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You Wanna Be White?

Hey World.  Sorry for the period where the exclamation mark usually is, but this post is kinda heavy…

…like, Gucci heavy (and that’s real heavy)…

So here’s where the story starts:

I wake up on this wonderful Wednesday morning ready to stretch my mind as well as my body and grabbed my computer straight away, ready to read my favorite online magazines for the first time this week, when instantly my cheesy grin becomes a frown.

Because there’s yet another article about white rappers who exploit black culture, and although this particular publication is geared towards black women, I already know exactly which direction the comments went in:

“Well look at Beyonce’ and Keri Hilson trying to be white!  They just get whiter and whiter everyday!”

To which I respond,
“Bish, that’s not what the article was about!  And furthermore, what exactly is ‘white’ and what is ‘black’”?

This same issue has pissed me off since I was in grade school in Charleston, SC and the kids there teased me because I didn’t talk with the customary “Charleston accent”.  “You tryin’ to be white,” they’d say.  No, my parents just aren’t from here and they don’t like the way it sounds, so they don’t let me talk like that.  My bad.

But then when the other black kids find out that you’re smart, or see you wearing your hair down and it just so happens to grow past your shoulders, or that you turn your music down when you are in neighborhoods or near the school, or that you don’t get into wearing brand name clothing, you hear the same old rhetoric:

“You wanna be white or something?”

So forgive me if it sickens me when I see grown folks doing it over a star’s chosen style of dress, or how they choose to wear their hair, or the color of said hair, or how toned they want their body to be.  Why is it that we’ll criticize a sister for doing her own thing instead of fitting in to the same old bullshit stereotypes that our parents were fighting against?  Telling someone how they should wear their hair, how they should look, how they should act, or sound, or think – I’m sorry, but I call bullshit on the whole premise of it all.  Since when is anyone on this earth so “black” or so “white” that they can tell someone else of that race exactly who they are and who they’re trying to be.

Beyonce’ and Keri’ parents (and even Be and Keri) were still called “niggers”.  They still suffered under the burden of discrimination and oppression.  They are still icons in a community that looks just like them, and best of all, they make positive music for a community traditionally lacking in that area.  So you’ll just have to forgive me if I still consider them to be black, regardless of their hair and make-up choices.

And to all those black kids out there who still switch their CDs out when they get close to their schools so that they won’t be judged, who sit in AP classes all day, and who may not have that customary accent that all those around you have: do you, and fuck your judgmental classmates.  The courage you show when you refuse to change just because someone doesn’t like who you are makes you “blacker” than anyone who would try to mold you into some stereotypical “black person”.

Finally, to all those who assume that hair, skin, nails, and accent (among other superficial things) are what determine a person’s race: that’s just a stereotype, the box that those who don’t understand you need you to fit into so that they can feel better about your existence.  Don’t just light-heartedly hop into that box!  Be you instead, or else you risk being the “white person” in reality.

 

Peace, Love, and Race (an oxymoron, I know),

SuperCoils

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Hey guys!!!  I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long, but a sistah had to pursue some life goals, such as…

BECOMING A PRETTY POODLE!!!!

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For those who do not understand this reference, let me make it plain: I am now a member of Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, Iiiiiiiinncorporated, founded November 12th, 1922 on the campus of Butler University in Indianapolis, Indiana by seven young educators.  Butler University (who will most definitely murder UConn), is a predominately white campus, making Sigma Gamma Rho the only sorority of the Divine Nine (also known as the National Pan-Hellenic Council) to not be founded at a historically black college or university (HBCU).  My organization strives to improve the community through educating youth, the source of our future. 

Yup yup… neophyte showcase pictures will be up soon…

Teaser: we all had unintentional af-RHOs!!!

Peace, Love, and Ee-yips!

SuperCoils

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A New Year

New yearNew Year’s, in my family, is all about a second chance.  We wash all of our clothes, do our hair, and clean our home in preparation for a new year void of all of yester-year’s grime, all the while cooking collard greens to symbolize the dollars we hope to make, and black-eyed-peas to symbolize the pennies.  We refuse to wash clothes on New Year’s day lest we wash someone from our family in the next year, and always try to come up with the best resolution.

But most of all, we count our blessings and are thankful for surviving the past year intact.

This year, I have quite a bit to be thankful for, and quite a bit to accomplish in the next year.

new yearsThis year was all about ups and downs.  I saw the end of a poisonous 20-month relation-shit (yes, that’s exactly what it was), and the simultaneous beginning of my first attempt in years to truly learn about myself.  I felt free, and behaved a little too freely (i.e. dating the ex’s besties), but I figured out what kind of person I want to be, and started working towards being that.  I slightly improved my GPA (which I will not disclose), learned a LOT about how to “play the game”, found someone that I think may be right for me, and Big Chopped!  Most of all, I found the side of me that knows that I don’t owe anyone anything except to be myself.

For this next year, I hope to:

  • Be able to run 2 miles in 17 minutes FLAT by April 1st, 2011 (for ROTC)
  • Learn to swim well by April 1st, 2011 (so that I can go to LDAC)
  • Smile more
  • Wear twists more often (so I don’t have to deal with my hair as much)
  • Master the art of flat twisting in straight lines and cornrowing
  • Only buy products that I absolutely need, and start nailing down my holy grails and regimen
  • Bring my GPA up even more
  • End the year with at least $500 dollars in savings
  • Make it to October 1st, 2011 celibate (which is proving to be more and more difficult every day)

Peace, Love, and New Years Resolutions!

SuperCoils

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Hey World!  It’s me again!

… and I have a boyfriend…

Over these past few months, I’ve learned a lot about myself and what I need in a man in order for a relationship to stand a snowball’s chance in Hell of surviving between the two of us, and D_G seems to have all of those qualities… and actually asked me to be his girlfriend.

There was no awkward silence one day when he just took it upon himself to introduce me to someone as his girlfriend…

There was no phase in which we were both confused about the boundaries of our relationship…

There was no 9-month wait in which I was constantly looking for signs of how he felt about me because he wouldn’t say the word (sorry… having flashbacks)…

He just fuggin’ said it… with HIS CHEST!

Some of you may be a little confused right now, so to catch you up on the allusion, here’s a clip:

Now for the set-up: We’re at his place on a Thursday night, chillin’, sippin’ ever so slightly on Wal-Mart champagne (don’t judge our small-time romantic evening in… we’re college students, alright!) and eating some sort of chicken and noodles with sauce dish that he cooked (he can cook!).  The roads are frozen (when I say frozen, I don’t mean small patches uh-uh no suh… these roads were ice cold, like a national APhiA convention.  Burr) and all of his friends were over there, stuck.  I love it when his friends are there!  They may be the nicest people in the entire world.

Anywho, we’re chillin’, playing DJ Rap Star on whatever video game console they have in his apartment when all of a sudden, his friend, whom I shall refer to as JamRoQ (because he’s a Jamaican Que, which is just so funny to me)grabs a black magic marker, pulls him into the bathroom, and shuts the door.

Ummm… kkkkk?

So I’m looking around the room for an explanation and everyone is avoiding my gaze… so of course my mind goes straight to the worst things imaginable:

  1. They’re doing something mildly freaky and very unholy in that bathroom, and I don’t think I’m into that.
  2. Lord PLEASE don’t let me have touched that magic marker without gloves on!
  3. Another one bites the dust.

Le sigh.

I went into the room and sat down in front of the computer, trying to see if the ice had melted off of the roadways yet so I could go home.  I was so engrossed in weather.com that I didn’t even hear the bathroom door open… until D_G crept up behind me and said “Turn around”.

Oh. My. God.

I slowly turned around to find a cheesin’ D_G standing behind me with no shirt  on… with something written across his chest.  It read:

WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?

… with a box around the right nipple indicating to grab that one for “no” and one around the left indicating “yes”.

Guess which one I grabbed Smile

Peace, Love, and Romantic Kevin Hart Allusions!

SuperCoils

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Hey World!  It’s me again!

I don’t know if any of you guys saw, but I finally decided to talk to the Distinguished_Gentleman about my celibacy.

Yup.  You heard right.

Why, you ask?  Because I found (with the help of my awesome readers and commenters) that I needed to tell him before things got serious and any sexual tension cropped up between us.  That way, he wouldn’t be expecting anything that I couldn’t (or rather, wouldn’t) deliver.

So the next time I saw him, I sat him down and told him I wanted to talk.

and I just blurted out, “How do you feel about not having sex until, say, October 1st, 2011?”

Of course, he was on the floor laughing.  No bueno.  I was serious and he was on the floor about to pee himself, laughing!  WTF?

“Babe, why such a specific date?  If you don’t want to have sex for a while, cool, but it sounds like you’ve got this all figured out in your head using some sort of formula or something.  I mean, I know you go to that nerd school and all, but damn.”

I gotta admit, I could kind of see how just bustin’ out a specific date on him could be considered… slightly funny.  But this negroid was still on the floor, and he hadn’t stopped laughing yet.  Matter of fact, there were tears in his eyes.

I feel like… it just wasn’t that funny.

I guess he saw the look on my face because he straightened up and asked me seriously for my reasoning behind the date.

And I told him everything.

I told him about my past and how I felt like I needed to give myself time to heal and discover more about myself without having sex in the picture as a means of doping myself up, so to speak.

Because we all know sex (well, good sex) is something like a drug.  That’s why you can’t just go around doing it in public.  That ish is a controlled substance. 

Better cuff yo’ dealer, quick!

Anyhow, after he heard all of the sordid details about my past, he gave me a hug (how cheesy… but still oh-so-sweet) and told me that if I wanted to wait, he’d try to tough it out with me.

“I can’t make any promises that I won’t want it at times, because 10 months is a long time, but I support your decision and I won’t cheat on you, so I guess we are in this together.”

I gotta say, I’m pretty glad that we are in this together.

Peace, Love, and Acceptance,

SuperCoils

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So today is day 46 of my 365 days of celibacy…

and I am utterly astounded that I made it this far.

Why, you ask?  Well…

First of all: I’m a very sexual creature, and, to be honest, I don’t really masturbate for fear of my roommate and her boyfriend (my brother) hearing it and jonesing me about it for… I dunno… THE REST OF MY NATURAL LIFE.

Second of all: I’ve almost completely lost my sex drive.  Yeah, it’s easier, but at the same time… I’m only twenty and I really don’t want to have sex with anyone!  I’m supposed to be young, dumb, and full of cum…

Now I’m just young and dumb 😦

Last but not least is the third reason I’m shocked at the way things are going:

I met someone.

No, scratch that… I spent time with someone that I met long ago and sparked a new flame.  Aww yeah.

So here’s the story:

As a cadet in Army ROTC you tend to meet a lot of cool dudes with nice bodies, but they’re all immediately put into the “just friends” or “running buddy” category because… well… the cadet Corps has enough issues without the added burden of cadets screwing other cadets.

Yeah, I said it.

But last year, one young man in particular (who was a year older than me) caught my eye.  He wasn’t magically delicious, like a box of Lucky Charms, or even super strong, like the Hulk…

He was just this average Joe-Schmoe black guy that I actually felt comfortable talking to about stuff, seemed really nice, and that I actually looked forward to seeing on field training exercises and at PT tests, when we’d catch up on each other but somehow never exchange numbers… but was getting kicked out of the program for (duh duh duhhh) legal reasons.

I mean, what can I say?  Shawty want a thug… with nipple rings (Oh hell yes, I digs that REAL hard.  *drools unapologetically*)

Fast forward to last week and I’m casually clicking the “Send Friend Request” button on facebook to add my cocoa-chocolate-Adonis-fantasy-lover as a friend on facebook.  I mean, I hadn’t seen him in FOREVER and we were cool… and he was no longer a cadet, so he could be my friend now… right?

RIGHT?

The next day I just happened to be perusing the F-eth B-eth in my leisure time when a message from him popped up asking how I was.  After some witty banter back and forth via the infamous social-networking site, we decided to exchange numbers.  After all, a college student may not have clean underwear or decent food to eat, oh, but we will for sure be killing the unlimited text game.  #StraightMurkin in ‘dis…

AAANNNYYYWWWHHHOOO… we got to textin’ late LaTe LATE into the night about everything platonic and mildly flirtatious.  Ladies and gentlemen, I must admit: when I felt the vibe, I pulled out all of the game that I’d had on reserve for moments such as this for years… which of course ended in us setting up a time to chill together and bake some cupcakes at his dorm, which is about 20 miles away.

But the thing is, he didn’t get off until 11PM that night, and I am not a good driver when I’m well rested, let alone sleepy.

Somehow, Saturday night found me flying up I-75 North with “Lisa Marie” blasting in my ears and the freshest skinny jeans in the ATL hugging each and every one of my curves.  When I say I was ready for war, y’all… my jeans were Flocka, front yard, broad day, with the SK.  I mean, BA-BA-BA-BA-BOW!

So I finally arrived at my destination and went inside to find a WHOLE BUNCH of people in his apartment drinking and playing Def Jam RockStar.

Sad face.  I thought it was gonna be just the two of us.

But, as college often goes, people come and people leave, and soon everyone was gone but his roomies, their female companions, and him and I in the kitchen, arguing over some Red Velvet cake batter and whether or not I should take a shot of Tequila (which I was strongly against… for a few minutes).  Then we were icing the cupcakes and he was holding me and telling his roommates not to tell me that I was cool or else I’d get a big head.  The shot of tequila left me very sober but afraid to drive and, at 3 AM, I was too sleepy anyhow, so I politely asked to crash.

I felt very bad about this.  I hate crashing and I hate being incapacitated in front of people whose respect I desire.

So we went to his room and he politely offered me half of his bed to sleep on, which I gladly took.  His school furnished their students with full-sized beds and I was all too used to sleeping on an XL twin 3 feet in the air, so I knew I’d have no problem staying on my side.  He gave me his word that he wouldn’t try anything that night, citing the umpteen-million rape cases pending in America that involved the victim drinking beforehand.

OK. Cool.

The next morning I wake up to flashbacks of my time with ArtKid because wouldn’t you know it, this kid is playing in my hair, saying “It’s so fluffy I wanna ddddiiiiieeeee!”

*dead*

And we sat up at 9 AM and talked our way all the way into the afternoon non-stop, not even leaving the confines of his room for food.  I had to admit it to myself: the boy had me.  He focused solely on me, and even kissed me as we were talking.

Several times.

Ahh… let me be honest… we made out ferociously like two teenagers for a good thirty to forty-five minutes… and it was FUGGING AMAAAAAAZING.  He’s probably the best kisser I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing.

And he didn’t try to go any further than that, which made me want to kiss him even more.

AND (are you guys listening)… he claimed me.  I mean to say, he looked me square in the eyes and said, “I want all this to be mine,” and was gesturing to me.

Part of me wanted to just lay down and write his name on my shoulder inside a ribbon on a heart with a black crayola marker, like in elementary school.  Ugh!  Where have you been all my… college career?!

It’s been more than 24 hours since I got back to my school and I can’t stop thinking about the kisses, the arms wrapped around me in his kitchen, the cupcakes, and him standing at the curb watching me drive away.

I really really really hope this one works out in my favor, and that he’s not the kind of guy who will trip about my celibacy… because I’m still in this 🙂

So, world, herein (hopefully) lies the beginning of a very beautiful thing: the saga of the Distinguished_Gentleman, or D_G for short.  Yes, the underscore is mandatory.

Peace, Love, and 319 Days to Go!

SuperCoils

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39 Days and Counting…

Ahhh, hello world.  It’s been a while.

I just got out of the field (field training with Army ROTC) and I realized that I’ve been celibate for 39 days.

Thirty. Nine.

And I’ve honestly stopped craving sex at this point.

I think with all of the drama between me, ArtKid, and Coach (more on that extremely complicated, messy argument later), I’ve become a bit repulsed with the idea of having sex with some dude who, more than likely, is only pursuing me for sex.

I mean, I’m jussayin’… yuck.  Don’t people masturbate anymore?

But these 39 days have given me a new perspective on my failed relationship with Mr. Image, and what I really want in a man.

Mr. Image was the first man I had a serious relationship with since I’ve been in college, and it lasted for the better part of two years… but it was never truly working.  I say this because, no matter what, he always assumed I was going to be mad at him for doing certain things, like hanging out with his female friends or going out to the club… silly little things… so he’d always lie to me.

… Fun Fact #1: Most women absolutely hate liars

And when something was really important to me, chances are it was of negligible importance to him, such as my all out war with running in an attempt to qualify for participation in Army ROTC (despite what people may tell you in an attempt to motivate you, some people just AREN’T meant to run).  Tell me why my boyfriend, a high school and college track star, never once ran with me, even though I asked him to.

… Fun Fact #2: Everyone likes to be cared for.

Those two huge problems caused a host of even smaller ones, including trust issues… and I think we all know that no relationship can ever survive trust issues (I didn’t even need a fun fact for that one).

Ironically enough, for a while after we broke up, I really wanted that back.  I thought I may actually love this dude.

Lately though, I realized I was just comfortable with what I had… and I really don’t want to talk to him anymore.  I’m finally over being treated any kind of way for the sake of a relationship, and I honestly don’t want to be in a relationship for a long time.  I like it that, without committing, I can have all of the dates, lots of the companionship, and twice as much fun as I did while I was in a relationship.

Fun Fact #3: Being single is actually not a bad thing!

I just feel as if a relationship is too much work for me right now, and I’m not into trying to make something work.  I really don’t even know anyone who would be worth it right about now… except this one grad student who speaks French, actually possesses manners (OMFG and a whole bunch of other acronyms), and has a smile fit for prime-time TV (yum).

Anywho… all this in 39 days!  Whoa.  I think I may actually call myself enlightened!

I just hope the next 326 days give me the same amount of clarity.

Peace, Love, and Celibacy,

SuperCoils

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