Sincerely Ty

 
Yesterday was the first day of school in my area. The good news–children go back to learning. The bad news–kids go back to getting in my way. Is it just me, or do the kids in my neighborhood want to get ran over? Who wants to die on the first day of school? Did the kids dread returning to school so much that they decided they’d be better off throwing themselves in front of my car? I’m trying to get to work, and almost kill two kids. That’s right! Two kids, two different incidents. I need to get to work! My route does not allow time to stop for an involuntary manslaughter case. I put the blame on the parents. What gets me really heated is the fact that momma and daddy refuse to use the crosswalks. Not only are there crosswalks provided, but also crossing guards equipped with orange vests, whistles, and mini stop signs to escort the children. Don’t just drop your kids off at the curb and go. Walk their asses to the crosswalk so I don’t kill them.

Check out the drama: I’m already running late for work, and I come up to a school zone sign. Ugh! I slow down because I’m all about keeping the kids safe. Suddenly, out of nowhere a blur of barrettes and ponytails zooms in front of my car. So I’m freakin’ out, and my nerves are even more on edge. That was Damn-Near-Fatality #1. I calm down from that incident and make the rest of my 15 mph trek through the remainder of the school zone. Not 5 feet from the previous incident do I see a family posing outside. Yes, First Day of School Pictures up-close and personal. That still happens? Who still does that? That has to be the countriest thing ever. Those kids looked so embarassed, standing in a line, shoulder-to-shoulder, all greasied-up and polished for the first day. To make matters worse, the momma (who was the photographer) must have shouted out a loud, “Take one with your daddy,” as the father (and his morning beer) reluctantly slid his way into the line of kids.

As you may have guessed, Damn-Near-Fatality #2 occured as a result of my inquisitiveness (basically being nosy). I don’t know exactly how it happened; either the kid jumped into the street, or my car jumped a little too close to the curb. Not sure, but I probably would’ve caught a case on that one. Luckily, the young boy was vivrant and quick on his feet. He was probably eager to go to school and wasn’t gonna let my nosiness ruin it for him.

Sincerely, ty!

First and foremost, I would like to say that I love the gays.  Matter of fact, one of the highlights of my high school career was having a gay cheerleader on my squad.  We (me and the rest of the squad) loved him, and the feelings were reciprocated.  When it came time to prance, he was there.  Just as well, when it came time to scrap, he was quick to deepen his voice and come to our defense as a protector, a friend, and overall—a man.  Now with that being said, I’d also like to state that I don’t care too much for the shims (she and him at the same time) who ruin it for all the other self-respecting gays. 

Years ago, a dear friend of mine, who happens to be an O.G. (Original Gay) in the homosexual world, informed me that young gay men who have recently become official members of the club often over-exaggerate their “gayness” until they become comfortable being gay in their own skin.  Sounds harmless, but unfortunately the rest of the world must suffer while shims around the world come out.  At first I didn’t completely understand my O.G. friend, but now I understand exactly. Before you get excited—just because I understand, doesn’t mean I agree. 

Last week, a young gay man, who is a sophomore at my Alma mater, decided to ‘come out’ to the world as a trans-gender. Fully clothed in this season’s most fashionable stilettos, jeans, red belt, and wait for it…wait for it….wait…and yes, a wig. What trans-gender/cross dresser/drag queen ensemble wouldn’t be complete without a WIG? Great! Congrats to you young man for making strides for the GLBT community. NEGATIVE! I say HELL NO! Why do I say HELL NO? First of all, before anyone gets their panties in a wad, women and now apparently men, I don’t care anything about Rodney (oh yeah…that’s his name) being gay. Remember the first sentence, “…I love the gays.”  I say HELL NO because now Rodney has ruined it for everybody. He brought his ass to school in a damn wig and full drag ensemble, and now the school board will probably petition for mandatory school uniforms for everyone. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

Before I go off in a tirade, I’d like to offer Rodney a few tips. I am not here to hurt him, nor bash him, only to help. If you are a struggling teen trans-gender, or know anyone who is, feel free to take my advice.

• Change your name. Rodney’s not a good name for a drag queen.  A few friends of mine and I took the liberty of coming up with a few for you–Raven, Randi (that was mine), Robin, Tori, Anastacia (exotic—-Is s/he black? Is s/he white?)
• Less is more. I understand that you feel comfortable as a women. More power to you! But perhaps you could tone it down a bit. I know tons of gay guys who have several people-friendly drag garbs, and from what your mother said, you look like a girl whether you’re “dressed up or not.”
•  From 8:30-3:35, you’re a male. Sorry, that’s the way school works. At 3:36 you can be whoever you want to be.
• Don’t blame the school. Rodney was quoted as saying, “When I try and do the whole cross-dressing thing, everything just blows up in my face……I can’t be who I am. They basically stripped me of who I am.“  I feel 100% confident in saying that the school wasn’t expecting all that fabulousness you were trying to penetrate. ‘Coming out’, which I’m sensing you were trying to do, is not easy for many-not even you son.
• You are normal–kinda. Every teenager struggles with finding out who they are.  Hell, I thought I was white until the 6th grade. You’ll probably be about 2 different people before you turn 25.
• Go hard or go home. If you’re gonna do drag, do it right.  Two words- Harmonica Sunbeam. If you wanna learn how to maximize your look with make-up, try looking at a drag queen.  Worked for me.

To me, the flamboyant, skipping, snapping gay man is as harmful a stereotype as the chicken eating, big-booty, 5 baby daddy having, weave down her back black woman stereotype. Just as black women try to erase the aforementioned stereotype, so do gay men. So to Rodney, and all the other young, gay men who may need a little assistance getting their gay on, check this out: National Black Justice Coalition. This organization is dedicated to empowering the gay community. Take a look at the site, and believe me, you won’t see any men wearing wigs or heels. These are the people who are fighting for your equality as a gay man, so stop ruining it for everybody else. 

Sincerely, ty!

P.S. Keith Boykin is my fave gay. Harvard educated, cute, and dimples (yum).

P.S.P.S. Sorry ladies, but no thanks. I like this, and this, and this, and this, and this, and this, and even though he doesn’t always wear shoes-this……you get the point.

  We’re not even a full week outside of Black History Month, and black folks are already acting a fool.  Didn’t the constant stream of Black facts mean anything to you?  Now that the 28 days of blackness is over, we as black people must find other ways to rub it America’s face that we are owed more than an entire month to celebrate our greatness. Unfortunately March 01 ended all of that and black folks are back to what the media thinks is the norm–Black folks being black folks.  No more images of great black heroes that will forever fill history books.  No more hyped-up panels, meetings, or discussion groups to examine ways to improve the current state of Black America.  Until next February, we’ll have to suffer as the scale tips more toward negative images of blacks.

At the beginning of this week, the media exposed a video of a young, black boy presenting his 2 and 5 year-old nephews with a joint.  Yes, to smoke.  The toddlers then both impressively and confidently proceeded to puff, inhale, and exhale.  In other words, they knew how to get blowed—not even a cough.  They must have had some practice.  The toddlers’ uncle, Demetrius McCoy, must be great with kids.  My uncle only every offered me advice about men.  This guy is obviously a better uncle than mine.  He entertains them, teaches them how to master difficult techniques, and involves them in his extra-curricular activities.  What a great uncle!  Demetrius does apologize for his actions.  Funny how the footage of the incident doesn’t show any sincerity.  Sorry black people, this one’s our fault.

You may have also heard about Bobby Brown’s recent renege on his commitment to a radio station.  The station, in exchange for Brown’s promise to be a week long guest/employee, posted bond for his recent jail visit.  As of now, Bobby is a free man, but somehow hasn’t made it to the station.  What’s keeping him?  Guess he’s just being Bobby Brown.

Why do blacks behave as so?  Is it in our genes, or do we just do it to give the media something to talk about.  I too am guilty of creating a negative image of blacks.  Yes, I have committed black-on-black crime.  I hate to tell on myself, but I feel so ashamed. 

A few days a week, I go to a local recreation center to exercise.  Although I have a membership at a much better gym with nicer amenities, sometimes I like to be around “my people.”  My gym is full of older, white people who just smile and wave.  The rec center is full of nothing but my people who love to laugh, chat, and are basically a source of constant entertainment.  That is except for the cutest little, freckled-face white boy–he always makes my day.  Lookout for more on him in the future. 

After work, I battle the stop and go traffic and head to the rec.  At the rec, my exercise options are lifting weights, running, or doing group aerobics.  Lifting weights is out of the question, and aerobics requires focus and coordination.  After the long work day and the strenuous drive, those are two things that I don’t want to think about.  The best way for me to shake off the work day is to run.  This would require a treadmill.  Unfortunately, the rec center only offers one treadmill to it’s members.  It’s not the rec’s fault; the center is maintained by the city and must take what they can get.  The problem lies in the availability of the treadmill, which is basically “first come, first serve.”  So in order to be first, I must 1)fight through traffic 2)change into work-out clothes 3)be the first to grab the key to the treadmill.  Sometimes I’m victorious, sometimes I’m not. 

Solution: Scheme my way into getting the treadmill key before anyone else can get a chance. 

At first, I had no problem getting to the treadmill.  Then suddenly, these two middle-aged women decided they wanted to use the treadmill too.  No problem, you say.  I should be glad that my fellow sistahs are concerned about their health, right?  Uhmmm, yes there is a problem.  Those heifers take turns WALKING on the treadmill—each for 30 minutes.  Walking is not helping them.  They need to take their asses to the group aerobics so they can feel the burn like all the other middle-aged women.  Now you may think I’m over-exaggerating, but the treadmill is kind of like my work-out sanctuary.  Just as well, they would be better off busting their buns in the aerobics class for an hour than pussy-footing it on the treadmill.  Believe me, I’ve attended the group class before and it ‘ain’t no joke.’  So where does this leave me now?  Back to my scheme.

• Leave work 5 minutes early to get a head start on rush hour traffic
• Grab treadmill key as soon as I get to the rec center
• Run on the treadmill for 45 minutes forcing the women to join the aerobics class

This may seem petty to you, but I’m actually helping them out in the end.  They’re never going to make their target weight by walking for 30 minutes.  And it’s not like they’re doing any strenuous walking anyway.  The women, and sometimes men, who take the group class have experienced great weight loss.  So as you can see, I’m not hating, I’m helping.  Technically, it’s not black-on-black crime anyway.

Sincerely,

ty!

P.S. Please click on the links provided for further details and insight on the topics mentioned, in particular the calories converter.  There’s the proof.

 Yesterday, Americans of all shades and hues took the time to commemorate the legacy of the Reverend Dr. M.L. King.  Throughout the nation, bands played, banks closed, and many of us weren’t expected to attend work.  That “many of us” included me as I enjoyed the last day of my three-day weekend to the fullest.  By the way, what songs do bands usually play for MLK Day?  I know it’s a birthday celebration, so I’d expect the Happy Birthday version from Stevie.  Other than that, what would be deemed as appropriate for the King’s Parade?  Negro Spirituals…Public Enemy’s Fight the Power…James Brown’s Say It Loud?  I’ll let you ponder.

To celebrate the legacy of Dr. King, I too stumbled upon a dream.  Matter of fact, I had many dreams.  As I lied in bed, hours past my usual wake up call and into the beginnings of the afternoon, I was completely dormant.  My mind envisioned a world where….

… little black boys and little black girls could enjoy a 30% discount at Nordstrom on MLK day to make up for all the disdain the sales associates give to the little blackies who come in to spend their money.  Indeed they may often only make purchases from the sale rack, but a sale is a sale.  Just as well, they may splurge on clothes and shoes that they wear only because they saw them on the videos, and as they try on the costly attire in the dressing rooms, they may talk loudly and attempt to squeeze their big asses into jeans that were not made for their figures.  But as stated before, a sale is a sale.  Sales associates should be grateful that blacks enjoy spending their money on frivolous things instead of putting money into their own communities.  For this ungratefulness, I propose that all the high-end stores initiate a discount day for MLK.  Say it with me, “Discount day, for MLK…Discount day, for MLK….”  If not, black people could always go back to stealing.

… little black boys and little black girls could feel comfortable requesting chicken from the menu without fear that the white waiter would give a little smirk.  Chicken is not only a desirable food amongst black folks, but for all mankind.  I like to think of it as a safety net.  You can alway count on the chicken being edible.  One can also rationalize that chicken isn’t often “messed up.”  Also, it is common knowledge that you don’t mess around with black people’s food.  If you’re dining at a restaurant, especially for the first time, you usually can’t go wrong with the chicken.  Pork-chops? Just depends on who’s in the kitchen as well as the selections of gravy.  Steak? Not so sure.  In reference to the previous statement addressing black folks and their food, be aware that ordering steak might require ”takin’ it back”, due to the existence of blood dripping from the interior of the meat.  Seems like the rare, medium-rare thing is hard for cooks and patrons to agree on.  This would cause another well-known fact to occur—black folks don’t like to wait too long to eat.  “Takin’ it back” might cause quite a bit of hostility amongst a black family dining on a Sunday afternoon.  Doesn’t even matter if it’s after church.  Not even on Easter Sunday. 

… little black boys and little black girls would not fear that when presented with a white waiter, that he/she (the white waiter) would offer bad service in assumption that he/she (the white waiter) would be “stiffed” at tip time.  Many black people are big tippers.  In general, most black people are fair tippers.  With that being said, in most cases involving black people, a waiter’s tip starts at $0.00.  That ’s right!  You must prove your abilities to 1)take the order correctly  2) not harass the diners too much while the food is in route 3)make sure the food is delivered in a timely manner, and most importantly 4)must not inform any of the patrons dining that the kitchen has “ran out” of anything.  If this is done, an upgraded alternate must be offered.  If the alternate is not upgraded, it must be free.  Sorry, these are the rules.  I didn’t make them. 

I guess we’re still dreamin’.  What a lovely life to be a dream girl.  However, in lieu of my dreams, I would like to give big, huge kudos to a real-life Dreamgirl,  Jennifer Hudson on her win for Best-Supporting actress at last night’s 2007 Golden Globe Awards. 

Sincerely, ty!

A new year, a new you!  Lovely!  Too bad that concept doesn’t work for me.  I’m still trying to perfect the “new me” I was working on last year.  As I catch up on the self-help/self-discovery/self-impowerment (not improvement) tips that I didn’t complete last year, I invite you to join me in my daily joys and struggles to be perfectly, and I use that word lightly, executed by ME. I hope to open my life to you,which is always comical in a bittersweet kind of way, in hopes to inspire others.

Sincerely ty!