**RANT** Be Who You Are & Buy What You Like

As promised in my post about my Poshmark buys, here is my rant about "designer"/luxury goods...

I would change "life" to "fashion"

After I bought those Coach bags from Poshmark sellers, I was telling a neighbor about the site and how I love what I got there. I told her what I paid for the bags and she was so excited to take a look at the Poshmark site that we pulled it up right then and there. She went absolutely gaga over the Brahmin bags she has a liking for. Of course, she joined the site and will probably go broke when she sees that there are a lot of the Frye bags she also loves. Poshmark ought to be paying me for promoting the site!

A couple of days later, that neighbor came over to show me some of the stuff she has "hearted" and while we were looking, she asked to see the 2 bags I had been raving about. Her reaction to this absolute awesomeness -

My laptop fits beautifully in  the work bag

- was... bewilderment.

Basically, she was seeing all the other Coach bags listed on Poshmark and wondered why I chose such plain-looking ones. To be honest, when I see bags like this:

Or this:

- I'm not that impressed. And this next one is just... as Amy once sang: No, no, no.

But, seriously, to each his own. I can see how any of those bags could be attractive to someone. They aren't ugly, but just so loudly branded. You would surely get noticed for carrying it.

And maybe that is why a lot of people get those types of very visibly branded bags: they want or need someone to know they can afford a Coach - or Louis Vuitton or whatever else. And that's fine, I guess. We live in a society where we seem more concerned with appearing happy instead of just being happy. And I prefer not to be a walking, talking, unpaid billboard. Especially for something so pricey that I have to wait until it hits a flea market before I can (maybe) afford it.

Maybe I am just in one of my moods? I am so tired of people doing things and having things and wanting things for... not themselves?

Anyway, I explained to my neighbor why I'm so pleased with my "new bags". For one thing, I love carrying a purse that makes me feel like me: simply but well put together and okay with being simply and well put together. I'm not a dressy type of gal like I was in my youth. I like to be clean and comfortable. And I need a bag that lets me carry quite a bit of stuff in an organized way. I once spent half an hour panicking that I had lost my apartment key when it had just fallen to the bottom of my bag.

One of the reasons Coach bags are - or used to be - so desired is that they are so sturdy and well crafted. (My mother had a couple of really good purses back in the day that lasted for years and years until they got stolen lost when movers packed up our house once.)

I'm pretty sure that my neighbor loves her Brahmin bags because they are so well-made (they really are too - just not my style of a purse). I can tell that she loves the one she carries all the time. And I mean all the time.  I told her all this and she agreed. She said that she feels "matched" well to the bag. It's a beautiful bag that can be handed down a couple of generations. She still didn't seem to love my new bags but that's okay, she doesn't have to because I do.

We all probably have at least that one purse we love but that is tattered and falling apart (and guys probably have that special wallet). I have/had at least 3 well-loved purses in the past several years. Not all of them are well-made either. Along with a really cute cloth mini-bag, this is what I have been carrying for most of the past 3 years:

About $12 at Target (??) a few years back

I love that purse but, as you can see, it's warped on the bottom of one side. Nothing I did would smooth that out. I tried loading it with heavy stuff, hanging from a rail, and blowing a warm dryer over it. Still warped. The cloth mini-bag I had was a freebie included with some purchase I made about 5 years ago. It was small but hung nicely off the arm and I could stuff a lot of things in it. Unfortunately, the handle came loose from one side.

For years, I've had a Coach-not-Coach (aka "Foach") large style tote that is made of such quality leather and so durable that it still looks great after about 25 years. The leather is wearing well just the way leather is supposed to - getting darker and softer in some places but not falling apart. The one thing that gives it away as not authentic is the non-Coach type hardware. A dear friend gave it to me and I use it as a carry-on/carry-around when I am visiting family. Every now and then, I pull it out and rub it down with some conditioner. I love it.

I pulled out the phone-calc and did the math on the age of my leather Foach - I got it in 1991 so that makes it almost 30 years old! Wow. I don't think that even the people at Coach would be hating me for this bag. INXS was playing Wembley in '91 and I was 102 pounds and strutting around in 4-inch heels like nobody's business. Talk about time flying...

Anyway.

The Coach that belonged to Mike is a coated-canvas-type material that I don't want to wear out or stain. Leather is easier to maintain and lasts longer. Also, the branding on Mike's Coach is quite visible - though not loudly so because the material is a sort of black and monochrome. Did I get that right???

Makes me think of her.

There are a couple of other brands I would love to own a bag from. So far, they are out of my reach even on Poshmark. But I am throwing out hints so hard that I am leaving marks on my family! The main brand I want a bag from is Liebeskind Berlin. The cowskin leather ones are soft that they feel like they're made of clouds and unicorn fur.  I am also keeping my eye out for something by Wilsons Leather. That or Frye's. I have heard great things about both.

For now, though, I am extremely happy with my 2 bags. As with the Foach tote, I am treating them with conditioner and making sure to massage the handles when I carry them. I love it when leather gets that beautiful used look.

By the way, for anyone wondering about the history of Coach, there's an article that goes so deep in that it's going to take me years to read it all. Here is the link.

To sum up, I don't want to tell anyone what to do, but I sure hope that the next time you go shopping, you buy things that make you happy and feel pretty. Look at me, I'm over here quarantined and happy to be looking at these purses when no one else can see them!

Well, now that I got that rant out of my system, I feel better. I am going to go and work on my budget now. I will have to be creative next month since I used birthday money for fun instead of being responsible.

Peace
--Free

Love Spreads, Hate Seeps

Is anybody else just absolutely worn out from all this disruption of normalcy? It seems to be making me physically ill and we won't even get into what it's done to my fragile mental state.

Jenn gets me

NOTE: Because of my depression and the darkness of this post, I will be throwing in some images that may make you smile a little or think a lot.


I no longer want to read the news but can't help myself. It's like not wanting to peel back the bandaid to peek at a nasty injury but you have to know if it's getting better or worse. I'm just so tired and discouraged. Even if we do manage to start righting the ship that is our country, it's going to take a long time to fix the damage. And I am not even going to hold back when I say that it's got to start with getting Trump out of office. The man is a walking virus on peace and trust and cooperation.

A lot of people are surprised when I tell them that I didn't vote for Obama for his second term. I felt that he wasn't in line with my personal values as a Christian. Still, I look back and think today that he's such a stark contrast to Trump - and not because of Trump's so-called "Christian" values. Face it, the man is the antithesis of even human values. The contrast is in how the two men affect people just in holding the Office. My brother and I were talking about this the other day and my broken brain had a moment of intense clarity. I said, "Obama represented hope and unity while Trump represents hate and division."




I don't care whether you like Trump as a man or not (I like Obama as a man) but when it comes to the power he has to lead and rule, he's gone so far down the wrong road that we may never make it back.

When people tell me that Trump doesn't represent hate or white supremacy, I want to tell them about the incidents of racism and hate that's happened locally in the name of Trump. A family member called me crying in frustration because some of their family members have started flying Confederate flags and Klan and Nazi symbols.

Okay, let's say that Trump isn't the problem - if you can fix your mouth to do so...  Maybe he personally doesn't support racism and hate but he sure makes it acceptable for others to do so.  There are so many normal citizens who feel empowered to act out on their own ignorance and violence and they do this because they feel good about "their man in Office".

I won't go on like I could for days about this horrendous state we've gotten ourselves into but I have this personal idea about life. Love spreads from one person or situation to another. Hate seeps and creeps. It infects good people and bad. I know this is true because I think of myself as a good person but I am starting to feel hate. I hate the fools who are shaking all the tiny bits of progress we have made away from lynching, beatings, and "midnight rides" of the Klan days. I hate people who are so dangerous that they almost make me forget that not everyone is hateful and dangerous to me.


Back to Obama - and I have to say this - there is a joke among some black people about his contrast to Trump. When Obama was elected, some people joked that he would be the worst stereotype of a black man. He wasn't. He was married to one woman, had no known past disgraces, and did not hate "whitey". He tried to represent every citizen - of every race, gender, creed, and sexual orientation. Trump, on the other hand, has become the David Duke of the White House. He's had multiple marriages, dalliances, and bad business practices. Allegedly. The only thing left for him to do is don a white robe and one of those silly hats.

The worst thing about Trump though is not what he's doing but to whom. He's not benefitting the white supremacist as a person any more than he's benefitting my black ass. He's benefitting the House of Trump. He's benefitting the people who look and live like he does. I probably have more of a chance of being invited to a Trump family dinner than any of the poor whites who are fooled by him.


So I want to say to my fellow citizens - regardless of skin color - Trump has screwed us all. We are going to be living with and trying to clean up his mess of madness for a long time. He and his family will most likely still be rich and insulated from the daily life we have to cope with. He cares as much for you as he does for me.

We better all get it together and start working to make the government work for us again instead of the other way around. We are going to need to ask ourselves if we - regular people who shop at Target and Walmart and have to worry about gas prices and the cost of a loaf of bread - are better off than the people in charge of us.


Peace
--Free


P.S.: Happy 4th.

Faked Out by Television

I was feeling pretty down this past few days. It's my own fault. I have been spending too much time out of my own head and into the often-false reality of television and the internet.

If you ever want to feel like crap, spend a solid weekend watching something like "Criminal Minds" or any other show that focuses on the worst of society but has heroes that are uber-attractive, fit as mules, and so smart they can think in hyper-speed.

Seriously. I have never seen women bounce back from pregnancy and go straight into size-2 mode in under 5 episodes. Once, one of the agents had a baby in one episode, was on leave for maybe 1 or 2 episodes and came back the next episode with the body of a perfectly hormonally balanced 16-year-old. I take that back. There are 16-year-olds who don't look that good during summer vacation when they are well-rested and not stressed by jobs, serious responsibilities, or studies.

The women are usually lots hotter-looking than the men, but those men... They are it-factor attractive even when not actually face-on attractive. That's because their clothes always fit well and they stride around with that big-d*** attitude of the subtlely narcissistic. Excuse my filthy mouth, but that's was the best way to describe things...

Anyway. Back to my feeling inadequate and ugly.

(By the way, that meme right there is funny but... true story: I once screwed up my twists and had to walk around looking crazy this one day! Actually, I've done it more than once...)

~sigh~

 
It probably didn't help that I spent the weekend not feeling well, laying on the couch in raggedy PJs and eating like someone who had to forage at Big Lots for food. Looking at those beautiful agents with their fearless swagger, I hated my dry hair, dry skin, and my too-long, and unpainted toenails. I actually avoided looking toward the mirror whenever I went into the bathroom. Who needs that kind of a downer?

I think my favorite character on "Criminal Minds" is Spencer. That's because he's a guy so I'm not hating him for his hair, flat tummy, or thigh gap. But the way he thinks faster than Superman flies... Come on now, people. I get that the writers have to get from plot start to finish in a short amount of time but between Spencer's hyper-brain and Penelope's impossibly efficient computer skills, I start doubting my right to walk around unattended.

The episode that took the profiler image way into the superhuman league was the one where Agent Morgan was being tortured by some tough guys. First of all, let's just talk about how the actor playing Morgan is so gorgeous I would never want him to love me. What crazy woman wants to stand next to a man who looks prettier than she does? Morgan couldn't manage to look ugly even when the bad guys were pouring that molten burning stuff down the center of his chest. And he manages to mind-flip himself into a parallel state of mind to not just get through but to outsmart all the bad guys and survive. He even looked good lying on the stretcher three breaths away from meeting Jesus.

Speaking of Morgan, let's talk about his platonic work wife. Have you seen Penelope working her computer? I don't care what federal agency she works for, I am not sure that there's any real-life tech station like hers. She can have 9 different things happening on once screen and find a killer 6 states away with only 2 clues and 5 minutes before someone dies. Yet, we still don't know who killed Tupac in the middle of the Vegas strip? Okay.

If I were one of the people doing the job of those Criminal Mind profilers, it would be a whole different vibe. For one thing, I am pretty sure my hair would never be decent. Between maintaining a relationship, kids, and anything else outside of catching and surviving bad guys, I'd probably spend the other 2 hours of my life trying to do laundry and wash dishes. There'd hardly be any time left for visits with the therapist. And I would most definitely not be trotting around in those slick black runway-for-the-working-girl outfits. I'd have jeans for each day of the week, shoes that I could run in without creeling over and breaking an ankle, and I don't think I'd be wearing my cutest bra and undies around such crazy killers. We won't even talk about the last time I could tuck a blouse in without looking slightly bloated. Guys, I just depressed myself to tears.

I'm fussing and complaining but I will be back for another binge-watch the next time I am on my sickbed. Hopefully, by then, I will have rebuilt a little of my self-esteem. I will try to at least have something healthier than pizza and strawberry soda for snacking.

UPDATE:

If you know me, you know that I would NEVER agree with probably 99.999% of anything a Trump would say. However... There may be a little something to his "fake news" ranting. Or at least celebrities and social media "influencers" faking us out. I happened to run across this very fun video by my new favorite YouTuber. (This young man reminds me so much of one of my nephews that it scares me a little!) Enjoy this one:

Now, don't you feel a little more beautiful in your glorious and infiltered body??? I feel downright gorgeous.

Peace
--Free

I am the most beautiful girl in the world.

To my 7-year-old nephew, I am. And you are beautiful too
because you & I live with no filters.

As Seen On TV

WARNING: I feel a rant coming on and I've had a lot of coffee.

Remember back when Dove started doing those ads showing "real" women? I kind of loved that, but... I kind of didn't.

I have a love-hate thing going with commercial media - television, films, advertisements. I love being able to temporarily and vicariously experience things I probably never actually will. I have to face the fact that, with all my phobias, I'll probably never fight off gangsters, monsters, or zombies. I have trouble dealing with cranky store clerks and sullen teenagers trigger my anxiety.

I'm fascinated by female actors who can immerse themselves into a fictional world and become these badass characters. They go in as Mary Lou, originally from Cleveland, and appear on screen speaking a foreign language and using 3 different types of martial arts, all while wearing perfectly fitted leather body suits so smooth and shiny that I could use them to apply makeup. Just getting into one of those suits would be the last superhuman feat you'd see me perform.

Still. we all sometimes need to have a Walter Mitty moment because a little escapism can be therapeutic.

On the other hand...

I think that we've all gotten a little too lost in the world of make-believe. We forget that actors are real people and that we are too. Life is not a fictional thing (for most of us) and it's so toxic when we forget that. This is the part I hate about commercial media.

You have to pity the person who has managed to make a living on stage or screen. Notice I didn't say that you couldn't be jealous of them. But can you imagine other people not being able to separate who you are in your real life from who you are on stage or screen? For us "commoners" that would be like your boss calling you by your job title and always expecting you to be on the clock. I once almost quit a job because my boss asked me to work on my birthday.

But that is my sorrow for the famous. For myself, I hate what media has done to the world I have to live in.

As a dark-skinned black woman, for years I was opposite to the standards of beauty portrayed in media. When I was a teenager, the only thing I had in common with the girls on the covers of magazines was that I was skinny and flat-chested. Until my late thirties, I had the build of a boy taking small hits of estrogen.

Not only was "white" media not my friend, neither was Jet or Ebony. The only black girls I saw in movies that looked like me were the "field" slaves in "Roots" or the hookers in Blaxploitation films. The men could be dark skinned. Think Richard Roundtree as Shaft or Jim Brown as Gunn (and what the hell was up with all the phallic names?). But the ladies could usually pass the paper bag test.

Diana Ross was kind of my image hero because she was thin and (kinda) dark like me. Except, she could sing and act and, eventually, her skin seemed to lighten up a little. Or is that just me? That cannot just be me, people.

She's bad to the bone, but... c'mon now

By the way, I still dig Ms. Ross. If you're going to be a diva, be one of the first.

I will be damned if, by the time my dark skin came into vogue, I had suddenly grown hips and boobs. And the total "boy" look was still in. Son of a bitch!

Still, dark skin stopped being the biggest stigma for black girls. Sometimes, it reversed itself. I dated one guy who admitted that he liked me because I was "exotic". Not because I was funny or nice or just fun to be with. But because I was exotic. I wasn't sure what that meant. Every time he came around I wondered if he felt like he was on the Serengeti or dating a chick from his National Geographic fantasies. Once again, son of a bitch.

That was the heavy stuff. On the lighter (um hm) side of my love-hate affair with the media, let's deal with the commercials. Race and color aside, when it comes to straight advertising, I can find at least 3 other issues to discuss with a therapist. Size, height, and lifestyle. This kind of brings me back to the Dove "Campaign for Real Beauty". Shows how much attention I pay, I didn't even know that was the name of the campaign until just now.

It's too late for me to acquire more self-esteem. If I haven't learned to accept myself by now then, to paraphrase The Blue Notes, I will never never never... But kudos to Dove for lifting up the heads of young women. That's some needed air to bring into the conversation about self-acceptance.

Then there are the commercials I grew up with. The ones that didn't make me feel excluded by race and ethnicity but just confused me.

I never did understand why there had to be a commercial about a  mother and daughter discussing vaginal freshness. That was right up there with other things to be discussed in the privacy of my bedroom with my mother. That's where we had our talks about sex, smoking, drugs, and that one play auntie who likes women and I was supposed to respect and stand up for nonetheless "because we don't care if Wilma Jean lives with Martha Sue Townsend. That's your auntie and you aren't supposed to be up in grown people's bedroom business anyway."  (~deep breath~) Somehow this last bit derailed my initial question about what exactly was French kissing and was it okay for American girls to do it too. (I hoped so because I didn't want to think that my cousin Candy was breaking some kind of international law.)

Also, there were the commercials showing how some families in some apparently fictional land called "not at my house" lived. In these commercials, kids ate a lot of Twinkies and McDonald's French fries whenever the hell they felt like it. In our home, we ate homemade cakes for desserts and once every other anniversary of Halley's Comet we got to go to What-A-Burger. In our house, kids did not just run and grab stuff out of the fridge whenever they had company over or wanted a snack. No no. If I had company (it was usually some kid related to me), Mama served us what she wanted us to have. If I wanted a snack, I'd have to ask permission and my mom would most likely look at the clock first to judge how much time it had been since the last meal. We weren't deprived but we did not run the house. Mama ran the house until Daddy got home, then they tag-teamed the crap out of us.

I watch commercials now and wonder how the heck these people have their lives so together. Everyone's car is spic-and-span clean. All the furniture in their homes matches everything else in their homes. They wear clothes that are new and color-coordinated down to their underwear and socks. They manage to have their hair done, house cleaned, dinner ready, children well-behaved (or adorably mischievous), and their spouse only looks at them with all the love in the universe. No one wakes up with morning breath, eye boogers or hair shot up on their heads. Oh, and their bedrooms are always sun-filled and (apparently) fresh-smelling because (again, no morning breath) and (damn it) color-coordinated.

Here's the part I hate most about those commercials. For one thing, even if I had the kind of money it took to live in the universe of perfect homes, you'd never see me lolling around in it. I'd be so busy working my high-powered job or turning tricks or selling drugs or being a politician to pay for all that perfection. Because, let's face it - I can't sing or dance and I won't do the sex- tape thing. When the hell would I have time to enjoy my sun-filled, fresh-air smelling, color coordinated, impossibly always perfect home? Tell me that.

What I am saying is, it's all a lie. One way or another, some evil power is playing all of us against each other. They or "it" keeps us all so busy wanting what someone else has that we have to remind ourselves to be happy where we are. I firmly believe that there is some "celebrity" out there who envies my ability to go to Walmart without fear of being stalked by fans or photographers. I just know that there are days when someone who lives in one of those perfect, furniture coordinated, always fresh smelling homes wish they could trade places with me. Well, maybe not me because my life is pretty crappy right now, but you know what I mean.

Now, just for added fun and cruelty, we have the internet, pushing us into the same cracks of self-doubt and dangerous comparisons...

Speaking of the internet and trends, I was reading a book the other day that made a great point about the relationship between the words "Influence" and "Influenza". Now think "viral" and "virus". We currently use those terms to convey positive things. (And, yes, I am over here point a finger at myself for that joining into that silliness.)

Here's my message to all my brothers and sisters out there - ALL of you, regardless of race, color, ethnicity, or gang  social media affiliation - let's use media for what it should be. Let it entertain us, bring us together, take us away for a while, show us something we didn't know, and just be our temporary entertainment. Don't try that TV pretend sh*t at home. That goes for the commercials too. Buy what you need and what you want - not what someone tricks you into thinking you need or want. Be kind, be funny, be loving, be healing, be helpful, and be as healthy as you can in your mind, body, and soul. And always, always be you.

Peace
--Free

RANT: Keeping It Real

Let me start by saying that this post might "trigger" some folk. I'm sorry but I have to do this. I just finished trying to shop online for some makeup and hair products and I somehow ended up water-sliding down a rabbit hole of madness.

Ladies, when did we get so extreme about trying to be beautiful? Is it because of the selfie mentality brought on by Facebook and Instagram? I think that must be it. I can do a whole pre-rant rant on how sick I am of seeing people pooching up their lips and squinching their eyes to look "sexy" in their photos. I admit that I am jealous of photogenic people but that has nothing to do with how much I hate the way we have perverted the simple act of posing for photos. In my opinion 'posing' for a photo means making sure you don't have food in your teeth, your nose is not shining to light a room. and you are sucking in the belly pooch. I don't know when it because such a thing to make "duck lips" (how f**king stupid does that even sound?) and squinch-eyes. Only Marilyn Monroe could get away with that and she's gone now so stop it. Just stand there and try to look like you are glad to be alive and smile. That's it. Simple. And even if you want to cute it up by pretending to be a lingerie model, that's cutest when it's an every-now-and-then thing. I don't even know some people anymore when I see them in person because they are so impossibly glamorous in every single photo. (I can swear that I am not lying when I say there are people I met online through the family that I did not recognize the first time I saw them in person. I'm dead serious.)

And I get it. We all want to look our best - in photos and in person. Why the hell do you think I was shopping for makeup and hair products? I want to look my nicest. Usually. Most of the time though, I am a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of gal. If I'm not being stubborn, I will put on some foundation and lipstick and reacquaint my body with something other than jeans and a t-shirt. At my finest, I will even try to wear hose and heels. (The heels part is a little tricky with my balance these days, but...)

I once watched a makeup tutorial video that reminded me of something my mother used to say about people just running out of sh*it to do. What I wanted was to understand what "contouring" is since I had heard so much about it. Have you seen this kind of thing before? It's like trick makeup. If you are skilled enough at this contouring stuff, you can abracadabra a person into a whole other entity.

When I was writing this I got so tickled because I remembered something from an old movie. The best part starts at the 3:40 mark.

That clip reminded me of one from the Fresh Prince:

I no longer find Will Smith, sexy or charming these last few years but this clip still cracks me up.

Some women are going to hate me for saying this but... I think it's a little unfair when ladies paint themselves into another face, Spanx up a whole other body, and go all weave-a-go-go. A guy has no idea what a woman really looks like. Sooner or later, all the special effects are going to have to be washed off. And I totally get wanting to look good your best for your man, but reality is still the name of the game. If you are jazzing yourself up in online pics to maybe meet a mate, remember one thing: you eventually have to show up in person. I just think honesty is too important in a relationship (said the woman who, when younger, got up before her husband, apply full makeup, get back in bed and "wake up" again looking lovely) and going too far with the makeup and everything is basically a lie. There's a reason my first marriage failed.

 Another reason I don't understand the obsession with makeup is how messy it can be. I wear a little bit of foundation and am lucky when I make it through the day without it transferring onto everything. When I clean my face at night - and this is just for a tiny bit of foundation mixed into some sunscreen - that baby wipe comes away looking like I used it to stain furniture. That's not sexy.

Maybe I'm just being so critical because I no longer wear much makeup. Even when I was younger, I was no good at using anything beyond the basics. I'm always kind of amazed at the talent some people have at changing their whole look with makeup.

I was talking to a guy in line at the store not long ago. He complimented me on my eyes, saying they were pretty. Before I could even thank him, he asked if my contacts were colored. They are not. I have a strange genetic thing going on that gives my eyes a blue tinge. But I can't blame the guy for asking (but I kind of can) since, these days, you never know what's real or purchased. ~shrug~

I don't know. I'm bitching and criticizing but I am probably a little bit of a hypocrite. I have been known to wear braided extensions and I am not above slathering on makeup for formal photos. One time, I tried wearing some Spanx-like undergarment to work. Two hours into my day, I had to go into the bathroom and completely disrobe to peel myself out of that contraption. I was so constricted I felt like I was about to stroke out...

So, okay then. I guess we all can be a bit vain at times. I just wish we could be more accepting of each other straight, no chaser, no coverup.

One reason I try to never doctor online photos of myself is that I'd rather you be pleasantly surprised when you meet me instead of thinking of me as a photo-shopping genius of a cheat. Oh, wait - was that vain of me?

Peace
--Free

**RANT** Life and Identity

It's been a while since I have done a rant post, but...

Recently, there's been a lot of discussion about the various pols gearing up to run to head the country. Kamala Harris is one person that gets a lot of love and hate from citizens who vote. I honestly don't know much more about her than what I saw during the Kavanaugh hearings. I would have to educate myself before I could voice a fair opinion. But let's talk about the underlying conversation. Let's talk about the whole idea of "identity politics". That's something I can chime in on. I've been wanting to chime in for a while but had to wait until I was having a day when I could think clearly and on point. Here goes.

I abhor "identity" anything: politics, religion, society, etc. We as human beings don't seem to be able to do anything in moderation. We turn enjoyment of everything into addiction or crime. We start out wanting to "identify" with each other to form connections and before you know it, we are forming dangerous religious cults, political hate groups, and crime syndicates. We have worried so much about grouping together - identifying - with one another that we are starting to not think as individuals.

(Before I get this rant properly started, let me admit that I have gone back and forth on some subjects of race and nationality. I'm human and I sometimes have "waffled". That is because I am always maturing in my opinions.  I've talked about race/nationality and things of my blackness here, here, here, and here, and probably in a couple more posts. This post though is going to be one I won't mind having thrown in my face in the future. So, let's go on.)

During a conversation with a family member a few months back, I explained why I wish we could all get over using race to identify each other. In my opinion, when we identify by race (or nationality), we automatically fall back on stereotypes. Ideally, we will learn to identify by cultures and I will speak more on that later.  If we start identifying each other based on other things, we can be more intelligent about socializing.

Now, about the "identifying as cultures" thing. I know that there are different cultures within cultures. As a black American, I know that I have lived or experienced being  so many different kinds of black that I can hardly keep up: black Texan, black Southerner, black Yankee, black G.I. brat, black Alaskan, black Iowan, black woman to a black man, black wife to a white man, black wife to a white Englishman, and a  black divorcee. I can self-identify all over again as all those things as just a woman. Therefore, I can largely identify with other women who have been Texan, Southern, Yankee, etc. We would have things to talk about and relate to. And the race issue matters, of course, but it wouldn't be what brought us into a dialogue.

My best friend is a woman who is 20 years my senior. We only met because we worked together and happened upon a friendship due to some random happenings. Left to our own devices, we might never have been anything more than nod-and-smile co-workers. I am so thankful this woman is in my life. Imagine how many more people are out there I could have been connected with. 

There are plenty of people who check the same boxes I do for gender, race, religion, and nationality with whom I might have nothing else in common. Out of about 10 billion people on the planet, there have got to be hundreds of thousands I can seriously relate to based on other things. Hobbies, phobias, quirks, humor, skills, goals, hopes - if I met someone right now, these are the things I want to talk with them about. These are the things that will connect us. 

Anyway, I am losing some of my coherence so I will wind down but I hope you got the gist of my point. Stereotypes divide us and are just a lazy way to look at the world and justify some of our own behaviors. Stereotypes only "have some truth" because of statistics: out of 10 billion people, you can find an argument for any stereotype. 

I really hope we can all learn to approach each other (or not) in a more sensible way. After all, Ted Bundy and other dangerous people have used stereotypes to their advantage.

Peace

--Free

**RANT** Is It Just Me...?

It's time for a not-so-serious post. After a couple of rough days, I'm feeling better and just wanted to post something silly and fun. After watching a couple of videos to check out a particular cosmetic I'm interested in, I had the perfect topic. That topic is: When Did Makeup Become So Complicated?

What happened to the days of blending in a little bit of foundation and maybe some highlighting color, lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara?  I mean, I am the woman who almost put out an eye the first time I tried applying eyeliner so...

Like I was saying, I was wanting to check out a new (to me) product. It's a "glow" or illuminating lotion and I wanted to see how one of the shades looked on a complexion as dark as my own. I went over to YouTube and basically clicked the first thumbnail with a photo of a woman of about my skin shade. All I wanted was to see if the lotion was too light or dark or heavy, etc. What I got was a full education on applying about 10 coats of makeup.

First, there was the lotion I was interested in. Okay, but I kept watching because I thought the vlogger was going to add more of the lotion or use it on her eyes or something. No, no. This woman - who is quite attractive barefaced by the way - proceeds to do things with various creams and colors and brushes until I was wondering if her skin could even breathe.

I kid you not, I stopped counting after the foundation, concealer, 3 contouring creams, and some kind of setting powder. The finished product was gorgeous but no very natural-looking at all. When I do brush on some foundation and maybe a little powder, I end up hating the mess when I am cleaning my face later on. I can't even imagine the sludge that must come off someone's face after adding all those different products.

When I do wear foundation or powder, I'm always very conscious of transferring any of the shade to paperwork, clothing, etc. And that is with a very light application of makeup.

Here's what I wonder: Do most people find heavy makeup attractive? I mean, even if you do all that contouring and shading or whatever to achieve a "natural" look, it's not accentuating your features, it's changing them. Right? So what happens when someone catches you in a baldfaced lie barefaced?

Everyone has an opinion and mine is just that makeup should be used to enhance - not distort or totally alter the appearance. Unless you have a serious issue that needs to be concealed so that you can function more comfortably in society - and that is a real thing for some of us - I think you should leave the theatrical makeup to, well, the theater or drag queens or the circus.

Like I said, this is just my opinion, but... Stop it, people!

Peace
--Free

**RANT** Galaxy Note 4 and Galaxy Express 3

If you think we aren't being controlled by our electronics and gadgets, just let something happen to your computer or cell phone. Trust me, I know.

Galaxy Note 4

The day before I was set to travel here to Iowa, my Note 4 phone crapped out. It had been acting snitty for a few weeks - shutting itself down at random intervals and needing to be coaxed into turning back on - but I thought all it needed was a fresh battery. Bought a battery. Spent 30 bucks on a battery. Phone went from having a bad attitude to needing a spanking.

Of course, I searched online for help and suggestions. Apparently, mine wasn't the only Note 4 having toddler-tantrum issues. I found suggestions that actually worked:

• Take out the battery and hold down the Power button before re-inserting battery.
• Turn phone off and hold down the Volume Up button while pressing the Home button.
• Hold phone up to the sun as a sacrifice to Martin Cooper, then toss phone against a brick wall.

Okay, that last one... yeah, not so true.

I think an interrupted software update is what started these problems. Not that I interrupted the update, but that maybe the power went out (or my battery died) during an update. All I know is, I woke up one morning and realized that my phone was shut down (good thing I hadn't needed the Alarm to wake me). When I turned it on, I got a weird message on screen that was all nerd-speak: lots of red, white, and blue letters and numbers up left-top above an urgent message Not to turn off phone. 

Ohhh-kay...

I didn't dare shut the phone off for over an hour. Finally, I popped the battery out (only way to shut it down) and did a re-start. The phone worked fine. For about 2 days. Then the random HAL2000 stuff started happening.

Bricked this thang!

AT&T was zero help. They could only suggest sending the phone back to the manufacturer for a re-set. Great idea except that could take around 4 weeks. Since the phone did start occasionally behaving - with the Power-Home-Volume reboots - I let it ride. Keep in mind, I was in the middle of prepping for a move.

I could use my upgrade to the get S8, but I'm trying to hold out for the Note 8. Of course, 

Galaxy Express 3

Something told me that I might want to have a back-up plan just in case the dang phone decided to go from toddler-tude to teen-tude.  The only backup I could afford was this lovely little, er, phone:

If my broken phone had teen-tude, this thing was just straight out ADHD affected. But it was only $50 and that was all I could afford because my budget is so tight that it has zero circulation.

First, let me say that this is such a first-world problem that I should be ashamed of complaining. However, we do live in a society that is dependent on electronics. Because I would be traveling, I needed a phone to stay in touch. Also, my plane ticket, boarding passes, and luggage tracking were all e-based. 

My entire journey - travel and hotel - were controlled via a phone app. So you can see how I kind of needed a phone. Well, I got that Express 3. Only thing is, it can only be loosely referred to as a phone. Let me bullet-point the ways this phone has tried to convince me to check myself into a mental institution:

• I've used 8gigs storage on device, but it won't let me fully use the 4 gig external storage
• To take and/or share a photo, I have to delete one of my apps, then re-install afterward
• The sound quality is crap
• The picture quality is crap
• Dang phone is so small that I lose it in my purse, the car seat, the deep pockets of my jacket, etc.

Don't get me wrong - I am so glad to have a phone at all. But. Dangit!

If I take a photo and want to view it - let alone share it - I have to delete other apps just to work with the photo, move the photo off the phone to the cloud or other online storage, then re-install whatever app(s) I deleted just to do all of that.

sigh

For now, I have given up on having a decent phone until the Note 8 comes out but, boy, it's getting hard not to run down and sign up for an S8. The other day, I saw someone with a Note 5 and was tempted to offer a price for it. 

In the meantime, I am phone-feigning like an addict and chomping at the bit to show off some photos of my new hometown. Soon, my friends, soon.

Peace

--Free

"American Pimp"

Well.

Watched this film - American Pimp - the other night, courtesy of Netflix. Feel like I wasted one of my 2-DVDs for the month.

I've always judged anything - books, music, film, art - by the way I feel when I've walked away. I don't mind feeling disturbed. Usually, when something disturbs me, it at least has made me think. Thinking is good. What I hate is when something disturbs me to the point of disgust, where I feel like a lesser (though maybe better informed) person.

"American Pimp" was informative, but it disturbed me in a very negative way. I felt like it re-enforced every negative thought I've had about certain types of people. Bolstering stereotypes is never a good thing.

As a woman, I felt sorry for my black and white sisters allowing themselves to be used by such inadequate men. The film never touched on what circumstances led these women to be with these low-life (yes, I'm about to say it) niggers.

Let me explain what I was taught the word "nigger" means: a person with a heart full of selfish darkness. My mother would tell me to respond to someone calling me nigger by asking how they knew anything about my character. Nigger is one of the ugliest words known to my mind, but I know that there are some people in every race, nationality and culture who gives the word it's usual meaning. For instance, there was a white guy (one) shown in the film. I know that some folks will say that he, as owner of a legalized brothel, was at least being responsible in his pimping duties. His "girls" had healthcare, made great wages and were allowed the right to refuse service. I say that, if the women working at his brothel had so much control, they wouldn't need a pimp. I think he just got off on owner's privileges.

The whole time I watched this film, I kept waiting to see something about the pimps - other than their selfish motivation for living life without ever punching a time-clock. The biggest confusion for me was - what the hell did they have going for them to entice women to work for them? They were not super-smooth talkers, or even that great-looking (except for one guy, Danny, who is the spitting image of one of my brothers, help me, Jesus) and they weren't especially articulate. Other than being personally in love with one of them, I just couldn't see being persuaded to do more than fix them a decent meal every now and then. If they were starving and begging on the streets. Maybe not even then, not with their attitudes.

If I even did want to give these guys any credit, I couldn't. I mean, if they were smart, they would be better organized and run their pimping more like a business. I heard one of them mention the lack of retirement and healthcare benefits. So... you're smart, soul-less and brazen enough to pimp women, but you're not smart enough to set yourself up for old age? (And don't tell me that I should look in a mirror. I never have worn enough gold or had a closet full of suits I could use to pay off a damn mortgage.)

I don't even want to get started on the fact that these so-called pimps actually have an annual ball. I'm being so serious. It's called the "Players Ball." I. wanted. to. cry. I was looking at this ridiculousness and thinking about how other people fought for freedom and equality and human rights, but no one is talking about them everyday. No one is making it accepted to be smarter, braver and more compassionate, but, boy, start calling someone a "baller," "player" or "shot-caller" and just watch the cameras flash.

Basically, this film was almost a total waste of the time and energy I spent watching. "Almost", only because it reminded me that not all men with this "pimp" mentality are out there putting women on the street. Some guys bring the same attitude and emotional depth (not!) into relationships, marriages and parenthood. Some women bring the "ho" attitude. And some people think this is cute or something. By the way, I'm not letting the women in this film go without some blame, but the focus was on the pimps.

Not to be sanctimonious about it - because I know that there are women who've not had my blessings - but I think I'd just rather be hungry than whored out. And, if I was going to sell myself, the only person I'd be feeding with the proceeds would be me. If I ever had to work the streets that way, I think I'd rather go the solo route: owner and operator, me.

"American Pimp" made me embarrassed to have 'American' in the damn title. That it focused almost entirely on black pimps just made me cringe.

I'm not wanting to knock the work of any film-maker (or any other type artist), but where is the worth in something like this?

I can't change that people know more about pimps, slutty celebs and anyone else who pisses on human potential but I can make my own wall of heroes.

• thegrio.com lists some unsung black heroes.
• Female philanthropists
• Other positive female role models
• Artists to know...
• ... And still more
• In business
• In technology
• Music not just by Jay Z or Miley

There are too many people on this planet trying to do something positive. I hope I never again waste a moment of my time watching something like "American Pimp."

Peace

--Free

Entertainment vs Real Life

Until more movies start reflecting people and situations as I know them, I'm going to rant. There are two versions of life, apparently: the movie version and the real thing. How do they compare?

Scary movie vs Real life

• Movie: When night comes, everyone goes to their separate rooms. Reality: I'm not going anywhere by myself. If you are going to your room for the night, I am going with you. Matter of fact, I'll get there with you before your skin does.
• Movie: People do things quickly. The first idiot goes off to get killed within the first couple of minutes. Lead Guy and Lead Girl fall in love so fast it's insane. And when Lead Guy is in love, he's pretty quick to get chivalrous. "Stay here," he'll command when something happens - like a strange noise or something. Lead Girl is so in love, she usually obeys. Reality: Not me. I'll never be that in love. Stay here, my ass. Baby, if you so much as move one inch, I'll be so up on you, I'll become your proctologist.
• Movie: It's not just Lead Guy who wants to play the hero. There's always that one ballsy (or crazy) person who runs  off to investigate "that noise." Reality: I'm so nosy that I once fell through my boss's door trying to listen in, but I don't care so much for things that go bump or "screee..." Nah. I'm good. Unless not going means I'll be left alone. In that case, once again - me and your doctor...
• Movie: It takes a lot to happen before everyone is on board that there is a ghost or demon or something. It's usually not until after a lot of inanimate objects move on their own that folks seem to know something bad's going down. Got to be all hardheaded. Reality: When it comes to scary stuff, I'm Lionel Richie. All easy like Sunday morning. You let one door slam even one time. I'm leaving footprints across someone's back getting the hell out of there.
• Movie: Folks will play with a Ouija board or draw pentagrams, or whatever it takes, to "call up" things they have no damn business calling up. The idea is that they can control things. Reality: Not me, boo boo. The way I see it, if it died and came back, or it never lived but is trying to come around here, I want not a damn thing to do with it. I have a six word rule of thumb: "Leave it alone. Let it be." You can set that to music and sing away your troubles.

You let me even imagine I'm seeing something that looks like it came from "beyond" or whatever...

GIFSoup

Romance/RomComs vs RealRoms

• Movie: Guy meets Girl, there's a little bit of conflict, then there's a miraculous resolution. Guy and Girl either live happily ever after or, at the least, end up as really good friends. Reality: Guy and Girl meet. If he's not really crazy, stupid or walking around with the emotional maturity of a fetus, she is. There's rarely a resolution, but often a compromise, in which case they end up miserably connected for life or going through every trouble in the world to avoid seeing each other. (Okay - I went a little overboard on that one, but it's been a rough few years.)
• Movie: The sex is always phenomenal - for both parties - and the morning-after cuteness is never marred with breath that could light forest fires.  Reality: We all know that sex is often good and sometimes phenomenal but, I swear, good sex must create bad breathe. I have never in my life been able to roll over in the morning and say "Hello" in anything but sign language to someone who doesn't love me a whole lot. For anything else to happen, I'd first have go on a water-only fast and refuse to burp.
• Movie: The women always look great - no matter what the situation. The starring actress in, say, a romantic comedy, can survive a horrific physical mishap, a family tragedy, the loss of her job and every decent thing in her closet and she will still look: miserable-and-sexy, smudged-up-and-sexy, forlorn-and-sexy, sexy-and-sexy - or, at the very least, really cute and adorable in a goofy or quirky or "It Factor" kind of way.  Reality: The average and decent-looking woman living in this real world of ours can pull off sexy. I think we all have a sexy-ness inside. Some of us just require the right lighting, some really good foundation and the talents of the makeup girl at Nordstrom to pull it off right. I mean, I can be hella sexy, don't get it twisted. I just can't pull of my sexiest without a good night's sleep and at least one cup of morning coffee. Then I will sexy my ass off - and yours too.
• Movie: Men are always hot in some kind of way. If they aren't built like an Adonis, they are hot because they are so smart or have a drawl or an accent or they have perfected the kind of bad-boy sizzle that can make a gal's toes curl just by giving her a glance. There are men on some magazine's "Hottest" list who some of us would run screaming away from if their names hadn't been top-billed at a theater.  Reality: The guy trying to hit on you in the check-out line at Safeway can have all the drawl or accent they want or bad-boy sizzle there is. If we see them loading their bags onto a bicycle, they won't be feeling anything from us but an arctic chill. We woman can be such bitches in real life - not all cuddly and cute like a Meg Ryan at all. (Because she'd ride that bike with him and find out he has a Porsche parked at his summer home.)
• Movie: The mean mother or nosy sister or awkward friend always adds a little "flavor" to a couple's relationship. Not like in  Reality: where the lovers damn near end up on a TV court show because of the fist fight that broke out at the engagement party or something. I actually have a friend whose parents didn't know she was living with her boyfriend (for FIVE years) before the couple married. The woman's parents (especially her mother) were that awful. 

Cable TV Shows vs Real Life

• Series: Ugly Betty, Nip/Tuck, Desperate Housewives, Weeds Reality: First of all, how many "regular" folk have that much money, that much sex, raise kids that badly and live life with such carelessness? I mean, the world is pretty messed up, but not (yet) that freaking apocalyptic... 

And, don't bring up the so-called "Reality" TV shows. Most of the Real Housewives aren't (or never stay) married. I'd rant more, but the only reality shows I watch are about women in Atlanta and Orange County who are supposed to be classy, fabulous and rich. Most of them dress like poorly paid hookers, trade friendships like Pokemon cards and rent their homes. Yeah, fabulous. But at least they are entertaining. So far.

Peace

--Free

5 Annoying Habits of Certain Websites

Sometimes I think of websites as having personalities, like potential friends who'd be perfect but for that one little thing... Of course, we don't exclude people from our lives because of a couple of flaws (because people, people need people), but we do get to bitch about it:

1. You are attached at the hip to that person I really just cannot stand. This is from those sites that still refuse to let you choose whether or not you want to Facebook. I would like to erase the presence of Facebook from my life. Really, I would, but on a couple of sites (hi there, She Speaks and Bzz Agent) insist that if I want to get full benefit of their time, I'd better have a FB account. It's not gonna happen. Too bad that I might miss out scoring as many points as the subscriber who is still in love with FB. Just. Too. Bad.
2. You ignore the new kid on the block - just because they are different. Even though G+ is a way more varied and grown-up network, some of you sites just have not clued in yet. G+ is that funky new sound that hasn't been watered down enough for heavy airplay. I guess.
3. You won't let me come over and play with you unless I agree to swap blood with you. Ick. I'm talking about you, Zulilly's. I don't know why you think I'd want to agree to give you my contact information just to get to know you. I mean, what if I don't like you after I glance around your house? 
4. You are that freaking embarrassing and loud-assed friend who starts shouting the minute I walk up to you. There are too many sites guilty of blasting audio-ads or entertainment news the second the page loads. I damn near got kicked out of the library once because I forgot to shut off the volume and treated the whole fourth third floor of Loussac to a shrieking ad for freaking "Poo-pourri." I was just trying to read a news article. Talk about needing poop deodorant. Pretty near shit myself.
5. You are that friend who whips out a slideshow for every story about your kid, your dog, your job... I mean, I am interested in what you have to say, but do you have do do it one picture at a time? (Take a cue from Cracked. I don't care what you think of me for being in love with Cracked.com. They at least give you the choice between "article view" or torture by a slow connection.)

The number 5 looked best in the title of this post, but I have another peeve with one (or two?) of my favorite sites of all: Twitter and YouTube. If you try to tweet a video from YouTube, you get that irritating stalker box trying to force you to "Follow" a couple of their accounts. I can't remember which ones because I Followed both just to get rid of the irritation! Damn. (I just tweeted "I Can't Make You Love Me" to vent at them. Because I'm so mature.)

Peace

--Free

A Little Honesty

Okay. I'm going to put myself out there and admit that I can really be one petty bitch. (I'm doing this as a  sort of cleansing exercise. New Year, new me, blah, blah, blah...) Here's some mini-rants I need to get off my chest and out of my head:

1 - I love my roommate, I swear that I do. I love her more than she knows. My hydrophobic ass would swim an ocean to get to her if she ever needed me to. But. (Don't act like you didn't know this was coming.) I am going to go all Katt Williams on her ass the next time she leaves dirty dishes on the counters right after I've cleaned the kitchen. Or when she leaves the dryer vent looking like a Wookiee or something. Come on now. I have phobias! Fire is one of them! She knows this! Damnit. I'm not just being a neat-freak. This is sometimes about safety. (Okay, not the dishes on the counter, maybe, but...) The other day she fell asleep in her recliner (which is right by the deck door - which is an emergency exit) with boxes and bags of old give-away clothes just surrounding the chair. I cleaned it all up (in case of a fire) and told her that if a fire does break out and she's blocked an exit, I'm moon-walking right over her narcoleptic ass. I'll send a firemen back in for her but... SMH

2 - This next rant is all on me. It's something I have to work on if I want to be a better person in 2013. I am, um... How can I say this?... Here it is: I am sometimes a pretty petty bitch. (We won't talk about dishes and blocking exits here, okay? Okay.) What I mean is, sometimes out of spite I will begrudge someone their proper due.

One example I can give of this is probably something you've done yourself: An acquaintance comes around looking nice. Maybe she has a new haircut or has learned to dress as if she actually owns a mirror. Let's say that she is looking really good. Let's keep talking and say that everyone is noticing. So when a friend mentions to me that old Sally is stepping up her game, do I agree that Sally's game is, indeed, stepped up? Probably I do. Out loud. But in my head, where the real me lives, I'm thinking: "So what? So the heffa got a raise and spent it getting her hair and makeup done instead of paying a bill." Then I tell myself that as soon as her perm (or weave) grows out, she'll be the same old Sally.

Now that's just an example. I've never really had those thoughts in a real situation. No. I've had worse thoughts in different situations. Sometimes these thoughts are fleeting and I ask God's forgiveness immediately. Sometimes, though...  I can hold those thoughts until I'm halfway to Hell.

I don't know why I'm like this. Usually, the Bad Trudy only comes out to play when I'm tired or mad about something. Usually. Then again, Bad Trudy has come out at times when I'm drunk. Not good. Drunk me doesn't just have thoughts in my head. If it's thought, it's said. Loudly. Yeah. So.

3 - Why do some people do the stupidest things then want the rest of us to feel sorry for them? Or at least want us to listen while they moan and cry? If I do something super-stupid, I'm only telling the nearest and dearest of friends - maybe. Some folks will cry their heart out to anyone over anything. To those people I say:

     Don't spend the last of your money on the 18th of the month when you know you will be broke at least until the 1st of the next month.

     Don't get a $60 outfit at Old Navy when you haven't bought groceries or paid the $50 cell phone bill.

     Quit telling all your friends what a loser your old man is if you're going to get mad when they call him a loser.

     Quit sleeping with random guys you don't really know if you're going to wake up tomorrow crying to me about what disease you might have. Get your ass down to a clinic, then start practicing knee kegels.

I could go on, but you get it. The people I am talking about are not young and still attending Hard Knocks High. When you get to a certain age, you should have learned some lessons already.

You know what I just realized? I need to quit being so hard on other people. (Notice how I finished my rants first?) Most of the things that irk me about other people are the things I've done myself. It's childish of me, I know. Like  a toddler laughing at an infant who still wets himself.  That's another New Year goal for me: being more understanding.

Yeah. For the New Year. Meanwhile, there's more than 2 days left in this year. I'm going to go find my roommate and have a discussion about those dirty dishes...

(heh heh, thanks to +Kim Barnes)

Peace
--Free

It's Not Cute

When I was young and staying in my birthplace for a couple years, I picked up a saying from my mom and her church friends. If they saw someone doing anything ignorant, "too-grown," they'd say, "That's not cute." What they were really saying, "You think you're being cute, but you're not."

It was never cute to disrespect anyone older than you by half a minute, chew gum in church, snap your chewing gum anywhere, dress inappropriately, act too "fast" or "mannish," and do anything else that a lot of people do when they just plain being stupid. My mother called it acting like you hadn't been raised right.

Some examples of what's considered "not cute" are: talking too loud in public, using "cuss word" in public, not saying "Please" and "Thank you", dressing like a video vixen (or a Kardashian), a woman smoking while walking down the street, bagging-sagging pants, popping and rolling your neck to make a point. The list goes on and on, but being rude - in any way, shape or form - is Number One in the game.


Some people do "not cute" stuff because they really don't know any better. Maybe they still have some maturing to do. Maybe they didn't have a mother like mine who would smack you on the ass until you learned. My mom was a talented ass-smacker. If I did something mean or rude, my ass would be burning before I even saw her hand move. She was like Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee. And, when I got old enough where Mama felt like I needed a different deterrent, her method was public shaming. Instead of a smacking (or switching), I'd get a talking-to on the spot - no matter how embarrassing. Matter of fact, I think that was the point. One time, I got in trouble right in front of a boy I liked. I was probably 14 or so. Mama stopped what she was doing, turned and looked at me as if I'd lost my mind and used my first, last and middle name to tell me I'd better sit my little narrow ass down. (Notice I said this happened one time. That's all it took for months.)


Anyway, I had recently had an experience that made me think of people who do things that are just Not Cute.

The other day I was in a store, picking up a few groceries. I happened to pass by one of the tallest women I've ever seen in person (and there are some tall women in my fam, like my niece who stands at 5'11"). This heffa had to be about 6'3" and the reason I call her a heffa is because she had a stinky-assed attitude. She wasn't beautitul or anything, but she did have a "handsomeness," if you know what I mean. She had great skin and really nice eyes. Of course, her teeth could have been blue for all you could tell if you were waiting on her to smile.

Well, a lot of shoppers were kind of gawking at her. It was understandable, kind of. She was so tall, and about as big as a spindle. She had that walk that models (or really beautiful, really confident or really snotty people) have. The snotty wasn't evident at first.  I mostly noticed her outfit (gorgeous!), her shoes (gorgeous-er!) and her purse (sigh......). When she was in line right next me, one young family of four were practically boring holes in her with their eyes. I had stared a bit myself until I remembered my home-training. Staring at anyone who isn't acting a fool is, in my book, rude. Personally, it would have made me uncomfortable. So what do I do? I smile at her and say something like, "I love your outfit. It's really nice."

Now, please forgive me for just about wanting to leap up 3 feet and smack the shit out of this heffa when she looked down her nose at me and says, "Fuck you."

Okay. Those are not the words she used, but that's what her snotty "Thank you" sounded like. What. A. Bitch.

I turned back around and thought, "I hope you fall your bony ass over in those
Louboutin's." Or, at least, I'm pretty sure I just thought it. I don't know, though; the cashier was laughing about something and looking like he wanted to high-five me.

You know me. I hate rudeness. All the way on the drive home, I was shooting hateful thoughts toward the Towering Titless Wondergirl. I decided that her outfit wasn't that damn cute, her shoes were probably BOGOs from Payless with the bottoms painted red by her, and that I would never carry a freaking eggplant colored Chanel bag, ever. (The purse thing won't be a problem. Have you ever priced one of those bitches?)

Anyway. Once I got over my heatwave of temporary hatred for that cow, I did kind of feel sorry for her. First of all, her nasty attitude overshadows any physical beauty. Second of all, I've noticed that people with that kind of attitude are only that way because they haven't found a real personality yet. Besides, she obviously never had a mom who taught her what's just not cute. That right there deserves sympathy.

Peace
--Free