F My Birthday - The Remix

Here it is again. Well, not here, but close. I'm sure at this point my mother was cursing my very 8 pound existence. I was a big ass baby.  I only really want to do one thing on my birthday... More on that later. 

This year is different for me. I'm in a new city, doing new things, meeting new people. The most fun thing I've done so far this year is reconnect with old friends. Don't get me wrong, My San Diego friends are fuckin' awesome! But its a damn good feeling to be in this city again. I can't front. Being an adult here is way different from being a kid here. 

I've lost some people between this year and last year. I think that's the worst part of this birthday for me. I was expecting this one to be different. Not like a parade different, but different in that it could have possibly been spent doing the one thing I really want to do on my birthday. I said later.

One major loss is my granny. She didn't do anything for birthdays but write checks. Nanie was funny about everyone's birthday except for her's and Kam's. I was blessed enough to spend her 94th birthday with her last year. I brought her flowers and cupcakes. She smiled so big that day. Sigh. That was my dog. I'll miss her. 

Anyway, I know you're wondering what the one thing I want to do for my birthday is. Listen, I'm a simple girl. I don't need expensive gifts or grandiose gestures. All I need is a nice dinner. It can even be homemade, which I actually think is better. There's love and caring in a hand crafted meal. There's one other thing I'd love to have, but since my dad reads this... 

Everyday is still my birthday. I'm healthy, wiser than I was last year, getting my slim-thick on, still eating bacon and cupcakes, sometimes together, sometimes not, and forever grateful for another year. Love y'all. Thanks for taking this ride with me. I'll write more soon, I promise. 

First official act as a Los Angelino

Since I've been here, this has got to be top 5 of crazy shit I've seen.

I woke up late and left late, as usual. Cupcakin on the phone. I'm getting way too old for that shit. Next time, I'm hanging up first! 

Anyway, I am notorious for not wanting to make 3 point turns. Especially at Zero Dark Thirty, So I basically went the back way to get to the main street that takes me to the 110. (Why do we Californians say "The" before the Interstate number?) 

I'm driving, and I get to King Boulevard. I have to make a left turn. I see a car sitting on the wrong side of the street with their blinker on. My first thought was, Oh, it was probably an elderly person and they thought this street had a turning lane. This street does not. 

Our light changed to green, and the people on the opposite side of the street were waiting for the person to turn. They didn't move. I start to panic. You guys know me well enough by now to know that I constantly have movie scenarios running through my head. At this point, I'm thinking Speed. A bus is coming and going to smash the living shit out of this car! And I'm going to witness it! Worse yet, I have not had my coffee! 

There was a person in the car... asleep. Really, bitch? I'm tryina get to work and your crack head ass is asleep in the car? ON THE DAMN ROAD?!?!?!

So I did what most normal, concerned citizens would do. I called 911. 

I forgot that they ask directional questions. Northbound, southbound type shit. I am horrible with directions. I have an ex that was in the navy. He used to yell at me because I couldn't "Feel the directional pull when facing north." Nigga, what? I don't even know what that means. Anyway, so she's asking me questions. I said, "Look, I'm on King, headed towards the 110 south, I'm going to pass USC. I've already passed the dispensary, Popeyes, and the Car Wash. I don't know what else you want from me." 

After we kinda figured out the logistics, I asked her if anyone else had called this in. She was looking for other calls as we were speaking and didn't see any. I don't know if I was the first or the only, but what I do know is that situations like that are where innocent people end up hurt. 

Overall, I love my city. I mean, I'm from here, but I grew up in the suburbs. Living in L.A. is a different experience. 

Bring it on, damnit. I'm ready. 

Stuntin' ass Uber Drivers

I had the craziest Uber ride yesterday. I felt like an extra in Fast and the Furious. This dude was taking all kinds of short cuts, dirt roads, military bridges… I’ve lived in San Diego for a long time, and I had never seen at least 5 street names we were on.

I’m normally a commuter bus rider but yesterday is was raining cats and dogs. They say it never rains in southern California but they lied.  So anyway I get in the Uber, and dude had a Serbian accent… at least I think it was. They’re always the bad guys in Liam Neeson movies. Anyway, he asks me my name and I told him. He turned around and looked at me and said “Buckle up” or “Good Luck” I can’t be sure in retrospect but either would have been fitting.  All I could hear is that song… you know, “Oh, don’t do it… Oh my God.”

Man, a sista was scurrd. I looked up, and he was texting his homeboy in Serbian that he was on his way. On his way where? I was praying it wasn’t an arms deal.  Is my house the rendezvous point? Can y’all set that shit up for an undisclosed location? Am I your alibi? Questions that need answers.  I got warrants. I can’t be with sketchy people, man. Then I noticed he was checking his email. He was writing an air bnb review… WHILST DRIVING! I’m all for multitasking, but dude… It’s raining. And how many business does this guy own? Uber driver, Air BNB host, black market arms dealer, maybe a terrorist on the side. Jesus Christ!
And I’m all for saving a buck. So by all means, take the short cuts, access roads, etc. Just keep me out this rain. But the way he was hitting those brakes? It was almost light showers inside the damn car. You know that part on a roller coaster when you’re going up and your body settles back into the seat? Anticipating the drop that you know is coming and you’re a little excited for? Imagine that in stop and go rainy traffic. I’m just glad I was blessed with a strong bladder

Police Violence and Riots

I've been contemplating this thought since I heard about the death of Freddie Gray. I won't give my opinion on it. I'll let the facts speak for themselves

There is a direct correlation between police violence and rioting in black communities.

Chicago Race Riots of 1919


Tulsa, OK Race Riots

The Watts Riots, 1965

Newark, NJ Riots

Timothy Thomas, Cincinnati Riots


Rodney King Verdict/Los Angeles Riots


Murder of Michael Brown, Ferguson, MO


You know, I have to stop here. There are actually more that I did not post. So please don't get on your high horse and tell me the police aren't corrupt. Don't tell me that these men and women shouldn't have been breaking the law, Don't say anything. Learn something.

I really miss my mom today.

 

I woke up about an hour earlier than usual because I had a really bad dream. My first thought when I woke up was my mom. I immediately started to cry. I remembered how she would come in my room when I’d be screaming from having a nightmare and ask me what happened. I remember her holding me and stroking my hair, telling me everything would be fine, that it was just a bad dream, and it’s over now.

 

Some days are better than others. I miss her most around my birthday and her favorite holiday, Christmas. I thought I’d make it through this birthday without that familiar pang that she wasn’t here. I was wrong.

 

I sometimes wonder how things would be different if she were still here. My mom was a very outspoken person. For those of you who know me, my big voice would shrink in her presence. She was so smart, opinionated, beautiful, kind, and mine.

 

I feel cheated because I didn’t get close to her until I was pregnant with my daughter. She finally allowed me into her kitchen because she said I finally needed to learn how to cook. My left handedness kept me out as a child because I bumped into her or got on her nerves using knives backwards. I didn’t care. All I ever wanted to do was read a book anyway. Our times in the kitchen were fun. She taught me the basics, and told me since I loved to read that I shouldn’t mind adding some cookbooks to my repertoire. That year, she gave me the Cooking Bible. Her copy of Better Homes and Garden’s Cookbook. She had some sections dog eared, some sections she wrote in, and some had stars next to them. The recipes with stars are the ones that stand out because I remember her cooking them when I was a kid.

 

I rarely pull that cookbook out because of the memories, but I think I will tonight. I need to do something to feel close to her today.

So, I get in these fits where I feel like I want to write. And I put a bunch of words on paper that may or may not make sense at the time. But when I go back to read it and get ready to post it, I have to wonder how much I had to drink that day. What I wrote looked like a hot buttered mess. I mean, I can write. 

I've been told that I can.

 I think I can.

 I'm pretty sure I can.

Let me be honest... I try. I try really hard. 

But I have no idea what I was even trying to say. Like, I know it was about what the President of the NRA, Wayne LaPierre, said about President Obama. He said he we didn't need any more "Demographically Symbolic" Presidents. Basically saying that the current leader of the free world is but an emblematic figurehead for our country, and we need a real person to come in and fix us! Save us! Make us look like the powerhouse of old! With a face that properly represents these here United States! 

Historically, middle aged white men have ruled this country. Has that always been the wisest decision? Nope. Especially when it comes to gender specific issues. Listen, if you want to make laws about your dick, by all means do so. You have one. You know what it can and can’t do. I have a vagina. I’ll stay in my lane on that one. However, when it comes to my vagina, what happens to it isn't any of your business. What goes in it, or what comes out of it. I think this should be an unwritten yet staunchly followed superlative edict. But ask me about a penis. I’d refer you to someone that has one. My penile knowledge is surface, and a lot of it only applies to how it makes me feel. I like em. A lot. But I’m far from qualified to make a law on what should and shouldn't be done with them. Its unfair to both of us, I think. Me for you telling me what to do, but at the same time you for being the one to decide what should be done. Who decided it was your job? That’s a lot of pressure. So here’s an idea: leave it to the experts. No more speculating on if and when the vagina has the ability to shut an unwanted pregnancy by rape down. No, our vagina's don't connect to our stomach. And my personal favorite, we don’t require a birth control pill every single time we have sex to prevent a pregnancy, Mr. Limbaugh.

According to white males, they represent this country to the fullest! Fuck diversity! Fuck this country being founded on the principal that being different was what made us worthy! The fact that this man fixed his face to say that our president was no better than the paper his fake birth certificate was written on was... It was ridiculous. 42 White men have been president of this country. 42. In a country that was built on the backs of immigrants.  This country is labeled a melting pot for a reason. The tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to be free all came here for a reason. A new life, a fresh start for their children because this country in its infancy was ripe with opportunity for all who were ready for it. Religious undertones have brought what our forefathers meant to do in this country to its knees. We should be celebrated for our differences, but never forget that we’re all Americans.

Anyway,I have a pizza to get to, and I'm trying to write a book. Key word: Trying. I'll leave my obligatory line of "I'll try to write more" blah, blah, blah... 



Yeah, I think I'm hot shit... I figured out how to link y'all to the articles. :) Now lets see if I can remember my password for my blog in 3 months.

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.