Sh** Storm

I lost it a couple of hours ago with the Hub and the Toddlersaurus. I was in the living room (cleaning up, as usual), when I found the pages of one of her books covered in crayon scribble.

Earlier this afternoon, I had to practically bathe this child in a restaurant bathroom sink because she had an accident and sat all in it, without even gesturing that things were squishy and runny in her diaper. Hours earlier than that, she tore down the lower bar in her closet because I wanted to change her diaper and get her dressed before we needed to leave for my dentist appointment.

I also wasted a good part of the morning/evening in search of a shoe bag. In the course of that search, I found the doll that typically travels in my ginormous Mom bag that had been missing for the past week. I'm sure that if I keep digging, I will find other things I've misplaced.

The Facebook crowd advises me to place the kid in day care to give her regular interaction with other children. And that is definitely something that I believe is necessary, but as long as I am not working and not actively looking for a job, I can't justify the expense. We need new bedroom furniture and updated plumbing. I prefer that she returns to the Montessori program that she attended this summer, but it is pricey. Yet, I might be willing to sell coffee at Starbucks to pay them because I thought it was just that great for her (small class, very diverse, close to home).

While she's gone during the day, I could attempt to take back control of this house...

I'm mad at the Hub for being so damn inattentive. To everything. Except her wants. Today, after I used half a pack of wipes to clean her up, he gave her candy. After I confronted him about the scribbling in the book, he read her two bedtime stories. TWO.

I'm mad that I don't have a physical Mom Squad. I have a community online, which is great, but it would be nice to physically talk to another parent with a toddler in my orbit. Otherwise, I am flying blind. (Actually, I am flying blind and have flown into all kinds of isht along the way.)

I'm mad at my family for not offering to help me EVER. No one ever calls me out of the blue to say "Hey, can I take the Toddlersaurus to wherever?" Not a one. And I don't expect that to change, so that frustrates me.

I'm mad that I am always doing unto others, but yeah *crickets*

I'm mad because when I think that others tried to do unto me, they might have been told that Mr. Inattentive had everything under control. And they believed him.

I'm mad because I read that Harvey Weinstein story in the New Yorker and wow. Phuck him! I'm also still mad that it was a year ago that we were still digesting the shock of this Clown's election to the White House. I'm mad that Roy Moore could win this Senate seat in Alabama, and despite all the haranguing, he will provide a solid vote to repeal Obamacare so all will be forgotten and forgiven. I'm mad because we've had 52 weeks of insanity all because we made some progress.

Screaming at the Top of My Lungs

I promised myself that I would not use my BBW blog to air my dirty laundry, and for the most part I have kept that promise. That's why I keep this blog, and why I am grateful that I decided not to continue writing this post over there. Because I am feeling kinda crappy right now.

WHEN AM I EVER GOING TO BE HEARD?

In an argument. By my toddler. By my family when I have a legitimate point of contention. By my friends? By anybody?

Do you know how frustrating it is to feel like NO ONE gives half a crap about you unless you are fucking up? How it feels to think that nothing you do ever matters because to some folks it is just your job? That you aren't even remotely special?

I feel like that right now. Right now, just as I want to eat my feelings (which was something I never did before this year). Right now as I am really thinking about running the fuck away and not telling anyone where I'm headed. Right now when I want to reach out, but don't think anyone has the time to understand why I am just feeling hopeless and useless and perennially frustrated by life.

When is it my turn to be first? Why can't I make demands and someone feel obligated to meet them just because? Why am I being high maintenance when I want something done a certain way? Why can't I have expectations? Why don't I ever feel appreciated? Can I get some flowers that someone actually took the time to look at to make sure that they weren't dying (instead of buying the cheap ones because they were cheap)? Can I not be given the lecture that I ought to be grateful for being an afterthought instead of not being thought of at all (which is the definition of afterthought, n'est pas)? Can someone call me and reach out to check in on me from time to time, instead of reaching out to ask for a favor? Why can't I be needy? Why does my loneliness feel more like normal the older I get?

Why so many questions, you might ask because from your perspective, I should be happy. And I get the green grass theory, which is true when you realize the reason why their grass is greener--someone waters and cares about that other lawn. If I am not watering my grass, it should be brought to my attention so that I can do a better job. I don't have a problem being told that I am doing something wrong. I have a problem with always being told that I am doing something wrong in response to telling someone else to modify their behavior.

I have a few other issues, but I will get to my laundry instead.

More Than Enough

I need to write to remind myself of an important point, lest I drift backwards into self-doubt and depression: I am okay. I am doing my best, and on some days, I need to take comfort in the fact that my best is much better than those who do nothing but complain. And I'm giving myself this pep talk because I got flustered one evening last week in a true Charlie Foxtrot moment. By the end of the night, I had let a lot of that anxiety go, but I decided to write about it anyway so that I can have this to reread whenever I want to crawl back into a shell of self-loathing.

I am doing more than enough.

Instead of providing a turn-by-turn account of the events of the evening prior to that moment when I was running back and forth between answering the front door, helping my Mom in the bathroom, and giving my kid a bath...I will simply say there was a lot going on. And I was by myself with my 70 year old mother and my 2 year old daughter. Even if my choices at any given moment are questionable, at the end of the night I can at least say that I did something other than complain.

I hit the wall at the beginning of this year with my emotions, and I know that the stress of my mother's illness has been difficult for everyone. Chronic illness can devastate lives in so many ways. It ruins relationships and it can have reverberations for years. I have been stressed to the breaking point trying to manage caregiving and parenting, so much so that I essentially dropped out of a lot of activities and commitments. I don't lament the need to take such a drastic step, but I have been frustrated that it came to this point.

Attempts to address some of our issues as a family of caregivers unearthed a lot of resentment and unexpressed feelings. It also made things worse...but perhaps the only way to address an issue is to expose its ugliness. I am still open to the possibility of making peace, but I have accepted that it might not happen. Therefore, for anyone else who might be going through a similar situation or who might have to face the unforeseen chaos of chronic illness, here is a quick list of some of what I have learned these past eight years:

1. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. Communication is everything. And communication is not just about telling folks your positions or how you feel about the situation. It is also about how you listen. I spent a great deal of time communicating information that was not being processed or that was being ignored, or perhaps most importantly was not what folks wanted to know. I honestly do not have any tips about how to get others to listen, but if folks are not speaking to each other, listening to what is being said, or accepting the truth of what is being expressed, then you will have misunderstandings and chaos.

2. Caregiving is a 24-hour job and it involves everyone in the family. Everyone can contribute and no contribution is too small. However, if there is no contribution then that is a problem. When there is a need for an outside caregiver, it does not absolve anyone else of having to take part. It might diminish certain duties, but family care is still vital.

3. Offering criticism is not the same as offering assistance. As far as I am concerned, it is the same as doing nothing. Opinions are assholes...everybody has one.

4. Most non-immediate family and friends have no idea how to offer help or to even express support. So I don't hold that against them. I actually appreciate the benign gestures of just checking in because it helps to know that folks are thinking about us even when they can't do anything specific.

5. Caregivers often will not ask for help. Although that statement applies specifically to my family, I suspect it is true of most families. The vast majority of the time I will not tell outsiders what is really going on with my Mom, for any number of reasons. Thus, whenever people tell me to let them know if I need anything, I file that away with point #4 in mind. It isn't personal nor is it pride, but it is usually a case of not wanting to include too many people in our inner circle. Too many cooks spoil the broth. However, whenever we do ask for assistance, it is because we truly need something.

6. Caregivers have been thrust into an unexpected scenario, which ultimately becomes a perpetual series of unexpected scenarios. Thus, mistakes are bound to happen, and I have felt guilty about every single one. Yet, I rarely have time to lick my wounds, so yes, I am ultra-sensitive to criticism (#3) especially when I am the person who has to make the hard choices. If you would do the job better, then by all means...

7. Compromise. No caregiving situation is ideal. And when there are several people involved in the process, there are that many opinions and ways of doing things. Each person means well, and choosing not to take every suggestion is not personal--often it is a matter of feasibility. You do not lose if you don't get everything you want, but you get nothing if you walk away.

8. Children should not be shielded from the scenario. I decided that if my daughter was going to  know her only living grandparents, she will know them as they are at every stage of her life. She also needs to be prepared for the future. I was exposed to the illness of my grandparents and had to actively participate in their care, which I believe prepared me for dealing with this very situation. God forbid if my daughter has to care for me or her father, but at the very least she will have had a blueprint.

9. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Not just a song, but a reality, especially when dealing with your adult siblings, your even older parents and their siblings, and the outside paid caregivers. All of your family dynamics will be impacted by the illness, and all of your family issues will resurface as well. Respect is making the choice to put the needs of others above your need to be right.

10. Caregivers need support. We need friends. We need family. We need breaks. We need someone to recognize when the situation has gotten too overwhelming and we're in too deep to notice. We need someone to make that benign statement about showing up whenever needed and actually doing so without being asked. We need someone else to remind us that we have to live as well because the last thing anyone needs is an additional chronic illness to manage.

The Politics of Disrespectability

The other day a lot of us imagined that the late Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune rose up from her grave in utter shock and horror during the commencement exercises at the school she founded. The reason for that imagined resurrection is up for debate.

On the one hand, I think she was insulted that her name and legacy had been invoked to justify an invitation extended to Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos, a woman whose credentials for the job of being the nation's school superintendent are, ahem, questionable. On the other hand, it could be argued that her anger was at the students for breaking with decorum. If I had another hand, I would say that she was irate about all of that and then some.

I started tweeting my own rant last week and urged students to walk out of the ceremony. Of course, I have no real followers so that was just my opinion. The official Twitter hashtag urged students to turn their backs on DeVos during the speech, and I guess that could have worked too. But then someone began booing and then the chanting and then things broke down from there. It was a spectacle and an unfortunate avoidable mess.

Part of my outrage over this sparked the campaign I am currently promoting through Busy Black Woman, Just Give. I believe more alumni giving can make our voices heard, even in a room full of tone deaf leaders. For all of the complaining and the anger we express on social media, it will mean nothing if donations to Bethune-Cookman University dry up or remain static. HBCUs should not have to curry favor with every million dollar donor when we have an adequate built-in base of untapped alumni support.

BCUs President and Board probably assumed that by inviting DeVos to speak, they could avail themselves of some federal funding, perhaps in the form of some special pilot grant program or that infrastructure spending that the Trumpet questioned. And I'm thinking that when the invitation was extended, DeVos saw it as an opportunity to reintroduce herself to the HBCU community after her earlier misguided statements and assumed that the students wouldn't really care...after all, aren't most students are drunk at graduation anyway?

Not at an HBCU Graduation! Because Mama and 'nem are there and they got dressed up and they waited 4, 5, 6 or so years for that moment. Folks took off from work to make the trip. Somebody went without so that balance was paid and you were cleared to walk at the last minute. Grandma endured the trip, even though you told her it would be ok if she didn't come, but she insisted because you are her oldest grandchild. Or the youngest. Or somewhere in the middle (no matter). And because HBCUs tend to hold graduations close to Mother's Day, Mama and Grandma and Aunties and that older cousin who is like a sister to you who brought her kids so that they can see you as a role model, they are in that audience beaming with pride, so this is not some corny formality. This is a BIG deal.

And so, despite the fact that Dr. Bethune left us these eloquent words in her famous Last Will and Testament, apparently the powers that be forgot that she had plenty more to say. So on Wednesday morning she rose up from her grave, knowing all of that commotion was about to take place, and she inspired a few of those meme savvy students to release some of her other important words to let the rest of us know why that fuckery was intolerable.

To those of you with your years of service still ahead, the challenge is yours. Stop doubting yourselves. Have the courage to make up your minds and hold your decisions. Refuse to be BOUGH for a nickel, or a million dollars, or a job!

If we accept and acquiesce in the face of discrimination, we accept the responsibility ourselves. We should, therefore, protest openly everything...that smacks of discrimination or slander.

To Miss Betsy, let's be clear that you had a right to speak at the invitation of the University President, Dr. Edison O. Jackson. But he had no right to invite you to be the commencement speaker, and then wait until the 11th hour to announce your selection when it would be too late for the graduates to oppose it. He claimed that he wanted to expose the students to opposing points of view, which might be appropriate when the attendees are current students who are still subject to the school's authority. Commencement is an audience of faculty, alumni, graduates, and families, which means these were not the young impressionable minds that should be compelled to sit through whatever Secretary DeVos had to say. This was not a campus convocation.

And that is why so many HBCU alumni were upset. We have legitimate issues with this Administration and while we can appreciate the assumption that there is a benefit to being exposed to alternative viewpoints, it is not a requirement. Every pronouncement from Trumpelthinskin and Company has been an egregious repudiation of the ideals many of us hold, so why should anyone assume good intentions from Mrs. DeVos' appearance? And why raise the specter of federal funding when we know that is a red herring? Because if she did come in peace, then there would have been no need to shroud her appearance with such mystery.

Thus, the prophetic nature of Dr. Bethune's words and why we must not sell our principles for any price. Bethune-Cookman is a private HBCU, so while it certainly depends on federal funding through student loans and other programs, perhaps it should be made public that DeVos' appearance would ensure the preservation of XYZ so at least folks would know why they were a captive audience at that circus. And knowing that the decision to walk out or turn their backs to the speech would be met with criticism anyway, why not "protest openly" against the slander that somehow we are expected to acquiesce to patronizing contempt and disrespect.

Continue to rise BCU Wildcats and continue to make Dr. Bethune proud!

Transparency

I had a really bad weekend.

I left the house last night with the alleged intention of going to the movies, but changed my mind when I thought that it might be too pathetic (but more importantly, unsafe). So I went to Target to return a $5 DVD in exchange for $100 worth of stuff.

The mundane details of today are unimportant, because there was nothing really bad that happened to make me so sad. It was more a series of events that have been unfolding since mid-week. Beginning with a phone call that jarred me concerning something that happened to someone else. I had a very emotional reaction, but then went into problem-solving mode, which helped me temporarily until Thursday. I went over to see my parents and that triggered this slide that has me back in the depths of inconsolable sadness.

Since January, the situation with my mother has been changing, and not for the best. It has been depressing and emotionally overwhelming to experience, and the background turmoil of family drama has made things pretty bad.

I have already alluded to some of my issues in previous posts, but I need to let down my guards somewhat because I feel that I have no other outlet. And while I'm convinced that no one reading this will be able to offer me anything, I just need to get a lot of this off my heart.

My Dad is falling apart because taking care of my Mom and watching her deteriorate is unbearable. He has been dealing with small, nagging health issues that I am convinced are stress-related. But he will not make any changes to his daily habits or routine to deal with things, so like yesterday, he comes home not feeling well and chugs down a glass of soda...I have no idea how to support him in a way that does not backfire and deepen my own misery and sense of total helplessness.

Watching this unfold and not being able to really get any relief is killing both of us softly. Which is part of the reason for my ire at other members of my family. I am still angry with myself for not properly defending my Dad against a sideswipe earlier this year, and when it redirected and came for me, I became and remain furious. And unwilling to forgive. That is totally uncharacteristic of me, and that only intensifies my emotions.

I am trapped in an unending cycle of bitterness and anger and sadness. I cannot break it by pretending that all is well. I cannot break it by focusing on others, not even by focusing on my daughter. Because after I have given every drop of emotional care and concern to others, nothing is left for me. Nothing.

And no one notices. My husband, who is just as unobservant and clueless as my Dad (who didn't notice what was going on with his wife of 35+ years) is incapable of offering me any form of emotional support. And after 20 years, I don't expect that to ever change. Like my Mom when she was well, he can offer the support that others need, but when it comes to his wife, he expects me to be able to shake it off and get over it. Ironic that I would marry my parents...

And my friends, y'all don't notice shit either. When you need me, you call and I am there. If I call, you are busy--out having fun, never inviting me to come along, and then wondering why I never talk about things. Perhaps that is unfair, but it is how I perceive things. I spent the entire weekend sad and alone and saw all the pics of places I could have gone but for the lack of inclusion.

Finally, it hurts beyond words to witness my mother's decline like this. It is incomparable to any other experience of losing one's parent. That doesn't mean that one death is worse than another, because anyone who has endured that loss feels it forever. But I am simply saying that Alzheimer's disease, in particular, is a horrible death to experience. Despite the miracle that some hope will occur, this is a very long and excruciating goodbye. My sense of loss became real the week that I insisted that she be hospitalized...and it is a daily dread.

I am not ready, but I am holding on to that mustard seed that tells me all will be well. It might not be the type of bold faith that believes in abundance and prosperity and dominion; it is a much quieter faith that believes in forgiveness, blessing others, and endurance until the end.

Worst Enemies

This is a followup to the last piece, so vagueness is necessary to protect the guilty and the innocent.

In addition to my own bad habits, I have situations that keep me from being great. Like my child, who often does her best to get me to pay attention to her while I am trying to write. Or those people who essentially stand around and watch as my life falls apart, then they criticize me either for not doing enough or doing too much. I call them the Saboteurs, which is a nice French way of calling folks assholes.

My daughter is not really a Saboteur, she is a toddler. A needy, tantrum-throwing, yet sweet and endearing child who is about to celebrate her second birthday. She is supposed to wreak havoc with my schedule by throwing a random fit when I try to get her to put on her shoes. Or when I ask her to stop kicking me. Or when I switch the channel from watching the same episode of Sesame Street that we just watched an hour earlier.

But the adults? Total assholes.

So this situation that has been stressing me since January involves a bunch of folks who would rather stand around and complain about things instead of actually doing anything. One person actually issued a threat, but to date, it was just more hot air blown into their balloon of complaints. But it hit its mark and I have the extra fifteen pounds to show for the toll all of that drama it took on me.

Because what else can you do when you are angry, bitter, depressed and hurt by a baseless allegation that was intended to bait you into the most unnecessary counter-productive conflict at the absolute worst time of your life? You stop taking care of yourself. And you start to look your age. And you eat your feelings because no one really wants to hear about how angry, bitter, depressed or hurt you feel.

Those feelings you are eating taste a lot like breakfast danishes, fried chicken, pizza, and Chinese take out that you wash down with soda.

And you do this alone because you are always alone. You sleep alone, wherever you fall asleep (usually on the sofa). You talk to your not-yet-two-year old daughter because no one else has time. Sometimes you talk to yourself because she is busy watching the same episode of Sesame Street over and over again. You wash, rinse and repeat the same pattern for weeks.

You notice that your clothes are fitting tighter and that you are eating a lot less salad. You look at your face and notice that the dark circles around your eyes never fade. You keep trying to do the right thing even though the Saboteurs don't care and will continue to point out the one or two tasks that they can do are beyond what anyone should expect from them.

Meanwhile, you worry whether your rambunctious not-yet-two year old is developing on schedule because there is no one around who can tell you anything supportive. You don't have other mothers in your circle (you do, but they have lives and don't seem to have time). So you stay up late to work on projects to help her grasp certain concepts. Like talking (because that language class you took last summer didn't seem to help). You try to expose her to various things, which takes you away from your other obligations, so you feel guilty.

You always feel guilty, so you eat. And you drink. And stop trying to go to dance class. And you stop attending meetings. And you realize that you have to step down or step away or decline projects because of the drama in your life. And your anger becomes resentment and your bitterness becomes poison and your depression deepens. And then you worry too much that you aren't doing enough, so you compensate by running errands. Which means you are always in motion doing for everybody else.


You are taking some time to write about it because that is the only way to release any pressure. It is an emotional exercise, but necessary. Still solitary and often futile. But it offers some peace at times. Because none of the Saboteurs read anything you write.

Better Intentions

I have been at this precise place so many times--regret that I didn't live up to the expectations I set for myself. Disappointment that I am always seemingly starting over from the same place, beginning again at the beginning.

This year is already a wash.

I had plans. I had intentions. I had goals. Yet here I am, with nothing to show for any of those lofty hopes and dreams. I am standing in the same sad spot and always for the same reason: My inability to put my needs above those of the members of my family.

Which family member? It never really matters. With the addition of a child, it would seem that I have an acceptable reason for never accomplishing much of anything, except that isn't the case. My daughter inspires my need to actually push myself to be more than just another frustrated, reluctant housewife turned obscure, undiscovered blogger. And as she has grown from sweet baby to this unruly, insane Toddlersaurus, I should have endless material from her daily antics. According to my blog journal (the notebook I carry to jot down blogging ideas) I could perpetually write about busy black motherhood and possibly *finally* garner a following.

Yes, I have a blog journal. It was part of the elaborate plan that has yet to materialize thanks to that other unyielding demand that I am always trying to manage. That other familial obligation that I am trying desperately not to resent, because that would be selfish. And we all know that whenever I focus any attention to myself, for whatever reason...

Yet, this did not begin with the choice to focus on myself insomuch as it feels like it began with the intention to do so. My intention to devote more time to writing and live vlogging and starting a podcast and a few other projects...all on the back burner because at the beginning of the year, a new chapter began in my long-running family drama. Which has left me bitter and angry and depressed. And eating all the time. Or sleeping. Or intentionally missing certain social engagements. Or doing drastic shit like chopping off my hair and dyeing it different colors including platinum blonde. Or not sleeping.

(I actually plan to write about this situation in a more direct form, but now I need to vent without identifying or defaming anyone.)

So here I am. Angry. Bitter. Depressed. Hurt. And feeling all of the guilt that was intended for me to feel because somehow, I am the only person who has any responsibility...

For the record, in the interest of trying to move beyond the anger, bitterness, depression, hurt, and guilt I have been willing to continue to make the uncomfortable choices. To be the person in the line of fire. To be Atticus Finch and do those unpleasant jobs that no one else wants. And it hasn't meant anything. I am still standing in the same fucking spot.

So, I am going to write anyway to try to work through all of my feelings. I've decided that this situation is less about my better intentions than it is about adjusting my expectations. I will simply write to let go of things and maybe that will help.

Going to Meet the Whizard

I have been saving this tirade for weeks, but given the President's little breakfast, little get-together yesterday to launch Black History Month...it's time. Not that I expected any sort of grand gesture that would make up for his offensive and patronizing outreach to "the blacks" (because I honestly think his March breakfast for Women's History Month will really good), but some of y'all have had this coming for a while. This list is not in any particular order and I will address each offender individually. If you got left off this time, no worries because we've got four years of tomfoolery ahead:

1. Steve Harvey: My daughter freaking loves the Family Feud, so do you know how hard it is to find a tolerable alternative program for her to watch in the evenings when we need to do anything other than have her run around in circles??? But it's all good because she will learn to love Jeopardy.

But let me go straight to the heart of the matter--you did not go to the Tower because President Obama asked you to. Admit that you went there to ensure your hosting job on the next Miss Universe Pageant. Admit that you went there because he offered you a deal to license your name to substitute his on those cheap suits he sells at Macy's. Admit that you went up there because you had a temporary loss of sanity, but please do not tell us that you were acting as some kind of hood consigliere to #45 for the African American community. We know better.

2. Dr. Ben Carson: The only chance you have at ever becoming President is to be the guy that gets sent to the bunker during the State of the Union. Which we all know, you will be that guy for every SOTU address, but the kicker is that the rest of us will be dead so no one will care.

3. Pastor Darrell Scott: Bruh, who are you? Like for real, who ARE YOU?

Because are we supposed to believe that a bunch of Chicago gang bangers called you to offer props to the new Prez, and then said that they would stop the violence out of respect for him? Are you sure that wasn't a prank call? Because the utter foolishness of that offer is so apparent that I'm wondering whether you just thought of it on the spot as some sort of fancy gold-plated Black History Month present that you, some random preacher from OHIO, could deliver.

4. Tina Campbell: Girl, I get it. You are a Christian, and you want to be loving and forgiving, and you realize that your sister has moved on, so you need to carve out your own identity. We already know that you are batsh!t cray cray, that you forgave that Mitch of a manager, and you've got other issues, so we are just going to lay your name on the altar and keep it moving.

5. Kanye West: I keep thinking that your visit was really some kind of weird six degrees of separation mission of reality show insanity because you are married to Kim, whose mother Kris was married to Bruce/Caitlyn, who wanted to dance with the Trumpet at his Inauguration. So Kris set this up, you are being held against your will, and that was really a Kanye-bot that was sent to the Tower. 

6. MLK the 3rd: I can't even begin to unpack this one. But again, I am hardly surprised that you allowed yourself to be used for a photo opp on the national holiday set aside to celebrate your father. Or that you allowed yourself to be used as a mouthpiece to explain away the nonsense of the Trumpet's twitter tirade against John Lewis. Or that you are still looking for ways to be taken seriously as a legitimate civil rights leader.

7. My Spelman Sister: So as the folks were being introduced around the table yesterday, I tuned out what was being said because it was clear that everyone in the room had some kind of active role in supporting the campaign. And honestly, I could care less about any of you, but someone told me that one of those eager faces belonged to one of my Spelman sisters. Thus, I have no words for you, just this picture:

8. Chrisette Michelle: I don't know you well enough to judge...but dammit, what were you thinking? Trust, you are not the first nor will you be the last black entertainer to be paraded in front of an audience for the benefit of some wealthy white folks who don't care a whit about you, your issues or what you thought you came to represent (ask Sammy Davis Jr., about that when you get to heaven). But dang girl, you don't even have the good sense not to act surprised that Spike Lee dissed you! And if you notice, Wynton Marsalis' corny ass piped down when he saw what happened to you. Lay low for a few years and come back when you get a clue.

9. Jim Brown, et. al: This was not that much of a surprise. In fact, because I believe your invitation, along with the invite to Ray Lewis, Floyd Mayweather, Don King and every other black athletic figure with issues were just fan calls, I can't be mad at you. I had written you off a long time ago for your toxic behavior towards women so as far as I am concerned, birds of a feather flock together.

10. Talladega College Marching Band: Don't think I forgot about that Inauguration parade performance. I didn't watch, and I suspect a lot of folks who normally would have been beaming with pride about the fact that their babies got to come to DC to march weren't watching either. Nah, scrap that, they watched and we are secretly proud because you are just a bunch of kids. Some of you can't vote, and among you that did vote, well, you have the right to exercise that choice however you choose. However, like the Rockettes whose jobs were at stake, members of a college marching band don't always get to take a stand.

So this criticism is not aimed at the band or the students, but at the alumni and the Administration of your institution. HBCU alumni talk big but don't have much to show for our cyber activism if our schools have to strike Faustian deals in order to raise money. And I don't know anything about your President, Dr. Billy Hawkins (no relation :), but I got issues with him going on FOX with his hat in hand knowing what would be the likely outcome of his appeal...which turned out to be more than $500,000.

But I know the high stakes of being a college president these days, especially at an HBCU, so here is where I put my money on the table and declare that I plan to donate to Talladega. This is NOT a reward, but a challenge. I expect y'all to graduate and to go on to do great things, but I also demand that you set an example by regularly contributing to your institution so this never happens again.

11. Omarosa: Don't worry...I'm saving all my ire for her to be published in a piece over at the Busy Black Woman blog.

Herding Cats

I'm angry, and in order to avoid saying in person what I want to say (go f*** yourself), I am here.

There was a lot I intended to say to someone, and earlier I thought that it would be therapeutic to write it all down in an email.  And I had every intention of it being one of those no holds barred emails--fueled by red wine or vodka that is so clear and direct and raw.  But those emails never have the desired effect since it is still Groundhog Day.

I am tired. I am spent. I am blown. I hate fucking dementia and the havoc it has wrought in my life.

For the past two years, I have been offered the "call me if you need me" kind of back up whenever people have learned of the situation, but that is bullshit and they all know it.  Because if you really want to offer me help, you would call up and tell me what you intend to do and wait for me to say yes or no.  You do not ask a drowning person if they need help.  You jump in or you throw out a life preserver.

I am fed up with the Monday morning quarterbacking that goes on when folks offer belated suggestions of what I should be doing.  I am beyond tired of the foot-dragging and delays that have prevented any movement forward on anything.  I am exhausted by playing multiple roles in this soap opera--the overbearing mother, bad wife, nagging big sister, attentive aunt and devoted daughter.  I am frustrated that I am failing and can't get a retest, a do-over or even a fucking break. I'm mad that every time I get to cry, I have to do it by myself while writing a weepy, overly sentimental blog because none of the a$$holes in my life want to deal with how I'm feeling.

But when I get angry, the sky sometimes opens and I get small reprieves. Today I made an appointment to meet with a professional.  As someone once told me, prayer is good but people are better.  So maybe if I keep praying, I'll get better people.

Double-Sized Double Standards

So it seems that the GOP Mean Girls are dissing First Lady Michelle Obama--Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann and now Rush Limbaugh.  Apparently, Mrs. Obama's campaign to encourage folks to eat right and to exercise is evidence of a nanny state gone amok.

Because Americans have a constitutional right to life, liberty and the pursuit of fatness.  If people want their children to live on McDonald's, then that is their right.  The fact that more children are developing diabetes, high blood pressure, hypertension, and arthritis notwithstanding, it is not the business of the federal government to encourage healthier living.

Because there is a slippery slope from the mere suggestion that you could plant veggies to the edict that you must plant veggies. 

Lately, this whole narrative of government overreach has annoyed me.  It is hypocrisy of the worst kind when elected officials are trying to pass laws that restrict the rights of women to seeking out reproductive health services but then those same officials criticize a program that encourages fitness and healthy eating as intrusive.  Really?  Because forcing women into motherhood is exactly what the government ought to be doing...

Of course, this is an exaggeration, but I am honest enough to admit when my rhetoric goes over the top.  At the same time, it is not hyperbole to suggest that the rhetoric used to proscribe certain types of behavior is selectively applied.  For example, we are supposedly the most democratic nation in the world except when it comes to the residents of the District of Columbia who are subjected to the partisan whims of Congress.

Yes, I am all over the place, but everywhere I turn I see hypocrisy.  I see it when we support authoritarian regimes in other countries until the people take to the streets to revolt against tyranny.  I see it when white actors get fawning media coverage for their bad acts while actors of color are subjected to perp walks and jail time.  I see it when black basketball players decide to make controversial power moves that get them lambasted in the media for selfishness while Wall Street banks play chess with people's life-savings and get defended by politicians who offer them tax breaks.

Is anyone willing to call a spade a spade?

Catching Up

I have several things that I've written offline in the past few weeks, and if I get the time, I may transcribe them for inclusion on my blog. I might as well make them public, since that is what this space is for.

I've been ever busy with my students. Another mini-semester is about to end, so for the next few days, I'll be in a grading frenzy. I often wonder what I look like when I'm sittting in the corner of my coffee house focused on student work with my red pen in hand. Do I look professorial? Or more like a grad student?

I vote for graduate student. Whenever I don't have to go to meet people, I dress like a regular person, so that means jeans, a casual shirt, my favorite clogs and possibly even a hat. To complete the ensemble, I am usually listening to my portable CD player...which upon second thought should actually make me look more like an out-of-touch professor. Who listens to CDs anymore?

Anyhoo, the crisis alluded to in the previous post has passed for now. I still need to be more diligent about the way I handle my business, but overall, I believe that at worst I'll get a slap on the wrist. Of course, it sucks to even be accused of wrongdoing and any punishment or chastisement seems severe.

Here is a bit of advice to anyone reading this: Never make a black woman mad enough to want to kill you. Not only will your ears burn, but every fiber of your being burns--you are damn-near combustable. If I were to even think that the person responsible for all of this was even in my vicinity, he would drop dead. An angry black woman can kill with her thoughts in the same way that everyone else kills with looks.

Enough coded messages. I'll come back to post something normal in a few days.

Ciao!