Why don’t women use their ammo?

There is a war against women raging in Washington, DC; in Middle America; in the Vatican…anywhere men are feeling intimidated by us. We have the power to win this war once and for all, yet we do not use it. The power of procreation. The power to continue our species or to let it die out. Sure humanity, well science, has invented the way of the test tube, or petrie dish child, but it’s my understanding they still need our eggs from which to grow these spawn of the laboratories.

So again I ask… Why don’t we use our power to, for instance, stop wars… “We’re not giving birth to anymore men and women for governments to kill off.” You want to control my body? I say, NO!! Go perpetuate the species without my ovum! Sure, this blog is born from a frustrated woman who doesn’t understand why men are so hell-bent on controling us, rather than cherishing us. If I’m not mistaken these same men were born from some woman’s womb, right?

So women AGAIN I ASK… Why are some of us becoming female misogynists, rather than uniting and using that Nature-given power and blackmailing these sons of women before they somehow make it illegal to be a woman?

Jus’ askin’…

After the End of the Affair

Someone asked me if I’d ever been in love. I replied that yes, I had been in love. Someone then asked me if I had been loved. I replied that no, I had not been loved. Well, not as much as I had loved. Is that even possible?

We have relationships with people. If we’re lucky we relate on intellectual and physical levels. If we’re truly blessed we relate, no, we bond on physical, intellectual AND spiritual levels. It’s difficult to relate on these levels by yourself. It’s impossible to bond on these levels. Or is it?

I have been coming out for the past few years. Each time I come out to someone, weights get lifted from me. I am lighter. I am becoming. What I am becoming is impossible to know, but exciting to imagine.

I tell you this, reader, because I want you to be a part of my becoming in some way. Whenever I realize something or have an epiphany (I just love that word! Not just it’s meaning, but the way it sounds when I say it. It sounds like light; like clarity.)…But whenever I have one it’s sad and happy and overwhelming and passionate and a “duh” moment all at the same time. Epiphanies are addictive. Once you have one you cannot wait until you have another one and you want to share them with the world.

So, here is where you come in, but so much has happened before this.

Before I came out, no, wait…the reason I was “in” was because I had, until my first epiphany lived my life for acceptance, for approval; not of myself, but of others. I had not been important. My happiness, well, I didn’t care about it. I was mourning my life. I was becoming a martyr. It seemed right at the time. I was an idiot.

During this time, I met a man; a Peter Pan type who at 45 was thinking like a man in his twenties. “I’m going to live forever!” “I’m going to fuck anything with a skirt!” I’m going to lead woman on until I get what I want from them!”

I see all this now. I see it after the end of the affair. I see it because I am happy now. I am reminded of a song by a singer called, Basia. It’s on her LONDON, WARSAW, NEW YORK album and the song is called “Brave New Hope”. I used to listen to this song, without understanding until after the end of the affair and then not only do I understand it, I identify with it. I don’t know when Basia recorded it, but it was, in my opinion, one of those future-seeing, psychic, “holy shit! Someone-needs-to hear-this-song-in-order-to- heal” moments. (If she ever reads this, “Thank you, Basia from the bottom, top and middle of my heart and soul for recording “Brave New Hope!”)

Anyway, there’s a line in the song, “Looking out of the window, can’t believe what I see. Where was all this beauty when I met you?” That sums up my feelings after the end of the affair.

During the affair, this man was my everything. My world. I gave him everything and he never had to ask for it. I was grateful for the pitiful amounts of attention he would give me. I was convinced that he was my soul mate. He would see it. He would come to know that we were two halves of the same soul, two halves of the same whole. I didn’t like myself then let alone love myself, so this “relationship” I was having by myself, with myself because he was never truly there for me except when he wanted something. This “relationship” was all I could think about. I breathed it, sustained myself with it. It became not just a part of me, but all of me. I got lost in it. So, lost that I didn’t see the beauty while looking out of my “window.”

The funny thing is, it was nothing. A void. An imagining, a longing from a soul that was empty. A soul that was empty because it was so busy filling everyone else’s soul.

Sounds sad, doesn’t it?

But it’s not. Really. This man gave me only two things in the entire, seven-year-long affair. He gave me Hepatitis B and more importantly, he gave me, myself. He gave me the strength to see what I wasn’t; who I could be. The pain I allowed him to put me through was my birthing pain, my labor pain so that I could be born again. This relationship I had that wasn’t, helped me bond with me. It helped me find me. After the sadness and days of crying and days of hatred for him and mostly myself…After all of this, I found me. I found the person that that relationship and all relationships that came before it, and all the bad things that had happened in my life and all the good things that happened in spite of me not wanting them…All this helped me find me. I like me. I love me. I am still becoming so I don’t really know who I am. But I know who I am becoming and this person, this woman is, well, just that…is. Which is more than what and who she was before the end of the affair. A non-entity. A possibility.

I thought that I needed to forgive him; that I needed to obtain closure, by not hating him and damning him anymore. The truth is I needed to forgive me. I am the one who allowed it to go on, who allowed it to blind me and fill me with nothing. I needed to forgive myself. (Boy, that epiphany was a real kick in the ass. It was astonishing and painful and uplifting and it was everything I needed to be born again.)

Once I began forgiving myself, coming out was easier than I thought it would be. My child and my brother didn’t seem surprised. My mother, however, is still struggling with it; and rightly so. I never let her in on my private life. She only knew what I wanted her to know. For thirty plus years I was her heterosexual daughter that may have fallen for the “wrong” kind of men, but MEN nonetheless. She didn’t know about the women that I had loved, been in love with, made love to and who loved me. I never let her in on that part of me that I was hiding in. All she knew was that I was straight and that she had no reason not to be proud of me. (Even if she wasn’t. Proud, I mean.) I had heard her make and laugh at all the gay jokes and heard her say mean things about homosexuals so why come out to someone who wasn’t gay-friendly. I didn’t like myself, but that didn’t mean I had to set myself up for obvious pain, no. Subtle pain, yes. I was all into subtle pain, then.

My self -forgiveness? It erased that need for acceptance and approval. It made it ok for me to be me and damn who didn’t accept me this time around. They’d either catch up or get left behind. Period. I had bonded with the born again me and “we” were doing well!

Where was all this beauty when I met him, indeed? It was here, inside, waiting to get out, come out. Waiting to be allowed to be.

I have loved. I have been in love. And now I allow me to love me.

Carefully Constructed Criticism

Being an indie author/filmmaker, I “follow” a network of other indie authors. Following for me involves not only reading and/or viewing their works, but also supporting them in whatever way is needed. (Even if it’s to bitch and vent about the benefits of being called an indie vs. a self-published author). Yes, we “indies” are a tight-knit, vociferous group. We have found it almost impossible to enter the “mainstream” world of publishing, so we simply created a publishing world of our own. This doesn’t negate the fact that we all hope in our heart of hearts to become, if not famous, well-known enough (whatever ENOUGH is for any given indie). This will let us know that our works are being shared and discussed by more than ourselves; that the possibility exists for us to create, maintain and grow a following of fans; that perhaps (fingers crossed) one day we might even (hope against hope) be able to eke out a decent living. That is why when people outside or our “network” review our works, we try to make sure and review, well, the review-er.

Recently, a couple of fellow indie authors received a negative review by someone who purports herself to be a professionally “honest and fair” reviewer. This person not only critiques books, but also is a panelist for a well-known independent literary award. To me, this is a conflict of interests mostly because you’re not really critiquing, you’re judging. This reviewer (who shall remain nameless), cannot in her own words “separate the author from the fiction he/she is writing”; so, how can she be trusted to remember to take of her judge “hat” and put on her “critic” hat?

One of the authors’ whose work she reviewed wrote about “praying the gay away” in his FICTIONAL book. (I made that all caps for the reviewer, (not that she’ll read this, but you never know) it seems that fiction is akin to real life for her.) *RME* (That’s Rolling My Eyes for my non-Twitter/FB/texting shorthand followers). Anyway, instead of simply critiquing the content of the book, she attacked the author for making her feel uncomfortable because his character was guilty of undertaking this reprehensible practice. Yet another author AND his work was decimated by this reviewer for creating a misogynistic character who does alot of soul-searching and wants to become a better person and fails. (Art mirroring reality? Apparently not for her. Apparently all the people SHE knows are perfect and accomplish their goals with no problem…).

Now I may be in the minority by thinking this way (which is fine because I’m used to being in a minority), but isn’t art supposed to be provocative (even if the provocation is negative)? Isn’t art supposed to take you out of your comfort zone and make you think differently (even if by thinking differently we want to vomit); or see things differently? Isn’t art supposed to mirror the authors’ worlds and the times in which they live? When I took English Lit in college, my professor gave a Reader’s Digest-condensed version of the world/times of any given English author we were to read and discuss/critique in order to give us a broader understanding from what “place” the author was writing.

Now I’m no fan of most film critics, mostly because they use the vindictiveness born from not being able to “make it” in the entertainment world, to destroy careers. I mean think about it. If those who prevented his acceptance into art school, knew about the potential for Adolf Hitler to go off the deep end if he couldn’t realize his artistic dreams, simply let him try; imagine all the heartache that would have been stopped before it had a chance to begin? But I digress… As I was saying, I’m no fan of most film critics because they either don’t realize or don’t care about the power they wield with their negative reviews. The book “critic” I have ranted about above, had many comments from her followers thanking her profusely for stopping them from buying and reading a book they were mulling over; thereby preventing them from making up their own minds AND stopping an author’s work from being purchased and discussed. (I blame the followers as well because, I mean GEEZ! Don’t you all have frakkin’ minds of your own?! Are you all sheep, or what?! … WOO SAA!)

Some film critics, however, like Leonard Maltin and Roger Ebert have said/written in their critiques that what they are saying is in fact their own opinions AND they encourage people to make up their own minds. These critics (and others) do know how to separate the filmmaker from the film. I mean, I’ve never heard or read Roger Ebert referring to Michael Bay as an unfeeling robot simply because he directed “Transformers” or Tim Burton as a dark and disturbing person simply because his movies have that tendency. Carefully constructed criticism though difficult, isn’t impossible and it should be attempted with at least as much vigor as one would attempt to, say, save one’s child from certain death; because that is what art is to an artist… Their child… Their creation… something through which their immortality may be realized, whether the creation be “good” or “bad”… in any reviewer’s OPINION.

Jus’ sayin’…

I’m no fashionista, but…

The "world" would have me be "blurry" about my place in it. I defy that adamantly!

…I do, on occasion like to dress nicely. But like most “worker bees” I don’t have buckets of money to spend on one outfit. I am also zoftique (?); uh, Ruebenesque (?); uh, curvy (?); uh, hell I’m overweight. I have to shop at “specialty” stores & websites that cater to my “kind”. Women who like food, don’t subscribe to society’s picture of beautiful and still want to look good in a pants suit. I applaud fashion designers who have “hopped” on this fashion opportunity to design for us “curvies” and make a profit and/or a decent living, doing so.

Does that mean “curvies” have to pay through the nose? I mean I realize that there’s more flesh to cover which means more fabric, but seriously?! $150 – $200 for a dress suit?! $75 – $100 for a pair of jeans?! $40 – $80 for a (means ONE) blouse?! I realize that “regular” fashion designers (i.e., Donna Karan, Tom Ford, Osacar de la Renta, etc.) can charge those kinds of prices and more because they are “a name”. I get that. But since those names don’t necessarily design for “curvies” and the designers who do aren’t necessarily household, yet; how about you get a following and a dedicated, loyal fan base by charging reasonable prices,
before you suck every red cent out of our pockets?

Another thing, NOT ALL “CURVIES” ARE 5’6″ AND SHORTER. I write that in all caps to belabor the point. If I can find a pair of jeans that don’t cost oo-gobs of money because I’m a “tall” and not an “average”, I consider myself incredibly fortunate. I bookmark that website (because I dislike shopping in brick & mortar stores…too many people) before you can say, “Seconds, please!”

Like I said, I’m no fashionista and those who know me in person can attest to that. I’m the one who can wear the heck out of a pair of jeans and who collects t-shirts with odd sayings/images. But, I am also the person who dresses “event-appropriate” and would like to reach in my closet and find something that’s comfortable, fits well and compliments my curves; without having paid a month’s rent for it.

Jus’ sayin’…

And while we’re on the subject…

Why the heck does eating healthy cost more than not?! My son was recently diagnosed with high cholesterol (he’s only 27) and for good reason. We had been eating processed, fried and generally not-good-for-us foods. Why? Because it’s cheap and we have become accustomed to eating to stay alive.

So with this diagnosis, I decided it would be a good thing to start trying to train him (and re-train myself) how to eat more healthy. This involves actually cooking a meal, something I had previously tried not to do too often, because I HATE cooking! Mostly because I HAD to when he was younger and when he turned 18-19 years old I started to let him fend for himself meal-wise. I mean he has always been a picky eater and I got tired of making two separate meals. I’m not the most domesticated female (something I’ve accepted about me) but, his health and mine (I’m diabetic) are important.

So, off we go to the major chain supermarket (in stead of our local bodega-like market) to shop for food. Now previously we’d been averaging $200 per month on groceries, which fit our budget nicely. We start loading up on vegetables, fruits, “fresh” chicken, healthy snacks, etc. Healthy shopping bill… $116!!! For one frakkin’ week! And our food bill has been doubled like that ever since.

Now I’m a bit of a conspiracy theorist so the gist I’m getting is that healthy foods are more expensive than unhealthy because “they” are trying to “thin the herd”. (You know the “they” I’m talking about. The “they” that control governments, education, healthcare and food prices.) “They” want to make sure the number of people “they” are not taking care of with social services, doesn’t exceed a certain amount. So, they make healthy food prices almost astronomical in order to make it just short of out of reach for “worker bees” like me; so we can get sick and die off thereby “thinning the herd”. Sounds crazy? Perhaps. But think about it. If “they” really wanted us to be healthy; if “they” REALLY wanted us to lose weight wouldn’t “they” make it easier to do so?

I mean, getting back to part 1 of this ramble: If I could afford to eat healthier and therefore lose weight, I could take advantage of buying clothing from those discount stores and then I wouldn’t have to ramble on in blogs about stuff like this. I’d be part of the happily ignorant herd that makes up society and no one would get hip to “their” plan.

Hey! I just realized my purpose in life!

Jus’ sayin…

Skipping Childhood

Skipping Childhood.

The Talk

As a parent, there are so many talks that all parents must have with their children during certain times in their lives. During kindergarten, it’s the anatomical difference between boys and girls. During grammar school it might be why we must share with others. As they progress into high school it would be a talk about sex, drugs and anything else through which peer pressure might make your teenager do stupid things.

As an African-American parent of an African-American male of this age, my talk included how to live and escape being harassed, bullied, tortured or killed because of his race.

I have, until this time in my son’s life, taught him that his race shouldn’t matter when it comes to what he wants to be, or who he befriends, or who he falls in love with. His race is simply what he is born of, but not what he is as an individual; that it is a part of him that should be cherished and celebrated, not something that should separate him from the rest of his peers or others with whom he shares the planet.

However, when he becomes a teenager, when he is “hanging with his homies” without his mother’s protection, I must instill in him the importance of acknowledging that although his race shouldn’t matter, it does matter when it comes to dealing with the real world and living in this country. If stopped by the police, “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” are the prudent answers, regardless of whether or not he is being stopped for a doing something illegal or simply “walking while African-American”. Mouthing off either because he is angry, or because someone in his group is angry or has an attitude is NOT DONE. PERIOD.

“Be respectful, even if it don’t understand why they stopped you. No sucking of the teeth or rolling of the eyes. Do what he or she says and that’s it.”

“But why, Mom?”

“Because the police have the power to make our lives a living, or dying hell and will, on many occasions use that power with no care or danger of the consequences of their actions. That means, son, that they do because they can and they won’t get in trouble for it.”

Also, I have taught him to ignore actions such as being followed around in a store, or watched closely while browsing simply because of the color of his skin. This is an action born from ignorance of who he is and how he was raised. That he shouldn’t pay attention to it and just go about his business.

“You can control what you do. You have no control over the actions of others or what they think of you. You are only answerable for you.”

I can remember my words exactly, because they were recited to my African-American male cousins (I am of mixed race); to my African-American male friends and have witnessed the consequences of not heeding these words:

“You are a Black man in a world controlled mostly by White men who still see you as “the other”; part of a group from which a few “bad eggs” have been born; and a group for which you must be held responsible for their bad decisions and actions. Not every White person has learned from the actions of their forefathers and still hold the traditions of their ancestors’ ignorance and unnecessary fear of EVERY Black man. Those White men who have power, either through the authority granted by their profession (police, etc.); or through the authority granted by the teachings of their fathers and grandfathers based solely on “that’s just the way we do things” are to be feared and respected. In other words, son, don’t give them a reason to arrest or shoot you.”

That speech was repeated daily while my son was in high school and I have to occasionally, at the current age of 27, remind him of it even though we are SUPPOSED to be living in a post-racial society because our current president is an African-American male.

Because of the current tragic and outrageous story behind the murder of Trayvon Martin, this talk has been in the forefront of my mind. I have seen it mentioned in several blogs and articles written by African-Americans, so I know it’s in the forefront of a great many African-American parents’ minds. Do I wish it were otherwise? Of course, I do. Is it a shame that this talk is still of relevance in the 21st century in this country, especially with the election of an African-American president? Most definitely. And I will add that it’s relevance is S-L-O-W-L-Y becoming, well, irrelevant. But (and this is a BIG but), based on the sad occurrence in Sanford, Florida on a rainy 26th day in February, AND based on daily local racially-charged occurrences that I have witnessed in my community…for every step forward the races take in understanding and tolerance, there are several LEAPS backward that make these catastrophes more and more heartbreaking not only to those involved, not only to the parents of Trayvon Martin; but to the human race as a whole.

Violence (and this includes the passive “violence” of giving attitude to people with power) begets more violence and that’s why African-American parents will continue to have “the talk” with their young African-American sons. But sometimes, it just doesn’t matter because fear of “the other” will continue to spur on violence born from “there’s a Black boy/man in a “nice” neighborhood so he must be up to no good.”

The Era of _________ Pride and __________ Power is Getting Old

“Before I am Black, before I am woman, before I am short, before I am African I am human.” -Dionne Faris, HUMAN

This song resonates with every fiber of my being. I scream inside my head (and, on occasion literally) whenever I read exclusive material about “_________-pride this” and “____________-power that”, mostly because it does just that: exclude. In this day and age when being inclusive matters so much more, we as a species need to figure out how to be proud of our heritages and cultures, without excluding others.

Why can’t we make use of the positive things about our heritages, collectively in order for the betterment of the human race? (The only race that truly matters.) Why does our pride and power derived from our heritage have to make others feel “less than”, or feel as they are not wanted? Is it because it’s been done to “us”, so we must do it to “them”? How is that productive? How is that supposed to forward our species in order to build it up and take it into the future?

Isn’t the future where we are all trying to go? Don’t we all want a future that is “better than” our past? While we raise our children, we do so from a place of “I want you to have what I didn’t; be better than I was”. Doesn’t that include a world where racism and bigotry don’t exist?

I am a human being of African, Italian and Spanish decent. Should I forsake one aspect of my heritage for another, or wouldn’t it make better sense to identify with the positive from all of them in order to be a “whole” person? Sure, when someone sees me, the first thing they see is an African-American woman. But is that all I am? Aren’t we so much more than what we are on the outside? Am I to believe that all Caucasians hate or fear me because I am African-American? Of course not!

The United States (well most of it) elected a man of African and Caucasian decent to be president. (If I’m excluding any other races, Mr. President, it is out of ignorance so please excuse me.) So the media began calling America a post-racial country. Of course as the years of President Obama’s administration have passed, we know this to be untrue. We are still a VERY racial (and racist) country. So for the very large leap forward Mr. Obama’s election pushed us towards becoming a post-racial country, we have taken several hundred very small-minded steps back.

Are we that afraid of first seeing ourselves as human, before all the other labels are incorporated in our thinking of each other? It seems to me that the fear of what is unknown is what motivates us to commit the violence against each other I see on the news everyday. I mean it’s kind of hard to be apart from each other, if we first see ourselves and the other bipeds on this planet as human. Imagine the possibilities! Imagine the decrease in bigotry and violence!

I am a film nut and since art imitates life, I often add memorable quotes from certain movies as part of my life’s mantra or reason to or not to do … whatever. One movie, LEGION comes to mind with regards to this subject and just how futile and petty our arguments are and how there are those who still retain (and refuse to give up) hope. This dialogue is delivered by the character, the Archangel Michael (portrayed by Paul Bettany):

“I’ve watched you kill each other over race and greed; Waging war over dust, rubble and words in old books. And yet in the midst of all this darkness I see some people who will not be bowed. I see some people who will not give up. Even when they know
hope is lost. Some people, who realize that being lost is so close to being found.”

Bettany’s character “nails” the futility of fighting over things so insignificant; things that keep us isolated from each other and do nothing to keep our hope in each other and our species, alive. I know I identify with the hopeful about whom he is speaking; and I hope that there are more of these same people out there.

Isn’t anyone else in this country, or on this planet as tired as I am of all the “noise” that comes from keeping ourselves separated from each other by utilizing labels designed to do just that? If we are to advance, evolve or do whatever it is our species was put on this planet to do, we must come together. If you’ve ever seen a nature show about bees or ants or any other animal unit/colony, you know that the actions of the individuals are designed to forward the futures of the “whole”; or the “whole” ceases to exist. Period.

And I don’t know about you, but I’d like to believe that the human race will still be here, in some form or another, long after I’m gone or else what the heck are we living for?

Jus’ my humble two cents…

B@Peace, my fellow human beings.