One man served as a humble servant of the people and this nation.
The other thinks he’s the king of humbled servants, this nation, and the world.
One man served as a humble servant of the people and this nation.
The other thinks he’s the king of humbled servants, this nation, and the world.
Happy Memorial Day, everyone. May our troops, veterans and allies stay safe.
I’m in the middle of a long, lovely, idyllic and idle weekend. Rather cold, but I like it like that. I remember a couple of summers a few years back that were rather chilly. Time is going by much too quickly, as usual. When we work, the week drags. When we have days off, they simply fly by. And I cannot believe it is half-way, mid-way through the year.
So, I’ve been asking myself lately:
I verbally spank myself a great deal. I try not to be annoyed with myself so much. To me, the perfect state of being is literally a blank mind. I wont be able to sleep if I cannot do that. I wont be able to drive. I wont be able to function. I often dwell and think too much about really really unimportant things I have absolutely no control over, because I do not want to focus on the big things that I must do.
Getting It Done
My approach for dealing with life is usually two track: 1) Little bites, 2) Big major moves.
It’s surprising to me, although it shouldn’t, how often I stay on the same track. It’s good when it is applied to stubbornly working to accomplish a difficult long term task, yet deadly when it’s used for avoidance and getting stuck in a rut.
Does that make sense? I know I’m beating dead horses in my life. I recognize it. Yet, I wont stop it. I discover notes, diaries and checklists from years ago. Same stuff, different day. Nothing seems to be changing.
Do you know how aggravating that is?
One of the things I’m always looking at is, How do I move forward? My personality, which I’ve been trying to change, or adjust for these situations, and for such a long time, I consider to be one of my greatest impediments. It is great for somethings. I am a Pitt Bull where it counts.
And I don’t ask for much. My list is quite short. However, it requires multiple steps to get there.
Lost in Lack of Self-Control
On some level, I think I can understand why people get up and run away, take too many prescription drugs, drink, get high all the time, work excessively long hours, push themselves too hard, are addicted to pain, pleasure and dangerous (sometimes criminal) activities. It’s about the distraction. It’s about getting the mind off that groove.
Unfortunately, it’s replacing one deep ditch for another. And one could get lost in the self for many years, forgetting what one wanted in the first place.
There’s this perfect limbo between absolute killing boredom and excitement so keen you could die of bliss. One cannot always chase the bliss … it can be destructive. But when you have to keep a certain state of equanimity day after day, month after month, because that is life… Oh goodness, life is extremely tedious.
I think it is a fine recipe for going bonkers.
So, what to do?
Everyone can talk about what’s on their minds. I’m just doing a little mental purging. 😀
It’s a weird comment to hear, especially coming from one of the office whales. You know, like if you think I am skinny, what does that make you?
And she sounded exasperated, like how dare I appear so small – at least in her eyes, because I don’t see it. I was told by someone else – who I really regard as “in shape” that my waist appears “tiny”. While I admire the bodies of Mae West, Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield or Jane Russell, I don’t imagine I look anywhere near those figures.
Somehow this was the year I got my eating under control, but I walk no more than 25 to 50 minutes daily. If time and the weather allows. I really miss weight lifting.
And by the way, my waist is 28 inches, I have to measure my top and bottom again. I haven’t done that in a while. I am aiming for 36 – 26 – 36, if that’s possible. Back in the good ol’ says, those were my measurements.
I eat apples for breakfast, apparently they are natural appetite suppressors. I also eat very few sugary foods, bread, rice and I stick to meat, veggies and fruit that don’t give me gas (LOL) or make me hungry. I confess I like salty and spicy foods. I drink a couple glasses of water when I think I’ve overdone it.
See? No big deal. And I love big belts.
What’s on your mind?
Update: another belt I love.
He does it by talking about the black women (of questionable repute) that the “bad white man” dates.
Apparently, Wayne Brady (WB) got plenty tired of Bill Maher (BM) using his name to lament President Obama not being hardcore or thuggish enough to suit him. Perhaps both should search YouTube for that video remake of a Waka Flocka rap where President Obama is as thug-like as they want him to be. It is so funny. Not.
In an interview with the tall, black and beautiful Aisha Taylor (whose husband is white), Wayne Brady utters some of the following (excerpted from Mediaite):
“I’ve had Bill Maher twice now when referencing Obama, [sic] he’s like ‘yeah, with your Wayne Brady’ — it’s a diss to Obama to be called me,” Brady explained to Tyler on her podcast this week, noting that Maher wanted a “brother brother.” Accusing Maher of only having the “particular black experience” of “fuck[ing] black hookers,” he explained that he did not confront Maher usually because “if I would have gone on his show or even doing it online, I’m not going to win, he still has his platform.”
But Brady explained that Maher was wrong to think of Brady as somehow not “black enough.” “I’m not saying I’m really badass but, if Bill Maher has his perception of what’s black wrapped up, I would gladly slap the shit out of Bill Maher in the middle of the street, and then I want to see what Bill Maher would do.” He explained that he wouldn’t actually do this “because I’d get sued and lose my house and its not worth it for me, but the black man part of me would be so satisfied to slap the shit out of him in front of Coco and Ebony and Fox, the three ladies of the night that he has hired.”
It Is Such An Epic Smackdown
Lemme tell you something, Wayne Brady is essentially a “good brotha”. See how bad-ass this man is? He uses a lot of profanity. He talks about Bill Maher’s sex life. He’s showing us he can be street. Keepin’ it real. What a profile in courage. Courage! I tell you.
They Can Never Put Their Egos Aside
I know some of us love misdirection, and will think this topic is about Bill Maher or the “type” of women he likes to be seen in public with. I’m looking at the composition of what one man said about another. I expected a direct man-to-man retort, but that – in my eyes – never occurred.
Somehow a “good brotha” decided that the best way to insult a “bad white man” inevitably involved black women and sex. (And this topic is an old one.)
Don’t be fooled by the “black hooker”, “black prostitute” or “black women are easy” talk. You and I know some negroes never make a distinction when it comes to black women (as prostitutes), white men (as exploiters) and sex (always purchased, never about love). Their goal is to continually promote this negative, tainted image.
“Good black men” or “good brothas” like to pretend that their sex / relationships with non-black women is about uplifting liberation, real love and reclaiming “black male pride” as reigning penis-champions, whereas black women are eternally debased sex slaves to all non-black men. And any man who tangles with us, no matter how low he is, will sink even further down.
You cannot ever win – the freedom to date whomever you like – if you ever give an inch to this type of argument and logic. Especially when used to serve the extremely fragile ego of a black male defending himself from a white man.
A Simple Rule of Thumb: Keep Black Women Out of It
If a “good brotha” is having a fight with a “bad white man” – let us all step far back and way way out of reach. ‘Cause when the fists start swinging – the “good black man” is gonna end up punching black women in the face whilst pretending he couldn’t touch the “bad white man”. Somehow it’ll be because he keeps missing his target.
Yet, the truth is: he was always aiming for the black woman….
A short note here:
This is not only a day where the country is celebrating independence from its colonial ruler, remember that for you – it can be a day to celebrate your independence from toxic, negative, life-draining, selfish a**h*les!
God bless America.
Happy 4th of July everyone!
Stay in good health and peace of mind, ladies and gentlemen.
Prescient. And rather hilarious.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Congressman Kucinich Is Upset With President Obama
Embrace the nervousness! Conquer the fears!
When a white man is buddies with a “brotha”, I know I don’t want him. The white guy doesn’t have to “hate” black men, but if he’s one of those white guys who feels like he needs to have street cred, or likes to call black men “brothas”, then I don’t wanna see ya. I want a guy who is “white.” He must be all the whiteness he can be: Abercrombie and Fitch, Brooks Brothers type of man, yo.
So if a white man is getting even within firing range of the toxic zone misogynistic mentality of some of these black male cretins, that tells me his mind is getting polluted with vicious anti-bw propaganda. And I’ve met my share who wanna be down with the homies.
Oh, hell no. Go away.
Well, looky-looky here. I want to bring your attention to this comment by Paul G. all excerpted from Clutch online. His comment is part of the article: The View From the Other Room: What White Men Think About Dating Black Women.
By the way, I rarely read their comments section, it’s always the same eight people.
Here’s what Paul G. said about black women (the brackets are my comments):
It’s not the media that scares me away from not wanting to date a black women, it’s black men that make me think differently.
[GoldenAh: Are you really this simpleminded?]
I say that to say this, and I’m only giving you my observation… I see a lot of black men running around with a white girl on their arm, which is fine, but when I’ve sat down with brothers and asked them why they don’t like dating black women, they always have something negative to say about you guys, whether it be your attitude, your jealousy, or the thought that you guys want to play the man of the house. I don’t need to watch to TV to see what I can see when I walk down the block. But I don’t have to buy into that either, which I don’t, but I am aware of what’s being said about yall by your own men.
[GoldenAh: They are not my men, or our men. And that, dear Sir, is the problem right there.]
It’s a shame to see that. – Paul G.
I don’t know the man. I’ve skimmed over the comments of all of the white guys whose comments make up part of the article. But this guy’s words hung around like an eye stinging fart in an elevator.
It just reads like, “Who you goin’ to believe? Me or your lying eyes?” (Richard Pryor).
Remember that song, “Don’t ask my neighbor, come to me”? Well, my advice is, if you want to know about black women: come talk to us. The “brothas” hate their own mothers and sisters, that should tell you everything what’s wrong with them.
A guy like Paul G. can continue to stay far far away from black women, because he values the words of anti-bw misogynists over valuing us as just women. The guy is a coward, plain and simple. He, too, is a sexist racist. That’s my take. He can dress it up in blaming how “da brothas” around him talk their crap, or whatever negativity he’s looking for in the media, but at the end of the day: he is taking heed.
If you wanted to know the kind of white guys to stay away from, Paul G. fits the profile.
I ain’t mad at the dude, he’s made me realize how poisonous and evil these negroes are.
Oh, I like being a woman who’s also “black”, just fine, it’s people getting on my nerves that ruins it.
You are damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.
People like making up these “what a black woman shouldn’t do” rules, because they are emotional bullies, hypocrites, and misogynists.
If you work for your money, you are a bank. If you are broke, you are persona non grata.
If you express joy and satisfaction in making money, men call you mercenary. If you show little interest in money people become incredulous, because you’re supposed to be stressing over it. I recognize my limitations with fiscal sophistication. I manage as best I can. Sometimes I win. Sometimes I lose. Yet I don’t become smug or condescending because of it.
If you are single, people think your time isn’t worth anything. They assume it can be harnessed for the benefit of the married, or not married, with children, and the selfish. I cannot stand “bring your brats to work” day at the job. The parents think only the singles should work. I take the day off if they plan on being that disruptive.
Your achievements make people envious, upset, and testy. If I’m not taking from you, why worry about my business? Folks like to think that every black woman is at the bottom, and it upsets them if we are doing better than them.
Your setbacks make their day. Oh, they practice schadenfreude like a religion.
Men assume you will play Big Momma to them, because you get up every morning and work. What else am I supposed to do? Sit at home? Will you pay the bills, sir? Should I yearn to earn less than the average man at the same job?
Years ago, I had a guy tell me he likes me, because I work for “good money” and his future ex-girlfriend did not. He said she worked with the expectation of being an at-home mother. So, I’m supposed to be complimented with the assumption that I wouldn’t want to stay home and raise my kids too? WTF? This was coming from a white dude (ex-gf being white) who grew up among wolves … oh, sorry, black guys.
If you do not have children men will say, “I’m sorry.” I’ve never expressed regret that I do not have any. So, why am I supposed to be sorry? Not every woman who has a uterus has to use it. There is more to us than childbearing.
Some men assume that black women are so manly that we can all lift heavy weights, work out strenuously, and perform heavy-duty tasks like men. Back the hell up with that nonsense. I tell ’em straight, “I’m not a man. I’m delicate.” I get cold easily. I cannot lift heavy weights. The only place I’m running is on a treadmill. I don’t do anything to injure myself.
If you own property, a fellow will ask you why you bought it, as if I have the nerve to live in a house without his permission.
If you drive a nice car, jerks will ask you who bought it for you. This can go either way, if I bought it myself, I’m showing off, if a guy bought it for me… Oh well, let’s not go there.
Leave me alone about how I wear my hair. Seriously. Some people are looking to get the crap knocked out of them.
I don’t require anyone’s permission to do anything. I just go ahead and do.
Hey, black guys! If we accidentally make eye contact, that doesn’t mean I’m interested! If you are with a white woman: Leave me alone. What is with you guys? You’ve got your prize, no one cares, especially not me. I cannot tell you the number of times some negro acts up whenever he’s got a white chick by his side. I don’t even notice these fools until they say something, or they stare so long I can feel it.
Regardless of what some fellows think, just because I am a black woman, don’t even try and tell what I can or cannot do. I’ve heard enough from the “you-just-can’t” losers all of my life, and it didn’t, and it doesn’t stop me from having the life I want.
I do, and get, what I want, when I want, and how I want. That’s my motto since Day 1, and it always will be.
Went out to a mall a few miles away with my Mother. It’s always a challenge when I go out to eat. At this particular chain (TGI Fridays), they provide no information on their website as to how many calories their food has. It was the only eatery I could find on my GPS, otherwise I would have gone somewhere else.
However, their Vanilla Bean Cheesecake is deadly. It has to be about 600-870 plus calories. It tasted sooooooo damn good. I wont be eating something like that again until next year. It’s that dangerous.
After roaming the parking lot for an inordinate amount of time, we finally find a decent spot. We head inside the “restaurant”. I’m very fussy about where I sit. The seater / host / whatever they’re called asks if we want to sit in a booth next to this couple.
Welcome to the Jungle
I just don’t like sitting close to anyone. I mean, half the restaurant was empty, why sit up under anybody?
So, I said, “No, I like being near the window.” For me, that was that.
We walk past the couple. I hear someone snort? laugh? grunt? in disdain. Okay.
After we’re seated, I glance briefly at the source of the snuffling and huffling out of curiosity.
It’s a Shaniqua* with her “man” (I suppose) L’Trellmont.* She’s totally on the hostility tip. Glaring and staring.
Alrighty, then! Last time I can recall such animosity was over a decade ago. I decide not to look at her again: no point in feeding the animal.
I head off to the ladies room to wash my hands. Can I say, I hate dirty, stinking restrooms? Wow. That place was nasty. Never again!
Upon returning to my seat, I start playing with my shoulder-length twists. I’m shaking, and flipping, my hair off of my face. I’m twirling them. Oh, yeah. Just having fun. Can’t keep my hands out of my hair.
A little while later, I overhear the Shaniqua bark, “Bitch.” Oh wow, it’s that serious is it?
Rapunzalima, Rapunzalima Let Down Your Weave
Finally, they are leaving. Oh wait, she’s leaving.
I finally get a good look at the back of her. She’s not very tall (no offense to the vertically challenged among us). She’s got a very, very long weave styled to look like it belongs on the Disney character Princess Jasmine. Even the blouse looked similar.
Yet, L’Tremont is still at the table long after she’s walked – pardon – sashayed out the door. Did the child even know he wasn’t watching her? He’s staring at me. I raise my eyebrows. He continues to stare. It’s that kind of look.
Folks are so weird these days. Seriously? She thinks I would want him? Did he think I’m interested?
What in the world?
I turn back to my Mom, and tell her about the little non-interaction with these people. She’s surprised.
I shrug, and laugh. Maybe if little girl wasn’t huffing and puffing so much her guy wouldn’t have noticed me. She should have realized – if you want to keep his eyes on you, and the waist length weave, do not bring his attention to another woman with natural hair that you perceive as long.
All that drama. And for what?
I really was complimented by the silly. I didn’t realize I was worthy of so much attention. I’m almost old enough to be the little girl’s Momma, but that never stops the stupidity, does it?
* I don’t know these people’s names. I just made them up. But there is something shared, in looks and behavior, by the people who’ve shown me hostility in the past. So, don’t be offended if this is your actual name(s).