i am a civil service employee.

(a rant)

i have been a civil service employee for what’ll be 4.5 years as of this coming sunday. i work in an office where depending on what’s happening, we hear dead last about the wild shit employees do. i’ve heard tales of fist fights at health centers, ppl in full work dress brawling on the msb concourse, social workers knocking over file cabinets mid-fight, and (my personal favorite) the dude who was slinging rocks out of the city vehicle he used to drive medication to different city health centers. there’s been a lot. the civil service workforce, for 20+ years, has been built on one idea: they have to catch you fucking up before they can call you guilty. it happened during the goode and rendell administrations, and we all remember john “i’m one of the worst mayors in america” street. let me just tell you now: i’m accustomed to the bullshit. in so many regards, the stereotypical city employee exists. and then there are people who rise far above that generally sub-par status quo to do better than just doing their jobs. there’s a huge gray area, too, of folks who really don’t even know how it is that they woke up and were marking 10 or 15 or 20 years with the city, possibly in the same position they had when they arrived.
i call it ‘that philly shit.’ but that’s quite possibly another post altogether.
we have a new mayor. he doesn’t play that shit; people have been jumping ship altogether or getting canned consistently since he was inaugurated in january. but, there’s much to be done and so much to assess. he’s essentially trying to walk with his shoelaces tied together in some regards. it’s the job of the deputy mayor of health and opportunity to make some things run more smoothly

(this is where the post gets iffy, so if you can’t handle graphic language or images, please do NOT read this post . . . just find something else to do with your eyes)

and that brings me to the unfortunate death of danieal kelly. if you live in philly (or within a 3 hour drive of philly, for that matter), you already know: she died in august of 2006. she was starved to death and had cerebral palsy, was covered in maggots and flies and feces . . . and that she was one of nine children living in her mother’s two-bedroom apartment. there are layers of dysfunction involved in this situation, the likes of which i only wish i could say i’ve never seen. it’s really easy to wag a finger at every fully grown person (nine of whom are being criminally charged) who had a hand in her neglect and eventual death, particularly her parents and the four social/ case workers (two civil service, two contract) who were supposed to have intervened at the first sign of danger.

the grand jury report on danieal’s death and everything leading up to it smacks of one thing to me: broken people, functioning as best they can (for lack of a better term), and only really being flagged or stopped cold when it likely too late. to examine it from all sides through or past my rage doesn’t give me peace. but it shows me that as terrible as this situation was/ is (andrea kelly has 9 other children if my count is right), it’s a major symptom of an immeasurably sick community.

i know that these are individual community members who were responsible for the lives and wellbeing of children. that doesn’t change what bothers me the most: every terrible thing that led to danieal’s death was in play long before she was even born. her mother and father did not magically become fucked up and/ or crazy on january 3, 1992 (her birthday). dana poindexter, laura sommerer, mickal kamuvaka and julius murray? all of these folks were comfortable with doing what they did, and there’s no way to assume that these behaviors weren’t old hat for each of them. the same applies for every person at the upper levels who let the DHS employees’ shit go unchecked. and carmen paris, the former health commissioner? preposterous. there’s no word (in the print media or in the various city worker gossip pools) on why she’d have gone and meddled in some shit like that. clearly, she felt like it was okay to do that and didn’t hesitate in doing so. that is, again, some shit that had been in play for a hot minute.

so what’s my real point? i’m gonna try to dig one out, since this is a rant and they usually don’t have really well-defined points. actually, i feel like my point is twofold:

the things that need to change administratively within the ranks of philadelphia’s city government are going to happen regardless. michael nutter, don schwarz, and the managing director are not in a position to play around with folks’ lives; they’ve shown themselves to be dedicated to cleaning all of this mess up. and that’s wonderful. if we can’t depend on people whose jobs are to provide adequate government services to us, then i daresay we don’t really have a city.

but this city is eating itself alive. there’s just some deep, old, long-standing muck that seems to be what most of my fellow philadelphians are dealing with. it’s something many of us have inherited and will pass onto our progeny. i don’t have a name for it. it’s the unnamed beast that allows our murder rate to be so high continually, it’s the thing that seems to have eaten the best/ most humane parts of andrea and daniel kelly, it’s the same monster that leads “friends of the family” to perjure on behalf of someone they know has done wrong. it’s not so simple as moms wanting that social security check. i don’t know what it is.

but if people who see the disease don’t do something to keep themselves steeled against it, and do what they can to demonstrate a better life to those around them, there won’t be anything but stories like this. it’s all connected; this link is evidenced in the fact that the family members/ friends of andrea kelly and the social workers are being charged for the same ass-covering and lying, etc. regarding danieal’s neglect. she had cerebral palsy. not a brain tumor. not hiv/ aids. she wasn’t born with anything terminal. and all it would have taken was for someone to decide to stay on top of this shit — even loose monitoring, as per the grand jury report, would have made an impact.

i don’t believe for one minute that i’m “like” these other folks, the ones who end up before grand juries. i know i’m not; but the bottom line is that i’m in it even if i’m not of it. and it’s my job the same as it is that of anyone else in the ranks to pull this shit together once and for all. i’m just glad there’s an actual consensus and work being done to make it happen. it’s not gonna be easy, and it can’t be done by one team of ppl w/ six-figure salaries and their staff. it really is going to take the work of everyone who wants that change and will put in the work.

*sigh*

i could be writing forever. i’ll probably revisit this sooner or later; i just have to make sure i won’t get fired for doing it. accountability. it’s what’s for dinner.

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cryin like a hit dog

(and maybe you are?)
(this is a rant, straight up)

dear penis-havers:

if you ever find yourself complaining really hard about what another dude is paying for child support, create an advocacy group. do something to change the law. have a balanced, fair, honest assessment of the situations that are being mediated (however poorly or well) by the courts. the “keep a nigga” baby (phonte said that, not me) isn’t the only kind of baby. there’s often the “that nigga switched up” baby, and the “he started doing drugs” baby . . . sometimes the “i really shoulda left that nigga alone when he told me he was married” baby. often, in my experience, there’s the “fuck that, nigga i’m not getting an abortion” baby. why? because abortion isn’t anyone’s fucking party, and male contraception comes in at least two trusty flavors: vasectomy (with a lower mortality rate than a tubal ligation!) and condoms. that doesn’t make any woman less responsible for her own contraception, but i’m sayin. motherfuckers love pointing blaming ass fingers after the kid comes and ppl stop wanting to even look at one another.

often, going to court is a final choice for two otherwise rational adults. in my personal experience, the legal proceedings of divorce kind of demand that agreements be reached (either with or without a court), and put into writing to be made binding unless both parties agree to change things. this is usually effective if the divorce is amicable. if it’s not — and it seems like most divorces aren’t, for the same reasons there are ‘fatherless’ children — then it gets hairy and ignorant.
and nobody’s gonna tell me that everyone remains a grownup when it comes down to the breakdown of a marriage. it’s like when you break up w/ your boo of years (regardless of who’s wrong or right) and emotions get heated. because they do. because you’re human, and so is s/he. fuck outta here… everyone should act sensibly when it comes down to it. but that’s not the most realistic thing to ask when you realize your lady’s been plotting to divorce you for the past six months and only does it after she makes sure you put some money up for a down payment on a house. it can’t happen when you marry your man because the two of you agree that it’s the best thing to do for the new baby, but that jackass stops coming home at a decent hour and smells like some other woman’s pussy when he does. quit fuckin playin.
puffy pays what he pays not just because of his income. back before justin was actually old enough to know the difference between birthdays bein the worst days & sippin champagne when he’s thirst-ay, puff was on that bling shit. before it had a name, he championed it. soooooo, of course misa hylton-brim is gonna get crazy money for that kid. regardless of her own income as a stylist, puffy makes infinitely more money than she does or ever did. that means that per the law in most states/ commonwealths, it’s based on the needs of the child in addition to the income level of both parents before they split up. the lifestyle comes into question. a lot of it is spousal support, too; the idea is that both the custodial parent and child did better as a full on family unit with the non-custodial parent present.
if you don’t like it:
lobby
protest
picket
wrap your dick up
tell your boy to wrap his dick up
make sure you learn what the laws are in your state or commonwealth
be for real for 5 minutes and remember that the biological function of sexual intercourse is to make babies
respect the whole process
and go to your legislators and tell them to change the shit to really help those babies! i believe moms, dads, kinship caregivers, foster parents, adoptive parents, and anyone else who gives a shit about the wellbeing of a child should band together. these fuckers make laws for us all of the damn time that make zero sense in our day-to-day lives. they’re not necessarily living the same way we are. so of course they do seemingly dumb shit like award $20K per month per kimmussell until they’re 20 or whatever. and you know what? it’s warranted, according to the man who has to “foot the bill.” stop looking at the kids like fucking bills. you weren’t thinking about that shit when all that fuckin and suckin was goin on, WERE you? nobody ever is. i’m still childless after one extended stint as an almost baby’s mama. and you know what? that shit scared me right into the place i am right now: focused on taking care of ME.
but that’s another story.
my point is this: for those of us who can’t hash it out like grownups, we go to court or have a spiritual advisor or whomever help us do so. it happens. don’t talk about the shoulds/ should nots simply because that’s a waste of breath. if it’s gonna be so in your fantasy world, put in the work to create the world you want to see.
and start with your kids, nigga, so they might have a chance at doing it differently than you.

** i do agree with some of what tigallo said, particularly about what can happen whilst fuckin with “ain’t shit” individuals. problem: most ppl with errant babies fall into the “ain’t shit”/ TKON affiliate or card carrying member category. i’m just sayin, if the brotha’s raps aren’t lies then he’s personally invested in the whole child support/ separated parents side of life. fine. that’s his walk. but everyone ain’t tay. everyone ain’t russ, kimora, misa, puffy, or even charlie sheen or denise richards.
some of us got too comfortable with someone and when the lil piss test showed two lines instead of one, folks began to show their asses.
then they end up writing songs like “ms. jackson.” even your favorite rapper’s favorite rapper goes through it. we’re not all at the same maturity level. it is what it is.

*shrug*

on: r. kelly, demons, black folk, and gordon gartrell radio.

1) omi gave me the impetus.
2) phonte drove it home here. among other gems, he said ‘the same power structure that says cops can put 50 bullets in a nigga is the same one that tells entertainers it’s okay to piss on lil black girls.’ YUP.
3) that motherfucker is guilty any time his damn attorney offers the ‘little man’ defense as what’s supposed to be a legit means of proving innocence.
4) i’m glad this has actually made it to trial. really.
5) anyone who puts the fault on that little girl would probably have let the motherfucker pee on their grown asses. being in awe of celebrity, being impressionable, and being just plain uninformed of one’s own power are not exclusive to kids.
6) in the first episode of the boondocks, huey asked tom dubois ‘do you know the extent to which niggas love r. kelly?’ and at this point in time i can say: the love was underestimated. it seems like ppl are looking for reasons for it to be okay. it ain’t.
7) i don’t think white ppl give a damn about it. and probably wouldn’t unless it was a white girl he’d peed on. see: kobe.
8) we can’t forget aaliyah. we can’t.
9) the whole trial appears to be a zoo. not a sex zoo. just a regular ass, dysfunction-on-parade zoo.
10) most ppl who talk so much about sex and god (and rarely have subject matter that deviates from either) are mentally damaged. see: bizzy bone, marvin gaye (AND his daddy, i’m sure).

on: acting right.

thembi’s lady laws for black women (with my notes in italics):

1. Stay Off Of The Pole. And For That Matter, Out Of Videos. I haven’t decided whether or not I have a real problem with strippers or strip clubs in general – who am I to say that men shouldn’t be allowed to gather in a public place and expose their inability to be fully intimate with their spouses by fondling and ogling some stray woman? What I do know is that YOU shouldn’t be one of said strays. Letting your body be drool-worthy for a room full of men cheapens and degrades you, and in the long run is not at all worth the money (no matter how pressed you are for cash). You never know who will be in that club, and when the “I saw Keisha on the pole!” story is told, your future boss or uncle who was “just in there with his boys” won’t be the shamed one, you will! If you like showing off your sexy side, which all of us should, save it for the right man, who will love enjoying all of the freaknasty you have inside of you without having to pay for it on a dollar-by-dollar basis. Someone will always do it, just don’t let that someone be you. The same goes for being in videos. That is NOT a profession and will not lead to any sort of meaningful career, modeling or otherwise. A ho is a ho, root word whore, meaning sex for sale, and your stuff is priceless. Got it? [my note: this ties directly into lady law #8. if you’re gonna strip, you’re gonna strip. but don’t walk out of the shaky butt feeling like someone has managed to get more out of you than what they’ve paid for. unfortunately, we all know about becoming a sex worker (i include strippers in that) to pay for tuition and to feed babies. in my opinion, there are a few social issues that come into play when it comes to dancing vs. working 3 jobs or whatever. i kinda doubt that most of the women who might need this caveat even read thembi’s blog. but she makes a damn valid point: your future boss might be there with his boys. then what do you do? sometimes, the immediate need outweighs any potential fallout. especially when it comes to maintaining the roof over your head and that of your family. ultimately, though, shame/ embarrassment seem to tie directly into whether or not you fully own your history and present. living with no regrets usually involves being unabashedly yourself, which leads us into lady law #2.]

2. Go Where No Blackgirl Has Gone Before. The obvious interpretation of the title of my blog is that I think that I’m some Jesus figure. Not so. Actually, the very weekend before I started blogging, loyal commenter Aaliyah was at an almost all-white party filled with beefy frat boys and was asked to do a kegstand. At her side were two other friends of mine, one of which said to her “What would Thembi do?” The obvious answer – go where no black girl has gone before and do the freaking keg stand! It really IS ok to be you, whether it’s as trivial as going snowboarding or as major as pursing a PhD in Greek Mythology. Do the most random or ridiculous things you feel like doing even if you’re not technically supposed to do them, and do them at all times. The same goes for rock concerts, tattoo conventions, playing the accordion, or whatever! Being a blackgirl comes with a unique set of baggage – on the one hand, we’re accustomed to being a minority in almost any situation a million times over. On the other hand, we feel like there are certain places and activities that aren’t “ok” for us. Forget all of that, risk ostracization, and trailblaze for us all. We can’t keep saying “But blackgirls don’t _______” or else we’ll never do anything at all. Be YOU, regardless of whatever skin tone, sorority, thickness, neighborhood, or whatever you may be a part of. None of it is as fresh as plain old blackgirl you. [ummmm, BASICALLY. do what you want to do because it makes you feel tingly and warm all over. screw what everyone else thinks your blackness makes you. you’re yourself. period. it feels good to own and love your whole self. there’s nothing like it.]

3. DON’T Get Pregnant, DO Have A Baby. When people say “Life Is Short,” they really mean that life is short – when you’re unencumbered. Life is really, really long when you’re tied down to some dude who seemed great when you were sixteen years old but hasn’t even made it through his baby boy years when it’s time to send junior off to middle school. In fact, it can even seem too long when you start to calculate the potential unpaid child support, the number of times you tried to “make it work for the baby”, and the time you’ll spend child rearin’ instead of actually growing up, getting degrees, and making a name for yourself. Not to say you can’t have a baby early and have it all turn out rosy in the end, but howsabout having children with someone who can actually agree to be with you in a family unit for the long haul whether or not you just happen to get pregnant? Sidenote: It should go without saying, but why even risk diseases by not protecting yourself? A baby is not the only gift that keeps on giving, you know. [again, the women who probably need to at least be exposed to this concept are not reading thembi’s blog. unless thembi is posting her blog for the world on blackplanet or in the back covers of teri woods ‘novels’ so folks can at least impede their hurtling toward disaster. *shrug* you can’t win ’em all.]

4. Know Your Own Hair. Black women have more hair options than almost anyone else, and we exercise them to the fullest. But even those of use who switch from weave to ponytail and from blonde to red would never dare to wear our natural hair in public. I can spend the whole day running errands and not see one blackgirl without a perm, and the same goes for watching television or opening a magazine. What is up with that? Granted, I went natural the easy way with the Philly soul thing being at my heart and a head of naps that never really took a perm quite right, but what pains me is when another blackgirl says to me “I love your hair! How long did it take to grow? I could never get my hair to be that texture. How did you do it?” The reality of it is, most of us don’t even know what is growing out of our own heads, and its very sad. Not one other group of people on this planet can say the same. It’s fine if you settle on a perm or some braids or even a Jheri curl after exploring your options, just get to the point where you can say that you know what your natural hair even looks and feels like before you aspire to be Beyonce by default. [it is IMPORTANT to know what your hair is really about. it is really important to style, care for, manage, and possibly even cut your own hair YOURSELF. dependency on a stylist is kinda, like, not cute. no matter what your choice of hair is. if you’ve got a natural and only ever wear microbraids or wigs or weaves because your hair is ‘ugly underneath that’ SOMETHING IS WRONG. love yourself enough to know how to do specifically what you want for yourself at all times. it’s a liberating feeling.]

5. Get Out Of Town. I’ve met young women who have never left their cities, seen the ocean, or even set foot in another zip code. It’s not always cheap, and it’s not always fun, but the sooner you start traveling the better. In fact, this Lady Law applies to almost everyone of every race and gender. Make a list of dream locations and get started as soon as possible. The more time you spend in the same surroundings the less you understand about the world, and for that matter, what the world thinks of you – you’ll learn that you’re not trapped after all. Besides, you can’t conquer the world if you don’t know what’s out there, and it should be your goal to conquer it! Let the trailer trash of West Virginia confuse Mexicans with Spaniards and believe that Africa is a country and not a continent. Learn your world because it is yours to learn, even if you have to do so only an inch at a time. [i used to feel bad about not having hit every country i’ve wanted to by age 25. but then i met someone who’s never spent a night in a hotel (even in his own city, which can still be fun and eye opening depending on where you stay), never even been to the airport (cuz his ppl never go anywhere or do shit), and was so amazed at my proclivity toward traveling to nyc on a whim that he nearly pissed his pants at the chance to go himself. i got over that feeling of inadequacy. i am gonna go where i wanna go at every given chance. this year: a conference in harlem, caribana in toronto, quality time w/ the fam at the jersey shore (you aren’t a philadelphian without it), and a good girlfriend of mine is moving to atlantic city. it doesn’t take a lot, except maybe a plan or at the very least the real genuine true desire. things happen for us all at the right time, when they need to happen. no need to rush to be amelia earhart, but you most certainly need to get out of your zip code. not not just to go to court.]

6. Don’t Get Called Out of Your Name. I’m not on this whole “we were queens” tip, but I know that none of us should be called or let ourselves be called any of the following: bitch, ho, trick, and on and on and on. Don’t sing along with songs about “makin’ it rain” unless it’s for the sake of irony. Don’t even participate in anything misogynistic unless you know it’s only a joke to you, and even then don’t ever pay for it. Recognize that just like when he talks about selling crack you’re not selling crack, that when some rapper talks about his hoes he doesn’t mean you, download that song from Limewire, and keep it moving. And lastly, never, EVER call yourself anyone’s “baby’s momma.” My first encounter with an ex’s grown BM involved her introducing herself to someone as such, and as much evidence as I may have already had that she was feeble-minded, giving herself that label sealed the deal. Don’t be that broad. [context means everything, y’all. formal introductions should not ever in your life or your former partner’s life include the words ‘baby’s mama’ or any variant. that shit’s not cute. my mom occasionally refers to my estranged father as her baby daddy because she thinks it’s funny. she generally refers to him as her ex. big difference. also, the context within which we use the words bitch, ho, trick, etc. means a lot. a lot. if you’re at a drag ball, bitch is thrown around liberally. it’s culture. it’s context. watch yourself.]

7. Act White. I won’t bother justifying this term because you all know just what I mean. Talk white by speaking the King’s English, using full sentences, and the most intricate vocabulary you can muster. Act white by doing well in school, participating in any activity that suits you, and playing musical instruments. Don’t worry, you will never, ever actually BE white. If it were possible, don’t you think that all of those people who were lynched and beaten back in the day would have white-acted their way out of it? [i am a second-generation ‘oreo’. my mom said they used to call her white girl for being so precise with her english, and it’s definitely managed to rub off on me and my two sisters. it’s so serious that i have charged myself with the task of learning perfect, unaffected spanish so that i sound the best i possibly can to native speakers. i’m not playing. i know my vernacular, i have my moments where i’m like ‘you ain’t shit!’ or whatever. but when it comes time for that good code-switching i learned in my school days (penn charter and project learn STAND UP!), i go toe to toe with the best. furthermore, i’ve always believed that excellent grades are the ultimate smack in the face to the very white ppl whom your brown/ black/ red/ yellow peers can’t stand. fuck what the other black kids are telling you. strive to get that perfect score on the SAT’s. i took AP art history senior year. it was liberating, despite being the only black student in the class. again: be unafraid of your whole self.]

8. Get What You Deserve Without Worrying About What He Deserves. This is a weird one. All too often women say “I’m not giving it up to him, he doesn’t deserve it!” But what do YOU want? While it’s not smart to just go giving it up to any old body, getting caught up in the idea that your sexual desires should be based on what men deserve is the exact opposite of feminism. If we only had sex when men deserved it we would be a bunch of bitter, mean, deprived wenches. Learning and maintaining the balance between withstanding pressure from dudes and getting yours is part of becoming a real woman. [get yours, boo. GET IT. you want to fuck the guy or gal who delivers the milk to your supermarket? does she or he meet or exceed your standards for an acceptable fuck buddy? nobody said you had to marry the motherfucker. go on and make it happen. if you make everyone jump through a bunch of hoops when you aren’t trying to go far with their ass to begin with, you may find yourself bothered with the lack of good sex in your life. the key: having and maintaining real standards. truuuuust me. i had a dope boy as a fuck buddy. i never let him talk much, cuz he wasn’t the smartest. but he met the standards: ready, willing, able, clean penis, proximity to my home, a deep love for cunnilingus. my standards have since changed, as have i. but y’all get the point. there’s a difference between sleeping with someone who’s a total waste of your time/ energy and getting yours from someone who simply isn’t the boo of your dreams while still being a great sex partner. really.]

9. Don’t Eat That Mess. Our country is facing an obesity epidemic, yadda yadda blah blah. But it’s all so very real, ladies, and I’m as guilty as the next chick. The thing is, you can get fat and out of shape eating regular food and that’s damning enough. It’s the Chinese Store chicken wings and fries (saltpepperketchup or no), grape soda, chips, quarter water, or other mess. If you can believe for one second that AIDS or crack was planted in the black community to kill us, what do you think Crown Fried Chicken is here for? And your body may be able to metabolize it before you hit 25, but after that it’s just a quick ride to Lane Bryant once you get addicted, so don’t do it. [she is NOT LYING. ‘regular’ to most ppl is hyperprocessed foolishness that comes wrapped in plastics and wax paper and shit, then goes in the microwave. and that’s just what you eat at home. not a good look. i live in a walking city, yet we used to be the fattest city in the nation. the problem: most of us are walking to get junk food. i have a warm(er) weather routine: walk at least 1 mile each weekday, whether it’s on lunch hour or on the way to work or on the way home. it’s at least a weight maintenance measure. the next issue is making sure i don’t get high and wander about in search of wings and cookies at midnight when my ass needs to (a) be asleep or (b) eat a damn apple and go to sleep. the munchies are real shit. i think this city is also full of potheads who will eat anything that isn’t nailed down. it’s unfortunate, but true. if you have a crazy work schedule like mine, it’s super easy to do takeout instead of cooking. it’s pricey, though. and depending on where you live, you may only be able to get junk. the key is balance.]

10. Be A Lady. I have never been the most ladylike of blackgirls and most women like me can trace that to our upbringings, but it’s really very simple. It’s very natural for us to speak loudly, but it’s more powerful when used in small doses, just like hot sauce. Making that lip smack before you start speaking is not cute either, especially if it’s followed by a “weeeeeeeeaaaaal,” twist of your neck, and then whatever it is that you have to say. By doing that, not only have you butchered the word “well,” but whatever you have to say is eclipsed by that attempt to get attention and gear up like you need prep time just to speak your mind. Swearing every other word may be cute to around-the-way boys but if you ever want to get off of the block (see Lady Law #5), it won’t do you any good. Although every once in a while another female may make your blood boil, fighting is not cute – just think, aren’t you way too pretty to get into a fight and get some gash across your face? I don’t think I need to caution young blackgirls on good grooming because we’re good at that, but do you really need to let all of that unravel just because some girl is talking about you? What does that even really mean? Like Katt Williams says, if you’ve got fourteen haters, you need to find a way to get sixteen! [i’ve never fought someone who didn’t hit me first. i’ll never be the one who advises a friend to go slap the shit out of someone — that just is not my style. i believe in maintaining my relative freedom by not getting locked up. i also think it’s lame to fight someone when you have a job, or rent to pay, or kids to feed. then again, anyone who needs to consider this probably isn’t reading my blog. next up: lenée’s life skills classes. after doula training/ certification and a bit more day jobbing.]

i couldn’t have said it better.

this post is a reflection of what runs through my mind almost constantly when i’m riding public transit during hours that kids are out, or when i enter the gallery to make a purchase or avoid inclement weather outdoors. i feel like a traitor sometimes. i try not to be elitist. i try not to think poorly of poor ppl. but, dammit, these knucklehead kids & the parents who are raising them half-assed if at all . . . what do i do when i, as an HR professional (until further notice), meet these same folks at a job fair and can’t even entertain the idea of trying to recruit them when i know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’re unemployable?

i’m not saying every one of these buck-wild-in-the-wrong-way kids is gonna grow up to be a total fuckwad.
i’m saying plenty of them are — one is too many, really — and i just don’t wanna be bothered.

*sigh*

it’s enough to make me glad as shit to be a brainiac snob. i know that there’s a lot under all this. i know. i know that there’s dysfunction at play long before any of these little ones even exit the birth canal. but dammit, sometimes i don’t care. i want peace & quiet. i don’t wanna have to sit next to your smelly, cheese-curl-eating-at-seven-thirty-in-the-morning ass. i don’t fucking care if you know all the words to some dipset song. i don’t need to hear if you think j. holiday is sexy as shit — do you even know wtf that means? and pull your fucking pants up. stop with the imitations of what you think languages that aren’t english sound like.

ugh.

i give up. i’m going to bed. rant over.

if you identify as pro-life

(link not for the squeamish at ALL)

if you call yourself against abortions
whatever you wanna call it
make sure you’re as mad about this mess as you are terminations of pregnancies.

and make sure you protest all the people who you think are involved or make it possible
be extra sure to show them pictures of what they’ve done wrong, too. okay? okay. thanks.

(link via darkdaughta)

oh, boy.

here we motherfreakin go.

reading this article, a few things popped into my mind:
– maybe folks don’t talk enough about what to do when they don’t know what to do. i.e., the one woman’s situation where the doctor recommended that the mother receive an IV. i don’t know that i would have recommended that the woman go take a shower. i always understood being a doula as being present in assisting the mother in the birth she wants. if a client changes her mind mid-labor about being all natural, am i really in any kind of a position to give her static? i genuinely don’t think so. everyone’s anxious about safe passage for the child. everyone wants the mother to be okay and for it to be as easy a labor as possible. i’m not so keen on sending a woman to get a shower if she’s considering an IV.

– umm, of course a lactation consultant is pushing breast milk. it’s that person’s freaking job. if you don’t need consultation, the consultant doesn’t have a job anymore. however, lactation consultants are not MDs in most instances. this means that knowledge of a lack of hormone in the mother’s body is not something that ought to be laid upon the shoulders of the lactation consultant. i don’t think that a mother’s inability to produce breast milk is something for anyone except the mother to be upset about. really. i’m sure that such a thing is crushing to a woman who’s planned to breast feed. it’s really for her to deal with, along with the aid of her partner and whomever else is part of her support system. come the hell on. if i’m doing breastfeeding education with a client and it turns out that she’s incapable of producing milk, wtf kind of person am i (let alone doula) if i get uptight with her about using formula instead? really.

– the best part of the whole article is the quote from jessica sacher. parents absolutely have the same amount of due diligence as when choosing a pediatrician. it’s cool to be excited about going the natural birth route, and having a doula and/ or midwife. but fantasy and idealism kind of go out the window when you’re facing the choice between an epidural and suffering through what may be the most intense pain you’ve ever felt in your life.

this article made me think about someone’s caveat to me a few weeks ago: “make sure you know how to sell yourself as a doula. what makes you unique? why should someone hire you instead of a woman who’s an RN or a licensed massage therapist?” it turned my stomach that she turned it into a sale thing. for crying out loud, she works in the maternal & infant health field — has done so for more years than i’ve been on this damn planet — & instead of sharing resources with me, she fucking decides i need to sell my services as one might sell ass on a street corner. i’m glad i stopped listening to her ass halfway through the ‘advice session.’ i mean, of course i need to present myself the best way i possibly can. but also, i feel that an informed, positively minded parent or couple will choose someone who best fits their needs. it’s ridiculous for me to try to land clients the way jewelry salespeople fight for commission. there are more births out there than i could possibly handle. if i were in it for the clout i’d have gone ahead to get an MPH and be someone’s snot nosed hospital administrator.

also, i believe that prevention is the one thing that best combats situations where conflict occurs between doula and parent(s), between nurse and doula, etc.

i could be writing all night. i can’t afford to. feel free to carry on in the comments, people.

g’night!

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