Inadvertent Petty.

So, there are many reasons (separate post forthcoming) why I am still friends with my infamous ex on social media — despite the (beyond) foul shit he put me through. [ An aside: my ex is a pretty private person, and doesn’t share his business on these interwebs, which means I really don’t run a serious risk stumbling across some shit that’ll hurt my feelings. Unless I go fishing and deep sea diving — stalking, that is; but that ship has sailed. Anyway. ] It’s been almost four years since we broke up, which means it’s been almost four years since I’ve seen him. But yo, I still love this man.

That said, being connected to him on social media makes me feel a semblance of closeness to him — even though we’re thousands of miles apart.

You’d think that the four years we’ve been apart would be time enough to get over the shit he put me through. And, to a certain extent it did. However, since his messy ass behavior resulted in a child, this will never truly be over. And that’s okay; I’ve made my peace with it. Hell, I hope to meet the little guy one day. But, I digress.

But, social media. And, inadvertent petty.

As I was browsing my Facebook feed, I came across this post that my ex shared (he didn’t create the post, it’s just shared from something he liked on Instagram):

Ok. So this. I know I sound like a bitter bitch, but fuck all of this right here. As it relates to my ex’s current situation, that is. My ex has children from previous (legitimate) relationships, who are grown/nearly grown. In that context, the sentiments of this meme are beautiful. I dig it.

However.

As I reflect upon his situation, as the father of a four year old who was conceived from a meaningless hook-up (with a basic ass Becky who fetishizes Black dick), that destroyed me, fuck this. Should the way his son was conceived have any bearing on his love for him? Of course not. I am not suggesting that.

But, the messy, bitter, self-centered bitch in me is wondering how in the fuck he could read this meme and reflect on the privilege and gift of fatherhood that resulted in the destruction of another person (um, me).

CryingFolks, yes. I realize how utterly messy, bitter, dumb, stupid, selfish, self-centered, evil, misguided, heartless, etc., this sounds. However, I read this and couldn’t help but log off social media feeling some kind of way.

His stat has absolutely nothing to do with me. Shit, he has no allegiance to me anymore. That said, I am deeming it inadvertently petty (Which is crazy, because he is the least petty person I know. Messy? Yes. Petty, nah). But, the petty in me, recognizes how petty some shit like this has the potential to be.

This all says several things to me:

  1. I am not as “over” this situation as I thought I was;
  2. I am messy as fuck;
  3. I am petty as fuck;
  4. I need to get over myself.

I. I. I. I. Me. Me. Me. Me. Sounds about right. Anyway.

I don’t think my ex reads this blog, so this is in no way a subliminal or passive aggressive dig at him. The rational me knows that my thoughts and feelings about this are dumb and irrational.

I don’t want my ex to have residual feelings of regret when he looks at his son. I really don’t. The little guy didn’t ask to be here.

Olivia Pope cryingThat said, my heart aches, and it pains me to think that my ex is able to exist in a reality where regret for his decisions, and how they completely destroyed me (I mean that literally), have waned.

Fuck.

Time to go meditate with my selenite wand. My chakras are all the way fucked up.

Problematic White Women: Musings on “Invite Only Cabo”

Invite Only CaboI’ve recently become addicted to the new (premiered May 14, 2017) Bravo show Invite Only Cabo (Sundays at 8PM CST). It’s a deliciously drama filled, entertaining reality show.

It chronicles the Cabo vacation of Larry Sims, who invited six of his socialite friends who either didn’t know each other personally (prior to the show), or were only casually acquainted. Needless to say, there are lots of strong and conflicting personalities.

The cast of the show consists of four Black men, two Black women, and one very problematic white woman (entitlement issues, fetishizing Black men, centering herself, white tears, perpetual victimhood, etc.).

Check my Twitter thread where I break it down.

Don’t Flatter Yourself, Katy Perry.

Bon Appétit art, Katy PerryLet’s talk about Katy Perry’s ridiculous new video for Bon Appétit. I’ll be honest, the song it kind of catchy. But the video, though. It’s horrendous. It’s gross, and it’s thrown together in seriously poor taste.

But most of all, the subtext is so fucking played out. The whole men of color being characterized as insatiable (shit, cannibals in this case) for white women trope is ridiculously stereotypical, but it, coupled (in this case) with hip-hop artists and strip clubs (you know, the basic white woman’s guide to Black men) in the video is just…wack.

It’s no secret that I have no chill when it comes to calling out white women for appropriating our shit (you know, naming their Black babies after influential Black folks with whom they have no meaningful cultural references, etc.). As usual, I digress.

Scene from D.W. Griffith’s “Birth of a Nation”

But this extra layer that Katy Perry has added in Bon Appétit brings to mind images of D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation (1915), where Black men are portrayed as mindless, psychotic animal-like predators, stalking and chasing after white women. And the women are terrified.

But in her video, Katy seems to be loving it. You know the drill, white feminism — weak (failed) attempts at flipping the narrative, or something. Spare me.

Now, it’s hard to tell of there are white men included among the chefs literally mangling, cutting and cooking Katy while she writhes in pleasure, but all that I noticed were the Black and brown hands that the director chose to focus on. Oh, and Korean chef Roy Choi is thrown in, too, for good measure. And the whole thing bothers the fuck out of me.

Spare me with the sexual liberation and sex positive justifications for this mess. The fact of the matter is that not only are we tired of your appropriation (because you look foolish, Katy), but portraying men of color as cannibals, starving and famished for your basic ass is too much. We’ve seen that story before, and we’re tired of it. Also, don’t flatter yourself. You’re basic. And so transparent.

Take a look at this fuckery. Or don’t.

My Prom from Hell.

Check the Twitter thread. The night (in 1998) consisted of fuckboys (or, my boyfriend at the time who, for unknown reasons wouldn’t go to prom with me, and seemed unfazed when I told him about the resulting debacle that I had experienced), presumptuous men, bad judgment, and lucky stars.

It was wild. And all things considered, I was very fortunate that it didn’t end worse for me. Read: sexual assault.

No Pain, No Gain?

No Pain, No GainNo Pain, No Gain is one of those songs that reminds me of a bunch of older aunties sitting around the kitchen table — smoking cigarettes, drinking wine, playing spades and talking shit (and lamenting) about men.

Betty Wright strikes me as one of those aunties, waxing poetic about her experiences with men — schooling us young girls on what (and what not) to do to keep one.

Basically, No Pain, No Gain reads as a relationship manual of sorts, filled with some gems, but if I’m keeping it real, a whole lot of codependent encouragement and antiquated space junk.

Nonetheless, it’s one of those classics to which young (-ish) folks probably just sing along, without really paying attention to the lyrics — and just how problematic they are. And this song is problematic as hell.

Let’s break it down (in no particular order or fashion).

First of all, the name of the song. No Pain, No Gain. Why does love have to hurt, though? Is it a prerequisite? Am I too naive to think that love can be smooth — think The Isley Brothers’ Smooth Sailing (even if that has been counter to my experiences)? But seriously, I should expect a certain amount of necessary pain — think Stevie Wonder’s
Ordinary Pain — as requisite to come away with anything meaningful?

“Anything worth havin’ at all / Is worth workin’ for and waitin’ for” 

Okay, I can get with that. Love is a verb, and all that. Relationships take effort. And if it it’s worth anything to you, you’ve got to be willing to put in some work. And patience. Oh, patience. I accept that.

But she goes on with: In order to be something / You got to go through somethingwhich begs the question — go through what? I’ve been in bad relationships. Relationships that have caused me to question my worth. And to be honest, mantras like that which Betty Wright espouses would play in my head as I contemplated why I would subject myself to (and make excuses for) the bullshit I experienced.

The more I sit with the faux knowledge that Betty Wright spits, the more glaring just how problematic the song becomes.

“We’re all entitled to make a mistake /  We got to prepare for some heartbreak / I was earnin’ my man, while I was learnin’ my man / Something you young girls might not understand”

Earning my man? Learning is one thing, but earning? The whole concept of earning in a relationship doesn’t sit well with me. Shouldn’t basic things like respect, trust, etc., be given freely? Not everything in a relationship need be earned (and by extension, commodified). And frankly, Auntie Betty makes no mention about earning me (save for the flowers and candy and all kinds of gifts that could perhaps be tokens to ease his guilty conscience). And, the tone deaf narrative about selfless sacrifice for a man is played out. But, I digress.

“If it weren’t for the trials we’ve been through / I’d never have the courage to come back to you”

Okay, so…what the fuck happened in the relationship from the get go that would prepare me to be courageous enough to take his dumb ass back after he does God knows what in the future?

“But love is a flower that needs the sun and the rain / A little bit of pleasure’s worth a whole lot of pain”

Heartache and anguish for just a little bit of pleasure? So, as I cry myself to sleep, I should just think about the good times, no matter how few and far between they may have been?

“If you learn this secret, how to forgive / A longer and better life you’ll live”

So, my heart is breaking after my man has done some unforgivable shit, but I should think about the good times, and forgive him?

All of this just seems wrong. And counter to all of my sensibilities.

Maya Angelou once wrote, “When someone shows you who they are believe them; the first time.” So there’s that. That advice seems so much better and gentler for the heart. Sorry, Auntie Betty.