Day 5 is somewhat uninspired. I'm a mixed bag of emotions. This evening will go one of two ways:
--drinking into oblivion and passed out
--not drinking into oblivion and passing out in tears
Ill let you know tomorrow and maybe ill tell you why.
#31writenow
Monday, August 5, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Day 4
"It's her birthday! Lets get my friend a shot!" I won't turn down hard liquor at 12:30pm. The bartender, newly transplanted from some boring ass town, gives us back our IDs.
"Well...I would, had y'all came in a couple days ago. Today's the 20th. But happy belated chica! Ill make you something festive. And for you?"
Jason hands her his credit card. "Gin and tonic. And make hers strong enough she forgets how much of a horrible friend I am."
We all laugh corny laughs. I drink a glorified rum punch and Jason and I catch up. He leaves and insists I order another on him.
Text: hey sis-still getting hair done. Wont see you til later. Drinks on me tonight? 🎉🍸
Good. I make small talk with Kentucky (later, Im corrected with Tennessee) and she closes out her shift. I'm ready for this nap.
"Ayo shawty. Miss."
I'm counting down the crosswalk timer. 12, 11, 10... dudes still using shawty? I step into the street as he keeps yelling for my attention.
"Ma, don't do me like that, lemme talk to you." I don't walk any faster but my shoulders tense as I do. Two more blocks to the subway. I hear his voice closer, now in step with me. I slow down, considering what I want to say versus what ill actually say.
"You too good to speak? You got a fat ass." He reached for my arm. I step backwards.
"What's your name?" I look past him, as if I'm waiting for someone, something.
"...why? I don't have anything to say." I cross my arms, nervously flicking my metrocard between my fingers, wishing it was something sharper and filled with the courage I desperately wanted.
He sizes me up, his eyes fitting me snugly through this purple, boxy-tshirt, the closest thing to clean in my closet and not at all attractive. I feel traces of perversion around the bends in my thighs as he licks lust off his lips.
"Just tell me your name. I wanna know you."
"I-I have to go. Umm, have a good day. Bye."
It's not that I've never been in this situation before. More than I should, actually. I can't even say I brought it on myself. I wasn't dressed like the slut he wanted. Could he tell I was not exactly sober? Did I put myself in this position?
I'm at the turnstile. He's behind me. He's not there, he's not there.
His hand is where it shouldn't be. Caressing the sojourn from the small of my back up to the folds in my sides.
"The fuck off me!" Turning around to face my harasser.
"You a big one too..." His hand is still at my side.
"Im. Not. Interes--" the screeching 6 train mutes the next 6 seconds of my life.
"Ayo fuck you fat bitch. Didn't want your ugly tranny man lookin ass either." I see the key words underlined with his index fingers centimeters to my nose and feel a venomous conglomerate of saliva amalgamated on my right cheeks. The tears soon catch up with his rejection down my face and chin. He doesn't stick around long enough to enjoy his victory.
I clean myself with yesterday's sports section and wait for the next train. When that cheek started to bleed from the daily scrubbing, I decided if we ever crossed paths again, I needed a plan.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Day 3
The last bites of my blueberry pancakes isn't nearly as satisfying as the payback that was coming. A bitch, indeed.
"So, you still don't remember me?" My mouth watering from the salty butter and saccharine syrup as I considered breaking to him just how aint-shit he was. He looked up from his equally aint-shit well-done burger, searching my face for familiarity. Blank.
"Ah mean...outside uh here...nah. Wait. You go to church with my mama, over on 7th. Right? Yeah! I knew I seen you before! Woo! Why you didn't say any..." I laugh, a little too maniacal.
"No mothafucker. I don't know your bitch-ass mother from nowhere. Imma tell you where you know me from." I look around, just for good measure. "Remember Teresa?" His expression hardened with wonder, sipping tepid tap from the yellowing tumbler.
"The fuck? Who? Oh, ol girl in the mail room with the fat ass? I been tryna holla for a minute! I mean, before you, you know?"
These were the dumbasses I attracted.
--
Bugs were everywhere. I stumbled my way through the park in a sleepy haze as my body was not ready to run on Dunkin. My phone alarm blared at 8:57, a reminder that I should be where I planned on being for 9am. Early is on time, my mother reminds me as I pick up the pace.
The red and yellow balloons welcomed me to what was supposed to be a park. Right now it was piles of dirt, mulch and unassembled playground equipment. The flyer at work said "beautification projects" but I was not prepared for heavy-duty gardening and construction. The young girl at registration met my unreadiness with a tshirt and gloves.
"Yeah...we'll need to do a better job on communicating what 'beautification' means on eServe. We're giving out double hours for this project to make up for it...I apologize. But welcome! Name please?"
I pull my fro back into the raggedy elastic band on my wrist and stammer out my name. The sweat was winning the war on my minimal makeup and all the other adornments which now seemed out of place. I awkwardly wrestle my tank top off from under the company-issue tshirt, which was quite difficult under a medium tshirt.
The girl hands me my name tag and apologizes about the shirt. Something about running out and all the larges being done by 8:30. My mother's having a hearty laugh in my head.
I see many of my employees hard at work. Two of my interns eagerly chat me up to impress me. They were both extra regular but together they produced solid work. I only had room to hire one at the end of the summer and honestly, neither of them were worth it. I smiled, gave them some encouragement an reminded them about our meeting next week. I catch up with some other managers and jump right in to shoveling mulch into the space which would be a landing pit for a swing set.
A couple hours later, we move into assembling a see-saw. Rather, I put my interns on assembling a see-saw. One day they would laugh at my recounting this instance as their real interview. I liked employees who worked on their feet, who could improvise, who could figure out playground equipment without directions before lunchtime. At 94 degrees, I decide to retrieve water for them and my team. A man in the same yellow shirt as me is passing out bottles of cool, but not cold water.
"How many, miss." A declaration, rather than a question, with his back towards me.
"Five, thanks," I scroll through my emails and messages. My sister - "hey! Drinks after your volunteer day? Soooo much to tell you!" - and my bestie - "Yo." - make me chuckle. I hear 5 repetitive thuds on the table which turn my chuckle into light choking.
I never forgot his face. The snarl in his lip, the arrogance in his eyes, the scruff in his haphazard beard. Of all the places he could work, here? Fuck.
At that moment, I knew I had something for that ass. I lingered for a second, seeing if he'd remember me.
"How many, sir." I turn to the guy behind me. It was Randy, the office fuckface, for reasons. I pick up my bottles and locked eyes with him once more. Nothing, still.
Actually, it was better that way. I'd be introducing myself soon enough, and maybe a friend too.
"So, you still don't remember me?" My mouth watering from the salty butter and saccharine syrup as I considered breaking to him just how aint-shit he was. He looked up from his equally aint-shit well-done burger, searching my face for familiarity. Blank.
"Ah mean...outside uh here...nah. Wait. You go to church with my mama, over on 7th. Right? Yeah! I knew I seen you before! Woo! Why you didn't say any..." I laugh, a little too maniacal.
"No mothafucker. I don't know your bitch-ass mother from nowhere. Imma tell you where you know me from." I look around, just for good measure. "Remember Teresa?" His expression hardened with wonder, sipping tepid tap from the yellowing tumbler.
"The fuck? Who? Oh, ol girl in the mail room with the fat ass? I been tryna holla for a minute! I mean, before you, you know?"
These were the dumbasses I attracted.
--
Bugs were everywhere. I stumbled my way through the park in a sleepy haze as my body was not ready to run on Dunkin. My phone alarm blared at 8:57, a reminder that I should be where I planned on being for 9am. Early is on time, my mother reminds me as I pick up the pace.
The red and yellow balloons welcomed me to what was supposed to be a park. Right now it was piles of dirt, mulch and unassembled playground equipment. The flyer at work said "beautification projects" but I was not prepared for heavy-duty gardening and construction. The young girl at registration met my unreadiness with a tshirt and gloves.
"Yeah...we'll need to do a better job on communicating what 'beautification' means on eServe. We're giving out double hours for this project to make up for it...I apologize. But welcome! Name please?"
I pull my fro back into the raggedy elastic band on my wrist and stammer out my name. The sweat was winning the war on my minimal makeup and all the other adornments which now seemed out of place. I awkwardly wrestle my tank top off from under the company-issue tshirt, which was quite difficult under a medium tshirt.
The girl hands me my name tag and apologizes about the shirt. Something about running out and all the larges being done by 8:30. My mother's having a hearty laugh in my head.
I see many of my employees hard at work. Two of my interns eagerly chat me up to impress me. They were both extra regular but together they produced solid work. I only had room to hire one at the end of the summer and honestly, neither of them were worth it. I smiled, gave them some encouragement an reminded them about our meeting next week. I catch up with some other managers and jump right in to shoveling mulch into the space which would be a landing pit for a swing set.
A couple hours later, we move into assembling a see-saw. Rather, I put my interns on assembling a see-saw. One day they would laugh at my recounting this instance as their real interview. I liked employees who worked on their feet, who could improvise, who could figure out playground equipment without directions before lunchtime. At 94 degrees, I decide to retrieve water for them and my team. A man in the same yellow shirt as me is passing out bottles of cool, but not cold water.
"How many, miss." A declaration, rather than a question, with his back towards me.
"Five, thanks," I scroll through my emails and messages. My sister - "hey! Drinks after your volunteer day? Soooo much to tell you!" - and my bestie - "Yo." - make me chuckle. I hear 5 repetitive thuds on the table which turn my chuckle into light choking.
I never forgot his face. The snarl in his lip, the arrogance in his eyes, the scruff in his haphazard beard. Of all the places he could work, here? Fuck.
At that moment, I knew I had something for that ass. I lingered for a second, seeing if he'd remember me.
"How many, sir." I turn to the guy behind me. It was Randy, the office fuckface, for reasons. I pick up my bottles and locked eyes with him once more. Nothing, still.
Actually, it was better that way. I'd be introducing myself soon enough, and maybe a friend too.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Day 2
I like making lists. This one is inspired by a blog by @feministajones on femininity.
1. i don't think I'm completely embraced my femininity. I can only consider whether I like being a woman in relation to being a man, which is never been or will ever be. There's so many reasons why being a man would be great (those extra 23 cents, peeing standing up) but there's some fun in being a woman. Now only if men would stop taking said joy away.
2. I have a weird relationship with the color pink. We're socially conditioned to think of pink as a girl's color, from the first swaddle to the last flower placed on our caskets (I don't even recall my grandmother - RIP - liking pink). I didn't wear it a lot growing up and if I ever had an option to choose toys or clothing in different colors I did. About a few years ago, I decided that I will choose pink solely in attempt to appear more girly. Stupid, right? I own a lot of stuff in pink now-one could think it's my favorite color. It's not.
3. For women to be such a lesser sex, there sure are a lot of male entertainers who like (making their money from) pretending to be women. I guess being a woman is great for the sum of her parts. I maybe in the minority in that the "work" it takes to look like a woman, superficially, is work. I just wonder why men would take the time to try to look, sound and act like me, all to take it off and voila, be a man again! On a larger scale, I don't understand men feeling like they're born in the wrong body. I'm all for being your true self, but I can't see how a man just feels like they're supposed to be a woman. Is there a void where their ovaries would be? Do they feel like they're missing out on nurturing loved ones in their bosom?
4. Can a woman live completely fearless? I love the idea of a strong, independent, can-do-all woman. But even the strongest and most amazing is in danger of being taken advantage of, being reduced to diminutive descriptors, shamed for what she cannot control and controlled for what she could never have access to. She still worries when she walks down the street on a warm summer night. She'll always wonder if she'll fall short of being the best mother, auntie, daughter and wife ever.
5. I really want to get boudoir photos taken. Not as a bigger woman. I want flat stomach, or smaller stomach. Strategic lighting and dramatic poses in the best lingerie money can buy. I don't consider myself photogenic but it would be cool to be portrayed as sexy. I'm aware that I can be sexy anytime and everyday. I just...don't.
6. Who came up the phrase "feminine hygiene"? A whole aisle dedicated to me NOT smelling unsavory at any point in the month. What? It's up there with "ethnic hair preparation" at CVS. Also, thanks for putting condoms, lube and pregnancy tests, and Monistat in the same aisle. I need that perspective.
7. I've never bought condoms before. Won't get into why or how but a woman should know how to do it, right? If I had to run out to the drugstore right now I'd be so lost. I'd totally be the girl who just sputters "...uh, what's better, the yellow box or the black box? I don't need 12, do I?... Just give me both. Shit, $18? Really?"
8. I don't watch the Simpsons often but Lisa Simpson is really awesome. I wish she could grow up in real-time. According to Wikipedia, she was born in 84 and popularized the phrase "meh." I actually think about this a lot for fictional women characters: the Baby Sitters Club, Daria, Patti Mayonnaise, Ramona Quimby... Why can't I think of any black women fictional characters? The two which come to mind are Lauren Olamina and Addy from the American Girl series. Surely you can draw your own parallels between these girls as to the kinda woman I am.
9. There have been a rash of stories about girls, as always, doing the damn thing, particularly in STEM and overall academic excellence. The one girl who completed her bachelors at 14? And another girl in the UK who passed the bar at 18? (Links below) I just saw some video about a girl in Canada who invented a flashlight powered by energy emitted from your hands when holding it.
Then there's some more unfortunate stories, like a girl who was arrested, or suspended (I can't remember) for speaking up about a literature assignment, another for a science experiment... I'm having a hard time finding these stories online but my point: i really hope these arent becoming "look, a girl can do it too" novelty stories. First, duh, of course she can and second (and probably contrary to my first point), it cannot be easy to reconcile femininity with scholarship. Edit: it ISN'T easy to reconcile femininity with scholarship. To do it at 14? 18? 11? To grapple being taken seriously as a woman, as a professional when you're "just a girl," then be "not a real girl" because those accolades aren't socially accepted as womanly?
Thinking as a woman is overwhelming. #31writenow
1. i don't think I'm completely embraced my femininity. I can only consider whether I like being a woman in relation to being a man, which is never been or will ever be. There's so many reasons why being a man would be great (those extra 23 cents, peeing standing up) but there's some fun in being a woman. Now only if men would stop taking said joy away.
2. I have a weird relationship with the color pink. We're socially conditioned to think of pink as a girl's color, from the first swaddle to the last flower placed on our caskets (I don't even recall my grandmother - RIP - liking pink). I didn't wear it a lot growing up and if I ever had an option to choose toys or clothing in different colors I did. About a few years ago, I decided that I will choose pink solely in attempt to appear more girly. Stupid, right? I own a lot of stuff in pink now-one could think it's my favorite color. It's not.
3. For women to be such a lesser sex, there sure are a lot of male entertainers who like (making their money from) pretending to be women. I guess being a woman is great for the sum of her parts. I maybe in the minority in that the "work" it takes to look like a woman, superficially, is work. I just wonder why men would take the time to try to look, sound and act like me, all to take it off and voila, be a man again! On a larger scale, I don't understand men feeling like they're born in the wrong body. I'm all for being your true self, but I can't see how a man just feels like they're supposed to be a woman. Is there a void where their ovaries would be? Do they feel like they're missing out on nurturing loved ones in their bosom?
4. Can a woman live completely fearless? I love the idea of a strong, independent, can-do-all woman. But even the strongest and most amazing is in danger of being taken advantage of, being reduced to diminutive descriptors, shamed for what she cannot control and controlled for what she could never have access to. She still worries when she walks down the street on a warm summer night. She'll always wonder if she'll fall short of being the best mother, auntie, daughter and wife ever.
5. I really want to get boudoir photos taken. Not as a bigger woman. I want flat stomach, or smaller stomach. Strategic lighting and dramatic poses in the best lingerie money can buy. I don't consider myself photogenic but it would be cool to be portrayed as sexy. I'm aware that I can be sexy anytime and everyday. I just...don't.
6. Who came up the phrase "feminine hygiene"? A whole aisle dedicated to me NOT smelling unsavory at any point in the month. What? It's up there with "ethnic hair preparation" at CVS. Also, thanks for putting condoms, lube and pregnancy tests, and Monistat in the same aisle. I need that perspective.
7. I've never bought condoms before. Won't get into why or how but a woman should know how to do it, right? If I had to run out to the drugstore right now I'd be so lost. I'd totally be the girl who just sputters "...uh, what's better, the yellow box or the black box? I don't need 12, do I?... Just give me both. Shit, $18? Really?"
8. I don't watch the Simpsons often but Lisa Simpson is really awesome. I wish she could grow up in real-time. According to Wikipedia, she was born in 84 and popularized the phrase "meh." I actually think about this a lot for fictional women characters: the Baby Sitters Club, Daria, Patti Mayonnaise, Ramona Quimby... Why can't I think of any black women fictional characters? The two which come to mind are Lauren Olamina and Addy from the American Girl series. Surely you can draw your own parallels between these girls as to the kinda woman I am.
9. There have been a rash of stories about girls, as always, doing the damn thing, particularly in STEM and overall academic excellence. The one girl who completed her bachelors at 14? And another girl in the UK who passed the bar at 18? (Links below) I just saw some video about a girl in Canada who invented a flashlight powered by energy emitted from your hands when holding it.
Then there's some more unfortunate stories, like a girl who was arrested, or suspended (I can't remember) for speaking up about a literature assignment, another for a science experiment... I'm having a hard time finding these stories online but my point: i really hope these arent becoming "look, a girl can do it too" novelty stories. First, duh, of course she can and second (and probably contrary to my first point), it cannot be easy to reconcile femininity with scholarship. Edit: it ISN'T easy to reconcile femininity with scholarship. To do it at 14? 18? 11? To grapple being taken seriously as a woman, as a professional when you're "just a girl," then be "not a real girl" because those accolades aren't socially accepted as womanly?
Thinking as a woman is overwhelming. #31writenow
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Day 1
I've woken up more days last month in tears or on the verge of them. I kinda know why, and I kinda don't want to talk about it.
I tried smiling today. A friend told me I don't smile enough. Maybe that's true. I tried smiling today and it ...hurt. Not real pain, but it felt fake, so inauthentic that no matter which way I smiled, how hard I tried to evoke memories of happiness, none of those smiles fit.
So I stopped smiling. Maybe I've stopped smiling for years.
I decided going for a walk would make me feel better. It did. Still not smiling.
Here's to a better day 2. #31writenow
I tried smiling today. A friend told me I don't smile enough. Maybe that's true. I tried smiling today and it ...hurt. Not real pain, but it felt fake, so inauthentic that no matter which way I smiled, how hard I tried to evoke memories of happiness, none of those smiles fit.
So I stopped smiling. Maybe I've stopped smiling for years.
I decided going for a walk would make me feel better. It did. Still not smiling.
Here's to a better day 2. #31writenow
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Un(en)titled
This is about more than sweatshirts
This is about the lies we dress ourselves
Zipping up half and quarter truths in neat little phrases
Post-racial
Melting pot
The human race
American
This is about more than hard shelled candies
But the sugarcoated lives we created
When gentrification moves in next door, down the street
Lines are drawn
Guns are drawn
Sketches are drawn
"The alleged criminal is a black male wearing a hooded sweatshirt..."
He's also wearing a life of ever depreciating value. YOU FORGOT THE LIFE OF DEPRECIATED VALUE!
This is about more than iced tea
Does this verdict refresh you?
Or render you parched for real innocence? Of your children, your mothers, your brothers?
Your own innocence!
Is your throat dried from the guilt we've bottled and canned, to only sip, chug, guzzle when reminded were guilty before never proven innocent?
This is about more than if he was white, Latino, guilty or innocent.
This is complex but simply about privilege, comfort, freedom
America is our prison to serve life sentences
His life, his skin, his breath is his death penalty
Or was his death his life penalty?
This is about the lies we dress ourselves
Zipping up half and quarter truths in neat little phrases
Post-racial
Melting pot
The human race
American
This is about more than hard shelled candies
But the sugarcoated lives we created
When gentrification moves in next door, down the street
Lines are drawn
Guns are drawn
Sketches are drawn
"The alleged criminal is a black male wearing a hooded sweatshirt..."
He's also wearing a life of ever depreciating value. YOU FORGOT THE LIFE OF DEPRECIATED VALUE!
This is about more than iced tea
Does this verdict refresh you?
Or render you parched for real innocence? Of your children, your mothers, your brothers?
Your own innocence!
Is your throat dried from the guilt we've bottled and canned, to only sip, chug, guzzle when reminded were guilty before never proven innocent?
This is about more than if he was white, Latino, guilty or innocent.
This is complex but simply about privilege, comfort, freedom
America is our prison to serve life sentences
His life, his skin, his breath is his death penalty
Or was his death his life penalty?
Sunday, July 7, 2013
PSA: National Mental Health Month
(EDIT: I wrote this July 2011 and seeing I never posted it! It's still
relevant. -TD
July is National Mental Health. What does it means to be mentally
unstable? How to treat it? How NOT to treat it?What does mental health
mean in truly taking care of ourselves and others?
These are questions (and stigmas that grow from them) I've considered
through my bouts of depression. I reflected on who I was, and who I
(still) am during #noshameday, started by @basseyworldlive and
@thesiweproject. After you read this blog, please read up on The Siwe
Project and if only for this month, educate yourself on how mental
health specifically affects marginalized people, particularly
communities of color. Do it for yourself, for another loved one, for
the greater good.
...ok, so you're still hesitant. What if I gave you some direction?
1. Start with more about me. It's my blog so you have some interest in
me. I wasn't always this awesome. Or maybe I was and I was the last to
realize it. The day I decided to have #noshame was the day I admitted
that everything was not OK. I figured, maybe it's not just me. And I
was right.
2. Getchu some continuing education by following @thesiweproject.
3. Acknowledge and respect mental health and its professionals.
There's having a bad day because you couldnt get out of bed and later
lost your keys, then there's never wanting to get out of bed, and
later wanting to self-inflict physical and mental harm because you
lost your keys. Shout out not only to those who ultimately seek the
help they need, but the endless patience of those who are at the other
end of help.
4. Read someone else's story. You know bits and pieces of mine, but
take a look through the #noshameday tag. While twitter (and social
media) can be a very forthcoming platform, it takes a lot for someone
to say "im suffering, I need help." A lot of our stories boil down to
the same elements: lacking our most basic needs (to be fed, pleased
and cared for) in pursuit of self-realization.
In addition to reading #noshameday stories, check out Maslow's
Hierarchy of Needs and Willow Weep For Me, a memoir of a black woman's
mental health journey. If that's not for you, read a memoir or
biography of someone you truly respect. I bet you'll find their life
was no crystal stair.
5. Pass it on. By "it" I mean this. This blog, these resources. You
never know who will need it.
Sent from my iPhone
relevant. -TD
July is National Mental Health. What does it means to be mentally
unstable? How to treat it? How NOT to treat it?What does mental health
mean in truly taking care of ourselves and others?
These are questions (and stigmas that grow from them) I've considered
through my bouts of depression. I reflected on who I was, and who I
(still) am during #noshameday, started by @basseyworldlive and
@thesiweproject. After you read this blog, please read up on The Siwe
Project and if only for this month, educate yourself on how mental
health specifically affects marginalized people, particularly
communities of color. Do it for yourself, for another loved one, for
the greater good.
...ok, so you're still hesitant. What if I gave you some direction?
1. Start with more about me. It's my blog so you have some interest in
me. I wasn't always this awesome. Or maybe I was and I was the last to
realize it. The day I decided to have #noshame was the day I admitted
that everything was not OK. I figured, maybe it's not just me. And I
was right.
2. Getchu some continuing education by following @thesiweproject.
3. Acknowledge and respect mental health and its professionals.
There's having a bad day because you couldnt get out of bed and later
lost your keys, then there's never wanting to get out of bed, and
later wanting to self-inflict physical and mental harm because you
lost your keys. Shout out not only to those who ultimately seek the
help they need, but the endless patience of those who are at the other
end of help.
4. Read someone else's story. You know bits and pieces of mine, but
take a look through the #noshameday tag. While twitter (and social
media) can be a very forthcoming platform, it takes a lot for someone
to say "im suffering, I need help." A lot of our stories boil down to
the same elements: lacking our most basic needs (to be fed, pleased
and cared for) in pursuit of self-realization.
In addition to reading #noshameday stories, check out Maslow's
Hierarchy of Needs and Willow Weep For Me, a memoir of a black woman's
mental health journey. If that's not for you, read a memoir or
biography of someone you truly respect. I bet you'll find their life
was no crystal stair.
5. Pass it on. By "it" I mean this. This blog, these resources. You
never know who will need it.
Sent from my iPhone
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