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. 





    

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.

Me and my big mouth.

Well, well, well. We meet again. Here's the part where I say I'm going to blog every day. So I'm not going to say that this time. But I will say that I will try to blog at least once a week. You see, I've started a new project. I'm building a couch. Not like the type you would find at a furniture store, but one made from pallets. Don't ask  me why. I can't tell you. What I can tell you is that I've never built anything in my life. So this will be an experience. I have a few reasons as to why I want to do this. I'll go into details more as I blog. For now, just know that I feel like this is something I need to do.

So far, I've gotten one pallet. Said pallet has six planks. I sanded 2 planks. By hand. I got a splinter. So I'm getting a hand sander. Wait, I did buy pillows. That was exciting... No, really. It was. Stop laughing at me,

Totally off the subject, a rapper named Kendrick Lamar had one of the most unexpected rap verses in history leaked today. I found it interesting and very necessary. I consider myself an old school rap aficionada. I like the word play rappers used when hip hop was still fresh and new. That's been lost for so long in the whole "I woke up in a new Bugatti with a big booty ho" rap lyrics of today. A lot of folks are up in arms about Kendrick saying he was the "King of New York". Those people are not real hip hop fans. You see, hip hop was all about being the best. Telling the world you were the best on wax, and daring anyone to try to take your title. Special Ed began one of his biggest hits with, "I'm your idol. Your highest title. Numero uno". Now if that's not saying he's the best, then what is? I used Special Ed as an example because he wasn't the best rapper ever. But he thought he was. People get so caught up in titles, they forgot that hip hop was a place to brag on yourself, not cars, clothes, shoes, bitches, money, etc. But your own skills. Turning what some see as nothing into something.

Kinda what I want to do with this couch...