Last weekend my distant family came into town to celebrate my cousins' graduating from school; one from Vet school and another from undergrad.
As usual, scholars and alcohol are a recipe for deep discussion. The topic: the issue with Black dating. Now mind you when we say "Black dating" we really mean "Black women" because we are always the issue, right? To my surprise, I didn't pass out during the discussion. After my last convo on a similar topic, I told myself that I would die if I had to listen to educated Black men blame me for having to get an education because of their absence to support myself, like I wanted to get almost $100,000 worth of student loans!
Well, we touched on a lot of things, but what stands out in my mind is the idea of the leader. The brothas I spoke with, two of them not being relatives, talked about how they had visited Mississippi and LOVED how the women were submissive. But allow me to define submissive in their eyes: willing to follow them while they "lead." Call me a critical thinker, but that translated to me as "willing to do what they said." Listening to them talk about this rare breed of Southern women who make you grits without being asked and White women who "have your back," I could not help but wonder if my female ancestors knew they were breaking free from the plantation just for me to be expected to play Mammie to our men?!
But it seems that my idea of "Mammiedum" is their idea of being "held down" and of me "playing my position." Out of all that was said, I am sure about one thing: I am way too much of a Feminist for discussions of this magnitude.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
NY: Day 2: Part 2
Not a good block away from Mr. Smith I bump into a relentless guy from Green Peace. He looked like a White, bearded Winnie the Pooh, and his boxers were all in a bunch because of this oil spill in the ocean (as they should be). So as I walk to my appointment, my face stone cold, he does not take the hint that I do not want to be spoken to. He begins rattling off facts about how he wants windmills in New York and how the oil has ruined the fish or something like that. I inform him that I have an appointment, but he insists that he can walk and copy my credit card number at the same time.
"Maybe next time," I mumble.
"Holly, there is no next time! We have run out of next times! Next times are over!"
I rolled my eyes. After the train ride from Hell where I was misdirected by a train official, I was in no mood to be harassed. I went to my appointment, then decided to walk around Grant Park, the home of the fashion week I had always wanted to attend. For some reason, I thought it would be bigger.
Somehow, although my feet were burning, I made my way to the world's chicest Payless where the only shoe they had in my size was a worn, twice returned pair of sneakers.
Irritated and hot, I took a seat in front of the NY Library which, for some reason, had a very depressing art display of angry words in the window like Ugly, Fat, and Weirdo. I guess that the irony is that these words were pretty and sparkly.
"Maybe next time," I mumble.
"Holly, there is no next time! We have run out of next times! Next times are over!"
I rolled my eyes. After the train ride from Hell where I was misdirected by a train official, I was in no mood to be harassed. I went to my appointment, then decided to walk around Grant Park, the home of the fashion week I had always wanted to attend. For some reason, I thought it would be bigger.
Somehow, although my feet were burning, I made my way to the world's chicest Payless where the only shoe they had in my size was a worn, twice returned pair of sneakers.
Irritated and hot, I took a seat in front of the NY Library which, for some reason, had a very depressing art display of angry words in the window like Ugly, Fat, and Weirdo. I guess that the irony is that these words were pretty and sparkly.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Apologize
Today I went to NY and Co. for their 50% off sale. I know that I can not fit the clothes, but they have some of the BEST accessories. As I fished through the faux pearls and diamondoid earrings, I noticed a woman come in with her two small sons. I really didn't pay them any mind. I was way too fixated on the cheap plastic jewelry.
"Ma, look at that big lady!" the smallest kid exclaimed, pointing at me.
I could feel the store freeze for a second, the other shoppers holding their breath to see how I was going to react. I pretended not to hear, trying a fake flower ring on my stubby finger. I am not new to this. Kids say rude stuff to me all the time. Seeing that I was not phased, the rest of the store went on with their lives.
Then, as I am going through a rack of headbands (my eye on this simple patent leather one) I see the little boy who had called me out standing right in front of me. His mother looked furious, he had been crying, and the other little boy looked bored.
"He said something very rude to you," the mom said. She yanked the boy's arm. "Apologize," she demanded in that low, robotic, angry mom voice.
I figured she had taken him out of the store to spank him. I could tell that everyone was staring.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
I looked at his tear-stained face and runny nose and realized that we had one thing in common: his mother had just humiliated the both of us.
"Ma, look at that big lady!" the smallest kid exclaimed, pointing at me.
I could feel the store freeze for a second, the other shoppers holding their breath to see how I was going to react. I pretended not to hear, trying a fake flower ring on my stubby finger. I am not new to this. Kids say rude stuff to me all the time. Seeing that I was not phased, the rest of the store went on with their lives.
Then, as I am going through a rack of headbands (my eye on this simple patent leather one) I see the little boy who had called me out standing right in front of me. His mother looked furious, he had been crying, and the other little boy looked bored.
"He said something very rude to you," the mom said. She yanked the boy's arm. "Apologize," she demanded in that low, robotic, angry mom voice.
I figured she had taken him out of the store to spank him. I could tell that everyone was staring.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
I looked at his tear-stained face and runny nose and realized that we had one thing in common: his mother had just humiliated the both of us.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
NY: Day 2: Part 1
I woke up, rolled over on my side, and smiled. I was in New York! Since graduation, I had been breaking my neck to get there, and there I was, in the middle of Chelsea, moments away from Time Square. I sat up straight in bed and stretched. That day was going to be a good day. I was in the city of dreams! Who cared about yesterday's dramas?
After getting dressed I decided to go get some lunch. I stopped at a Mexican restaurant where the burritos were almost $10. I stood, watching F.I.T. students scarf them down as I opted for the $5 chips and guacamole. I tried to maintain a smile, clutching my doggy bag of ten chips and 1/4 cup of gauc! I then went to Subway for a chicken sub, the meat being bland and dry.
That Monday it had rained, but Tuesday was beautiful. I couldn't help but smile at passersby, as they looked passed me or frowned like I had poop in my mouth. I have to say, after the 20th unreturned smile, my feelings were starting to get hurt! The people who did look my way looked terribly disgusted by my size, making sideways glances at my legs.
I went back to the room, ate the worst lunch of my life, then headed toward Bryant Park. I was given clear directions from the hostess at the hotel, only to be told by the subway worker that I was going the wrong way, only to get on the train and be told I was going in the opposite direction. So I got off the train and asked how to get to the other train just to run into three people who couldn't speak English. I have to say, this kicked me into annoyance mode.
As I climbed the steps of the subway, I was approached by a man who asked me how to get someplace. I let him know that I didn't know. He asked for my number. He didn't look crazy and was clean, so I gave it to him, only for him to begin calling me repeatedly ten minutes later. What can you expect from a man that called himself Mr. Smith because his first name was too hard to pronounce?
After getting dressed I decided to go get some lunch. I stopped at a Mexican restaurant where the burritos were almost $10. I stood, watching F.I.T. students scarf them down as I opted for the $5 chips and guacamole. I tried to maintain a smile, clutching my doggy bag of ten chips and 1/4 cup of gauc! I then went to Subway for a chicken sub, the meat being bland and dry.
That Monday it had rained, but Tuesday was beautiful. I couldn't help but smile at passersby, as they looked passed me or frowned like I had poop in my mouth. I have to say, after the 20th unreturned smile, my feelings were starting to get hurt! The people who did look my way looked terribly disgusted by my size, making sideways glances at my legs.
I went back to the room, ate the worst lunch of my life, then headed toward Bryant Park. I was given clear directions from the hostess at the hotel, only to be told by the subway worker that I was going the wrong way, only to get on the train and be told I was going in the opposite direction. So I got off the train and asked how to get to the other train just to run into three people who couldn't speak English. I have to say, this kicked me into annoyance mode.
As I climbed the steps of the subway, I was approached by a man who asked me how to get someplace. I let him know that I didn't know. He asked for my number. He didn't look crazy and was clean, so I gave it to him, only for him to begin calling me repeatedly ten minutes later. What can you expect from a man that called himself Mr. Smith because his first name was too hard to pronounce?
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
NY: Day 1
I am so happy to be writing you today, for on the plane to NY, I thought I was going to die! I could literally feel every gust of air that brushed against the plane. The lights were blinking on and off, and at one point, the plane felt like it had stopped midair! I would have kissed the ground when we landed...if it wasn't gross!
Upon arrival at Laguardia, I stood in line to use the two stall bathroom. Apparently, one woman had to go so bad that she felt it appropriate to unzip her paints in the line. Just my luck, I get to use the bathroom after The Incredible Shedding Woman. After thoroughly wiping the toilet, I could not help but to wonder if she had bothered to leave one pubic hair on her vag.
While trying to trek it to the hotel shuttle, some airport employee, whose job it is to direct people to the shuttles, stops me to say, "I'm not tryin' to be funny, but I don't think you should lose a damn ounce!" This guy is typical of men who find me attractive: African, short, and underweight. Eye roll. Then he goes on to quote his favorite comedian's line about "skinny bitches."
My ride on the shuttle from the airport was smooth until a fellow passenger and the driver got into a shouting match. Something about being afraid of getting charged twice.
While they yelled at each other, I found myself taken aback by the flashing lights of the city. How could something be so beautiful, while looking like it needed a thorough rinse? There was so much trash! And not litter, I mean huge bags!
Later that day, my homegirl invites me to go eat at her house. The catch: I have to take the subway. YUCK! The people who didn't look sick looked mean! With every cough and grunt, I could feel myself getting a temperature. The NY train system, although efficient, makes Marta, the Atlanta transit system, look like limo service.
On my way to the train, a street man told me I needed to lose weight...very loudly. He was selling belts out of a tattered luggage. I dodged into a Subway restaurant to avoid him and buy a tea, just to exit and run right into him face-to-face, yelling about how cute I was, but needed to "come down." He was willing to work out with me, he yelled in so many words. I ignored him, taking a sip of my tea, only to find that it was diet. Irony.
Today, I shall wonder the city. I shall let you know how that goes; what excitement I run into.
Upon arrival at Laguardia, I stood in line to use the two stall bathroom. Apparently, one woman had to go so bad that she felt it appropriate to unzip her paints in the line. Just my luck, I get to use the bathroom after The Incredible Shedding Woman. After thoroughly wiping the toilet, I could not help but to wonder if she had bothered to leave one pubic hair on her vag.
While trying to trek it to the hotel shuttle, some airport employee, whose job it is to direct people to the shuttles, stops me to say, "I'm not tryin' to be funny, but I don't think you should lose a damn ounce!" This guy is typical of men who find me attractive: African, short, and underweight. Eye roll. Then he goes on to quote his favorite comedian's line about "skinny bitches."
My ride on the shuttle from the airport was smooth until a fellow passenger and the driver got into a shouting match. Something about being afraid of getting charged twice.
While they yelled at each other, I found myself taken aback by the flashing lights of the city. How could something be so beautiful, while looking like it needed a thorough rinse? There was so much trash! And not litter, I mean huge bags!
Later that day, my homegirl invites me to go eat at her house. The catch: I have to take the subway. YUCK! The people who didn't look sick looked mean! With every cough and grunt, I could feel myself getting a temperature. The NY train system, although efficient, makes Marta, the Atlanta transit system, look like limo service.
On my way to the train, a street man told me I needed to lose weight...very loudly. He was selling belts out of a tattered luggage. I dodged into a Subway restaurant to avoid him and buy a tea, just to exit and run right into him face-to-face, yelling about how cute I was, but needed to "come down." He was willing to work out with me, he yelled in so many words. I ignored him, taking a sip of my tea, only to find that it was diet. Irony.
Today, I shall wonder the city. I shall let you know how that goes; what excitement I run into.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
New York Nonsense
I went to CNN.com this morning and was informed that there was a car bomb in New York. A vendor spotted it, called the po-pos, and it was detonated at some other location. This contradicts the eye-witness report that it went off before the cops got there and people started fleeing the scene. But that is neither here nor there.
I will be traveling to NY in the near future. And I am pissed not only that years after 911 the New York people still have to worry about this crap, but that something has to be going down not long before I plan to visit! Cazillions of money spent on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and cars are being blown up on our soil? I thought we went to war to prevent this! There is something quite wrong with this picture.
So again, I solicit my readers to pray for me. I know I have asked you for your prayers like every day the past couple of weeks. Soon, I promise I will put you all on payroll. But I need you to pray that I not only can squeeze my sweet, obese ass in the plane seat, but also that there is not terrorist drama at all in the city, especially during my short stay. Or on the plane for that matter. I just want to go, take a bite out of The Big Apple, then return to the comfortable, safe south, too ignorant to even warrant the attention of terrorists, where I can eat grits and listen to Soulja Boy in the privacy of my own home.
Thanks guys!
I will be traveling to NY in the near future. And I am pissed not only that years after 911 the New York people still have to worry about this crap, but that something has to be going down not long before I plan to visit! Cazillions of money spent on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and cars are being blown up on our soil? I thought we went to war to prevent this! There is something quite wrong with this picture.
So again, I solicit my readers to pray for me. I know I have asked you for your prayers like every day the past couple of weeks. Soon, I promise I will put you all on payroll. But I need you to pray that I not only can squeeze my sweet, obese ass in the plane seat, but also that there is not terrorist drama at all in the city, especially during my short stay. Or on the plane for that matter. I just want to go, take a bite out of The Big Apple, then return to the comfortable, safe south, too ignorant to even warrant the attention of terrorists, where I can eat grits and listen to Soulja Boy in the privacy of my own home.
Thanks guys!
Saturday, May 1, 2010
School House Rock
I have been wanting to go to graduate school for like three years. At this point I am annoyed because, if I would have gone when I was supposed to, I would be done by now! Yeah, yeah, it's never too late. Tell that to the 30-year-old that is scheduling her Internet grad courses around breastfeeding.
Here is the thing: I know that having a graduate degree will make me more competitive in our poo-poo job market. I get it. But I can not decide if I really want to go to grad school or if I just want to go...for fun?
OK, $30, 000+ in adjustable interest rate loans is a pretty expensive good time. But I am realizing, after talking to a lot of my friends that are just now graduating, that the last time I was truly happy was when I was in school. Since then, I have been on a pretty exhausting emotional and professional roller coaster, documented on this here blog.
Then there is the age factor. Yes, I know that I am young. They tell me I am. But I feel too old to be getting back into the swing of things, even though deep down I know that that is ridiculous. Even thinking about moving and coming up with money and going to classes again is tiring at best.
I guess time will tell, but time needs to start now. I don't want to be the breastfeeding 30-year-old.
Here is the thing: I know that having a graduate degree will make me more competitive in our poo-poo job market. I get it. But I can not decide if I really want to go to grad school or if I just want to go...for fun?
OK, $30, 000+ in adjustable interest rate loans is a pretty expensive good time. But I am realizing, after talking to a lot of my friends that are just now graduating, that the last time I was truly happy was when I was in school. Since then, I have been on a pretty exhausting emotional and professional roller coaster, documented on this here blog.
Then there is the age factor. Yes, I know that I am young. They tell me I am. But I feel too old to be getting back into the swing of things, even though deep down I know that that is ridiculous. Even thinking about moving and coming up with money and going to classes again is tiring at best.
I guess time will tell, but time needs to start now. I don't want to be the breastfeeding 30-year-old.
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