in my quest for humorous discourse*

i have found myself exploring the idea that how you eat your food tells about how you get down in the bedroom. to that end, i have enlisted the assistance of a buddy of mine to weigh in on the matter. don't forget: this is humorous discourse. that means you should laugh and learn at the same time. don't agree w/ what's written here? don't be mad, 'twan. i'm just sharing one man's position on something very near and dear to my heart. may the lord add a blessing to the reading of this here word.

peace and love, party people.

i make no bones about it. i love love love cunnilingus. licking the honeyhole. in simple terms, eating pussy. and being as though I'm one of them fancy Black Americans of Island descent, I've had exposure to many delectable fruits that are native to that region of the world. juicy mangos, sweet oranges and stuff like that. i credit my love of the sweet and juicy for making me the pussy eatin' champeen i am today.

i'll never forget this one day in 10th grade i was eating a peach in front of Toni Williams with the big ol' country ignorant ass and she was like "EW! DAY DAY EATING THAT LIKE HE BE EATIN BOOTY!". now you gotta understand something about me...i was a stone cold geek who APPEARED to be cool but inside, i was a nerd. and for her to blurt out that statement with me being a fresh virgin, well, if i'm sure my black ass turned blurple from blushing so hard.

but as i'm eating this peach, i was thinking in my mind..."man if booty taste like that, i can't WAIT to have me some". so later that school year, i finally got around to getting laid and i sadly discovered that while vagina is a pretty amazing thing, it don't look like no damn peaches. so it wasn't no way in hell at the age of 15 i was finna chew me some woman meat...hell no. but let's fast forward 4 years later when i was in college.

i asked my freak ass uncle rick what was the fastest way a young nigga can grow him some facial hair. he calmly says "eat some pussy,"and i laughed nervously but i was curious. i said "i never did that, uncle rick. how do you do it?" and he goes, you eat mango and peaches and oranges, right? just like that but don't use your teeth". now see, i was still skeptical because one, you keep hearing from your Jamaican side of the family that eating pussy is "filthy" and all that, you develop a slight complex. but curiosity got the best of me and i went forth with it. i can remember it clear as day. the girl sat on the edge of the bed and she had some big ol legs and i was thinking "yo, my dome is type large...what if i get stuck in her pussy vortex and die with my head all on her hoo-ha?". i mean i was nervous, jack. but i did it and i literally ate it like a sweet, juicy mango. and it tasted like it too.

you ever had a mango so juicy that you needed a bib? i have...man, if i could, i'd put a slice of mango inside a woman and hoover that sum'bitch out but i don't think that's too sanitary or comfortable but you smell me though, right? now eating pussy wasn't quite like that and i didn't know what the hell i was doing. i think it was a good 4-6 times in before i finally made her cum. gee whiz that was difficult to learn...not anything like eating a mango. you slice a mango, you put your mouth on that exposed juicy flesh and you immediately grab a napkin to catch the run down in your chin.

first of all, young brothers (and sisters, since it's that type of world), eating pussy isn't rocket science but it IS a labor of love. meaning, if you gonna just tip at it with your tongue like it's some hot broth and hold your lips all tight like you a trumpet player, you may not be one for pussy eatin...and that's cool. but if you really wanna get it in, it's simple.

there are many many many nerve endings down there, of course mostly concentrated in or around the clit. if i gotta explain this, log off and go get you some sex ed, chump. now...you have to not just lick there, but everywhere...find out what she reacts too, let the reactions inspire your movement. maybe you just like on the outside, right before the opening...maybe you slide your tounge in and out of it (i got a short ass tounge so i aint done too much tounge-fucking in my career). maybe you GENTLY open that flower up and put tight small circles around the clit...maybe you go viking style and just mash your whole damn mugpiece all on top of it and shake your head like that bamma on the Muppets that played drums in that band. you know who i'm talking about. (editor's note: the author is discussing animal, everyone's favorite wild ass muppet.) so yeah...you just gotta use your lips, mouth, tongue, face and be ATTENTIVE the whole time. don't be afraid of getting your nose, mustache, goatee, beard and eyebrows (yes, i go that hard) wet. just go in there and make your presence felt.

now i'm not sayin' i'm good at it now, but all that hoopin' and hollerin' i tend to be witness to can't all be an act, can it? i know good and damn well that if i ain't the best, i'm in the top 2% EASILY. i credit all my years of training on those sweet mangoes my Nana would buy from market. who knew that an innocent fruit would give rise to my most anticipated sexual activity. i'm telling you right now, if i ever have a son...we're gonna eat mangoes every day until we're sick of them. then when it's time to have "the talk", i can skip by the oral sex portion of it all. he'll know exactly what to do.


*again, i say unto you readers: I DID NOT WRITE THIS SHIT. really. my boy did. and i'm over here dying laughing at it. don't get all emo on me, okay? thanks.

random music-related links.

jesse boykins iii has a blog!

angela bofill is recovering bit by bit.

adele's 2nd single is "cold shoulder."

outkast + raekwon = fire. again.

i'm trying not to be a spoiled brat

but i don't genuinely know what "spoiled" is.
i deserve all of this.
the money, the praise, the relationships, the food, the wine . . . i've never once felt like i didn't deserve it. this is not to be confused w/ any sense of entitlement.
i work, i receive the fruits of my labor, and that's it. i have earned it all & i deserve it all.
i'm not able to apologize for it
i'm not willing to apologize for it
& i'm not going to.

gnarls barkley does it again.

one more time, cee-lo's voice is making me wish i could sing like that. dangermouse's production is sick. and the last track of the album? sick.to.death.

i'll be back w/ a full review later.

old flames: a colored girl retrospective.

i'm not gonna go in order, or even name (government) names. i was reading omi's post of a similar ilk & i was struck by how easily i've been imprinted by the relationships i've had. i suppose that's because i was open, to begin with. there was never a moment when i regretted any of it. . . but i have definitely found myself questioning whether i'd ever find myself undone by the same conditions, if i would be stubborn enough to ignore lessons and major indicators that the shit just might not be a good idea. after all that, i'm glad i can say no. i've learned a lot in those relationships and in between them. enough to know that i don't care to be bothered with the bullshit, enough to know that reciprocity isn't a dream . . . enough to know that i'm never gonna be that woman again.

so, bit by bit i'm gonna be writing my memories. i don't know if i'll be able to find songs to adequately describe the walking disaster that was the rapper, or the overwhelming love i felt when dealing with the runner. i just know that the sooner i put it all out, the better equipped i am to take the hand of the next one and lead him into my apartment . . . to sit on my sofa . . . and watch the 2nd season of america's best dance crew while we eat coconut rice and compare tattoos.

confession saturday:

- i ate like a half lb of cheese the other day btwn some cabot extra sharp vermont white for brunch and 2 slices of sexy pizza. i loved every second of it. casein is addictive.

- in my mind, i fathom the reaction at my job to my resignation next year.

- i love listening to 'weird' music at work. it pisses TKON off.

- i'm opposed to observing my food allergies most of the time, but i hate feeling sick more than anything else so i usually stay on top of my shit.

- i sometimes hate how gregarious i am, especially when ppl i almost never talk to ask me for help.

- i freak out on the regular when my sister calls me, because she always sounds so distressed. i fear that one day she's gonna tell me something really bad.

- i still wish i lived with my family sometimes. living alone, no matter how small or large the apartment can be lonely from time to time.

- i used to try to get fired from my day job so i could collect unemployment and go back to school. now i'm waiting for layoffs so i can volunteer.

- i want my mom to live forever.

- i'm glad my father doesn't try to talk to us anymore. i'm the only one who'd ever let him really hear what he needs to, and i don't think it's anything that should ever actually come out of my mouth.

- as much of a snob as i am, i'm the first one to call someone a snooty bitch.

- i get uptight when black owned businesses shut down and white owned ones replace them.

- moving to west philly is the only thing that kept me from running away to new york

- i'm scared to death to be in a serious relationship right now.

- conversely, all i want is someone to be cuddled up with

- i'm trying to fight back against the depression that consumed me for 3 years. it feels nearly impossible some days.

- having ppl hang onto my every word is a power trip as much as it is nerve wracking.

- i still don't understand why i'm supposed to be afraid of god.

i just spit my tea out

laughing at this foolywang mess right here. lol! if you know anything about me, you know there's nothing more hilarious to me than wilford brimley's diabetes supply commercials. & don't forget the obligatory beyonce post.

this just made my night.

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)

what irks me the most about western religion

(christianity in particular)

is the idea that we (humans) do not deserve god's favor. that we should be breaking our necks to 'do the right thing' and hope extra hard that it's enough. i hate the idea that i could be doing everything i've been told to, and i could still manage to end up in hell just on the strength that i never deserved god's favor in the first place. i never felt like that made sense, even as a little girl repeating gospel lyrics or sharing dogma with my classmates in christian school. deep down inside, i never ever ever believed that hell was real. i never understood -- if we never deserved god's favor in the first place, then why would god create humankind so we could scramble around trying to earn said undeserved favor? it made no sense to me, especially when there are constantly examples (fictionalized) of people who everyone thinks of as holy or as 'good folk' who end up in hell. i mean, when i was a kid we used to have a play every year at church called heaven or hell, where at the end we found out who got to see god's face and who didn't. at least once there was an upset, like someone who was the perfect portrait of holiness . . . but (as we'd be reminded at the time of her demise) played lottery with her tithe money. or something like that. something exaggerated and fucked up. leave it to the evangelicals to frighten you into salvation, right?

so i ignored that side of faith. the 'please don't smite me for the minor infractons, PLEASE' side of it. it felt unnatural, like i wasn't ever gonna win for all my attempts at holiness & righteousness. (i sense that this realization is that point at which most people become agnostics and/ or atheists, which i totally understand) and i knew i felt a presence (physically felt it) generated by the gathering of the faithful. i could not deny that feeling, that energy, that thread that seemed to tie me to complete strangers in that sanctuary. simply put, it was an overwhelming feeling of love. it's the same feeling i get at a concert where everyone's hype to see the performer(s) and the artist gives every bit of that energy back. it's something that is very hard to explain, yet it's unmistakable when you experience it. i always recognized that feeling as what people called the holy spirit, which in christianity is the energy/ force/ asé of the almighty.

so, if god can fill a room with her/ his presence, and can be witnessed by/ summoned by humans, how could we not deserve the favor of the very being which becomes most tangible/ palpable by our very doing? i never understood that. how could we not deserve love?

i suppose, though, that if you never really believed that god is love (all the time. that doesn't change. the verse does not say "god is love on every third tuesday") then you might see fit to proclaim yourself unworthy.

i never did. i never will. the very idea of it, to me, is preposterous. i don't say this to suggest that ifá doesn't encourage its practitioners to work at righteousness or maintaining good character. but, nowhere in any odu does it say anything to suggest that we're just here to scramble and hope really hard that we make it to heaven. it's where you go when you die. that's it. when you take your last breath, your body remains here until decomposition and the part of you that came from orun goes back.

i actually don't know how i ever could have fathomed anything else.

number 31 is my favorite.

tell me this isn't pure freaking genius.

man, you playin.

you go from flirting with me, openly, in front of everyone with eyes
to saying cutesy shit on the phone & telling me how bad you want some face time
then you express a desire to get another 'good hug' from me
& after all that
you write me off via a weakly played round of phone tag
. . .

& never call me back when i let you know that there exists a rain date?

this annoyance has been simmering. the disappointment, not even the what-ifs, has kept this shit going for me
not because i thought we were meant to be
but because i hoped i'd at least get to know you
you didn't even give me a chance.

don't let me catch your black ass in the street, dude
actually, let me
so i can remind myself how little i needed to be bothered with in the first place.

: : : : : :

just because i'm not present, it doesn't mean i don't care.
sorry you feel that way. it's simply not true.

i don't do

special needs men.

that is, if you're beyond the regular kind of crazy
if you're slow to the point where context clues don't help you figure out wtf i'm talking about
if you can't imagine your life without fast food and/ or have a dependency on sugar
if you're afraid to admit not knowing something
if you're afraid to learn something
if you aren't trying to improve your life beyond material assets
if you can't fathom ever vacationing or moving away from the place where you live right now
if your idea of appropriate foodstuffs for a child includes soda or grape drink
if you think cable is a necessity
if you don't know that the first CDs were certificates of deposit, not compact discs
if you think it's abnormal to believe in someone not named jesus, allah, yaweh, jehovah, or god
if you have being rich confused with being wealthy
if you're impressed by kanye but have no idea who j. dilla was/ is
if you think i'm tryna be someone other than myself because i aspire to be multilingual
if you think being on welfare is a permanent condition, and not a tool to improve the quality of one's life
if you think r. kelly is good for anything other than shaking your head or being disappointed
if you have a tattoo on your neck, face, outer wrist, either hand, behind your ear, or on your forearm(s) and you do not have the skills to earn a decent living outside of a crappy, low-paying job
if you believe that it's okay to have sex without protection and you believe children are merely a consequence of getting your dick wet
if your idea of a suitable marriage proposal is tied to the lyrics of jagged edge's "let's get married"
if you grew up in the suburbs but aspire to be "hood"
if you love city of god because it gave you ideas on how to be a bad dude
. . .

if any of the above characteristics applies to you, i qualify you as special needs.
and i especially need for you to stay away from me
cuz i can't do it. your healing isn't my job. i'm trying hard as shit to fix me.

thanks.

yes, dammit

i love this freaking video.

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!

-

until she puts it up on blogger

i'm sharing with you dear readers a declaration posted by miss oyin on behalf of the buckwild family (just as adorable as the care bears & their cousins, but way more serious). a declaration of war, of sorts, against the kingdom of niggadom. after an experience w/ two of TKON's most fierce warriors -- women i work with, both of whom espouse SO MUCH PRIDE in black folk/ blackness, i felt it necessary to remind myself why i don't subscribe to that school of "thought."

Me and some otha membas of the Buckwild family have been chit chattin. We been doin some sharing of stories and some truth tellin and just some general vibin about the stuff that niggas get into.



How they abuse

How they manipulate situations

How they hurt us and themselves

All for The Kingdom of Niggadom!



And how no matter how enlightened a brotha is

At the end of the day

Should he choose to do so

He can lay all that to the side and post up in The Kingdom of Niggadom (TKON)



TKON is a terrorist organization. It is, among other things:



Anti-Freedom

Anti-Woman

Anti-Bliss

Anti-Peace

Anti-Cooperation

Anti-Truth

Anti-Erotic



TKON endorses the wholesale rape and destruction of womanhood. And it offers us either a pornographic cardboard cut out OR a whitewashed passionless virginal caricature to replace that destroyed womanhood. Now this don't mean that TKON is necessarily physically raping a woman, (tho TKON isn't above that either) cause TKON can be very subtle in its ways and workings.



TKON will have you to believe that your main purpose in life as a woman is to bear children and be a helpmeet of a nigga. And should you not want to devote your life to bein a helpmeet then something is wrong witchu, or maybe you're a lesbian or perhaps you done picked up a evil spirit from yo woman friends: "Whatchu mean you dont feel free??? You be sittin up letting them women you hang around wit fill yo head wit all kinda nonsense. You betta watcho self or you wont neva have no manTHEN whatchu gone do? It say in the Bible that a womans place is . . ."


One of TKON's favorite threats is that you gone end up in Hell, or even worse...old and alone.


TKON will have you to believe that the abuse that it hands out is really somehow all YOUR fault because you are too free, or too pretty, or too nice, or you smile at men too much or you don't clean house the way that it should be cleaned or on the day that it should be cleaned, or because you don't worship God the correct way.



TKON doesnt necessarily hit or yell, TKON is highly skilled in the usage of painful snide remarks and public humiliation. TKON will also withhold affection to teach you a lesson/punish you for not acting in accordance with the bylaws of TKON. For example, you may not get kissed hello because the house ain't as clean as its supposed to be even tho TKON will NOT clean anything or pick up anything because that is womans work.



TKON promotes listening to your boys before you listen to anything that your woman or your mama tries to tell you because all women want to do is get over on you anyway or tie you down. TKON is the origin of the rumor that "she got pregnant on purpose."



TKON likes the THEORY of a relationship with a woman, but actual intimacy without manipulation of some sort is usually beyond the capabilities of TKON.



TKON ultimately believes that if you don't agree with it, its because you don't UNDERSTAND it,



Cause you ain't deep enough,

You don't fast enough,

You don't read enough,

You don't pray enough,

You don't watch the right tv shows,

You watch tv,

You wear yo stomach out,

You be temptin' men

You haven't read freud or jung

You straight

You gay

You dress too flamboyantly

You don't own enough white linen

Yo jeans too tight

You got a perm

Yo hair is too nappy

You have locs but you don't talk to them

Yo diet has too many carbs

Yo diet don't have enough wheatgrass

You don't eat no meat

You be burnin' all that incense

You don't neva burn no incense

Etc. etc. etc.



When grievances are brought before the court of TKON



1. TKON ignores the entire case because listening and being transformed by what is heard is outside of the capabilities of TKON

2. TKON will flip the entire scenario and make the entire incident/issue out to be some fault of the plaintiff OR circumstances surrounding TKON, because of course TKON is flawless in EVERY way and obviously anyone who doesn't agree is crazed or should be in therapy or on some kind of medication

3. In very special cases, when TKON has cut to complete craziness and stayed crazy for a long period of time, TKON will institute surface level changes that will cause the plaintiff to believe that he/she has been heard. This keeps TKON in its position of comfort and power, with minimal effort. Note: these changes have a shelf life of 3 days-6 months, however based on our field research, the most common length of time is 2 weeks.



Sistas who have fallen victim to TKON typically react in one of two ways:



1. The denounce TKON and say fuck it and they mean it and they spit on the foundations of TKON.

2. They try to prove to TKON that they are a different kind of woman and therefore worthy of the love, affection, and esteem that TKON has on reserve for that perfect woman/queen.



I am a category 1 up in this piece. I say FUCK IT!

I SPIT on the FOUNDATIONS of TKON

LET THAT SHIT CRUMBLE!!!

I will get me a sign and picket outside the gates of that muthafucka

I am SICK and goddammit TIRED of NIGGAS WINNIN

I am TIRED of NIGGAS not bein held accountable for their actions

I am tired of Niggasebein put up on pedestals cause we scared of how they gone act if we worship at our own shrine instead of theirs

FUCK that shit

I am shootin TKON in the stomach and blowin air in the hole

I am breakin TKON's fingers and wigglin em til he pass out or die of a heartattack

I ain't keepin TKON's secrets NO MORE

On THIS day in MY NAME, by the power of my womb, the power that I use to create the life that I love, I withdraw my ASE from The Kingdom of Niggadom



I am exitin' stage left and takin' up residence in The Town of Women

And I got my yam pounder cocked and ready for any muthafucka who feelin squirrely



When the men are ready

we can move to a new place.



But from now until the time that the dust settles on the destruction

I will shake my red tailfeathers in the general direction of TKON



And I will chant that shit down like they be chantin down Babylon



Num Yo Ho, No Mo Niggas Winnin © Beauchamp de Leau & Sugarlee Buckwild



I cordially invite all like minded persons (women in particular) to chant that shit down WITH me.



***Babylonian Sidebar***

we need to find us another name for Babylon cause in ancient times the chief problem that folks had with Babylon was the freeness of the women so I'm actually a Babylon SUPPORTER.


in the name of all that is on point & wonderful in the universe, i wholeheartedly second, third, fourth, and umpteenth that. shit.

yay!

kathryn hall trujillo of the birthing project usa @ the black healers & midwives conference in phoenix last year:



yaaaaaaaaaay!

next stop:
full circle doula training with shafia monroe. :D

philly. all day, every day.

cassidy: i'm a hustla (note that he's on the five-deuce doing his thing)



freeway + allen anthony: alright


dj jazzy jeff + peedi peedi: brand new funk 2k7 (north philly, stand UP.)



bahamadia: true honey buns



there'll be another post like this soon. :D

i'm alive.

busy.
not spending nearly as much time writing as i'd like to, but sometimes you have to read some good shit in order to write some good shit.
i discovered a new band & pineapple upside down bread pudding.

now?

watching real sex, reading some good shit courtesy of mama gena & oyin
giving myself permission to open myself up to what has the potential to be a really fantastic time.

as the sun warms this portion of the world & as a result my cold bones, i see what's on the horizon. it makes me smile.

& maybe i'll learn to wine properly this summer.

big girls in hip hop videos.

i'm supposed to be at work, but whatever.

de la soul's "baby phat."




redman. "i'll bee dat"



i can't think of any others, actually.
i'll be back later to wrote more.

the world's oldest profession.

i watched cathouse the other night.

tonight, i'm watching hookers at the point.

do i even need to go into detail about the glaringly obvious differences? nearly all of the women featured from dennis hof's bunny ranch are white. they're in reno. rural, kind of. the women at the point are brown. latin. black. a white girl here & there. it's mindblowing. they're not safe. the cameras on them are from a film crew, not a closed-circuit surveillance system. if something's 'not okay' for the women at the point, they're on their own. so many disparities. i don't even think the women at the bunny ranch come exclusively from a position of privilege -- rather, their choices to become sex workers seem to be motivated by pleasure, rather than a drug habit or the needs of hungry kids @ home. these women get $1,000 for an hour of their time. the women at the point? one tenth of that if they make demands & stand their ground. i don't know how much of that is clever editing, & how much of it is fact. there's a lot at play. sex workers aren't necessarily born sex workers. but the disparities that i see between the two groups are many, & vast.

*sigh*

and then i see this over at angry brown butch. and this at feministe. i have no words. my heart breaks to know that the names of people who should -- just like every fucking body else, be uplifted as they are remembered for their lives -- are having their names twisted in death. it's fucked up. it's wrong. it hurts my feelings. how could panic be an acceptable excuse? i panicked, SO I KILLED HER. what? really? wow. panic has caused me to lock myself out of my apartment. panic has made me drop shit on the floor. panic has never, ever, EVER caused me to kill someone.
& for fuck's sake, if we could all cry misrepresentation as a reason to kill . . . i would have murdered no fewer than 5 men i've had sex with, one woman i used to be friends with . . . & my own father.
let's be for real. calling someone a prostitute (whether they were or not) somehow magically justifies it, if you follow what's been reported. no. i'm not buying it.

excuses aren't gonna soothe the broken hearts of mothers
no explanation given could ever make enough sense of this shit. someone threw away your baby's life because of what? because they were mistaken about who your child was? no.

someone told me today: when ppl attend your funeral, their wailing is meant to be loud so that it's known in heaven that you were/ are loved.
i definitely hope that these loved & lost ones continue to be spoken of.

swagger jacked

from the butch caucus
(it wouldn't let me customize the title i wanted, so i chose ninja instead of typing in "boocakes," "jawn," or "jumpoff")



and you know i'm dead ass serious, right?

for aj.

via the trantasia flickr album:

silence still won't protect you:

some links to feed your inner (or outer) revolutionary:

the sakia gunn film project

black./womyn conversations on blogspot & youtube (i'm SO mad i missed the philly screening)

brokenbeautiful press

no snow here

the butch caucus

happy reading!

get them out.

(links via darkdaughta's blog post on the matter)

In the summer of 2006, seven young Black lesbians from New Jersey—Patreese Johnson, Renata Hill, Venice Brown, Terrain Dandridge, Chenese Loyal, Lania Daniels, and Khamysha Coates—were hanging out on the pier in New York City's West Village when Dwayne Buckle, a man selling DVDs on the street, sexually propositioned Patreese. Refusing to take no for an answer, he followed them down the street, insulting and threatening them: “I’ll **** you straight, sweetheart!”

It is important to understand that all seven women knew of another young woman named Sakia Gunn, who had been stabbed to death under very similar circumstances—by a pair of highly aggressive, verbally abusive male strangers. At least some of the seven had known Sakia personally.

During the resulting confrontation, Buckle first spat in Renata’s face and threw his lit cigarette at her, then he yanked another’s hair, pulling her towards him, and then began strangling Renata. A fight broke out, during which Patreese Johnson, 4 feet 11 inches tall and 95 pounds, produced a small knife from her bag to stop Buckle from choking her friend—a knife she carried to protect herself when she came home alone from her late-night job.

Two male onlookers, one of whom had a knife, ran over to physically deal with Buckle in order to help the women. Buckle, who ended up hospitalized for five days with stomach and liver lacerations, initially reported on at least two occasions that the men—not the women—had attacked him. What’s more, Patreese’s knife was never tested for DNA, the men who beat Buckle were never questioned by police, and the whole incident was captured on surveillance video. Yet the women ended up on trial for attempted murder. Dwayne Buckle testified against them.

The media coverage was savage, calling the women such things as a “wolf pack of lesbians.” The pro bono lawyers for the young lesbians would later have to buy the public record of the case since the judge, Edward J. McLaughlin (who openly taunted and expressed contempt for the women in front of the jury all throughout the trial), would not release it. As of late August 2007, the defense team still didn’t have a copy of the security camera video footage. And after the better part of one year spent sitting in jail, four of the seven women were sentenced in June 2007—reportedly by an all-white jury of mostly women—to jail terms ranging from 3 1/2 to 11 years. The oldest of the women was 24, and two of them are mothers of small children.

the website
contact the 4 who remain incarcerated
contact the governor and demand their release
sign the petition


it's easy to try to forget, but every day there's evidence of how little the lives of black women mean to the world around us.
do what you can to speak out against this wrongdoing. bring these women home.

i don't think i'm supposed to laugh at this.

but this blog is hilarious to me.

being undone can be wonderful.

(swiped from olaomi's blog on myspace)

She's come undone

A exhortation of sorts that is cried out when a woman gets too loud

or hysterical -which of course has the same root as hysterectomy

or bursts out of her corset

or allows the bun at the nape of her neck to come aloose

or takes up too much space

or speaks her truth loudly

or kicks and screams

or does all of the above at once which means she is having "a nervous breakdown"

or is generally not tippy toeing around in a tight ill fitting pinching quiet small shell

she has come undone

when she

when we

are not controlled

I can be the Empress of Control

soft, dulcet voice, smooth touch, not rattled by anything or anyone

one spiritual group refers to it as being "eternally at peace in any situation"

to make is sound like something good, something laudable, something one should seek out and cleave unto themselves

I can

do that

well

But I Feel so much better

when I am undone

there is not a tight knot in my throat

my chest doesn't hurt

and my back and neck don't ache

I am not as my sister said nauseous from swallowing so much shit

Amy Tan wrote that in her culture women are taught to swallow pain and that that is thought to be one of the duties of womanhood

I had a lover from Gambia once who told me the same thing, that women are created to take pain

conversely

we are not expected to experience pleasure frequently...but to give it endlessly

I am in the midst of an internal battle to stay

undone

an every day war against

the conventions, and mindsets, and upbringing and ways and mores

that poke and prod and suggest and insinuate and demand that I

remain

done

controlled

not doing so is a daily battle

it is a fight for my life

for my breath

for my sanity

for my health

yeah you are interpreting this correctly

what I am saying is that I am consciously working on

being the crazy bitch

the fatal attraction whore

the baby mama with drama

the insatiable freak

that woman who is not above speaking her mind or getting what is rightfully hers

the shrew

that little part that everybody's momma has that we fear

cause

it is a lie not to be this part of ourselves sometimes

to lose it all in the pursuit of staying

done

and it is suicidal

she's come undone

indeed

completely

totally

forever

Un

Done

she refuses to breathe life into lies anymore

she does not sit idly by and take shit anymore

she is not assisting you in abusing her anymore

she is not a cog in the wheel of oppression

nor brick builder for the patriarchal white supremacist pyramid

she expects more

and more

and more

she has the gall to not accept anything less than what she gives!

she is shocking

she is wild

she is off

she got funny ways

she sum timey

she moody

thoroughly

UN

DONE

so

mote

it

be

in the name of all that is round

and juicy

and life giving in the Universe

i'm confused.

at first, i thought that there'd only be snippets of nas' assertion that everyone in this country now qualifies as the n-word. but i found a video clip!

& yeah, i can more or less see his argument -- particularly in post 9/11 america. the way the government watches us, the way our info is sold & tracked. i totally get that. none of us is safe; each of us is victimized. it may not be fire hoses & dogs, but there's always something.

but yo.
that thing about black peoples' right to vote expiring? last i heard it wasn't true. there's at least one statement from the department of justice that clarifies what the voting rights act is all about. i don't know where that ish comes from, but if it comes from the same places that those damn "pass this on to heal little melanie's eyebrow cancer" emails, then i'm gonna be disappointed in nas as a grown person. grown ppl tend to check facts before they start running off at the mouth about things like that. if someone can find me something to back up what he's talking about, i'll appreciate it. in the meantime, i think it's another bullshit urban legend.

i don't knock the john lennon reference, kelis . . . but i still, for some reason, want you to shut the fuck up. i can't explain it. i used to like kelis a lot. but since her second album went unreleased in the states & her third only had one hit (milkshake, y'all) i feel kinda like she dumbed herself down in the name of making herself 'relevant' to the ppl who'd buy her shit: teenagers. bad move. but that's another post for another time.

anita baker: the shit.

i don't care where in the states you grew up, if you were under the age of 18 between 1986 and 1995 then you probably had the pleasure of listening to some anita baker on your local r&b station's quiet storm hour (when your ass probably shoulda been asleep). some video clips to remind y'all why most of us have little cousins in the first place ...

you bring me joy:



it's been you:


that's it for now. i'm supposed to be in bed, but i am instead youtubing & making plantain patties. (don't ask)

compulsory christianity, heterosexuality, & why i can't listen to the radio in my mama's car.

part of this comes from dark daughta's post on a particular video, the other part from having the distinct (dis)pleasure of listening to the "single & saved" radio program on my way home from my mom's last night. i don't like the idea that i have to be christian to be okay or a person of faith any more than i like the idea that i have to be white to be beautiful. i think that as i've aged & explored more of the world, i've gotten into a habit of questioning more things that have always been considered necessary by virtue of being long-standing. through this questioning i've been labeled a trouble making man hating feminist, a non-practicing lesbian, an untrue queer woman & heaven only knows what else. because i refuse to stick to one thing once i gain clarity. i question the answers too, even if i don't verbalize my inquiries. sooooooo, that brings me around to a few questions:

am i so programmed, that i don't know what oppression sounds like even when it comes to a song i like?
is the christian movement against queerness (especially amongst black americans) the result of a genuine understanding of homosexuality as a sin, or is it because the religion tends to describe heterosexuality & breeding as the purpose of humankind? short answer: yes. when ppl aren't hetero, they aren't breeding. when women aren't fawning over men & actively trying to be sheep that renders the men useless. the bible, in my opinion, defines human beings as here for roughly three purposes: serving god, breeding, and suffering until we get to heaven.
is it even possible for me to, once i start to deconstruct things that are oppressive at the root, to simply dig a song/ tv program/ movie? will everything strike me as possibly/ probably racist/ heterosexist/ homophobic?

(more later)

dope girls.

in streetwise terms, the word dope only means one thing: the illegal, illicit shit. usually coke or heroin. it's the norm to be a dope girl nowadays. you have a kid or two. job corps really didn't do for you what you thought it would. that welfare-to-work medical assistant training is fine but the pay caps out at $32K per year depending on where you live -- and if you've done welfare-to-work, you probably have babies to feed. so what's a girl to do?
you start pushing weight, or boosting & selling the hot shit on the street. or, you get two jobs -- maybe three -- so you can handle your business.
i'm not saying that this is what happened to gina hunt & andrea yarrell & their children, but damn if it doesn't seem that way. i'm not okay w/ this shit. it bothers me to no end that they were targeted for robbery and killed over some weed & money. i'm fucked up about the comments ppl have made as to the whys of these murders. i'm not okay with pointing my finger at any woman who seems to have chosen to push weight (or strip or prostitute or do any of those "bad" things) so she can maintain a fucking roof over her fucking head. i'm not gonna knock anybody because i know for a fact that in the past 2 years i've been so desperately broke that i wondered if selling weed was a better idea than dayjobbing it. no lie. & heaven only knows if i'll find myself there again. who knows if any of us will be in that position? over and over again, ppl are saying it's all about what the mothers did before that point. my god, is it really like that? you mean to tell me that before the killer shot that he couldn't have decided to do something else? he couldn't just walk out? what the fuck? but i guess if their house had been mistaken for a different house, it'd be okay. these girls weren't euologized as ph.ds or neurosurgeons -- cuz rich motherfuckers get into drug shit too -- so i'm under the impression that just maybe it wasn't about the fun or glamor of selling dope. i'm pretty sure that these women knew that it's not cute out here -- it weapons were found in the home, they probably knew what the norm is. there's no honor among thieves, obviously. shooting babies? for what?
my heart's broken by shit like this. i understand that murder is par for the course, and i know that folks are transitioning at what seems like an alarming rate. but the way this shit went down really breaks my heart. sometimes i understand why so many folks say "some days it doesn't pay to wake up black." apparently, it doesn't pay to wake up female, mothering, black in this country.

fuck. what is wrong with people? these cowards won't even admit to who shot whom. pointing fingers and laying blame at others' feet, like that shit's gonna help shit. so damaged. so damning.

may these lives be lost not in vain, but to teach valuable lessons to those who hear of the events. may there be rightful, righteous justice visited upon the heads of the killers. may the families of the lost/ loved ones be comforted & edified by the outpouring of sincere support from wherever it comes. it's not often that a mother or father has to bury a child or even a grandchild -- but i pray that those left behind are able to heal.

i don't even know what else to say. peace to the mothers & children.

i did it because it felt good.

i ate that whole container of hummus
devoured that bottle of cheap ass white wine
walked around my apartment in just a pair of heels -- by myself
watched some porn
flirted endlessly with no desire to take it further
bought that pair of lace panties
cut all my hair off
slathered myself in coconut oil
stayed in bed an extra three hours
packed a bowl & smoked myself silly
enjoyed a sandwich with two kinds of meat and a cheese on it
wore a skirt w/ no panties underneath
copped a pair of sexy shoes for no apparent reason
fucked around w/ your homeboy
got some extensions put in my head
drank a whole pitcher of lager & three shots
danced w/ a girl
gave out a fake name @ the club
went bonkers on the clearance rack
got my nails done
kissed a baby
smiled at strangers & said 'good morning'
started a blog
spent 30 minutes in the dressing room & didn't buy shit
ignored that phone call
had a glass of wine w/ lunch on a monday
wore jewelry that didn't match my outfit
left work early to go on a weekend trip
pretended to be younger than i am
lied & said i was older
downloaded an album
wore some crazy looking outfit
called someone a dirty name
got nasty on the mic
played dumb
snickered when someone got fired
called out sick just so i could have sex all day . . .

is akon trying to be deep?

the video:


the lyrics:
Life come and go
So let the history be told
We're all out here
Hustlin' to make our way
And while you're stumblin' and fallin' (stumblin' and fallin')
Why don't you pick yourself up now (pick yourself up now)
You see we all out here
Working day by day

So tell me
How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come

You soon lose track of which way is up when you're always being put down (being put down)
You gotta be strong and do what you feel in your heart
Regardless of who's around (regardless of who's around)
I know it might seem bold
But thats all we have (all we have)
Many centuries and we're steady getting old
Clutchin' on to what we never had

Sooo
How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow
(how can we) How can we work it out (how can we)
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come

How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow (share the gold)
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come

How can we work it out (dada)
Dodo (how can we work it out)
How can we work it out (dada)
Dodo ohhhh (dada)
How can we work it out (dodo)
Da da How can we work it out (dodo)
(everybody sing along with me)

How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow (that pot of gold)
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come (yeah)

How can we work it out
On that day when its time to share the gold at the end of the rainbow (that pot of gold)
How can we work it out
When good and evil meet
The day you kiss his feet
Cause it will soon come (soon come)

How can we work it out (work it out, work it out, work it out...)

knowing this man's popular singles/ collaborations, my eyebrow is raised. yes, i know he goes home to the continent & i know he helps folks & I KNOW about the humanitarian shit.

but i wonder why this single hasn't blown all the way the fuck up.
hmmmmmm.

it's getting hard to feel safe here.

i don't feel comfortable going about my daily routine as if things aren't shattering, shifting, & changing all around me. i don't fear the violence in philadelphia any more or less than i did before -- it's always been raw here -- but what i mean is that i'm not comfortable. there are rumblings & foreshadowings, all of which tell me not to seek comfort or shelter. i feel like a lot of things are about to be flipped. at work, at home, all around me. shit's just changing. then there's the whole mercury retrograde business. well, let's see how it all goes down, shall we?

if you know anything about me

you know i've been crafting.

some of the fruits of my labor are for sale on etsy.com. i present to you dope girl fresh.

i'll be adding more items as soon as i make more items. ;)

oh, the myriad ways in which it all comes together.

aka things i'm gonna blog about when i get the time (instead of as i'm preparing to go back to work from a really delicious 5 day weekend):

- the violence against black/ poor/ brown/ otherwise marginalized (more than usual) women. inspired by loving pecola's loss of a loved one, the losses of san-dee, asia, latoiya, shannon & maria lauterbach... & more recently felicia mickels.

which is tied into:
- the michael nutter thing (again). i'm gonna finish what i posted a few days ago, after i really give it the old college (dropout) try. i want to organize my thoughts fully.

which has something to do with:

- my most recent visit to nyc

- the parallel ways in which my mom & i are growing up

... there's more, but your girl is already late to work.

music i'm excited about:

adele. white. british. no skinny minnie. good pipes, wonderful fashon sense. girl can saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaang. peep:

painting pictures @ lancaster library


chasing pavements live:


chasing pavements music video:


daydreamer on jools holland live:


i may add to this later. but i can't think of anything really new that i'm into. but y'all out there in blogland may not be aware of the fantasticness that is owusu & hannibal. (a million babies is my shit)

there is no fancy way to say it:

i'm tired of feeling like i'm fellating someone w/ really stinky balls for a living. that's what my day job is like. i keep reminding myself of the goals & the deadline i gave myself -- one i'm sticking to w/ no trouble -- but damn, it's hard to keep at it.

(i'll finish my first post abt the new mayor as soon as i figure out how to make a meal out of frozen veggies, red bliss potatoes, veggie broth, & every seasoning in my cabinets... without washing the dishes first.)

okay. i think i found the right ones.

the right shoes.
i need the right dress/ skirt & top combo.

behold the greatness:



they aren't cheap. they aren't crazy expensive, either. they're definitely my idea of a conversation piece . . . cuz heaven knows my ass doesn't plan to go very far in them. heh.

i suppose that if you're gonna do fuckme pumps, you'd best be doing it all the way. i am. i will. in black and in red patent.

no way.

70 degrees in january?
you're playin. i must be dreamin. lord have mercy, it was simply glorious out today!

of course i was out until almost 10 pm.
of course i took a cab home ($11 well spent!)
& of course . . . i'm still up. frontin like i don't have a 10+ hour day at work tomorrow.

but i had to be thankful for the weather. i had to share that. i'm so rejuvenated by it, even if it is dark at 5 pm every day.

a bonus blog for today:

in the great tradition of my sexual caveat post from summer 2007, i am sharing w/ you something i swiped from my girl oyin's blog (it's private, so i can't link it). it's funny because it's true. ;)

if your grasp of the english language is rudimentary

(and if you don't know what rudimentary is and can't figure it out with the context clues...this prolly means you)

do not attempt to write erotic poetry

it is simply a poor choice

go with where your talents are...

impress her by adding up the tip in your head

build something

burn her a cd

do an interpretative dance

because a line like "i want to kiss in between your pelvic..."

or "i want to make love to your inner loins..."

*shaking my head*

these things will be shared with homegirls

and they will find their way into random blogs

don't let it be you, hear?

don't let it be you...

the michael jackson treatment in music videos:

from snoop dogg. sexual seduction (this is my JAM):



from mary j. (towards the end especially), "just fine"



y'all know i'm a michael junkie, right? like, slap a fool upside the head for mike. lol. anyway... enjoy!

i don't feel like delving today.

that is, i'm cleaning out my closets literally but the figurative act of doing so is way too much to handle at the moment. there are things churning around in my head about becoming a doula, becoming a massage therapist, & about this evolution i'm experiencing overall. i am a crafter, a day jobber, a writer . . . all these things that seem to be vying for dominance in my life. i mean, the logic says that i'd be without a place to be all this "other stuff" without having a pain in the ass day job, right? but i could not possibly look fwd to leaving work each day if i didn't come home to my creatively-infused home, right? so much. so many things. i've got to be immediately occupied w/ working, crafting, healing (my tattoo is healing funny, but from what i surmise it's an issue of its locale on my body & not shoddy work by jason, but more on that later), loving, laughing, building & a bunch of other -ings before i can even think about becoming the fabulously & fully self-employed self i want to be 1 year from now. there's a lot. i don't know if i can say i feel overwhelmed, or simply unaware of where/ how to begin.
thankfully, though, i'm being held up by folks who feel inclined on a consistent basis to contribute in a positive way
i'm learning to juggle (& eventually balance) it all
loosing myself of things/ persons unnecessary
finding out exactly what it is to actualize potential in the face of what can only be described as the "no-you-can't" mass choir & its accompaniment, the faithful "i've-never-heard-of-that-so-it-must-not-be-valid" chorale. fuck 'em both; i've got work to do.
i'm letting go of the idea that i've got to get everything done all at once just because i think of everything all at once. this is not freaking easy. at all.
i'm learning process
practicing patience
trying my damnedest not to just up & quit the things i hate, though they get harder on the daily
i still feel like i'm waiting for my turn to jump into something. maybe a chute or giant water slide that leads to something with which i'm entirely unfamiliar. i'm less angsty about it, though.

i just wanna be fully ready to get this show on the fucking road.

i love me some damn leg warmers.

i mean, like . . . they are so effing great! & in the winter when i feel like rocking a skirt, they save my calves every time. behold:



(those are also my favorite sneakers. pink & black tweed nike blazers)

the purple ones i LOVE, too:




don't hate. it's futile.

doin laundry on a saturday night.

is this what my life has become? i don't have any kind of fabulous whatever to do w/ myself, so i kick it in the laundromat until they close?? i used to be miss out thursday-through-saturday, sleep it off sunday, happy hour tuesday & wednesday. wtf happened to me, y'all? *sigh* whatever. i'll figure it all out. in the meantime, i stole a meme from sanderson who stole it from none other than peanut.

Where did you begin 2007?
hanging out w/ la familia lamb.

What was your status by Valentine’s Day?
coming off my mommy's 48th birthday

Were you in school (anytime this year)?
no

Did you have any encounters with the police?
yeah. trace & i called the cops on some dude who was slappin his woman around at 13th & carpenter.

Where did you go on vacation?
in my mind. that's changing soon, though

What did you purchase that was over $500?
nothing

Did you know anybody who got married?
do i? hmmm. no.

Did you know anybody who passed away?
yes

Did you move anywhere?
no

What sporting events did you attend?
none. i missed relays this year. womp.

Describe your birthday:
mine.

What’s something you thought you would not do but did in 2007?
see patti labelle have straight up CHURCH on national televis

What has been your favorite moment(s)?
my first official dgf customer, meeting lily, hanging out w/ emerson, watching femi kuti live at the shrine, realizing the glory that is shayne, hearing owusu & hannibal's "a million babies" for the first time ever, karas' dinner party . . . i'm sure there's more that i can't recall.

Any new additions to your family?
yes! my cousin cynthia gave birth in late november to a little girl named selenia carolina.

What was your best month?
i have no idea.

Who has been your best drinking buddy?
i have a lot of those.

Overall, how would you rate this year?
it gets a 100 for danceability.

Change your hairstyle?
a bit, but not as much as i think i'm about to

Do you have a New Year’s resolution?
to continue on this path. that's not a resolution so much as it is a given. but my new years tend to be birthday related.

Do anything embarrassing?
um, yesterday i walked out of the laundromat without actually turning on a washer.

Buy anything new from eBay?
yes! books. yay!

Get married or divorced?
lmao no.

Get arrested?
no.

Be honest - did you watch American Idol?
when they got rid of melinda, i stopped writing myself notes to watch.

Did you get sick this year?
a lil bit

Been snowboarding?


Are you happy to see 2007 go?
i'm always happy to live through another calendar year. i won't miss 2007.

Been naughty or nice?
nicety. like michel'le.

ummm

this whole process is, indeed, addictive. permanent adornment is kinda fantastic.
yeah.

not sure how to say it

so i suppose it'd be best for me to just let it out:

struggle is relative. pain is relative. you can't ever discredit someone else's sentiments based on your world view. it's inaccurate, it's unfair, & essentially the same thing as telling them that they don't matter. you never know what's brought another person (or a group of ppl) to a certain point, nor can you ever fully know what's gonna happen as they press forward.

"just cuz i'm doin' better now/ don't mean i never lost shit" -- black thought, "clock with no hands"

i'll probably come back to this post later. but i've touched on this before, this hungry, hateful way in which humans destroy (or attempt to) one another. it's almost like we get so wrapped up in our pain/ drama/ bullshit that other folks' tiniest advances are like an affront to us. at least, it seems that way. maybe i'm being more sensitive than i usually am, but it's true. *shrug*

dear andre 3000:

i know you said you were tired of rapping.
but, you have lain to waste every single song you've appeared on between the release of idlewild in 2006 & all your guest spots & class of 3000, vol. 1 album. do you think that maybe, just maybe i could get to see you on tour sometime up close & personal before i die? you don't have to do any big outkast tour. it could be you just showing up at a big boi / purple ribbon show. somethin. maybe the next time i catch an esthero show, you'll pop up. or something like that. i'm not asking for a whole lot, man. i swear. i just need to witness your gloriousness in person. i won't try to snatch you off the stage. i won't try to get backstage and get pregnant by you. i really won't. i just need you on stage while i'm screaming/ singing my head off. really. it won't hurt. i promise it won't. please.

please?

thanks.

mixed feelings about the path i'm on.

(originally titled: "i'm not about to play mammy to anyone")

the other day, i got my membership packet from DONA international in the mail. i thumbed through the two newsletters & introductory info packet. i just sighed & thought, "i paid XX dollars to join an organization that won't recommend you unless you get w/ their program, & these fuckers don't even give me a membership card? blah."
then i looked at the newsletters more closely. i saw maybe one photo of a black woman & baby. i sighed, swallowed hard & heard that lovely little voice inside my head going all crazy: "wtf? you know there are black doulas, & there are black women who utilize the services of doulas . . . this shit's gotta change. get your training ASAP. read those books, find out if jackie from family birth mark is gonna be doing any classes in late spring to early summer. read some books. get comcast to come install cable, so you can research your ass off. & get ready to deal w/ those white folks, especially those who don't think of you as 'really' black; & don't forget the skeptical black folks who think you're on some new age erykah badu earth mother bullshit . . ."

i've since calmed down. i thought about some things, had some talks (thx karas & mommy & trace), & came to the conclusion that i must simply place one foot before the other. i will be certified as a birth & postpartum doula. i will seek clients who are under or unrepresented within the realm of home birth & anything labeled "alternative" child birth. i will pick the brains of everyone who works across the hall from me so we can get the data that confirms my suspicions about why doulas didn't work in the public health centers (um, hello gov't mistrust & mistrust of white folks). i'm flipping through doula blogs to view the profession from women who're not writing newsletters, but chronicling their lives & work. i'm gonna explore the connections that i can make w/ black midwives & doulas between philadelphia, nyc & the dc area. i will not allow myself to use my clients as platforms for my agenda, but i will not hesitate to remind myself why i am doing what i do. i will commit myself to providing the best possible service, & remember that it's about what the client wants/ needs. (that's gonna be hard cuz i'm one bossy motherfucker. maybe i ought to become a midwife instead? lol)

i'm gonna be dealing w/ the privileged. i know that. whether i connect with clients on a deeply personal level or not (i don't know how i wouldn't when i'm intending to be present at the birth of their child, for crying out loud), i have to remember i'm there to do a job. i can't present everyone with my ideas on how to really have a birthing revolution. i should also refrain from anticipating that when i have a black client, i'll automatically have some magical "yay i'm glad you're black; let's have a revolution" sort of thing going on. it would be cute if that could happen, but i'm not about to presume that it will.

i'm just trying to be as realistic w/ myself as possible. it won't be all drama, of course. i want to lend strength, bolster confidence, & create comforts for my clients. i want to use my knowledge of aromatherapy & such to help them. i want to become a licensed massage therapist & combine all of my skills & training to assist my clients in having the most blissful pregnancies & births possible. & i mean that.

there's so much i want to do. i'm praying that i can get it all done without compromising my integrity.

feeling like my fulfillment is on hold

like i have to shake my ass a lil harder for those tips
smile bigger when they ask how i'm doing, so massa & them don't know i'm planning to leave
i'm growing impatient &
full of myself, certain that i'll strike when the iron is hot
my hands itch to pull at that other shoe, instead of letting it drop on its own
trying to slow this mess down just enough to savor the last days

i'm more aware now than ever of how this is gonna go down,
where my support comes from
what i need to leave alone
& ultimately, i'm fully able to see where i ought to be
what steps to take, where to plant my feet.

i just have to breathe & take care of this stuff first.
the babies will come
the money will come
the new home will come.

i just have to make it so.

there's a lot going on.

i'll write when i really have time.

i won't for a while.

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.

revelation:

i am happiest when crafting with abandon. when i can just do whatever i want with whichever medium, i feel most peaceful. i feel alive.

reason #275 why i'm leaving that job.

o sonho :: moon dreams

i've been having incredibly vivid dreams. last night, i dreamt that my baby sister got picked up by customs when she went ashore during a family cruise to the caribbean. granted, i can almost guarantee that my mother, sisters & i will never go on a cruise together if at all -- but that's what the dream was. baby sis was distraught, upset that they roped her into whatever group of accused ppl based pretty much on color. black grad students. that's what she is right now. smart, black, woman, unafraid, proud. people always wanna take that from you -- that fearlessness. they always wanna snatch it & cloak themselves in it. the sense i got from the dream was that these black officers of the law on whichever island we'd visited were cross at the level of privilege held by my baby sis & these other folks. to me, she's not terribly privileged; she makes her lil money, she works in the library in my old neighborhood full time while doing her counseling psych classes all at once. she is black, working hard, but also subject to various oppressions. however, that wasn't enough for these power-abusing uniformed men to leave her be.
i don't remember the rest of the dream, really. i ran to try to help her much to the protest of my mother. but i'm a springing-into-action kinda broad. i suppose that if the dream finished the way i wanted it to, i would have been able to convince them to let her go & the loved ones of the other students would have been present to achieve the same goal. i don't know. i guess i'd best tell her not to go on any long trips without family? i'm still sorting it all out.

the night before last, i had a dream that upset me because of who was in it. i felt panic wash over me as soon as i realized what i was looking at, where i was, what i was doing. & i couldn't get away quite fast enough. he & i conversed. i don't remember what was said. i know it was really brief, bullshit small-talk. i woke up feeling incredibly panicked; when i dream about this person or anything that has to do with him, he shows up. every time since the very beginning of our knowing one another. & i consciously resist that; it's like my ori is calling him to me. as a matter of fact, i'm almost so shook that i don't even want to press the 'publish post' button when i'm done writing this particular entry, just on the strength that i don't want to talk to him ever again in my life. yet & still, i'm gonna do it. i need to be fearless as much as possible. if i talk to him, so be it. i feel that perhaps these dreams come unexpectedly when he's thought about or discussed me, & i really do hope that he's troubled in his sleep too. on the flip side, if someone mentions him to me i usually forget all about his ass until/ unless a dream comes. i'm still not sure if it's my ori or the ancestors working on me/ us. i just know i'm okay, insulated as much as i can be from that whole mess. working on my shit, making sure i don't bring myself into a situation like that ever again.

maybe one day, the dreams won't bother me.

crazy busy.

day job
craft job
tryna gather myself unto myself for this giftsmas (that's xmas or christmas to the rest of y'all) foolishness
i wanna redecorate
i need to redecorate
i need to pray more
i'm eating less bullshit
drinking more water
getting less sleep
this is . . . a lot.

& in the middle of all this i wanna return to volunteering, become an activist w/ the emphasis on activity, mentor a grown woman who's officially tryna enter this place we call the workforce, decide whether it's the netherlands or mexico city next spring/ summer, try to plan a move for spring, get better at styling my own hair, film a documentary, learn some portugues . . .
& still manage to give myself orgasms on the regular.

there's a lot to do. & it's going on 2 in the morning. i gotta get some sleep from somewhere.

braveheart & braverheart.

dave chappelle is, indeed, a genius.



found this on lauren's blog. yay!

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.

if snitches get stitches, then sew me up.

megan meier didn't deserve this. i don't care what happened between two kids -- if a parent gets involved, it should be to end the drama. not turn it into some torturefest that ends in suicide.
i applaud the (anonymous) mother who told the truth.

outside of that, i've nothing to say, really, except this:

rest in peace, megan.

i won't ever forget it: the beginning of the end.

the time he likened us working our problems out to the way we'd coach each other at free cell.

i wanted to smack him in the face w/ the keyboard at that exact moment, pack my shit, & walk the fuck out. but all i had to my name were some nickels (probably not enough for the bus) & whatever food i'd bought for the week. i couldn't go back to my mom's like that. but i felt it in my gut -- i felt someone telling me to leave.

lesson #1: always listen to your first mind, no matter how crazy you might look to everyone else.

i am a towering fount of snot.

i have a cold. fuck. no date for me this weekend. not much more than changing the bed linen, taking lots of baths, & being pissed that i can't go out & play with the other kids. meh.

i need the time to crochet, though...

something's come to my attention as of late:

when it comes to dating, i'm the fault-findingest motherfucker ever.

i'm gonna relax that shit & go dig for records with this cat, maybe over this here long weekend. it cannot possibly hurt me to go crate digging with someone. it can't, unless that person is an axe murderer, suicide bomber, or otherwise out-of-control crazy kind of individual.

it can't hurt.

i'm still not certain how

it is that i can't convince myself to settle for anything less than specifically what i want. i might entertain the lesser for a little while, but i generally am not tryna do that bullshit.

i'm not mad at it, either.

out of pocket in atlanta: shawntae harris.

hitting people upside the head with bottles of rum? really?

the most organized thoughts i could immediately muster about such a report are best reflected by miss jalylah burrell in this post on she real cool (i still wish i'd been clever enough to conceive of such a blog title, even after 2 years of reading). a quote:

Simplemindeness leads too many to believe that certain bodies are immune from perpetuating isms. People of Color, Women and/or LGBTQ's identities do not endow them with progressiveness and sometime they can be as vigilant as the mainstream in instilling perpetuating and maintaining the strictures that incongruously tightly circumscribe their lives.

by virtue of that same simplemindedness (as it belongs to others, not so much this writer), i think she makes black lesbians look bad. if you're the only reference point that some folks have for an entire group of people, you are an ambassador, whether your ass wishes to be or not. people are stupid. just like being the only black person around will get you some bullshit in all-white "liberal" or "inquisitive"circles, being the only lesbian (particularly around some strongly heterosexist, queerphobic black folks) will get you some bullshit. there's a culture of exclusion among black folk as is, incidents like this (whether largely publicized or not) seem to be the carte blanche that these closed-minded folks need in order to justify hate. the same way black men in hoodies, timbs, the "wrong" sneakers/ jeans combo, etc. aren't allowed into certain night spots because of what someone "dressed similarly" may or may not have fucking done in that same night spot or a different one. i'm not justifying acts of exclusion, but i definitely see that side of those behaviors. if you're an inside-the-box thinker, what else are you gonna think? "she's a lesbian, she's black, she's kinda butchy so i guess i can expect that from kinda butchy black lesbians." thinking in a line is dangerous. even when the linear thinking is based on lies & exaggerations. call me crazy, but that's just what i think. people are that dumb, unfortunately. sometimes, we give others ammunition through our convoluted, negative behaviors. i don't feel like it's okay to assume that one person should represent all folks who can be classified in that group (at the same time, i'm not terribly keen on identity politics & classifying folks in the first place) . . . but i guess my disturbance is that behavior like this certainly doesn't help anyone who struggles for the rights of a group -- black folks, women, the LBGTQ community, poor folks, etc.

doesn't she have any kind of fucking home training? you just hit motherfuckers in the head with bottles of booze (that i presume she paid for, cuz who the fuck is giving her irrelevant-to-current-music ass any freebies?) when you have a problem with them? from what i read in jalylah's blog, & other random bits of celebrity gossip/ news i've heard she's got some stunted social growth/ anger management/ alcohol consumption issues. to paraphrase katt williams, if folks say the same exact shit about you for 20 years, it's true. that is, her behavior from what i've observed/ heard is congruent w/ someone who has some issues they need to work out. homegirl needs to put the bottle down for more reason than one, i'm willing to bet. no matter what someone says or does to you (short of threatening your life with action or words), you as a grown ass person probably need to learn to walk away. & you definitely don't come at them after the fact to assault them. fuck that. unfortunately, it's not even really about home training. she might not have ever adhered to anything her caregiver(s) ever taught her. sad, but true.

maybe i hold women to a higher standard. maybe i hold black folks to a higher standard, & therefore lean on black women extra hard. but ultimately, this incident is so telling! it says so much about the way we internalize the colonization of ourselves & our ancestors. if she makes you mad, hit her. if she rebuffs your advances, she's a worthless/ good-for-nothing/ funny looking/ tacky whore/ bitch/ skag/ heifer/ ho . . . & if she dare speak back, show her who's boss. this is something i've seen from butch lesbians as much as i've seen it from hetero-identifying men. i don't give a fuck, anyone who feeds into the gender constructs (regardless of biological sex) is susceptible to the comfort of what being a man or woman will get you in this society. maybe that doesn't make sense . . . what i'm speaking on is what i've observed with my own eyes, what i've felt in my heart of hearts. there are women running around here thinking they can play the part better than a bio male can within the same social constructs, & that is dangerous. not because i believe gender roles are static, but because in this place we call america those gender roles are rife with oppression. because they are misleading & create a space wherein domestic abuse is okay, wherein it's okay to dominate your partner simply because it's what's "supposed to happen." carrying around & perpetuating the fucked up attitudes/ behaviors that you've been exposed to isn't suddenly made okay if you're not in a heterosexual romantic relationship. sorry. essentially, mistreatment of another human being is supposed to be wrong all of the time.
*sigh*
i lost my train of thought. but i think that's enough for now.

i'm expecting someone who doesn't respect my stance to come attack me in the comments box . . . because i'm supposed to forgive her class status (before becoming a wealthy/ famous rapper), blame hip hop for her acting like that, & give her a pass because i'm a queer black woman myself.

right.

oh, hell no.

wtf?

i'm kinda, like... flabbergasted.

please feel free to engage me in discourse in the comments, okay?

there is so much wrong here. so much.

now i understand why

i don't have a lot of 'work clothes.'

1) the office gig shit is, as i've said thousands of times, for the birds. i'm no turkey.
2) i don't ever want to put on a suit or anything similar ever again in my life for the sake of being someone else's minion
3) i don't care about how i look when i'm in a place where i don't wanna be
4) the clothes i would wear to work are not friendly to my income
5) fuck them, who cares what i have on?
6) i know better than to wear some fly shit when i'm in the trenches, filing
7) the file room is disgusting, & i can't wear good clothes when battling paper mites
8) i don't plan on being there long enough to get good wear out of anything "work-appropriate"
9) i know deep down this is to be my last full time permanent office gig
10) fuck them, who cares what i have on?

i have an interview w/ the division mgr tomorrow... so let me get some damn sleep.

new food post!

over at delicious ignorance. mmmmm, fooood.

read it. try it. love it.