Merry Christmas and Happy New York

Hope everyone is in fine health.

Please continue to take good care of yourselves.

Still on hiatus. I guess one day it’ll be over and I’ll be blogging again.

Hopefully, 2014 will turn out to be infinitely better than 2013.

Cheers.

 

xmaslights

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Do I Want To Talk About

I suppose my hiatus is over. It’s hard to blog sometimes. Events happen quickly. And by time I think to write about it – I’m not feeling it anymore.

Do I want to talk about Floridian Cannibals? No thanks. Makes me lose my appetite.

Do I want to talk about the NBA playoffs? I only want the Miami Heat to lose. Otherwise, I’m not interested.

Do I want to talk about the President? I would, I could, but we’ll see after November 2012. I usually get asked by a relative, “Is he really such an idiot?” I’ve been reluctant to answer, but lately … I’m hard pressed, you know? If you are a fan of the President, don’t be offended. It’s just that if he was working at a private corporation, he’d have been fired by now. You try saying it’s the last guy / gal who held your title / position is the reason for your sub-par performance.

Yeah, that’ll work.

Do I want to talk about EU and the imploding Greek, Spanish, and Italian economies? Nope. Really don’t care. I suspect if the President was a Republican they could comfortably blame America for their wonderful mess, but they can’t say jack. I hope they aren’t hoping for any bailouts from the USA,ย  ’cause we’s broke, ya’ll.

Do I want to talk about our wonderful, thriving economy? Nope. ‘Cause the President says, “The private sector is doing fine.” Still smoking that stuff, sir? #doingfine #Choom

Do I want to talk about black men who are face chewing, stalking, cheating, murderous, promiscuous, insane, damaged beyond repair nutjobs? Not for a very very very long time. I think I’ve OD on the subject. What more is there to say? Stay the hell away from ’em. If you can, leave Blackistan. Nuff said.

Do I want to talk about travel? I’ve got Singapore on the brain. So far away. Lovely steady temperature. And expensive as all out. I’m due for a treat. Aiming for next year. If I go, it’ll be the first flight since the airports put in the Rape-I-Scanners. #fingerscrossed

Do I want to talk about dating and mating with non-black men? It’s academic, natural and simple. If you are a heterosexual woman, there are attractive men out there you can bond with regardless of hue. Wanting and needing is normal and acceptable: You want a man. You need a man. There’s no shame in that desire. Just relax. Go easy on yourself. And keep looking.

Do I want to talk about obesity? Naw, why should I? Aren’t fat black women helpless bullied victims?ย  It is obviously everybody’s fault some of them are such a hot mess. Shoot. Where I work there is this obese, short, extremely unattractive black woman – her stomach rests on the chair seat – she needs to lean back to stand – she cannot see her feet if she looked down – she waddles in a circle when she walks – she’s a malodorous cloud of sweat, stink perfume and sulfur – she’s always bringing in fattening foods to offer to others (and she’s always on a diet) – she offers advice no one wants to hear – she’s the office “Mammy”.

And I live rent free in her little head.

Guess whose BODY she studies? Guess whose HEALTH she wants to fret about? Guess whose CLOTHING she’s obsessed with? Guess whose phone calls she listens in on? Guess who she wont leave the goddamn hell alone – day in and day out? I don’t talk to this person. I don’t acknowledge her. I’ve never mentioned anything about her looks, but people like her – it has to be she’s been dropped on her shrunken head one time too many as a child. I also get my share of nasty lip curls and looks of hatred from two other obese black women at work, but hey, it must be because I’m the reason they cannot put their forks down. Must be my fault. What do I get from everybody else who’s short, tall, dark, light or small? Normalcy. We say, “Hello”, and keep it moving.

It’s not the first time I’ve encountered this kind of crazy from these poor, innocent, polite, delicate, sweet-natured big boned girls. I don’t usually mention it, because I often put it out of mind. And I’m not even close to slender, I consider myself medium-size. (I used to be heavier. I know what it’s like.)

But black women, some of you really, really need therapy. You require years of counseling. Do not be ashamed of seeking professional help with your issues.

‘Cause I’m gonna tell you right now, other black women – who are minding their own damn business, working to stay healthy, and living their life – aren’t in your way. And no amount of hectoring, harassing, bitching, critiquing or beseeching is gonna turn us into the office “Beulah” laboring beside you.

So, you go on ahead, continue to commit suicide by fork. ‘Cause you are on that plantation all by your lonesome.

Do I want to talk about Scandal? Really enjoyed the show. It’s meant to be funny, right? ‘Cause I couldn’t stop laughing. Best new comedy on TV.

Do I want to talk about the movies? Nope. Haven’t seen any of those “blockbusters”. Nothing interests me. Not even Prometheus. Only because anything to do with Alien(s) gives me nightmares. Yeah, I’m a big child.

Do I want to talk about anything else? Perhaps. We’ll see. I promise myself I’d blog more. We’ll see.

Hope everyone is doing fine and fulfilling their dreams. ๐Ÿ™‚

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What’s On Your Mind? Mine Is Rather Blank

This is a free range post, so don’t expect too much coherence. ๐Ÿ™‚

News With No Opinion

I don’t watch the evening news. I read selective items online such as: local Weather, Technology, Health, Sports (at least when J-Lin was playing with the Knicks), Politics, Business, Economics, and hopefully stuff that wont irritate and annoy me.

One of the reasons you do not find me writing a comment about many of the latest news stories is that I realize by the third week, a lot of initial “facts” change. And even after that, sometimes it’s best to remain silent. What I say wont bring anybody back, alter government policy or reality, and unless I’m looking to make a point – my policy is to have no opinion on the matter(s).

Does that mean I don’t care? I care about my personal issue(s), my personal life and while I wish I could be affected by things people assume would affect me, I know they wont. It’s a long winded way of saying I don’t share the victim mentality that being black makes me less than, weak, a sorry excuse for a human being, powerless and unable to change. I cannot do the impossible, but I’ll try. And that starts with how I think about myself. That is the only thing I have the most control over: me.

Does that mean I don’t issue an opinion in other forums? Sometimes I’ll have some thoughts relating to a piece of the overall picture, but I’m unable to offer a solution. I don’t believe in group related solutions. Everyone’s situation is different. Everyone absorbs information differently. One person’s candor is another person’s insult. You know how it is sometimes, you wonder if people can comprehend English, because their understanding strays so far from the writer’s obvious intent. And then you realize these intelligent people are being deliberately obtuse. I used to troll. It was fun back in the day. So I get it.

Life’s Little Changes

I hope I’m wrong, but I’ve got an uneasy feeling coming over me. Maybe that’s how Spring is – one day it’s warm, next day Tornadoes are busting out all over.

So, I’m in a contemplative mood. My cat, who was only 12 years old, got ill – so quickly – and I had to take him to the vet. I lost something dear to me last week. I was surprised by the depths of my sorrow. I’m not the most emotional person around. I don’t mean stoic or long suffering. I wisecrack and laugh like everyone else, but I don’t let things bother me (like a lot of people seem to over topics online – I really could not care less). I’m not a huggy-kissy kind of woman, well, unless it’s with my man, otherwise… So I like who and what I like. I can only truly be bothered by friend and family matters, which are up close and personal.

Do I miss my little mongrel? Sure. I also had to take into account how much room I made for that animal in my life. I regarded my feline as a person. My family and friends would always inquire about my cat (long after meeting him). He was a true character. And I learned how to be patient with him. I learned how to look after someone other than myself (I am very selfish and not afraid to admit it). I’ve also learned that if I don’t succeed the first time, come back in a minute to try again. I made sure he was always comfortable, never went hungry, never went cold, and spoiled him rotten. ๐Ÿ™‚

He was very entertaining too:

– Whenever I was going to feed him, I’d say, “Eat”. And he’d jump out of the chair and run into the kitchen.
– He used to fetch little balls of paper after I tossed them for him to swat away.
– He used to follow me everywhere around the house, walking next to me like he had a leash on.
– If he wanted my attention, he’d get up on his hind legs, and while I’m sitting at the table, hold onto the table with one paw and tap me with the other.
– I’d say, “Come on” to leave a room. He’d follow.
– I’d say, “Stop that” or “No.” If he was doing something that irritated me. He would stop.
– I’d say, “Get out.” He liked to follow me into the bathroom. He would leave.

Maybe everybody’s cat did this. I had cats as a kid, but never one like this little fellow.

Would I get another cat? No. I like them, but when you’ve had one with such unique characteristics, you have to let that one be the last. And frankly, I don’t have the energy to invest in another one. A pet can take a lot out of a person. I’m a one-track kind of individual. I’m envious of people who can juggle multiple threads of their lives in the air, I’m not able to do that. And I accept that about myself.

RIP Buddy. I thank God for letting you into my life and teaching me so much. ๐Ÿ™‚

 

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Rape of Young Black Girls: Do We Ever Learn Anything From These Stories?

I would like to know. Frankly, I’m sick of knowing about these stories.* The reason is my feelings about what should happen to the perpetrators would fall under extreme cruel and unusual punishment. I’m all for sterilization, hangings, the electric chair, and putting the criminals to sleep like any animal that needs to be put down.

I would even air drop them down into war torn countries around the world, or have them put in those jails to rot away to get a taste of what real deprivation is like. They don’t deserve to be treated with any consideration of “human rights” – they lost that privilege when they committed a violent crime against a child.

However, due to the politically correct, idiot intelligentsia that never thinks of the victims or their families, along with their desire to show how morally superior they are, the punishment will never fit the crime. The sentencing will be delicate, plea bargained to a “lesser crime”, and the years doled out modest (always less than the actual sentencing).

The Details and Excuses Don’t Matter

As for the crime: I don’t care to know the minute details, the back stories, where it happened, why it happened, how many were involved or whether the victim was familiar with her attackers. The reality is young black girls are nearly always attacked, raped, brutalized by people familiar, or known, to them.

What I know of this case, like so many others, is someone’s baby girl was viciously and brutally attacked, and there are people (I use that term loosely) regarding this incident with an indifferent shrug. Or they’re more concerned about the well being or public regard towards the attackers. That’s how deep into hell certain “communities” have fallen.

There is no morality left.

There are folks who will expend more time worrying about the treatment of the perpetrators due to their race, their gender, whether they came from “broken homes”, and how the incident will reflect on the “community”. They will fling the usual monkey poo buffalo chips about racism (you know, the white man made them do it), poverty (jobs would have stopped them from being brutal rapists!), the girl at fault for being too fast, too sexy at 11 (she made them do it!), and the usual rabble about fair trials (’cause the “brothas” never get a break!).

It’s almost guaranteed we will hear that a majority of the attackers are “mentally handicapped” and have IQs of around 85 or room temperature. They couldn’t stop, because they were just playing follow the leader.

Despite the harshness of my crime and punishment stance, I believe every defendant is entitled to the benefit of doubt and the presumption of innocent. And if, or when, they are found guilty: hang ’em high.

Keep This in Mind: The Hell Pits Are Here to Stay

I’m sick of these horror stories, because I know within a few days there will be another, followed by another, and then another. It never stops.

I know it is hard for a mother (and father) to be around to protect their daughters. She has to work. Perhaps she has to take time to attend school on nights or weekends. Momma might even think a family member or friend is looking after her little girl, or assumes her daughter is safe among her own “friends.”

Black Women: You Have a Choice

Common sense should never be up for debate. Yet, there are people who just love, love, love to argue and drop major B.S. playing with the idea as to whether black women have the right to move away from the “community.” There is a mindset that all black women are community property. The black woman is the resource everyone in the “community” needs to help keep it going. There are always layers of excuses as to why she should continue to live in hell, in approximation to hell, or in this place that’s transitioning to hell, by helping to “fix up” what’s wrong.

In case anyone didn’t know: that is a black man’s job. If he and his boys ain’t willing: it is not her problem. Black women aren’t obligated to live in neighborhoods infested with criminals, because the residents sorta look like them or share cultural baggage. Marches, slogans, t-shirts, and pity parades for mercy wont change a damn thing.

‘Cause she cannot run away from her people. Right? I mean, really? Well, most of her peeps might be plotting to rape, rob, and possibly kill her. She has every right to run. And run now.

The only thing that matters is quality of life. It doesn’t include cowering in fear – or fronting like she’s fearless – from people that share a similar hue or phenotype while pretending there is a meaningful connection due to those factors.

With incidents like this, is it really worth it to stay?

I hope every mother (and father) who cares about their young black daughter(s) think about where they live, check the crime stats for the new neighborhood, and make that move. There are still cheaper, lower to low crime areas to live. America is a very, very, very big country. Hoodlums are not hanging out on every street corner.

There are safer places to reside.

Dear Mommas

Be vigilant. Be proactive. Please think about changing your life, make a move, because the one you save may be your own or that of your child.

*Note: the following are links to these types of stories. Thanks for the hat tips, Bellydancer.

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For Black Women: When Your Choices Make Other People Or Your “Friends” Mad

The following comment, and question, was sent to me by the intelligent and lovely Chocolatestar:

I wanted to send you this video and get your thoughts on this. I’m not sure if it’s just me and my strong opinionated personality, but i’m quite tired of black women bashing other black women, who call black men out on their self destructing behavior and hatred for their women.

Is it a crime to not be attracted to their characteristics( emotionally damaged, etc) or even want to take risks on black men, especially after observing the resulting trends.

I’m so tired of hearing how there are so many good black men out here, if i was interested in them I would be saying where they at, where they at. It’s funny who this chick ended up with after all.

I just recently ended a friendship with a bw, who was a christian extremist.

I sent her your essay on “Why white men are better” and she flipped her lid, saying that she has a black son and will never sabotage black men, because she love them so much and will only date a black man (yet the best man she ever had, her words, was a guy who was a drug dealer her babies daddy and eventually got shot down) and anyone blogging and reading essays bashing black men needs help.

Yet many have ran her through the dirt She went too far excusing their trending behavior with bible versus and the antebellum era. I tired to tell her that the essay to me was a clever way of counterbalancing the attacks bestowed upon black women who prefer white men over the ” kings” of the world bm ( yeah right).

Anyway I probably could rant more, but I have a test in the morning.

“Resurrection” – The Lost Black Man

I left out the video link. There are dozens, if not more, videos made by “strong”, “angry”, and “resentful” ultra-black wo/men demanding black women regard all black males with adoration, worship, reverence, and extreme diffidence. To place the value of any man before God tells you well enough that some people are a few fries short of a $1 happy meal.

There are people who believe black women compete (in any arena) with black men. It’s an amazing fallacy that has little merit in the real, mainstream, global, and international patriarchal world. Black women mostly struggle with financial sacrificing, relationship sustaining, parenting, and “saving the black community” alone. That’s not a strong functioning matriarchal system, that’s living with male abandonment.

Black men are in competition with other men
. All men are. It’s a man’s world. That’s never changed, and never will. The fact is black men lost – roughly 500 years ago. It’s likely they’re never going to catch up. At least, not for the next 100 years.

Black women cannot win it for them, no matter how hard they try to “man up” and do it. Which is why there are black women on YouTube, blogs, writing books, making hostile comments, and singing songs trying to “resurrect” black males back into the game. It wont work by encouraging an orgasmic savoring of masochism, sexism, and racism amongst black women, or false idol worship of black men. Her loss is not a black male’s gain.

But hey, good luck with that strategy folks. We can see from the last 30 plus years how well that’s worked out.

Friend of My Friend, Friend of My Enemy

I’d advise you not to argue with your friends, non-friends, and strangers about the men you may choose as a partner in life. No one actually has a say in the matter. What they think is irrelevant. If we go to them about these issues, it’s like we are looking for their acceptance. And we really cannot have that, can we? Do we go to the poor on how to become rich?

I’d also suggest you let your friends be if they are the ride-or-die, or black men only, type. We’d all like to be on the same page with our friends, but sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. However, since this person is vehemently against non-black men to the point of belligerent, irrational racism, and it will cause you personal pain (and don’t we always run into people like that?), then yeah, you are right to cut them loose.

As for the video, you may be surprised, but my feeling about the criticism of black women like us from militant black wo/men is: C’est la vie. Shrug. I don’t care. Sure, sometimes I’d like to smack some sense into them. Yet, if the Titanic is sinking, and they don’t care: What’s there for us to worry about? Our goal is to make sure we are not on the ship with them.

To a degree we love (most) of our people(s). We’d love to see all of them behave rationally, intelligently, do well, and be happy. But at the end of the day – we all gotta choose our own paths. We have to worry about our own happiness first and foremost.

So I ask you, ignore the hate, don’t seek these forums / idiotic people out. It’ll make you miserable.

You sound like you have your life together, so keep on pressing on. ‘Cause when you listen to these morons, whether you think it affects you or not, you may end up sabotaging yourself in the future.

The subconscious is one hell of a thing to get a handle on.

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Rant: What I Dislike About Being a Black Woman Sometimes

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.

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Black Women: My Pursuit of Happiness

I love myself. I am relaxed about it. I am mostly cheerful, generous, vain, conceited, selfish, don’t suffer pangs of guilt, and I like women who are this way too. In men, this is a no-no.

I love being a woman. If I could be reincarnated, I wouldn’t hesitate with my choice: same person, same looks, same everything.

I love my family. I love them. I never went around wishing for other folks to be related to.

I love my friends. I love them and their ways. I adore quirky people.

I love to travel. Oh, if I had the money to fly, drive, cruise, sail, and go wherever and whenever I want. If I could travel freely, I would be away from home 6 out of 12 months a year.

I love sunny beaches. Why am I not living in Hawaii, Florida or California? I don’t know. New Jersey has beaches, I suppose that’s good enough.

I love fresh snow, until the next day and the next day and the next day. Cabin fever is getting to me!

I love babies, kittens, puppies and new born things. So adorable….

I love a brand new day. I get another start. I get to start anew. Each day is a gift.

I love to anticipate the good.

I love to think positive.

I love being an optimist.

I love rooting for the underdog.

I love America. I do. No matter where I travel to, I’m overwhelmingly happy to come home. This country is my home. I could easily learn to would love living anywhere else, since I am not an absolutist, but I’m happy here. For now.

Happiness is a deliberate emotion. Happiness is a decision you make each and every day.

I love men. Okay, I love most of them. I don’t blog about the ones I have no interest in. Doesn’t make sense to.

I love self-confident people. I love people who are attractive in spirit and that has nothing to do with perfect features or their external appearance.

I love learning.

I love my curiosity.

I have to remind myself that what I love is much more than what I could possibly hate. I don’t hate that many things, and for those things that I do, it is a very short list. My list of annoyances can be very, very, very long though.

I love life.

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Project Cheerful: Search for Happiness, Black Women!

I enjoy browsing the Internet for topics that interest me. I have many links to business, technology, science and a bit of political news. I set up a YouTube, Google, and Technorati search / blog / news / link pages, plus my own searches, to offer up information regarding black women’s lives, and our natural hair. With great dismay, I’ve come to realize that 99% of the content is negative.

Why is that?

Complexity: Woman and Black

I continue to search, yet very few sites exist which convey even a semblance of joy in being a woman, who happens to be black in America. There are black women whose mindset is black first, foremost, and nothing else. I don’t know when and where their concept of womanhood comes into play.

I wonder: Does it ever? How does that kind of self-alienation make sense?

Apparently, life as a black woman is all sorts of hell, damnation, and brimstone. We are forever the victim. Although no one recognizes us as a victim, since there is an oppression index, and we are at the bottom of that one as well. You know, there’s a “true” beauty hierarchy and we are at the bottom. There is a racial victim hierarchy and we are at the bottom. There’s a sexism hierarchy, but we don’t even get the benefit of being included, since so many of us have decided to be “black” first, foremost, and above all.

We can’t be both, ’cause it might confuse the one-dimensional thinking people.

I honestly wonder if some black people think black women are direct descendants of Eve. Or is it Ham? We are doomed unequivocally and forever to hard labor – as punishment for being curious and disobedient.

I remember reading, and hearing, more than one black person express the belief that blacks are cursed. Does the majority think that way?

This morbid fixation on our most sorry state isn’t only coming from web sites devoted to celebrity gossip, quite a few purportedly newsworthy, intellectual and academic sources are just as rancid. Everything is about the shortened, diseased, pathological, abused, and totally miserable lives of black women.

Our Lives Have Priority – To Us

Reading this content from an objective and emotional distance, one has to conclude that being a black woman is the worst thing in the world. Yet the information does not carry with it an imperative push critical enough to require any government, nonprofits, feminists, or black organizations to actually make our lives priority.

This has happened because we’ve allowed ourselves and others to decide our lives aren’t important. Black women are ghosts. People might believe we exist, but no one could swear they’ve seen or was influenced by one. Our power to sway opinion, and induce viable action is negligible. Even animals have PETA for support.

However, when we can and should take credit, or power, we swallow our wills, pretend to be modest, humble, and step back to let others (in those race, sex, victim and beauty hierarchies) take our place! Hard labor for someone else – the almost always ungrateful – is an unenforced error, self-punishment, and an unnecessary, futile exercise.

Plain Talk

Black women, against your giving generous, nurturing, me-last nature, you will have to politely and gently usurp, or just drop kick, black men + white women, or whomever, from their sex, race, victim, and beauty pedestals. Teach them all to put you first. It will be hard in the beginning, but support is a busy superhighway. Stop giving unconditionally. It is not helping you. You are roadkill.

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

This constant focus of “How miserable are we? Can we be any more pathetic?” makes me avoid reading a lot of (black / black women) web sites. Times are bad. Yet, times have been worse.

Can we have a little sunshine and happiness please? Let’s learn to focus on the bright side. If we are in a dark tunnel without light, how about we think about ways to get out of the tunnel? How about focusing on getting something, or even someone, to show us the way out? Staring into space, thinking about how dark it is, is unproductive.

Even the miserable smile on occasion. I remember growing up laughing with family and friends over lots of things. I still do. Life is funny – it has to be. I know I grew up sheltered and protected. Eventually I was exposed to some of the evil this world has to offer, but I learned to put it in perspective: stuff happens.

I have my share of empathy and compassion for people. However, this modern day onslaught of relentless and negative (dis)information is not healthy.

There is nothing conducive to a person’s healthy sense of well being to view every situation relating to one’s race, sex and age as a dead end street. Frankly, I’m a bit miffed and offended at people who relate, with such grim joy and satisfaction, this constant citing of stats as to how bad it is to a black woman in America (or the world).

I Am What I Am

I’m sure they mean well, but I’d also like to tell them: kiss my ass. I love being me. I love being a woman. I love being a black woman. There is no curse on my gender, or “race.”

Got that?

Now lemme go hunt down whatever good news and cheerful stuff exists on the Internet….

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