Randomness 11.15.16

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Thoughts while sweeping up the sugar that someone, an adult, has wasted on the floor of my shop.

If I waste something in public, be it wet or dry, I always at the very least, attempt to clean it up.

At restaurants I stack my plates and sweep the trash onto the top one. To make it easier for the server or the bus person.

I usually over tip because I value other people’s time and energy.

I say please and thank you.

I value the people who work at the Drive Thru as much as I value the people who work in the White House, probably more. Cause you know, true love and respect should always start at home.

I believe in God, and Allah, and Buddah, and The Universe, and and and. I believe in other people’s belief that for them there is no Higher Power. sugar-06.jpg

I have never had an abortion but I believe that other people should decide whether they want to have one or not.

I don’t look down on people who need to utilize government assistance.

I chalk many things up to other people’s cultural norms. For example, some people don’t believe that any price is set in stone. I know people who bargain at Macy’s up north. Trying that in Tampa… Good luck.

I have met very bad people from many different places and many different races. The same for good.

I don’t believe that America was ever “Great” for everyone but I believe that it can get there. Starting with maybe sweeping the sugar that you wasted on the floor of a store, or saying hi without someone having to say it first, or not trying to push your mores, values and beliefs onto other people, or  just realizing that everyone does things differently and that they deserve respect for that.

Dear Auntie, You Can Stop Coming Now.

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Sooo my friend is coming. Actually she’s not really my friend. She’s my aunt. You know the type, the know it all bourgeoise aunt, who  always shows up when you would rather not deal with her. The one you don’t leave alone with your baby because she might pinch him? Yeah that one. She’s on her way here as we speak. According to my Moontime app she’s not even supposed to be here until the 25th but I don’t believe it. I can feel her coming. I’m extra sensitive, I have a hormonal headache, and I’m craving EVERY DAMN THING.

Earlier today I was driving down Dale Mabry and even though this chick only visits a few days out of every month she knew exactly where all of the bullshit to eat was. Oh turn that way lets go to Cold Stone. Whoops you passed it lets get a milkshake from PDQ. Slow down you can still get a milkshake from Steak and Shake, you just told Ashley last night that you wanted one of those. OK OK OK you know you need to stop at the Mini Donut Company. It’s not even that bad for you. How many calories could a Mini Donut even have?

I’m not even going to discuss the other indicators of her impending visit here, in mixed company but let’s just say that some things are extra extra full. Like I woke up and they’d easily gained three pounds each. It’s like I’m carrying a set of twin watermelons. And they are so tender. It’s for real so annoying. Especially because I’m a lesbian with a child. I’ve done my service to the earth by procreating and I’d give anything  (most anything) for this Auntie to stop showing up.

This morning I started having cramps and I don’t have regular people cramps. I have crawl on the floor, lay in the fetal position, nothing stops the pain except for 1600mg of Motrin, cramps.

And since I’ve already told you all of my business I might as well tell you that she ruins my clothes so much that I am the Queen of peroxide and baking soda and will often times sleep with a towel in my bed. Yup that’s right, a married woman sleeps with a towel in her bed because after all of these years of dealing with this auntie she has come to realize that no company has created a solution strong enough to deal with her aunt. Yes Ultra Tampax I’m talking to you. My auntie saw you and she laughed her ass off before saying “Check mate,” and owning you.

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You might think I’m rude to talk about her like this on such a public forum but since I was eleven years old she’s been ruining things, making me sick to the point where on more than one occasion my mother told me that if she didn’t know any better she would think that I was pregnant. Actually I’ve only had 18 or so months of reprieve from my aunty’s uninvited bullshit since she first started visiting. Once when I carried my son and once when I carried my friend’s daughter. And since I’ve been there, done that, got the extra fat to prove it, I’m not going to be using that remedy ever again.

So if you see her before I do could you please please please let her know that she’s not welcome here anymore.

Randomness 11.13.16

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Randomness 11.13.16
Darian is making breakfast with the same supplies I was supposed to use for brunch. *shrugs* back to the grocery I go.
AB wanted to go to the beach today but she refuses to sit by the pool with me under a blanket. I’m side eyeing her harder that I side eye Drumpfs combover. 
Dr. Marnita has a solution for all of my male friends who are losing their hair. I mean unless they insist on looking like the The aforementioned.
I thought about going home for Thanksgiving but the way my bank account is setup. Also I still need a roof. Anyone wanna give me a small loan of a million dollars?
Then I thought about driving home for Thanksgiving til I remembered that the drive is over 18hrs and ain’t nobody got time for dat.
Most weekends my nephews come over. Today…Today they finally asked for a toothbrush. When I went to give them the toothbrushes they were brushing their teeth with their pointer fingers. #BoysAreGross 
Most Americans read on a seventh grade level but we stay talking shit about “third world countries” who can outwork the hell out of us in most everything. #ReadMoreBooks
#MakeAmericansStudyCivics20Now
I used to say that I didn’t pass gas. I burped. But then I started getting my GI system corrected and 😐 every morning there’s a whole concert as I wake up. Like is there a way to make this not happen? I’m asking for a friend. 
I didn’t get the BuzzFeed Fellowship. For now I’m done crying. Maybe I should go on a hike through the woods. 
Happy Sunday peeps. America ain’t never been as great as some of y’all think but we can get it there. Today though, let’s rest.

Randomness 11.11.16

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If I cook with jalapeños, which I do most nights of the week, I’m guaranteed to burn my lips, eyes, or some other orifice with my jalapeno hands.

DJ’s new tutor is hot. I’ve officially witnessed how my child acts around beautiful women. Within ten minutes he’s gotten really into what they’re working on. #BestMoneyIveSpentAllYear

#BlackLivesMatter

If I ate better I would be in killer shape. My trainer is the best thing since sliced bread. Ask my thighs.

I opened a bottle of wine two days ago. Tonight I shall finish it. Pinky Promise.

Growing up I learned how to make a dollar stretch especially when it comes to food. Tonight I’m making nachos cause that’s the food I have in my house aka I’m too ugh to grocery shop and the Shipt delivery woukd be too late. Also, I’m committed to living beneath my means in case I need my pesos to get out of this country quick.

Every day I feel like I’m getting a better look at what 1954 was like. I don’t like it.

I think it’s Winter in Tampa. It’ll probably last a week but I’m going to get all of the use out of my boots.

I went to a party. One of the kindest most free hearts in Tampa just moved into her new place. AB talked me in to going and I had a lot of fun. Guardedly.

I’m still hurting. Still loving. Still laughing. Still hurting.

It’s Not That Bad

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Yesterday at school some kid told DJ that Trump was supposed to win because white people are the backbone of this country. They’re in middle school. This is the nar that they’re parents are teaching them.

After our workout last night a car rolled through our neighborhood and screamed out “white people”.

I have many friends who are saying it’s not that bad or that nothing is going to happen. I’m sure that these same thoughts were thought during every horrible incident in history. I pray that these instances were flukes. I do not believe they were. 

I read the article that lists what Trump plans to do in his first 100 days. As I thought it would be, it is horrible for our country. For the environment. For our world. 

This is the world we live in. 

Today We Mourn, Tomorrow We Fight.

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I’m supposed to trust in the Universe. Supposed to believe in God and trust in his name and all that Jazz. I’m supposed to suck up the fact that my Country has elected the Devil Incarnate to represent us. To not act fearful of the fact that the man who preyed upon, amplified, and gave a platform to the worst parts of the human condition is set to continue that trajectory for at least the next four years. To think that things are going to get better. To trust the same Republican senators who have blocked so many good things in congress just because they could, will now act in the best interests of this same country.

Supposed to continue to pretend that I trust most of my white friends and associates. To stand up in rooms with people who voted against all of the parts of my beings  and believe that they have my businesses best interests at heart. To make believe that DJ’s teachers aren’t a part of the school to prison pipeline. Expected to stand and make pledges to a flag that has never/was never intended to cloak people who look like me and mine.

I should continue to toe the line when it comes to discussing race and injustice, especially on social media. To believe that Amerikka is the land of the free and the home of the brave.

To think that:

  • BLM
  • Standing Rock
  • The Environment
  • The Economy
  • Women’s Rights
  • LGBTQIA Rights

are at the top of anyone’s lists of protection.

I’m supposed to act like I’m not in Mourning. But I am. I SO FUCKING AM. I am distraught. As distraught as I would be if I lost someone close to me. I mean technically I have. Today before I took a Facebook break  I deleted a whole bunch of people who were so called friends who made the choice to vote for a Demagogue whose platform directly effected me when he talked about how horrible the Blacks were, when he talked about taking away LGBT rights, when he hung out with and was endorsed by the KKK,  when he said that women who get abortions should be punished, when he said that he would make Stop and Frisk legal for the entire country, when he talked about not allowing Muslims in the country, when he discusses building that God-Forsaken illogical ass wall, when he… And the list goes on.

If I were Jewish I would be sitting Shiva but since I am not I plan to eat a bunch of shit that I shouldn’t, drink my fill of very good wine, sit with my friends and family to give and receive love, move slowly, side eye white people, and cry; Until my mourning is done. And then I plan to fight for every right that I am at the risk of losing.

 

OH: AND HE WILL NEVER BE MY PRESIDENT.

*Disclaimer, I know that not all white people voted for him, some of my best friends are white.*

To Whom Much is Given

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I often talk about how being a slasher- mom slash wife slash writer slash entrepreneur slash slash slash, is the life that I was given and how I manage it. I don’t think that I’ve ever really talked about the more difficult aspects of it, FYI it ain’t easy.

For example, Thursday I have the opportunity to go to an Inc 500 dinner and meet Warren Rustand, an amazing entrepreneur who spent time working closely with some of America’s presidents. At the same time that I could be at this dinner I need to be at Darian’s second Track Meet.

For me, out of everything that I do, taking care of him is my most important job. Especially since his dad moved to California. AB and I are business partners so usually if we need to be somewhere at the same time that DJ has something going on she does the business thing and I go support DJ. But we both need to be at this dinner. And I need to be at this track meet.

So how will I do it? Since we don’t have the capability of cloning oneself as of yet- though as soon as we do, I’m all about it- I’m going to depend on my squad. I’ve begun to ask everyone that I know he would love to see at his meet to attend if they can. If I can get at least three of them there then it will take the bite out of me not being there. He’s a pretty well rounded kid and he’s always telling me that it’s ok when I can’t be or do something but I can’t just be ok with not being somewhere for him. I won’t ever be ok with it. I’ll use my resources to try and make sure he’s ok while I do what I need to do and I’ll cheer him on from wherever I have to be because to whom much is given, much is expected.

The Book of Unknown Americans

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I originally started writing a typical review of this book but last night I had a text conversation with my cousin and I realized how boring that review was so here goes:

I loved the book of Unknown Americans: I gave it 5 STARS. 

Mayar and Maribel’s teenage love story is the love story of two teenage neighbors who fall in love in the most American way in spite of their Americaness constantly being denied. There’s seeing each other in a way that no one else does, stolen kisses, and stolen moments of teenage rebellion that lead to the most fucked up shit. Adding to their love story is the fact that it isn’t tied up neatly with a bright red bow.

In The Book of Unknown Americans we travel with a group of neighbors who live in a building full of other immigrants as they make their way from their respective lands and end up in Maryland in this apartment building. The journeys of each tenant gives the reader insights into the reasons why people leave their homes, their families, their lives, their beautiful native lands of Puerto Rico, Panama, Mexico, Columbia- to chase the American Dream.

In the story we are forced to bare witness to the ugliness that immigrants are forced to deal with; poor working conditions, racial profiling, harassment, robbery, bullying, the constant feeling of less than, while trying to survive and get a piece of the elusive American Pie.

And I loved the journeys. Up until this book I had a very minimal understanding of why people would leave home for America only to be frequently ridiculed and treated like a burden.

So that’s the love. Now for the hate. I’ll keep it brief. Check it under this Spoiler Alert:

-SPOILER ALERT-

THINGS I HATE:

  • ALMA- Keeper of secrets that cause harm for the stupidest of reasons. ALMA, why the eff didn’t you at least try to get a job washing laundry, cooking, babysitting, something? Why is your family struggling whilst you try to find your damn self and threaten teenagers in a language that you can barely speak? ALMA, most of this is your fault.
  • The shifting of characters is a bit to get used to as each character tells their story in the first person narrative style and some stories feel more authentic than others.
  • The glossing over of Garret Miller’s life. There’s enough there to gather that this family has problems but if this character is going to be the antagonist that character’s life and encounters can’t be written as an after thought.

I recommend that most people read this book especially people who think that immigrants are stealing their jobs, want to Make America Great Again,  tell other people to “Go back where you came from” and those who say  “We speak English in America if you can’t speak the language then go back home.”

I Got Nothing But Gifs For You Baby

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I know as a black femme woman I’m supposed to be here for Azalea Banks but I can’t. She’s that one skinny girl from the projects who kept fucking with the boys until one popped her in the mouth. Like I feel bad that she got spit on but I have better places to put my anger. She totally needs to go sit all the way down. Can we order her into counseling? Some is direly needed.

Some people lose Facebook friends over who they’re voting for. I lose Facebook friends over people calling me stupid over who I’m voting for. I don’t even say a thing just *unfriend* or *unfollow* they’ll notice six months from now when my likes are missing from the pics of their new kitten.

Speaking of Kanye did he really say that Jay-Z and his kids don’t play together? Maybe because like cousin Azalea up top Kanye is always in some shit. My mama used to kill plenty of friendships of mine because the friend was too messy. #YouAreWhoYouHangWith 


I’m so over this damn election cycle. If I only had two fast forwards left in my fast forward bank I’d totally fast forward to the day before Thanksgiving. I need time to bake my pies. 

I love my wife. I love my child. #Simple


If I ever become a name dropper please slap me and remind me of this post. *curtsies* Thanks in Advance 

Unpacking

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I’ve just returned from a writer’s retreat with one of my favorite writers in the world. We  worked on our respective projects in a townhouse in Orlando. 2.5 days of uninterruptedness focused solely on doing the work, on writing.

For me a part of writing is the unpacking of things. The novel that I’m currently working on is set in a fictionalized version of the town where my father is from in Southern NJ.

In the beginning of the story I’m nostalgic. I miss the Custard Ranch and Lake Nummy. I want to take my family there. At the Climax of the story I realize that I have all of these reasons why I never go to the family reunion, how I’m always too busy or “want to remember them how they were when they were alive” for funerals, and I realize that I haven’t really been back to my father’s town since the night that I was raped, in my aunt’s home, in my cousin’s bed. How that night pretty much changed everything. How my father’s reaction was the first time anyone broke my heart and how it taught me that no matter who says that they will always have my back, I can always only depend on me.

How after that night I haven’t spoken to my cousin since:
1: she didn’t believe me
2: she was naked in her bed so why did her man come and destroy me.

I realize that these thoughts too are rape culture.

I realize that that night in my father’s town was my introduction to rape culture and how it was the final lesson on why as a woman child I needed to learn to disappear.

I watch this election cycle and witness rape apologists question why Drump’s rape victim waited until she was an adult when the allegation happened when she was thirteen and I want to yell at them that the reason she waited all of this time doesn’t matter. Hell I told and not much happened to him. A person can have cuts and bruises on her vagina and people will still figure out a way to make the incident that person’s fault.

See the Stanford Victim.
See the women in the Holtzclaw case.
Witness the questions.

What were you wearing?
What were you drinking?
Did you laugh with him?
Like Nate Parker’s victim had the two of you been intimate in the past?
Why were you at the party, the club, his house, your aunt’s house.
Why were you doing whatever you were doing that made it possible for him/her/them to do what they did?
 The burden of the proof for alleged rape is on the complainant and anything that they say or do or don’t do or wear will be used against them in a court of law. 

Anything that they say or do or don’t do will be judged on the internet by a jury of the world. Their name and address may be leaked on Fox News.

After that night It would be many years before I would wear a bikini. I never drank in excess, especially if I wasn’t around a shit ton of people who could protect me. I didn’t experiment with drugs. Always walked to my car with one key sticking out of my fist. Took self defense classes. I was leary of all men and most women. I wouldn’t dress provocatively for many years- remember when I was in that jeans and t-shirt phase for a long ass time? That and so many things came out of that night.

A night when I went to sleep a teenager wearing a long nightgown and awoke to someone already inside of me. A temptress with perky breasts and no panties on. A night that taught me that the police don’t have the rape victim’s back in the ways portrayed on Law and Order. A night that would eventually lead to the first heartbreak of my life when my father didn’t believe me. Where I lost one of my best friends. Isn’t that a Facebook meme? How a cousin is your first best friend?

Writing is supposed to be cathartic but I didn’t enter the writing of this story hoping to get any relief from the events of my past. I’m a Landmark Grad. I’m over that. Or so I thought.  I went in to the writing of this story hoping to write a story about a girl who gets raped and portray the way the adults act in a manner that shows adults how they should respond to girls who are victimized in their lives.

I hoped to raise awareness.

I hoped to show other girls that they aren’t alone. To inspire them to tell someone. If that person doesn’t respond appropriately, to tell someone else. (I find that teachers are great people to tell. They will tell some shit and back you all the way up.)

I hoped so many things  that authors hope when they write novels centered on true events, mostly about lessons, and I still do. But now, I also hope to get the courage to go to my father’s hometown. To take my family to buy chicken tenders and french fries from the Custard Ranch with honey mustard. To convince AB to swim in the lake even though it is not the clear blue water that she prefers to swim in. To introduce DJ to cousins whose entire adult lives I’ve missed. To take back the power from my rapist. Because he did rape me. And  I did wake up with him already on top of me. Already inside of me. And I deserve to get back every single thing that he took on that day.