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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Talk to me...
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
In further recognition of Kujichagulia,
I give you the song that is both my ringtone and my life motto:
This little girl.
I WISH I had been as aware of social injustice and product manipulation when I was a kid. I loved playing with my brother's Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots, and he would deign to play Ken when I was playing with my Barbies, and we both happily played with androgynous toys like Legos and K'NEX, but to actually ASK FOR products targeted at the other gender was beyond me in my youth. But this child sees through the lies and blasphemy to question gendered socialization, and I want to applaud both her and her parents.
Continuing goal: to be in harmony with my true self
A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes
where she will without pretense and arrives at her destination,
prepared to be herself and only herself. ~Maya Angelou
This is in the spirit of the second day of Kwanzaa, Kujichagulia, which means "self-determination." Which, when you think about it, is really the entire point of this blog and this period of my life in general. I am on a mission to create and define myself, and then live according to that definition, making revisions and adding things when needed. I have no problem with code-switching contextually--in fact, I think it's a necessary life skill when your life involves interacting with peoples of various backgrounds and social locations--but I am determined to never lose myself in a web of shoulds, shouldn'ts, supposed tos, woulds, or what's "proper" again. Being myself and living according to my own standards seems like the most proper thing imaginable. I'm not hiding from who I am anymore; rather, I'm actively exploring and excavating to get to know myself better and better, to know the limits of who I am and what I believe. This means I am free to change my opinion things as I learn and change and grow, and free to engage in practices I once would have frowned upon, or to frown upon things I once would have engaged in. I'm free to do whatever the fuck I want, as long as it resonates within me and I don't get caught breaking too many laws. I feel freer than I've felt in many years, and I'm pretty sure this journey I've embarked on will be life-long.
This is my favorite day of Kwanzaa. :)
Monday, December 26, 2011
Today is the first day of Kwanzaa
and while I don't officially celebrate Kwanzaa, I respect it as an entity, and feel the need to defend it from haters like my bestie K. Hence, this post.
A little background: Kwanzaa is a week-long holiday created by Dr. Maulana Karenga, a major figure in the Black Power Movement of the 60s and 70s, to "give Blacks an alternative to the existing holiday and give Blacks an
opportunity to celebrate themselves and history, rather than simply
imitate the practice of the dominant society." There are seven principles, each with a day devoted to it and represented by a red, green, or black candle that goes into a specific place in the kinara, a special candleholder. You're supposed to spend each day reflecting and talking about the principle with your family and friends, and each night feasting and exchanging gifts (which may or may not be supposed to be handmade as a rebellion against American consumer culture.) And that's a little much even for a self-righteous Black woman like myself, because I have no problems with Santa (who was Black in my house anyway, but that's another story for another time), and I hit up the after-Christmas sales LIKE A BOSS today, but I like the spirit of the celebration nonetheless. I like that it's something created by and for our peoples as a way of celebrating whatever it is that connects all of us Diasporic individuals.
Growing up, my family usually lit the candles, and my dad usually mailed me a Kwanzaa card, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say we legitimately celebrated Kwanzaa. As I’ve gotten older and have to start thinking about which traditions from my childhood to keep and which to let go of, I’ve decided that I want to start taking Kwanzaa more seriously. I don’t know if I’ll go so far as to make and exchange gifts for each of the days, but I want to get a kinara, light the candles on each day, and spend some time at the very least seriously reflecting on each of the principles, hopefully engaging in discussion with friends and family about them.
I don’t understand people who criticize it for being “made up;” how is it any more made up than the secular version of Christmas or Easter or any other (even non-religious) holiday? All holidays are social constructions, and I like the principles and values this particular holiday tries to construct us around. Maybe people who dress in “traditional African clothing” or go around speaking languages that originated in Africa or cooking foods from various African countries for this week ONLY every year might be “faking it” or “making it up,” but I think that just by being a socially conscious person of African descent in this world, I am living my culture every single day–on these particular days, I’m just reflecting on specific principles that may add strength and depth to my own understanding of that very culture. And I see no problems with that.
That being said, today's principle is Umoja, which means "unity" in Swahili. It is a day for reuniting with friends and family, and more broadly, for thinking about ties that bind. I spent this whole semester taking "Diversity in Black America," and after 12 weeks I say "Black peoples" and "Black cultures" and "Black identities," yet I don't believe it's possible to walk away from this concept of "out of many, one." Sure we may come from as many different backgrounds as you can possibly imagine and go through quite a range of experiences and have diverse interests and have been raised in cultures that are nothing like one another's and have different languages, vocabularies, styles, and tastes...but there is something that keeps "the Black head nod" and the either gravitation towards or strict avoidance of the other Black person in the room when you're few and far between in some social setting. Maybe that something is nothing more than the legacy of racism in this country, which has molded us all within a racialized understanding of the world, and maybe it's something more, but whatever it is, it is, and that is fine as long as we can still come together in our difference.
Unity is not casting out members of our communities for being different. It's accepting those who are Black and Women, who are Black and LGBTQQIA, who are Black and nerdy/awkward, and even who are Black and Republican. It's recognizing the "Black card" and terms like "oreo" and "sell-out" as ridiculous entities that no one has the authority to project onto anyone else. I think the truest form of solidarity to which we can strive as Black peoples, or even as human beings on this great green earth, is just to accept each other for that which we are without trying to quantify the authenticity or validity of anyone's sense of self. Recognizing that I am what I am, you are what you are, and we are what we are...that is being united.
Growing up, my family usually lit the candles, and my dad usually mailed me a Kwanzaa card, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say we legitimately celebrated Kwanzaa. As I’ve gotten older and have to start thinking about which traditions from my childhood to keep and which to let go of, I’ve decided that I want to start taking Kwanzaa more seriously. I don’t know if I’ll go so far as to make and exchange gifts for each of the days, but I want to get a kinara, light the candles on each day, and spend some time at the very least seriously reflecting on each of the principles, hopefully engaging in discussion with friends and family about them.
I don’t understand people who criticize it for being “made up;” how is it any more made up than the secular version of Christmas or Easter or any other (even non-religious) holiday? All holidays are social constructions, and I like the principles and values this particular holiday tries to construct us around. Maybe people who dress in “traditional African clothing” or go around speaking languages that originated in Africa or cooking foods from various African countries for this week ONLY every year might be “faking it” or “making it up,” but I think that just by being a socially conscious person of African descent in this world, I am living my culture every single day–on these particular days, I’m just reflecting on specific principles that may add strength and depth to my own understanding of that very culture. And I see no problems with that.
That being said, today's principle is Umoja, which means "unity" in Swahili. It is a day for reuniting with friends and family, and more broadly, for thinking about ties that bind. I spent this whole semester taking "Diversity in Black America," and after 12 weeks I say "Black peoples" and "Black cultures" and "Black identities," yet I don't believe it's possible to walk away from this concept of "out of many, one." Sure we may come from as many different backgrounds as you can possibly imagine and go through quite a range of experiences and have diverse interests and have been raised in cultures that are nothing like one another's and have different languages, vocabularies, styles, and tastes...but there is something that keeps "the Black head nod" and the either gravitation towards or strict avoidance of the other Black person in the room when you're few and far between in some social setting. Maybe that something is nothing more than the legacy of racism in this country, which has molded us all within a racialized understanding of the world, and maybe it's something more, but whatever it is, it is, and that is fine as long as we can still come together in our difference.
Unity is not casting out members of our communities for being different. It's accepting those who are Black and Women, who are Black and LGBTQQIA, who are Black and nerdy/awkward, and even who are Black and Republican. It's recognizing the "Black card" and terms like "oreo" and "sell-out" as ridiculous entities that no one has the authority to project onto anyone else. I think the truest form of solidarity to which we can strive as Black peoples, or even as human beings on this great green earth, is just to accept each other for that which we are without trying to quantify the authenticity or validity of anyone's sense of self. Recognizing that I am what I am, you are what you are, and we are what we are...that is being united.
Half of this is in French,
and I'm not really feeling the chorus, but I'm still quite intrigued. The English parts are kind of catchy, her hair is BALLER, she's rocking those fascinators LIKE A BOSS, and the sociologist in me wants to analyze the shit out of the last scene. It's a total reversal of the way the media generally represents relationships between people of this particular combination of races and genders.
Also, this is Inna Modja's second time being mentioned on le blog. (First time is here.) This means she's officially cool.
Also, this is Inna Modja's second time being mentioned on le blog. (First time is here.) This means she's officially cool.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
All I want for Christmas is a fro this gorgeous:
But my mommy got me lots of hair accessories and a new detangling comb! So I'll def be working what I've got!
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Watching Christmas classics on DVD like a BOSS.
And I wanted to pause to tell everyone that my favorite Christmas movie characters, the ones nearest and dearest to my heart, aren't any of the heroes. Not Rudolph or Frosty or any of the 90374593749347 Santas. Not even a more obscure hero like Jack Frost. Nope. Most special to me will always be the Misfit Toys.
I don't care that this movie is older than my mother; I feel like they'd just GET me. We're ALL misfits, it's true, but I feel like it's a very small percentage of us that embrace that misfit identity. And maybe the rest of the world doesn't try to cast us away to deserted ice-covered islands anymore, true, but...I still feel like we should stick together. I <3 being different. And I <3 the Charlie in the Box, the spotted elephant, the sinking boat, the swimming bird, the train with square wheels, and all the other misfit toys. I just so happen to think they're quite charming.
What's the matter with misfits? That's where we fit in!
I don't care that this movie is older than my mother; I feel like they'd just GET me. We're ALL misfits, it's true, but I feel like it's a very small percentage of us that embrace that misfit identity. And maybe the rest of the world doesn't try to cast us away to deserted ice-covered islands anymore, true, but...I still feel like we should stick together. I <3 being different. And I <3 the Charlie in the Box, the spotted elephant, the sinking boat, the swimming bird, the train with square wheels, and all the other misfit toys. I just so happen to think they're quite charming.
What's the matter with misfits? That's where we fit in!
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Whenever a woman says, “I hate girls; they’re catty bitches,” a patriarchy fairy gets its wings.
Reblogged from freedom fighter
Once upon a time, I used to say variations of this. That time was basically 8th grade after an incredibly stupid fight with my best friend that left us not speaking for a few years, but the sentiment carried on for a good while longer, and for almost all of high school I thought it was "easier" to "get closer" or "be open" or "be myself" with my guy friends than it was with my girlfriends. One of my biggest shocks upon coming to college was developing such instant close friendships with so many girls. It was a big change for me. But not as big a change as the fact that once upon a time, I used to say variations of this. Once upon a time, I was an ignorant bitch who paid no mind to the social and political implications of the words that came out of her mouth, and who bought into racial and gender-based stereotypes without allowing herself to see the complexity and heterogeneity that is any subset of humanity you could possibly choose. Once upon a time, I was an ignorant bitch who went around saying things like this. Don't let that be you.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
You can't ban love, but it's most beautiful when the whole world can see.
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| Petty Officer 2nd Class Marissa Gaeta and her fiancee, Citlalic Snell, participate in the Navy's time-honored tradition, the Homecoming Kiss. |
So I've been hoarding my new music finds.
Sorry, my loves. Remedying that now. In order of my discovery, may I present:
Georgia Anne Muldrow:
Nayanna Holley:
http://www.nayannaholley.com/audio/01_Faith_hifi.mp3
Timothy Bloom:
and Andy Allo, whom I have no excuse for sleeping on:
Georgia Anne Muldrow:
Nayanna Holley:
http://www.nayannaholley.com/audio/01_Faith_hifi.mp3
Timothy Bloom:
and Andy Allo, whom I have no excuse for sleeping on:
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
It has come to my attention
That I really have no idea how to construct a professional wardrobe. I have a few pieces I've rarely worn that I bought before my Chicago internship but wound up not needing because we were basically a no-collar workplace minus a few days when we were superprofessional and I wore my interview suit, but I have no clue how to start putting together a collection of things to pick and choose from to wear to work each day. And the time to start doing that is now, because the applications are out and the interviews are coming in. I had a phone screening today for a position at Mathematica Policy Research, Inc., and they want me to come down to DC in a few weeks for a formal interview. (Keep your fingers crossed for me!) The real world is fast approaching, y'all, and my closet is woefully underprepared.
Do I start with suits or with blouses and pants/skirts? Are open-toed pumps appropriate for the office? Does it vary from office to office? Last time, my office culture rendered all the clothes I had bought basically useless most of the time, so maybe I should wait until I know exactly where I'm working and what their office climate is like. But I feel like I'll be able to shop more effectively if I start early! Are there staple pieces that are a definite must that I can begin with? I WANT TO HIT UP THE AFTER CHRISTMAS SALES, Y'ALL. lol
But seriously. Any advice on building a professional wardrobe would be much appreciated.
Do I start with suits or with blouses and pants/skirts? Are open-toed pumps appropriate for the office? Does it vary from office to office? Last time, my office culture rendered all the clothes I had bought basically useless most of the time, so maybe I should wait until I know exactly where I'm working and what their office climate is like. But I feel like I'll be able to shop more effectively if I start early! Are there staple pieces that are a definite must that I can begin with? I WANT TO HIT UP THE AFTER CHRISTMAS SALES, Y'ALL. lol
But seriously. Any advice on building a professional wardrobe would be much appreciated.
Decorating Alone, Or How Father Time Stole Christmas
I've been fighting them on this for a few years now, but ever since I left for college, my family has slowly but surely been boycotting Christmas. Well, "boycotting" may be a strong word...at the very least, they're rather disinterested. My mom dragged the dusty boxes of decorations up from the basement, but has left them sitting in the living room for weeks, bothering only to put a wreath on the front door. Her excuse is that I love putting decorations up, so they were "waiting for me." (Feel free to roll your eyes.) When I told my siblings I wanted to put the decorations up, their response was, "Why?!" My brother and sister also adamantly refuse to get a tree this year. They say there's no point. They didn't want one last year either, but I wore my mom down. As it's mere minutes from being December 21st, however, I think this year will be the first year of my life we don't journey to the Christmas tree farm to pick out and cut down our tree. The tradition is dead. My brother asked me what I wanted for Christmas via text, and my dad and I have lost all forms of surprise. I want to sneak out to Walmart tomorrow to get the ingredients to make Christmas cookies surprise the family when they come home from school on Friday, but somehow I just don't think they'd appreciate the time I took to mold each little piece. It seems there's no point in even hooking up the DVD player to watch Rudolph, Frosty, and The Year Without a Santa Claus; I'll watch them on my computer.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that my entire household is void of Christmas spirit, and no one cares but me. I went away to school and my family became Grinches! It's the middle of the night, and I'm sitting in my living room surrounded by garland that I wanted to wrap around the banisters, but I can't find the staple gun, and I'm a little PMSy, so I'm just wallowing in how useless it seems to decorate if I'm only decorating for myself.
What happened to my family? Once upon a time we started decorating the very first weekend of December. Christmas music was always playing throughout the house, and the tree was the featured object in the living room. It was always so big that we couldn't put the angel on the top because the top bent over against the ceiling already, and decorating it was an EVENT that the whole family had to be present for. We made what seemed like more cookies than we could possibly eat (though that never proved to be an issue). We left cookies and milk out for Santa, and reindeer treats for Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. Our lights outside were never particularly fancy, but they were bright, and made me feel warm and fuzzy inside when I came home at night. We all sat down to watch our Christmas movies together on VHS--the old Claymation Rudolph and The Year Without a Santa Claus movies, the animated Frosty, Charlie Brown Christmas, classics like The Preacher's Wife. Once upon a time, we were jolly.
And then we grew up and apart. My little sister is graduating from high school this year. My brother is a year younger than her. They're working on Christmas eve, for goodness sake! I can't speak for certain, but to the best of my understanding, after I left for college, there were individual rooms on individual floors of the house for every member of my family (we have a split-level house), and my family basically stopped regularly interacting throughout the day. We're not close anymore. No one has come out and directly said this, but it seems to me like everyone feels like the whole Christmas thing is too family-y for us to engage in. Like we outgrew it or something. WHO OUTGROWS CHRISTMAS?! It's the most wonderful time of the year!
I will admit that it gets harder to think of things to ask for for Christmas as I get older. Well, even when I was a kid, I was never the kind to have a Christmas list that went on for miles and miles. I never really asked for big things; I'd much prefer a collection of little things. I was the oldest, and I feel like I always knew Christmas was a struggle for my mom [and my ex-stepfather of whom I don't like to speak], so tried to not be much of a burden. My dad has always half-criticized and half-condemned me for never asking for anything, and not much has changed. Now, generally speaking, when I want/need something, I just buy it. But I do generally keep a wishlist, or more accurately, a list of things I haven't gotten around to purchasing for myself yet, that can be picked and chosen from for gift-giving occasions. I understand that maybe not everyone does this, but it can't be too hard to wrack your brain and go 'Oh, I could use...' or 'What would make my living space/wardrobe/morning routine/study habits/any-other-aspect-of-my-life better?'
And I love GIVING presents so much! I love scouring the internet for hours on end while I should be reading / doing my damn thesis, clicking the next button thoooouuuusands of times until I find THE PERFECT PRESENT when I'm surprising someone, or the best-rated-and-coolest-featured-in-a-particular-price-range of a specific thing I was asked for. I love wrapping it and that feeling of anticipation you get before the exchange. I love the shininess and the colors and the warmth in the midst of the cold that the season brings. I love getting to be a kid and an adult at the same time. I. love. Christmas. And I don't care what my family thinks; I WILL BE JOLLY!
...But what's the point of coming home for the holidays if you're the only person celebrating? What's Christmas without traditions, without joy, without spirit? No one ever wishes anyone an apathetic Christmas...
I guess what I'm trying to say is that my entire household is void of Christmas spirit, and no one cares but me. I went away to school and my family became Grinches! It's the middle of the night, and I'm sitting in my living room surrounded by garland that I wanted to wrap around the banisters, but I can't find the staple gun, and I'm a little PMSy, so I'm just wallowing in how useless it seems to decorate if I'm only decorating for myself.
What happened to my family? Once upon a time we started decorating the very first weekend of December. Christmas music was always playing throughout the house, and the tree was the featured object in the living room. It was always so big that we couldn't put the angel on the top because the top bent over against the ceiling already, and decorating it was an EVENT that the whole family had to be present for. We made what seemed like more cookies than we could possibly eat (though that never proved to be an issue). We left cookies and milk out for Santa, and reindeer treats for Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. Our lights outside were never particularly fancy, but they were bright, and made me feel warm and fuzzy inside when I came home at night. We all sat down to watch our Christmas movies together on VHS--the old Claymation Rudolph and The Year Without a Santa Claus movies, the animated Frosty, Charlie Brown Christmas, classics like The Preacher's Wife. Once upon a time, we were jolly.
And then we grew up and apart. My little sister is graduating from high school this year. My brother is a year younger than her. They're working on Christmas eve, for goodness sake! I can't speak for certain, but to the best of my understanding, after I left for college, there were individual rooms on individual floors of the house for every member of my family (we have a split-level house), and my family basically stopped regularly interacting throughout the day. We're not close anymore. No one has come out and directly said this, but it seems to me like everyone feels like the whole Christmas thing is too family-y for us to engage in. Like we outgrew it or something. WHO OUTGROWS CHRISTMAS?! It's the most wonderful time of the year!
I will admit that it gets harder to think of things to ask for for Christmas as I get older. Well, even when I was a kid, I was never the kind to have a Christmas list that went on for miles and miles. I never really asked for big things; I'd much prefer a collection of little things. I was the oldest, and I feel like I always knew Christmas was a struggle for my mom [and my ex-stepfather of whom I don't like to speak], so tried to not be much of a burden. My dad has always half-criticized and half-condemned me for never asking for anything, and not much has changed. Now, generally speaking, when I want/need something, I just buy it. But I do generally keep a wishlist, or more accurately, a list of things I haven't gotten around to purchasing for myself yet, that can be picked and chosen from for gift-giving occasions. I understand that maybe not everyone does this, but it can't be too hard to wrack your brain and go 'Oh, I could use...' or 'What would make my living space/wardrobe/morning routine/study habits/any-other-aspect-of-my-life better?'
And I love GIVING presents so much! I love scouring the internet for hours on end while I should be reading / doing my damn thesis, clicking the next button thoooouuuusands of times until I find THE PERFECT PRESENT when I'm surprising someone, or the best-rated-and-coolest-featured-in-a-particular-price-range of a specific thing I was asked for. I love wrapping it and that feeling of anticipation you get before the exchange. I love the shininess and the colors and the warmth in the midst of the cold that the season brings. I love getting to be a kid and an adult at the same time. I. love. Christmas. And I don't care what my family thinks; I WILL BE JOLLY!
...But what's the point of coming home for the holidays if you're the only person celebrating? What's Christmas without traditions, without joy, without spirit? No one ever wishes anyone an apathetic Christmas...
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
I know it's the holidays, but
don't forget to do right by yourself this holiday season.
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| Reblogged from Learning My Whole Life (the newest blog I follow!) |
Fish and Grits
I love fish. I love grits. I have for as long as I can remember. And for as long as I can remember, I have been conceptually aware of the fact that Black Southern people tend to eat these two beloved foods of mine together as a meal of sorts, but I had never actually witnessed or experienced it. Mayyyyyybe once when I was a kid and too young to appreciate the diversity of food experiences I had in Georgia, but that's besides the point. To the best of my knowledge and understanding, yesterday morning I had fish, grits, and homemade biscuits for breakfast for the first time.
And I think fish and grits and homemade biscuits is a good place from which to start examining my relationship with my extended family. I know that they exist. I know things about them. I have encountered them in bits and pieces over the years without any strongly averse reactions. But generally, I have a tendency to be...ambivalent about my family most of the time, though that can shift to downright negative whenever my mom/brother/sister is getting on my nerves. But the truth of the matter is I just don't really KNOW my family. I have always lived with my mom and my younger [half-] brother and sister, but sometimes I still struggle to feel...intimate with them. And my extended family? I don't really feel like I have personal connections with them at all most of the time.
Okay. Slight interruption for some backstory: my close family (i.e. mom, brother, sister, Nana, my mom's younger sister, and cousin) took a whirlwind roadtrip to Georgia this weekend because my mom's oldest sister was in the hospital having non-invasive but still pretty damn serious surgery. Despite being the oldest of the three girls my grandmother had and living in Savannah and not really seeing us but once every other year or so, she's somehow the sibling of my mother's to whom I feel the closest, and so I changed all of my plans about when I was coming home for break and what work I was doing when and the additional hours I wanted to make at work to get some extra holiday cash and came home early to make this gargantuan trek with my family. It was a 54-hour trip, in total, and we spent at least 37 hours of it on the road, but I think all of the adults involved would say it was worth it.
I'm just trying to figure out whether I count myself among that crowd. I'm really glad we got to be there to get my aunt back home and settled in after her operation. I'm sure that she knew she was loved, which is a wonderful feeling at any time. It was good to see my other uncle and aunt, who I hadn't seen in a good 7 years, and they fed us well. I got to see my (not-really-) great-grandmother, who had a stroke earlier this year but is doing incredibly well for 91, and I know that she was incredibly pleased to see us. Then we visited a paternal cousin of my mom's who evidently hadn't seen me since I was a toddler and didn't know my brother and sister at all, and then we trekked to the BACKWOODS to see my grandmother's sister, her family, and my actual great-grandmother, whom I hadn't seen since I was 9. After praising Jesus three times in the first five minutes of our visit and openly complaining about his son who recently married his fourth wife, an "ugly, look like she got rolled around in the mud cracker"--I kid you not--my great-uncle asked about school and he and my great aunt both separately said how proud they were of me, and maybe this is rude to say, but it all just felt like such a facade.
I don't know my extended family. We are strangers to one another, strangers who were raised with enough common decency to be polite to one another when we meet, but strangers nonetheless. I was unnaturally quiet around my extended family this weekend, because I just have no idea who they expect me to be. But it has come to my attention that I never quite give "myself" the chance to be who they expect. I kind of give them no one instead, and that just isn't quite fair to anyone.
And I think fish and grits and homemade biscuits is a good place from which to start examining my relationship with my extended family. I know that they exist. I know things about them. I have encountered them in bits and pieces over the years without any strongly averse reactions. But generally, I have a tendency to be...ambivalent about my family most of the time, though that can shift to downright negative whenever my mom/brother/sister is getting on my nerves. But the truth of the matter is I just don't really KNOW my family. I have always lived with my mom and my younger [half-] brother and sister, but sometimes I still struggle to feel...intimate with them. And my extended family? I don't really feel like I have personal connections with them at all most of the time.
Okay. Slight interruption for some backstory: my close family (i.e. mom, brother, sister, Nana, my mom's younger sister, and cousin) took a whirlwind roadtrip to Georgia this weekend because my mom's oldest sister was in the hospital having non-invasive but still pretty damn serious surgery. Despite being the oldest of the three girls my grandmother had and living in Savannah and not really seeing us but once every other year or so, she's somehow the sibling of my mother's to whom I feel the closest, and so I changed all of my plans about when I was coming home for break and what work I was doing when and the additional hours I wanted to make at work to get some extra holiday cash and came home early to make this gargantuan trek with my family. It was a 54-hour trip, in total, and we spent at least 37 hours of it on the road, but I think all of the adults involved would say it was worth it.
I'm just trying to figure out whether I count myself among that crowd. I'm really glad we got to be there to get my aunt back home and settled in after her operation. I'm sure that she knew she was loved, which is a wonderful feeling at any time. It was good to see my other uncle and aunt, who I hadn't seen in a good 7 years, and they fed us well. I got to see my (not-really-) great-grandmother, who had a stroke earlier this year but is doing incredibly well for 91, and I know that she was incredibly pleased to see us. Then we visited a paternal cousin of my mom's who evidently hadn't seen me since I was a toddler and didn't know my brother and sister at all, and then we trekked to the BACKWOODS to see my grandmother's sister, her family, and my actual great-grandmother, whom I hadn't seen since I was 9. After praising Jesus three times in the first five minutes of our visit and openly complaining about his son who recently married his fourth wife, an "ugly, look like she got rolled around in the mud cracker"--I kid you not--my great-uncle asked about school and he and my great aunt both separately said how proud they were of me, and maybe this is rude to say, but it all just felt like such a facade.
I don't know my extended family. We are strangers to one another, strangers who were raised with enough common decency to be polite to one another when we meet, but strangers nonetheless. I was unnaturally quiet around my extended family this weekend, because I just have no idea who they expect me to be. But it has come to my attention that I never quite give "myself" the chance to be who they expect. I kind of give them no one instead, and that just isn't quite fair to anyone.
Friday, December 16, 2011
On Sunday, I had the pleasure of seeing StickFly,
the brand-new Broadway show being produced by Alicia Keys, starring Dule Hill, Mekhi Phifer, Tracie Thomas, Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Rosie Benton, and Condola Rashad (yes, Rashad, as in Phylicia Rashad, better known as Mrs. Claire Huxtable). The African-American Studies program and Professor Imani Perry took my Diversity in Black America class and some other undergraduate and graduate AAS concentrators to see it, and all I can say is WHOA. This show is PHENOMENAL. Even though it was two of the stars' Broadway debuts, most of the acting was absolutely impeccable. It felt so natural. It reminded me of how much I miss things that aren't full of song and dance. I saw so much of myself in this show that it felt like home.
I liked this show in the same way I like Awkward Black Girl. Well, let me say that I loved the main female character the same way I wish J was a tangible person in my life rather than just a character I idolize on the even-smaller-than-small screen. She felt so incredibly real. [Basic premise: girl from a lower-middle-class background goes to a prestigious college, gets engaged to a bougie dude who grew up in Martha's Vineyard, goes home with him to meet the in-laws, awkwardness and hilarity ensue.] So many people in my class were hating on this character when we discussed in class on Tuesday, and I was like, personally offended for her. It was like they didn't see her feelings and reactions and awkwardness and confusion as valid or legitimate, like there were all these unwritten rules she was just supposed to somehow inherently know. Didn't she learn anything at Hah-vahd or what? Anyway, everything that she didn't understand, the way she expressed herself, the problems that mattered to her, and the ways she tried to get them dealt with all made so much sense to me.
She was one of those people caught in an awkward class limbo that I'm going to find myself in soon. Raised in "a house full of books and never enough money," she gets into the best school in the country and meets, mingles with, and befriends upper-middle and upper class people. She gains this incredible education and access to this new crowd of people, but that degree doesn't just come in a deluxe package with all the cultural capital needed to succeed in this new world that same degree propels her into. I'm going to have that same struggle in the blink of an eye, and I just so wanted them to meet somewhere in the middle.
But she's FAR FAR FARRRRRR from the only character with a stack of issues, and the way it all comes together is just wonderful. The relationships are incredibly well put-together, and everyone plays off of one another so well. There's even Scrabble involved. I recommend this show so highly--and some tickets are as low as $35, so go go go! (And check out a one-minute clip here!)
I liked this show in the same way I like Awkward Black Girl. Well, let me say that I loved the main female character the same way I wish J was a tangible person in my life rather than just a character I idolize on the even-smaller-than-small screen. She felt so incredibly real. [Basic premise: girl from a lower-middle-class background goes to a prestigious college, gets engaged to a bougie dude who grew up in Martha's Vineyard, goes home with him to meet the in-laws, awkwardness and hilarity ensue.] So many people in my class were hating on this character when we discussed in class on Tuesday, and I was like, personally offended for her. It was like they didn't see her feelings and reactions and awkwardness and confusion as valid or legitimate, like there were all these unwritten rules she was just supposed to somehow inherently know. Didn't she learn anything at Hah-vahd or what? Anyway, everything that she didn't understand, the way she expressed herself, the problems that mattered to her, and the ways she tried to get them dealt with all made so much sense to me.
She was one of those people caught in an awkward class limbo that I'm going to find myself in soon. Raised in "a house full of books and never enough money," she gets into the best school in the country and meets, mingles with, and befriends upper-middle and upper class people. She gains this incredible education and access to this new crowd of people, but that degree doesn't just come in a deluxe package with all the cultural capital needed to succeed in this new world that same degree propels her into. I'm going to have that same struggle in the blink of an eye, and I just so wanted them to meet somewhere in the middle.
But she's FAR FAR FARRRRRR from the only character with a stack of issues, and the way it all comes together is just wonderful. The relationships are incredibly well put-together, and everyone plays off of one another so well. There's even Scrabble involved. I recommend this show so highly--and some tickets are as low as $35, so go go go! (And check out a one-minute clip here!)
Hairspiration
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| Reblogged from As far as i'm concerned... |
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| Reblogged from Fuck Yeah Curls Curls Curls |
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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A Declaration for Self-Affirmation:
I am me.
In all the world, there is no one else exactly like me.
There
are persons who have some parts like me, but no one adds up exactly like
me. Therefore, everything that comes out of me is authentically mine
because I alone chose it.
I own
everything about me-my body, including everything it does; my mind,
including all its thoughts and ideas; my eyes, including the images of
all they behold; my feelings, whatever they may be – anger, joy,
frustration, love, disappointment, excitement; my mouth, and all the
words that come out of it, polite, sweet or rough, correct or incorrect;
my voice, loud or soft; and all my actions, whether they be to others
or to myself.
I own my fantasies, my dreams, my hopes, my fears.
I own all my triumphs and successes, all my failures and mistakes.
Because
I own all of me, I can become intimately acquainted with me. By so
doing I can love me and be friendly with me in all my parts. I can then
make it possible for all of me to work in my best interests.
I know
there are aspects about myself that puzzle me, and other aspects that I
do not know. But as long as I am friendly and loving to myself, I can
courageously and hopefully look for the solutions to the puzzles and for
ways to find out more about me.
However
I look and sound, whatever I say and do, and whatever I think and feel
at a given moment in time is me. This is authentic and represents where I
am at that moment in time.
When I
review later how I looked and sounded, what i said and did, and how I
thought and felt, some parts may turn out to be unfitting. I can discard
that which is unfitting and keep that which proved fitting, and invent
something new for that which I discarded.
I can
see, hear, feel, think, say and do. I have the tools to survive, to be
close to others, to be productive, and to make sense and order out of
the world of people and things outside of me.
I own me, and therefore I can engineer me.
I am me and I am okay.
~Virginia Satir
Source: But I Love Me More (the newest blog I follow)
REBLOG IN ALL CAPS:
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| found on freedom fighter. |
And I'm 100% down.
The women are participating in a feminist march in Santiago, Chile.
I'm ignoring the top left circle in this diagram for a little while
and I'm not even gonna front; it's really nice.
Now don't worry. I'm not saying I've sworn off love forever and will never look again. I'm not saying I'm done with relationships or [once I enter the real world in a concerningly short period of time] dating either. I'm just saying that right now I've found a happy balance with the rest of my life by putting more time into focusing on the bottom circle, and ignoring the top left without neglecting the top right. I'm learning a lot about myself and redefining what I think is or isn't okay, which hey, is what this whole development in college thing is all about. I want to spend time making sure that the people who matter to me won't disappear from my life after graduation this time around. I'm also having fun exploring my sexuality and my nature as a sexual being. And school is generally going well and I feel way less stressed than I'd previously have expected this year would feel. So...I've changed a lot over the course of this semester. But don't be alarmed or concerned. Don't think I'm secretly depressed and just passively letting things happen to me. I'm actually doing hella good.
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| Reblogged from freedom fighter. |
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Look Ma, I got my hair cut!
Soooo...confession time. I accidentally kinda sorta hadn't gotten a trim in about 2 years. Hair fail, I know.
But like, I felt like any salon I went to, unless it was specifically a natural hair salon, was going to be all, 'we have to straighten your hair to cut it,' and y'all know I don't play that. So I just didn't cut my hair. And I wasn't really worried about it.
But then last Friday, the Princeton Association of Black Women had a "Black is Beautiful" hair event at--get this--THE BLACK OWNED AND OPERATED HAIR SALON THAT IS LEGITIMATELY A TWO MINUTE WALK OFF CAMPUS AND HAS SOMEHOW EXISTED THERE FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS WITHOUT ME KNOWING ABOUT IT. THE FUCK?! I wasn't sure they would be natural-friendly, but the event was free and promised goodies, so I RSVP'ed.
And I'm glad I did, because we each wound up getting free consultations by the hair professionals at the salon. Mine was from Mr. Godfrey Fitzgerald (these are bougie black people) himself, and he basically told me that I had a great head of hair and that he was impressed with my overall regimen, but that I was in dire need of a trim. He was surprised my hair was as healthy as it is given how long it had been.
And then they told us they were doing a 2-for-1 special in the month of December, so if we came in with a friend at the same time, we could get both of our heads done for the price of one. You know I was so quick to hop on that train that (after confirming that I could get my hair cut without having to put heat on it), I made my appointment with a girl I met THAT night at the event, haha.
So our appointment was forTHE GODDAMN CRACK OF DAWN 9 o clock this morning, and after re-asserting the fact that I was not going to have heat put on my head (in my I will walk right up out this bougie-ass salon voice), I got my hair shampooed (small cringe), conditioned, combed out with three different combs (including one that was approaching fine-toothed. I was impressed.), and then the scissors appeared. She combed small sections of my hair at a time with the almost-fine-toothed comb, following the teeth with her fingers, and when she got to the straggly ends, snip snip went the scissors. It had been so long since I'd had a trim that I was dying a little inside with every snip, but I tried to be strong. I knew it was for the best. [I told her that and she said a little more could stand to be cut, but she didn't want to make it too short. *GULP*]
Anyway, she gets through combing and snipping the whole thing, then goes, okay, let me fluff this up as big as possible so we can start shaping. And she basically combs all my curls out into a huge legitimate afro, and then begins snipping to form a perfect circle. And I mean PERFECT, y'all. Check this ish out:
Then I wet it and it curled right back up, no worries:
And thennnn, since I had an interview today, I concocted a little professional style. I did a side-part reminiscent of my straight-haired days, then loosely rolled the sides back and bobby-pinned the shit out of the back so it kind of all laid flat and then poked out again below my ears:
(Interview went well-ish, even though it's for a job I'm 98% sure I don't want. I advanced to the next round and now they want me to do shit. Ugh.)
Anyway, that's the story of my haircut! Princeton ladies, I officially highly recommend Godfrey Fitzgerald's salon on Witherspoon Street. My only complaint is that I have noticed a little bit of flakiness near my roots this evening, but any interaction with shampoo tends to dry my hair out like nobody's business, so I'ma DC in the morning and I think everything will be good.
But like, I felt like any salon I went to, unless it was specifically a natural hair salon, was going to be all, 'we have to straighten your hair to cut it,' and y'all know I don't play that. So I just didn't cut my hair. And I wasn't really worried about it.
But then last Friday, the Princeton Association of Black Women had a "Black is Beautiful" hair event at--get this--THE BLACK OWNED AND OPERATED HAIR SALON THAT IS LEGITIMATELY A TWO MINUTE WALK OFF CAMPUS AND HAS SOMEHOW EXISTED THERE FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS WITHOUT ME KNOWING ABOUT IT. THE FUCK?! I wasn't sure they would be natural-friendly, but the event was free and promised goodies, so I RSVP'ed.
And I'm glad I did, because we each wound up getting free consultations by the hair professionals at the salon. Mine was from Mr. Godfrey Fitzgerald (these are bougie black people) himself, and he basically told me that I had a great head of hair and that he was impressed with my overall regimen, but that I was in dire need of a trim. He was surprised my hair was as healthy as it is given how long it had been.
And then they told us they were doing a 2-for-1 special in the month of December, so if we came in with a friend at the same time, we could get both of our heads done for the price of one. You know I was so quick to hop on that train that (after confirming that I could get my hair cut without having to put heat on it), I made my appointment with a girl I met THAT night at the event, haha.
So our appointment was for
Anyway, she gets through combing and snipping the whole thing, then goes, okay, let me fluff this up as big as possible so we can start shaping. And she basically combs all my curls out into a huge legitimate afro, and then begins snipping to form a perfect circle. And I mean PERFECT, y'all. Check this ish out:
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| The name's Thunda...Afro Thunda. |
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| LOOK AT THE PERFECTION OF THAT CIRCLE!!! IT'S THE SEVENTIES UP IN HERE Y'ALL!!! |
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| The nerd in me wants to find the circumference of this ish. |
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| Tell me that ain't professional, I dare you. |
Anyway, that's the story of my haircut! Princeton ladies, I officially highly recommend Godfrey Fitzgerald's salon on Witherspoon Street. My only complaint is that I have noticed a little bit of flakiness near my roots this evening, but any interaction with shampoo tends to dry my hair out like nobody's business, so I'ma DC in the morning and I think everything will be good.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Who says big girls can't be sexy as hell?
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| Reblogged from Currently Obsessed with... |
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
My biggest fear:
There's this guy I know and really can't stand who likes to ask people very shortly after meeting them what their biggest fear is. When he asked me this, I said failure, because that's how I've answered that question for as long as I can remember.
But (as I actually knock on wood) I think I'm reaching the point in my life where failure doesn't really seem like a threat anymore. I don't say that to sound cocky or like I'm entitled to some kind of fabulous life. You never know what the future holds. But no matter what deviations from the "plan" I'll take, whether I wind up being a professor or something else becomes my end goal, I already look at my life and what I've accomplished and see success. And no amount of future change can erase that. I can change my goals, and maybe even change them due to unforseen circumstances, but I simply don't believe that I can, at this point, fuck up so badly that I'll deem myself to have failed overall.
So what am I scared of? I came across this quote by Sylvia Plath on my friend's blog, and it really resonated with me.
But (as I actually knock on wood) I think I'm reaching the point in my life where failure doesn't really seem like a threat anymore. I don't say that to sound cocky or like I'm entitled to some kind of fabulous life. You never know what the future holds. But no matter what deviations from the "plan" I'll take, whether I wind up being a professor or something else becomes my end goal, I already look at my life and what I've accomplished and see success. And no amount of future change can erase that. I can change my goals, and maybe even change them due to unforseen circumstances, but I simply don't believe that I can, at this point, fuck up so badly that I'll deem myself to have failed overall.
So what am I scared of? I came across this quote by Sylvia Plath on my friend's blog, and it really resonated with me.
" What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age."I think what scares me most now is irrelevance. The whole point of becoming a professor and living an academic life is to matter to someone somewhere, to do something important that might help or at least inspire people. I'm scared no one will give a shit.
Is this real life?
Princeton University will never cease to amaze me with the way it connects me to other people. Meeting famous people is always great. Meeting people with academic interests that are similar to yours is fantastic. But when you get to meet someone you admire and respect on both intellectual and artist levels, and substantively meet him, rather than just shake his hand or get something signed...that's amazing. And when you get to have a half-hour conversation with him where you talk about things you've both experienced and you realize you're both just normal people (except one of you has watched and wowwed at Youtube videos of the other), that's incredible.
That's what Princeton gave me today. Which is why I'm not even mad about being locked out of my room until tomorrow morning because I refuse to pay $30 for Public Safety to come open my door. It's why the seemingly endless monsoon outside isn't even getting me down. There is a smile in my heart if not always on my face for the rest of the evening (don't want to look like a smiling idiot sitting at work in the library) because I got to have that incredible experience with the one and only Joshua Bennett this evening.
Y'all probably remember me gushing about how amazingly talented he is a few months ago. (If not, click here.) A friend of mine posted his 10 Things I want to Say to a Black Woman video sometime last year, and I said "Mmmmmm!" more times than I could remember ever saying in response to anyone's words ever before.
So when my friend M told me he was a first year graduate student here in our English department, I pretty much died. And by "died," I mean started concocting a plan to meet him without seeming like a stalker. And the very next day, I heard his voice while I was walking down the street, and looked up to see him walking along across Prospect Street. And once I saw him walking through the student center. And so, when he walked into my Mellon Mays Holiday Mixer this evening, an uncontrollable smile broke out on my face. And when we got paired together to learn more about each other and introduce each other to the group, I wanted to squeal.
I tried to play innocent. We did introductions, I talked about my research, we got food, but by the time we sat down to keep talking, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to tell him. "Okay, I have to be honest--I know who you are. I've watched your YouTube videos and I think your poetry is amazing and when I heard that you were a grad student here I just had to meet you. I hope you don't think I'm crazy..." And do you know what he told me? Joshua Bennett told ME that I made his day. That he sleeps on a futon, and so for me to say that I'm a fan is humbling. And I was just honored to meet the man.
It's strange having someone you've admired from afar/the internet materialize as a real person with real jokes that you can laugh at and have him laugh back. That you could be in the same place at the same time having different experiences with shared stories and compare notes. He's looking for more of a connection to Black students on campus, and thinks my thesis is particularly interesting with respect to Princeton, and there's a decent chance we might just get to be friends over the course of my last few months here. He was also just mad chill and it was fun to be around him even after I was over the shock of my good fortune in getting the chance to talk to him (hopefully without coming off like a stalker). How can awesome people be so normal? My mind is blown.
That's what Princeton gave me today. Which is why I'm not even mad about being locked out of my room until tomorrow morning because I refuse to pay $30 for Public Safety to come open my door. It's why the seemingly endless monsoon outside isn't even getting me down. There is a smile in my heart if not always on my face for the rest of the evening (don't want to look like a smiling idiot sitting at work in the library) because I got to have that incredible experience with the one and only Joshua Bennett this evening.
Y'all probably remember me gushing about how amazingly talented he is a few months ago. (If not, click here.) A friend of mine posted his 10 Things I want to Say to a Black Woman video sometime last year, and I said "Mmmmmm!" more times than I could remember ever saying in response to anyone's words ever before.
So when my friend M told me he was a first year graduate student here in our English department, I pretty much died. And by "died," I mean started concocting a plan to meet him without seeming like a stalker. And the very next day, I heard his voice while I was walking down the street, and looked up to see him walking along across Prospect Street. And once I saw him walking through the student center. And so, when he walked into my Mellon Mays Holiday Mixer this evening, an uncontrollable smile broke out on my face. And when we got paired together to learn more about each other and introduce each other to the group, I wanted to squeal.
I tried to play innocent. We did introductions, I talked about my research, we got food, but by the time we sat down to keep talking, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had to tell him. "Okay, I have to be honest--I know who you are. I've watched your YouTube videos and I think your poetry is amazing and when I heard that you were a grad student here I just had to meet you. I hope you don't think I'm crazy..." And do you know what he told me? Joshua Bennett told ME that I made his day. That he sleeps on a futon, and so for me to say that I'm a fan is humbling. And I was just honored to meet the man.
It's strange having someone you've admired from afar/the internet materialize as a real person with real jokes that you can laugh at and have him laugh back. That you could be in the same place at the same time having different experiences with shared stories and compare notes. He's looking for more of a connection to Black students on campus, and thinks my thesis is particularly interesting with respect to Princeton, and there's a decent chance we might just get to be friends over the course of my last few months here. He was also just mad chill and it was fun to be around him even after I was over the shock of my good fortune in getting the chance to talk to him (hopefully without coming off like a stalker). How can awesome people be so normal? My mind is blown.
POWERFUL image I stumbled across:
An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. Everyone has the right to own his/her own body.
Damn, sometimes I sound like a feminist.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
"None of us really changes over time. We only become more fully what we are." -- Anne RiceReblogged from Indie Art Nerd
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Style Crushes
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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
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| Reblogged from 18° 15' N, 77° 30' W |
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| Reblogged from Currently Obsessed with... |
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| Reblogged from |
^ So simple, but soooo cute!!
"I guess one shouldn't make one-night stands a habit,"
K said, after I detailed my adventures from last night.
Adventure summary:
So, let's start by saying that (after a USPS faux-pas in which my costume, which was supposed to be here by Thursday, and is stuck inpurgatory the post office in town) I was wearing my shortest freakum dress (which is luckily partially red, and thus appropriately festive) and four inch studded stiletto pumps; I might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "Fuck me, puh-lease" in flashing red and green letters. And one of my closest gay friends was drunk as shit and after a game of beruit, I started the night off by dancing with him as nastily as I've danced with anyone, while he fondled my breasts through my dress and detailed how he wished I made him hard because I'm so fucking hot and he wishes he could fuck me. And then I went outside with a few other scantily clad girls to ask random passerby if they were feeling naughty or nice, and inviting them to come inside and be naughty with us. So that should give you a good idea of the mood I was in.
Anyway, so I was on the dance floor getting my groove on, minding my own business, trying not to awkward dance near people who are dancing together, and then he came up beside me and did a little like, hip bump, which made me laugh, and quickly turned into us like, backwards grinding, ass to ass for the rest of whatever song was playing. When guys have done that with me before, it has led absolutely nowhere, so I'll admit I was a bit surprised when I turned around and cautiously backed it up, and he was right there ready to actually grind me with.
So we're grinding or whatever, and I'm pushing back on him and he's leanin up on me and I realize that this is a BIG dude, because I'm a little over 6'1" in those heels and he still had inches on me. And when the first song changes, we blend seamlessly into the next, and the next, and eventually his hands start roaming, sometimes to find mine to hold them while we dance, sometimes to run up and down my thighs/torso/chest. He surprised me with an over-the-dress boob-squeeze, which actually caused me to arch my back and moan audibly. He held my hand and started to raise my arm up, and I caught his drift and moved my hand to the back of his neck, both giving myself more leverage and, according to some blog I read once, exercising the universal dance floor sign for I want you tonight. At some point, he decided to make his move and very delicately kissed the back of my neck. He moved from there to my shoulder, up the side of my neck, and finally started to nibble on my earlobe, and I was done. The safety was off and all hell was officially allowed to break loose: I stopped giving a shit about how high my dress was riding up (my friend Kelsey actually came over and reached her hand between my legs to pull it back down, because evidently I was trying to give the whole room a show) and started bending over to grind on him with my hands around my ankles.
When he starts kissing my neck again, I make my move and turn around to face him so I can kiss him properly, and tentative kisses turn into more ravenous kisses with a quickness. (Remember that at this point, I don't even know dude's name.) We alternate between grinding and making out, and he wins further cool points when the DJ plays Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" and I start rapping and homeboy jumps right in--he knew all the words! (Any White guy that knows 90s rap has gained awesome points in my book. Oh, yeah, did I mention he's White?) As the DJ wound down from the last song, I turned to face him to ask him name and tell him mine. We stayed through Pianoman (as a ritual, my eating club ends every night by singing Billy Joel's Pianoman in a circle) and he knew all the words to Pianoman as well, and had no problem joining the circle. At that point, I had basically decided I was going to take him home with me. (As C said when I told him this later; he was obviously a keeper if he Pianomanned with us that well.)
But I realize that I have no idea how to tell this guy I just met that I want to keep this going past the party. He goes to the bathroom and I run upstairs to get my coat, and I go back downstairs and he's lingering, so I start talking to some friends, and then he makes his way over towards me and sort of nods in my direction and I smile and say bye to my friends and start walking towards the door, making sure he's right behind me. We get out the door and his jacket-less self starts commenting on how cold it is, and I use this insertion of normal conversation to ask a few questions about him: year, major, where he's from. He was with a friend inside, and I'm wondering whether we're waiting for that friend or standing here for no reason when he kisses me again, and we make out for a long time in the cold in front of my club before I decide to accelerate this process, and I grab his hand and start walking.
On our way down the street, we pass the guy he'd been with earlier, who isn't looking all too hot, and he stops to talk to his friend. He looks like he needs to be taken home, or perhaps even to Health Services, and in my officer-of-an-eating-club's-responisibility-mode, I suggested that we could get him taken care of before we went about our impending business, but he waved us off. [I'm guessing that it's written somewhere in guy code that a true friend never cockblocks, even when he needs help.] So we left him somewhat reluctantly, and M (which is how dude will be referred to for the rest of this post) extends him arm for me to link mine through as we walk. He asks where I live, and I say we're going to Edwards, and we chitchat about our majors and plans for the future and whatnot while we walk.
We get back to my room and the first comment out of his mouth is about how high my bed is, so I guess there was no mistaking what was about to go down. I take off my coat and shrink out of my heels, and he kicks off his shoes and throws his sweatshirt in the chair, and suddenly we're making out again and he's walking me backwards to my bed. (Shoutout to that awkward moment when he's laying you down and you feel something cool and rubbery under your hand and realize you left your hot pink vibrator out in your bed, and quickly shove it between the wall and the bed, hoping he didn't notice.) I'll gloss over all the details, but despite some technical difficulties in the beginning, I was left incredibly satisfied. It was pretty vanilla, but he was wonderful with his hands, and after I teased him by focusing on myself he gave it to me right. Afterwards I directed him to the bathroom and he called the friend we'd kind of abandoned earlier, to learn that he was basically incoherent and had thrown up a few times, and so after talking about how much of a compelling argument I was providing to stay (even though verbally I was telling him to go play hero), he eventually left many many more kisses to go save his friend.
So I, uh, went to the online roster of the sport he plays to figure out his last name this morning (shameful, I know) and friend requested him on Facebook. We'll see if anything comes of this...
...but I think the reason I wanted to talk about this, besides the fact that I generally allude or refer directly to my sex life often on le blog, and the fact that K thinks this is particularly interesting because "when do you ever hear about White guys hooking up with Black girls on The Street?" (which I think happens fairly often, but anyway), is that not having known his last name when I fucked him is the only thing I really feel any shame about with regard to this entire situation. Even if nothing happens, and M doesn't accept my friend request or we otherwise never interact again, I'm pretty sure I'll have no regrets. I have none now, because there was absolutely no emotional connection. It was really just I'm horny + you're into me = we can make this work for both of us.
I like, am wondering whether I'm okay with how comfortable I am with the fact that I slept with a stranger. The sociologist in me is all, No Maya, you've only been socialized by a hating-ass patriarchal society to believe this isn't acceptable behavior, and you should be glad you've embraced yourself as a responsible sexual being, but still, I wonder. Me from as little a six months ago wouldn't recognize me from last night, and would be highly judgmental. But I don't see anything destructive or morally wrong with what I'm doing. It's...interesting, I guess, how your thoughts on things can change with experience. It's also funny how much the name we give something affects our reactions to it: "one-night stand" sounds so foul, whereas "hookup" is perfectly normalized.
Adventure summary:
So, let's start by saying that (after a USPS faux-pas in which my costume, which was supposed to be here by Thursday, and is stuck in
Anyway, so I was on the dance floor getting my groove on, minding my own business, trying not to awkward dance near people who are dancing together, and then he came up beside me and did a little like, hip bump, which made me laugh, and quickly turned into us like, backwards grinding, ass to ass for the rest of whatever song was playing. When guys have done that with me before, it has led absolutely nowhere, so I'll admit I was a bit surprised when I turned around and cautiously backed it up, and he was right there ready to actually grind me with.
So we're grinding or whatever, and I'm pushing back on him and he's leanin up on me and I realize that this is a BIG dude, because I'm a little over 6'1" in those heels and he still had inches on me. And when the first song changes, we blend seamlessly into the next, and the next, and eventually his hands start roaming, sometimes to find mine to hold them while we dance, sometimes to run up and down my thighs/torso/chest. He surprised me with an over-the-dress boob-squeeze, which actually caused me to arch my back and moan audibly. He held my hand and started to raise my arm up, and I caught his drift and moved my hand to the back of his neck, both giving myself more leverage and, according to some blog I read once, exercising the universal dance floor sign for I want you tonight. At some point, he decided to make his move and very delicately kissed the back of my neck. He moved from there to my shoulder, up the side of my neck, and finally started to nibble on my earlobe, and I was done. The safety was off and all hell was officially allowed to break loose: I stopped giving a shit about how high my dress was riding up (my friend Kelsey actually came over and reached her hand between my legs to pull it back down, because evidently I was trying to give the whole room a show) and started bending over to grind on him with my hands around my ankles.
When he starts kissing my neck again, I make my move and turn around to face him so I can kiss him properly, and tentative kisses turn into more ravenous kisses with a quickness. (Remember that at this point, I don't even know dude's name.) We alternate between grinding and making out, and he wins further cool points when the DJ plays Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" and I start rapping and homeboy jumps right in--he knew all the words! (Any White guy that knows 90s rap has gained awesome points in my book. Oh, yeah, did I mention he's White?) As the DJ wound down from the last song, I turned to face him to ask him name and tell him mine. We stayed through Pianoman (as a ritual, my eating club ends every night by singing Billy Joel's Pianoman in a circle) and he knew all the words to Pianoman as well, and had no problem joining the circle. At that point, I had basically decided I was going to take him home with me. (As C said when I told him this later; he was obviously a keeper if he Pianomanned with us that well.)
But I realize that I have no idea how to tell this guy I just met that I want to keep this going past the party. He goes to the bathroom and I run upstairs to get my coat, and I go back downstairs and he's lingering, so I start talking to some friends, and then he makes his way over towards me and sort of nods in my direction and I smile and say bye to my friends and start walking towards the door, making sure he's right behind me. We get out the door and his jacket-less self starts commenting on how cold it is, and I use this insertion of normal conversation to ask a few questions about him: year, major, where he's from. He was with a friend inside, and I'm wondering whether we're waiting for that friend or standing here for no reason when he kisses me again, and we make out for a long time in the cold in front of my club before I decide to accelerate this process, and I grab his hand and start walking.
On our way down the street, we pass the guy he'd been with earlier, who isn't looking all too hot, and he stops to talk to his friend. He looks like he needs to be taken home, or perhaps even to Health Services, and in my officer-of-an-eating-club's-responisibility-mode, I suggested that we could get him taken care of before we went about our impending business, but he waved us off. [I'm guessing that it's written somewhere in guy code that a true friend never cockblocks, even when he needs help.] So we left him somewhat reluctantly, and M (which is how dude will be referred to for the rest of this post) extends him arm for me to link mine through as we walk. He asks where I live, and I say we're going to Edwards, and we chitchat about our majors and plans for the future and whatnot while we walk.
We get back to my room and the first comment out of his mouth is about how high my bed is, so I guess there was no mistaking what was about to go down. I take off my coat and shrink out of my heels, and he kicks off his shoes and throws his sweatshirt in the chair, and suddenly we're making out again and he's walking me backwards to my bed. (Shoutout to that awkward moment when he's laying you down and you feel something cool and rubbery under your hand and realize you left your hot pink vibrator out in your bed, and quickly shove it between the wall and the bed, hoping he didn't notice.) I'll gloss over all the details, but despite some technical difficulties in the beginning, I was left incredibly satisfied. It was pretty vanilla, but he was wonderful with his hands, and after I teased him by focusing on myself he gave it to me right. Afterwards I directed him to the bathroom and he called the friend we'd kind of abandoned earlier, to learn that he was basically incoherent and had thrown up a few times, and so after talking about how much of a compelling argument I was providing to stay (even though verbally I was telling him to go play hero), he eventually left many many more kisses to go save his friend.
So I, uh, went to the online roster of the sport he plays to figure out his last name this morning (shameful, I know) and friend requested him on Facebook. We'll see if anything comes of this...
...but I think the reason I wanted to talk about this, besides the fact that I generally allude or refer directly to my sex life often on le blog, and the fact that K thinks this is particularly interesting because "when do you ever hear about White guys hooking up with Black girls on The Street?" (which I think happens fairly often, but anyway), is that not having known his last name when I fucked him is the only thing I really feel any shame about with regard to this entire situation. Even if nothing happens, and M doesn't accept my friend request or we otherwise never interact again, I'm pretty sure I'll have no regrets. I have none now, because there was absolutely no emotional connection. It was really just I'm horny + you're into me = we can make this work for both of us.
I like, am wondering whether I'm okay with how comfortable I am with the fact that I slept with a stranger. The sociologist in me is all, No Maya, you've only been socialized by a hating-ass patriarchal society to believe this isn't acceptable behavior, and you should be glad you've embraced yourself as a responsible sexual being, but still, I wonder. Me from as little a six months ago wouldn't recognize me from last night, and would be highly judgmental. But I don't see anything destructive or morally wrong with what I'm doing. It's...interesting, I guess, how your thoughts on things can change with experience. It's also funny how much the name we give something affects our reactions to it: "one-night stand" sounds so foul, whereas "hookup" is perfectly normalized.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Queer Politics
I stumbled across someone who had reblogged this, and it caught my attention:
I've said before that "queer" as a term seems too...grown for me. Too firmly set on an alternative lifestyle, as contrasted with my willingness to experiment. I wonder how a queer identity on my part would be regarded when I'm in a heterosexual relationship; would people see it as legitimate? Anyway, this makes me feel like maybe my "heteroflexibility" is a cop-out in terms of the politics of sexual orientation and identity politics generally. Yes, it's great to personally identify yourself in whatever way you want, but I would like to fit into a larger politically charged sphere of social identification. I want to help fuck shit up. So from now on, I'm going to actively try to grow into queer-dom.
"I am queer. say that intentionally.I am not a lesbian. Not bi. Not straight. Not pan. Not gay. I am queer. Intentionally. I intentionally use this term although others may apply. Because being queer is political. It is fucking shit up. It is reconstructing broken elements. It is loving multiple sexes…" -- Freedom Fighter
I've said before that "queer" as a term seems too...grown for me. Too firmly set on an alternative lifestyle, as contrasted with my willingness to experiment. I wonder how a queer identity on my part would be regarded when I'm in a heterosexual relationship; would people see it as legitimate? Anyway, this makes me feel like maybe my "heteroflexibility" is a cop-out in terms of the politics of sexual orientation and identity politics generally. Yes, it's great to personally identify yourself in whatever way you want, but I would like to fit into a larger politically charged sphere of social identification. I want to help fuck shit up. So from now on, I'm going to actively try to grow into queer-dom.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
L.O.V.E.
That's what the fight for marriage equality is about. Everything else is just a fringe benefit. The important thing is to recognize and validate love and commitment wherever they come in this world full of false starts and not-so-happy endings.
This ad actually made me tear up a little.
This ad actually made me tear up a little.
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