Tuesday, December 29, 2009

My Name is NOT Precious

Picture this: Chelsea, a dive bar, a pair of sunglasses an oversalted margarita:a Sunday afternoon! From the other end of the bar I hear a shrill something-too high pitched for a normal human, too high pitched for dog, even. I immediately whip my head over to look for my Ipod to see if I left it on, but it wasn't the sound of music I was hearing it was the sound of a sissy from the corner. I bury my head with shame feeling the effects of Free Hot Dog Night with purchase of a Long Island, when that ping hits me again. I shudder and I think, you must have never seen puberty and I mean not even waved at the bitch as she did drive by to all your friends houses. Where the hell is the bass in your voice? Through my fog I hear, "Precious, I loved you in the movie!" SILENCE. Repeat. "Precious, I loved you in the movie!" Insert wide eyes and dry mouth.
Honey, I gagged. A spit take may have occured. I may have rolled my eyes so intensly my contacts shifted, I may have become instantly sober. As if I didn't hear the insult clearly this queen continued, "Precious, you look thinner than you did in the movie?" Honey this white queen has just made me see blood! As I put my drink back in my hand, stuff my pride neatly in my change purse, I scream a stream of curse words, stuff so vile I can't even write them out. *Sidenote: a senior gay may or may not has pissed himself from laughter and another did too, but I think that's just how he gets off-either way, wierd!*

Now my momma told me a couple of very important things to remember in my life:
1) Keep yo house clean black folks talk about you!
2) Don't get fucked by a white man!
Those principles may not apply right now to this situation but I went in.
Let's just say by the time I got done with that overgrown Michelle Tanner I was banned from the bar, which is fine, they put too much salt on their margaritas anyway! In case you were wondering, my face still ain't scarred! Werk!

The point of this blog is to say: My white queens don't get too comfortable!

Just cause you got one black gay friend don't mean you can come out of your head that way. NOT all black people do runs. NOT all black people like to be called girlfriend or sister. NOT all black people snap their fingers and roll their eyes. NOT all black people are hood. NOT all black people who are overweight are named Precious.

Damn, now I need another drink, that wore me out.

Friday, December 11, 2009


Here's the thing: Bubbleguts are not fun. As a matter of fact, they are rude!

Last night I was on the town, painting it a fierce lavender when I realized I hadn't eaten all day. To conclude my night I stopped by my local chicken shack, at which point I made it my personal goal to snactch up everything greasy and fried, which I did. I may or may not have had two Jamaican beef patties and a Spicy chicken sandwhich and a Mr. Goodbar and a two or three cups of purple soda, in one sitting. Gag, it's okay....I did, afterwords of course! Well this morning when I arose to start my self imposed productive day, I felt a rumble in the tummy and let out the anger of my insides when an instant round two kicked in. Shit i thought. NO literally I thought how much shit is gonna come out of me.
I tried to use all the tricks of the trade: eat some bread, drink some seltzer, pray...nothing worked. Does a rumble in the belly mean that you can't go about your day? As a matter of fact it does not! There I sat positioned at my favorite Starbucks when pot of butt coffee started brewing. With shame and embarassment I entered the resteraunt and began to let go and let God. And now with shame in my heart and the fear of a possible toilet seat induced STD, I write this blog for you. Here is my confession....don't pig out late at night...it's never pretty in the morning!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

To be or not to be...

Somedays I don't feel like being fabulous. Somedays I feel like being utterly human. Today is a day of the latter.
Strength comes from understanding and making wise, beautiful decisions based on those understandings. My life has been a constant struggle to find strength in my utter humaness. To be fabulous and fierce is easy. People only recognize the strength of the personae that you've created. This wall, unpenetrable by typical humans, serves as a secure blanket, a Great Wall of China, a defense mechansm-sometimes glittered and bejeweled, but none the less a defense mechanism. I started building that wall as a child.
I grew up a fat kid. A poor, fat kid. A poor, bad skin, awkward looking fat kid. Comedy was my only escape. I sliced people with my words. I fought with an educated tongue. I mutalated the weak with quick wit. I protected my often exposed underbelly with sarcasm. I was safe in my tower. I was alone in my towere. Somethings never change. Here I sit in a corner of a Starbucks in the biggest city in the world alone. Conversing solely with the only other person I trust whole heartedly,my mind,alone.
I have a psychopassion for the arts, whether it be creating or performing, I can't be left without it. In that passion comes my insanity. I think sometimes a great majority of my problems comes from the fact that I am absolutely attached to my emotions, I just never share with others what I need.
I feel deeply. I cry when joy or passion or anger or fear consume me. The sadness comes when I question why I honor these emotions. When I doubt my beauty, my intelligence, my importance to others, that is when the sadness comes.
My heart chirps melodies all the time. My ears tune into harmonies. My soul vibrates in every cavity with acceptance and peace and thankfulness and humility and importance and want and hardwork, but it's SILENCED when DOUBT appears. I bang my chest and I hear babies giggle. I beat harder and me holding my nephew and niece for the first time and my heart jumpstarts. I rub my heart and my mom smiles at me and calls me her husband. I touch my belly and the legacy of my grandmothers stories stir my soul. I tug my ear and my dad sings with me. I slap my thighs and I dance with the angels who share the names of my bestfriends. I stomp my foot, open my arms, close my eyes and expose my heart and I scream Hallelujah! I dance till it hurts, I sing till I'm hoarse, I laugh till Icramp. I've not lost that which makes me beautifully human, my faults, my falters, my scars, my pain is my humanity. No longer silenced by doubt my soul rejoices,my heart smiles. I embrace my greatness for me and I celebrate the embracing and finding of your greatness. With fingers vibrating and tapping toes I end these thoughts. They are not finish, for they will continue to grow, but they have spoken to me enough for now. And for that I'm grateful. Maybe today 'm not intenesly fabulous, but I am utterly human.