Random “Blackness” Testing… I Tend To Fail… May Need a Tutor

Older black male nurse: Have you seen the new Best Man Holiday this weekend?
Me: Uh, no. I went and saw the new Thor
Older black male nurse: Oh, you gotta see it! It’s so worth it.
Me: Um, I’ll probably watch it when it comes out on DVD or something. I like to see action movies when I go to the theater.
Old Black Male Nurse: You’ve GOT to see it. It’s so worth seeing in the movies.
Me: …

Exactly.

One thing that never fails to irk me is being told that I should like something because I’m black. When Obama first ran against Hillary Clinton, I should have been supportive of Obama because he was black. I should watch The Game, and Real Housewives of the Ghetto (I can’t remember the name) because I’m black. I should like Koolaid, and go to Red Lobster, own a pair of Apple Bottom jeans because I’m black. I should be able to swivel my neck and snap my fingers, just because I’m black.

I am black. Surpise!!! But I refuse to change what I like and enjoy. Although I’ll watch on TV and giggle along with a Madea movie, it is not something that I’d wait with baited breath for. In fact, there has to be NOTHING else to watch. Or I’m stuck at a family member’s house. I mean, hey, I grew up and watched all my “Black Card” movies: The Color Purple, Lean on Me, Roots, Coming to America, etc. But, that doesn’t mean I’m going to go and look for the latest black movie that EVERYONE must see and support. And seriously, it’s fine if you do. But don’t expect that just because we share a skin tone, I’m going to give a good gosh darn about the latest chocolate written and directed movie. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy when I say I don’t care for those. And before you say it, I’m just as frackin black as you. I’m just not a stereotype.

Broaden your frackin horizons.

Hopefully one day there will be more black written sci-fi and fantasy movies that make it to the big screen. And you know what, when I’m randomly tested on my “blackness” in a doctor’s office I can gush and exclaim:

Oh yeah, I saw that! It was awesome!

Or maybe I’ll have to say “That ish was hot! The bomb diggity.”

(Hmmm, that may be too old and lame.)

Randomly shouts YOLO and runs away.

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You have My Unconditional Love… No Matter What Letter of the LGBT You Become

There’s a post I keep trying to write that I’ve flipped so many different ways and perspectives. But maybe it’s because it’s not my story. Maybe it’s because this story is still so fresh, so ongoing.

And maybe because I could never understand.

A person close to me came out to me as a pre-op transgender person.

It was something I had already assumed. Something that I just figured they would live in silence with. That maybe THEY hadn’t dealt with it yet. But no, I was definitely a couple of exits passed the finish ramp.

SHE had long ago felt that SHE was a HE. That ZE was trapped in a woman’s body. I can only imagine. I’ve had my own issues over the years with fighting to become MYSELF. But this, this is another level. Ze was afraid of telling me, for my bluntness confused them with thinking that it would turn into prejudice. But never, NEVER. I love this person, this family, blood of my blood whether they were gay, straight, yellow, purple, man or woman.

And so… that’s all I can say. I support. I’m proud that they are so strong in wanting to be who they are. I can’t understand at their level. But I can give my unconditional love.

Of course…. that is not me wearing that shirt. I’m chocolate. And I have boobs.

 

Okay, Were the Cats in My Dream Trying to Steal My Soul… or Give Me Sweet, Sweet Bestiality Loving? – Nightmares

I tend to have some fracked up dreams, but one last night woke me up and made it hard to go back to sleep… And it was my favorite animal, being all creepy.

 

Cats.

So I dream that I’m sitting on the floor, going through bags of beef jerky to find the perfect piece. But suddenly, there’s a cat in front of me gobbling (and then regurgitating) the jerky right in front of me. “Hey Hershey (my cat’s name), stop that!” I yell and try to waves my hands at the cat. Until it turns around and looks at me and I know it’s not my cat. No. This cat of HELL has complete inky black fur (Hershey is tortoise-shell) and has black demon eyes with no pupil. Then I realize that I’m now lying flat of my stomach with my arms spread out and two more of these demon cats are holding down each arm with one paw. They also have the depths of hell eyes and fur. And they just stare at me.

This is the light skinned version. Creepy muthatrucka.

 

I realize this is a dream, and that I need to fight to wake up or these demon cats are going to kill me in my sleep. Finally I do, short of breath like I’ve been underwater. I reach for my handy-dandy smart phone and start googling the SH*T out of some dream sites.

 

So http://www.dreammoods.com says this: To see a black cat in your dream indicates that you are experiencing some fear in using your psychic abilities and believing in your intuition. You may erroneously associate the black cat with evil, destruction, and bad luck. In particular, if the black cat is biting, clawing or attacking you, then the dream means that you must acknowledge what your intuition is trying to tell you. You can no longer ignore it. Do not be afraid to face the situation.

Uhhhh, okay, so I believe in my intuition and NEVER try to ignore it anymore. About what? What is my intuition telling me?! I’m not trying to ignore it, it’s just not clear. Grrr… Arggggggh

The next site was http://www.experienceproject.com/dream-dictionary/Cats-dreams which told me: To dream of a cat, denotes ill luck, if you do not succeed in killing it or driving it from your sight. If the cat attacks you, you will have enemies who will go to any extreme to blacken your reputation and to cause you loss of property. But if you succeed in banishing it, you will overcome great obstacles and rise in fortune and fame.

Well, frack me, I fought to wake up! You’re saying I should have stayed in the creepy cat dream being held down by three cats with torture and murder in their evil eyes, just so I could fight them? With what? The fracking beef jerky? Bark like a dog?!

 

And then this last one I read before I said frack it I’m going to read for a bit, and then try to get my last 2 hours of sleep (http://dreamhawk.com/dream-dictionary/cat/ ): Because a cat is often an easy source of physical contact and affection it can depict the need to be cared for and warm affection, even sexual love accompanied with intense warm feelings.

You may have felt a lot of affection from a cat, and so associate it with sensual, or even sexual pleasure. It can also represent your need to care for someone or be cared for, to have close physical contact.

Example: ‘I went to the fridge to get out some mincemeat to feed the cat. It came in. As it fed I had a strong urge to touch it, such strong feelings of love were pouring out of me. The animal looked up at my face as I wanted to kiss it. The lips had pink lipstick on. I kissed it, it’s paw came up around my arm, I could see the black claws. We were rolling around on the floor, it felt very sexual.’ Monica.

 

Um…WTFBBQ?

That’s it. I stopped a kitty gang bang in my dream. All is right with the world.

I am under this pile. Completely violated. *Sniffle*

My Phobia Of Dentists Could Rip Your Jaw off and Beat It With a Stick

They finally got me. I’d been avoiding going to the dentist. The military has it set up that avoiders like me can only avoid for so long. And so something pinged on the higher-ups radar and I had to make an appointment. Dental Exam and Cleaning. *Shudder*

THIS. IS. WORSE. THAN. CLOWNS!

Last night, before the appointment, I had trouble sleeping. My stomach was in knots and I kept having the poop butterflies like I do when I have to speak in front of people. I kept waking up every 15 minutes or so, trying to figure out how much time I had before the dreaded appointment. By the time I got up and left the house, I had to turn around because I’d forgotten my military ID. And my sanity. My hands were shaking. I could barely talk when I finally got to the front and checked in. My jaw (and already irritated gums) was aching from clenching my jaw all night and morning. And then… I finally sit down with the nurse.

“I got to tell you something before you start.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“If you plan to even touch my mouth without knocking me out, you are going to have to tie me down.”

 

You see, I never liked the dentist before – who does? They are torture experts. Everything in their office is straight out of a horror movie, or a POW camp. But I used to be able to deal with it, until my last deployment.

 

See, I’d held onto my wisdom teeth for a while. The military usually likes to yank those bad boys out as soon as you join. But mine weren’t above the gums, or bothered me at all. Until a couple of years ago. And so, before deployment, I was in the doctor’s office. With an abscess in my gums but 2 wisdom teeth (and a tooth beside them) needed to be pulled right away. The doctor there said he didn’t have time to put me under because some blah-blah-bullspit about needing some months after surgery to check up on me. So he was going to just shoot me full of novacane… or lidocaine (one of those cane numbing medicines) and take out the teeth.

 

Have I mentioned that I have a super high tolerance for pain meds… and with already having a medical condition that creates abscesses throughout my body – I know that with an abscess you CANNOT numb the whole area. On top of that, my gums are usually so sensitive that they numb me up for regular cleanings.

 

He numbed me, and started. I stopped him. “Ah cun stew fweel evweyding.!” So he numbs some more. “Ah CUN STEWL FWEEL!!!” And he numbs some more. “OWWWWWWWW.” And he says

 

“You’ll just have to deal with it.”

 

MUTHATRUCKIN WHA—–

 

There is nothing in the pain I’ve felt in the past that could compare to that time in the dentist chair. Feeling EVERYTHING as he used his saw, drill, and whatever else he had to remove those teeth. The feeling of the tooth being cracked and scraped and ripped from my jaw, the sounds, the pressure, the pain as I fought to stay still as my whole body was lifted over and over as he struggled to pull out those teeth.

 

Tears ran freely down my face. I felt HELL, and hell was a dentist’s chair.

 

Imagine being able to feel that crap. All of it.

 

I tried to find a happy place. I tried to tell myself that anything hurt more: childbirth or something. That the pain was all in my head. All the while this bastard has not tried to have any finesse and treats me like a dead animal that can’t feel.

 

Can you understand why I would avoid the dental demon doctor? It took me about 2 weeks to recover from that. And now they have the other 2 wisdom teeth that need to be pulled. Today, just during my exam my pulse was over 120 (which apparently is not good. They took it a second time and it was 117. Better? Who the frack knows, I’m not a doctor).

Luckily, this is not the same military base of pain that was the one that tried to torture me. These people today LISTENED. They gave me MEDICINE. They gave me PAIN stuffs so that hopefully I can get this infection down before they start the cutting, and sawing, and demolishment on my mouth.

 

I swear though… if they don’t stop when I have pain and try something else, I will fully give over to a psychotic break.

Vanity, The Cult of Mary Kay, and You Are Trying My Frackin Limited Social Skills

I did something absolutely retarded the other day. Oh wait, retarded is offensive in this PC world. So, I did something “helmet and cape waiting for the short bus drooling” stupid the other day. And I will admit my vanity led me to it.

See, especially now that I’m back down to “I may drown myself in my own fat” weight, I feel really good about myself. Really confident. And you know, I DO get a lot of random comments about how pretty I am. I might not be model level or anything, but meh, I’m a solid good-looking chick. That’s how that heffa got me.

So I was at the mall after seeing a movie with friends… picking up dinner. And this lady and gentlemen are sitting behind me waiting for their order. She calls me over. They both look well dressed, and professional and we are in a public place so I’m not worried that I’m about to be kidnapped. Am worried that I may be propositioned for some hanky panky, but whatever.

“I’m a Mary Kay consultant, and my friend and I think you would be perfect for an event as a face model.”

Those that have been to Mary Kay events are probably laughing their butts off at me. I didn’t know! I don’t do these kind of things! I avoid Scentsy (or however it’s spelled), Tupperware, Passion Parties, 31 – whatever THAT is. Pretty much anything that is going to make me have to sit in someone’s home and be nice to people who I do not like and do not know, having inane conversations about their kids and husbands… anything like that either makes me run away or I break out into hives.

The day after this Mary Kay event I have severe jaw pain. I think I was clenching my teeth so hard that I damaged something.

So before I get to the event, this is what I was told in text after exchanging information with the consultant: “I would love for you to be my facial model at my Mary Kay Success Event. You’ll experience a Million Dollar Makeover with Mary Kay, which includes a facial deep cleansing, perfect foundation shade matching, and glamour makeover.” Sounds like I’m getting one of those TLC channel, wanna be Oprah generic makeovers right? HAHAHAAHHAAHA, frack all of you to hell and back.

I show up nicely dressed to this event. It’s a whole Mary Kay office, so it has to be professional right.

PAUSE.

I just like to say, I always knew Mary Kay was created by a little peach crayon lady from Texas. How that changed to all the super bourgeois brown crayon heffalumps that were in this building, I have no frackin clue. But hey, whatever. So I walk up the stairs and the consultant comes all energetic and hugs me and leads me to a room… with a long table…. With individual mini-mirrors and make-up kits on it. And I realize I’ve been had.

More women trickle in until we have about seven or eight around the table. Where then I have to deal with about 2 hours of this chick telling me how to do MY OWN facial and put my own make-up on, but with Mary Kay Products!

Seriously? I could have done this ish at home. In fact, all I did was remove my make-up and basically do it the EXACT SAME WAY.

Before that, during the facial, before I put anything on my skin I asked “Is any of this stuff for sensitive skin? I have seriously, SERIOUSLY sensitive skin.”

She says “Oh, this has been tested on humans, and everything is made to be able to deal with sensitive skin.”

I smirk and wait for my face to melt.

“All right, now rub this cleanser on your left side, and rub this one on your right. If you have dry skin you’ll feel nice and tight on the left and nothing on the right. If you have oily skin you’ll feel good on the right.” She asks each person what they feel, and then gets to me.

“I feel like my whole face is itchy and burning.”

“Oh. OH! Here’s a bowl of water and a wipe. Take all of that off!”

But the best part comes after we finish putting on makeup. We’re then led into the den of hungry consultants that we are paraded in front of… for doing our own daggone makeup. We get seats of honor up front as these chicks proceed to pat themselves on the back for an hour. While we sat there. And sat. And sat. I heard more than enough about muthatruckin pink Cadillac’s and making millions, and somehow helping women with self-esteem through makeup. About how I could retire with soooo much money. And win trips, and diamonds, and sisterhood! It’s like a sorority! The even have special coats!

And then, after hearing like 5 different life stories of this chick with the hair-line that starts halfway beyond the field goal of her forehead, or the lady that put on her wonderful Mary Kay in the dark while drunk and doing a yoga pose… finally we are pulled back up for the ending of the dog and pony show.

And down the row we are asked “Would you like to drink the koolaid?” Or that’s what I heard. And sadly I was asked first. Don’t you want to join Mary Kay?

“Uh, no. No thanks.”

Blank looks all around.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. See, I’m in the military, and that’s a 24/7 job. I’ll get a retirement with that. You’re offering Toyota Camry. I have a Toyota Avalon already. I do volunteer work. I’m busy. So, no. Thank you.”

“But that’s the kind of women we NEED!”

“Absolutely NO. I’m happy with my life thank you.” (Just IGNORE that just a couple of weeks ago I was complaining about the military. I am trying to make a DAGGONE POINT here.)

“Well, uh, was there ANYTHING you liked?”

“Well, the makeup was nice, but not the facial wash.”

I pissed so hard in their cheerios that the boss lady of this Mary Kay branch had to regroup. Fix face. I could have went on. I could’ve said “How the heck are you going to equate selling make-up to community service? Or the fact that you are helping women? By what, throwing product on their face so they can feel better about themselves???” Granted, I love my make-up, but that is not fixing anyone’s problems. You CANNOT save the world through makeup. Mary Kay is not a superhero. And what’s with this daggone dog and pony show where at the end you put women on the spot and try to go all Jim Jones drink the Koolaid on them? I have avoided all trappings of crazy churches, sororities, clubs, and craziness except the military. And I went in eyes open on that one. But these heffa’s are using underhanded tactics. I’d almost be in awe except I believe THEY believe all the pink vomit that comes out of their mouths.

And all in all, I’m just pissed I was frackin duped. They appealed to my vanity, and then had me putting on my own d*mn makeup like I JUST did that morning. WTF? Wasted 4 hours of my daggone time, and I DIDN’T EVEN GET FREE SAMPLES.

Frack you with Mary Kay consultants. Frack you with your non-sensitive skin facial wash and a super long and brittle foundation brush.

I refuse to buy their shitake. I’m sticking with Clinique.