Call ,Text, Zoom, Group Me…Maybe

I am if “I don’t have to talk to you all the time, but when we do talk its like we pick right back up where we left off” was a person…

Yesterday confirmed that while that may be life, because we are all responsible for ourselves, children, spouses and mates, family, friends, organizations, work, self-care, etc., it is necessary to connect and keep in contact with people. Yesterday, I Facetimed with sistafriends off and on, all day, and I laughed, learned, taught, engaged, exhaled, and just had a good time. More than any of that though, the connection just strengthened our support of one another. A safe space to talk open and honest about whatever… work, family, ourselves, and the fuckery other folks display on a regular.

We talked about being genuine. The twisted and dark art of faking the funk. We talked about audacity and desperation. The chicken and the egg conundrum painted in shades of insecurity and egomania. We talked about racism, sexism, and intersectionality and how those play out in different professional spaces. It was a conversation Kimberli Crenshaw would be proud to know her work sparked, both acknowledging, teaching, and seeking solutions. We talked about success, Black success, and the importance of surrounding yourself with like-minded Black people. Being in spaces where you are free gives you a easier backdrop in which to learn and grow. We talked about the fact that you have to stay connected in some way with people in order to ensure you are riding for people who you still believe in, respect, enjoy, and belong with. People change, for better or for worse…. or show you who they really are eventually. You only get to see that if you maintain a connection

We left that conversation knowing a little bit more about each other…

******

Friendships are the cornerstone of human relationships. Ideally our romantic relationships start as friendships, we are born into friendship with our same age familial relatives, and those we rear or are reared by eventually become our friends. Then there are those who we just bond with and choose to do life with. People who take up space in our lives that we willingly and happily share. That kind of bond shouldn’t be dishonored by assuming that you will necessarily pick up where you left off. Life happens between those moments… its important to be intentional in supporting each other through them. You can design that in whatever way you see fit. Call, text, letter, card, zoom, group me, whatever. But it’s important, very important to maintain that connection in some way. Friendship with other people needs watering and nourishing like every other living thing in your life. Our friends are after all the personification of sharing.

Today, I became if “I’m gonna work at being more intentional in all my friendships” was a person… with some of y’all! Some folks don’t need to be picked up, just dropped off.

And you got my number too yo… Call Me Maybe!

The Teleporter

I woke up this morning with a slight headache. December 21st. Maybe I slept awkwardly… so I stretched my legs, rotated my head to the left and right, and moved my hips to loosen any tightness, crooks, or stiffness. I’m over 40… shit needs a reset most mornings. I kicked my legs out of the covers and off of the edge of the bed and raised off the pillow as my toes simultaneously hit the cool floor. A chill hit me, as I stood up and slid my glasses onto my face. I walked that too familiar twenty step trip to the bathroom, and said aloud… “Warm weather, drinks in coconuts, and beaches please.” I blinked twice as I hit the bathroom threshold. I stepped one foot in…

***

And my toes sunk and my eyes popped open like Jack in the boxes. My head was tilted down, but still almost blinded by the light. I felt heat and a droplet of sweat along my forehead, and as things came into focus I saw my feet, my toes hidden beneath an expanse of light brown sand. I watched water bubble up around my feet and wash away the sand as I wiggled my toes. I look up and there was water as far as my eyes could see. Two people frolicked past me and walked into the water until it was waist high. I turned to my right to see sparsely filled beach chairs, kids pouring the same stand I stood on from one bucket to another. I closed my eyes again, and reopened them… and now the bead of sweat was running down my nose. I reached down, expecting to touch cold tile but my fingers sank into the sand, and when I brought my hand together and lifted it up, the sand escaped from between my fingers like brown sugar, but not sticky. I walked toward the water bubbling up along the shore, and when the water washed past my ankle, I realized I was awake… not dreaming… not even daydreaming. A woman with a kid in hand walked up next to me.

I turned towards her, “It’s so nice to be in errr uhh… uhhh, I’m having a brain fart.”
She smiled and responded, “St. Thomas… I get the islands mixed up too sometimes.”

Oh my God…

I waited until she walked past me, and I did my happy dance. Thoughts and places ran through my head like Carl Lewis. I said aloud. “I want to see the Coliseum.” I closed my eyes. I still felt sand, and opened one eye to confirm. Damn now how did this shit work before. “I want to see the Coliseum in Rome.” I did the bewitched thing with my nose… nothing. “I want to see the Coliseum in Rome.” I blinked once. Ohhhhh shit, I remember. “I want to see the Coliseum in Rome.” Two blinks.

***

Noise. Loud noise. I opened my eyes, and a Vespa whizzed past me. I looked down and moved my feet. I was standing on concrete. I could hear horns and talking, people going on bags, cameras clicking, and phones ringing. I looked up and the sign and read it aloud “Piazza del Colosseo”. I lifted my foot off the hard street… wear shoes next time… and moved my ankle around. As I put it back down, someone rushed past me and I hurriedly put my foot down to keep from falling…pain raced up my foot to my leg. I again lifted my bare foot to see a rock underneath. Next time DEFINITELY wear shoes Karyn. I bent down to pick up the rock, and as I rose I turned towards the street. My eyes surely lit up like Christmas and got as big as saucers, as before me, more monstrously large than my mind could ever imagine, three stories of carved arches, the mastery of its architecture…


“What did you get” I heard as I felt a soft breath close to my ear. I turned towards the voice. He was tall, dark, modestly handsome.
“Uhhh who are you?”
”Mark but I call myself Black Mask,” he opened his backpack and inside was, yep you guessed it, a black mask, “ This was in my hand when I woke up. I’m not totally sure what all I can do yet.”
“I can teleport.” I said as I looked down at my bare feet, “ but I clearly I need to go get my shoes.” We laughed, and when the laughter subsided I blinked twice.

****

I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Ma, are you going to the bathroom cuz I gotta go.”

I didn’t speak I just moved out of the way. He closed the door. Stop daydreaming. I felt something in my palm, and as I opened my fingers from their grasp, there was that rock I stepped on.

Oh SHIT! That shit was real. I can teleport!!!! I hit a few more happy dancess, and “Wow” escaped from my mouth. “You wanna see wow, watch this,” my son mumbled from the other side of the bathroom door. The door seemed to blur a bit, and I wiped my eyes. Now I’m seeing things?!? As my hand cleared my right eye, I shook my head and looked again as I saw feet and arms extended out of the wood until his body emerged fully through the door. “I’d have rather invisibility, but I’ll take it. This is gonna be a greater winter break!”

WTF… The kid too!!!!

As he walked through his bedroom door, he paused and turned to me, “Oh, I’m gonna go by Sir Atom, you gotta come up with a name. And tonight there’s a superpower party, and the invite says Dr. Sebi’s Smoothie truck will be there. Your invite is in your email.”

He then disappeared into his room.

A name… a name…. hmmmm. The ability to travel across the land, over the seas, and through thin air, in a blink. They call me Trinity Beam.

I can teleport. This dude is intangible. What superpower did you get? Naw don’t tell me now, just show me later. I can’t wait to get me a Dr. Sebi smoothie tho… see y’all tonight!

Doctorate of Respeck

Yooooooooooooooo

White men are a wild ass bunch y’all. Last week they continued with the clownshit we have come to expect from rich, White, old men towards women.

On Wednesday, Tiffany Haddish told Variety that she turned down a request to host the Grammy’s pre-show for no compensation whatsoever, including hair and makeup. While Grammy’s chief, Harvey Mason Jr. , who is Black, claimed this was done without his consent, it’s proof that the Grammy’s brand is still very much run by the same “step up” attitudes towards women as former President Jeffrey Portnow famously uttered. Despite the interim President’s positive changes to the brand, there are still very antiquated ideals rampant in the Recording Academy. And just being honest, this reeks of rich, conservative, White guy. Then, on Friday, the Wall Street Journal posted an Op Ed written by Joseph Epstein, an author, essayist, and former anti-feminist editor of The American Scholar. Dude called feminists “dykes on bikes” but is being published in 2020 telling DOCTOR Jill Biden to drop the Dr. in front of her name because it is “fraudulent” as she didn’t graduate from medical school. Sir…

Listen… fuck them.

Let’s start with Tiffany Haddish, a two time Grammy nominated comic powerhouse… who does not need to be paid in exposure but in dollars. She’s already famous. This might have been a good idea for her career before she blew up, but this woman has had deals with HBO and Netflix. But like Hollywood does, she hasn’t made close to the money on these deals that her White counterparts or her male counterparts have made. So pay her in currency, cuz this ain’t the auction block where you get to have her walk and show her teeth to show she’s worthy of massa’s pick. She doesn’t need to be seen… she needs to be paid in equity. And White men need to stop acting like women, specifically Black women need to do more than exist and be the bosses that we are in order to get credit for our excellence. Period. This woman is a household name, treat her as such. Imogen Heap hosted last years Pre-Grammy show. No shade to her, but who is that? You gonna offer Tiffany Haddish something… offer her dollars. You aren’t doing her any favors sticking her on a streaming three hour show but more Instagram likes. Pay her in equity…. because like she said “The exposure is amazing, but I think I have enough.” Wanna know what she doesn’t have enough of, if we are comparing her to others in her field with the same amount of exposure… money!

So the Grammy thing got on my nerves. But so do most people’s Facebook posts so that’s not uncommon. But this Op Ed about Jill Biden burned my buttons clean off. I am buttonless. I’ve come undone. The sheer and utter audacity.

So first things first, I thought it said Jeffrey Epstein and I had to read the name twice. And I was immediately angry. This guy has never been accused of things as heinous as Jeffrey Epstein, but he clearly hates women just as much. So I went in a digging spree. Oh Joseph…

This clown, first, has no graduate degree to speak of that he earned… so he should close his mouth to things he is clearly uneducated about. Dude has an honorary doctorate, a Doctor of Humane Letters… because he’s supposedly distinguished himself in his field. But from what I’ve read he’s only distinguished himself as a sexist, racist, and homophobic asshole… do they do doctorates in that shit cuz boy boy should have that plaque.

This man is most known for his anti-feminism, misogynistic, homophobic, and racist esssys… so why is he being given a platform to spout more of the same hatred. That question remains. In addition to his wildly disrespectful and lewd commentary on feminists, he has also printed an essay that called homosexuals, who he stated he wanted eradicated, niggers. So we know his thoughts on both Black people, gay people, and women. All negative. Go figure. He’s a whole clown. So he sits firmly in his clowndom and pens an essay in which he claims proudly his doctorate is only honorary… which is when he should have put down his own, but goes on to say, “A wise man once said that no one should call himself “Dr.” unless he has delivered a child.”

Instead, he goes on a rant about Dr. Jill Biden’s EARNED use of the honorific as “bush league” and then goes on a whole jaunt down the path of honorary degree bashing, as if to give himself credence on the topic. All it really does, is show how immensely he hates women, and given his very wild homophobia… I’d venture to guess that he’s grappling with some closeted self-identity issues that cause this level of vitriol towards someone he clearly doesn’t know. Your slip, the silky one with lace, is showing Mr. Epstein. Conduct yourself accordingly.

The ignorant Epstein and this wise man he speaks of… should do better research. The title Dr. in front of ones name is Internationally a designation first for those who earn a Ph.D or other research oriented doctorate level degree. It also includes, in most countries, an M.D., or medical degree. In every country doctors don’t need doctorates, some only require bachelors degrees. In many countries PhD or research doctorate holders are automatically entitled to use Dr. and those in the medical field must be granted that authority by law. So, you see, as the holder of a research doctorate, just a special one in Education, Dr. Biden is more internationally recognized than say the medical doctor who may one day perform your top and bottom surgery Mr. Epstein.

Jill Biden earned her doctorate at 55 years old, an accomplishment in an of itself. But she has a total of four degrees, three graduate degrees. She i degree’ed up. Dr. Biden is the wife of the President Elect of the United States, a professor, head of the Biden Foundation, and co-founder of Joining Forces, an initiative to help veterans and military service members families. She is a certified boss. She deserves the respect of being called Dr. Biden.

The audacity… is overwhelming.

Women in America are still very much seem as second class, deemed less worthy of the accolades and rewards we have earned simply because marginalizing us, just like marginalizing everyone who falls victim to it, is meant to maintain the feigned superiority of rich, White, conservative men. Period. However, we keep coming back, keep getting back up on the proverbial bike no matter how many times you push us off the road. Pay us, acknowledge us, and put some respeck on our names. Get a doctorate in respeck, and write your dissertation on the history of audacity of rich, White, conservative men.

Until next time I am forced to speak on this audacity, I just wanna know… as a pulse check…

The Undoing…

What drives people to be unfaithful, to be so disloyal to someone they claim to love that they will share themselves with someone outside of their relationship, commitment, marriage.
Selfishness?
Lack of self-control?
Fear?

I would like to venture that it’s not the act in and of itself that is the most painful to that person’s mate. It is the deception, the lie, the failure to be honest about where one was, what they were doing, the distortion of the who , what, when, where, and why. And that deception is not the actual act, but the source of the most difficult result of the act. And what drives that…
Ego.


The sheer audacity to assume that your truth will remain hidden, when we ALL know that the truth always comes out… in some form or another… always. That’s the work of the most irrational, asinine, and self-protecting part of the psyche.
It is not the fault of being ignored or feeling lonely. It is the fault of audacity.

The complete destruction of trust and safety. The realization that this person you share a life with, space with, who in your most vulnerable state you sleep next to, would sacrifice your shared trust and your personal safety in the name of protecting themselves, over your unit. The audacity, the deception, the egotism… that is the undoing.

Be responsible. Honor your commitments. Be strong enough to communicate through whatever fear, lack, challenge, temptation might be at play. Don’t sacrifice your 80 for a dalliance with 20, and there will be nothing to undo.

Don’t be this guy…

This is Kevin Samuels in 2009.

This is Kevin Samuels today… a self-labeled relationship expert and luxury lifestyle guru… and a whole ass clown. A whole one. Red nose and all.

There is nothing cute about him… yesterday or today. Let’s keep this in mind.

I’m sure we have all heard this rant to the woman who called into his podcast saying she wanted a man making six figures because she was a successful woman. He went on to roast her about being old, average looking, with a 13 year old, saying no high earning man… which coincidently makes him above average… wants an average woman and unless she was willing to date an average man, she would “die alone!” I listened and I wanted to fight him in his face for her.

Look… Kevin Samuels has no authority to talk about a woman’s looks or what above average men like… scroll up, look at that picture again. If he can be “honest” with old girl, we can be honest with him. But first let me just say this. Six figures is not billionaire status, be clear. Most of the men and women I know make six figures, and most of the men I know are not fruity pie ass dudes like he is either. These men love the gamut of women… because they are different men with different preferences. Some of them like curvy women, others like athletic women, some like em short others tall, some like em a bit younger or a bit older… there is no standard woman in terms of attractiveness or desire.

Furthermore, a woman is entitled to whatever standards she sets for herself, and reserves the right to bend and change those as she moves through the world… but on her own terms. Those preferences we hold closest on to, other than basic character traits, which don’t define someone as an emotional, mental, or spiritual being, but instead define them by their aesthetic or physical shell most likely lead us to miss out on good men or women. But we still have a right to our preference and standards. Men and women. There are very few things a man wants more than a woman, and his money and clothes and home and car are all objects of security meant to attract women. So yes, women, across the board, are attracted to stability and security. That shouldn’t change because of where some clown believes she falls on the looks rating scale. But then too, men who are married tend to be more successful and more wealthy. A man who findeth a woman findeth a good thing says the Lord.

I saw many posts saying there was truth to what he said… mainly by men. Be better than him, please. Don’t co-sign this wack ass insecure, closet homosexual (yes I said it and I’ll shortly tell you why), stupid shit. First of all, rating women on some scale is played out… unless you want to be rated on the length of your penis, the girth of your wallet, and the size of your credit score. Those things define a good man just as much as a woman’s looks alone define a good woman. Sure… we should all be attracted to our mate. But what that looks like is different for all of us and not based on some ratings scale from eighth grade. A man who comes into a woman’s life should be ready to provide and protect. A woman should come ready to provide peace and refuge. That doesn’t mean he needs to be a billionaire, but he should be stable. That doesn’t mean she needs to be a supermodel, but she should be her best. Stellar looks are icing on the cake… but the cake can stand alone.

Insecurity is a mofo. It will lead you to break down other people to their lowest common denominator just to make yourself look good… but it’s not long lasting. It doesn’t matter how far you’ll go to dead someone else’s shine to shine brighter, your shit will stay dim. You see only those of us that are good to each other ever truly become stars. This guy is posed up on Instagram and posting YouTube videos like he’s some sort of guru, and no one ever heard of this clown until World Star Hip Hop posted his rant. The same sight that posts NSFW photos of reality stars is what catapulted this fool to internet stardom… and we’ll forget about him in a few weeks. But that woman he spoke disrespectfully to will remember being put down and having it broadcast across the net, forever.

But my bet is that Kevin Samuels, despite claiming to have to fight young women off with a stick, doesn’t get a stiff stick from women. His shtick is too familiar. There is a whole subculture in Atlanta where gay men marry and date young, attractive, childless, and connected women so they can rise up the corporate ladder and join Black networks under the guise of being a straight man . The women, in turn, have a child by him and set themselves up to be well taken care of even after divorce. The men are free to come out after this tirade, with their man bags, shiny lips, waist erasers…to make that booty poke out, and whole body waxes. And all of those things are fine if that how you roll. But that doesn’t mean that once you’ve made it, you get to roast sistas because you think you are a Queen.

A perusal of his YouTube videos shows he thinks late blooming men, which he must see himself as… see 2009 photo… are the best because they reach their full potential financially and physically in their late 30s and 40s and can finally attract the type of women they want. But be clear, those men were likely taken care of and coddled by women prior to their come up… and now are too good to consider those women as mates. I call bullshit. A Hermès belt and a rented Bentley on the weekends does not make you the cream of the crop. The hobosexual turned metrosexual is not the move.

Listen… Kevin Samuels and his particular brand of women hatred, telling women they aren’t young enough, attractive enough, or small enough to get a man who makes six figures or more is a certified crime. Especially coming from a man who is espousing this toxic garbage as a means to make himself look and feel better. You can’t be a whole two trying to tell a whole five she isn’t cute enough. Furthermore you can’t mask the fact that the only thing in your closet isn’t Gucci loafers and Tom Ford pants. You are truly telling on yourself beloved.

The Dating Game

I get inspired by real life and in real life I’ve seen two conversations about dating that sparked my interest and my concern. These discussions were primarily happening among Black singles, and made me wonder if some of the confusion surrounding dating, “courting”, and commitment was part of the reason I know a good handful of extraordinary men and women who remain single. There seem to be so many different interpretations of what these rather simple terms really mean. Are we complicating these concepts too much, or is it like my good friend said… “interpretation is the whole problem.”

For a little insight, I have had a very varied love life. I’ve been married and in relationship with that man for many years, but no longer. I have cohabitated with men. I have been in long term committed relationships. I have also been with a few liars and cheats for short periods of time… cuz they were stupid. I am admittedly sensitive with my mates because I expect to be protected in that space in a way I am not outside of it day to day. Yet I am very self-sufficient, and looking for a partner, not a come up. What I am not is a dater. I have never had time for that. I am not going to spend any of my time with you besides a coffee date or two to talk about intentions (if you like to lay eyes and the phone is not your thing) if we are not on the same page. You gotta come to the parlor and sit and talk to me, play a hand of parcheesi, and state your purpose. If our purposes line up then we can go to a picture show. Period.

So what really is dating? The act of going on dates perhaps. A date according to good old Merriam-Webster is a social engagement between two people with a romantic character. One can go on a date to get to know a person, sit across from someone they find attractive, to share companionship, to get to know people and therefore what they like and don’t like, or to determine whether they are compatible enough to start a relationship. Only the latter if those options coincide with determining what your mutual intentions are… but since everyone has some intentions, each stage should IMO. The point at which it is determined that your goals match is the point at which healthy and transparent dating, courting, or commitment commences. If your goals just entail going on dates and don’t involve future plans, you are dating. Just dating. Once your outings have moved from just outings to purposeful engagements meant to solidify a commitment to one another, that’s courting. Dating can continue indefinitely or we can just randomly and inconsistently date. There is nothing random, inconsistent, or indefinite about commitment. That is an bona fide intention.

Most problems enter the picture when people fail to communicate, fail to believe the others intentions, or accept intentions that don’t meet their own. Some people love the spontaneity of the unplanned, but if you have work, responsibilities, and certainly children… that might not be your ministry. You need a plan. Communicate that. Don’t call me Friday to go out Saturday, we need to make plans, well in advance. Some people like to play things by ear. If that’s not you, speak up. I am dating to find a partner in marriage, what do you want? That conversation and statement of intent does not mean you will marry him or her, but you are each clear about the goal. The rest is up to compatibility, personality, behavior, traditions, emotional availability, etc., but the basic intentions have been set. You will either commit to that goal as time moves forward or not. But until you communicate them, both of you, it’s like floating in the water with your sail down… you don’t have any idea where you are going or where you will end up. And maybe that’s cool with you… maybe it’s not.

I believe most of us want to find someone to share our lives with… but a whole lot of us are not ready. If that’s your goal, perhaps readying yourself and not dating just for the hell of it, should be your first mission. The desire to be in a committed relationship won’t go away simply because you lack the resources and tools to make it work… you’ll convince yourself and some man or woman you don’t want that commitment and just emotionally injure yourself further and waste their time. Heal yourself until you can be a healthy partner, and then be honest about what you want and accept nothing less than that.

Whatever your intentions… make sure you are clear. Disappointment usually comes from having unmet expectations. You don’t have to wait in suspense for things to happen when you have clarity.

Now run along… there’s a gentleman caller in my parlor awaiting my grand entrance and my bustle needs fixing.

Bash Mister’s Head Open…

Did you finish it!?

I know you know it.

“…and think about Heaven later!”

Amen!

Everyday it seems, there is a moment that highlights for me the strength and resilience of Black women who stand in their Blackness and their womanhood. Today was no different. Today’s manifestation gave me greater insight on two groups I don’t belong to… black women (as distinctly opposed to Black women) and coy White women. As women, we couldn’t be more different.

So Black women don’t have the luxury of privilege and protection that White women do or the luxury of patriarchal privilege that White men do. We have to stand up, put our hands on our hips, and let our backbones slip with some stank on it… particularly professionally and socially. We are at the height of a pandemic where simple things like using safety measures to protect oneself are discouraged by our world leader, when the pandemic is having its most major affect in racially diverse and heavily populated areas. We have to be real clear on where we stand. Black people are continually brutalized and murdered by wayward police officers, so we have to be real clear on where we stand. Our incumbent President can’t open his mouth to declare white supremacy a human rights violation, so we have to be real clear on where we stand. We also have to be clear on who we stand in fellowship with, allow in our circle and blindly support.

For clarity, black women belong to the Black racial group but they often see their racial culture as secondary to the other cultures they belong to… women, evangelical Christian, wealthy, whatever. So instead of experiencing their race and sex and class and culture intersectionally, they backseat their Blackness. So they find themselves often in some sort of struggle when they have to defend and stand up in their Blackness with their evangelical, wealthy, White cohorts. People they usually have more affinity to than folks who look like them.

Data shows… White evangelicals overwhelmingly voted for Trump, at 76%. 55% of White women voted against their own interests to vote for Trump with 61% of White men. 54% of those who make over $100K did as well. (https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/11/03/us/elections/exit-polls-president.html). So if these are your folks, you need to know these facts. If you are a black woman, you have to get real clear about where your faith and your tolerance collide. Personally I see no issue. God commands us to love, so as God’s soldier you mandated and indoctrinated with the purpose of calling out hate, whether it is rooted in race, gender, sexual orientation, class, whatever. You should have no problem condemning hate and every instance of it… socially, professionally, even politically. That’s the cause you take up as an evangelical. But again numbers don’t lie… so look your White evangelical friends and colleagues and customers in the face… be real clear or not, the choice is yours. But when they spit back racist, sexist, homophobic, classist vitriol… and you’ve been silent…

“… in yo face/open yo mouth, give you a taste.” -Missy Elliot

It is most likely that 76% of your White Christian friends see you as “a good black” and are okay with the rest of us jungle heathens going back to hellhole countries despite having a much larger ancestral claim to America, as we know it, than they do. If you are okay with that… sobeit. You black, it’s all good. But if you are Black, this is your friendship mantra, and you aren’t afraid to go tell it on the mountain…

“We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” -James Baldwin

Be clear, I have friends and acquaintances of many a hue. However I’m very clear about how differently we are allowed to see life. Some shit I can’t ignore or blindly accept. Other shit I just cannot do. Unless I’m surrounded by folks who look like me who make decisions, chances are I’m going to be seen as a problem professionally. I’m smart, assertive, outspoken, and equally skilled and talented. I’ve had to learn how to fight for me. I don’t have the luxury of whining and looking for barriers of protection. But white women…

Do.

On more than one occasion I have witnessed a White woman’s response to mistreatment or unfairness. It’s like watching her sink in quicksand, hand just outstretched, no fight, no struggle, just this assurance she’d be saved. Often she was. But now I know why it took so long to let women become soldiers… cuz they (White women because Black women been fighting) are gonna scream, drop their weapon, and go hide behind their captain. It’s the same way they vote for their husband’s instead of their own… phantom protection. Be clear sis… he likely dislikes you more than he dislikes Tyrone. Racism is rooted in American society, Sexism is rooted in the American family.

So while coy white women , cuz White women like Black women are not a monolith, are trying to show integrity to people who will lie to them and sabotage them, mainly White men… they willingly shrink instead of bossing up to fight. And for a Black woman who is used to being second guessed, called to prove her worth, sabotaged because I’m so fucking dope and they know it… that captain save me, lily livered, weakassery has no place in my life and it just sounds like desperation and quitting had a baby named Sarah. Stop it. Put on those big girl panties he hates so much and grab a choppa. Blow up his spot by calling out his sexism and highlighting his each and every wrong. Don’t shrink, grow up and strap on your Nancy Sinatra boots. Walk all over his ass!

“For most of history, anonymous was a woman.”-Virginia Woolf

As a woman free from her chains, it’s partially my job to show other women their own… so they can recognize them as chains and break free. This isn’t a condemnation, it’s a truth telling. So share this with your black women and coy White women friends…

Some of these Narcissists are Haters too

“Playa, turn your head round
Take off that crown, you’ve been robbed” (Playa Hater, Biggie)

I’m breaking away from Election 2020 for a second, because I recently had a realization that made me really kind of take some inventory of my folks. I tend not to bring people along that don’t bring some light in, and I am unapologetic about it. But some folks you are just expected to fuck with… familial, professional, social. Nope and Nope and Nope. My energy is reserved for folks who in turn give me positive energy. That’s it. Anything else is uncivilized…

People who value you take interest. So if you know me, you know: I’m good with the words; I am particular about how my message gets across; I handle business. If there is one thing I can do well, it is communicate. I don’t need anyone to EVER speak for me. So after a recent incident that went totally against those truths, I realized someone whose business it should be to know who am I, doesn’t and doesn’t seem to care to. It’s really too bad because I am dope AF! Quote me. But it be your own people man…

Be clear, I am not complaining, I’m realizing. There are likely many people who could give two good fucks about me… that’s cool, feeling is likely mutual. But if it’s likely that you might ever need me in any way, it’s probably a good idea to be not only interested in who I am… whether I’ll hand you water or arsenic… but to treat me like I’m equally as important as you are and not like I’m your fan. Only people I’d fan out for are moonwalking and living their purple life in Heaven… surely someone who I’ve seen in their hair bonnet would never imagine I’m impressed by their regular ass. Proud maybe… maybe…impressed, no.

It be your own folks tho…

The ones who should support you, but don’t have a clue who you are, what you do, and what you have accomplished. The ones who should big up you, but try to son you like you are a peasant among Queens (many of whom are other narcissists themselves, say less) out in these streets. The ones who share or have shared your blood, space, energy, experiences, legacy, but spend more time trying to keep up with and get noticed by the Jones’s to honor how well you are representing the ancestors. The ones who will claim you and your greatness when they want something, and then talk to you like you are one of the help… my office hours are…

Fuck you Little Red.

I got an army on my team… a few different armies in fact. They will shake the coins outta your pockets for me… “pull a Suge Knight, press the issue on sight.” (Twist My Fingers, YG).

So I’m good. But I like to share my lessons with y’all, and I learned a lesson. Narcissists want to be the center of attention in every circle they belong to… they can’t stand to concede the floor. So whether they are family, friend, or foe, eventually they will attempt to dim your light. They are an overcast, and I told y’all I need light. Be careful who you let in… and don’t be afraid to cut off anyone that doesn’t know how to honor their shine without attempting to dim yours. I’m glowing. You are dull. Sharpen up sis… or get cut! It’s that simple.

Narcissism is a whole ass mental illness. Narcissists are also really good at fooling you. You think you see confidence, success, leadership, and empathy. In reality you are seeing the strange fruit of insecurity, loss, and weakness, and selfishness. Every picture is for a like. Every move is for attention. Every word is for applause. But I’m not fooled. Your narcissism will get you your whole ass handed to you, so settle down.

You can’t fit this crown! 👑

The Spirit of Kashiya Nwanguma

November 1, 2020: I slept all day on Halloween, so I’m up at 3.15am, when this Trump/Pence commercial comes on TV. The extreme dislike I’ve had for someone I don’t know personally know but who affects my life personally got really clear… clearer than it’s ever been. I not only work in government, but I’m a student of Constitutional Law and a advocate for the total liberation of Black people from racist systems in America. I’m a feminist. I’m always rooting for everybody Black. I’m a humanist. I’m an empath. In my 43 years, the last four have been some of the most difficult to watch play out socially. It all goes back to Kashiya Nwanguma.

While positive representation matters so people can envision themselves in their dreams, representation in negative situations can lead you to envision yourself in your biggest nightmare.

In March of 2016, Donald Trump held a rally in Kentucky. Like most of his rallies, there were protesters calling him out as a racist, booing him, the regular, and his militia of poor to working class angry White people who felt like the American Dream was denied them by some affirmative action program. He instructed the crowd to “get them out”, and the White male crowd began to mob, surround, push, shove, and manhandle three of the protestors. All three claimed some form of assault happened on the rally floor. One stated he was punched in the torso, one stated she was pushed and shoved, and the third, Kashiya Nwanguma, stated she too was pushed and shoved, which you can clearly see in all the videos of the event, towards the exit by the mob and called racial and sexist epithets. She filed suit against Trump after the incident. One of the most violent was in a MAGA hat, was Matthew Heimbach, a known white nationalist, who was charged with assault and battery. Another defendant, a Veteran, apologized for his actions. The ring leader, your President and his campaign were charged with incitement of a riot, negligence, and vicarious liability. Trump was found guilty of inciting a riot.

Kashiya Nwanguma

Watching that woman who looks like me and many of the people closest to me, started this period of intense reflection for me about the space in which I occupy as a Black woman. I am the mother of a Black son, who was younger than Tamir Rice, a 12 year old shot dead by police while playing with a toy gun in a park in 2014. I am highly educated and successful, the very person those mobs of White men see as their direct threat. I am outspoken, assertive, and I speak up for myself and others who may be silenced, especially in the face of racism and sexism and the delicate but real intersection of that discrimination. I am also a threat at work, armed with more knowledge, skill, and talents than the majority of my counterparts, especially those who make the decisions about who will sit beside them to compete for further promotional and leadership opportunities. My resumé and skill set outperform them by leaps and bounds, but I’m not given the same opportunity as the mediocre white women and white men around me. I often feel pushed and shoved towards the exit by a mob of white people. I hear “get her out” everytime they deny me an opportunity for no other reason than I’m Black, female, smart, and unapologetic about it. I am Kashiya Nwanguma.

The Presidency of Donald Trump has been a stark reminder that we are both a threat and unwanted. They will push us out, and if that doesn’t work they will pack the courts with people who will deny us our rights, and if that doesn’t work, they’ll sanction police to kill us in the streets, behind bars when we speak up and protest their mistreatment, or in our own homes when they scare us out of our sleep. These things are not new, but technology has given us the ability to videotape them and share them on every social media platform over and over so we all see it happening, sometimes in real time. The availability of these direct messages of hatred has been both eye opening and simultaneously difficult to consume on what seems to be sometimes a daily and sometimes a weekly basis. We are able to find out who the victims and perpetrators are in a matter of minutes. We are able to see the victim’s mistakes flashed before us like justification and their history of protest and activism that sealed their fate like so many of our heroes before them. We also get to see these racist monster’s manifestos and hate group participation live and in living color in a matter of minutes. These things didn’t start in 2016 but they certainly have been amplified.

Here’s the thing… we have the ability to show that we are not the same Americans who enslaved millions of people for hundreds of years. We are not the same America that put holes in humans with high pressure water hoses because they simply wanted to be treated with respect and dignity. We are not the same America that planned the execution of every Black hero that gave us hope in times of despair. There are certainly some of us who are those same people, but the majority of us have evolved past those times. We cannot sit around and allow the least of us to represent the best of us anymore. The American Dream is a fallacy because the systems of racism in place do not allow ALL AMERICANS to reap the success from the seeds of excellence they sow. However, we can redefine the American Dream, and it can morph and change over time. Right now, let’s start with this… Let’s construct an America where the laws and policies reflect the desires of the best of us and not the worst of us, where respect, humanity, and freedom from the -isms that allow some to be treated less well than the others are our guiding goals. Because this shit going on right now… is some bullshit.

The best of us won’t vote for a man who instructs a crowd to get protestors out by violence, but particularly not one who instructs White men to push and shove a Black woman like a rag doll, who admits to touching women without consent, and who has commented he would date his daughter. The best of us won’t vote for a man who says suburbanites (read: White middle class) should be afraid of urban (read: Black poor) people ruining their neighborhoods and infiltrating their schools. The best of us don’t vote for a man who says a pandemic that has killed hundreds of thousands and left long standing health implications with millions is a blessing. The best of us don’t vote for a man who can’t simply say white supremacy is horrible and children should not be separated from their parents and left in cages for crossing a border. The worst of us will and then attempt to justify it with arguments about the economy and politics.

Donald Trump is not a politician. He has said so several times. He’s a business man who once hated the mere idea that in his America, a Black man… a handsome and articulate one at that… could elevate to the highest position of leadership as his businesses failed and went bankrupt, his intelligence was questioned, his hair piece ran away from his face, and his waistline disappeared. He is President because he was angry a Black man was President, so much so he incited the white supremacists into voting for him claiming to care about their economic and personal interests… when all he really wanted was for Eeny, Meeny, Miny, and Moe to put bullets in their rifles, put on their hoods or riot gear, light their tiki torches, lace up their steel toe boots, and catch a nigger by the toe.

They caught Kashiya Nwanguma… and she put on her cape, activated her Black Girl Magic, sued the shit out of them, and called them out. So in the infinitely dynamic spirit of Kashiya Nwanguma, let’s #sayhername while she is alive and well, and take the pushes and shoves we have endured and make our gold cuffs, our ballot and our lasso, our vote, and catch a racist by the toe… and when he hollers, which he will, we will sing in harmony…

“Bone, bone, bone, bone, bone, bone Now tell me whatcha gonna do
When there ain’t no where to run
When judgment comes for you”

Tuesday, November 3rd, I’ll see you at the crossroads!

The Case of Chonkyfire v. Spottieottiedopalicious

Victim OR Survivor

Real OR Fake

Narcissist OR Empath

Shit Starter OR Shit Ender

Folks swear they are the gold standard when they are just electroplated dookie chains, hollow than a mofo, clanging like symbols on their chest. A Jesus Piece dangling on aluminum, yet everybody is hating on their fly. Nigga please…

Here are some facts.

People don’t wrong you because it’s something wrong with you. They desert, disappoint, or dishonor you because they ain’t shit. Yeah hurt people hurt people, blah blah… but a good person is honorable enough not to steep you in the shit they are sitting in. Stop trying to find people in the ruins. They gotta get the ash off their soul and the weight of the rubble off of their heart before you have even a crumble of a human being to work with. Be a survivor.

Be entirely who you are, because everyone can peep when you are trying to live beyond your means and your station. If you get off at Baltic don’t ride all the way to Park Place to fake the funk. Be live af on Baltic… put some hotels on that bitch and ride out! Be real.

You either care about humanity or you only care about yourself. Period. Pick a side. There is no middle lane.

You either fix shit or cause shit.

Everyone who is in the wrong side of the OR has some life work to do. You are not fine as all outdoors, and instead of lulling folks with lukewarm lullabies you simply bring all the “rats, mice, and snakes out they hole.” Before you go thinking everyone is wronging you, look at what you are doing. Who tf are you really? If you sit on a throne of thorns, the pain in your ass ain’t other folks. It’s you Suga, it’s you.

It doesn’t matter how many roses you claim. All the judgment you heap onto other folks, all that ego tripping, all that minding other folks business, all that talking loud and saying nothing for the opportunity to hear yourself, and all that fake shit is really just anointing your head with a crown of nettles that ensure no matter what color you paint yourself… Melanin Mahogany or Moe Money Green, you end up Bloody Red and maybe missing an eye and on your knees. If you can’t stay above water, it’s the cement boot of narcissism and grandiosity that ensures you sleep with the fishes. Even beauty supply hoops are good for that one night at the club, but you turn everything you touch green with your envy.

We ain’t all the same.

Narcissists like to claim they are the bomb… yet insecurity fuels the undesirable effects their inflated self-importance, lack of humanity, intense and constant need for attention, and inability to maintain healthy relationships have on people. It’s exhausting to continue to deal with someone who only sees what’s happening to them and never sees what they are doing to others. Remember, people who continuously do other folks wrong are the problem, not the recipient of the bad behavior. You aren’t wrong if you cut the ties that bind you to folks who can’t do right by you because they don’t have the ability to. In fact, it’s the healthiest option. Sometimes you just have to drop the punch bowl and start the process of letting go…

“Damn, Damn, Damn James” -Outkast “Spottieottiedopalicious”

Narcissists are Chonkyfire… they are “if fire in the hole” was a person. They are disturbers of nature. They flood the wrong places with vermin. They release the wrong gases into the atmosphere, causing people to inhale their stink. Characters and not actors…

“…let’s add up all the factors
You whack, you’re twisted, your girl’s a ho
You’re broke, the kid ain’t yours, and everybody know…” -DMX “Party Up”