You Don't Own Me

Recently I've been working out. Meaning I jog  power walk every chance I get. Only in the mornings though, because Atlanta heat is more disrespectful than your favorite auntie off one too many glasses of brown.
Anyway, I've noticed something. I am constantly looking over my shoulder. Whether I feel someone walking up behind me or not. Just a cautionary measure, I guess...but I'm starting to make myself uncomfortable every time I turn around. I even make sure that my volume is lowered on my headphones in case someone decides to speak to me just so I can be sure to respond. That aspect of my behavior probably goes back to college when I, along with all of the other young women in my freshman orientation class, were told to always acknowledge the catcalls of men on the street for our safety. Ignoring them could yield catastrophic results.
Why is this? Why do I live in the suburbs of Atlanta, in close proximity to Lamborghini and BMW dealerships and park next to Gucci Fiats at Walgreen's and have to still watch my back as if I were that stupid 17 year old girl walking to McDonald's alone at 1:00 AM for a salad  in DC? It's 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday, why can't I relax?
Perhaps it could be cases like that of Brock Turner. The RAPIST, Brock Turner who also happens to be a former Olympic swim team hopeful, was convicted of raping a young woman he met at a party and not only received about  months of probation, but his parents sent open letters to the public complaining about him not being able to have steak anymore. Like...WHAT?!?! HE RAPED A YOUNG LADY! Whether she was drunk or not, he committed rape, and people are honestly, from the bottom of their hearts, complaining about people being pissed at him.

I need to move on, I'm getting sidetracked. Do your googles.

When I go for my morning workouts, when I walk from my car to my apartment after babysitting at night, walking from the grocery store to my car. I'm starting to feel paranoid. But WHY? The fact that I remember girls are told to honor catcalls and handed rape whistles is horrifying when you think about it. And the fact that some men are coddled enough to where RAPE becomes just a mistake made by a boy who means well is the definition of insanity. It has to be.

Rape culture is perpetuated in many communities, either it's a lyric where a woman is "slipped a molly" by your favorite pear loving rapper Rick Ross or your beloved singing hot tub claims that it wasn't rape or sexual assault because she was unconscious is rape culture, it perpetuates the idea that it's ok to take something personal from someone even though they don't want to give it to you. For example, I had a conversation with a cashier at the gas station up the street from my job. It's a store I frequent because they have all of the best snacks. So he and I have a slight rapport, not enough that I would call him friend, but enough that he noticed when I cut my hair and he felt comfortable enough to tell me he recently started dating a woman from Zambia. They were taking it slow and he didn't really know how to approach the situation because she isn't was he's used to. I told him to just take his time and get to know her. His response was, "If I pay $50 for dinner, I'm going to need to do more than talk!" Let alone that $50 isn't worth my hand, let alone my vagina, what makes you think that a woman should feel OBLIGATED to give you her body because you bought a meal? What?! He followed up with "it's 2016!" So the year is what changed everything?

Listen, I'm no relationship expert or life coach at all, but damnit something ain't right! I would actually be more accepting of my precautions if they were the product of fear of being robbed of material things. That may not feel better to you , but I feel like I'm grasping for strings here. Anything would feel better than wanting to go for a walk to clear my mind of the weight and struggles of being Black in America only to be confronted with the fear of being raped! I just realized how sick this is.

Raping someone is not ok. No one owes you their body. If you rape someone, you are a rapist. You can not accidentally rape someone. Drugging someone and having sex with their limp body is rape. Finding someone that is intoxicated and has blacked out and raping them is rape. Taking advantage of someone who's already told you no is rape. Men can be raped. Women can be rapists.

Rape can be avoided. Rape culture can be stopped. Apologists for rapists should shut up. There's more I could say, but there's another Black body lying dead in the street.

...dig and be dug...

May 2016

May 2016 has kicked my ass.

Since April 29th, just before noon, I have been rolling with these punches that felt like I've been thrown into the center of an all out fight between Holyfield, Tyson and both Ali's in their prime.

Just pure ass kicking.

I woke up on April 29th feeling great. I even went to work early to help out because someone ELSE got sick. By 9:00, I knew something wasn't right. By 10:15 I was warm on the outside but still shivering and had chills. By 11:00 I had a fever of 101. I couldn't turn my head or adjust my eyes without severe pain. I went straight to the doctor was told that I have an ear infection and was given antibiotics. A friend came to my rescue with chicken noodle soup, a thermometer, acetaminophen and company.

I had spoken with my mother several times that day because naturally, she was checking on me. I had no idea that the night of April 29th, as I lie in my bed, head pounding and fever high, yet enjoying some company and re-watching my new favorite show Underground, that my aunt had a heart attack and had subsequently passed away. I learned about her transition the next morning.

By May 4th I was home in Jersey with my family. By May 7th, I was speaking at her service. The next day was Mother's day and it was strange, Only because she wasn't there. Part of me kept looking for her and want to ask my cousins where she was. Then I reminded myself. Repeatedly and painfully reminded myself. In the end, it was a blessing to spend time with family and laugh together especially when we're all feeling so much pain.

Coming back to Atlanta was difficult. Coming back to work was painful. I felt like I wasn't ready and had to walk out a few times because I got emotional. By the end of the week, I had started to push myself back into the swing of things and when I heard about an audition that Friday night, I jumped at the opportunity.

I won't bore anyone with details, but let's just say my phone stopped working completely and my portable hard drive wasn't compatible with anybody's software and no one one who could print my head shots was open or available on Saturday. And I was driving for 8 hours trying to make  what seemed like magic happen.

It doesn't seem like much but coming out of a week full of so many emotional ups and downs...you just had to be there. And be glad you weren't.

I didn't get the part. Cool.

That whole next week, I couldn't get out of bed. I was up to 45 minutes late to work everyday. I didn't cook a meal for dinner because I just couldn't do it and I hadn't done so since a few days before April 29th.

That weekend I pressed myself into the kitchen and decided to be in a better mood. Just because I didn't have any options. And I cooked. And it was pretty good.

Monday was a typical day. The good thing about it was, I made it through. On Tuesday I lost my favorite bracelet. It's a pink beaded bracelet that I got in support of an aunt of mine who's battling breast cancer. I literally wear it everyday and I couldn't find it. Once I decided that I had to save this search for another day, I went home. Thankfully, on my way there, the school's director called to tell me that a parent found my bracelet and it would be on her desk when I opened. GREAT!!!!
On Wednesday get my bracelet and feel much better, all things considered. I decided to head to the library to find some auditions. I find a few that I feel would be good for me to submit for and go to use that handy hard drive...and it's wiped out. Everything is gone. 10 years of writing. Head shots. Pictures and videos from my old phone that crashed LAST WEEK.

GONE.

Now I understand starting over and getting a fresh new start and etc etc etc...but NOW, Jesus? Today? Was I holding on to things I should've released? Maybe, but everything, Lord? Everything, today, Father God?

So I gave up. Went home. Ate chips and salsa for dinner, again. And prepared a bath fit for Rihanna a queen. Then went to bed.

Today is Thursday, May 26th and I am tired. I went to the deli for a subs that I ordered in advance and they weren't ready so I missed my lunch break and my nap.

But something happened. I was talking to my mama as I often do and she told me the aunt that I always wear my bracelet for...is ALMOST IN REMISSION. Her cancer levels were so low, the Dr was only able to find trace amounts in her system. And then I went back to work and my bracelet broke!

I'm not sure about what it all means, but I am someone who believes in signs. I am someone who believes that they will come out of the other side of all of this something new. I'm not sure what...but something. I've been sort of an emotional wreck for the last month and now I feel a little bit lighter. My smile is a little more genuine. I feel good. I'm just praying for a continued move in the right direction. And thankful that I didn't drown just because I couldn't swim.

...dig and be dug...

Ruby Lee

Who I am as a woman is a direct result of me watching my Mama, Gmama and Aunties. The way I walk, talk, dress, speak, argue, etc. Everything I say and do is nothing but an echo of the strength and power of these human beings that God blessed me to share DNA with. 

The matriarchs of my family were all born along the eastern seaboard to a mother who worked tirelessly as a migrant farmer and carried her babies on her back while she worked in order to provide for them. The first born was a gem in her own rite and was rightfully named Ruby Lee. 

Every story I've ever heard of my beloved Aunt Rubilee as she was affectionately called, caused me to believe that she was a whole cup of sugar and an equal, yet heaping cup of spice. She was the feisty one. She cared for people and what they were going through, but don't come to Ms. Ruby with no mess. Right before she would tell you where you could go, she would put her pointer finger up as if she was going to point out every word in the air so you could clearly understand what she was saying and where she was coming from so there would be no mistaking what needed to be heard. Arthritis made it hard for her to do a lot of things, but she never struggled to use that pointer finger to get her message across. And God bless everyone who had a good talkin' to coming to them before she wore glasses regularly, because before that finger went up, her little eyes would squint over her glasses and directly into your eyes. Or through them, to your soul. Whichever made you pay attention more. That was your warning, that's all you got.

But again, she wasn't all spice. There was a whole lot of sugar in that spirit. Aunt Rubilee always made me laugh. Whether she was prancing around in my stilettos reminiscing about how she used to be able to wear the same shoes all night long and The Bucket of Blood, or telling me she loved my life because I went pole dancing with my homegirls, then discreetly trying to convince my mama and stepfather to install a pole in their house. She made me laugh. She made me LAUGH. 

She went through a lot. I know she did, but my God, she made me laugh. She knew she had come out of the worst of things on the better side and carried herself in a way that demanded respect. You respected Aunt Rubilee and she made you proud of yourself for doing so. She wasn't overly emotional but when she did release or show you exactly how she was feeling, you knew she was being honest. Completely honest. And I admired that about her. Happy, sad, grateful, annoyed, angry, it didn't matter. Do you realize how hard it is for a Black woman to be honest with her feelings and never seem to regret it or not worry about being judged for it? 

She wasn't the president of any political party, she wasn't a millionaire, the world didn't know her name, but she was who she was and she stood firmly in that. That ALONE is an accomplishment. So many women leave this earth never truly knowing who they are. I believe my Auntie knew who she was and what she had a part in creating. The legacy that she took part in continuing.

I will always remember her wit, her laugh, her imitations of people from her youth, her advice on men, her nails always being done, ALWAYS, her epic side-eye, the way she always smelled like Avon's strawberry lip balm, when I won $1,000 at  the casino and bought her a fuzzy navel and myself an Alabama slamma...and she finished her drink first, the way she and my Gmama tried to coach Kobe and Shaq every time the Lakers played and her banana pudding. 

Whether it was a love story about her dancing to belly rubbing music or a story about her telling a young lady she "fight bloody fights" and hitting her over the head with a bucket. I will cherish having the opportunity to know you, to love you, to say you are my Auntie. 

Nothing shocks the system like mortality. We may have said goodbye to you last night in the physical realm, but I'll see you again someday. I'll be sure to wear my panty-hose with the seam up the back, with my heels high to the sky. You taught me well. 

And for that, I thank you.

Love,

Quinny-Pooh

When Life Gives You Lemons...

On February 6th, the day after yours truly celebrated her 28th birthday, the Creole Unicorn known to the world as one Beyonce Knowles Carter sent a PSA to all ladies to get in Formation. And immediately, we did just that. Then we waited...for hours. On February 7th, this lady put on a hell of halftime show, that wasn't even hers to have, followed by an announcement of her Formation World Tour. Then we waited...for hours...days...weeks...months...and finally...

Now, I'm not one to speculate, at least I try not to be, but when I heard the name of the mystery project titled Lemonade, I didn't know what to think. Especially after memorizing the lyrics and choreography for her anthem Formation, I certainly wasn't thinking about Lemonade. She was talmbout sippin Cuervo no chaser, not lemonade. I didn't see how it fit, what the project was, if it was a documentary, behind the scenes footage of her upcoming world tour, the secret cave of golden wonders where she hides her fairy dust. No idea...oh but I was going to be there to find out.

Beyonce threw everyone who bare witness to what turned out to be her visual album, onto a roller coaster of beautiful visuals, compelling lyricism and a love story of heavenly highs, hellish lows and the purgatory of trying to get between the two without any permanent scars. Coated in layers of Black Girl Magic and tangible emotions, for lack of better words, Lemonade SLAYED. It featured almost all of my personal faves, professional actresses, athletes, dancers, singers...just greatness. Beautiful, Black, sweet, strong, greatness. So much love and power crept through those camera lenses and out of my TV.

Knowing how things work these days with social media, I put my phone on silent and put it face down on my nightstand so that even if someone were to text or call me, I wouldn't even be able to see my phone light up because this sista wanted NO interruptions. NONE. After Lemonade ended, I made sure all of the credits rolled so I wouldn't miss anything, I opened up my favorite meeting place in the digital world, Twitter. It was covered in countless lemons and bees. 

I was really interested in hearing from people who don't really consider themselves fans of Beyonce and definitely wouldn't consider themselves as any part of the beehive. Not because I wanted to pick a fight or prove that she was above or better than any of their faves...I just know that their fave could never I just know for a fact that nothing like that has ever been done before. 

Most of the messages I saw from people that weren't watching as intently as I'm sure most of the beehive were from people who got caught up on Beyonce talking about being cheated on or Beyonce staying with someone that cheated on her and maybe it's ok to cheat because your girl's going to stay with you when you cheat because Bey did it with her man.

Now, I'm well aware that the latter may be a joke to most, but to some, it makes perfect sense. This is the era of love that is consumed after being heated up in the microwave at high altitude instead slow cooked in the oven. People are idiots and the point is often missed. Lemonade was not about getting cheated on as much as it's a love story written from the perspective of a woman who was hurt by someone whom she loved fiercely. She risked all vulnerability and opened herself up to someone who took her for granted and did so casually, as if he knew what the outcome would be; as if he knew the loss of her would never happen and if it did, it wouldn't be a loss at all. That notion in itself is enough for hot sauce to be in anyone's bag.

As for the former? The idea that speaking on someone's infidelity is some sort of carnal sin and what's ours is ours and ain't nobody else's bidness? Well that is null in void in my humble opinion. If someone hurts someone else and that person sheds the weight of that pain via a beautiful hour long visual and audio masterpiece, WHO ARE ME TO JUDGE? And why on God's green earth would someone who hurt someone else have any right to say how that person healed? They didn't give the person that they were supposed to love, respect and cherish the courtesy of faithfulness and monogamy, so hushety hush playboy. These songs and videos gon fly. These checks she's about to cash and these awards she finna polish are the least of anyone's worries. If someone wanted to spare themselves the embarrassment of being ousted as a cheater then the best solution would maybe, probably, possibly be...DON'T CHEAT. IDK. Just guessing. I still buy CD's so what do I know?

Don't get me wrong, keeping a private love life this day in age is one of the keys to longevity, but hell so is loyalty and you are not being loyal when you cheat. That's also why it's important to recognize that Lemonade is not a story about cheating, which usually ends in pain. It's a story about love which, if it's real, doesn't end. It takes work, sometimes hurts, but if you believe in it and really want it to last for the generations that come up after you, you work at it until you can reach a place of respect and understanding.

Besides, Bey is always talking about how much she loves her husband and how beautiful and sexy he makes her feel, so why is it wrong for her to talk about how much she hurts or what she's going to do if what hurt her ever happens again? 

Anyway, should life hand me anymore lemons from my personal, romantic, or professional life, I can only hope my lemonade is just as sweet.

...dig and be dug...

Crazy Hair Day

As someone who chooses to wear their natural hair, there are things that I things that I've always loved, things that I learned to love and things that I'm still learning, in general. I have learned how to twist my hair out and up and over, disguise perm rods under a cute hat and cocktail my oils and butters, etc. so my curl pattern can truly flourish...outchea. I. AM. OUTCHEA.

However, this ol' job o'mine...I (again) work with children and this calls for me to participate in different themed activities. For example, crazy sock day, pajama day, Dr. Seuss day and worst of all, to me, crazy hair day.

This day is the worst day of all the days at my job. I'd rather have a surprise visit from the state. This day is worse than the day that 7 children, most of them infants, had a major stomach bug. All of their cups runneth over. And still, I'd rather have that then crazy damn hair day.

As someone who prefers protective styles to straight hair and weaves, my hair is often in a fro of some sort. Big Black ass fro. So when it comes to crazy hair day, I'm very particular about how I style my hair. I try not to wear it out in it's natural state, because I don't want these parents or children thinking that my NATURAL hair is crazy. I always try to put some extra ribbons and bows or glitter and color in my hair so they know that this look is "crazy". Not my fro or my curls. I go out of my way to make sure to show the clear separation between crazy hair day and my hair in its natural state.

For example, this past crazy hair day, my hair was already in a twist out. Because I was also prepping for wash day, I put some oil in my hair and on my scalp and ran my fingers through it, which in turn made my fro reach a little bit closer to heaven. I threw some twists in the front and pulled some mismatched ribbons through them and reluctantly went to work. The next day, I was still prepping for wash day because lazy I was tired and didn't get to wash my hair after work that night, I pulled my hair up into a curly puff. Edges laid and everything. I'm working at my desk and the owner of the school comes in the same area to place his keys in the drawer. I can feel him looking at me, so I turn in his direction. He says, "I thought crazy hair day was yesterday," as he lets out a chuckle. I simultaneously turn back to my computer and mumble just loud enough to hear, "my hair is not crazy..."

At that moment I honestly felt a combination of annoyance, aggravation, frustration, hurt, a touch of anger and a little bit of "I knew that shit was gonna happen" sprinkled on top.

Women in general are forced to maintain a look that society deems acceptable at all times. Black women ESPECIALLY are penalized for not accepting and portraying what society wants them to look like. Even to the point where we can't look at each other or ourselves without wondering "why'd she come out the house like that?" with her hair coming out of her scalp the way God intended. If you still don't see the issue, riddle me this; why is it ok for women with straight hair or loose curls to get in the shower without a beloved shower cap, get dressed and go about her day. Her hair never seeing a brush, comb, blow dryer or curling iron, meanwhile women of African descent have to wake up 3 hours early just to arrive late because of their hair? And then, in turn when they get a style that makes their hair more "manageable" they are accused of appropriation by all on looking parties.

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The natural hair movement, shouldn't be a movement. It shouldn't be such a shock when we wear our hair they way it was created at our inception. It just is because we as Black women, constantly have to prove that that the person we are, in our most pure state of self is acceptable. Our hips, lips, curls, kinks, braids, asses and even our complexion have proven anesthesia and dangerous chemical worthy for everyone but us, the people born with these traits. The people who were once paraded around the country and abroad and locked up in zoos and cages for being born with what was perceived as unusual traits, now look on as women who were born with lips that once were barely wider than a sheet of paper and hips that would allow her to easily fit into a ziploc bag are praised for their beauty.

It's astonishing.

I still love my fro. It's soft and enormous and versatile. My heart smiles every time a little girl can relate to my hair and asks her mommy to do her hair like mine. And if I'm making a bold statement by walking around with my hair shaped like the sun, then so be it. I'd prefer it that way any day of the week. And crazy hair day can always kiss my ass, from now until forever.

...dig and be dug...

I Wasn't Raised That Way...

With the series finale of American Idol fresh on the minds of all die-hard fans as well as those of us who stopped watching post Fantasia an'nem, comments from anyone involved with the series have the ability to make headlines.

Especially when it comes to the LGBTQ community.

Since her audition in Little Rock, La'Porsha Renee has garnered a following that has captured people across generations and ethnic backgrounds. The 22-year-old McComb, MS native arrived to her American Idol Audition with her beautiful baby on her hip. After blowing the judges away with her rendition of Creep by Radiohead and enduring a few elimination rounds, we learned that La'Porsha was also a divorcee and survivor of an abusive relationship.

All of that being said, La'Porsha made a comment that made heads roll and drop in disappointment simultaneously. Soon after earning the title of first runner up, she was interviewed and asked about the new law put into place in her home state. A law that would allow businesses to turn down anyone that identifies with being a part of the LGBTQ community. Her response was:

 “This is how I feel about the LGBT community: They are people just like us. They’re not animals as someone stated before. They’re people with feelings. Although all of us may not agree with that particular lifestyle for religious reasons, whatever the reason is, you still treat each other with respect. Everybody is a human being. We should be able to coexist with one another. I am one of the people who don’t really agree with that lifestyle. I wasn’t brought up that way. It wasn’t how I was raised. But I do have a lot of friends and a lot of people that I love dearly who are gay and homosexual and they’re such sweet, nice people. We should just respect each other’s differences and opinions and move on.”

In my opinion, La'Porsha sounds like a young woman, still extremely wet behind the ear and inexperienced overall, but especially with dealing with media. She seems to have meant well, but didn't end up exactly hitting the target. Deeeefinitely missed. At the very least she could have simply stuck with "we should respect each other." And then maybe say nothing else. I don't know, but not much of the other statement seems very necessary. 

Do understand, that one of the last places I can imagine people being understanding of people they don't understand in the deep south. And this is no shade to the south, but being that Mississippi didn't officially abolish slavery until February 2013 after the 13th amendment was adopted in 1865, some things may be slow to come to pass. 

Although she's already a mother and has been married and in the midst of a divorce, she doesn't seem to be very worldly, meaning she doesn't seem to have much experience dealing with people and ideologies outside of her hometown and what she's learned thus far from her mother. I'm not surprised.

This is not to make excuses for her or change anyone's opinions of what she said. I was just raised by a woman who made it a habit to ask me "what the hell are you thinking" whenever I did or said something she couldn't understand; as to help her, help me. So, I'm venturing to do the same thing. La'Porsha has now been thrust into the spotlight and I'm sure she's dreamed of this moment since she recognized she possessed this beautiful gift, but she forgot to dream of the realities that come with it. Though I'm sure she has no malice in her heart and had no intentions of making anyone feel ostracized or less than human, she should realize that it's time to grow up. Not being raised to think a certain way is one thing when you are a child. It's another thing when you are an adult who has the entire world at their fingertips and the opportunity to literally learn something new every day. It's a hard lesson to learn when you're so fresh out of the gate that your signature is still wet on the Motown contract you've just signed, but here we are. 

...dig and be dug...

Twenty-GREAT

I'm officially less than 2.5 hours away from having 28 years of the goodness we call life under my belt and here I am...blogging and doing laundry. Honestly, I'm reallyyyyy good with that. REALLY. Something about this birthday called for solitude and I've decided to gift myself plenty of it this year. I'll spend some time with some friends but a lot of my time will be spent with me. That being said, I'm sure a few people think I've caught an attitude but I've really just caught sinusitis and still only missed 3 hours of work so I could not be high off promethazine when I got there. And I just want to be alone. I'm finally in a place where I feel like I have options and not blatantly frustrated with my progress or lack there of. I feel like I'm always searching for peace in a storm or, the silver lining on a dark cloud, or the sun itself and I think I can finally see and feel all three. I'm proud of myself for finding the joy in the pain. And meaning it. Cliche? Maybe. True? Definitely.

Peace is a gift. Happy birthday to me!!

...dig and be dug...

2016

*Insert typical New Year's Blog*

Just be nice and read it, it's short.
I promise.
You might like it.
Please.
Oh you're still here?
Great!


So I've never been a "New Year, New Me" type of person but I do try my best to make my next move my best move. Last year I did a lot of self building. I'm more confident in myself, not all the way there but better than I was before. I'm willing to share a little more and willing to ask for a little more help. A little. This year, I'm "re-baptising" myself in the hustle, so to speak. I'm more focused on my career in the long term and my personal life. I made myself come out of my homebody habit a few times and every time I did, it was beneficial.

I made my to do list, weighed my pros and cons, holla'd Jesus right quick and I'm feeling a sense of readiness that I don't recall starting last year with. I KNOW that I was just ready for 2014 to be over because that joint kicked my in-tie ass.

That being said, God bless 2016 in advance. Mine and yours, yo mam's and yo cousin's too.

Let's get it

dig and be dug...

So...And Then...

So...
I work in childcare (for now) and we basically have or host nondenominational holidays or no holiday at all, unless of course, the holiday is a part of our director's heritage (which is something I LITERALLY just realized...and now I'm pissed...anyway). For the Holiday season which overflows with religious holidays, I wrote an extremely nonreligious play/nursery rhyme. I created costumes, cast children as characters that I felt would best fit them, etc. I went as far as my creative mind would take me with a budget of $0.

Soo...
One of my coworkers does face painting and make-up for different events and a pretty big scale. I mean, big enough to travel and such. Anyway, she's the resident make-up artist and so I asked her to lend a hand. That being said, I cast multi-cultural actors in the play and so the snow bunny was Black, Frosty the Snowman was Asian and the gingerbread friends were White...

SOOO...
Blackface, right? Your opinion might be "they were little girls dressed as gingerbread people and they were White so they had to be browwwwwwwn." So you should get your own blog and write about that over yonder I don't agree. When Miley Cyrus dressed as Lil' Kim for Halloween she was White with a costume on. No one mistook her for a Muppet or glittery prostitute. We ALL knew she was Kim. See where I'm going with this?
 


SOOOO...
The rest of the day I was uncomfortable. I didn't see the make-up until it was almost time to perform so it was too late to call it off. Now I sound like I'm punking out, and part of me felt like I did, but here we are. I waited until end of day, after I clocked out just in case I couldn't avoid the turn up. I pulled the young lady to the side while we were outside and calmly explained to her that a few people including myself were FIRST not upset because we did not think her make-up was done with ill intent or malice but we were offended because it was very reminiscent of blackface. Her first response was "ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME?!"

SOOOOO...
Mentally, I've checked the surrounding area for children that might be in the way, thought about the fact that there aren't any cameras outside so it would be my word against hers and where the main pressure points were on the human body. verbally, I responded with "No, I'm not." We went back and forth for a quick 3 minutes before we both excused ourselves from the conversation before a lukewarm situation got too hot.

And then...
Long story short, over the weekend, the young lady had a chance to speak with her Black BFF and get my side of the issue and we had a chance to converse a little more in depth the following Monday. Anyway, I told this story not to shame anyone or expose whiteness or whatever. ESPECIALLY because we see it everyday. I decided to blog about this because, though blackface may not be a recurring everyday issue, Black people being offended by someone and that person being offended by our feeling that way IS an everyday recurring issue. Whether it be blackface or police brutality, excessive force or the exemption of Black suffrage at the hands of lazy people who couldn't farm their own land and build their own country terrorists America's founders. EVERYDAY on a much larger, much more painful scale, Black pain is dismissed and covered in pictures of #newBenCarson. I wasn't pissed that this young lady had the audacity to be upset because she's an artist. And artists are sensitive about their shit. I was pissed because she heard me say that I was offended and got mad at me being offended.

Hell of an argument to have in a "post-racial society". This is America, not utopia. Don't get to fooling yourselves. There's work to do.

dig and be dug...