us. I'm over it. I'm over being told that if I want my voice to be heard, that I'm too assertive and I need to calm down. Calm down. How can I? At every turn, I'm forced to feel inferior. I just have one question: What the fuck did I do? Like, was there some random black woman in history that managed to piss off every fucking body? At the same damn time?!? I don't get it. Let's break this down throughout history.

     Slavery. Yeah, I went there. During slavery, we served several purposes. We were used in the fields, the kitchen, the nursery, and the bedroom. Field and kitchen usage is obvious. Nursery and bedroom not so much. Did you know that if I gave birth, I was not allowed to feed my own child with the breast milk my body produced strictly for that purpose? I had to feed little white children before my own. Before my own. Those little lily white babies were way more important than my own. Needless to say, I would have been the worst slave in history. 

                The strange thing is, White feminists don’t see it for us, either. Think I’m wrong? Remember when nudes of several mainstream white actresses were released? Twitter feminists were up in arms about the way these poor white were victims, and that the women shouldn't have been “slut shamed” by society. Two days later, Jill Scott had racy photo’s released. Twitter was silent. Other than the obvious body shaming that plus sized women receive daily by people who are clearly not comfortable with themselves. Aside, the Civil Rights Movement did FAR more for white women than it did for anyone else. But don't take my word for it... 

      I’m not pointing fingers at anyone in particular. I’m pointing fingers at everyone. Black men, white men, and white women. Recently, I was sent an article about a group of white men that did a talk show called “A Black Woman Took My Job”. Sir, who in the hell said that job belonged to you in the first place? How do you know that I am not just as qualified, if not more than you to do an efficient job?  How dare you be so entitled to think your manhood supersedes my intelligence. OR do you feel as if your whiteness is superior to me?  Who died and left you to be the king of every damn thing?

  Then,  Ray Rice was kicked off the Baltimore Ravens because of a domestic violence incident that occurred earlier this year against his then girlfriend, now wife. The original video that came out showed him dragging her from the elevator like a rag doll. Clearly unconscious. The video that was released today showed exactly how she ended up on the ground... unconscious. This grown man that hits other grown men for a living in the National Football League, with a closed fist, punched this woman in the face. Twice. Before today's revelation, the general public was led to believe that the girlfriend had a hand in the altercation. Before we go any further, I am not a fan of violence. Of any kind. Kam will tell you that I was probably the worst disciplinarian on the planet. I took a lot of "L's" raising her. One thing I was always taught is you don't hit anyone out of anger. You can't take it back. Now, had she been named Jane, and not Janay, Mr. Rice would have been thrown out of the league on his ear, arrested, tried, convicted, and executed all before the summer season of ratchet reality shows premiered. Y'all know I'm telling the truth. Or even been a dog. Don't believe me? Ask Michael Vick. 

This blog has been all over the place with the atrocities that happen to Black Women on a daily basis. I haven't even touched on how we're oversexualized in society and have been for at least the past 100 years... so lets. I wish I could tell you what the issue is. I mean, my body is seen as an exotic, sexual object. My assertion is seen as insolence or an attitude.  Just about anything I say or do is taken out of context and I’m told to “Calm down”. It’s exhausting to be me. Physically, my body doesn’t handle the stressors of the world like any other. My babies have a higher mortality rate than any other race in the world? Why is that?

We need to get it together. I'm not saying break off and be our own country, although, that may not be a bad idea. Black folks only, no niggas! Yeah, I said it! LOL! I love my people, but as a people we have to do better. We can't expect anyone to take care of us but us. My people get on my nerves but they're my people. I can do nothing but hope we come together and do better one day. Black men: Protect us like we protect you. 

I have a bottle of wine to tend to. Y'all be easy. 


Thursday, March 6, 2014

Birthday? Who's birthday?

Life will make you nuts. Seriously. If you think about it, your interactions with people on a daily basis could in fact drive you crazy if you allow their ways to seep into your psyche.

Anyway, hi. It's been a while. I'm trying to get better with the blog stuff. But I am a work in progress. I have a big birthday coming up soon, and I am not excited about it. Not even a little. Actually, I wish I could just skip over that day all together. I'm not one of those people that are in love with their birthday. I know people who are, and they are some of the most annoying people on the planet. I won't name names, because they read my blog, but I have made it clear to them that their countdowns, gift hints, texts, emails, phone calls, and all the other annoying shit they do is judged. Heavily and harshly. Don't get me wrong, I know its coming, I'd just be cool if it didn't. Why, you ask? Several reasons.

1) I was born on Good Friday. Which means my birthday is around Easter. There have been years where my birthday has actually been on Easter Sunday. Who can compete with a man rising from the dead? Especially a man named Jesus!

2) I'm old. Just not old enough to have a family celebration for my birthday. I'm in those middle aged years where lives are far too busy to celebrate birthdays. That shit gets old around 30 until around 70. Then its more of a "Damn, this bitch is still alive? Lets buy her a cake!" type celebration.

 3) I'm single. Yeah, yeah. Allladis *bodyrolls* is single. Last birthday I had with a S/O, I told him I wanted to go to my favorite restaurant. He proceeded to tell me that he hated that place, so we ended up at Joe's Crab Shack. I wore a fucking plastic bib that said "I got crabs" on my birthday. I was not amused.

4) I have a kid about to go off to college. I have other things I need to be spending my money on. Shoot.

5) My mom was big on birthdays. This will be my 15th without her watching me wear a turtleneck and reenact my birth and making me spaghetti and chicken wings. No, this is not me asking for someone to make me spaghetti and chicken wings for my birthday. But if I get drunk enough, I could do that birth thing. It's pretty funny.

I guess My point is this: Regardless of the birthday, I'm finally learning how to celebrate life. Every day is my birthday. There's nothing special about that one particular day. I wake up every day with a song in my spirit, a smile on my face, and a dog at my feet. Someone has to take him out. May as well be me.