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Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The "Oreo" Complex

I like comic books, Henry Rollins,  the English language, Katt from Ink'ed, anime and paying my bills on time. I like Fat Albert, nappy hair, Jay Electronica, watermelon and melanin. I like baby oil and cocoa butter. Dang it, I'm COMPLEX! I like alot of things that seem diametrically opposed to each other. Pull your chair up close, because this is the true confession that I don't often share. I listen to Farrakhan and Kenneth Copeland frequently within the same day. And here is where you can let the shock and awe commence, when it comes to the dreaded "N word", I range in reactions from "who cares" to "paint the white house black" depending on which white person said it and in what context. *Pauses for the gasp and dodges several evil eyes.*
This is the thing, I've somehow melded two wildy divergent portions of my personality to fit with my wildly divergent history, so what bubbles to the surface is pretty danged incongruent. It's been commented regarding several previous posts. My favorite synopsis thus far: "What I like most about your blog is your ability to conjure up the image of Focquecia the Elizabethan. I feel like I'm in King Arthur's court with my homegirl rockin' fingerwaves, loc's and a press 'n curl...all at the same time". I bow deeply! Like I always say, "My random is amazing!" So peculiar, in fact that despite the deep chestnutty~ness of my skin, the comb breaking kinkiness of my hair and the miraculous flair of my prodigous Zulu nostrils...I keep getting called "white girl" by someone with synthetic hair, nails and eyes. My failure to howl, "ooooh dass my song" at the opening of a Drake verse is somehow mis~identifying me! Oh my goodness, I think I'm "inadequately Black"!!!

What's "inadequately black"? It's those strange looks you get when admitting you enjoy Glee, own boxed sets of Seinfeld and avoid the chitterlings at family reunions. At this point, you should know that some of these posts are direct spin offs from random FB, Twitter, real life conversations with bill collectors and knowing that, we can play around with a couple of scenarios.

I like both exercising AND eating healthy. Something about completing a meal that doesn't leave me in a coma, and getting up with the sun (and before the heat of a Texas day) to run, lift weights and do yoga, makes me happy (when I'm finished). Black Women can actually experience a high that has nothing to do with trapping the right man, finding the perfect weave or hamhocks. I'm one of those women and I stand up proud...(when not suffering P90X muscle spasms...haha, there's the joke!)

See, this entire entry started with a conversation filled with presumptuous and character assasinating concludsions drawn about sweet, innocent, lil old me and my hair.  I won't drag you kicking and screaming through the conversation, my response (which follows) should be illumination enough.  Despite the blond locs...I can't second line! I hate to break it to you, but there were blonde dreadlocked Black people before Katrina. For some, it *gasp" grew out their head that way! Melanin allows many flavors in this multiethnic gumbo culture. One of which is realizing that your child, (yes, you...with the coal black hair) can be born as blond as my Suns were. In fact, my eldest brother, whose resemblance to Isaac Hayes was/is much lauded, routinely sprouts sandy, blond hairs that mystified and entertain family and friends alike.

I'm not reading to avoid you...I like books. I know...if you see me in public I should be reading Zane and hoping you're impressed.  I read Zane once. After finding myself sufficiently sickened, I plowed head first into Chuck Palahnuik and Toni Morrison. (Yes, at the same time!) I felt a need to be scrubbed clean and baptized by some of my favorites. I don't hang out at the local bookstore. Whenever possible, I order my books online and await a plain paper bag addressed to me, like a tawdry little secret.  If I went to Boreds N Nobbies, I'd end up wondering aisles looking for Thomas Harris, Octavia Butler, Jerry Stahl, Ntozake Shange, and David Sedaris. That's too much cross reference walking for me! And Khan help if I decide I want graphic novels or comics...*funky maze*.

ING is not JUST a financial institution...I speak ENGLISH. I've got this thing with saying "GOING TO" instead of "gonna". I avoid "type text" because I won't BBL or TTYL or any such nonsense. I'll say or type, "I'm headed out" or "I'll meet you there". Calling into question my successful use of the letter "g" is the only ammunition I need to become "Cruella De Vocab"! Friends, family and the occasional random stranger have heard it from me a billion times, but here's the rundown: There's a difference between "there", "their", "they're"..."waist" and "waste"..."your" and "you're"...I can do this all day! And if I do, I start to bleed.  It's unpleasant. Syntax, spelling, grammar. PLEASE

I'm NOT a grandmother at 21, 25 or 30...I've Suns. They are two of the funniest, wittiest, most insightful young men who pull 20 year old women that I know. They're TEENAGERS, back off!!!!!!!!!!!! *Deep Breath* My Suns carry themselves as men in most circumstances that don't involve me. (I like that about them). But in hearing that I have teen Suns, the first question/statement is ALWAYS baby related about my potential "granny" status or their capacity to "grandma~tize" me. This is my attempt to refrain from embarrassing them or "putting their business in the street", my Suns know how to apply, remove and hide a condom to prevent insemination. I taught them...that's my job.

I am not tragically colored.
There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul,
nor lurking behind my eyes.
I do not mind at all.
I've not forgotten my heritage, history nor ancestors...these things festoon themselves about my impressive shoulders and crowd themselves into my stride.  I've not abandoned "all things black" for the sake of integration or some revolutionary change.  I happen to like some stuff decidedly outside of the norm...and I'm sure you have too.  To quote my Spirit Elder, Zora Neale Hurston,  "I am not tragically colored...". I don't blame Reagan, Nixon, Columbus or Bush for where I am in life. (Perhaps because I like where I am...) Honestly, the last foot on my neck I placed there through economic ignorance, willful indifference or frustration. As I grow, I'm able to tell that foot where to firmly place itself. See, this is the thing. I hate stereotypes and generalizations. Yes, I apply them for comedic effect (frequently!), but when they are confused with the truth, something in me hits the factory resets and I go back to being plain ol', amazingly convoluted me.

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