embracing my inner white girl...

come on, you know you have her. what i like to call your inner white girl, otherwise known as becky.

she's the girl comes out when you're rocking to the kind of music you'd let no one know you liked (ie. britney spears). she's the woman who shows up first when trying to deal politely with some asshole in your office, before you get mad, pull out the real sistah in you and cuss his ass out. she's the voice you use when talking to colleagues at a conference or a mixed-crowd function. she's the girl you saw when you were growing up be the standard of beauty in this county, wishing only once you had long hair and blue eyes.

i've learned to embrace my becky at an early age, when i was about six years old. we had just moved into our new house, where the schools and the environment were supposedly better, leaving behind our all-black neighborhood. i just was excited because we finally had cable. as i took hold of our neighbors, i began to realize we were the only black family on our block. the children had names like shelly and ryan and we friendly enough. it was then that i discovered madonna, the go-gos, and twisted sister. i began watching more "white shows," as my neighborhood friends would scurry home to watch silver spoons.

and i caught hell for it. my brother would tease me to no end, taunting me for watching "them white shows." he just wanted to watch sandford and son. but that ribbing stayed with me, even after we left that neighborhood. i was still watching "white shows," like saved by the bell and the cartoon jem (that was the shit!!). but i never saw a problem with it. i didn't want to be like them. i knew i was black. i was reminded of that when certain parents didn't allow me into their homes or looked at me funny. i always knew who i was, but the becky was there, too.

it's still there now, as i'm driving and singing at the top of my lungs to kelly clarkson or the pussycat dolls or gwen stefani (pre-hollaback girl). it's there when i'm watching an episode of friends or reading cosmopolitan. it's there when i almost pulled a bitch fit three days ago about my starbucks frappucino being wrong.

and there's nothing wrong with it. i'm a still a strong black woman. and i'm not afraid to say one of my favorite movies is legally blonde. i'm just a sistah who's learned to be a chameleon. we all are. we have to be. black people (and women especially) have so many roles to play, and as paul lawrence dunbar so eloquently wrote, "we all wear the mask."

and becky is definitely one of them.

energy is neither created nor destroyed...

this week, i've been sick. instead of being in bed on valentine's day with a sexy stud, i was in bed on valentines day with a box of kleenex. i didn't have the energy to go work, or do anything other than eating soup and catching up on the talk shows i miss every day.

but in that time, i had time to think and truly feel blessed that i can say: trifling hoes are out of my life.

in the short time it takes to pick up a phone and say "happy valentine's day," the phone never rang with loving words from a certain lady who's supposedly trying to woo me: giggles, the woman that knew the rundown on everybody in our black gay community (or at least it appeared that way). something told me it wasn't going to be much of a love connection with her. and it manifested itself when homegirl told me a while back her phone was disconnected. now don't get me wrong, i'm not a materialistic person and can understand if you are a little low on money. we've all been there.

and she would call me when she got a chance, maybe using someone's cell to set up a date after work.

but the phone was off just a little too long, and when she did get it back up, she didn't call me to let me know what the new number was. no, that would be too simple or show too much care. she simply sent me an email. oh, and along with a nice little note saying, i've been thinking about you.

right...

since then there's been no communication with her. giggles hasn't called. and i haven't called. i guess because if knew if i did, her excuse would be, "i didn't know if you have somebody or not." a sorry explanation, one that really says she's more tied up than i am. as one of my confidants explained, "you don't want her. if you really wanted her, you would have called her."

true, but why should i? this week has taught me that i don't have the time and energy to waste. to give myself to something that ain't working or i don't see going anywhere just to say i have a date on saturday night, doesn't sit well with me. all that energy can be placed somewhere else.

my potential energy for love is high, and just like the theory goes, energy is neither created nor destroyed but only changes form for the right woman.

RIP Mrs. King...

stop hate.

here's a beautiful and compassionate woman who's given her who life to the struggle of equality, not just for african-americans, but for the human race, and some ignorant-ass anti-gay group want to mock her accomplishments by protesting her funeral...

Lord, can't the woman rest in peace even in the afterlife?

but where are my sistahs...

soul sistah nikki wrote a piece a little while ago about the lack of straight black brothas in blogland and the multitude of gay brothas having no problem sharing their feelings with the world. i concur with the sistah, because besides this brotha, straight black men with heart are hard to find.

but even worse for me is trying to find a sistah for sistahs who's blogging just for sistahs.

i've been searching high and low for a black lesbian blog, and even more for one that is more than just a political soundboard for all the injustices gone wrong. most of them that i do find are so militant i wouldn't touch her pussy with a ten-foot pole. trust me, i'm all for grassroots womyn, the one's who are lobbying for change in our gay and lesbian communities. but damn, girl, lighten up. give me a sistah who can be intelligent, politically correct and have a great sense of humor. i want to hear some slam poetry about how hip-hop videos are misogynistic and lack creativity, but be able to laugh with you over an old martin episode (yeah, i said martin.)

so if there are any black lesbians out there who can march for gay rights and march in line to see big momma's house 2, holla at cha girl!