Archive for True PBG Story

“Go Comb Your Hair!” And Other Quips From The Loser Brigade

The other night I was out with my friend Kellie. We stopped in a 7-Eleven and happened upon a very crass and dusty Black man. He had to have been all of 35 years-old and had some fuzzy straight back cornrows. His entire essence gave me the impression that he’s either just finishing a stint in jail or about start one, undoubtedly related to unpaid child support or a botched robbery. This guy thought he’d talk very loudly about defecation in front of a few pretty women, no doubt to garner some attention and wow us with his charm. He defended his prepubescent potty humor chatter by saying “It’s natural!” Yeah, it is but let’s not pretend that if I had started talking about menstruation or childbirth he wouldn’t have fallen to pieces. I turned around to get a little cash for the evening from the ATM and when I was done, this grown ass Dust Bunny was still talking, being a complete jerk,  but had turned his attention to Kellie. So I frowned at his lameness. I’d had about enough of him at that point. He asks me “Why you frownin’ Miss Lady?” I chuckled at his utter ridiculousness and asked him “Why are you talking??” and we walked out. He ended up passing us on the sidewalk outside and yelled over to me “Shawty, don’t ever ask me why I’m talkin’ again.” Boy, bye…with your wack delayed response. Check this out:

Me: “Sir. Really? What are you gonna do? Like, for real?”

Him: “I ain’t gonna do nothin’; I ain’t gotta do nothin’.”

Me: “OK then. Gone and catch up with your friend. We’re done here.”

Him: “You need to go comb your hair!”

I tell this story to illustrate the utter ridiculousness of attempting to insult someone by making statements in relation to factual information. This is the logic of the unfunny, the hurt and the desperate. Fuzzy Wuzzy tried to come for me by saying that my hair was unkempt and needed combing. “Nappyheaded”, right? So original. So ironic. But the truth of the matter is I didn’t not comb my hair before I left home. I usually don’t because that’s not how I care for my hair. I’ve also been “insulted” (mostly by Angry Ugly Bitter Men) by being called “fat”, “short”, “Black”, some derivative of “old” (stop guessing at my age because you will never be right) and making mention of my wigs.

This is the laziest bullshyt I’ve ever had thrown my way.

Look, when you get mad and start making statements of fact about someone in order to alleviate your little hurt-ass feelings, you look like a fool. ESPECIALLY when you do it in a public forum (on the street/Twitter/Facebook/My blog comment sections). Calling a Black girl “Black” or a Fat Girl “fat” is silly and bland. No one is impressed. Telling a Naturalista to “go comb her hair” isn’t insulting, it’s nonsensical. Same for calling a woman in her 30’s “old”. I mean, that may make sense if you’re like 19 or have the mentality of a teenager. Either way, as a rational woman, there is simply no way I can respond to any of that and not look as shamefully stupid as the one attempting to hurl the insults. I would not even begin to waste the glory of my eviscerating wit on someone who will NEVER ever be a worthy opponent. You are King Zero No Higher of The Loser Brigade.

Besides, those things you point out to try to hurt my feelings are the very things that made you notice me in the first place, right? You just didn’t anticipate being so attracted to them. Make the world a better place and go deal with your issues.

 

~pbg

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My Name Is My Name: Kill The Random Apostrophe

 

For some reason, some of the parents of the kids in my class at work have decided that my first name requires an apostrophe. Not that I’ve ever on that job or any time in my entire life written or signed my name like this:

Ca’Shawn

But apparently, folks at the job place assume that my name is supposed to look like that. Why? I feel like it has EVERYTHING to do with the fact that I am a Black Girl and the assumptions people like to make about our names. Say what you will about me and my assumptions, but there is nothing you can say that will make me think otherwise. People swear they know Black Girls, despite the fact that we are erased and disregarded more than anybody else on the planet.

And more than I hate seeing that Random Apostrophe just thrown into my name, I hate that the assumption is made that it should be there, especially if you’ve never seen it before.

FACT: I am too old to have a Random Apostrophe in my name. 

I am of the generation of Random Capitalizations. Black Girls born between 1969 and 1982 don’t have Random Apostrophes in our names. That particular brand of creativity wasn’t even en vogue yet. But I can’t tell you how many LaJuans, LaShawns, LaRaes, ShaRondas, etc that I went all through school with over the years.

 

Random Apostrophes weren’t hot in the streets until well into the ’80s. This is a Black History Month. Get familiar with our culture if you’re gonna deal with me!

But yeah, kill the Random Apostrophe, because I’m a Black Girl Gen Xer and my name is my name.

 

~pbg

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A is for Adoption, Amazing and [Happy Birthday] Alex!

Adoption. I know you’re thinking about when a couple that wants to have a child chooses for one reason or another to take little one into their family that wasn’t born to them to love and cherish ’til death do they part. I love adoption. I think it is one of the most awesome things that anybody can do. Whenever I happen upon a family that has an adopted child, I ask about their adoption story, just like I ask Mommies about their birth stories. I swear, those are the best tales of love to me.

I have an adoption story of my own I’d like to share:

About 4 years ago (maybe 5?), I met a beautifully snarky young man in the mean streets of MySpace. He was smart, gorgeous to look at, one of the BEST writers I’d ever seen anywhere and gay as an Easter Parade. His name was Alex and I must admit, that I fell in instant e-Love with him. Before Alex and I even met in person, we became each other’s biggest fans. Our chat sessions were the stuff of legend and eventually graduated to amazing phone calls. This Mutual Admiration Society of Two had plenty hoes #jellis. Our combined Greatness shone like the finest cubic zirconia from the depths of the MySpace gutters. We had to take it offline, because the Internet could no longer contain us.

I organized a party for another friend of mine in DC for her birthday, and invited quite a few folks who were in our circle, but not in DC. Of course I invited this Special Young Man. He was living in New York City at the time and it was only a hop-skip and jump to get down here. He decided (after a bit of trepidation, I later found out) to come on down and the moment he appeared on my doorstep, I knew he was indeed a keeper. I flung my arms around him and embraced into my ample bosom, declaring him My Family. Oh, how I love My Alex.

This Amazing young man is now my nephew, the one I found on the Internet and subsequently adopted. Alex is Amazing because he has lived/survived a life that most folks couldn’t fathom. Alex is Amazing because he writes in a way that leaves folks experiencing every emotion that a human could have. Alex is Amazing because chases dreams and Red Velvet Cake and allows me to live vicariously through him. Alex is Amazing because of his Love for his actual family and for me, the Old Lady that decided to take him on without even asking for permission.

The truth of the matter is that I had to make Alex my family. It’s just too hard to refer to someone that I care about as much as I care about him as just “a friend”.

Alex is in Panama now, exploring his roots, teaching English, absorbing the culture and prolly messin’ around with somebody…with his fast tail self. Right before he left, he came to visit me and reassure me that he’d be OK going off on his next life adventure. Here’s a few pics from the last time we took to the streets of DC together:

Wooohooo! Look at us...being FAHN!

So adorable.

Nova was there too! I love when my important friends meet each other & get along. It's a wonderful magic.

"Me: You so beautiful. Alex: So are you. Me: I know."

Smooches!

 

Today is Alex’s birthday. I just wanted to tell him yet again, how important he is to me, how much I love him and how glad I am he agreed to be a part of my clan.

 

~pbg

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“Smile For Me. NOW, DAMMIT!!!”: Power Plays vs. Authentic Joy

Yesterday I was out with my daughter who is 17 years and 9 months old. We had gone thrift shopping yet again and were getting on the bus to first stop at IHOP to eat some pancakes, then go back home. This is a regular thing for us to do, since I refuse to own a car. I’m DC to the bone and I see those Auto-Mo’-Bills for what they are. Word.

At any rate, we lined up behind other folks getting on the bus ahead of us and as usual, I was digging through my gigantic purse to find my fare card. I found it as I began to step up on the bus. Before I could scan my card, the bus operator looks right at me and says

“You lookin’ all mean! Why you ain’t smilin’?”

Excuse me, Sir? What?

I stood where I was, smiled and said “Oh, what…do I owe you a smile today? Is that going to make you feel better? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” 

The bus driver, a Black man, looked at me and shook his head in disgust. Seriously, he was REAL MAD with my response.

Son, I can’t help you. I don’t even owe you anything, but since you were so bothered with my general countenance, enough so to comment on my lack of a smile, I gave you a lil’ something. But a smile isn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was a segue to a conversation with me. He wanted me to smile not because he wanted me to be happy or appreciate air in my lungs or the sun up in the sky. He wanted me to smile so he could feel comfortable furthering his agenda of holleration at a Pretty Black Girl Who Probably Needs A Man Cuz She Shops At The Thrift Store And Rides The Bus With Her Kid. Dot Com. 

He was disgusted with me when his attempts at creating an “In” where one didn’t exist before didn’t work. Dudes be pissed off when their Power Plays don’t work. When the Power Plays don’t work, it’s not because their timing is off or the lady just prefers not to be bothered at the moment, it’s because Black Women are “angry” and don’t know how to take a compliment or appreciate attention, ANY ATTENTION. Even from socially awkward, self-important Metro Bus operators. We ain’t shyt cuz we’re not interested. Help me, Holy Ghost. Again, I don’t owe anybody anything, least of all a smile.

A Sista can’t just rest her face in these mean streets cuz we ALWAYS have to be at the ready to make SOMEBODY else comfortable with our presence, and the only acceptable Black Girl is one that is wide open for whatever…a smiley one. But guess what? We smile when we’re good n’ damn ready and for a myriad of reasons. Authentic smiles are better:

Shout out to the Beautiful Girls on Tumblr who sent me their authentic smiles. Smiles that don't necessarily mean they wanna talk to a pressed man. Remember that.

 

I sat on the bus with my daughter and talked about this with her a little, since she’s a Pretty Black Girl and has to deal with this and other kinds of “commentary” as she comes and goes on her own. #StreetHarassment.  #TeachableMoments. She has to be ready for what the world will attempt to impose upon her. When we got off the bus, he tried it again:

You still lookin’ all mean!

As much as I wanted to snap back, I just ignored him. I had to be a good example for my daughter because snapping back at a pressed man on the wrong day could get a woman dead. Hell, IGNORING a pressed man on the wrong day could get a woman dead, but that right there is a lesson for another day.

~pbg

 

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