Makes Me Want To Holler

"The New Age of Slavery" by Patrick Campbell

I feel like I've been trying to write this post for at least two years, I just don’t know what to say. What is there to say? It’s like having a festering sore on your skin that never heals so in a way you become used to the pain; the constant irritation. And then every few months (or weeks or even days) someone comes along and sticks a knife in that never-healed sore plunging it back and forth, until the pain because some acute that you become numb. The numbness is for self-preservation. The numbness allows you to get out of bed in the morning; the numbness is what gets you through the day. The numbness allows you to wear the mask, to tolerate oblivious white faces that don't bother to know, or care or even attempt to understand because they never had to.  So I've been trying to write this post since Travyon Martin was murdered or maybe even before. Perhaps, I’ve been trying to say something since the day I realized that I was Black and what that meant. I have no answers, but here are some things that I've been thinking. The words bring me no solace but I cannot allow myself to continue to feel numb.

The day that George Zimmerman was acquitted of murdering Trayvon Martian was my 23rd birthday. I was in Brooklyn celebrating with some friends. Stunned beyond belief, I said my hasty goodbyes and wept silently on the train back to Harlem. The Monday it was announced that the man who murdered Mike Brown would not be charged with his murder, I was in a screening for the upcoming film, A Most Violent Year. My friend and I were ignoring the Q&A with the actors and crew frantically checking our phones. I'd been in a state of unease since they'd announced they had a decision earlier that afternoon. My friend got a Google Alert and showed me that there would be no indictment. I let out a breath I didn't even realize I had been holding, and I waited for my feelings to settle. I wanted to feel shocked or riled up. Instead, I felt numb; I wasn't surprised, I was simply heartbroken.  I checked my twitter feed when I got home just to see what people were saying, I retweeted some things, tweeted some of my thoughts and then I just sat in my bed and stared at the wall in my quiet apartment. I didn't walk to the protest on 125th Street, I didn't write anything, I simply stared off into space because what more could I do?

Wednesday it was announced that the police officer that murdered Eric Garner by using an illegal chokehold, as the now deceased man gasped for breath would not even be indicted, despite the fact that the murder was caught on tape. I left work with a migraine, one that had been in the back on my head since that morning. On my way home I stood back observing as protesters "died in" at Grand Central before slipping back into the crowd. Following Trayvon’s death I walked and marched, but I didn’t do that on Wednesday.

I sobbed in my chair at the cinema as I watched Fruitvale Stationand 12 Years A Slave (which I saw twice.) I wept again a few weeks ago at a screening of Ava's DuVernay Selma. Films have always stripped me bar; perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to them. I guess those tears and these words are because of how familiar these images have become. How devalued and dehumanized that black people are, how black men are still painted as monstrous and seem to only be valued for their athleticism (almost to a fault). It is 2014 and we are still being strung up in trees while racist white people and uncle tom blacks who have be "invited" to the party, laugh out of their green lawns with their blankets and picnics baskets, smiling jovially and laughing as our rotting and mangled bodies swing from the trees. (Literally and figuratively.) While we holler and weep they take their selfies and check their social media pages.

Years ago, Harry Belafonte called out the biggest Black entertainers (Jay, Bey, Ye, etc) and asked where they were? He said that they hadn't done enough, that they weren't present. And he's so correct. Mr. Belafonte walked across the bridge with MLK from Selma to Montgomery. So where are they, they have all of the platform in the world. Instead they’re sitting in their glass houses protected, sending the same posts that we post and repost over social media. Where are we? What is this? Where am I? Where is our President when we need him to tell the truth? I've always defended him and its true I see the pain in his eyes when he speaks, the weariness that he projects. I'm not so foolish to say that he’s immune. But I need him to speak; we need to hear from him.  We desperately need this. We need it because Black men (and women) are being slaughtered and I'm tired of hearing Black people weep; of hearing Black mothers sobs because the boys that they’ve carried in their wombs were snatched from this earth before they even knew who they were or what they could become. 

I am weary. I am tired. The fact that Black men are continually labeled as monstrous or demonic is baffling to me. Black men have always been my saviors. My daddy, with his dark dark brown skin was a force to be reckoned with. The men I love, who are my safe place, my brother and cousins and friends. The man who I've been in love with, the men who I've been infatuated with, who have been my lovers and confidants who’ve held me when I wept, and laughed with me and dragged me outside of my comfort zone have been Black men. They've broken my heart and protected me and have pissed me off. But they've always been a constant in my life, always steady looking out for me, opening doors and cars and complimenting. They have been some of the people who I’ve loved and adored most in this world. They are some of the most beautiful and tormented people. And through their struggle is different then my own I've always understood. The attacks on them have been an attack on me. This is terrorism to ALL black people, to black families, to communities of color. I've always been aware. EVERY SINGLE MAN I've dated has had a story about a cop pulling a gun out on him. Not just arresting him or pulling him over but literally having a gun shoved in his face. 

I’m not sure what else to say, other then I don’t think I can ever bring any babies into this world. I’ve lost my parents; I couldn’t risk losing a child I'd never recover... Some days I'm barely hanging on as it is. All of these words I just wrote mean nothing... This whole situation, this whole place, these lives lost. It just makes me want to holler

A mural in my neighborhood. Harlem, NYC.

Chocolate Girl in the City

2014:

Tamir Rice

Cameron Tillman

Victor White III

Dante Parker

Ezeil Ford

VonDerrit Myers Jr.

Laquan McDonald

Michael Brown

Tyree Woodson

John Crawford II

Quesan Whitten

Miguel Benton

Dillon McGee

Diana Showman

Levi Weaver

Carey Smith-Viramontes

Eric Garner

Yvette Smith

Jordan Barer

Jeffery Holden

Karen WCifunetes

Sergio Ramos

Rodhad McIntosh

2013

Barrington Williams

Carlos Alcis

Deion  Fludd

Jonathan Ferrell

Kimani Gray

Kyam Livingdton

Larry Eugene Jackson Jr.

Miriam Carey

2012

Chavis Carter

Dante Prce

Duane Brwn

Ervin  Jefferson

Jersey Green

Johnnie Kamahi Warin

Justin Slipp

Kendrec mcDafe

Malissa Williams

Nehemiah Dillard

Ramarley Graham

Raymond Allen

Rekia Boyd

Reynaldo Cuevas

Robert Dumas Jr

Sgt. Manual Loggins Jr

Shantel Davis Sharmel Edwards

Shereese Francis

Tamon Robinson

Timothy Russel

Wendell Allen

2011

Alonzo Ashley

Jimmell Cannon

Kenneth Chamberlin

Kenneth Harding

Rahiem Brown

Reginald Doucet

2010

Aaron Campbell

Alyana Jones

Danroy Henry

Derrick Jones

Steven Edugene Washington

2009

Kiwane Carrington

Oscar Grant

Shem Walker

Victor Steen

2008

Tarika Wilson

2007

DeAunta Terrel Farrow

 

2006

Sean Bell

 

And thousands and thousands of others.

Pretty in Pink: Pearl Earrings from Pearl & Clasp

Lately I've been a bit of a tomboy. As someone who didn’t even wear pants for the past several years, this has been a huge change for me. Tims and jeans have pretty much become my uniform. However, I've been trying to get out of my fashion rut and get back in touch with my girly girl side, which is why I was excited when Pearl & Clasp reached out to me to review a pair of their genuine pearl earrings.

I chose the 9mm Button Freshwater earrings which come in white, black and pink. I chose the pink because I thought they would be different and really pop against my dark brown skin. I didn’t want anything too traditional. When I received the earrings I was pleasantly surprised, they were a beautiful spin on a classic earring. I wore them several times over the past week and they are extremely versatile.

The first day I wore them with a colorful shirt and jeans to work. They were the perfect compliment to my mostly dark ensemble. They also worked really well with the long side braid that I'd created for the day. 

Later on in the week I had a dressy event to attend. I wore a cheetah print dress, which I would normally pair with gold accessories. Instead, I reached for my pink pearls again. The iridescent shimmer of the pink earrings worked magnificently with my cheetah dress, gold necklace and hot pink nail polish. I would have never thought to place them together, but I discovered the earrings added something different to the ensemble.

By the end of the weekend, I was back in my over-sized sweater, top bun and Tims, but the pink pearls stayed with me. An elegant reminder of this pseudo tomboy's girly-girl roots.

The pink pearl earrings and tons of other stunning genuine pearl jewelry can be found at Pearl & Clasp.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxo

Lately.....

Holiday decorations at the Time Warner building

My therapist asked me the other day if I was staving off a depression. "No, I replied. I don't think so." That was several days ago and I've been thinking about it ever since. I've been feeling tired lately, like I wanted to sleep for 1,000 years. I haven't been working out like I should be which I believe is part of it.  But "depression," the word always feels so extreme to me.

The truth is I enjoy my life; love it really. Are there things that I'm dissatisfied with? Of course, but I'm generally happy and enthusiastic. These last couple of weeks in particular has really reaped some fantastic opportunities for me, doing things that I absolutely adore. Plus I got two free coffees (life is GRAND).

So why am I so tired? Why the exhaustion? Perhaps I need to start eating meat again on a regular basis. Maybe it's winter time, and the fact that it's dark at noon is killing my vibe.  Perhaps I just need a good run, or maybe it's the idea of getting through another Holiday season without my parents. In actuality I think I'm not quite over the stress and anxiety of this past summer, and  it is finally catching up with me mentally.

The thing is, even if I am staving off a depression I hope I can continue to keep it at bay. I'm starting to get some real traction, I just need the motivation to press forward.

Friends tonight, gym tomorrow.

xoxoxox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxo

I Am NOT A Colorless Person

I’d like to start off by saying that however, Raven would like to label herself is her right. (I would say her Black ass right, but she don’t want to be labeled as such so I’m gonna go ahead and respect home girl’s wishes.) What is interesting though, (and Crissle pointed this out on my favorite podcast The Read) is that people want to throw away labels ONLY when they are labels that are devalued in society. (Everybody want to be a nigga but don’t nobody want to be nigga.)  A rich, fine, intelligent billionaire never says, “Oh no, no, no please don’t call me rich, fine or intelligent. I don’t want to be labeled.”

So as I said I’ve got no beef with Raven and her lack of labels. Hell this fool Mike Tirico from ESPN claims to be 100& Italian. (Real tears.) If he wants to live in a delusional cloud of foolishness then by all means I say go on ahead boo. (Though I do hope he realizes that if this was 1815 he wouldn’t be talking about none of this. He would be right next to me in all of chocolate glory trying to pick some cotton, or grow some tobacco, or cultivate some sugar. He wouldn’t have even passed the test to be helping in the big house.) But its 2014….so be Italian if you want to.

Mike Trico

What did aggravate me and irritate me is when Raven said, “I’m an American, and that’s a colorless person.”……  0_O

 I’m sorry what?!!!!  Ms. Raven, while you were playing Olivia on The Cosby Show(the most successful BLACK sitcom of all time), did you not have a tutor? Perhaps you missed a few lessons. Being American is the opposite of being colorless. Ain’t you learn about how we’re supposedly this melting pot of cultures, people and ideas? Were you not taught that wars were fought , that people have marched and died, have been assassinated, exterminated, interned, removed, violated, lynched ,and on and on because color is labeled as other and other apparently fosters fear and hatred.

I am not a colorless person. Colorlessness evokes erasure and as Viola Davis recent stated after that simple-minded New York Times article. “You can’t erase ME!.”

I grew up on the South Side of Chicago (Chicago is extremely segregated still, so my neighborhood was predominantly Black.) I went to an all Black elementary school and middle school. Black history month was huge for us, we had Black Santa’s and figurines at Christmas, we had subscriptions to Ebony and Essence. I know the Black national anthem and I know all the colors on the Black American flag and what they stand for.  I’m well versed in Black history, I know where my Mama’s people came from(Mississippi) and I also know they came to Chicago during the Great Migration. My mama was ten when MLK was assassinated. She remembered that day, I remember that day through the stories she’s told me.  I understand from listening to my elders; my Big Daddy, and my aunts and uncles. I am a fervent reader. I watch a ton of documentaries on Blackness and Black history. I understand the historical significance of Nigger, Negro, African American, Nigga and Black, My dad was Nigerian and he was very ingrained in his culture as well. Blackness raised me, it is in me, I live it and I breathe it. My skin is extremely dark brown. It’s there always visible, ever-present. I can’t remove it, would never want to even if I could. I have been teased and tormented for it. I’ve been praised and sexualized because of it. I can barely find foundation and drawers to match my nude. I can’t contour my face because of it.

So I embrace my labels, because they were earned with my ancestors’ blood and tears and perseverance. My humanity is still being fought for, look to Ferguson or Florida, just flip on the news or walk around any major city.

I am not colorless, I am Black, visible and present. I refuse to be shoved into the background.  

I’m an introverted extrovert.

I have dark skin.

I am boisterous.

I am humorous.

I am raunchy and free.

I am a bookwork.

I am a Chicagoan and a Harlemite,

I am more hetro then homo

I am young

I am a woman,

I am a Black woman,

I am a feminist,

I am happy

I am parentless

I am childless

I am curvy

I am Nigerian

and yes I am also an American but certainly not colorless.

 xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxox

Laundromat Chronicles

What did I do to deserve this?!

A few Saturdays back New York City decided that even though it was September, it was just going to remain hot boots. Tragically, one of these Saturdays was one of the hottest days of the year and I had the poor fortune to run out of both drawers and sports bras. Now underthings on the bottom aren't exactly necessary, however, one must not go round to the gym without some spandex keeping the girls together.

(No but seriously last week I was on the treadmill and the girl directly facing me on the elliptical machine  had on NO BRA. She wasn't a busty woman but still... I could never.)

Anywho, I threw on some shorts and a t-shirt and loaded up my granny cart with a months supply of dirty clothes and trudged the three minute walk to the laundromat . As I loaded my washer, I felt eyes on my bottom. Now my bottom isn't large by any means, but I have been blessed with the most thundering of thighs which, invite my shorts to constantly ride up. So I suppose in retrospect the boy had something to look at.

I went on about separating and loading up my clothes completely aware that this boy's eyeballs were drilling holes into my butt, though entirely determined to ignore him and all of his niggadom. (I know this is stereotypical but just wait until I describe this poor unfortunate man-child. Also, what does it say about the society in which we live that I've come to expect sexual harassment anytime I step outside of my house, but that's another post for another day).

As I locked the door on my final washer I hear a "Ey! Where you from?" I turn rolling my eyes and take the boy in.

He's sitting but it's obvious that he's tall...that's about all the glory that I can allow him. He was tatted from the neck down (and I typically enjoy ink) but his tats were a mess and the mess atop his head didn't even allow my poor suffering eyeballs to absorb the tats.)

THE BOY HAD A TOPKNOT!!! Like he had gotten a relaxer and sat up between his granny's knees as she took a pressing comb to his head. (Clearly I am unable.)

I'm holding my Tide pods in my hand and I give the boy my most uninterested look as I responded. "Around." (Because people really travel far to go to the laundromat. 0_O)  He then tells me that he lives on 150th Street like that information is going to somehow make me more loose-lipped about my home address. He asks me again where I'm from.

"Boy! I'm not about to tell you where I live!" I finally respond.

The poor fool looks generally offended but says nothing, quietly observing me.

Thinking about my impending trip to Starbeezys I quickly scooped up my bag and meandered off thinking nothing more of the incident.

Of course Monsieur Tatted Top Knot was awaiting my arrival some 45 minutes later when I returned to transfer my things from the washer to the dryer.

He observes me once again as I take my time transferring my clothes from one machine to another. Praying to the Lord above that I can escape unscathed, I had no such luck.

"Hey!" I hear. Irritated, I roll my eyes and cock my head to face him glaring at him with my filthiest look.  "WHAT?!" I respond. (Usually if I'm being harassed on the street I mutter something and keep moving, However, since I happened to be alone with this boy in the laundromat, I decided it would be easiest to not outright ignore him.)

He grins like a loon and says "Come here."

This is the point where I began to laugh in his face. "Boy! Can't you see I'm doing my laundry? I don't know you! Why the hell would I go anywhere you called me?!" Anyway you're way to young for us to be having any type of conversation."

Of course he was terribly offended when I said that. "Whatcu mean? I'm 22" he exclaims!

"Exactly" I reply trying to hurry along, as I continue conversing with this buffoon I can feel the brain cells melting from my head.

It's quiet for a moment and I think that perhaps that was the end of it, I should have known that was not to be the case.

"Put your number in my phone!", he demands, I whip my head around swiftly glaring at him. "I have a man!" I say. (In truth I'm as single as a dollar bill but that's my go -to line for shiftless Negros....not that it matters cuz, that don't stop them.)

He replies, "That's cool I'm just trying to be friends." (Typical) I stand gaping at him in disbelief. I guess he thought I was looking at his dusty pre-paid phone because he quickly added. "Oh don't worry, this ain't my real phone, my iPhone is getting fixed." (Priorities my nig**, priorities.) I shake my head and go back to stuffing my clothing in the dryer.

As I begin collecting myself to leave he bellows,  "We would make some beautiful babies." I shake my head in horror and as I exit the last thing I hear is him yelling, "So you really not going to give me your number?!"

Just a typical late Saturday morning in Harlem World I guess.

xoxox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxoPS. But seriously though street sexual harrasment is a real thing. Men who do this need to leave women alone and let us go thru our lives unbothered. There is nothing wrong with a nice polite compliment. However,  we do not HAVE to speak to you. We are not REQUIRED to smile. We do not HAVE to ACKNOWLEDGE you existence. For real though LEAVE US ALONE.

“You Did Right By Yourself, Ain’t No Other Way To Live.”

“You did right by yourself, ain’t no other way to live.” Chadwick Boseman as James Brown

The summer my mom died I lost about thirty pounds. It’s been four years and I remember that summer as if it happened yesterday. It’s strange because I can’t remember what happened last week. And yet, those memories will forever be permeated on my brain.

It was the summer Kanye’s “ My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” dropped.  I was obsessed with being an ultra girlie girl and I wore copious amounts of weave and makeup. But the thing I remember most was the smells.  The smell of the cancer ward on the top floor of Northwestern Memorial hospital, the smell of the wind coming off of Lake Michigan as my best friend and I sped down Lake Shore Drive. We were desperately trying to hold on to the innocence of being]young and free, right on the cusp of adulthood. And still, though unsaid we recognized that we would never be innocent again. That summer marked the end of my childhood. As the summer trudged forward I slept less and less, my once tight fitting clothes hung off of me, and I painted my mother’s nails for the last time trying desperately to come to terms with her impending death. After twenty years those were to be my final days with her.

And even today, right now as I write this I can still smell the cancer ward. It's as if the disease seeped in to the walls and the floors of that building. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever smelled before, not like the maternity ward or even the nursing home I visited as a child. It was because of that smell that I didn’t eat. Every time I looked at food I was reminded, and I was disgusted and heartbroken, my stomach churned. So I drank coffee and alcohol, and stayed out all night,and worked and sat with my mother.

Even that summer, I was able cope, to press forward, to deal, despite what was happening around me. Perhaps I’ve worn myself down or maybe my nerves are just shot from the stress and overuse of the past few years. I recently found myself in a situation where my stomach was once again in knots, the constant stress and anxiety was literally eating away at me. I began questioning myself and my capabilities. (I’ll admit I’ve only ever truly been a disaster at a few things in my life fractions, physics, geometry and calculus. Everything else I pretty much get after a few tries.) The constant throbbing in my stomach and my perpetual anxiety wasn’t allowing me to think clearly. I started buying into the things that were said to me and about me.

And then after a particularly trying day a good friend called me up and we chatted for awhile and she expressed to me that she had been in a very similar situation and it took just that conversation to make me snap out of this reverie that had been consuming me.

#blessed & grateful

I’ve realized that people will try and tell you how to live or what choices to make, but at the end of the day you have to do what's best for you. You can’t let other people’s anger and dissatisfaction with their lives affect you because it will take root into your soul. Quite frankly, it’s none of your black ass business nor is it your place to become the vessel onto which they spew their negativity.

Happiness is everything to me, the joy that I find in a day is what keeps me pressing forward. Those memories, those images and that smell will always be with me, but I’m less easily haunted when I’m living in the light.

The Time I Saw The Queen

"She had no right to approach me and my life like that with those vocals" ~ Kid Fury

New Orleans is hot. No, not like summer time Chi or no air conditioning in your apartment hot, it's a whole other type of moist heat. I imagine it's what standing  inside of a butt hole feels like. You can hardly even breathe. And yet, if you ever get the opportunity it's definitely somewhere that you ought to go. Bestie and I had spoken of going for awhile. Originally, sister and I were suppose to go in January, but father winter, being the evil man that he is thwarted out plans.

But alas things aren't so cruel. Fate stepped in when Bey + Jay announced they would bless us with their "On the Run" tour. Instead of bestie coming to NYC and venturing out to Jersey, or me returning to the Chi on a regular ass Thursday night, we decided to make an adventure out of it and bless NOLA with our presence.  I left work early last Friday eve and sat in a cab as it crawled towards the airport. (And good thing i decided not to be cheap because I barely made my flight....this is becoming a habit of mine.)

The flight in itself was a sordid tale. A large group of drunken girls stumbled upon the plane headed to NOLA for a bachelorette weekend. They delighted in yelling across the aisle at one another and reciting lines for Bridesmaids at anyone who had the misfortune of hearing.  I also had the good luck of sitting next to a woman who was terrified to fly. Having battled with that fear myself I was sympathetic but then i just really wanted to read my filthy book and not look at any more pictures from her daughter's wedding.

Upon my arrival in Nawlins' I hung out in the airport playing on my tablet as I waited for Bestie to get in. After embracing (dramatically as we do_, we checked into our delightful hotel (the Doubletree of course because there is cookies which I proceeded to have at least five of over the course of the weekend), and ventured out into the night for some delicious and fattening nourishment.

We stumbled upon a hole in the wall and and i politely scarfed up this gem.

Shrimp Po'Boy

NOLA had already wiggled her way into my heart...and belly.

The next day it was overcast but we ventured out anyway, walking around the French quarter for hours and hours. We stopped for lunch and guzzled down large alcoholic slushies. Then we proceed to do one of my most favorite activities, people watch.

I don't know how many of these i had....but it was alot.

The people alone were enough to occupy our attention. I'm always baffled by the fact that people come out on the street looking any type of way. It was so amusing. As we strolled and sipped we spotted an extremely large man with a shirt that said king on the front, when he turned around it read, "Together 20". Intrigued of course, we decided to stop and lean against a wall whilst sipping our drinks (because public alcohol consumption is a thing) to await his queen.  And see her we did. Soon enough she came barreling down the street in a matching grey t-shirt that said "Queen" on the font. We waited with baited breath, beside ourselves with glee until she blessed our lives with the back of her shirt. It read..... (drumroll please) "Since 13". Now if you are slow like I can sometimes be, I will spell it out for you. As a pair, their shirts read... "Together since 2013". Already mildly intoxicated I began to shake with laughter, howling and holding on to the side of the wall. Perhaps I seem like an asshole but it was so absurd I was in utter disbelief. (And girl you would have laughed too!) They had the black nerve to not only be grown and dressing alike, but also to try and stunt like their relationship was really on. Ma'am... Sir, you do realize its only 2014. But back to the trip.

That New Orleans heat wears down on you. After too may beignets, fried oysters and an abundance of cheese, we spent late Saturday evening frolicking in our hotel room. It was quite a thrill though, because the ballroom was on the 16th floor of the hotel (we were on the 14th) and we got to listen to an entire wedding reception.)  Also, The French Quarter ain't no place you want to end up alone or even with one of your girlfriends on a Saturday night. I saw some things that I can never unsee and I was nearly accosted by a gentlemen as we left Deanies Seafood Restaurant.

Sunday Morning we awoke to a monsoon. We stumbled downstairs in search of some coffee for my caffeine addicted body and because we were not going to be rained on, we went in search of the infamous 16th floor ballroom. We stumbled upon African church service being held there....that was oddly terrifying.  Once the rain finally slowed, we pathetically put on foolish looking rain ponchos and we ventured back towards the French Quarter in search of ever more butter, fat and grease. And find it we did at Oceana Grill. (I could never live down south...there is only so much will power a greedy girl can have). Full and sleepy, we knew that we needed time to prepare our spirits for the reason that we were in NOLA in the first place....The real Queen.

Bestie chose a hotel that was in waking distance of the Superdome and what a fantastic choice she made. While everyone was stuck in horrendous traffic, we strolled or happy butts right up into the dome and were in our floor seats yb 8PM.  Concert didn't start until 9:30 but I was not mad. I'm telling you it was worth every penny...every moment agonizing about what to wear. It was worth me nearly cussing out this incompetent woman who worked at the venue who had no idea what she was talking about, as well as the man I wanted to punch in the face for smoking reefer right in my face. Sir, what you do with your life is your black ass choice but what you won't ever do is ruin my experience smh It was way too crowded for all that.

This was my first "real" concert experience. As you may know I'm much more of a film person so concerts don't really intrigue me. But this one was something that I was not ever going to miss.

Anyways here are so highlights.

The next day we woke up late (it was Monday), and tried to saunter about getting treats to take home with us. The sun was out and beaming down on us...therefore our saunter was short lived.  NOLA was a treat though and I'm so glad I got a chance to go.

If you can every now and then treat yourself to a long weekend. Even if it isn't far go somewhere that you've never been before and do some ish you've never done before. For me it reenforces the fact that the sky is the limit.

xoxoxoxox Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxo

School Was My Hustle Part II: Work Flow

"The things that you are passionate about aren't random, they're your calling."

Read "School Was My Hustle Part I: Grad School & The Job Hunt" HERE

Shit ain't like it use to be. Or at least it's definitely not how I expected it would be. All my life I had it drilled into my head that once you got a good education you would get a good job. To me good job equals nice clothes, traveling and brunchin'. More education meant a better salary. All I will say is that the past 6 months or so definitely taught me a lot about how ish was really gonna be. Y'all already know about my first "adult" job. I shan't rehash that foolery.

What happened in the three and a half months before I got the new position that I'm currently in is what's most interesting. For the first couple of months of job hunting I was super optimistic about my prospects. (Ya girl can snag an interview. I probably did about 8 in-person and 5 over the phone.) And yet, despite the fact that I think I'm a really good interviewer and a damn good candidate I landed only 1 job. It's hard out here for a chick. As I got more and more frustrated with the outside world and my lack of employment, I decided to focus on what I was most passionate about, the "work" that I'd do, have done and will do for free.

When I was writing and watching  and reviewing , those were the days when I felt most at peace. My freedom allowed me the ability to travel, to spend time with my family and to experience new things. Despite all of that, there were days when I felt ashamed of my funemployment. I think that in the climate of my generation's competitiveness, its easy to feel like you're behind your peers, that you're somehow slacking not quite keeping up with the flow of things. I would ride the train in the middle of the day headed to a film screening or to run errands. Were people judging me for my "leisurely" life. (In retrospect I realize how foolish this sounds.) But these assumed judgements were the least of my worries.

Money. Money was my major concern. Savings eventually run dry my student loans kick in at the end of this month and NYC is not a cheap place to live. Hell it's not even a cheap place to breathe.

I wanted to give up so many times. I rationalized that perhaps NYC wasn't where I was supposed to end up. But other times I thought F that! I got two degrees in five and a half years from damn good schools never missing a beat despite the chaos of my personal life.

Luckily I didn't give up on myself because the universe wasn't ready to give up on me. In a span of one week I had  four different interviews and I was offered a really good position at a really good company. Was it exactly what I expected when exactly I expected it? No. But then again life rarely ever is.  I'm still working towards my passions I definitely have an end game but until then I'm enjoying the work flow.

A fully employed Chocolate Girl in the City  xoxoxoxox

PS: I'm at the airport on my way to see the queen more on that later ;)

Birthday Post: 24th Year

1st Birthday pictures;  delightful ensemble

Me & My Makers

Growing up, my mother went all out for our birthdays. Much like Christmas, birthdays in our home were an extravaganza. You opened the door to your bedroom in the morning and you could look down at your feet and see and array of gifts. Rushing down the steps to the kitchen you could expect the entire counter to be covered with gifts, pictures and birthday memorabilia. My mother always showed us (and told us) that we were loved and that she was thankful that we were alive. Daddy would always top off the day with a delicious wad of cash. (African Dad style.) Though we are two years apart in age, sister and I have birthdays that are ten days apart. When we were younger, mama would throw us a huge joint bday BBQ at our house, there was tons of food, family, games and fun. (Along with two separate and elaborately decorated sheet cakes.) As we got older, we started doing separate things (American Girl Place, Six Flags, Chuckie Cheese, Haunted Trails, lunches, dinners, movies, shopping etc.) July must have been a foolish and exhausted month for my mama but, she never let on that it was.

1997  7th Birthday

The summer I turned 16, I was away at Yale University for a summer program. It was the first time id ever been away from my family. When we discussed me attending the program, my mom was nervous about me not having the Sweet 16 that she thought I expected. I was unbothered i could taste the freedom. I was having the time of my little black life. The morning of my sixteen birthday, my roommates and friends surprised me with decorations  and gifts. Later on, I was lounging about the courtyard when I looked up to see a man dressed as a clown with an array if balloons and a delicious ass cake. Only my mother could pull of something so elaborate from half a country away. It was the perfect end to one of the best summer of my life. The last birthday that I spent with my mom was the summer I turned 20. We celebrated in her hospital room.... Less than a month later she was gone.

Sweet 16......um apparently I thought I was cute

This is the cake that the man stalked me to give me. It was SOOOOOO GOOOD. Yes I'm greedy and I still remember

My following two birthdays were lovely and eventful. Daddy, sister and I made the best of our situation and my family and friends were always on call to celebrate.

Last year tho.. Last year was not good.  I was over everyone and everything. My dad had passed the previous February, I'd recently ended a relationship and it was just all bad. I spent most of the day alone. I went to BK to a friends place who was gracious enough to try and cheer me up by baking a delicious cobbler but the night turned shitty very quickly when George Zimmerman went acquitted. I went home and went to bed. Thankful to be done with the dreadful day. Clearly those were signs that I was mildly depressed and didn't really even realize it.

Despite all of that nonsense my twenty-third year was good to me. I can whine about trivial things that occurred that don't matter much now anyway, over all tho I have no complaints. I woke up this morn with a smile on my face :) got some work done, had brunch and ventured off to spend my birthday coupons. 'Twas glorious". (I'm also preparing my spirit to see queen Bey next weekend.)  My moto has always been "turn down" so I'm presently chillin in my apartment and watching a PBS doc on "Freedom Summer".

Birthdays definitely aren't what they use to be... But then again I suppose that's the nature of growing up. I will say one thing tho, I'm so happy and grateful to be here and to be doing well.

From a now one year older Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxox

Thoughts While Waiting on the Train Platform: On Anxiety

I went to a club the other night, a rather strange occurrence for me. I've written before about how I don't do clubs. Trust me I've tried to like them. I've tried to get into the groove of things. I've put on the tight dresses with the heels, sipped on drinks and flirted with men. And I've even had really amazing nights with lifelong friends and beautiful people when the DJ was on point and I felt like id be timeless....forever young.  But for me that timeless feeling has been fleeting when it comes to my clubbing experiences. Mostly I've felt sweaty and gross. The drinks have been way too pricey and the DJ beyond wack and I ask myself why I've bothered to beat my face and place stilettos upon my feet, when really a late night milkshake on a rooftop with old friends laughing and watching the sun come up would have suited me just fine.

Which brings me back to the other night. As I walked to the club from the train (cab expenses can only be rationalized to a point) I felt anxious. An anxiety that bubbled up in my throat. I wanted to hide, to run away, to jump back on the uptown express, and crawl into my bed with my Kindle. But why? Where did this feeling of anxiousness come from? I've been aware on some level for quite a few years of my disdain for clubs. And yet, this was something else. Perhaps it was stepping outside of my comfort zone that had me feeling apprehensive. Or the rude bouncers that rule the overpriced clubs in the meatpacking district. (My main concern was trying not to snap my ankle as I teetered  along the cobblestones in my favorite shoes. (Because apparently sky high stilettos are a must in the  meatpacking district -_-)

Once I actually made it into the club I was immediately calm. I sat and chatted with beautiful brown people. ( It really is true that there is like a six degree separation, from every educated black person to another in this country) The DJ was a poor purchase as expected but that didn't stop us from having a jolly grand time. (We made sure to get there when it was free before they started charging a $40 cover.) As I sat there chatting and sipping, I realized two things.

1) I don't have to like clubs. That's not a requirement for being twenty-something. There are so many things that I'd rather be doing and it's completely ok to do them and forgo the anxieties and the groping and other foolishness surrounding the club experience. (I've even found a lovely website for peeps like me)

2) Facing the things that make me anxious, the things that make  me nervous or unsure are the best way to concur my fears. Its ok to determine that I'm not here for one thing or another, but I've decided to hold on to my opinions until I've actually tried doing the things I have anxiety about.

xoxoxox Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxox

PS: Also when facing your fears just won't cut it. Sweat that shit out. (I quite enjoy a smooth run)

Waiting On My Life to Begin?

Last Sunday, Prospect Park Dreamin'

I remember in high school I always believed that my "real" life would begin in college. I arrived at my university with bright dreams and grandiose assumptions and once I realized it wasn't all that I thought it would be I figured that my life would begin after college, once I found my footing in the real world. I delayed my entrance into the "real world" by attending graduate school (school was my hustle, I could be in school forever). My first forte into total adulthood was short-lived. I said yes to the first position that was offered to me and then quit it shortly thereafter. (You can read HERE to find out why.) It was after this fairly monumental decision that I realized all assumptions were incorrect. There I was quickly approaching my mid-twenties and still I was funemployed, waiting to begin my life. I normally think I'm more self-aware then this but clearly I was being asshole. A little over a month ago about I decided to start living my life. No I didn't have full time employment but I'm was doing OK freelancing. There's a few huge projects that I'm working on and just because I wasn't receiving a biweekly paycheck I had lots to be proud of. I started focusing on all that I had accomplished despite the obstacles thrown at me.

So I started saying YES to myself which was my resolution for 2014. (You can read that post HERE.) I had already put my mental health and personal well-being high up in my priorities by quitting my job and focusing on my talents and other real goals. Now all I had to do was do that in my social life.

It's so easy to say NO. Saying no means u can stay in your comfort zone. (For me that means in my apartment with my Kindle.) But imagine all of the incredible opportunities that would come your way by saying yes. Saying yes, has changed my outlook and my perspective. Am I ever gonna be the one that enjoys getting plastered and bar hopping until 4 in the morn? Probably not, I'm an old soul and I enjoy sleep way to much. But I also recognize some of the best days of my life have ended with the sun coming up.

So what have I gotten out of saying yes? I've gotten my life :) Just in this past month and a half or so I've gotten more opportunities then I've ever remember getting. My summer is going to be full of concerts and shows, traveling, brunches, park days, friends, family and so much more. This is all happening because I decided that this, RIGHT NOW is my LIFE. My real life, this is it. So for me there will be no more waiting around, no more hiding. I'm just gonna embrace things as they come. As much as I want to curl into myself and get lost in a book I certainly can't sit back and act like that's the best or even the healthiest thing do.

No I haven't achieved everything that I want to do at this point I haven't traveled abroad, read the Game of Thrones series ,or even had epic love but I'm certainly gonna relax a bit and embrace all the things I have done and say yes to every wonderful thing that I've achieved myself.

I read somewhere that the biggest disservice that this generation (my generation) is doing to itself is thinking that we have to have it all together in our twenties. We already put a crap load of pressure on ourselves and it becomes even more stifling when you have your parents and family hovering around your neck whilst you look at your friends and peers achieve greatness. But your know what? Your fan-fuckintastic. This is your life to live! U have to do things and make choices that are going to fulfill U and make you happy in the long run.

Start living because even if you didn't realize it, your "real" life has long since begun.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxox

Entitlement (Or In Other Words How to Embarrass Yourself In the Nail Shop)

I grew up pretty squarely middle class, we were comfortable and really didn't want for anything.  Despite all of this good fortune, my parents still expected a lot from us. We were to be well mannered and behaved while excelling academically in school.  If we met their expectations then we pretty much got what our hearts desired (within reason). Until college I just assumed that's how the rest of the world worked. Whether  you were well off or not, you were polite and treated people with decency and respect. It wasn't until I got to undergrad that I realized how tragically wrong I was. As an RA, two out of the four years that I spent at my wildly expensive PWU, I can assure you that evil little toddlers become shitty little 18-year olds who subsequently turn into self-serving adults.

Working in the residence hall mail room I soon discovered that not everyone is taught please and thank you in preschool. I once had a mother call the RA phone at 5am to ask me where to order her shit spawn some birthday balloons. (3 years later I'm still pissed). Even later in my most recent place of employment I spent a considerable amount of time cleaning grown people's snot tissues and garbage off of coffee tables. (Clearly the Barney clean-up song isn't played in every household.)

Some of y'all need reminding

But none of this,  none of this entitlement and pompous behavior is more pronounced then it is at my nail salon on the Upper West Side of NYC.  I'll admit to spending time twice a month in my beloved salon. It's really cheap,  the employees are amaze and typically it's quite a pleasant experience. That is until "she" walks in. (I'm using "she" here as a universal term. There has been many a man that I've encountered who fits these same characteristics, each one more pompous and self-important than the last. Like the man who touched my hair in the club last week, and when I snapped at him he responded by saying "but I like it" as if that justified a strange nasty man hand in my hair. Or the man who TOLD a friend and I to move down in the movie theater so he could sit. As far as I'm concerned that fool could still be waiting for me to move.) But I digress, every few months or so "she" walks into the nail salon and my stomach tightens in disgust.

The first time it happened some lady was waiting on a gel dryer for her manicure as her brat child grew more and more out of control. (Nail shops are not for children!!) As the child dissolved into a puddle of terror, the woman instead of handling her offspring proceeded to rip the poor manicurist a new asshole screaming because she felt she'd waited too long for her mani. (Ma'am can you not see the line of women in here getting gel?!!) The manicurist literally burst out in tears as everyone else in the salon looked on in horror.

Now don't get me wrong I truly believe in good customer service especially when hard earned money is being spent. (This is also why I will never for the duration of my Black ass life purchase anything from Ikea EVER again.)  However there is a time and a place for everything. People who are just outwardly rude and entitled disgust me. What's amusing is that these people usually end up embarrassing themselves. Which brings me to the motivation behind this post.I'm sitting here right now in my pedicure chair writing this piece because the woman next to be just made a complete fool of herself.

When my sis and I walked in, there were a couple of women waiting so we put our names down on the list. After sister started her pedicure I waited until another technician was free and then took my spot in my chair. Perhaps 8 or so women walked in after me and wrote their names on the list. (I'm lowkey nosy so I was paying attention.) The woman to the right of me was on the list right under me and the woman to my left was a few names down the page. My pedicure gets started and so does the woman to my right. Another woman sits at a manicure station. Suddenly out of nowhere the woman to my left slams her computer downs and screams "Are you serious?!! I'm so DONE!!! You're gonna take all these women before me and I was here before them!!!

..................... The entire salon is silent. The woman to my right and I look at each other and then both say to the heaving ball of rage. "No you weren't." The woman to my left calmly resumes reading her magazine. I glance at sister trying not to chuckle as the guy doing my pedi tries to hold in his giggles as well.

All that entitlement and where did that get you? Looking a ridiculous ass fool that's where. Perhaps people will learn to be more polite and more kind with time. Until then I'll sit back and watch them humiliate themselves.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxo

"I’m Just Human, Don’t Judge Me" On Vulnerability and Self-Esteem

This past winter was the black ass worst, as I’m sure many of you poor souls experienced. Usually, I can hang on to my good cheer until just after Valentine’s Day, but this year I was pretty much in a funk by Christmas Morning.  When my mother was still alive, Christmas was always this huge event for us. She was obsessed with decorating the house and having people come over. Some of the best memories (and photographs) that I have are of Christmas time in my childhood home. I’ve been thru four Christmases without her and they’ve been ok, not the same but still cheerful in their own right. This Christmas however, was a rough one. I think the negative energy that I got from the holidays came back with me to NYC and even lingered into the springtime.

I found myself layering up, covering myself not just from the brutal winds of winter but also from the world in general. I was exhausted. Tired from grad school, over my job and over “being strong”. I stopped going to the gym, seamless became my best friend and books became my favorite companions. In retrospect, I haven’t been that miserable in quite some time. Thankfully, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and decided to get myself together. My job had to go,  my sissy brought me new running shoes and I carried my now softer bottom to Trader Joes and back to the gym.

I think what got me together was recognizing my vulnerability. I’m rather Type A so I quite enjoy being in control of things. Understandably there are things that you cannot change but taking the reigns and controlling what you can is vitally important.  I was reading a book where the author said, “Think back to any man who ever treated you badly and think where your self-esteem was right before you met him.” It may not seem like all that of a profound statement to you, but it kicked me into high gear REAL quick.  I’m not ever in my Black ass life trying to go down that road again.

When you’re feeling down and out, you guard is down and you are more likely than not to accept just any old foolishness in your life.  Predators (pretend friends, fuckboys and general life suckers), seek out vulnerable people. I knew this which is why I was layering, hiding and covering but my without a healthy shield of self esteem all of this layering would prove to be worthless. The first thing I had to do was get my mind right. Once your are in the proper frame of mind you can pretty much do whatever you want.  Why do I have to weigh myself everyday and beat myself up over a number? Why do I have to layer my clothing making sure I hit the two inches above the knee rule? Why do  I have to hide in my queen size bead under the covers with my Kindle and my teddy, making excuses instead of just showing up?  The world is a frightening ass place. Trust me I know this, but being cowardice is not going to change this fact.

As one of my idols says, shit happens and its ok to get down about it, we're all humans we are allowed that but you can't use that as an excuse to stay down.

"It's ALWAYS too early to give up."

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxo

“You're Fine, But You're Simple" (On Dating the Dull & Uninformed)

During this current season of The Mindy Project in the episode entitled “Sk8ter Man” Mindy begins dating a skater in an effort to prove that she’s not a judgmental person.  Now, don’t get me wrong the man is fine. Sadly he is also an utter buffoon. At one point in the episode, Mindy shrieks. “My body is attracted to you body but when you speak my brain gets angry.” I nearly died laughing. But in all seriousness it got me to thinking about how we choose relationships and companions. I thought about how draining these relationships can be if we solely base our interests off of the physical attributes of the other person. I’ve been on a few dull dates with a delicious looking gentleman who only wanted to discuss himself. He droned on and on about something that could have been explained in three minutes. My interest in the man quickly waned, and visuals of his biceps couldn’t incite me aback on a date with him. I soon began declining his invitations out.  

But what if you don’t decline? Can you be so in lust with someone’s outer appearance that you can carry on with a romantic relationship with them despite the disparities in intellectual interests and conversation?  I’m not saying that you have to discuss the merits of Fouquet and all that (quite frankly I still don’t get it), but you should be able to have stimulating conversations that range from debates on the best pizza in the city, to museum experiences, articles and so forth.

I was further reminded of this point a few weeks back. As I glanced about being nosey, I observed a couple. A woman scolded what I assume was her boyfriend from 125th street to Columbus Circle (59^th street) like he was a child. The train was extremely crowded like it always is during rush hour, and instead of holding on to a pole this man (who was well over six feet tall) thought it was appropriate to lean against this much smaller woman. Every time the train stalled he stumbled, nearly knocking her over which in turn knocked everyone else surrounding them off kilter. He whined every time she told him to hold on (he was 30 years old at least!!). I along with everyone else on the train was flabbergasted. If you’ve gotten to the point in your relationship where you have to treat your significant other like a five-year old, I think its best that you let go and find yourself an adult.

I thought about the train couple as I went thru the rest of my day.  I shuttered to think about the type of conversations that they had on a regular basis. Why was she forcing herself to deal wit this type of situation? It has to be exhausting. Not only can you not have an intellectual conversation, you also have to play someone’s parental figure. I acknowledge the fact that we are society plagued by superficial outer appearances, but at what cost? Being with someone who is fine but simple won’t do you any favors in the long run. 

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxox

Wear That Bikini Girl

Summer 2011

No body’s perfect. Despite perpetually repeating this mantra over and over again in my head, there are days when I'm really not the biggest fan of my body. I have one too many stretch marks or one too many dimples in my booty. I’ve had times when I’ve tried on everything in my closet and I’ve hated the way I’ve looked in everything I’ve owned. Luckily, those days are far and few between and it's all because of a bikini.

Prior to the summer I turned twenty-one, I hadn’t worn a bikini since I’d acquired boobs.  I hit puberty around the age of twelve. When you think about it, it’s a very cruel time, dealing with bodily changes and functions and having to attend middle school. It was certainly a rough time for me and as I developed, I was uncomfortable with my new body.  Throughout middle school and into high school I covered my thick thighs and legs with jeans; wearing skirts and shorts were a rarity for me. When I did go to the beach, I wore a tankini and a cover up. I was sure that it was only appropriate for very slim women and girls to let it all hang out in bikinis.

This all changed the summer I turned twenty-one. After showing a couple of my friends a new tankini I was hoping to purchase, they looked at me in disbelief. They were so alarmed that at twenty-one I was planning on wearing such a thing to the beach. Apparently, I had committed an egregious fashion faux pas.  I was annoyed at the time because both of my friends were a lot smaller than me, fitting into more “acceptable” (by society’s standards) body types.

A few weeks later as I meandered around H&M I stumbled upon the swimsuit section.  I considered my friends appalled reaction to my tankini, and I remembered my mother telling me than I better where whatever it is that I want while I was still young enough to do so. I purchased the bikini (size 10. I'm a solid size 8 now three years later.) and threw it in the back of my drawer when I returned home.

I pulled the bikini out for my first trip to the beach that summer. I’ll admit that I kept my shorts on at first, but I gradually got more comfortable as the summer wore on.

I really don’t enjoy when my body is ogled so it’s very rare that I wear what can be deemed as provocative clothing. However, taking off my cover up and letting my body be what it is really boosted my self-confidence.  I became more comfortable in my own skin, despite my imperfections. I began running and being more conscious about what I ate (most of the time).

Bikinis don’t allow you to hide, and surprisingly they are rather flattering.  I haven’t ventured into wearing string bikinis but I have regular bikinis as well as high waist 1950’s style bikinis, which are flattering to most body types.

When you are comfortable with your body, no matter what size or shape it is, you become more comfortable with yourself in general. Nothing is sexier than confidence.  I know it seems far-fetched but a bikini really changed how I feel about myself, I’m comfortable with my bumps and ridges and with the scar that was left behind after my failed belly piercing.  My outfits are bolder, I’m more flirty and though I may not be perfect my confidence is at an all time high.

2014, hopefully it'll soon be warm enough to be at somebody's beach or pool

So my advice to all women is, "Wear that bikini girl, because if not now, then when?"

xoxoxox Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxox

Advice From A 23- Year Old Orphan: 5 Ways To Appreciate Your Parents

"By the time my 23rd birthday rolled around, I had buried both of my parents. Growing up, I saw my parents as superheroes. They made rules for me and supported me. They showed no fear and no anxieties; they just were.

Of course, like most kids, especially during my teen years, I rebelled mostly against my mother and the tragic 10:30 pm curfew that she insisted on enforcing. I also couldn’t watch television during the school week or go to sleepovers. As a cinephile and avid reader who hates sleepovers as an adult, I’m pretty sure I turned out okay, despite how ridiculous I thought my parents’ rules were as a kid. More often than not, though, I had a fantastic relationship with my makers. Time spent with my mother included shopping trips and brunches, and with my father, Harry Potter premieres and random conversations on the couch. As I got older and began to see them more as real people, we formed a friendship of sorts, but unfortunately, there was no opportunity for the relationship to prosper because within the blink of an eye, they were gone.

As we move along into adulthood, our lives become more and more separate from our parents, and that’s how it should be. Their jobs are complete; they’ve raised us to the best of their ability and now it up to us to take the reins on our lives.

Still, I urge you not to forget them and all they’ve done for you — the sacrifices they have made, the plays, concerts and games through which they suffered. When you see them during the holidays, you’ll begin to realize that they are getting older, graying and slowing down a bit. Don’t take them for granted while they are here."

Continue Reading at EliteDaily.Com

Pretending To Be An Adult: 10 Ways To Fake It Until You Make It

"Like many of you, I enjoy my autonomy without really relishing in the true meaning of being an adult. “Adult,” what a prickly word. It’s a word riddled with responsibilities, 401(k)s and other stuff I don’t quite understand. So, instead of claiming full-on adulthood, I’ve settled into this lovely state of pretending to be an adult. I’ve outlined 10 ways to successfully fake adulthood until you actually have to claim that you are one (I’m assuming that comes around age 30)."

Read The Entire Post Here at EliteDaily.Com

xoxoxox Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxox 

Harlem: On Being Home & Belonging

 "Harlem was home; was where we belonged; where we knew and were known in return; where we felt most alive; where, if need be, somebody had to take us in. Harlem defined us, claiming our consciousness and, I suspect, our unconsciousness." ~ Ossie Davis 

The other day I got home from the gym and opened my mailbox to find my lease renewal form waiting for me.  Though my lease isn’t up until the end of June, I had expected to see the paperwork fairly early this year. (My building has recently switched owners causing quite a bit of ruckus in the process.) As I ripped open the envelope, I stilled myself in preparation for the increase in rent.  (NYC rent is NOT a game.) As I peered down at the number for my rent I blew out a breath coming to the realization that after two years in my little studio, it is no longer feasible to continue living here. (Not in this little space for that much money.) I knew then that I would be moving. Only three more months in my first real big girl dwelling, a home that I’ve called my own.

Two years ago, after finishing undergrad at NYU, I went back to my hometown for a little bit, biding my time until I could move back to NYC to begin my graduate studies at Columbia.  Even then it was Harlem over any other neighborhood that had been calling my name.

Except for the four years that I spent at NYU, I’ve always lived in neighborhoods that have been “isolated”; cut off if you will, from the rest of the city. I was raised on the South Side of Chicago, almost as east as one could get. (Damn near in the lake if you know anything about Chicago’s geography.)  99% of the people in my neighborhood and the surrounding areas were brown people. I went to an all black preschool, elementary school, and middle school. In the majority of the activities that I participated in (bougie block parties, Girl Scout sessions, forced basketball lessons) the people that I interacted with looked like me. It's difficult to understand how comforting that is until you no longer have that blanket of protection. Until you’re the only Black person in the room. ( A near constant state of being for me during the past six years.)

In high school my horizons were opened in the best way possible. I realize in retrospect how rare that type of “diversity” actually is.  I would take an express bus from 67^th Street and Jeffery until 110^th street in downtown Chicago (no stops in between) and transfer over to a train that dropped me off near my school on the near north side.  This was my comfortable cushy ass experience from birth until 18 years of age when I moved to NYC to begin my freshman year at NYU.

Thinking I was destined to live like a young chocolate Carrie Bradshaw I was in for a rude awakening. First I had to contend with being the only black girl in my year for my program and when I went to Duane Reade (Walgreens) I could find nary a hair product that I recognized to tame my kinks and curls.  My frustrations of course didn’t end there, but as I got older and I hope a bit wiser I started to find my niche and seek out my own group of friends.

But then there were those days, days that I still have every now and then when I just wander about the city, people watching and contemplating. On days like those I always seemed to drift towards Harlem. I know people feel that same way about Brooklyn and other hoods, but with Harlem the history was always so prevalent in my mind. The Garvey parades in the 1930’s, sites and locations from Malcolm X’s autobiography. The apartment parties during the Renaissance. The places and spaces where Hughes, Hurston and McKay talked, wrote, lived and experienced.  Not too far from Columbia, it was the ideal place for me to end up.

116th and Lenox, Last Sunday

Harlem is familiar; it’s always been just like home. I feel as at ease here as I felt standing on the bus stop at 69^th and Jeffery back home or when I spent summer days lounging about at 63^rd street beach listening to the men drumming as I ate jerk chicken and rice. Nowadays much of my time is spent on express trains running from 59^th Street to 125^th Street (no stops in between). As the train hurtles towards my stop, towards my home, I never feel isolated I simply feel freer.

As June 30^th quickly approaches, I have some decisions to make. I’m open to the world (or at least that’s what I keep telling myself), but the truth, is I’m not sure if Brooklyn or LA will ever measure up to the love I have for Harlem or even for my hometown. Right now all of that is up in the air.

People ask me why Harlem, why am I so attached? It’s because of my history and my people and the fact that it’s always embraced me without judgment. I’ve never felt the isolation that I felt when living in the West Village. In my fellow Harlemites I see my family and my friends.  In these past couple of years I’ve had some crazy experiences and I’ve learned a lot about myself. One thing though is for certain; Harlem has never asked me to be anybody I’m not.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxox

Why Dating is An Activity and Not A Status

A perpetual lack of communication seems to be the downfall of many relationships, and mostly it’s because we seem to be getting off on the wrong foot to begin with. There’s hooking up, then there’s dating and then there are relationships. These are not one in the same, but for whatever reason we have deluded ourselves into believing that they are. So let’s save one another some heartache and confusion and define these terms, or stages if you will.

Hooking Up

This is basically your friends- with -benefits type of situation. (Disclaimer: I’m 99% certain that this never works. Someone always catches feelings and it nearly always ends poorly).  Hooking up is all about the physical, getting a warm body for the night. This is literally all that it is an all that is should be expected to be. If you are hooking up with someone, you should expect that you are not the only one playing this position at night.  I personally wouldn’t recommend “hooking up” because there are too many diseases, too many fertile people, and quite frankly life is waaaay to short for BAD SEX.  (How many times have you actually been sexually satisfied with a random?) In case you missed the signs, “hooking up” or being in a friends-with-benefits situations means that you are SINGLE.

 

Dating

Now dating is a little different. Dating involves getting to know another person while participating in activities. I’m sorry to burst your bubble but sitting on a couch in someone’s apartment does not a date make. (You could have stayed in the comfort of your own apartment if you were going to sit up and watch Netflix.) But here is where dating gets tricky. Just because you are seeing someone and enjoying your times with him or her does not mean that you are in a relationship with that person. Relationships mean exclusivity. While dating you are free and clear to date however many people you would like. In fact, it is highly recommended.  Get out there and meet a few people. You will learn what you like and what you don’t like. In doing this you will learn what your deal breakers are in relationships and also, what qualities you most desire in a partner. Most importantly, you will learn a lot about yourself.  I’ve heard so many people distraught when thy found out the person they were dating was dating other people. … Ummm, yes they are suppose to be dating other people and quite frankly, so are you.  Assuming that you are in a relationship without any conversation or communication will simply set you up for failure.  After all when you are dating you are SINGLE.

Relationships

A Relationship comes AFTER dating, AFTER getting to know someone for a period of time.  How can you decide you want to be exclusive with someone if you don’t even know him or her? If you’ve only been dating for short period of time then you’ve probably only seen them at their best. I would suggest investing a little more time with a person before jumping into a relationship. And please remember you cannot assume you are in an exclusive relationship with someone unless you’ve had a cleat discussion about it. Once you have this discussion, you are no longer single.

I’ve written all of this in hopes that it will prevent any impending confusion or hurt feelings. If you insist on “hooking up” go in with NO EXPECTATIONS…literally NONE. You really can’t expect much from strangers. If you plan on dating, do just and be honest about it. And if you want to be in a relationship please know that you cannot conduct yourself in as if you are single.

 

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxo

How Did I Get Here? On Being Melancholy

Sometimes it feels like the world is a shiny ball of poo

I’m mostly happy I would say a good 90% of my days are filled with laughter and joy, fashionable clothing and delicious foods. And for that I am forever grateful. I’ve never been clinically depressed or had any mental or emotional illnesses. I’m thankful because I never knew how strong I could be until there was no other option.  But there are days like today when I slip into a melancholy state. Its usually abrupt, I wake up have my morning coffee, the sun is shining into my tiny apartment and all seems right in my world. Until it’s not.

I really wanted to go to an event that was happening and literally none of my friends were able to join me. Now I don’t have a problem doing things alone, in fact I’ve labeled myself an introverted extravert, but this was just not one of those events that I couldn’t attend solo.  So there isn’t much on my agenda today and normally I’m content but then my friend and I were chatting and he asked me about my happiest memory, and I thought about my childhood and my parents and the things that I once had and what I’ve since lost. Before I knew it the tears started rolling (I’m usually not a crier) and the melancholy set in.

Here’s the thing about melancholy, it will make you question all of your decisions. Yesterday I was content in my life, in my situation and even this morning I was feeling blessed and free. But suddenly just like, that I wondered am I wasting my time? Am I really living like I should be at 23? Is NYC where I’m supposed to be? Was quitting the best decision for me? Why do I feel like I haven’t experienced anything? I’ll admit that that’s partially my fault. I’m not a huge party/drinker/bar girl but I like to hope that I’m moderately sociable. I haven’t gone out much lately because quite frankly after getting in from work I would be EXHAUSTED and the weather was atrocious. However, I also won’t sit here and pretend that I haven’t turned down outings on perfectly sunny days where I felt well rested and free.

So what is it? What do I fear? What am I missing out on? Or is all of this fear simply the fear of missing out? I think part of it is. I genuinely don’t enjoy clubbing I have had a small handful of nights out at clubs that have been epic but more often then not, I’ve been groped,, spent too much money and sat on the side calculating how much longer I had to stay until I could race home to my kindle. Part of it was my self-esteem and my lack of initiative (but those are thoughts for another post).

But I think a lot of it, which I’m just now fingering out, and goes back to why I can’t sleep if my apartment is too messy is the lack of control. So much in my life has been out of control in the past few years and as I’m coming into a period of stability (please GOD let this be a period of stability), I still can’t let go of that feeling of feeling out of control. That’s what nightlife and being sociable is right? You have to break out of your comfort zone. You’re not eating dinner at your normal hour, your workout nay be thrown off or may not happened at all. That feeling of being out of control, of going with the flow has been extremely difficult for me to deal with.

So I’m sitting here, in this melancholy mood (luckily not with my face stuck in a pint of ice cream).  But I feel restless, unsettled, irritated with myself. I know I need to be better, do better about keeping up with people, saying YES to myself which means saying yes to the things I’m afraid of. So by the time you read this I’ll probably be in the “happiest place on earth” perhaps that will hopefully give me some perspective. I'm headed out to prowl. And hopefully some stuff I’ve been working on shall see the light of day shortly.

Meh…this is me in my feelings, please ignore me.

xoxoxoxo Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxoxoxo