This bitch right here. That's all I got after watching this jackass in the Detroit city council after her drug induced, half assed attempt to explain her actions on the job previously posted here.
Look at how Conyers is slouched and looking as if she could give a damn about these young and very poised children and their questions.
Why did this wench Monica Conyers feel the need to be combative with a group of eighth graders asking pertinent questions about her on the record behavior on the city council? She's the type of chick that restrained men punch holes in walls about. Her kids must have a shrink on speed dial.
Look at that 8th grade girl having to check her out of pocket ass. I love that little girl.
I don't know if this just as bad or worse than a business card my brother brought back from the barber shop advertising for something called the Double-Stack Jean...
The Double Stack-Jean by my old and out-of-touch neighborhood hustle man, Umar S. Ali, "The Fashion Magician". Bless his heart. http://myspace.com/usadoublestack
This is just to serve as a warning. If anyone hasn't already beaten you to it, when you see anyone, anywhere wearing a pair of these, please kick their asses accordingly. That should be easy because they won't be able to run too far.
I use this blog a lot to air grievances, but rarely do I ever use it to make amends for the wrong I've done.
If you don't mind, I'd like to begin this multi-part series by apologizing and making amends to:
BMG Music Service
and
Columbia House Music
I officially apologize for gluttonously taking advantage of their 12 music CD's for a Penny campaign of the 1990's. The card inserts were plastered all throughout urban music and fashion magazines and I couldn't avoid them. Excitedness and curiosity got the best of me and I buckled.
I would just fill out my choices, write down a phone number and sign a name and three to six weeks later, 12 spanking new CD's were delivered to my door, no questions asked.
True, I didn't have any intention of paying that one cent price in the first place, but those companies shouldn't have made it so easy for a broke teenager like myself.
Karen Jameison, Tamara Johnston, Kiely Pratt, Julia P. Warren are some of the names that they knew me by. The address always stayed the same, but they kept falling for all of those pseudonyms. I was unstoppable!
If you were my friend and it was your birthday..."Happy Birthday! Have a CD!"
From approximately 1992 to 2000 I amassed hundreds of CD's courtesy of their accounting departments. I could have been thousands, but hey, I'm not greedy.
Almost simultaneously somewhere around the millennium, Columbia House Music and BMG Music Service began to require upfront payment of the shipping & handling costs plus the penny before shipping out any CD's.
For some reason, I feel responsible for that. I don't know why.
I apologize to the potential CD "borrowers" who came after me and never got a chance. Luckily, Napster was on the scene by then and we music addicts had a new pusher.
Once again, BMG Music Service and Columbia House Music, I apologize, but thank ya anyway!
I know I wasn't the only one.
If was was, I'm more of a genius than I thought... How about that?
I came across the link to a personal blog of a young woman who wrote a detailed intimate post about being a white woman with a so-called black name. She never says what her name is possibly for security reasons, but for this post's purposes, let's call her Ja'Wa-kah'teemah.
We've talked about extravagant names here before, but the thing that got to me the most in her blog post was the preconceived notioned reactions she would get from people whenever she told them her name over the phone or when they found out her name without ever seeing her. They would just hear her name and let the bullshit flow:
When I did customer service, I worked with mostly black women. And we were supposed to give our names, like good customer service robots: "Thank you for calling blabbity blabbity, I'm _____, how may I help you?"
"WHAT did you say your name was?"
Here it comes.
I always repeated it, obediently. And I often heard lots of illuminating stuff after that. A few:
"Are you a n-gger?"
"Are you black? Give me someone white. I want someone who can find their ass with both hands, no offense."
"Oh, God no."
(to someone else in the room) "Oh guess what, guys? I've got ______ on the phone, and she's gonna -solve- our problem!!!!" (room responds with hoots, hollers, boos, laughter, etc.)
"Give me someone white, and don't argue with me about it, just do it." (On these calls, I very much enjoyed getting the black supervisor with the British accent on the line; we both enjoyed putting one over on them. But I always made sure to tell the supervisor what was up.)
In other cases, I dug my heels in. Fuck you, I thought.
In short, on the phone, when assumed to be black, I reacted that way. When asked point-black if I was black, I wouldn't tell. "Why?" I'd ask.
"Because I need to get someone who KNOWS WHAT THEY ARE DOING," they'd reply, screaming. They would wait a half-hour for a supervisor they believed was white, before they'd let me deal with their situation, as I could have done in 5 minutes or less.
They made all sorts of assumptions when I wouldn't tell. "Most white people don't want to be mistaken for black," said one woman authoritatively, "so I think you're black, but you don't sound like it." Obviously, she thought this was a high compliment.
"You never know," I said.
~*~
:: At a retail location, a white male sales rep asked who was purchasing the books for a display, which was my job: _______ is, he was told. He blanched, shook his head adamantly and had something of a fit. He needed someone who knew about READING.
:: Employees are attending a seminar and a list of attendees' names given over the phone, to reserve seating . Wait, WHAT'S that name, again, who? "Has she finished high school?" (Everyone must finish high school to have the job in the first place, so why this question?)
:: "That's the worst name I ever heard, unless you're black, and you ain't!"
:: "Did your mom expect you to be black, or wasn't she sure who your daddy was?"
:: Lots of canceled dates, due to my name. Lots of changed invitations. And these were (white) guys my friends wanted me to meet, fellas they assured me were nice. I would invariably hear that the guy snorted derisively and/or initially freaked out: "I'm not going out with ______!!!" --until informed that I was blond and pale. Then he would.
Now you know my name is Tamika and I think we can all agree that it is a decidedly negrodian name, but I must say that I have never, ever come across experiencing anything close to the what this young lady has gone through because of that fact. I honestly wouldn't know how I'd react, but it probably wouldn't be a pretty scene. I have had a few older white women tell me that my name is "exotic"...LOL...although "Tamika" is quite common.
It's a trip when people complain about "black" names are just made up names. That is just code for "too niggery". Newsflash: all names are made up, but they can all hold meaning in one way or the other. It seems as if we as people (some of us more than others) will find any way to take shortcuts on doing the human thing and getting to know someone and would rather make up their own short-sided minds about a person's worth through analyzing the neighborhood the live, the school they attend, the clothes they can afford or the name bestowed upon them.
I say all of this to ask: Have you been discriminated against because of your name? And how do those people treat you when they're shocked into knowing that you have a damn brain?
Do people try to profile you whenever they find out your common or uncommon name? How do you feel about "black" names? Do some people take it too far? Do our children have to have Anglo names to even have a chance at being accepted in these "progressive" United States?
...If someone flips over the Monopoly board when their ass is loosing, there's gonna be a misunderstanding.
And it's that easy!
There have been so many stories in the news lately about people flipping the hell out and offing other people and frankly, I'm afraid for the sanity for all of us. I think that if we said what was on our minds instead of holding it in and letting it manifest, we would be all the better for it. So say what you feel and feel what you say and don't go off on others because you've been holding in your true feelings. Just say that you're going to assault someone. Don't actually do it. This is why I am jolly all the time.
Oh, and I'm going to blow up AT&T if that if that bish Simone doesn't do her damn job the next time I call.
The Atlanta Journal-Constuition is running a series of reader photos during this school prom season. Everyone looks great for the most part and it even makes me misty eyed for the three disastrous proms I've attended in my life, but I wonder, don't some of these kids look a little grown to you? (Yes, I'm getting old.) And when was the last time you got dressed to the nines and gone out to somewhere nice?
I'm envious of 17 year-olds who have an event to attend.
Note: I'm not trying to dothis because Fresh does it way better than anyone. Just hada a quesstion.
The Strawberry Letter 23 advice board of the Steve Harvey Morning Show website is some straight up foolishness. I had no idea my fellow black people were going through some of the most far fetched and Lifetime movie worthy situations. That being said, can you believe this recent letter right here?
Sidenote: Hooked on Phonics is fundamental.
First of all Hello Steve Shirley Carla and Tommy, I live in a small southern town in Gerogia say no more. I recently moved to Florida 10 months ago to the big city of Jacksonville for a better paying job. A month after i moved there i met a wonderful man, who i deeply have feelings for but he lives back home near my old home town.
Every other weekend he comes down to see me. I offer to come back home to visit him but, he said not to bother, because we wouldn't have the privacy like we do here at my apartment. Well I am fine with that saves me from not paying for these high gas prices....LOL. Well to the point Codecracker.
My bestfriend back home is getting marry and I am so happy for her but I told her i was unable to make it to the wedding due to work, which i was lieing to her. Well the weekend of wedding was comming up and I began to feel guilty. Told my boss i need a couple of days off due to some issuse back home.
While i was heading back home I thought i would call my boyfriend and tell him i was comming home for a couple of days for a wedding. Well he told me he was going to a wedding also but didn't have the time to see me because the wedding was out of town. Which i was fine with. I got to the ceremony in time to get a seat for the wedding and wished my best friend the best of luck for her wedding. Sitting in the far back of the ceremony I couldn't see her new husband to be, all that well. So i decided to move up closer where i saw an empty chair so i could see the wedding and get a better look at the grom. As I walked up to the chair I notice the grom to be is my boyfriend, i've been seeing for 9 months.
I left soon as I saw him which he didn't see me. Now my bestfriend is married to this man i once had a relationship with. I broke it off with him but giving him a different reason why i couldn't see him any longer. I want to tell my bestfriend of 5 years about her husband and I, but my best friend doesn't even know I'm gay.
What should i do, because he doesn't deserve a wonder woman, like my bestfriend. Help me out.
Leon from Chronicles of Leon has tagged yours truly. Someone please remind me to pay him back for this honor.
Here are the rules!
1. Link the person who tagged you. 2. Mention the rules in your blog. 3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours. 4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them. 5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.
1. I have abnormally small ear holes. Whatever the outside entrance into your ear is called, it cannot support earbuds of any variety on me. Imagine my disappointment when the iPod came along. They are just too large for me. I'm just thankful that earbuds are the only thing I can say that about...
2. I am a chronic overtipper. I don't get insane with it, but at times, my tips can be well above what's acceptable. When dining out, I "correct" the tips of people in my group so that we aren't looked at negatively by the waitstaff. I have done it so much to the point that people who are with me at restaurants will make me leave the table first or will go and check the table after I leave just to help and save me from myself.
3. If there was such a thing as a part-time relationship or rotating shift marriage, I would have signed up a long time ago. I like to be left alone too much to even consider the alternative.
4. If someone can make me laugh and laugh a lot, they'll gain a groupie in me.
5. I like to create cocktails whenever I get the chance. I would love for you all to try what I call "The Hernia".
6. Contrary to popular belief, I don't hate Beyonce (gag). Fairly recent, it has become fashionable for many to be tired of seeing Beyonce everywhere and to bash her at every turn. The truth is, I have never liked Beyonce and her brand of entotainment fuckery. Just because I choose to point it out whenever I see fit (all the time), doesn't translate into hate. No vitriol is ever intended on my part.
A good gesture to make after giving this type of statement would be for me to qualify it by saying something nice about Beyonce.
As always, I bring you the beautiful people from New York City, Atlanta and Houston. You can be a better person if you follow their examples.
Special Shout Out to Sunshine and the good folks at Infinite Energy in Gainesville, Florida!
She's serving up a full continental breakfast: a pancake ass and waffle thighs.
With those teeth, one false move and she's gonna stab herself in the chin.
I don't know about you, but that Martin Luther King swag gets me hot everytime.
Your Spanx is showing.
I've heard of high beams, but chick's got flood lights.
They're turning around and showing all the boys their dome, dome, dome, dome, domes.
I don't wanna say that the girl's shoe vents look like they've been busted out and that the heels look like the top of a mustard bottle. I don't wanna say that at all.
That deodorant stain on her top is the ONLY thing wrong with her look. The only thing.
17 my ass.
Gel fixes everything. She looks flawless now.
I hope she uses that money to get herself cut out of that sausage skin.
Times are truly hard. When your clothes get too small and you can't buy new, make tittay screens...
...Or you just rock that sh*t anyway.
Being the pacifist that I am, I have NO words for this:
Except...
Why is that pot roast strapped to her thigh being smuggled into the club?
Men are tired. Black men are tired as hell. They are sick and tired of black women sitting around, collecting their alimony, drinking margaritas and hating on their white women.
Black women, you better get your shit together before you find yourself by yourself.
Close your mouths long enough to let this tired black man tell you how he feels in this clip from the upcoming movie Diary Of A Tired Black Man.
Who are these dumb heffas who agreed to play the part of the bitter ass irrational thinking black women?
If black women hate white women so much as this clip suggests, why would the principal bitchy black chick suggest that her trifling ex have the decency to at least find a black woman to walk all over? Not only are black women loud and abrasive, their asses aren't playing with a full deck either.
You got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em, Know when to walk away and know when to run. --Kenny Rogers The Gambler
You remember Sara Stokes from MTV's second run of Making the Band? This chile and mother of three is going through some extra measures these days in order to get noticed in the music business.
That lemur looking ass Tony is still in the picture.
To her credit, she did try to follow the rules like Erykah Badu laid out and did some hoe shit to try and make it, but ummm....yeah, large Myspace friendage doesn't count.
And you know her husband Tony is still trying to ride on what little shred of coat tail she has. Remember on Making the Band when he tried to muscle his way into the goings of his wife's group and Babs had to check him while Sara didn't tell him anything? Damn, I can't find the video of that.
In a way, I personally feel responsible for the way things have turned out with her former group and for Sara's subsequent career. When I worked in a music store back when the show was on TV, I gave the hardest side-eye to a young lady who had attempted to buy Da Band's first and only album. If I knew all of this would be the result of the dissolution of that group and Sara's later extreme measures to make it in the music biz, I wouldn't have made that customer feel that bad for buying that album. I truly apologize for my part in this tragedy.
Sara, hold em, fold em, walk away and run to the nearest ITT Tech and learn a trade because it ain't panning out. Your husband's pimping skills leave much to be desired with his wack ass. If he hasn't hinted towards it already, he's gonna have you ass waxing the nearest pole downtown while he continues to "manage" you.
It's no doubt that by now you've heard the tragic news about the marriage of Star Jones and Al Reynolds, one of the premier black unions in the world, ending in divorce.
People, our black relationship role models are dissolving all around us. If we don't act soon, all we'll have left is Fantasia and Young Dro to represent a successful black union to the rest of the world and they don't need that type of pressure.
In order to help put a stop to the decline of black unions, I think we should focus on exactly where the Jones-Reynolds marriage went wrong and hopefully we can learn for ourselves and teach our kids what not to do for the survival of the race.
