The Yielded Rage

Greetings and Salutations Everybody! How you? When was the last time I posted? Shameful, I know. But I am finally back in the office and I have something to write about so let’s begin shall we?

My question is what is the deal with old people who happen to be white and males? You don’t have to brace yourself for a classic Amaretto rant-well maybe you do…

So picture this, Washington National Airport Security check line. My flight leaves for the A in 40 minutes and the line resembles those of bread lines during the Great Depression. At this point I am confident I am gonna make my flight. So I stand in line entertaining myself by people watching and wondering what destinations others are heading to. I’ve shown my boarding pass and ID and waiting for the fun exciting part of throwing my stuff in a tub and taking off my shoes. Can I just say that I find the shoe removal absolutely absurd, unsanitary and not a good look for a girl who does not have the cutest toes! But alas, they can scan down to our under roos these days, so a proper pedi should be the least of my worries. But anyway, the shoes have been removed and the tub has been filled and I am waiting for the dude in front of me to push his crap onto the conveyer belt when…

This old white man saunters in front of me and proceeds to take off his shoes. Notice there is no exclamation point, because I’m down with the elderly and not having them stand in line, I know elderly people. My grandmother is elderly and should be afforded some perks. But I’m mad because as I stand and wait for dude to fill his tub, remove his belt, his shoes, and the 50 eleven things from his pockets (I swear he was taking out lint with his loose change-seriously!) not one time did this old white man say thank you, excuse me or give me a head nod of acknowledgement! And as he continued to do his thing I could feel the fire burn in my belly as he took his dear sweet time with me, ever waiting for the moment where he said Thanks. And so began the war within between me getting my spork out and then remembering that he’s old so there should be a level of yielding and respect. But I’m sorry just because you are old doesn’t mean can just do what you want and think the world owes you something cause you’re still here! And it made me think about my college friend who felt that White people had this ability to just totally ignore you when you are right in front of them. At the time I thought she was a little paranoid, but now I don’t know because my mind keeps thinking this scenario would have been different if he cut in front of the blonde white girl standing behind me.

This could just be my issue I know-but oh the joys of blogging I get to care and share with you all!

I just can’t tell ya’ll how much I wanted to tell his hearing aid wearing, liver spots having, Medicaid collecting, alive during World War II self that he was just as wrong as he is rude, peppered with some choice words guaranteed to shed some tears! But alas, I’m a Christian trying to be and do better and I didn’t want some TSA dude to think that my barefoot self could be a threat to anyone. So I just kept my tact and shaming commentary to myself. Made my flight and remembered that every old white man isn’t like this dude. Right? Right!

See You In Seven

when flirting with white boys goes horribly wrong

way back in the day when the 5 spot was a wee lil blog, i pondered love across the color line. and after all the laughs and the backlash, i started thinking why not keep my eye out for a white guy who i could even think about entertaining the possibility of actually flirting with in hopes that we might go out on a date. baby steps, my friends, baby steps

so while i didn't start hanging out at any frat parties or sign up for web based love connections, i did become less discriminating, departing from my personal brown paper bag test. i eased into it with a few light skinneded brothas. but as with all new things, there have been a few bumps in the road.

*enter wildly amusing story about my weekend shenanigans*

on saturday night i was out and about with some friends playin my role as the token black girl. if i'm painting a picture of the bar scene, it'd be something like where's waldo with me as waldo and everyone else as white folks. but no biggie, i was "trying different things...sipping whiskey out the bottle not thinkin' bout tomorrow, singin' sweet home alabama all night long."

while giggling and laughing with the girls, we are approached by a group of guys who strike up a convo. and one of them seemed to be particularly interested in ms. julep. since i'm generally clueless whenever ANY man approaches me, it wasn't till he started leanin in and touchin a sista's arm that the needle slid off the record player in my mind....scrreeeeeech.

lookie here. white boy got the feva! i started really listening to what he was saying and took a better look at him. he had all my white boy requirements:

pure-d white boy- check
smelled good- check
smooth chest (discovered in our convo on how he was stabbed in the back by a rouge mexican) - check
owned a successful business - check
really wanted a piece of chocolate covered mint julep - check
pretty close to brody-grade looks - check

thinking back i don't even remember his name. but we talked for a good lil while and i ended the evening my giving him my business card. i left feeling proud of myself for doing my part to heal the racial wounds of yesteryear.

fast forward to monday morning when i find the following gem of an email in my inbox:

Hello. I'm really sorry to email you. I didn't want to call. I've never had to do this before and I will keep this short but please be honest with me.

I found your business card in my fiance's pants yesterday doing laundry. He told me he was in Cleveland for the weekend but I see your from [city nowhere near Cleveland].
So could you tell me where you met him?, was he in [city nowhere near Cleveland]?

and did anything happen or did you guys have sex?

Sorry to ask, I just need to know.

Thanks so much.
[name changed to protect crazy stalker fiance]

*blank stare*

damn crazy stalker fiance damn

*blank stare*

what to do, what to do? something in her desperate semi-pathetic email tugged at my sisterly heartstrings. crazy stalker fiance definitely needs a dose of reality. clearly mr. man has stepped out on her before if the first thing her mind goes to when she finds my business card in his pocket is sex. twasn't like i wrote "thanks for the nice ride cowboy" on the back. not to mention that mr. man wasnt' no where near cleveland this weekend. and i don't buy for one minute that you've never had to do this before crazy stalker fiance. but the lies that you tell yourself are your business.

i ended up sending her a short and sweet "aint-shit-happen-but-you-need-to-check-your-lying-ass-not-in-cleveland-man" email. i did my duty without sliding too deep into their jacked-up sitchy-achun (c) mrs. meany. and crazy stalker fiance was "grateful".

Thanks you so much. I feel better. I figured it was innocent but I've had problems with him before and didn't feel good about it. Thanks for the reply. I really appreciate it!!

[crazy stalker fiance]

i had a good laugh about the whole thing but it kinda made me sad. men "aint shit but hoes and tricks." ok not REALLY but really! spending the weekend in a whole nother city than what you told your fiance is foul.

and women are crazy as hell. ok not REALLY but really! who sends an email confronting another woman over a business card. not used condoms or steamy text messages. but a business card. crazy doesn't even describe it.

what say you?

Merry CHRISTmas

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree,
For me.
I've been an awful good girl,

Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

- Santa Baby, Eartha Kitt

It's that most wonderful time of the year. Trees and houses decorated with twinkling lights, red bows, and holly. Mall parking lots jam packed with angry drivers cursing and beeping. School Christmas pageants and Hallmark movies made for TV. Honey baked hams and spiked egg nog that will be the catalyst for an argument between Uncle Ray and Cousin Mike (well maybe that's just Christmas with my family).

And the star of the show: Santa.

What? You thought I was gonna say Jesus? Ha! It's not PC to mention Jesus or any other religious component of the holiday. Even if the reason for the season is the birth of Christ. If folks actually celebrated that, then who would pay $500 for a Nintendo Wii because every store is sold out and they're willing to pay double the amount just to make little Timmy happy on Christmas morning? Who would stand in line for hours out front of the Apple Store to get the newest nano for their ungrateful teenager who barely even speaks to them? Who would torture their toddler by forcing them to sit in Santa's lap for a cute photo op even though the baby is scared shitless, screaming at the top of its lungs?

Maybe my cynicism stems from my upbringing. I grew up being told the truth from jump. My mom was like "The Story of Santa is a lie. He does not exist." Some would say she robbed me of my childhood. As an adult, I disagree. I'm glad she was honest. Plus I've always asked too many questions... I probably would've picked the story apart at age 5.

As a kid, Christmas was my favorite holiday. Yes, even sans the myth of the jolly one. Every year, we would go out and pick a real Christmas tree. I always liked the tall 7 footers. My grandma would come to visit and stay for about a week. She would bring her own pots and pans and take over my mom's kitchen. We would decorate the tree while singing carols with all our might. Grandma and I would make cookies on Christmas Eve. That evening, Grandma would set aside a plate of cookies & a glass of milk for Santa. My mom would go "ain't nobody gonna eat them cookies but Dark & Stormy." Grandma would be UPSET! She would tell me Santa is real and scold my mother for saying otherwise in my company.

At first I would ask questions like how does Santa know what I want since I never sent him a damn letter. And how will he get in the crib when we live in an apartment. And I know he and the elves can't make an Atari game system by hand. But afterwhile, I started playing along because it made Grandma happy and I enjoyed watching her smiling with joy in her eyes knowing I was the cause. I always knew that my mom hid the gifts in her bedroom closet. But I wouldn't peek because I preferred being surprised on Christmas day.

Once I grew up, moms better explained her reasoning for not lying to me about Santa. She said she'll never forget how she felt when she found out Santa wasn't real. Sure she wasn't scarred for life, but she felt so betrayed by her parents and family. Moms also said she'd be damned if some random a** white man took the credit for the gifts that she purchased with her hard earned money. I think her exact words were something like "they stole enough from us already."

And the most important reason being that she felt I deserved the truth.

Now that's just Dark & Stormy's interpretation of the sitchyation... I will say that I miss the days of hearing 'Away in a Manger' and 'We Three Kings'. When Christmas wasn't complete without the airing of "The Little Drummer Boy." When people didn't get into fist fights over the last talking toy on the shelf. My mom and I both had the privilege of knowing Christmas as the birth of Jesus with a little Santa sprinkled on top. But nowadays the little youngins are like Christ who? That's all good it you're not of Christian faith. But don't celebrate the holiday without celebrating the holiday. Stop fakin. CHRISTmas is its name.

So, do you tell your kids about Santa? When did you find out Santa wasn't real? Would you tell your kids the same or raise them differently?

I do wish all of you a wonderful holiday season. Feliz Navidad, Habari Gani, Happy Hanukkah, and Ho Ho Ho!

Tumultuously Yours,

Dark & Stormy

pretty fly for a white guy

So I've been known to peruse the wedding announcements cause I just love to see people in love...especially Black love, it's the fishes in me I guess. and the new york times has some of the best wedding announcements I've seen. Their pages are so well written and always come from such a unique perspective, giving you amazing insight into how the couple met, the way their love grew and their decision to join together forever.... *sigh*

enter deneta and her white boy, this week's featured couple.

Aren't they cute jumpin' that broom!?!

"...both native Virginians and shared a passion for social justice, becoming friends while painting a mural at a homeless shelter in Boston. 'I was hoping we could be more than friends,' said Mr. Sells..."

deneta and bryan got me to thinking....

what kind of white guy would I even think about entertaining the possibility of maybe going out on a date with and/or in the remote, highly unlikely unlikelihood that I just so happened to fall in love with a white boy, would I marry him?

y'all know I had to make that as tenuous and hypothetical as possible. Can't have the revolutionary black gangsta posse swooping down to renege my black card and steal my flag. i'm just saying, what would my fly (yes he'd have to be to be with me) white boy look like?

1. he'd have to be a mr. whitey mcwhiterson. straight from the mid-west/west coast/europe or something. he could not be a wigger! I can't stand the whiteys that try to be down, na'mean, son. droppin' slang in the most ackward way and professing a love so deep for Black culture that he tries to out-Black me. he can't be on some, I hate white people shit.....wigger, please! I don't even tolerate Black people that hate Black people so why would I tolerate you hatin' on your own kind? Cause really people, self-hate is self-hate and I'm not tryin to slay that beast on top of all the sideways glances that are gonna be coming our way. If I'ma be with a white boy, he might as well be all the way white.

2. he's gonna have to know and accept that he's white, understand his white privilege and the way that will impact our interactions with each other and the world. don't ignore racism or brush me off when I come home talkin' bout how I hate the man, how smug white boys make me sick, and how white girls flippin' they hair all in my face on the train irks me to no end. I want you to be cognizant of all these things and intelligent enough for us to have serious conversations about it (at the end of which, you always concede that I am right in my assertions that white people think they own this world).

3. don't fetishsize me. let's NOT talk ad nauseum about how you luuuuvaahhh my dark skin and kinky hair. how you've always dated "exotic" women. how peoples' stares at our ebony and ivory pairing gets you all hot and bothered. and you damn sho betta not be tryin' to re-enact any slave-time scenarios in which I play the lusty housemaid to your massa.

and of course, let's not forget the less intellectualized, slightly mo' ig'nant requirements for this unicorn of a white boy...

4. he'd have to NOT smell like a dog...ever!

5. he'd have to have minimal body hair....that bushy back hair creepin' out your collar is not a good look.

6. he'd have to lay down a superb, dopalicious D game (i'm just sayin').

7. he'd have to have some money, and by money I mean a lot...like a trust fund or something.

8. he'd love me a whole lot more than I'd love him because he'd have to be willing to put up with my occasional rants against the white world without taking it personally.

9. I'd want him to look something like Brody from the Hills

with the quirky sense of humor of Seth from the OC

(love those rich cali white boys!)

If you can find me a white boy with all of these qualities, I might have to meet him...you know just in case.