Tag Archives: Randomness

There. I said it.

From Ak:

My grandmother has lung cancer that will probably kill her in three to six months. The world is not OK for me right now.

There. I said it.

I’m digging this dude who is really unavailable. He’s compelling enough to make me feel vulnerable. Then angry. Then needy. Then really, really happy. Then scared. Then happy again.

There. I said it.

I’m disappointed in Obama’s first 100 days. The fucking Manhattan flyover, the UN Conference on Racism boycott, the release of the torture memos without the attendant indictments of the motherfuckers who OK’d waterboarding human beings 266 times has made me feel cranky as hell about canvassing for change.

There. I said it.

I saw Sarita “Mississippi Masala” Chaudry on the F train this morning. She’s striking in person. So I stared at her like a stan…until I started picking her appearance apart like the beeyotch who has spent way too much time working at magazines and therefore objectifying myself and others. I saw wrinkles and felt sad. I saw beauty and felt powerful. I wondered what she was working on and felt newsy. Then I felt like a wearout for being so judgmental of her and the whole sighting.

There. I said it.

I’ve had writers block for about a year and I hate writing for free.

There. I said it.

I went shopping for jeans and short sleeve shirts today and didn’t find a single thing that made me feel OK about my body. I know that all comes from inside. Blah, blah, blah. But fuck if manufacturers aren’t trying to make women who weigh more than 90 pounds feel like little piles of dooky. It’s a conspiracy. It just is.

There. I said it.

And I have more to say, but I need to stop. This bad spoken wordish post (“I’m scared to raise a Black sooonnnnn!”) is ruining my self perception as a writer who writes things with some kind of relevance to other people.

Signing off, now that I’ve said it.

Advertisements

13 Comments

Filed under Randomness, subway, Uncategorized

Easy like Sunday morning randomness from Yani

I have a confession: the reason I haven’t blogged in awhile isn’t because I was on vacation in Cayman (even though I was and it was indescribably perfect) or because I was busy at work (even though I was and it was indescribably hectic) but because I felt like a softie, a blog bimbo. As Ak penned words and posted videos that I was too chicken shit to even watch, here’s what was on my small.medium.large mind:

• How I felt in my first bikini unveiling of the year

• How I should learn my waxer’s last name since she had touched me in places that even a few boyfriends hadn’t

•  How my hair is going grey in the front at the rate of a one strand a week and I can’t figure out if it’s stress or age and if I’m going to embrace it or call my colorist

• How a friend of mine gave a talk on hair and every college-aged woman in attendance fantasized of waking up with Tracee Ellis Ross tresses instead of what was growing out of their own heads

• How I got an advance copy of a book about how to get and keep a man (I work on relationship stories, I always get these books) and it said that the #1 reason not to have casual sex was because you didn’t want to develop “porn pussy,” defined as when your lips are so stretched out from being so  “run through” (her words, not mine) that they are “practically hanging out of your panties.”

• If my waxer, whose last name I still need to learn, encountered “porn pussy” in her daily work and if she did, what did she call it? And did she care? And did she judge?

• If lots of women, during their downtime from wondering how their stomachs, thighs, breasts, skin, hair and waists looked, worried about how how their labia looked.

I had lots to say on all of that and more, but I felt like a sucker posting next to Ak’s entries about the Seattle police brutality case. Then she set me straight that my musings weren’t meaningless and I needed to get my ass back online (she said it nicer than that). She reminded me that concerns about your body (porn pussy and all) are important, deserve attention and that I should never feel like it’s stupid or blog lite to discuss.

It kept making me think about this thing that a guy once said about me in college. When he found out I was doing an honors project on Black women, self-esteem and hair he told his girlfriend (who for some reason told me–she was sort of a frenemy) that “Yani’s so smart, I don’t understand why she dumbs herself down, why she’s such a ‘girl’ and doesn’t work on real stuff.” I totally didn’t agree with him, but I also never forgot what he said (that was like 15 years ago). It’s still hard to remember sometimes that the 30 seconds you spend in front of the mirror thinking you should look different, the 5 minutes in front of your closet wishing there was something in there to transform yours into the body that you want, the 50,000 times a day spent thinking something negative about ourselves in not some dumb girl shit. It’s dangerous. And worth talking about. So I’ll stop punking out—provided Ak stops spending 70 degree days in her house, doing her hair and calling me a sunshine terrorist.

4 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized