I’m Not Here For You

The fact that I feel like I have to continuously defend my blackness is astounding and shocking on so many levels. Like, where is this coming from?! But also, who are these people?! In this day and age of #blackgirlmagic and a refreshing resurgence of unapologetic, indelible pride in being brown, I am TIRED of hearing people tell me I’m “different” or explain things to me about the black experience as if I’m some ignorant bystander. Regardless of how you think I interpret race, I am still a black woman existing in a society that is constantly telling me I’ll never be good enough, scoffing at any semblance of confidence, and making snap judgments about my character. 

This assertion that I don’t understand what’s happening in my own community seems like another type of prejudice masked in this realm of pseudo-political correctness and saccharine empathy. This strange haughtiness of liberals who believe they “get it” and truly understand all of the issues plaguing the black community more than the black people experiencing it is just plain ridiculous. 

It’s infuriating and it’s exhausting, but like, in the end - I’m not here for you. I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I don’t need to defend my blackness, because, regardless of whether or not whoever thinks I’m “black enough,” I will and forever be black. I’m not in a “unique” situation. I’m not “above” criticism or the white gaze. I haven’t ascended to the plane of that fallacy “beyond race.” I’m still pissed as hell about that stupid Buzzfeed video. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe this notion is so upsetting, because I can still remember being called “oreo” in high school and screaming on the inside because it incensed me that people’s perception of blackness was so limited. It hurt me that people felt that who I was didn’t have a place in the narrative of black culture, like I was some pariah. It angers me because I thought the older we got the wiser we got and that meant that I no longer had to explain that blackness comes in all different shades and that inferring otherwise is no better than haplessly stereotyping. But again, I’m not here for them. I’m not here for this oversimplified bs and I’m not here for that self-righteousness. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Privilege Man. Privilege.

Reading about privilege is mildly irritating when you’re not subjected to it everyday. Though, witnessing privilege is like having someone with halitosis speaking to you in such close proximity their hot breath feels like it’s permeating your skin. It’s as pleasant as hearing that damn ice cream truck outside your window for hours on end and then it stops and goes and stops and goes, then it sounds like it’s a CD being scratched, then it gets louder and softer. It sounds like it might be leaving. The engine starts, but no. It starts up again, from the beginning and it goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on….

Here’s the scenario: Waiting in line for Friday the 13th tattoos behind a girl covered in tats and annoyingly talkative who has no concept of humanity or humility.

The waiting in line would have been absolutely fine if we weren’t stuck behind the most obnoxious human being on the planet and her friend. It was a hot day. My nerves were already on edge because they were being slow cooked by the sun. So, this girl in front of us discussing matters of friendships and their complications with an air of superiority, while dismissively explaining why her friend (not present) decided they “can’t do this anymore,” nearly sent me over the edge into a blind violent rage. 

First, she was talking about how she knew everyone in the tattoo shop and that one of the tattoos was of a dog she knew. These useless fun facts she was spewing to her bored-looking friend were seemingly endless. She knew this person and that person. She knew which tattoo artist did “those tattoos,” she rattled on, as people came out of the shop, their tattoos covered. Her father owns a huge company and she also owns a small one. She was a interested in this and that. Blah blah blah. I knew more about her than my friend standing next to me by the end of the few hours we were trapped behind her, however, the most infuriating thing that came out of her mouth wasn’t the continuous name-dropping or shameless bragging, it was something she said in defense of herself. 

She was telling her friend who seemed to be practicing that thing where you escape your body in times of duress but keep your eyes open. This girl, let’s call her BB for Braggy Bragster, was telling her friend, the poor vacant-eyed one, that she got in a fight with another friend of hers who wasn’t present (how BB had friends in the first place is a whole different query). According to BB, this friend of hers elected to stop talking to her because she claimed BB wasn’t a real adult. Why? BB’s parents were paying her rent and most likely a host of other things, and this friend felt this made BB irresponsible. BB was obviously hurt by these remarks as she laughed heartily at the claim and stated, “It’s not my fault my parents care about me,” then she said, “I can’t help it if my parents love me more than hers.” FLOORED. 

How she can so painlessly admit her ignorance with those few statements and have utterly no idea about how inherently wrong it is to assume someone’s parents don’t love them because they cannot afford to pay for their child(ren)’s rent was cray cray. That’s when I knew she was a grade A psycho. Something already rubbed me the wrong way about her before she even mentioned her “loving parents.” It may have been the way she spoke so loudly as if her thoughts and ideas needed to be heard over everyone else’s conversation. It may have been the things she chose to talk about like how she didn’t know where she was going to get her next tattoo because she “had so many already.” It may have also been the way she butted into my conversation with my friend and within seconds told us her father owned such and such and that she grew up with “the business in her blood.” *Eye roll.* It’s amazing how modesty can completely change the way you see someone in the exact same financial situation. The problem is not that her father pays her rent, the problem is that she doesn’t find the harm in what she’s saying. The problem is that she was completely oblivious to how insensitive remarks like that can be. The problem is that she is so privileged she has no issue with defending herself in the most despicable way possible. Her parents are well off. I get that. That is great, I wish everyone’s parents could pay their children’s rents or whatever, but the thing here is being mindful of the reasons why not everyone has that opportunity. We’re living in a society that has immeasurable discrepancies in wages for workers in all sorts of fields. The reason Daddy Dearest was able to afford paying for whatever is because he is being paid an exorbitant amount of money while his workers are being paid substantially less. It’s called capitalism and it effects quite a large portion of society, but this girl, DD, was not privy to the facts or plain blissfully unwilling to acknowledge them. Weeks after the fact, I am still reeling from her unbearable presence.

And now, I hear an actor who plays one of my most beloved fictional characters is also a bigot. WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?! WHY SIRIUS BLACK?! WHYYYYYYYY?! OH AND ZORG! WTF!?

So, who does he hate?

I think Playboy secretly has it out to uncover every bigoted celebrity, which is kinda funny. Remember that interview with John Mayer where he claimed his dick was a klan member? Yeah, good stuff. People suck.

I Don't Know What's Wrong With Me

But race jokes have never made me laugh. Don’t care who’s telling them. I think it’s because I don’t believe society can use humor to alleviate these deep wounds and disillusioned distinctions because we can barely discuss race issues openly and seriously. Humor is seemingly used as a band-aid to pretend that stereotypes and prejudices are just so beyond our progressive thought that it’s comical, except it’s not. Except racism is still rampant and I know because I experience it everyday in this damn city with the cops, with the people working behind the counter at delis, and the daily sideways glances I get by merely existing in certain spaces. Yes, I enjoy shopping at Trader Joe’s, too you bitter, lousy old women who are blatantly staring at my skin and whispering to each other. Sigh. I don’t even remember what triggered this rant. Oh, someone said something about their teeth being so white they only shop at farmer’s markets and quote woody allen movies. Dammit, that’s kind of funny. Ok, so maybe “never laugh” is a bit extreme. I am constantly contradicting myself. Hey there, I’m an alien human. Shoot me. Wait. Don’t. Honestly, though, race jokes do bother me 80% of the time because we are definitely not there yet. However, it can be argued that humor is a stepping stone, but look at Dave Chappell. He used racial humor with vigor and intellect, but people just didn’t get it and his humor became something ugly and gnarled coming out of the mouths of assholes repressed racists in denial. I guess what I’m saying is there is a fine line between trying to change the views of others through humor and unknowingly encouraging- even perpetuating- stereotypes. Ok. I think I’m done for now.

Rant Over.

The Romantic Gesture: Why I'm Not So Down

All these over-the-top proposals that have pooped popped up in the last few months/year have really made me think. After getting over the initial disbelief shock of someone being so thoughtful and caring (to the point of nausea), I began to think about how irritating it is that these grand gestures are supposed to be a measurement of love and/or devotion. Hey, maybe it is for them, but then I thought about the innumerable years I have been subjected to this notion that a single gesture can nullify any outstanding problem a couple may have had or that was the only way to show somebody you love them.

Looking at movies and TV when a dude or cheats on his girlfriend or wife or whatever, doing something super shitty to them but then using his/her masterful creativity and cunning wins them back with a giant sing along in Times Square or by crafting huge signs that say, “i love you,” out of pigs’ blood rose petals. My qualm with these unrealistic gestures is just that. They are unrealistic and set these dramatic standards for relationships that are neither important or useful. Being in a relationship is so much more than what we as outsiders comprehend as a loving relationship based on that Youtube video that got “mad likes.” A relationship is something special. Something that doesn’t need a massive romantic gesture or the approval of strangers. It doesn’t need to be publicized or recorded for anyone but the participants. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Who is this angry, resentful, jealous bitch?” I assure you I am none of those things. Maybe slightly resentful (the most romantic gesture I can think of involves friends bringing over a bottle of whiskey to share before we stumble out of my apartment to a bar just to get further disappointed by the opposite sex) but I’m mostly happy for these people who are getting married because they love each other and all that jazz. What upsets me is the feeling these gestures inspire in others. There are people out there who simply cannot afford to impress their significant other by renting out the Hubbell Space Telescope  and writing their proposal in the stars using lasers and alien technology (future husband take note, I will not accept a proposal any other way). This does not mean they are any less capable of love and affection. It just means their priorities are elsewhere. Maybe instead of that grand gesture a wife-to-be has started helping her future wife/husband pay off those infernal student loans or a future husband is putting money aside for an adventurous holiday in Brazil with his future husband/wife. 

All I’m saying is these gestures seem to be a reflection of our societal predisposed inclinations to think bigger is better. The more expensive, elaborate the gift the more that recipient means to the giver. You know, that whole capitalist industrial complex or whatever. I may be interpreting these reactions harshly (or inaccurately), but I can’t help how I feel, so I won’t. After getting older and painstakingly tearing myself away learning that Disney movies and romantic comedies were not indicative of what real love is, I started to get angry at this perpetual notion of vapid love. Oh, but that is a whole ‘nother can o’ worms. 

I’m out.

Twerk This.

The internet has been ablaze these past few days with commentary of Miley Cyrus’s diabolical scheme to appropriate black culture in the most disgusting way- by dancing- to further her sad, sad career. I have read so many damn articles about how mad everyone is and ya know what? I actually have gotten comfortable with the fact that I just dgaf. In the end the only thing that pisses me off is the fact that people ignore how much money and exposure this little moron is getting due to this nauseating provocative performance and all the BLACK entertainers also making bank due to her seizing episode  twerking.

Don’t get me started about the whole “twerking” being a real term now. My brain is melting struggling still trying to wrap itself around this ridiculous concept. Twerking existed before Miley Cyrus and was never considered to be entered into the OXFORD DICTIONARY, but her erroneous/embarrassing display of  booty shaking is what prompted the word to be added. It’s sickening. After all of that though the thing that really vexed me was the lack of coverage of EVERYTHING ELSE GOING ON IN THE WORLD. Like, oh, I dunno, SYRIA. Or hmm, maybe the anniversary of the I HAVE A DREAM SPEECH! No, news sources were instead focusing on that gross chicken butt Miley Cyrus, granted I am solely speaking about my twitter feed, which until now I thought was a well-rounded collection of fluff and real journalism. Nope. I understand that entertainment news is amazing in all of its -celebrity break down-baby having-jail going glory, but when everywhere I turn all I see are articles on how Miley Cyrus is single-handedly perpetuating these misguided, longstanding, irritating stereotypes about black women when there are children being killed by their own government. I dunno. It just seems like our attention can and should be focused on numerous events at once. Honestly, I think the American people aren’t given enough credit when it comes to news coverage. It’s like the media gets together and is like, “Ok, one thing at a time, we don’t want them to hurt themselves. Miley Cyrus first and let the other stuff hang on the back burner. We also don’t want them being too informed. We’re not sure even how to do that properly, so I guess that won’t be an issue.” We can multitask our news. We’re capable of consuming vital news (I just got a weird flash of Lori Beth Denberg) and pop culture. I know this isn’t the first time this happened nor is it the last, there’s just something about this particular moment in pop culture infamy that really grinds my gears.

Ok, I’m done ranting. Ugh.