why didn’t she say something sooner?

I’ve heard people ask why Dr. Ford didn’t  say anything sooner. These same people seem to think that there’s no way the assault happened or that if it did it wasn’t really that bad because it wasn’t rape and she didn’t say anything. Here are my thoughts.

Sexual assault is about consent not intent. I don’t care if you were just “joking around,” or “didn’t mean any harm. Unless you have permission, touching, groping, fondling, etc. are considered sexual assault. Consent is also not transferable. How I feel today may not be how I feel next week and you need to respect that.

The spectrum of assault is wide-ranging and will elicit different emotions for different people. Regardless, the emotions are valid. I’ve read comments and heard mostly men say that what happened to Dr. Ford wasn’t a big deal and shouldn’t be a big deal now since something so small happened so long ago. It can take years to unpack feelings associated with an assault if you even recognize what happened to you as sexual assault. Society has normalized this behavior to the point where we question whether or not groping and fondling is just to be expected. To one person, a pinch on the ass may not be a big deal but to someone else it could mean years of trauma and and inability to trust.

Since behaviors are normalized, we may not recognize actions as assault but they still are. As a woman, I’ve come to expect certain things: if i’m standing by a bar, a man passing by will rub his hands along my side, my waist and/or my ass; if a guy drives me home and I don’t want to sleep with him, I need to make sure that he doesn’t park, that I exit the car quickly, and that I have a reason why he can’t come up because “no” isn’t sufficient; at some point during the evening, i’ll be touched in some way, whether it’s putting a hand in the ripped part of my jeans, rubbing my shoulders, or placing a crawling hand on my knee – something will happen and i’ll have to say “hey don’t do that.” After I say something it’ll probably happen at least two more times. This behavior is seen as normal and a sign of affection which it absolutely can be if there’s consent. If you say don’t like it you’re being uptight because it’s not like it’s rape, right? What some people don’t understand is that these behaviors can be triggers because that’s how our sexual assault started in the first place. It was a casual hand on the knee that crawled to the inner thigh. It was a hug that lasted too long and resulted in not being able to get the person off of you.

Sometimes we don’t say anything because we think it’s our fault. I had too many drinks, I was wearing that dress, I was being too flirtatious or I was 7 and I didn’t say no as it was happening. Society tells us that as women, you shouldn’t invite a man home or go home with a man unless you’re fully consenting. There’s really little wiggle room to change your mind. Men are told that they just need to be more persuasive, I mean she gave you the green light by inviting you over right? How many times has something happened to you and you felt so ashamed because “you should have known better?” As children, we’re not really taught about the body’s physical reaction to sexual stimulation therefore it’s extremely confusing when something’s happening to you and your body is like, “oh hey,” while your mind is like, “oh no.” This persists into adulthood.  You tell a guy, “no, stop, don’t, I don’t want to,” and he says, “come on, don’t be that way, your body seems like it wants to.” You tell yourself, well I guess my body does want to so I guess that’s what we’re doing. This is still sexual assault and/or rape.

Sometimes we don’t say anything because we’re pretty sure nothing will happen. It may be because you know that the person who assaulted you has a certain a position of authority or great social status and is well-liked. Or maybe you did tell your mom and she automatically blamed you and sent you to your room. Why would you want to relive some of the most difficult times of your life to be blamed and then to have nothing happen?

People are hypocrites. I understand that people lie and misremember so you can’t rush to judgement, but even when presented with “proof,” people still don’t believe the victims. People are still caping for Bill Cosby when there is actual proof of his crimes. He said he drugged women but that’s not enough.  I would have more respect for Kavanaugh if he said something like, “I was a dumb kid. I did a lot of questionable things. I never thought about the impact of my behavior on others and I’m sorry for that. I have worked hard to be a better person as evidenced by blank.” This man started talking about how many women were his friends and how many women he hired. This is the same argument as, “hey i’m not racist, I have a Black friend.”

On that note, what is also infuriating is that Kavanaugh is being painted as “just a boy” who has grown up to become a fine pillar of the community. Do you know who else was just a boy but won’t grow up to be a fine pillar of the community? Emmett Till, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Jordan Edwards, Mike Brown, Antown Rose Jr, Anthony Lamar Smith, Ramarley Graham, Wendell Allen, Kendrec McDade, Jonathan Ferrell, Jordan Baker, John Crawford III, Laquan McDonald, Tony Robinson, Philando Castile, and so many more. These boys and young men won’t have the opportunity to sit at a confirmation hearing and talk about how they’ve overcome the missteps of their youth.

Politics are theater. This is a fact. What is also a fact is that Dr. Ford did not want to be questioned about probably the most difficult event in her life on a national stage. She didn’t want to basically be interrogated by men who have most likely assaulted before and see nothing wrong with what happened to her if they even believed it happened to her.

Why didn’t she say something sooner? Because she didn’t want to go through all of this.

 

 

Just a normal friday evening…

You know how those sticky traps attract flies?  I think i’m the same thing for fuckery and men over 50.

I was minding my own business watching the Yankees Orioles game at my favorite bar. It was relatively quiet, kinda like the calm before the storm.  There was a weird guy sitting to my left who kept making eye contact with me because I was looking left to watch the game. He was rocking back and forth, digging in his nose, you know normal stuff. He was watching the Michigan State game and as soon as it finished he walked out leaving a full beer and an unpaid tab.

I had my card on the bar,  ready to close out then my friend texted that she was on the way. My friend brought her  coworker. This woman took a lemon drop shooter and started shaking her boobs around and caught the attention of some older gentleman at the end of the bar.

Things were pretty normal and friendly for the most part but then of course things took a turn. After her second shooter, our bra-less friend was ready to go but my friend who drove her wanted to stay.  My friend told her she’d be ready to go in about 30/45 minutes. Braless was not pleased. There was lot of huffing and puffing, demands to get shit from the car, and finally Braless stormed off saying she would walk home.

Ok, Braless (who is 45) lives about 3.5 miles away.  It was close to midnight and an uber pool might have been max,  $5. Why walking by herself that late was an option, I don’t know.

After Braless left, one of the older guys who bought my friend and I a beer started talking about “that asshole Kaepernick” who was doing all of this “dumb stuff” for attention and to sleep with women. As you might suspect, this did not go over well. We (the other older gentleman, my friend and I) tried to talk to this fellow but he was hell bent on believing that Kaepernick was doing this “stunt” to sleep with women. If he was “serious” he would donate money to a good cause like Louisiana.  We told him that Kaepernick actually was going to donate money to organizations focused on the issues he was protesting but that was written off as “bullshit” by our old friend.He became irate when the older gentleman compared Kaepernick to Muhammad Ali.

As expected this guy started talking about Trump and how great he was and how his style of leadership was needed. Apparently he found it interesting that Trump wasn’t ever called a racist before he ran against Hillary.  I brought up all of the housing discrimination cases from the past and this guy said that he’d never heard of them so they must not be true.  At that point I tapped out of the conversation.

The other older gentlemen (let’s call him OG-1) who had been speaking some kind of sense came over to my side of the bar and we continued to chat like normal people. To the right of him was another older gentleman (OG-2) who actually tried to pick me up a few weeks ago and younger guy who were extremely drunk. The younger guy sent OG-2 over with a brain teaser for us to solve. That was quickly dismissed and he walked back.

My friend left and I continued to talk to OG-1.  All of a sudden the conversation shifted to his ex-girlfriend, love, how adorable I was, and how great it would be to cook together. I reminded him that I just saw him get Braless’s phone number before she left so i wasn’t really sure exactly what he was looking for since we are two very different types of people. OG-1 continued on, asking when the last time was that I ever did anything “crazy and unexpected.”  I replied, “last night so I filled my quota for the week.”

At this point he changed tactics and started asking if I was going to uber home.  I said no I’d walk. I asked if he was going to uber home because he seemed pretty drunk.  He said no, that he’d drive his bike.  Then he said that if I was really nice I should be so concerned about how he was getting home that I should offer to let him sleep on my couch.  He would absolutely stay on my couch, he said.

I told him that I didn’t feel comfortable with that, so no, he would not be sleeping on my couch. He continued on and decided to tell me that he had a fantasy where he was sleeping on my couch and I would come out of the bathroom in a robe. I’d sit on the edge of the couch and caress his head. He would get up and kiss my neck.  He told me this fantasy twice.  After the first time, I said no but for some reason he took that to mean he just needed to tell me it again to change my mind.

I went to the bathroom and when I came back I noticed that he was eating something. This man somehow thought it was appropriate to eat my food when I was in the bathroom. (Sidenote, if you know me well you know not to fuck with my food). Thankfully the bartenders are my people because he got scolded and they made me some more food.

At this point I really wanted to leave but I thought there was a chance that one of these guys would try to follow me home. OG-1 was still sitting to my right talking about sleeping on my couch. OG-2 and his younger friend were trying to engage in conversation.

I told OG-1 that perhaps he needed some time to heal and figure out what he really wants since he keeps talking about his ex-girlfriend.  He finally agreed and got up. He went in for the hug and I had to back up because he was trying to get to my neck.  The bartender saw and firmly told him it was time for him to go.

Once he was gone, OG-2 and younger guy perked up thinking this was their opportunity. OG-2 fell while trying to sit and cleared out a couple of chairs. Younger  guy asked me what they should be drinking.  I told him water.

I was thinking about how I could leave without any of these guys seeing where I was going because the last thing I needed was to get followed home. Thankfully some guys that I knew came in so I killed time with them until OG-2 left and I suspect drove home.

How was your Friday?

 

When is a dive bar too divey?

Is it the smell of pee and stale beer?  Faint aroma of popcorn and well whiskey? Is it the seedy looking old man eyeing the young college girls a little too closely? No.  If a girl shows you her ass while trying to show you her tramp stamp, then it’s too divey.

I have nothing against tramp stamps.  My first tattoo is a heart with roses and tribal and all that jazz, of course on my lower back.  I’m not sure if it’s because I have more tattoos that are more visible or if it’s because I am an adult, but I don’t show off the old tramp stamp.

A couple nights ago I was at a pretty divey place in my neighborhood and I met this weird couple.  The girl looked too young for the guy and she kept playing Top 40 songs from the jukebox.  The guy didn’t look really old just too old for her and he kept “hiding” from her whenever she would go to the jukebox.  (By “hiding” I mean he was putting the menu up to cover his face and ignoring her stares as she contemplated what Top 40 song all sports-watching patrons needed to hear).

I’m not sure exactly how we starting chatting but we started talking about New York and then tattoos and the girl gleefully asked, “do you want to see my tattoo?!”

“Sure.” I said.

At this point it is important to note that she was wearing a short black dress and boots.  A short dress.  Dress.  Not pants.  Not a skirt.  A dress.

I walked over to where they were sitting at the bar and she lifted her dress up to her chest.  Now the guy tried to get her to pull it back down and she waived his hand  off and pulled that dress right back up to show me her tramp stamp: the disney symbol on her lower back.

It was at this point I determined that this bar was just a little too divey for me.  This chick lifted up her entire dress, showing off granny panties with no shame.   I also found out that the old guy was her fiancé’s father’s friend which made me think two things, wow she’s actually engaged to be married, I wonder if her fiancé knows that she’s showing her ass to strangers.  And second, what is she doing at a bar doing laundry with her fiancé’s father’s friend?

I will go back to this bar, but only in the daytime and I will do my best not to talk to strangers.

Update:  I went back to watch the second football game last week.  Towards the end of the game a homeless man who was actively shitting on himself, walked into the bar.

Confirmed: too divey for me.

Howard (not the duck)

My goal for the remainder of the evening was to smoke hookah and read a book.  A simple goal for a Sunday evening but I should have known that based on my track record for attracting foolishness and what not, it would not easily be fulfilled.

I exited the bus and walked left, my local hookah place in sight.  It was before 6pm so I knew I would have plenty of time to unwind and relax with my book (not fun reading, school reading).

When I approached the hookah spot I saw some dude cleaning so although the sign said they were open at 5, I figured I would head to Mom’s (a bar up the street) for a drink to kill time.

When I got to Mom’s it was pretty dead – just the way I like it.  They were showing the Golden Globes so I figured this was a win-win since I don’t have cable.  Then I met Howard.

Howard was a 60 year old fellow with both mommy and daddy issues and occasional depression.  Over the course of the evening we talked about various topics: the pros and cons of organized religion, atrocities in Nigeria caused by Boko Haram, ISIS, benefits of growing up an only child, his former girlfriends, my former boyfriends, drinking beer before liquor and all of the problems associated with mixing liquor, smoking, the golden globes, etc.

Every so often he would ask a question like, “do you like to go to shows, art?”  I fielded those questions like a pro and moved on to the next topic.  This man was 60. Not a Denzel or Harrison Ford 60.  He was an old man 60 so I was not having any of that nonsense.

After he came back from the bathroom he gained some courage and asked me point blank if I liked art and if so did I want to go back to his place to look at his etchings. No, old man, no. When I said no he said, well I understand, we don’t know each other, maybe I can show you my art someplace else.  That would still be a firm no.

The conversation moved to another topic and he asked if I could dance.  I said yes and he declared, “well i feel like i have soul because I have curly hair.” I did not know that curly hair was the definitive factor in determining whether or not someone could dance.  All this time I thought it had to do with rhythm. Perhaps all of that rhythm is housed atop your head but does that mean if you get rid of your mop you instantaneously lose your ability to dance on the beat?

Since he had mentioned his dislike for smoking I felt comfortable in saying that I would be leaving soon to go smoke hookah.  Sadly he decided that this would be the moment when he would try to smoke hookah. He never had before but he really wanted to try, Sigh.

He asked if I was ever married before then said that we could go to Vegas tonight and get married then quickly get a divorce in Beverly Hills because that is exactly what I’m looking for in my life right now.

We went to the hookah spot and he continued to counsel me on life, love, compatibility and harnessing the energy in each of my chakras. (He’s not working full time right now but is taking classes in massage therapy and what not). He read my palm and told me that I would have 3 kids then dabbed my hand with some oil that smells like cloves.  He told me later this oil was used for maintenance of energy and positivity but could also be used as a sensual oil.

We talked about my upbringing on Long Island in a majority White high school and he told me about his experience in a majority Black/Jewish school and his initial distrust of Blacks before he really got to know them.  He made a comment about how so much has changed regarding Black and White relations and I said this true but Black folk are still getting killed.  There are still places in the US where I will not go.  In high school I had dudes tell me that either their parents didn’t like Black folk and today if I’m with a White dude people still look at me cross-eyed.  Yes I don’t have to use “Blacks only” restroom but racism still exists. He was actually open to having this conversation although he did make sure to interject his Vegas marriage offer several times.  Apparently I would make a good wife because of my calm demeanor and positive attitude.

The more we talked the more I realized that he was just a sad old man who wanted to talk to people and I obliged.

I like to think that every encounter is an opportunity to learn something.  What I learned tonight is that you should never take the open seat at the bar next to the old man unless you’re ready to play therapist for the evening.  Thank you Howard.  I still need to read my book.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Hello World!

I’ve decided that 2015 will be the year of the blog and I will start my writer’s journey with a post that is public transportation related of course.

I spent December break on the East coast which meant my accent would come back (though watered down I heard), I would be cold and I’d have to trek it from Long Island to Queens to LAX using all forms of public transportation.

I was bold this year.  I booked a flight Monday, the first day of classes.  Since I only have class on Tuesday and Wednesday, I felt pretty good making this bold move and arriving 10:30 pm the night before an 8am 4 hour class.

My mother lives pretty close to bumblefuck which means I have to ride the Long Island Rail Road (LIRR) for 1 hour and 45 minutes to get into midtown.  To get to the Patchogue station I need to call a cab.  I hate calling the cab.  By now most of the drivers and dispatchers know who I am but still we play this little game.  I call them about 35-45 minutes before my train is to depart.  They tell me a cab will be there in 15-25 minutes.  The cab comes about 15 minutes before my train is set to leave. Yes, it’s a 9 minute cab ride to the station but things happen and the next train doesn’t leave for at least an hour.

Every time I’ve gotten a cab during my last stay on Long Island, there has been some time of fuckery attached to my trip.  One time a woman picked up her son and his girlfriend.  They offered me Popeyes.  It was 8am. Yes, they were Black and if it had been a little later in the day I might have taken them up on their offer though I don’t know the rules about accepting chicken from strangers.

This particular time, the driver was new and he wanted to chat.  Once he found out I was a public policy student he wanted to tell me how to reform our current political system.  I enjoyed the conversation up until the point where we were at the station, I had paid him and he still wanted to chat.  I felt like I had performed the role of dutiful, engaged passenger perfectly and now it was time to let me go.  He continued on telling me how I needed to get the money out of politics.  He remained unfazed when his phone rang.

I finally asked him to pop the trunk and jumped out.  I would be damned if I missed the train sitting on the parking lot. Automobiles

The LIRR (pronounced L-I-R-R) wasn’t too bad. Initially I was going to take it to Penn, jump on the N then jump on the M60 bus to get to LaGuardia.  In an effort to save money on my ticket I flew out of LaGuardia instead of JFK.  Kennedy is far from life but easy to get to via public transit and I could have just taken the LIRR directly there.  Luckily on my peaceful westbound train ride I discovered the Q70 select bus from Woodside. Trains

I was absolutely delighted with my travel experience once I got to the LaGuardia.  From where I jumped on the bus at Woodside to the airport it took less than 20 minutes.  At this point I felt like a travel rockstar AND I was super early so there would be time for some dranks to make the flight a bit more bearable.

I made my way to print my boarding pass.  I mistakenly stopped at the machines to print boarding passes if you don’t have anything to check in and of course selected french as my language so that was a delight.  I took that as a sign that my graduation trip to myself of a 3 week trip to France  needed to happen.

Once I had my pass I went to find someone to ask where to drop off my bag.  I saw a ridiculously long line and was hoping she would just take it and place it on the conveyor belt.  She looked at my boarding pass and told me I had to check in using the regular machine. She started typing in my confirmation number then said, “oooooh your flight is delayed 25 minutes.  are you going to make the connecting flight?”

Now those folks who know me know that I don’t like dumb questions, or questions asked that I’m really not meant to answer.  I don’t know if i’m going to make my connecting flight.  Every other time they’ve held the plane.  So my assumption was it would be the same in this case.

“I just don’t know how far away the gates are.  You might not make it.”

I looked at her and asked her what I should do.  She told me, “you should figure something else out.”

Now this frustrated me more than anything because she knew damn well that I couldn’t just figure something else out.  Obviously my options are to take a later flight out of LaGuardia or a later flight out of Chicago but this wasn’t something that I could just do on my own at the self check-in kiosk.  ::side eye::

She finally walked me to the ridiculously long line and told me that someone would be able to help me.  I waited in that line for almost an hour and I realized it’s because people are dumb.  Sir this is not the time to flirt with the customer service rep, we all have places to go.  Ma’am, take your vouchers and go to your cab.  You’ve exceeded your personal help quota.

The woman I spoke to was absolutely delightful and she had my problem fixed in under five minutes.  She put me on a later flight from Chicago.  Problem solved and now only 15 minutes until boarding but the flight’s delayed so we’re still good.

Once in Chicago I saw that I could have made the original flight however that realization was squashed while it felt like we circled the airport for about 40 minutes.  I swear it felt like the pilot was doing donuts while we waited for a gate. Once inside I went to my new gate that was coincidentally across from the original flight I was supposed to take.  That flight was looking at an hour and 40 minute delay.  My flight was boarding on time.

As we boarded it began to snow pretty heavily.  I’m a nervous flyer so snow and ice didn’t make me feel too good and I had 0 cups of liquid courage to see me through this part of the trip. (Note to self, bring personal bottles in your carry-on and buy soda in the terminal.  The markup on the plane is absurd).  

The flight attendant made an ominous announcement, “we are about to close the plane doors, this is your last opportunity to leave if you would like to.”  Ok that is some final destination type shit and I don’t care for it.

I tried to be like my seat-mate to my left and sleep but I couldn’t.  We sat there for a full 30 minutes past our departure time when they made an announcement about de-icing the plane.  I’m not sure exactly how this works but I do know it took a while and then we continued to sit.  Finally the pilot came out and went to the emergency exit row with his flashlight.  I sensed there was some urgency however I think I was just scared because the flight attendant basically told me that I should leave.

Once he got back to the cockpit he told us that we were 10th in line for takeoff.  UMMMM WILL THE DE-ICING STUFF LAST THAT LONG?????  I felt like I should tell someone that we needed more de-icing stuff but there was no one to tell. Thankfully  the flight was fine, I guess the plane people know what they’re doing. Thank you lil baby Jesus in your golden diaper.

When i landed in LA I turned on my phone and saw that the original flight that I was on ended up being cancelled after a 5 hour delay.  YAY.  At this point I was feeling good.  The stars aligned to get me back to LA in time to start classes bright and early the next morning.

I waited for my bag and saw what looked like my suitcase, some of my clothes and my toiletry bag circling the conveyor belt.  My pride wouldn’t let me grab the items where I was standing because there were entirely too many people around.  I walked to the other side of the belt that was mostly vacant and let my open bag circle the conveyer belt one last time.   I thought of this poor soul but luckily there was nothing scandalous in my bag.

Once I retrieved my bags I fought with zipper and lost.  I kicked the bag all the way outside and waited for my ride. Never a dull day. Planes

That moment when you realize you’re too old for this shit

A few weeks ago I was tricked into going to an 18+ club. I blame the fact that I don’t know what these clubs/lounges and whatnot are known for and my general excitement to go dancing trumps common sense to look up said place before going.

The invite to the club should have been a red flag that fuckery was to ensue.  I live for fuckery so all red flags were ignored.

My friend and I were at Big Wangs (classy joint). Originally the plan was to head to a LOUNGE spot that we had been to before that I knew was for adults however we started chatting up the men boys sitting next to us.  We invited them to come along and at first they agreed.  Then the ringleader suggested we hit up this “club spot” because he knows the bouncer and can get us in, blah blah blah.  Now when I asked about this “club spot” I didn’t think to ask if it was 21 and over.  I know for next time.

Walking towards the club I saw that it was next to a Hooters. ::sigh::

The usual “i’m cold” girls littered the side walk.  Ill fitting dresses, high shoes, watercolor paintings on their face.  Inside it looked like someone had bought the entire inventory from Pretty Girl to outfit each woman girl that came inside. [sidenote: We all come in different shapes and sizes but the key is finding something that fits or at least finding a friend to tell you to take that shit off, nicely of course].

The outside section played spanish music.  Check.  They didn’t have a coat check. Subtract 1.  I suppose that was silly of me to ask since an “i’m cold” girl wouldn’t have a jacket and no one would be coming from work with a big ol bag since the patrons of the club probably don’t work.

For music, inside was regular hood tunes intermixed with good stuff.  An actual reggae set (not new of course but i’ll take some old riddims). Outside we had DJ I don’t give a fuck.  His expertise was not giving a fuck.  He didn’t care how he mixed the music, transitions, playing new music.  Nope.  Not a single fuck was given.

The highlight of my time spent outside was the show I witnessed by a very drunk and/or excited young lady.  Let’s call her “Yeti.”  She was big, tall and wide.  She was wearing a very short skirt and small tube top. The tube top looked like it was hanging on for dear life as it stretched across her body.  She tackled found a shorter gentleman and grinded all up on him.  At one point she grabbed the pole and proceeded to drop it low and bring it back up.  Several things were wrong with this scenario.  Number 1 – the pole was not sturdy. It was a flimsy pole holding up a makeshift tent.  Definitely not suitable for Yetis to use it for support.  Number 2 – her skirt was so short that every time she dropped it low her hoohah made an appearance. It was disturbing yet mesmerizing since she was able to maintain her balance holding on to that flimsy pole while airing out her vag without a care in the world.

Moving right along to the gem of the evening.  Standing in line for the bathroom with my friend who’s also Black, we see two Asian girls in front of us.  One of the girls wearing skinny jeans and a bra or bathing suit top (I can’t decide what it was) makes a comment about how someone said there aren’t any people of color at the club.  She then says, “I told that nigga there are colored people here,”  followed by laughter.  I thought about having a teaching moment and telling her that she needed to put some fucking clothes on, eat a damn sandwich because she was entirely too thin, and not say “nigga” at all especially in front of Black people that she didn’t know. I could be crazy. I could have had bath salts right before I went to the club. I shook my head and walked out.  That was a missed opportunity to use the phrase, “you aint about this life.” I am too old for this shit.

Some positive highlights, the indoor DJ played Pony AND they showed the video.  That took me back.  I’m sure most of the people there thought that was a new video or remix.

I didn’t participate in any dance battles but a couple did buy me a drink based on my dance break moment.  They looked to be on the older side so perhaps it was in solidarity.

As we left we exited and passed a room where people were laying on the floor and couch with empty buckets in front of them.  We looked in and were quickly told to go out the other way.  Yep i’m definitely too old for this shit…

Dear Facebook: Your Sponsored Ads Suck

Occasionally I’ll look over to the right side of my Facebook page and see an ad that is actually relevant to me in that I’m interested in clicking that ad.  More often than not I’ll see a shitload of assumptions or non-relevant photos.

I get it (kinda).  The algorithm must assume based on what I have posted but sometimes I really feel like it’s trying to push a particular agenda.

Apparently since my relationship status is single, Facebook is extremely concerned with me finding a suitable mate.  Everyday there is some derivative of a dating website that should be applicable to my tastes.  Below is the rundown of what I continually see:

Dating:

Matchmaking [Omai]: Find a boyfriend without your facebook friends knowing.  It won’t know up on your timeline.  (If you’re initial pitch contains spelling errors I’m highly suspect of your ability to find me a potential mate).

Meet Single Black men, Meet Single Black Christian men, Meet Single Black Fathers.  (I continuously see these ads.  Am I only relegated to single Black men because I’m Black? How did the Christian aspect come into play?  I said I was down with little baby Jesus and his golden diaper so I guess all they saw was JESUS and went from there.  The single Black father thing I have no answer for.  I might have mentioned at one point that I liked children but I don’t think I mentioned that I want children right now or that I was targeting men with children.  I would also like to mention that some of the men depicted in those photos do not make me want to click on that link.  One of the photos was of Gucci mane right after he had that ice cream cone tattooed on his face.  

My career:

Earn a degree in Criminal Justice. (I indicated that I really liked Law and Order so maybe that’s why).

Earn a degree as a Social Worker.  (I was actually on board with this since I considered going to school for social work however I would appreciate if the child used for the photo wasn’t a toddler with a lace front wig or that demon child that they often like to use.  Neither of those children make me want to go into social work).

Potpourri

Anything that involves the Jersey Shore cast.  (I don’t care who’s getting “turnt up” this weekend, no need to tell me about it).

Wedding stuff. (I’m not sure if the expectation is that I will meet one of these dashing Black, Christian, single fathers, who are also Gucci Mane and decide to get married ASAP so i’ll need a venue, photography, and all of that good stuff.  And of course I will rely on the sponsored ad from Facebook to refer me since they also referred me to Gucci Mane who is now my husband to be).

The elephants are back and that’s ok

For those of you that follow my status updates on Facebook you know that I frequently wrote about the elephants dance battling above me when I lived in the Bronx.  When I packed it up and moved to LA, a part of me missed the craziness of my Bronx apartment.  I figured the house I was living in would have less drama; no screaming couple downstairs, no elephants moon-walking, pop-locking and breaking upstairs.  Little did I know that my (soon to be temporary) living situation wouldn’t be as exciting but would be ridiculously frustrating.

In a nutshell imagine that you have super strict parents. If you already have super strict parents, imagine they are 10 times more strict than they already are.  This was my landlady.  Initially I thought I was paying rent for a room in a home.  I would have use of the kitchen, bathroom, living room and could come and go as I pleased.  The reality was that I was paying to be a middle school student in a home with a woman for an affinity for notes and kitchen hours (6am-10pm).  

“PLEASE MAKE SURE THE FRIDGE DOOR IS CLOSED.”  Because I needed a sign to tell me to make sure that I properly closed the refrigerator door.  I’m not sure how I’ve gotten by over the past 25 years or so closing refrigerators without a sign telling me to double check.  (I say 25 years because I don’t think I started closing refrigerator doors until I was 4 or 5).  All of the that food that could have spoiled because of my carelessness in not pushing that door firmly.   

Anyhoot, the house was filled with little love notes like the above.  Reminders and commands, “LEAVE YOUR KEY HERE.”  (All keys left by the door so that she knew if I was home).  She didn’t want to be startled if I just appeared in the kitchen at a time that I didn’t list in the schedule I provided to her.  In total there were about 19 rules with an exclaimer that new rules could be added whenever she felt it was appropriate. I should have lobbied for an exclaimer that said rules could be broken if I felt they were dumb.

During the first month I learned that her rule that indicated that she be notified of all guests actually meant that she had to MEET any person that was staying with me because she HAD TO KNOW WHO WAS IN HER HOME.  Emphasis added to indicate her tone of voice when she told me this.  Now I have the uncomfortable situation of telling a guy that I’m casually dating, “hey I know this isn’t serious or anything but if you want to stay with me you need to meet my landlady.”  Or if a friend wants to pop in for some wine and conversation after dinner I have to say, “actually not tonight because she’s not home and she needs to meet you beforehand.”  The latter was less likely since I wasn’t actually allowed to use the living room space.

I also forgot to mention that she would  go in and out of my room to “empty the trash”  and retrieve a drinking glass if I forgot to bring it downstairs.  Apparently there were only 3 glasses, a shitload of mugs, but 3 glasses that could only be used to enjoy cold beverages.  My using one threw her glass game off so she would travel through the house like Indiana Jones in a quest to retrieve the only other glass that would allow her to enjoy her frosty beverage kept cool by her ability to keep that refrigerator door firmly closed.

This situation wasn’t ideal but it was what it was.  In the beginning of this year a family situation forced her to cease renting out my room to me.  She gave me about 10 days to get out.  Although I was pissed at the short notice it was actually a relief.  Fast forward to present day – i’m in a seedy little spot that reminds me of my time spent in Spanish Harlem (same windowless room).  

Though the room is much smaller and sans window, I’m excited for the opportunity to make it my own.  My first purchase was a real bed.  When I moved to my first apartment I bought a full sized bed that I kept for 7 years until I moved to LA.  Since August i’ve been sleeping on twin beds.  I have long limbs and i’m an unconventional sleeper.  Yesterday I purchased a plush full-sized bed.  Now I can resume my diagonal sleeping pattern and sleep like an adult.

I spent the day at ikea with a vision of how I would make this tiny room my own.  Luckily I checked out everything beforehand and made a list otherwise I would have come home with all sorts of items that I probably wouldn’t need but would be pretty awesome nonetheless. I bought the necessities today to ensure that when I woke up tomorrow morning I wouldn’t think, “where the fuck am I and how did I get here.”

Oh and the elephants.  As I sit here watching Kat Williams on Netflix, a familiar sound meets my ears.  Rampant thumping travels the length of my ceiling.  Children laugh and the thumping heads back in the other direction.  The battle continues.

Let me in (or out of) the train!

This was one of my pet peeves back in New York.  I’m standing on the platform waiting patiently for the 1 train.  I see the glowing light in the distance getting brighter and brighter indicating that the train is soon approaching.  Person A comes from behind me and stands right in front of me.

The other version happens when I’m standing by the door as the train is pulling into the station.  Person B wiggles their way through 3 passengers to get to the tiny crevice of a spot right in front of me right in front of the train door.

In both scenarios, I always ask myself where these people think I was going.  Did they think that I didn’t move fast enough because I didn’t run up to the bright yellow line as the train approached or pressed my face up against the train door as we slid into the station?  I’m baffled by the level of impatience by these individuals.  I too am sometimes impatient but I know how to choose my battles wisely.

Here in LA i’ve been confronted with many variations of Person A and Person B.  Each time I struggle with the asshole angel that has crept up onto my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “walk really slow.”

I usually do just that – walk extremely slow and take up space, just so that I make it difficult for them to get around.  Their discomfort provides a tiny bit of pleasure to my day until I’m confronted with Person A or B at the next metro stop.

Dorner is not a hero

I usually like to keep my posts light but I feel compelled to address this topic. It is appalling and frightening to see Christopher Dorner lauded as a hero.  Reading his manifesto, I do see that he went to great lengths to expose the alleged corruption within the LAPD and was unsuccessful however the alternative after all options have been exhausted cannot be to kill people.  The legal system is just that, a system that is imperfect with policies and protocols based on interpretation, assumption, and what you can prove.  Human beings with all of our fallacies are driving this imperfect train and making mistakes along the way.

If the end of this story was the Christopher Dorner waged a media fight, mobilized a group of ex-officers or civilians that faced injustice, or continued his fight in any nonviolent way possible, then yes we can look to him has a hero.  The reality is that he did not choose this path.  He has begun executing an elaborate plan to target police officers and their families as retribution.  His first victim was a young woman and her fiance whose only crime was the fact that her father represented him in his case.  Was this young woman and her future husband responsible for Dorner being fired?   Is the loss of a job/career worth a life (or lives in this matter).

The situation is disturbing because I’m now thinking about all of the potential losses of life.  Will Dorner succeed in eliminating his targets?  How about innocent bystanders or family members? What about individuals mistaken for Dorner either by body-type or car?  All I can hope for is that Dorner is captured alive before he can continue his plan without any collateral damage. I can hope that police officers will not shoot first and ask questions later.  I can hope that their strategy involves seasoned, well-rested officers on the front lines.  Some of the conversation has shifted towards bad police officers and the corruption within the LAPD.  Yes there are bad police officers but they’re not all bad.  There are bad people in this world but we can’t say definitively that everyone is bad or deserving of being stalked and murdered.  

I think of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X and their struggles that never resulted in a hit list that included specific targets and their families.  The Nation of Islam advocated violence but in self-defense not a targeted attack on all of those who had wronged you.  Pioneers in the civil rights movement fought nonviolently for Dorner to even be allowed to be a member of that police force so for him to say that his plan for vengeance is his only course of action left is bullshit.  Emmett Till was savagely murdered, his murderers acquitted.  His family didn’t go on a killing rampage.  They lost their son, brother, cousin, friend not their job but they didn’t turn to violence.  The fact that Dorner has tells me that there’s more to this.

Dorner is a highly intelligent man suffering from mental illness because in his mind he sees the violence that he has caused and is planning to cause as the logical next step.  The beginning of this story is familiar to me because I think of my mother. She suffers from depression which manifested into paranoia and psychotic delusions.  When she was really sick she believed she was being persecuted.  She had one specific target that was the cause of everything wrong in her life but every so often she would find others to blame.  During the worst part of her illness, she became violent because she honestly felt that she had no other recourse.  She didn’t have an arsenal of weapons or military training, all she had were here hands.  

 I can hope that this will be resolved without any more loss of life.  I can hope that police officers are able to look for  a dangerous suspect without emotion.  I can hope that another mentally unstable individual doesn’t look at this as validation that whatever they were thinking about doing is justifies.  I can hope but hope is not a strategy.