Say It Loud....

This blog isn't unique. It's a topic that has been discussed many times before. But given the frequency of the encounters, I needed to vent.

There are several things that I dare people to speak on and expect not to feel my wrath. One is family. My womanhood. Another is my race.

I love--and I do mean LOVE--everything about being black. My features, the way I can style my hair, my skin color-- I believe that black people are some of the most beautiful beings on this earth. Imagine my disdain when I encounter people who question my allegiance to our race because I don't like or support something related to black people. It'll be for THEE MOST insignificant things, yet it'll cause me to have a mental meltdown. Let's look at several recent conversations:

Convo #1:

Friend #1: "Did you read the new book from Triple Crown?
Me: "Nah, I don't read too many of those books these days."
Friend #1: "I mean, why not? It's kinda messed up that you're so quick to read books by white authors, but you give the black authors no play."
Me: "But I never said..."


Convo #2

Friend #2: "I think I'm going to see 'Jumping the Broom' tonight."
Me: "Oh ok. I probably won't go cuz the previews didn't catch my interest."
Friend #2: "Well, it has an all-black cast, so you can't go wrong with that."
Me: "Actually, you can. You can wrong with an all-black cast just like you can wrong with an all-white cast."
Friend #2: "Well, at least I'M going to support our black people."

Convo #3

Me: "Don't you want to turn the t.v. off before you leave?"
Friend #3: "No. I'm leaving it on BET."
Me: "Why? You're wasting electricity."
Friend #3: "NO, I'm supporting BET by increasing their viewership. What would you know about that?"

#pauseforthecause

Since when did reading hood novels, watching movies with predominantly black casts, and @#$%@$^&* BET define our "blackness?" I find that there are too many black people out there trying to judge others' "blackness" without looking at their contributions-- or lack there of--to our race. And it's the funny how one the aforementioned friends peddles street pharmaceuticals to blacks in poverty-stricken neighborhoods in Detroit. And I'm the bad guy?

It just tickles me that we have the "Black Police" on patrol, seeking to find the person who's not "representin'." I had a finger aimed my way plenty of times before from the clothes that I wear to the perm in my hair. And how many of my educated black friends faced ridicule for sounding "too white?"



But ask them what they know about black history. Ask them how they are helping to stop perpetuating the cycles of crime, illiteracy, unemployment, and poverty within the Black community. It takes more than natural hair, tattoos, and collection of black films and hood novels to help to uplift our race. I often question what more can I do? How can I give back to my community? I by no means feel that my efforts outshine others nor do I want to present myself as someone who knows what others must do to "represent." It's just is frustrating to have to already prove my worth to society as both a woman and a black woman...but to have to prove myself to my own race?

BOYYYY STOP.

Well If You Don't Know, Now You Know...Ninja

10 Facts that people don't know about me- at least not everyone. These won't be the typical "I never broke a bone" or "My first kiss was..." kind of facts, but tidbits that are actually interesting and sometimes embarrassing. Get ready for the countdown!

10. I attempted to write a book around the age of 12, and even got to chapter 10. It was along the lines of a Goosebumps novel since I was heavily obsessed with R.L. Stine. Unfortunately, the computer that I started the book on was given away (!!!) and I decided not to begin it again. Short stories from then on.

9. I've had a plethora of weird celebrity crushes starting at the age of 9. This included Sisqo, Al Pacino, Jason Kidd, Jackie Wilson, Robert DeNiro, Nas, John Stamos, Chris Webber, Nelly, Blair Underwood, Haywood Nelson of What's Happening!, Haini Wolfgramm of the music group The Jets, etc. And the BIGGEST crush of them all? Sylvester Stallone. As you can see, there is no rhythm nor rhyme to this selection. Let the judgment commence.



8. The first rap song that I memorized is "Tha Block is Hot." I even printed the lyrics to make sure I knew every word and ab-lib.

7. I have seen a ghost before. Before you jump to call me cray cray, my sister and I both saw the ghost at the same time. And the house that we saw it in was said to have other "encounters" before. We never spent the night there again.

6. Because I used to help my mom in the kitchen a lot, I always thought I could cook. So when everyone was sleep in the house, I would get up in the middle of the night and grab my mom's Betty Crocker Cookbook.



Needless to say, I failed miserably. I pulled Millie into helping me one time, and we had to hide a pot we burnt in trying to make creme brulee. I did have one success! French onion stew. Couldn't go wrong with cutting up onions and a few bullion cubes.

5. I was a late bloomer whereas both my sisters developed at early ages. Both of them had hit C-cups before entering middle school, and I on the other hand remained flat as a wall. I would cry about it too. Not like small little "wah wah wah, I want boobies" cries, but "OH WOE IS ME! THE WORLD SHALL END-ETH IF THY BREASTS DO NOT GROW-ETH!!!" cries. Then the next thing you know, BAM! by eighth grade year. Then high school. Then college. Smooth sailing from there on out.



4. My first job was at a library where I had a number of obsessed patrons. One patron, a middle age white man, asked to take a picture of me sitting behind my desk at work. I wanted to say no but I agreed. Security caught the man taking the picture, asked him to show that he deleted it on his camera, and escorted him out the building. The next week, he brought in the picture he took- printed and in a frame. I was terrified. Scared to tell my parents, I hid the picture for a long time in our hall closet. After some months, I took the picture out, tore it into pieces, and smashed the frame. I left the library to go to Bridge, but even in the summer months I spent at home struggling to look for jobs, I never applied to work at the library again.

3. My first "boyfriend" was at the age of 13. His name was Chris, and my first encounter with him was watching him and my cousin ride by house (on bikes of course) with Chris cussing my cousin out. Mind you, Chris was only about 5'2, 5'3 at the time, and my cousin was some inches taller than him. On top of that, my cousin was like a neighborhood bully. So the fact that this boy was aggressive and denigrating someone older and physically larger than him, intrigued me. We met that day, we became a "couple" that day. My dad didn't like him, and I'm being nice using the phrase "didn't like." He eventually told me that Chris' name had been brought up in the barbershop as one of the many boys who'd been robbing people in the neighborhood, as well as did some breaking and entering. It all made sense, especially after Chris told me his "job in a junkyard" was a cover-up for him selling weed. I came to my senses and told him I didn't want to talk to him anymore. In response, he threatened to kill me and any other family member that tried to stop him. Good ol' Chris. Such a kidder!

2. Okay, this fact may disgust some readers. I've always had a high pain tolerance. I don't want to say that I'm a "fiend for pain" because that makes me sound like some kind of freak. 0_o I was just one of the kids who liked the feel of putting chip bag clips on their skin, on binder clips on their fingertips (I know. I know...) One of my worst habits, however, was to....umm...stick sewing needles under the skin on my fingers. On the palm side. I don't know why I used to do it, but it was more or less because I was bored and it didn't hurt me. So back in 6th grade, I decided to not only stick the needle under my skin, but use a threaded needle. By the end of second period, I threaded what looked like a small, stitched circle in the center of tip of my thumb. I freaked my classmates out, and of course, my teacher. Next thing you know, I get home from school, and my parents told me that my teacher contacted them during recess. HER story was that I cut my thumb open and sewed myself back together. (Really?) They asked was there any truth to her story, and I just told them about the needle incident myself. My loving father and mother, having already accepted the fact that their daughter was a weirdo, already knew about me playing with the sewing needles and quickly disregarded the whole thing. They also knew that although I wanted to be a doctor at that age, but wasn't dumb enough to cut myself open. Shoutout to Ms. Kallis for the memory.

1. At the age of 11, I first began tutoring at a tutor program at my church. At the time, adults were the only tutors, but I asked the program director if I could volunteer. I loved working with the elementary-aged students, and would bring in bags of candy from the penny candy store to reward them for their work. My favorite person to tutor was a special-ed student who was a couple of years older than me. I can't remember her name, but I remember her face, and the joy she had when I congratulated her on getting something right. Having remembered that feeling, and now having a nephew who's a special-ed student, I decided to apply to a tutoring program in Ann Arbor to work with special-ed students, and in addition, applied to the Big Brothers Big Sisters program. Fingers crossed that they accept my applications!

Ab-stract Ori-ginal, You Can't Get Your Own And That's Pitiful

I can't remember if I wrote a blog on pet peeves, but if so, whatever. Here goes another:

There are habits and actions people do which others consider to be an annoyance--hence "pet peeve." For clarification, I do not equate the phrase "pet peeve" to "dislike." For instance, a pet peeve is something along the lines of "Oh, I hate people who spit when they talk" or "I hate when my cat pees on the bed"(I don't have a cat by the way!) However, saying that "I don't like liars" is not a pet peeve. The operating term is "pet" as in minor. To say "My pet peeve is racists" or "My pet peeve is FOX News" are quite big statements, and don't fall under the pet peeve category. Pet peeve vs. dislike, do you see the difference? If not, oh well. Made sense to me!

I could give you list of my pet peeves. With me being a slight clean freak, most of them pertain to hygiene and housekeeping. However, the one that irks me to no end is unoriginality, and people who try to emulate my style and taste. You may say that sounds conceited. You may say I'm over-exaggerating. And I say, you may exit stage left if do not wish to listen to this rant. I shall give you 5 seconds.

5...4...3...2...

For those who know me, I have come a LONG way in developing style. As quiet as it's kept, I was one of those girls who dreamed of being a fashion designer. When I worked at a library, I regularly checked out books on fashion, and used my paychecks to subscribe to Vogue, W, and InStyle magazines. As much of a tomboy that I was, I still would sneak and put some of my mom's Bvlgari or Chloe perfume on a tissue, so I could put it on my neck once I got to school that day. After many years and countless fashion failures, I finally knew what I liked and what worked for me.

So to have someone come and try to take it is robbery. It's not just a matter of "so-and-so is trying to copy me." It's the fact that it took time to get here. The audacity of people to come in and take what took years for me to get to! I remember a couple of years of ago, a friend got mad over my comment on perfume. She smelled a perfume that I bought, and decided she would go out and buy it. I looked at her and simply told her "No. You're not." In reality, I couldn't prevent her purchasing the perfume if she wanted to, but the fact that she even considered buying it angered me. She did NOT make the 4 hour trip to Chicago, head to Magnificent Mile, and spend over an hour in Bloomingdales trying to find "the one." She just smelled it on my wrist.

And clothes? We won't even get on clothes.



Granted, my style is not all that unique. Kudos to the women who can wear the tutus, stripped leggings, or destroyed shirts-- and pull it off. I couldn't do what you do. But unique or not, it's MY style. Who wants to live in a world of clones? Eff the phrase "The greatest form of flattery is imitation." I must've overlooked the flattering part.


Dammit. Based on this blog, I now have to determine if unoriginality is my pet peeve or dislike.

Don't Do It, Reconsider, Read Some Litera-ture...

As much as I listen to my conscience, I don't listen to it enough. It could be jumping up and down with a large and loud warning sign, but I wouldn't bat an eyelash. I wonder is it embedded in the psych of man to ignore a gift so important. To allow something to happen, or continue to happen, paying no heed to the little voice in your ear saying "Think about it."

To say I'm at my worst would be an overstatement. On the other hand, I don't know how I went from traveling the country one minute, to enjoying valuable time with my parents and family, to receiving an email telling me I'm longer needed at my job. To make matters worse, I told a special friend that I needed to take time from them because, as opposed to listening that good ol' conscience of mine, I allowed myself to develop feelings for that person when I knew that's not what they wanted. I spent a good portion of last night crying on the couch and an even bigger portion of this morning crying on the floor. Both situations were not the end of the world, but they still hurt. And seeing that I often refuse to show feelings, I cried. And I cried long and hard.

In writing this blog, I'm sure I'll have friends worried about me and whatever I'm going through. I want them to know that it's no worries on my end. I just want to take a few days to myself--free of texts, bbms, facebook, and Twitter-- to regroup. I don't believe in crumbling under pressure. I believe in devising a game plan as to what I should do now, and what I should next.....but first I gotta take care of these puffy eyes.


"In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced, nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed."

ATL Geor-gia, What Do We Do For Ya?

I kid you not, I'm unintentionally banging Ying Yang Twins "Say AI Yi Yi" as I type this blog.

ATL was quite the experience! Unlike the past trips, it was a perfect mixture of fun and sightseeing. Let's not forget I was in the "Black Mecca" for the first time. People remind me that I'm from Detroit, and I was born and raised around black people. However, there's a difference. One, I've been trapped in Ann Arbor for the past 10 months. Sure, I took occasional trips home to visit family in Dearborn, but for goodness sakes, it's DEARBORN. Ann Arbor, in general, is lacking black people. I'm one of four African Americans in my program, and while I can't speak for the undergraduate population, I can say that this year, it's the first time I realized that I went to a predominantly white school (I miss mis amigos. :-( ). Moreover, we're talking about a city who has the "movers and the shakers." It was an entirely different caliber of black people. Did it have poverty and blight? YES. Did it have its ghettos? YES. But it also had a large population of affluent African Americans who were educated in HBCU's, and now excelling in the industry of their choice. One woman, for instance, was an optometrist. A doctor before the age of 30.



Back to the lecture at hand- I rode with my classmate, Raquel, to ATL in order to keep her company on the road. It was a pretty smooth drive, and we didn't encounter much trouble or traffic. The first night out, we went to a place called Mood Lounge for a friend's birthday. It was a nice, chill spot. Not too crowded and good music. It was nice to be able to go out and see how they partied in Atlanta. They didn't know things like the 'Cat Daddy' or the "Bad Girl', but they LOVED to 'Wobble Wobble.' -___- The next day, we went to the Omega Psi Phi Fraternity Inc., Tau Chapter picnic. Umm, to describe it? Well....it was like being a piece of a thick, juicy T-Bone steak in a lions den. No lie, I could not take two steps without some random Que pulling me to the side. Most of them were aghast that I was Zeta. Below are some of the comments told to me:

Que #1: "Tell me baby, how did they [Zeta] get you?"

Que #23: "Did you know this weekend is Freaknik?"
Me: "Is it really?"
Que #23: "No. But we can make it that."

Que #6 "Gurl, you got some pretty lips. And pretty teeth too! Is yo daddy a dentist??"

Que #30: "Oh your name is Chris-ti-na?
Me: "Yess...."
Que #30: "Well you know what they say about people with three syllables in their name..."

I won't finish the last comment due to finer womanhood, but you get the gist. It was slight system overload, but fun nonetheless! That night, we went to a graduate chapter Kappa party, and that was an upscale, classy event. I was sweltering, but received some compliments on my dress (kept it classy). Again, I mention these two events in detail because though they were the extreme opposites, they still had college-educated African Americans who were leaders in their community, and established teachers, lawyers, doctors, entrepreneurs, etc. Just beautiful.




Sunday, we went to the Ray of Hope church with the wonderful Reverend Cynthia Hale, and had Gladys Knight's Chicken and Waffles afterward (insert heavenly chimes). That night, Raquel, her fiance Calleb, and I sat on the couch and watched CNN announce the death of Osama Bin Laden. We'll end this paragraph now because the circumstances surrounding Bin Laden's death will be discussed in another blog. Maybe two.

My last day in Atlanta had more of the historical aspect. After eating breakfast in the Auburn neighborhood, I FINALLY got to go to Dr. Martin Luther King's church and burial site. After the trips to Boston, Miami, Philly, etc., I was elated that I actually visited places relevant to African American history.

WHOA.

That's NOT to say the other places lacked things relevant to black folk. Philly alone has too many to name. Unfortunately, I never got to visit those places. I DID get to go to the Ebenezer Baptist Church, MLK home's, Spelman, Morehouse, Clark, Sweet Auburn, etc. So even if I could never travel to Atlanta again, I know that I got to see landmarks and historical places that are integral parts of Black history. I may not have seen everything, but my soul is satisfied with what I did see (and yes, I did mean for it to sound that dramatic).








Who knows when I'll make my grand return to ATL? It may be June for the Greek picnic. Maybe August for Raquel's wedding. I do know that I'll be back, and this time, I plan on partying with--you guessed it--- drag queens.


Atlanta, Georgia- You get: TWO THUMBS UP