Why Is There No Black Press At The Sundance Film Festival?

Sundance is the most prominent film festival in North America with thousands of films screening each year. This year, Black representation in the programming slate has been explosive. From projects like Sorry to Bother You, Blindspotting, Hale County: This Morning, This Evening, Two Dope Queens, Francesca and many others, there are so many projects to screen and write about — effectively putting them on the world's radar before many of them even receive distribution. However, as I stood in the press lines each day, or in waiting rooms before my interviews, I was one of the only people color. Aside from Black Girls Nerds Editor-in-Chief Jamie Broadnax, and her crew, Sundance seemed void of writers from Black publications covering the various films and events. But why is that this case?

On Sunday, the fourth day of Sundance 2018, I sat in a packed theater having just screened the forthcoming Netflix film, Come Sunday. The film stars Chiwetel Ejiofor, Condola Rashad, Danny Glover and Lakeith Stanfield and tells the true story of Bishop Carlton Pearson, an evangelical megastar whose life-altering epiphany shifts his entire theology. The film stemmed from an episode of NPR’s This American Life. Though the film boasts almost an entirely Black cast, the director, writers and producers were all white. Both the cast and crew were on stage for a Q&A after the screening, when someone from the majority white audience blurted out, “We want to hear the people of color speak on stage, no more white people!" The crowd immediately quieted until Stanfield took the mic and jokingly broke the awkward silence. Up until that point, none of the actors of color has spoken.  As I chuckled to myself, I realized, that however uncomfortable that moment may have been, it raised several questions about Black stories and who gets to present and speak about them to the world.

Continue reading at Shadow and Act.

Please Don’t Talk To Me On Planes & Other Requests

I fly a lot. Like more than I probably even realize. It seems like on the third Wednesday of every month; I’m sitting at some gate in LaGuardia Airport, clutching my beloved medium Dunkin Donuts coffee (cream and two Splendas) while dreaming up all the ways I’m going to spend my per diem at the hotel I’m going to check into. I’m not a fan of flying by any means. In fact, when my mother was dying during the first half of my college years, I developed a phobia of flying that made even the thought of it crippling. Each flight ended with a long and unpleasant time in the bathroom while I tried to calm my stomach and nerves back in formation. Luckily, for the sake of my sanity and my career, I got over that. Nowadays if I’m not going home to Chicago or on some exotic Groupon vacation that I’ve booked with my sister or bestie, I’m usually traveling for work (ie: someone is paying me to go fly somewhere (usually to like Los Angeles or Atlanta or whatever but I’m not complaining) to watch a movie or show, interview some celebs, write about that shit and take long luxurious baths in the tubs at five star hotels). It’s a pretty kick-ass gig and fits right in with my bougie lifestyle (even though in real life I’ve lived in the same box in Harlem for the past six years with my variety of Raid sprays to kill any and every bug that may infiltrate my bubble.)

To get back on topic, the trip thing in itself is quite a delight, and it makes me feel all adult and professional to say that I’m traveling for business. (Sometimes if I’m feeling extremely Whitley Gilbert, I’ll even upgrade to First Class, but only if it’s for a flight over four hours and it’s less than $79.99… let’s not get crazy.) However, the trip itself and the fellow creatures that pretend that they’re human beings usually like to make my life miserable on planes. It’s one thing if you’re under five and can’t control yourself, but it's usually grown folks who are the absolute worst.

All I want to do on flights is listen to Brandy’s Greatest Hits Album, work a little (because bills) and read whatever that latest filthy novel is that I’ve downloaded on my Kindle on the dimmest setting possible. (NO CARL I don’t want to tell you what I’m reading!!!) Instead, I'm usually forced to sit next to Mildew John (washing machines are not a new invention) or Patrick or Mable who tells me she reminds me of her granddaughter or well-meaning Beth Ann who wants to strike up a conversation with me. Listen, I’m almost polite to a fault. I’m always going to nod and smile and listen to your tragic tale of how you're visiting your sister Betsey for the first time in five years, and you’re going to go to Cracker Barrel or whatever or how you find that it’s so intriguing that I can actually LIVE in New York. Mostly, I would rather be getting my pubs waxed or getting my annual gyno exam instead of listening to you. It has also become increasingly more difficult to be nice to Dwights I don’t know since ya’ll ruined everything and elected Dump. I really can’t trust you at all, and I would rather sit in silence than have to try and figure out who you voted for  Even when you think you get lucky on a long ass flight to LA in coach, and there is no one in the middle seat, someone makes it an ordeal. Why is it acceptable for you to take off your filthy Berkinstocks Paul, and put your BARE FEET on the seat between us? I wish I were watching the news instead. But by far, the worse offense of plane traveling is this new age bullshit where Sally and Gereldene from row 6998Z run their desperate asses to the front as soon as the plane parks even though 4 million people are in front of them and we’ve gotten to the gate 30 minutes early. I hate you. (But I’m tragically too nice to ever say some shit like that. )

xoxoxo Chocolategirl in the City xoxoxo

My Daddy, The Muslim Immigrant

My dad has been gone exactly four years now, buried in the hard earth on a bitterly cold day in February, I nearly fell to my knees as I watched that plain pine box getting lowered into the ground.

You see, he was the smartest man I've ever met; his brain working at the speed of light to compute numbers and figures. He was always reading and absorbing information; talking (or shouting) to his friends and family members when discussing policies, politics, and statistics. I feared him as much as I was enchanted by him. I was born the year my father turned forty-two. He had a whole big life before I even took one breath in this world.

At nineteen he was saying goodbye to his friends and loved ones in Lagos, Nigeria, bound for Howard University. Before he could return to his house and embark on his voyage to America, my grandfather collapsed and died; my daddy never got to say goodbye.

He never spoke to me much about his childhood and adolescence. I knew that school came easily to him as it often did for me. (Though his love for mathematics was something he neglected to pass down to his children.) Instead of attending classes at HU, he often made the journey from D.C. to New York to party with friends; returning to class only to ace his midterms and final exams. I found his diploma for his Ph.D. in mechanical engineering folded and stuffed into dusty filing cabinet the summer my sister and I sold our childhood home.

He moved to Chicago at some point, and lived in a pristine apartment on the north side; at least that's what my mother told me he was doing when they met. Though he was always a practicing Muslim, he became more devout as I got older; beer disappeared from our fridge, and his prayers, coming from our TV room often comforted me on early mornings or late nights when I tossed and turned in my double bed. To this day, the music and sounds from the five daily prayers coming from the mosques in Harlem often put me at ease on warm summer days when my windows are cracked, and my anxiety threatens to get the best of me. It's as if my dad is there holding my hand.

We got along mostly he and I, until we didn't, having major blow up fights once every other year or so, his stubbornness and my disdain for authority clashing viciously; threatening to set our home ablaze. (When I was 12, he drilled the door to my room close; my punishment for lying. When I was 14, he tried to spank me for defying him. When I was 21, I told him I would never forgive him for how he treated my mother, her loss, so painfully crippling and raw even now. Her final diagnosis was perhaps the one time I ever saw my daddy cry.

He was so grand, and so big, at only 5 foot 9 or 10 (though he swore he stood six feet tall). Like me he often retreated into himself, thinking and observing; his calm scrutiny running parallel to my frantic energy.

Born in the late ‘40s, daddy had his work cut out for him raising two little girls on the South Side of Chicago during the ‘90s. Education was his top priority, and during the week, it was all about books. However, many Friday nights during my adolescence were spent perusing the shelves at Hollywood Video store; arguing with my sister about what films we’d rent for the weekend. My daddy sparked my love of film, one that has shaped and transformed my life.

He was and still is perhaps one of the most God-fearing people that I've ever met. He painstakingly taught himself how to read Arabic and took The Hajj in the fall of 2010; the same year my mother drew her last breath.

He didn't become as US citizen until 2008, grasping on to his Nigerian roots despite his forty long years in America. His roots and story are things I know too little about. The two times he voted in a US Presidential election were for a man who looked like him, a man whose name Barack, feels as foreign to many as Segun did and as Aramide does.

Though I've known what it means to be Black in this country for well over two decades now, I have never been more disgusted than I am with the US as I've been in the past year. As the election results rolled in on November 9th, my stomach rolled in horror; that sinking filthy feeling has not yet left my body, but at that moment, I did thank God, Allah, and Jesus that my father was not here to witness such an atrocity.

He was 64 years old when he died, colon cancer shrinking his body down, taking him peacefully in the dead of a wintery night, his mind sharp until the very end.

He was not a perfect man, he was hard and unyielding often, but he was my friend and my teacher, he taught me how to pray and he gave so much, though sometimes it was not enough. He was not simply just a man, or a father, or a Muslim, or Black or Nigerian and he deserved much more than what this place has become.

On the First Anniversary of My Father’s Death

Summer Fling

On a warm evening in early September, we said goodbye. I stood outside of my apartment building clinging to you, desperate to memorize your scent and the way your body felt molded against mine. All those months earlier, I'd jumped out of an Uber in the middle of a rainstorm in Harlem, nonchalant and unexpecting. You "got" me from the jump, your sexy stoic nature, matching my whimsical and often outlandish one. Over Sylvia's Soul Food right off of 125th street, I felt my soul reconnecting with an old friend. I was so floored by that feeling that I told you then, on that first date (never one to hold much back) and you laughed, taking no offense because you inherently understood. Long winding walks through the Bronx zoo, pizza and Disney flicks, and milkshakes. The reverence that you showed me and my brown skin, kisses at 4 am, back rubs and black silk sheets and so much freedom to speak; to be me. I floated through those long sticky days; secret smiles a constant on my face.

via GIPHY

I've always thought summer had magical qualities, (perhaps it's because I was born in the middle of July), and that proved true because it brought me you. As I sit in silence now, the scent of my zillion candles wafting through my apartment, I can still see you and hear you; as if your arms were still around me. That loud laughter that you always inspired; bubbling up inside of me begging to be released; desperate to be released.

That's the thing about flings, though; they exist in a magical snow globe of sorts; encasing you in protectively from the world as all of that marvelous joy swirls around you. But inevitably you shake the globe too hard and the glass cracks, splintering up the sides until it shatters completely; leaving you bare and exposed; but wistful and longing nonetheless.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxo

Image: 20th Century Fox/Carmen Jones

The Bookstores I Used To Dwell In

Some past Saturday evening, I walked into a bookstore. A simple thing really, but it's something I haven't done in many years. There are very few bookstores these days, so I was surprised to  find the huge Barnes and Noble at Union Square open and full of customers. There was a time when I spent entire days in bookstores, in that Borders on 53rd street in Hyde Park, lost in some adolescent dream or another. I remember the day I discovered J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter, I was 10 years old.  My mama, frantic with worry found me huddled in a corner fixated and enchanted. I'd devoured some 200 pages.

Books were my sanctuary. I consumed them feverishly, as if they'd be ripped from my hands at any moment. It got so bad that my mama would make me return a stack for a refund if I got through them in under a week. (Apparently I was too good to use my library card.)

I still read at this rate, losing myself on the train to and from work; or for hours tucked away in my ring box sized apartment. Only now, my books are with me at all times. It's the 21st century and I've gone digital, something I'd thought I'd never do. My Kindle currently has some 800 + books purchased over the past 4 years, and that doesn't include the ones I've rented. I'd thought I'd miss feeling the pages on my fingers, the smell of ink and cotton. But I've adjusted and adapted, just as I've done in so many other aspects of my life.

Stepping inside the Barnes and Noble I paused momentarily,  waiting for the familiar nostalgia to wash over me... But it didn't come. I wandered up the escalators walking through aisles, and even strolling in the DVD section (I am a cinephile after all) but still...nothing. Surrounded by so many books I've read, and the millions I've yet to discover; I felt empty.

On the top floor of the store, I paused in the African-American section (yes they still have those) running my finger over the book bindings while sipping my coffee, when suddenly the lights went off. "Ten minutes to closing" the announcement is bellowed over the loud speaker. I dropped my hand from the books, and made my way down the the first floor. Pushing open the door to the cool fall evening, I pulled my sweater around me leaving the 10 year old girl I was back inside.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxox

Image: Giphy

Food Is Everything! It's Earth, Wind & Fire (Nonsensical Things I've Learned to Be True in My 24 Years of Life)

Much like nineteen or twenty-three, twenty-four years of life seems lack luster as fu*k. I suppose I am officially kind of an adult because I make my own dental appointments and I had to take care of myself a couple of weeks ago when I come down with strep throat and a crippling sinus infection.  I also had to call 311 that time I thought I smelled gas in my apartment.  Other than that, I’m just taking it day by day, one humiliating fall on the subway and tragic use of the bench press at a time.

But suppose I have learned a thing or two in this life of mine, especially since graduating from college. I'll be twenty-five in five months so obviously I barely know anything but here are some things I know for sure. You can agree or disagree or whatever, it’s your black ass life. Here are some of the highlights:

25: Never let a man walk off with all your stuff. Please refer to this blog entry.

24. Always keep a bottle of solid deodorant in your purse during the summer. Since we can’t all prevent our thighs from rubbing together, the sacred deodorant will save your thundery lusciousness from chaffing.

Also your things will smell delightful

23: Reading is fundamental. Now I realize I read a lot more than the “average” person. Most of the novels I read are about sexy times but I do read a “real” book every couple of weeks or so. Anyway this is all to say if you meet someone who doesn’t read, be suspicious.

22. Don’t try a nail place that you hated the first time a second time because you’re still going to hate it, and its still going to be overpriced.

21. I've accepted that I can no longer tolerate weave sewn into my head. Either it shall be braids or a wig or it will be nothing.

20. Student loan payments are the devil and will kill your joy.

19. Delete your credit card information off of Seamless/GrubHub. If you really want take out you will have to manually type in the info each time and quite frankly I’ve never been that hungry.

18.  Sometimes Janet Jackson’s Velvet Rope Tour, Love Jones, The Notebook and Love and Basketball are all you need to get by .

I've watched this concert 1,000 times since I was a kid and it will NEVER be enough

17. Alcohol isn’t as much fun as food and I’m ok with that. Food is everything. It is earth, wind and fire.

16. There always must be brunch!! If you ain’t brunchin u ain’t living. (IHOP is life)

15. Water is the elixir of life. Like for real, it will keep the skin sickening and the tummy flat(ish).

14. NYC Grocery stores are terrible places and FreshDirect is the cure.

13. I take a sick sadistic pleasure in getting the hair waxed off my neither regions once  monthly and I don’t have to explain myself to you.

12. Pedicures and baths are Gods gifts to woman.

11. I’m not ok with childbirth. NO GOD.

10.  I’m not a fan of overnight guests or people in my apartment in general and that’s fine. I pay the rent I don’t gotta explain.

9. I've given up on online dating. Its definitely a massive pool of the craziest people you will ever meet (Getting kind of stood up twice in one weekend is all it takes.)

8.When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.

7.  The actor who plays Harvey Specter on Suitsshould have played Christian Grey in 50 Shades of Grey.

I mean LOOK!! Meanwhile I must look at tiny ass Jamie whathisname

6. Exercise can be enjoyable, as long as you like what you’re doing. (Crossfit and other boot camps are a smooth NO MA’AM) Running and Zumba are a delight.

5. “Interested men act interested”- Demetria Lucas D’Oyley

4. Some white people will never get it and you don’t need to waste another breath attempting to explain. Let them watch Friends and continue to be oblivious.

3. I both hate and am obsessed with kids.

2. TRAVEL NOW!!! RIGHT NOW!!! Not later but NOW. (I have some AMAZING TRIPS for 2015 planned omg so excited)

1. I’m running out of fucks to give. (Sister has always lived gloriously with such an outlook.) Meanwhile I’ve always struggled with managing my feeling with other people’s feeling and expectations. Something must have happened because these days I care not! Perhaps its something that has come with age or wisdom or perhaps I‘m simply depleted.

Anyway, like I said I barely know anything at all but those are twenty-five things I know with absolute certainty…at least for the time being.

xoxoox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxo

A Small Blurb On Blogging

I started blogging the year after my mother passed. It’s been sort of a therapeutic thing for me, a way to get out any angst or any emotions that I’ve been feeling. My intent with this blog is to try and give some perspective on my life as a twenty-something Black woman. There are some extraordinary things about me I think. (I lost both my parents before the age of 22, I have an almost-Master’s degree (Feb12th), I’m very dark skin, etc) and some things about me are pretty regular. (I enjoy a good weave, I love shopping, food, and TV and my dating life is often a series of unfortunate events).  You can refer to this blog to learn all about the time this boy I was dating stole ALL of my electronics. Shit Happens

I’m not perfect. I’ve never suggested that I was. I’m as bougie (call it stuck-up if you’d like) as they come, but I certainly don’t look down on people. I will however, give you the side eye if you do things that lack foresight and consideration for others. My two rules to live by in life are, “To treat others the way you want to be treated” and “never make a mistake that you cannot fix”. With that being said, I’ve never laughed at anyone’s plight (that wasn’t my own). I’ll usually put an LOL next to something if I’m saying it as a joke. I’ve tried to protect the identities of people that I may touch upon in my writings when I felt the topics were “sensitive”.

Still, people are bound to feel attacked when written about and I suppose that’s their right. If I had known what would have occurred as a result of my previous post, then obviously I would have edited words or amended things without retracting my opinion of course. (Everyone has their own opinion and everyone has their truth, what’s written here just happened to be mine.)  However, what I don’t find acceptable is being threatened with violence or being called out of my name. Nor do I condone attempted intimidation and other nonsense.  I realize more than ever that not everyone is going to like and appreciate what you say however; some things are just always deplorable.

All this is to say this is not a platform to EXPOSE other people’s personal business by giving details and so forth. Chocolate Girl in the City is a blog about me and the things that have happened to me.  My previous blog was simply about speaking up for myself instead of being passive and timid.  The examples used were tiny snippets of the things that have occurred in my life in the past year or so.

With that being said, to anyone out there who wants to write about things that have happened to them personally then I say go right ahead. In my opinion it’s important to talk about the things that hurt us. Marlon Riggs once said, “The only cure to what ails us it to talk about it.”

I’ll end this short blurb by saying this. “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.”

Hope ya’ll aren’t freezing

Xoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxox

School Was My Hustle: Grad School & The Job Hunt (Part 1)

Last Thursday I turned in my thesis for my Master’s degree. I suppose it’s what I’ve been working toward since I began my journey of higher education almost five and half years ago.  A year and a half ago, coming out of undergrad I didn’t know much. (Still don’t know a lot). However, I knew that I didn’t want to return home to Chicago and I also knew I didn’t want to work fifty hours a week for slave wages. Since I can remember I’ve been good at school. It’s been my ‘hustle’ of sorts. So it seemed like the natural step to take my behind uptown to Columbia to get my graduate degree in Film Studies (the same field as my undergrad degree).

Prior to accepting my place at Columbia, I was told by countless individuals that perhaps getting my degree in the same field wasn’t the wisest choice. And that advice was actually probably spot on. I probably should have gotten my MA or PhD in Africana Studies.  But as a wise man once told me, it’s Columbia and you don’t turn down Columbia.  Still, I had the opportunity to take some classes in the Africana Studies department whilst obtaining my MA, and those were the classes where I actually got A’s and kept up with the reading and was enthusiastic. It was in those classes taught by people of color with students of color, which helped me begin to shape my thesis.  I won’t lie, I was fairly miserable in my MA film classes.  I’m not saying the faculty wasn’t up to par; I was just bored and uninterested. Frankly I spent a great deal of time being irritated that I was the only Black person or brown person for that matter in my program.  I also lost my dad at the beginning of the second semester, which was devastating for me, and caused me to retreat inward. (I’m severely non-confrontational and my coping mechanism is to retreat.)

Luckily as I tend to do, I figured it out. I made it out with a pretty decent GPA, a piece that I’m extremely proud of, and a full ass graduate degree from an Ivy League University. Not so shabby I’d say. The question that I’m grappling with now is what’s next?

On Figuring Out What's Next

Probably almost a year ago now, my best friend called me all excited. She’d just finished reading this book called The Defining Decade: Why Your Twenties Matter-and How to Make The Most of Them.  She raved about the physiologist who wrote the book and she talked to me about the different case studies that were presented. I promised to read it ASAP. Well, seasons passed as they do in life, and the book just sat on my Kindle wish list. This past October my best friend came to NYC to visit and she brought with her a hard copy of the book. I picked it up two days ago and I’ve nearly finished. The book promoted me to write about my own experiences, specifically about work/career thus far.

WORK.  I’m certainly no stranger to it. Since leaving my graduate assistant-ship in May my brain has been consumed with the idea of work, of finding that job, that career starter. I won’t lie my motivations are mostly money driven; I want nice things (a nicer apartment, more clothes, traveling funds, etc). The position I had all of last year was fine, but when the school year ended I decided not to continue, hoping to find something in my field. Higher education was never anything that I’ve been interested in, and the office environment where my position was held was rapidly changing and not in a good way.  So I went home to Chicago for a while, got my parents house cleaned out and placed on the market and came back to NYC for a summer position.  I won’t say much about the summer position other than, I will NEVER do something like that EVER again. The saving grace for me was that it was a couple of blocks away from my apartment so I didn’t have to pay that $112 monthly Metro card.   At the end of the summer, I was offered a position there permanently, which I swiftly turned down with a polite NO. So there I was jobless with a full thesis to write.  Though I was still a full time graduate student, I felt, and I still feel that I should often be doing more. More of what? I don’t know but definitely more of something.  I interviewed for a couple of full time positions and though I made it to the final stages of the interview processes I was turned down in favor of someone who had more experience.

Things I say when I'm feeling sorry for myself

 I’ve found in my measly years on this earth that blessings are often hidden in setbacks. A woman who I interviewed with for a job I did not get told me that a really great company was looking for interns.  I was irritated. My resume is FULL of internships. I’ve gone on a MILLION coffee runs, I’ve babysat dogs in luxury apartments in Mid-town and I’ve been treated like trash all in the name of an internship (All this while going to school full-time, working part-time and being an RA slave). SMH.  Anyways I ended up accepting an internship with this company and it turned out to be a great experience. Everyone was extremely nice and respectful, I felt moderately useful most of the time and in my downtime I worked on my thesis.

And yet, the money was still on my mind. For the past three months, while interning and writing my thesis. I submitted hundreds and hundreds of cover letters and resumes to no avail. As Thanksgiving grew near I became more and more anxious.  I attended THREE career sessions and several panels, to try and get better insight into the entertainment job market.  Not to be rude but after awhile it’s the same ole  shit. It was the final two career appointments the put me over the edge. I was told that perhaps I should continue interning and that maybe I should consider this that or the third which had NOTHING to do with what the F I want to do! Like I said, I’m very non-confrontational by default but I was forced to get the women in my final career advisement appointment together. 

My response when I was told to try for another internship SMH

I sat there and listen to her spout the same crap I’ve been told time and time again. “But your only 23, you’ll land on your feet. I’m not worried about you...” Blah Blah Blah LISTEN I know these people meant well but honestly, I felt that advice and affirmations like that are both condescending and unhelpful. I have no interest in just “landing on my feet” so to speak. I realize the economy is still shit but, I’ve worked damn hard and whatever job I receive will be both meaningful and a stepping-stone. If I wanted to do just anything or work anywhere, I would have accepted the job that I was offered at the end of the summer. Or, I would have taken this other position I was offered recently where I was going to be paid minimum wage. Do I put a lot of pressure on myself? Yes, I probably do but it’s because I know how great I can be. Reading just the first section of Defining the Decadehelp reaffirm that for me.

 Being 20something obviously means being plagued with uncertainty. I’m already a chronic worrier (I’m trying to do better). But, there are some things I DO know. I know what I am passionate about and what I am capable of. If I’m going to spend my days worrying about my weight, my new hairstyle, or guys, or whatever; then at the very least my work life should have some direction. It should have some intention to it.  Yes, I could spend my time just anywhere for now and wait and worry about “later” however, “Doing something later is not the same as doing something better.”

 

So I left that final career advisement appointment feeling extremely pressed. I still had my thesis to edit and my inbox was about as dry as possible in terms of the job hunt.  Just as I began kinda sorta pondering a PhD program things began to happen. I got the ok to write for any extremely dope website which I’ve mentioned here before. (Hopefully I will have some great posts there I can share in the New Year). I got a job interview with a really cool company that I’m waiting to hear back from. And, most excitingly a recruiter for a huge media conglomerate got in touch with me about two job positions that I’ve had the opportunity to interview for. So for now, I’m playing the waiting game and that’s not necessarily comfortable but in my opinion its better than taking “just anything.”

To Be Continued

Xoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxo

I’m Done Answering Questions About My Hair & Other Things That Irritate Me

***I wrote this post a couple of weeks ago on a turbulence riddled flight from Chicago to New York. At the time, I suppose I was just feeling some type of way, and as usual the page served as my outlet. Since I felt so much better after having said my peace, I really had no desire to actually publish the post to my blog. However, this past weekend (on my birthday), a non-guilty verdict was given with regards to the Trayvon Martin killing. Needless to say I haven't felt much peace since then.  I'm not going to speak much about the fuckery that was displayed before , during and after the trial because many have said it better with much more wisdom and truth than I will ever be able to. Instead, I went to the rally for Trayvon in Harlem, I've signed the petition on the NAACP's website, I've called my best friend and discussed it at length and I've just prayed continuously for Trayvon's family and for the sick people that continue to pollute our beautiful world and massacre our people. I have nothing else constructive to say about the situation so I won't. Instead I will refer you to my rant from a few weeks back on some shit that has been irritating me lately.***

"I would say that in general I’m a fairly even-tempered individual  most of the time. It takes a lot to rile me up and  I tend to avoid confrontation at all cost. If I need to read someone usually my baby sister does it for me. However, there are some things that irritate me and because I’m currently on a turbulence riddled plane after stewing in the airport during a two hour flight delay, I think I shall talk about all the things that really bring out my type A personality." 

Questions About My Hair: I’ve been pretty open about my hair, being natural, letting people  (people that I know) touch it and so forth for the past five years.  I’m over it. Don’t ask me shit, If you don’t know, YouTube it or watch Good Hair or ask another Black person. I’ve paid my dues. (I say this in this nicest way possible)

       Constant Complaining: Everyone has good and bad days. I complain at times (I’m doing so right now). But constantly, and all the time?!!!!  Girl please get your life I don’t have time. That’s what’s therapy is for!! I Can't!! You’re sucking the life out of me.

        Laziness:During undergrad I worked part-time, had a internship, was an RA and still graduated with honors. It’s your life what you put in is what you get out. Grown people please refrain from whining. At a certain point its your life and whatever it is that you're dealing with is quite often a result of your own choices or lack thereof.

        Entitled People Who Haven’t Worked For Shit: I encountered this on a daily basis at my undergrad. I’d just like to inform you types that you won’t go far in life.

       Airports:  I usually get to the gate as my flight is boarding. Sitting in a airport all day irritates me. I suppose this goes with waiting in general. I don’t do well waiting on other people. I think it comes from living by myself. (Some days I’m more patient than others.... mostly when there is food involved :))

       People Whose Lives Are In Shambles And Yet Constantly Try to Advise You: Real life Tyrese Gibsons. Please find a stadium and have a seat. I'll make sure you're the first call I make when I want to be as messy as possible. 

       Slow Moving People: I think this is because I’ve lived in NYC for the past five years. But girl, if you’re gonna move like molasses please slide your ass to one side of the walk way. Why are you taking up the entire sidewalk and  holding people up?!!! (This also goes for people who stand in doorways and at train exits so people getting on and off have to meander around them :/)

       Gut Busters:  Girl…. Now I realize that it is summer and therefore 750 degrees. However, let  it be advised that your cellulite and giggly puffs on display for all those to see are not cute. I shall say I’m not a tiny woman, but I’ve never had  a gut either. Even still when I wear something form fitting best believe I have no shame in putting on spanks to make sure everything is as nice and tight as possible. The atrocities that I see in my neighborhood on a daily basis surely motivate me to get in the gym at least every other day.  

       Know It Alls: You really don’t know much. I hate to burst your bubble but you’re actually rather incompetent.

       Fuck Boys: "Men who act like it's their job to coach woman into being what they want them to be!" ~ Crissles  (Basically all the sexist misogynist assholes who can't even keep a decent job. As usual Crissles says it better than I .) The Read "Say No to Fu*k Boys"  Begin at 54 mins in.

        Ok I feel much better now. I apologize if I’ve offended anyone but I was feeling a bit pressed. Now that the plane has evened out I’m feeling much better."

xoxoxo Choocolate Girl in the City xoxoxox

“Hey Black Girl" Part II: Thoughts on the "Dark Girls" Documentary

In my previous post I discussed my personal experiences growing up with very dark skin so now I want to get into the actual Dark Girls documentary.  In spite of my irritation with the trailer two years ago, I really enjoyed the film itself. It was very well done and I’m actually horrified that it took so long to be distributed to the public. I found that the experiences were enlightening, and the directors were sure to gain insight from a vast number of people.  Everyone from  white men who dated darker skinned women to Black people globally whose cultures were riddled with their own issues concerning skin color (skin bleaching and the like) put in their two cents. I think what stood out to me the most in the film were two things.  One was how the disdain for dark skin was passed down from generation to generation. And secondly as always  was the opinion of Black men concerning darker skinned Black women.

I’ll address dark skin as its perceived throughout the generations in the  Black American community first.  I think that what we teach our children has the most profound impact on who they are as people. I believe that because my parents instilled in me that I was beautiful no matter what did a great service for me as an individual. If we as a people continue to hate ourselves, and our children pick up on it then of course this problem will continue to fester into the next generation and the next.

 I’ve written before that the ignorance that permeates in our community is a large part of what continues to ail us. (This can be seen when we consider education, sexual health, sexual preference, health in general and so forth). It's something that we have to unlearn so that we do not continue to foster it.)  I think once we begin to consider things that make a person great despite their physical appearance then we will begin to move forward. In the documentary, there was the cutest little chocolate girl talking her skin with her mother.  I honestly found myself rather irritated the entire time. The mother, was a lighter brown woman who essentially said that before she had her daughter she never considered the plight of darker skinned women. I can’t fault her for that, but what I can fault her for was the fact that during the duration of the documentary her daughter barely looked into the camera. She at the age of seven or eight was already ashamed of her appearance. I don’t care what anyone says, that’s not something that just learned from the outside world. That's something you pick up at home before you interact with others. The older generation and those who are having kids especially, need to unlearn their own prejudices and ignorance.

Now on to addressing Black men. Actually, I won’t address Black men, instead I’ll address Black women of all colors, sizes and so forth. I’ll specifically address myself because I’m also guilty. We as women, need to STOP allowing men to define our beauty and how we feel about ourselves. Its really that simple. Once we begin to do that a lot of these fuck boyz (definition from Crissle )will no longer be a factor in our lives. Its really disturbing that as women we have allowed them to define who we should be, how we should look and so forth when quite frankly a vast majority of them are no where near up to par. (Now that was a partial read to Black men I realize that not all of you fall into this category so I choose to address those of you who are).  As I’ve repeatedly said, your preference is your preference but do not shame or look down upon Black women who do not fit into whatever standard that you’ve molded for the woman that you want to be with. Ok that was my read. LOL

So anyway, the Dark Girls documentary was well done. Honestly its nothing that many of us “dark girls” haven’t thought of or considered before but its something that I believe everyone should see. In order to see any change we must first change our behavior as a people.

Xoxox Chocolate  Girl  in the City xoxoxoxo

Ps. If you are not subscribed to Kid Fury and Crissle's podcast The Read. You haven't lived. I recommend listening at the gym. You'll get the best work out of your life.

http://sofurious.com/category/the-read/

"Hey Black Girl" Part 1: Growing Up Dark

Me, Daddy and Sister :)

Two years ago in one of my very first post for this blog, I wrote about my opinion on the trailer for the documentary "Dark Girls" that had  recently hit the net.

You can read that post here Thoughts on the Dark Girls Trailer.  I basically wrote what I thought about the 8 min clip having not actually seen the film in its entirety.

Two years later, the documentary had finally finally premier on  the OWN network and I'm here to write my reviews and opinions about what I saw as well as including my own experience as a very dark Black women

My foundation color is NW55 at MAC if that means anything do you. I got my coloring from my Nigerian Daddy. He and I were actually the exact same color so as a tot up until probably second grade I really didn't feel one way or another about my complexion (Now my hair was another story, I struggled with that for the first 21 years of my life). But back to being dark, my parents and family always made me feel loved and supported so their was never an issue at home. When I walked into a room my daddy would smile wide and say "Hey Black Girl" it thrilled me. He did that for as long as I can remember. Darkness and Blackness was never a derogatory word in my home. My mom and little sister were more of a toffee color but it was never acknowledged as a difference which is why when I got to about second grade I got my first real taste of colorism from my fellow classmates.

One of the moments that stands out to me the most was when a girl asked me why the inside of my hands were so Black. She said it with disgusts as if I was dirty and didn't wash my hands on a regular basis.  I'm not really a timid person but I've always been non-confrontational and I believe that was one of those defining moments where I didn't stick up for myself which became pattern; something I still struggle with. In elementary school I had great friends, and I remember being generally well-liked by everyone. However, the most popular girls in my class were lighter skinned, they were the cool ones that the boys liked, the one's whose parents were less strict and so forth. They could also be mean girls if given half the chance. Overall though, elementary school was relatively painless for me save a few incidents over the years. I was lucky because my school was teeny tiny and we pretty much had all been together since kindergarten.

Elementary School

I was in for a rude awakening when I got to middle school. Now my middle school situation was tragic to say the least.  To be honest, I don't remember much. I'm certain I've suppressed some memories because they were traumatizing. After leaving my tiny grammar school, I spent my 7th and 8th grade years at a huge high school with a ton of different types of kids. I was fairly sheltered so this was my first experience in the "real world".  Middle school was were I got my street smarts, sex education and the like. I remember being terrorized by one boy in particular who used to call me ugly because I was dark pretty much every day of seventh grade.  He finally stopped at the end of the year when  I politely hit him in the head with our history text book which sent him flying down the stairs.

Another boy asked me why I wore so much color. He said I was way too dark to be wearing bright colors and that I should stick to neutrals.  Once again these were just a few of the defining moments that I can recall, but there were always side comments or little slights from lighter skinned people who I considered to be my friends and confidants. It was as if jabbing at me would somehow improve their self worth. Stupidly, as we all are at thirteen, I refused to discuss these happenings with my mother and instead I internalized everything that was happening around me.

Needless to say I was thrilled to leave behind that environment when I got into a multiracial high school across the city. It was here where I would learn to interact with people of all races and backgrounds. Unfortunately however, by 9th grade my self-esteem was pretty shot.

High school was a much more pleasant experience than middle school. I quickly found friends and activities to be involved in. However, two instances of ignorance still stick out to me. In 9th grade I tried out for the cheer-leading squad and made it. At first, I was really excited about it. I was enthusiastic and looked forward to the practices and the games. However, my coach was a nightmare. She was an overweight woman about my complexion who used to give us all hell. However, when she came for me me it was often to tease me about my name or make some snide comment that led me to believe that she was color-struck. Overall the woman was ignorant and I quit the squad by the second semester.

When I was 16 I got my first boyfriend and all of the drama that came along with that. I remember chatting with a couple of girlfriends at lunch about him. A guy from my class came up to the table and exclaimed "You have a boyfriend?!!! But you're so Black!!"  (He was dead ass) My friends were horrified and I brushed the comment off in the moment. But I was really hurt by it. I later told my boyfriend at the time, and  he said "Well, I love dark girls" LOL and that was that.  In high school myself esteem continued to be on the mend. Still, there were times when I downed my self based on my complexion (ie: He cheated on me because I'm dark...so on and so forth).  Luckily with age comes wisdom, growth and understanding.

Prom :) (I skipped middle school because, Lord I looked a fool)

Fortunately throughout my college years and into adulthood, I've had very little combative statements that have been said about my color, but their have been a couple. Once a Black guy in undergrad told me I was the prettiest dark skin girl he'd ever seen ;/. I'm not so timid now so I'm sure I  politely read him for filth. Once in class a white guy pointed me out and used my darkness and an example in his statement. My prof (a young Black man) ridiculed him as did my fellow classmates so I just got to sit pretty. Attending a predominantly white university really erases the color spectrum on some levels and you're labeled "Black" regardless of complexion

College Graduation

I've never had a problem with attracting men (well maybe the right kind of men LOL) but most of the guys I've dated seem to have a preference for darker skinned women. I've also recently been getting approached by ALOT more white men.  When I went to Jamaica last summer, it was like the men were obsessed with dark skin women it was kind of ridiculous.

I think overall, I've been pretty blessed in dealing with my status as a "dark girl", I've definitely embraced it over the years. Once I stopped buying into degrading nonsense about my skin I've found that my life has gone much more smoothly. This is not to say that I don't at times have moments of foolish insecurity.

I suppose the thing that continues to dig at me has to do with some Black men's take on Dark skinned Black women. For one thing, I think that Dark skin Black men are some of the most desired people on this earth which is why it's so peculiar that dark skinned black women are degraded and looked down upon.  Let me just say, I could never fault a brotha for his preference. You're attracted to whom you are attracted to (heck,I think both Kevin McCall and John Slatterly are sexy as hell) For me I just enjoy men. What I find disturbing is when Black men start claiming they want a red bone this or a light skin that (Like boy, what does that even men??!?!?!) . Or even more hilarious when you see them in the neighborhood with a non-Black woman and their avoiding eye contact with any Black women they may come across.  Negro please!!!

Preference is preference but I think its so disheartening for Black men to degrade dark and/or Black women especially because they came from one, and any daughter that they may have will be one.  ASAP Rocky and Lil Wayne's opinions on women are irrelevant to me as a person with an IQ and I wouldn't be caught dead with anyone who values the colorist and sexist remarks that they put forth.  Overall, I think the best that anyone of us can do for ourselves it to live a life that we're proud of, one that makes us happy and that's what I strive to do on a daily basis. Everything else is gravy because as my mama use to say, "All I gotta do is stay Black and die"  ;)

Me being exactly who I am with my chocolate ass foundation in my hand :D

So I'll say to my fellow dark girls and to all women and people who are living in this hetero-normative, white centric society. Embrace yourself and do what makes you happy. Life's way too short for any nonsense and if you don't love yourself I promise you, no one else will.

xoxox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxox

PS. Stay tuned for Part II on the documentary itself

The 1 Thing I Know About Men

Yes Ma'am !!

I've claimed time and time again that I know nothing about men, and this is still quite true. However, in my twenty-two years of living on this earth I do know two things for certain about the opposite sex. 1. ALL Black men need some form of facial hair. I'm not sure when or how I discovered this but its true. A goatee on a smooth brown/caramel/chocolate/ vanilla  face is everything!!. As much as I love Don Cheadle and House of Lies, his bare face gives me the willies. He looks like a fake plastic doll and it upsets me very much. I can recall the exact day my daddy first came home from the barber without any hair on his face. My mother, sister and I were in the kitchen and I guess I was about twelve. I can still hear my mother gasping and the plate that she was holding going clang in the sink. I just remember my utter shock as I looked at my dad's bare face for the first time in my life... it was traumatic.

Don looks like a snake its very weird :/. I feel the same about Obama, perhaps when he finishes this second term he'll grow it out.

But this post isn't about facial hair. Nope, this post is about the second and only thing that I know about men (black, white, blue or otherwise). 2. As soon as you become involved with someone or your dating life becomes a bit more interesting, men that you haven't seen or heard from since you left them in the Underground Railroad, will miraculously being to reappear!!!.

I know this sounds far fetched but ladies (and gents) I promise you this is soooo true!!!.  Case in point. I've recently put my dating heels back on after a few months hiatus and suddenly my phone is lighting up like the fireworks on NYE. Yesterday alone I got a text from some Negro I NEVER EVEN WENT OUT WITH. Who I talked to on the phone all of ONCE last summer. He's talking about "How was your NYE?!!!" .....Ninja are you serious?!! I didn't have his number saved anymore and I had to ask him who it was. Last week, I received a Merry Christmas from a random number. I stupidly assumed it was one of my classmates whose number I forgot to save in my phone. SMH how wrong I was. It ended up being this creepy ninja who I had a fab conversation with who turned out to be a prostitute (literally I have the worst luck sometimes). Then I got a random email from someone who SHOULD NOT be emailing me asking me how I'm doing.

This ALWAYS happens to me, as soon as I get comfortable or I'm interested in new people some dead and buried skeletons come flying out from under the floor boards. Girl.... I'm not here for it. I guess its some type of pheromone that women emit when they're comfortable. Ponder what I've said yourself, I'm sure that this has happened to you on more than one occasion.

Gentlemen perhaps you can provide me with some insight on why ya'll come popping back up? Is it some twinge in your peen that leads you to pick up the phone after months of no contact? I'm very confused, help a sista out.

Alas, that's all for now, I've just come from le gym and I gotta find some food. xoxoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxoxox

SHit Happens

I should be doing my homework, but I've decided to relay a smooth tale. Perhaps this is something I heard, or  maybe its about somebody I know, facts and events may have been changed slightly or whatever but alas here's the story.

So this girl meets this guy and they start hanging out. They casually date, dinner, see movies you know the usual. Now the girl realizes about two months in that though the guy is nice she's just not really feeling him. I guess its something in her gut that's telling her he's just not really her cup of tea. There's nothing wrong with him, he's nice, respectful all of that but that gut feeling still rides with her. So what does she do? She ignores the feeling, because he's entertaining enough for the moment and its nothing heavy. Another month passes and one evening the boy goes to the girls apartment. They chill, watch a movie, kick it. A casual night in, this has happened at least once before, its nothing too new. The next day the girl and the boy decide that they want to go out to grab breakfast. The boy gets in the shower first and the girl goes in when he's finished. When the girl gets out of the shower she calls to the boy from the bathroom. When there's no response she comes out of the bathroom to discover the boy has vanished.....along with all her electronics (aside from her television) as well as the keys to her apartment. GONE, VANISHED, IN THE WIND. Alas, though she is a bit traumatized the girl gets her life back in order, the police are called, locks are changed and things are replaced, the world keeps turning.....

About a week or so later, the girl ventures into the computer store to replace her stolen lap top. She ends up chatting with the guy who helps her for about two hours. The conversation flows, its interesting and dope. As she leaves the computer store the  new boy asks the girl if he can take her out sometime. The girl is pleased  because she hadn't connected with someone like that in some time. The week goes on, the girl and the boy chat and text. One evening, a few days into speaking, the new boy tells the girl that he has to tell her something. The new boy tells the girl that along with working at the computer store he has a side occupation. The girl asks the boy what this side occupation entails. The boy tells the girl that he's a non-sexual escort. The boy takes women on dates and they pay him $300-$400 per night. The girl is quite disturbed by this news and informs the boy that she has no interest in being a customer. The boy says that he never wanted the girl to be a customer, and that his intentions were just to be honest. The boy then tells the girl that his tag line is that he's eleven inches. The girl stares at her new laptop with its eleven inch screen and promptly hangs up the phone.

Moral of the story, always listen to your gut, but even then, Shit Happens

xxoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxox

PS: Did ya'll see Joe snatch back Ryan's wig tonight?! Thrilling

Reading Old Broads for Filth (Or A Day In the Life of This Chocolate Girl)

So yesterday was probably one of the hardest days I've had in a while. (It ended up fine :)). I'm usually a rather optimistic person but due to some psychotic old hags who refuse to stay in their lane and away from me and mine, it was quite trying for several hours. Here's what Occurred:

So grad school isn't really difficult for me, but the amount of work is a trashy bastard. I'm exhausted all the time and it just seems to take me a minute to get focused. Anyway, Tuesday night I stayed up really late putting together a two hour presentation that I had to deliver the next day. When I arrived to work yesterday morning I realized that I had neglected to email it to myself. I let a tear drop, pulled myself together and informed my boss that I needed to run home (I only live 20 mins away thank GOD) to retrieve my assignment.

On my way back to work/campus, my cousin texted me asking me when was the last time I had talked to my father. I informed her I had spoken to him Sunday afternoon, and then I put my phone away nothing thinking much of it. I headed back to my desk and a few minutes later my cousin calls me.

I answered the phone and she informed by that my sister was also on the line. Obviously, this sent me into a full blown panic. In the last two years I've had more horrific and devastating news delivered to me via phone than any person should have in a lifetime.

(I'll take this point to give some quick background. My mama worked with this lady for years and years. We shall call her  Willamina. Now Willamina stays in somebody else's business, but she and my mom were cool for years. To be honest I really don't know why because when my mama got pregnant with me Willamina refused to speak to her because she loves to be the center of attention. As I grown up I realize she is juse generally a complete fool. Anywhoo toward the end of my Mama's life I guess my mom finally decided she didn't have time for it anymore and I really heaven't heard from the woman but maybe once since my mom passed two years ago. Now there's a second woman, we'll call her Betsey, she was my Mama's best friend in high school and college. I never had any issues with her until she told my sister the day after my Mama died that her behavior wasn't any type of way to remember my Mama....Needless to say she's been excommunicated as well. Mind you if I saw or spoke to either of these women I would never be disrespectful, but as I've stated I've barely seen or heard from either, nor do I have any desire to).

Now let's get back into the story, my cousin get quiet on the phone and she says I want ya'll to hear this from me. She says that Willamina had seen one of my Daddy's neighbors over the weekend and supposedly the neighbor told her that my Daddy had passed away over the weekend. Instead of coming straight to the source (ie: my sister or myself), Willamina decides to be an extra special flavor of tea an sends an EMAIL to Betsey (who lives across the country) asking her what she knew. Betsey then, thought it would be cute to call my auntie who lives in Florida who then calls my other aunties who then call my cousin who tries to call my father and when he doesn't answer calls my sister and myself. (Do you see how ish spirals out of control??!!)

Sister and I are both panicking and about 10 people start frantically trying to reach my father . After 20 minutes of my world stopping, my sister texts and says that she's spoken to him. My Daddy calls me shortly thereafter. The poor man was obliviously befuddled because he was in the middle of teaching when his phone went off about twenty thousand times. (His IPhone has the most annoying ring of life and I doubt he knows how to put it on silent) Obviously someone had explained the situation to him because when I pick up my phone he states laughing, "I'm not dead yet". (Sigh, Bless his heart)

Of course this is the day that I just so happen to have a doctor's appointment after work and my two hour presentation :/ I get to the doctor's office and of course I'm emotionally exhausted (it's only 5pm) so I burst into tears when my doctor asks me if I smoke cigarettes. SMH

After my appointment I slink out of the doctor's office dragging my dignity behind me and head to the gym for a quick and pungent 2.5 mile run. Obviously because I am who I am, I slip on the treadmill as I'm warming up. But whateves I still got my cardio in.

As I stumble down Lenox Ave headed home, I'm pondering a hot bath and a smooth glass of wine to drown in the foolery of my life. But alas, Life is a funny funny thing. I look up to see a grown ass man in a purple velour capri pant onesie and I scream with laughter all the way home.

Moral of the story: Please stay in your lane and mind your business. You never know how stirring up some ish for your personal entertainment will effect others.  I learn everyday that life ain't know crystal stair but it surely has a sense of humor.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xxoxoxoxox Almost Friday :)

Why I Think Chris Brown Should Have Performed At The Grammys & Why My Friends Disagree

****DISCLAIMER: Domestic Violence Is NEVER Acceptable*************** I was happy when I found out that Chris Brown was going to be able to perform at this years Grammy awards, mostly because he's super talented and he always puts on a good show. After the ceremony country singer Miranda Lambert tweeted that she didn't understand why he was allowed to perform at all, especially twice.  I disagree, though I do not think that he was given the right punishment for the crime that he committed (it should have been harsher) he did do what was asked in him. Therefore I don't understand why he should be barred from preforming, which is essentially how he makes a living. Though Chris Brown likes to say ratchet things on twitter and throw chairs out of windows, that's not really any different from other celebrities do.  Either that or they're too coked out to function. Personally, I would never want people to harp on a mistake I made last year, let alone three years ago, and I feel that people like to provoke celebrities. No one on this earth wants their past indiscretions to be thrown in their face. Do I think Chris Brown is the best person ever? Of course not but I don't think he's the anti-Christ either.  Obviously he has some deep psychological  and emotional problems that he needs to deal with, but as a young woman who has been through shit myself, I've come to understand that therapy and things of that nature can only be helpful to you once you personally decide its time for you to seek them out. Obviously, Chris Brown can no longer be seen as a role model, and I don't think he (or Rhianna for that matter) are trying to be, therefore, I personally have no issue with listening to his music or watching his videos while respecting him solely as an artist. My lovely friend Michael disagrees with me wholeheartedly on my entire position. I must say that after out riveting conversation I see his point though I still disagree. Michael argued that Chris Brown has not proven himself to be a better person since the incident, he continues to go HAM on twitter and basically act poorly in general. He said that he never gave a proper apology and he really hasn't seemed to have changed since the incident. Micheal also argued that since the incident happened at the Pre-Grammy party in 2009, it was in bad taste that he was allowed to perform at the same event this year. Michael did say that he wouldn't have been bothered if he had simply attended as a nominee. I argued that, as long as he's given a proper apology to Rhianna its none of the public's business,which is why I thought Rhianna talking about it  to Diane Sawyer was kind of strange, though I do agree it was her right . I simply feel like taking away someone's livelihood and the one thing they love to do is not productive or healthy and that our society in general needs to come up with better and more reformatory repercussions.  At this point I don't feel like Miranda Lambert sending tweets out is productive to anyone, though she has a right to state her opinion. I also think that we should really reevaluate what we deem as "unforgivable" and how long we should shun people who make mistakes. No one wants to live in a constant state of limbo, at some point we need not to forget but we certainly need to move on.  Finally, I'll just say that though you might disagree with me, I wouldn't wish the horror that is fame on anyone, it seems like a terrible life especially if you haven't had a good foundation to begin with.

xoxoxox Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxoxoxox PS:I Guess We Should All Just Mind Our Own Business

Not Drowning In My Parents Baggage

PSA: This  post is gonna air some of my dirty laundry so if you feel some type of way about that please exit now:)

When I was younger, like most people I guess, it never occurred to me that my parents had lives before I existed. It took awhile for it to seep in that my mama had some thirty plus years of life before she popped me out and my dad had some forty plus years. Now if you know me, or have read some of my previous blog posts then you know that my mom passed away from breast cancer about a year and a half ago. Its very strange to go on making your way into this world when you no longer have a pillar, that one person who would have been there for you no matter what, its haunting. But alas, my sister and I are still here and still making our way so I'm gonna pat myself on the back for that one. Luckily my dad is still with us, its strange though because like a number of people, I did not bond with my dad in the same way that I did with my mother. He was always more of an illusion to me then an actual human being. A forty-two year gap between yourself and your parent is a huge age difference, especially when that person has come from a background so foreign from your own that its difficult to see his point of view and even more difficult for him to see yours.

This post is not meant to bash my father in anyway, he is who he is and I have to just continue to remind myself that that is never going to change. Its strange because I constantly tell one  of my good friends that he doesn't have to live his life based on his parents ways of thinking and their principles and ideas. Parents are suppose to guide you, however,  a lot of times because they've grown up in such a different time and space, what they've done in their lives or the things that they believe are not always right for you. ( Anyway I can guarantee that the is A LOT you don't know about them, and A LOT that may shock you) That's something that I'm struggling with. I remember in my teen years battling with my mom about same sex marriage and how I felt that everyone had a right to marry whom they wanted to, or even about the boy that I dated who was three years older, or driving, or staying out later or even moving to New York by myself. Despite her best intentions, I felt that she acted irrationally at times because of the way she was raised and being her first born, I raged back against her, being defiant at times and really sticking to what I felt was right in my heart. Its strange when you realize that your parents aren't perfect, that they are human beings like the rest of us. (She did eventually come around in some of the areas)

My brother told me when my mother died that I had to stop fighting a battle that I wouldn't win, that battle was between my parents. But that's hard because of what I've seen and heard, their is still hurt and resentment there. Its also strange because I'm the type of person who can and will take a lot of crap and who really doesn't want to turn my back on people despite any pain that they may have caused me or the people that I love the most.  Since my final semester of college is about to begin in the next two weeks, I'm really trying to start figuring out where it is that I want to be post grad. I'm considering staying in New York and also coming home back to the Chi. I've even considered moving back home with my dad.

After talking to my sister and my cousins about it though, I think that moving back in may not be the best option for me emotionally despite the fact that I want to be a help to my father. However, sometimes no matter how hard it is, you have to do what is best for you. At a certain point, no matter how close you are with your parents, it may be healthier for everyone to have a space of their own.

I haven't one hundred percent made a final decision yet but I do know that where ever I go, I'll go with all my heart xoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxox