a few quick notes about no wedding, no womb

i wrote it on tumblr, but for those of you who don’t read me there, i thought it’d be a good idea to share my beliefs on this quote-unquote movement here. (google the whole thing, i’m not giving them any linkage)

because i tweeted it but didn’t blog it:

the whole quote-unquote movement is gender essentialist. point blank. period.

the finger wagging and shaming aside, this initiative seeks to push all MAAB (male assigned at birth) and FAAB (female assigned at birth) persons to marry one another, regardless of being self-identified as trans, or being gay or lesbian self-identified.

because of the illegality, in most states, of what’s called same-sex marriage, this initiative cannot include cisgender gay, lesbian, or bisexual (or pan or omnisexual) ppl or any trans-identified people. by its own definition, no less.

monogamy is not the default setting for all humans. it is a choice. compulsory monogamy and heterosexuality encroach on the rights of an individual to do what they wish with their bodies.

furthermore, there has been little to no discussion by the NWNW folks regarding causations of single parenthood & correlations between single motherhood & the catastrophic outcomes they seem to think are rampant in the black community.

encouraging anyone to marry for the sake of a child is dangerous. ask any one of my friends who has lived through a domestic violence situation, either as the scarred child or as the abused spouse.

& if i say shit else about this, it’ll be because someone on team finger wag has come at my neck w/ some bullshit.

zomg i’m single!

so the fuck what?

this is all the discussion y’all are getting out of me. thanks to this piece from the crunk feminist collective, i don’t have to go too deep.  i’m including links from a twitter rant i went on regarding this very subject, for good measure.

first, i wanted to know if anyone had introduced to this larger conversation the idea that monogamy is not the default setting for our lives, but a choice.   as in, we choose to be monogamous, or we don’t.  & if you don’t realize that you choose monogamy, this is where you should find another blog post of mine to read (like the one about tina knowles).   we do not have to couple.  some of us are polyamorous, some of us never partner — even when we decide that we wish to parent.

nobody that i know of, with the exception of the ladies at crunk feminist collective, has mentioned that queer (by queer i mean lesbians, bisexual, pan/ omnisexual, trans, intersex)  self-identified black women aren’t considered in this conversation. again: we are not a monolith. you can’t have this conversation without considering the fact that the women being discussed are hetero, cisgender (not trans women — trans ppl are invisible in virtually every conversation about marriage, and just about everything else), & at the very least hold bachelor’s degrees. because ppl who don’t finish college don’t matter in this conversation, no matter what they’re doing w/ themselves, unless it’s to count them as undesirables.  further, who’s to say that marriage is everyone’s goal or ideal? it could be argued that “we aren’t talking about those people,” but if that’s the case then it must be stated so from the onset of each conversation regarding unmarried black women of certain income levels and sexual orientations.  period. know your audience.

if the root of the “problem” of unmarried black hetero cis women is that there aren’t enough desirable black men to go around & we’re looking at that strictly in terms of education, then who’s to blame? parents? schools? both? neither? high school dropout rates are nothing to sneeze at. the prison industrial complex, fueled by some rather draconian laws, also removes men who might otherwise be “good catches” from the dating pool.  does this mean that some of those “lost ones” were never marriageable to begin with, as their parents/ support systems failed them long before they got outta high school? okay. i’ll take that. but that isn’t the case w/ everyone. i feel like too much of this conversation is based on simplistic ideas of what a “good black man” is, and what a “good black woman” needs.  also: folks get married later in general, because they’re doing more than their parents’ generations did w/ their lives. the need for a college education has increased — even to get administrative assistant gigs. so if we have to take more time between high school and college to fill up these lives of ours (with greater expectancies, even for black men & women), maybe it’s not even as deep as the media panic suggests. ::gasp:: maybe we’re doing so much that holding ourselves to standards based on folks who lived life differently (slower, w/ less autonomy as children/ young adults, w/ different or less education) is a waste of fucking time! i’m just sayin.

& really, if marrying someone is about loving them until your last breath exits your body, can we consider one thing: the purported crisis of unmarried black women suggests that there is not enough love for us. that we are not lovable. that there is scarcity in the black community, so we must either take what we can get from black men or marry white men if we want to be married at all. this is wrong. love is infinite. there is no reason to think, for one minute, that any one of us is not lovable. that we are not desirable — to anyone, whether they be white, asian, latino, man, woman, gender non-conforming, cisgender, transgender, disabled, blue collar, white collar, no collar, or anything fucking else. if we marry because we want to spend the rest of our lives surrounded by the love, care, and support of another person then why on earth would we let fear run us off our paths? no, i’m not saying that there aren’t rough patches. heaven knows that i’ve lived through my shit and may continue to go through things before i find a good lover (i don’t necessarily seek to marry). but under no circumstances is being single a detriment. it’s never wrong. it’s not a bad thing. we’re not born partnered. we choose to partner — some of us because of conditioning, some of us because we find that wonderful person to be with. & it’s all good. it’s about intent, y’all. if your intent for seeking a mate is because that shit is on your checklist of successful shit to do w/ your life, you might be setting yourself up for what we call the okey-doke.   ultimately, the lens through which our romantic situations are being examined is flawed, to say the least.   & to say the most: it’s fucked up, limited, & doesn’t actually apply to as many folks as these “experts” (like finesse “my best jokes are about my teen mother” mitchell, jimi izrael & steve harvey) would have you believe.

this rant’s over. i’m dropping the mic like randy watson. but if you wanna read more juicy commentary:

visit the sugar shack

read this op-ed via the philadelphia inquirer

& another dope post from the crunk feminist collective

this piece from the nation, featuring the words of the fabulous melissa harris-lacewell & courtney young is made of pure unadulterated win.

i’m off to go be single and cook for myself, feed myself, bathe myself, & sing my face off at karaoke. cuz that’s what manless almost-30-year-olds do, apparently.

on the eve of your birthday

i wanna tell you how to get free as quietly as you please

because loudness draws attention that you say you don’t want.
i know that the sparkle in your eyes is dimmer, because of years of shit piled on top of you
the paradigm you never chose is the one within which you exist
nobody ever said it was okay to leave
i’m telling you it is
demanding that you do
for the sake of yourself, as no one else is important
no one is. 
walk forward w/ head held high
one foot before the other
start running towards you, instead of away from you
this is a new chapter.
5 is oshun’s number, multiplied by 10 you are to step into the abundance she promised you when you knelt in orun
blessings are meant for you
love is meant for you
peace is meant for you
take hold of it.
ashé!

five things you can do right now about the oscar grant shooting.

(link courtesy of jay smooth)

Oscar Grant, an unarmed man, was killed by an Oakland police officer. Here are five things (compiled by Makani Themba-Nixon) that you should do right now to respond to the senseless death of this 22 year old Black man. Video footage of the shooting recently surfaced.

1. Digg the story so that the national media can pick up on it

2. Contact BART Director Carole Ward Allen and demand that 1) the officers involved be taken off duty without pay and charged and fully prosecuted; 2) there be an independent investigation of the shooting that includes a review of training and hiring practices; and 3) BART establish an independent residents’ review board for the police Call her at 510-464-6095 or email the BART Directors at BoardofDirectors@bart.gov

3. Call the BART police to complain about the officers’ conduct and demand immediate action: Internal Affairs: Sergeant David Chlebowski 510.464.7029,dchlebo@bart.gov; Chief of Police: Gary Gee 510.464.7022, ggee@bart.gov

Call them toll free at 877.679.7000 and press the last four digits of the phone number you wish to reach.

4. Talk it up on your blogs, networks and talk radio shows (call Michael Baisden 877-6BADBOY or Rev. Al, etc. to get this on the national radar)

5. Stay tuned for other actions, protests, etc., especially if you are in the Bay.

feeling that feeling again.

(yet another stream of consciousness)

you know the one.
where you’re disillusioned with just about everything, don’t feel like pretending anymore, & can’t even fathom maintaining the facade? that feeling. that if-you-don’t-get-the-fuck-outta-my-face-with-that-bullshit feeling. that feeling that leads you to believe you’re gonna come out on the other side of the coming week with fewer friends, more enemies & twelve new ways to tell someone to kiss your ass.

i’ve already written an imaginary resignation letter
already invited someone to put me on their personal do-not-call list
& next up is everyone’s favorite: family drama.
i’m not gonna go into great detail about it here, because the more i discuss it the more incensed i become. basically, my mom has decided that it’s my job to pick up the slack for her shortcomings — which are not major in the grand scheme of anything but mean everything because she’s trying to impress people — & i’m not really having it.
& it’s all culminating in my apartment.
i did not invite ppl over for thanksgiving (aka slaughter some indigenous ppl & call it a pilgrimage), yet the tired & huddled masses yearning to be fed are coming to apartment 3f like it’s times square on new year’s eve.
i’m between leaving and just locking myself in the bedroom & not allowing anyone passage through the bedroom into the bathroom. can’t decide which just yet. because i’m too busy being mad.

it’s a lot deeper than what i discuss here; my family is still my family, & if i were to type the whole sordid tale y’all would be paying for my shit as a .pdf on lulu.com.

but suffice it to say:
this time of year always kicks up shit for a lot of reasons
& every year i strive to be better at handling it. not functioning through a fog or haze
but more lucid, more transparent because that’s how i wish to live my life overall
& it seems like the freer i get,
the more ppl try to pull me back into that shit
lie to make it look better
fake it ’til you make it
don’t say anything inappropriate until after one year passes and the comfort level increases
be everyone’s helpmeet
don’t be so aggressive
. . . fuck that.
fuck the fronting
i’m not here for that
i’ve spent the better part of the last 10 years trying to find myself under the layers of shit other people have put on me, and now, because you want to impress someone else with some imaginary cosby-esque family that doesn’t even exist, i have to participate?

i can’t do it.

ppl start acting crazier the closer it gets to the winter solstice.
i personally don’t give a shit how much you’re going through, just don’t make it my job to deal with.

next year, i’m going into hiding at thanksgiving and not coming out until after MLK day.

on: standing in the gap

when a friend falls down
falls apart
falls out w/ someone they love
needs to scream
needs to cry
needs to use expletives excessively, in succession, making little to no sense
that’s when you know you trust them
that’s when you know they trust you
that’s when you honor that space & that event
i give thanks for the opportunity to do that and be on both ends
and if i count you in that number
please know that you’re more than welcome, as long as i have the ability to provide for you the arms to hold you up or the hands to piece you back together
the back to carry you
the courage to see that you are not a burden, but a reflection
i will love you
i will support you
i will honor and respect you
let this be my pact
from now until the last blink.

ashé + amen

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 wait

to get here. that must be why i came early. and i know that, from the very start, you’ve held my hand. no matter how wrong i was, without regard to my stubbornness, you never let go. i appreciate that. i don’t know one word to sum it up. i’ve drifted, come back, drifted again but deep down i always knew you were anchoring me. i’m thankful.

you taught me
how to politely tell someone that i don’t cosign their foolishness
what it is to make a dollar out of 15 cents
how to be sharp as a tack on a really low budget
how to make a wreath out of trash bags
what the last laugh really is
how to be a maverick
when to walk away
that faith without work is dead
what forgiveness is without forgetting
how to say goodbye to someone you love
the difference between forward movement and running away
how to love myself regardless of what other people think
that crafting a gift can be better than a store-bought item
discipline for the sake of something i want
how to share without giving myself away

when i was a little girl, i wanted to be you because you exemplified composure and class. your hair, your choice of clothes and jewelry . . . i even used to sneak your cigarette butts because i wanted to know what it’d feel like to be you. i don’t know if you ever knew that. but i wanted to be just like you when i grew up. i can only hope that i can capture and utilize a fraction of your uniqueness. the way you move through the world is miraculous to me — some days i don’t think i have the grace or patience. but then i remember whose daughter i am, and i have to correct myself.

i don’t really know if i’ll ever be able to articulate how much taller i stand because you’ve helped me and been there and said ‘okay’ even when i wasn’t sure of myself.
thank you.
every day should be your day, but i’m just making sure i take the time to speak on how i feel.
i admire, respect, thank and love you. happy mother’s day, mommy!

this is a copy of the email i sent my mom. all the manicures, pedicures and jars of honey-roasted peanut butter won’t ever do it.

i’m tired of this shit.

myopia is a disease. it can be a blessing and simultaneously a curse, if you will. i don’t mean what my eyes can do (i’m a prime candidate for corrective eye surgery, actually). i’m talking about worldview perspective, or the lack thereof. i’m still here with mine. i’m not sure there are too many other ways to say it. i believe that love must fuel change. when i change myself, it is out of love — i cast away old things. i cast away negativity. i cast away damaging things to improve myself. to me, change outside of ourselves should be fueled by the same feelings of love. there is no other way. what could be greater than love?

shine on!

dope girl fresh has been featured on the ultraviolet underground blog.

altered thought’s silly ass is back at it. this time, he wants you to learn the basics of having relations.

laetiçia has learned the glory of bragging, a valuable lesson learned from mama gena.

falsabaiana’s kids won the GOLD in their ballroom competition. (girl, gimme a link to read if there is one) she’s also a recent birthday girl! yaaaaaaaaay!

this is my time to celebrate ppl i know/ love (especially myself! lol) & the wonderful things they do/ create, no matter how big or small.

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!

my inner child needs a hug.

& an apology
& that new pair of punky brewster sneakers
someone who’ll listen the first time she says someone’s house is on fire across the street
& someone to explain why she has to be nice to or give two shits about daddy & his folk
someone to tell mommy to stop putting relaxers in her hair, no matter how much “easier” it is to style
& a friend who won’t steal her cabbage patch dolls
a real talk about boys, sex, sexuality, & why her uncles keep nudie mags
to know that difference between mommy’s cigarettes & that funny smelling stuff ricky & his friends smoke in the living room
to get to know all of the bisabuelos before they die or have strokes
to learn to jump double dutch
to learn to play chess, cuz checkers is for suckas
& to know how beautiful she is
to know it’s more than, better than okay to be black
to be unashamed of her roundness
to understand that saying no is a tool, & she should do it often

she needs more quality time with momzie
violin lessons
more dance classes
no more wave nouveau
better access to health care
more smart black girlfriends
more books
more space
a savings account
more time to play w/ the records in the basement
a trip to every cultural event and street fair philadelphia ever had to offer
to see her own reflection and smile
to know that she’s loved, a child of god no less than the stars
& most importantly
that she’s gonna grow up to be just fine.

my current feelings/ thoughts on thanksgiving:

i don’t feel like it.

this year, i want a turkey sammich in one hand & some sort of intoxicant in the other, while watching some kind of ridiculous film or television program on dvd (see: get a life, in living color, pootie tang, or napoleon dynamite) with some friends.

i will have that kind of thanksgiving. dammit.

even if my entire family converges on my itty bitty apartment & decides to eat candy off exu’s shrine space . . .
even if my perpetually chilly apartment lets the hawk in . . .
even if my janky ass oven puts an unnecessary coating of crispness on everything i bake inside of it . . .

i will enjoy this day off.

maferefun sango!!!

kawo! kabiyesile!

thank you, baba, for sending my brother my way. i love love love LOVE that boy to pieces. thank you. we are each other’s cheer leader, each other’s comic relief, & most importantly we have a taciturn understanding that can be expressed simply by the raising of an eyebrow. my brother is so sharp, too. thank you for bringing a sharply dressed black man around me, one who actually compliments me and means it. he is not trying to sleep with me (not that i know of). he is socially conscious, and gives a damn about his folks. he will entertain my conversations about all things sociopolitical, & never once calls me ‘too smart.’ we crack nerd jokes & he never, ever, EVER tells me i think too much/ too hard.

i’m blessed to have a friend like vsf. i love that crazy child. i do.

adupe.

things i really love this week:

my new favorite post on one tenacious baby mama, which can be found right here.

birthday presents!!! (i never got a lot of presents as a kid, so when ppl give me stuff i am not only bowled over but i feel very magical & sparkly, in addition to overall special)

new music

sex*

an internet connection that works long enough for me to cop a new anorak

odara healthy hair food & various other items from chic afrique

my mama

marathon grill

the series of contradictions that make up my blog reading & life overall

my crazy ass, sweet, thoughtful, creative, unique, forever-looking-out-for-me friends

angela bofill’s 1st album ON VINYL (thank you, brian, SO very much!)

* i always love sex. this is nothing new. lol.

it’s so easy to make

one of those “oh this year i’m gonna ____________” posts, only to be disappointed in myself next year when i read it over. i know how that mess goes and i refuse to do that to my psyche. instead, i’m gonna lay it all out thusly:

if you called/ sent a text/ emailed/ sang/ clapped/ danced/ gifted or did anything else in honor of my birthday, i:

1) love
2) appreciate
3) am thankful for
4) am glad to know
5) owe my most sincere thanks to
6) am reminded why i continually fux with
7) hope to always be friends with
8) need to buy a drink for
9) probably need to spend more time with
10) just plain fucking HEART

you.

thank you. you rock. you are a superstar & SO wonderful for blessing me on my special day. i will return the favor, provided that i don’t actually forget your birthday. & even if i do, i’ma return the favor. because you’re an absolute pumpkin & deserve all that positivity returned to you ten thousand fold.

this was a day when i could look around & really feel the myriad ways in which i am blessed. i hope to continue to feel that until this particular revolution around the sun has completed & i begin the next. ecstasy, abundance & bliss. those are the things i want.

meh: an update.

1) i’m paying earthlink for internet service. earthlink is cheap. earthlink is trying to make this city wireless. you get what you pay for. i am beyond annoyed. i can’t even blog from home! gah.

2) there is a major scandal brewing at my job. i work in human resources, & that basically means that the inspector general is gonna be down our throats sooner as opposed to later. not just the HR manager. like, the whole office might get called before whomever wants to know about us. lordy be. i’m keeping a low ass profile at the gig. i’m crazy but not stupid. i need to pay close attn & keep my ear to the ground, f’real.

3) i would rather be fucking. seeeeeriously. you have no idea.

4) i discovered that there’s been a four legged creature visiting my apartment. i will kill it, like i did the other one. sorry. if you don’t pay rent & aren’t a welcomed domesticated creature you have to go.

5) i found out that someone i don’t fuck with like that is not only friends w/ someone else i don’t fuck with like that, but that they both seem to think the world of me & want me to kick it wiht them, despite my apparent demonstration of not-wanting-to-fuck-with-them-ness. (yeah, i know.) i want them to be clear on my unwillingness to be bothered, without my having to scream or gnash my teeth. wish me luck.

6) i’m gonna start giving ppl 3 days to pay for bath products. i am not about to waste my life force making salts/ bombs (especially damn bombs) for ppl who don’t seem to understand that they need to pay for what they order when they say they will. this especially applies to the girl in my office who waited 3 weeks to tell me she didn’t have $6 for some bath salts. wtf? boo, i know you don’t have it. that’s why i didn’t bring them shits to your desk… & don’t think i’m giving you a sample or freebie cuz i feel bad. it’s your prerogative to spend bath salts money on mcdonald’s, the same way it’s mine to take these joints home to take a bath with. holler.

7) amy winehouse’s first album is so drastically different (sonically) from her first that she almost sounds like a different person. it’s kinda sad, like on some carmen mcrae shit.

8) that being said, keyshia cole needn’t be on the cover of the new essence. that’s vomitous. falcor the luck dragon made the cover before they found a “down” white woman? i’m not buying that shit, kid. (if you don’t know i’m joking please let this be your warning. but something about keyshia cole makes me itch incessantly. i don’t know what it is.)

9) riesling is something that i never should have discovered. i love it so much that i wanna name all my babies riesling. really.

10) tomorrow (really today) i go for allergy tests. oh, lord. if i find out that i’ve got celiac disease i’m gonna cry a LOT. then i’m gonna find out how to make bread out of not-wheat. yeah. that’s a word i just made up.

11) knowing that a girlfriend of mine is pregnant, two friends are going through divorces, & that most of my attached friends are either having drama or dating complete loons has made me feel much better about rolling solo. it sucks when i wanna cuddle on the sofa, but screw all that emo crap. i’m bad all by myself.

12) i just got cayenne pepper up my nose. damn.

13) my crush probably doesn’t know he’s my crush, & that’s okay.

14) season 4 of the wire on dvd soon. YES! more cutty. thanks, netflix!

15) i’m one day going to be a homeowner. that’s neat.

maybe i’m just a mean old heifer.

i don’t know. basically, yesterday, my intern (he’s 16) asked me if i understood what mos def was talking about in his songs. that is, asked, “you hear the messages in his music, talking about the third eye and all that?” i blinked. i replied, “yes, i hear him. & i don’t think what he’s saying is wrong, necessarily.” intern then says, “it’s a shame that he thinks that way,” or something like that. i had to take a deep breath, then politely inform youngin that no matter how much you listen to someone’s music, you’re only gonna begin to align your personal beliefs with what’s expressed in their music if you feel you should. i give my brain more credit than that. i also had to let intern know that it’s not ever okay to assume that (a) someone is a particular religion, (b) that they wanna have religion-based conversations with you, or (c) that anyone withn hearing range wants to be party to such a discussion. we work in city government. that’s a really bad idea. i also had to let him know, that whatever a person believes (or doesn’t believe) about god, it’s not any other human being’s business. period. he got kinda quiet. then said “i didn’t wanna get up in your business, i was just sayin . . . he shouldn’t think that way.” i didn’t waste time asking why. because i choose not to have that kind of talk with ppl at my job — i barely talk to ppl outside of work about my faith tradition or anything religion-related. i just reminded him that assumptions aren’t okay. i left it at that.

i know this child to be very much into church, into being a ‘warrior for christ,’ as i’ve heard him say. (that shit makes me cringe, just for the record) i know that he reminds me of myself when i was about 12. i thought i had to be extra preachy gospelly . . . that i had to tell the world about jesus & tell ppl they’re wrong for being non-christians. of course, as i got older, i realized that i love secular music. i also realized that i didn’t necessarily think jesus was my savior. i had questions that were not being answered by anything i read in the bible, nor did i have questions that were being answered by my elders. i also found that i disliked the idea that i had to maintain some standard of purity in my life, lest my humanity allow me to fall prey to the tools / whims of satan . . . who really was just a disgruntled former angel in the first place. there were too many holes. too many things that made no sense to me. so i kinda sat back & watched. i let everyone who identified as a christian show me how they were far from emulators of jesus christ himself. i shrugged, shook it off, & kept moving.
i dunno, my whoooooooole entire family (save my grandfather, one uncle & maybe one or two relatives by marriage) lean on jesus extra hard. that’s cool, if it works for them. i think my baby sister might be one of us witchy yoruba santeria lucumi vodou candomblé goddess worshiper types. but i dunno for sure. my overwhelming feeling is that black folks allow whether or not someone is a christian be their deciding factor in regard to whether or not that person is acceptable.
there’s a fatal flaw in that: there are folks who you may attend church with, who still don’t have the same values you do, for whatever reason(s). i come from a family that values dialog but is still at times very authoritarian. my mother taught my two sisters & me to be as critically-thinking as possible. that didn’t go terribly well with my grandmother, grandfather & two uncles. but they all managed to get the hell over it at some point — they created little encyclopedia-reading monsters who never stopped wondering/ creating/ thinking. & it became okay. nerdiness is woven into the fabric of my family, & along with that comes talking & introduction of new ideas. my extended family identifies as christian, but what about the nurturing of growth/ encouragement of education that i experienced at home? if it doesn’t apply to them does that automatically make them bad/ wrong?
but i’m getting off topic. my basic idea about exclusively using your religion as a measuring stick for others — especially & including those who identify within the same religion — is that your measuring stick is the result of your interpretation almost exclusively. that’s not accurate. furthermore, variables are unavoidable. people vary. period. that’s a dangerous thing. it’s like fitting a square peg into a very round hole.
i hope intern learns as he gets older that that kinda shit isn’t okay. he may not — he comes from a position of privilege within the social circles where he exists. patriarchy rules supreme in his world (the worst thing i’ve ever heard come out of this child’s mouth is that no woman should ever break up w/ her high school sweetheart just because she doesn’t wanna have a long distance relationship), & it guarantees his comfort. so, i don’t know. he has no idea what this wide world holds for him as a black male in america.
i hope he he learns, though. gently, easily, gradually. because the next person may not even entertain the idea of being sweet or diplomatic. i know what it is to have everything you believe in snatched out from under you. but then again, he may need that . . .

a hilarious chat w/ my mom

(& her homegirl) yielded a rather interesting response when i mentioned that a friend of mine thinks it’s a good thing for her & her husband to split up for a while, if not permanently. i expressed that my girl was probably on the verge of killing dude in his sleep. & without missing a beat, mommy & ladonne gave the infamous international black woman response: MMMPH. that’s no acronym, babies, that’s the actual sound they made. that, like a clicking of the tongue, can say everything without actual words being used. that was an empathetic sentiment; mommy said, “note that i didn’t say ‘aww,’ or encourage you to tell her to seek some help. she’ll be aight. just tell her he isn’t worth catching a court case.”
that’s my mom, folks.
dunno wtf i’d do without her.

goddess glory on imus.

yes, i know the nappy-headed hoes thing is old.
but there was a ripple effect. ppl are attacking hip hop like snoop dogg & nelly created the idea that blk women are hypersexualized. ppl are still talking about the level of responsibility of everyone but themselves. i’m not with it, personally.

peep the video. she makes some really excellent points.

Previous Older Entries