You're pretty…
…for a black girl.
Someone actually said that to me once. It was many years ago, and while it stung a little then, if someone said that to me today, chances are great that I would punch said someone square in the mouth.
Who are you to judge what's pretty and why would the standards be different for different races?
Today, I've come to the conclusion that I don't care. America, your standards of beauty are no longer important to me. Fuck you. I'm pretty whether it's to me, my boyfriend, some random construction worker, or you America, with your stuck up ideals and your fucked up morals. I'm not just pretty, I AM BEAUTIFUL!
My life is full. Full of family, full of love, full of work (unfortunately), and full of school. I am proud of who I am and who I will be. I am me, dammit, and that's good enough. There is no longer a single person out there that can tell me otherwise because, while I was lost for a while, I just found myself this morning while walking outside and you know what? I LOVE ME!
I love all my 5 foot one inches. I love all 128 of my muscular pounds. I love my nappy-ass hair and my not-so-ghetto booty. You won't see me on the cover of some magazine or parading down some runway, and you sure as hell won't see me starving myself because I think (or society has made me believe) that I'm fat.
I will no longer obsess about stupid crap. My hair is long enough and it grows more every day. My boobs are the right size for my body. That little bit of fat on my thighs or on my belly is no big deal, after all, I'm not 18 anymore. It's okay to do things for myself and not feel guilty about it. I am allowed to enjoy life!
I don't know what exactly brought this on, but whatever it was, I'm happy that it happened. I honestly feel as though a huge weight was lifted off of me the moment I realized these things. Now I can look around and see that I had everything I needed all along. Now I can look around and not see that girl that has nicer hair or the girl that's thinner or taller or richer or anything-er. They're all just regular people with regular problems, probably problems worse than mine. I am rich in life and rich in love and I need nothing more.
Excuse me while I go live.
QotD: I'm Good.
What are five things you're good at?
Submitted by HapaLove.
Hmmm, five things? Okay, I'll give that a shot.
- I am a damn good bartender. Nowhere am I more at home than behind a bar that's 3 deep. Behind that bar, I am the queen. I am in control. I don't bother with flair. It's just a time-waster. I do bother with quality drinks where you never taste the alcohol and you're wrecked before you ever even knew you started. Recipe for my personal favorite drink here: http://www.webtender.com/db/drink/4346
- I am a trapecista. I'm not the best, but you didn't ask for five things I was the best at. Carnies have small hands. Sometimes it's flying, sometimes it's static, it's always fun. Now give me $1500 so I can have one placed in my back yard. Proof of my skill here: http://miamishyner.tripod.com/circus.htm
- I am a great sponge. And no, I don't mean sponge as in mooch. I retain knowledge (on topics of interest) like American Idol retains viewers. I don't understand why either of them occurs, they just do.
- I am pretty good on stage. (Also reference number one.) Four years of spending time on some sort of stage at least 4 times a week gave me the confidence to get up there and go crazy. Little hint: It doesn't always matter if you're good. If you have the stones to be up there and you look like you're having fun, people will pay more attention to the fact that you're having a blast than the fact that you might have missed a step.
- Last, but certainly not least. I'm a good mom. I don't think that really needs an explanation.
QotD: Happy President's Day!
Ever run for office? (School, club, organization, politics, etc.) Did you get elected?
My brief foray into politics, although only school politics were as follows:
Back in the 9th grade, when 9th graders were the kings and queens of ther domain, back when freshmen were the top and not the bottom of the totem pole, I was a member of the Pep Club. If you know me now, you know how friggin goofy that sounds. I can't remember if it was exclusively the freshmen that were allowed to join, but I tend to believe this was the way it was. I guess I was fairly well known at school, of course it helped that I stood out as one of a handful of black kids at our school. At any rate, the PC needed a president and more than anyone, my favorite English teacher, Mrs. Cocciolone, encouraged me to run. (It's pronounced like 'leave the coach alone' in case you were wondering.) I never questioned her motives at the time, but I have an idea that there was a reason.
Only one other person decided to run for president. Her name was Shane Santini. I'm sure you're well aware, especially in a junior high situation, that there are "the cool girls". Shane was one of them. Once I found out that she was running, I figured that I didn't have a chance. But on that election day, I learned something. Two things, actually. One, everyone doesn't like the cool girls. Two, teachers don't always like the cool girls. I really think Mrs. C pushed me to run simply because I wasn't a troublemaker…or at least the kind of troublemaker that was a headache for teachers.
So, between the votes of my friends and whatever the teachers did to the ballot box, I became the new Pep Club president. My first order of business was to award the ""Spirit Stick" to the grade that was the loudest at the next pep rally. I was scared crapless as I now had to get on the microphone, in front of the entire school, and speak. It turned out okay. I think that really helped me with my public speaking and just flat out acting silly in front of many, many people. Thanks, Mrs. C.
My second trip wasn't nearly as exciting or even interesting. Our senior class needed a president, vice, secretary and treasurer. While we were a pretty intelligent class, no one was really interested in this sort of thing. One person ended up running for each position. Hence, I was the class secretary. BORING!
If I Did It
Last night, we went out for dinner and a show. Dinner was tasty and not the point of the blog. We went afterwards to the Improv in the Grove to see Tommy Davidson. I've been a fan of Tommy since back in the day so I was super excited for the show. It got off to a rocky start as they say they had some sort of 'computer glitch' that kept us from getting in on time. Typically not a problem, but we're in the middle of our 'cold snap' and my blood has thinned so I did get a little chilled.
Anyways, after a 35 minute wait, we finally got in and got seated. We were early enough in line to get to pick where we wanted to sit – off to the side and on the second level. Perfect. The opening comedian was decent, a local guy. We lucked out that there was only one, usually there are two. Just meant more TommyTime.
Yay! Time for Tommy! And to our screams and whistles, out he came. This is the first time that I've seen Tommy in person. I never realized that he was quite so thin. But on a plus side, he has the cutest mischevious sparkle in his eyes. As expected, he was hysterical. He did some politics, some family, some current events and some not so current events. He started talking a little smack about a time that he went somewhere with OJ Simpson. Little did we realize that OJ was in the audience!
We were sitting on the opposite side of the club, but could just make him out. Kinda funny. When the show was over, we had to walk down this skinny hallway. And lo and behold, who's standing in the hallway but OJ. He was hammered appeared to be three sheets to the wind enjoying his evening. He's also proof that stress will age you. He wasn't looking at his TV best.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.