I reach for my wallet. Hmm… can’t feel it. Open my handbag, rummage around. Start to panic. It was there 15 minutes ago when I entered the supermarket. Red leather wallet. I dropped my keys on top of it. Now, in front of the cashier with $47.67 of bagged groceries in my cart, my wallet is gone. Fear. Embarrassment. Confusion. Profuse sweating. “I lost my wallet,” I mumble to the cashier. I see she’s embarrassed for me. We avoid each other’s eyes. I pick up the bags one by one and place them back on the counter.
As confusion gives way, fear grows. I’ve been pickpocketed. But how? When? I didn’t feel a bump or a touch. No one distracted me. My handbag never left my shoulder. Surveillance cameras show nothing conclusive. Several times, as I meander up and down the aisles, a camera’s view of my bag is blocked by different shoppers. Anyone of them could have lifted my wallet. I’m on the verge of crying. The store manager tries to console me, “A good pickpocket now days even knows how to hide from the cameras. We just catch the amateurs.” I guess if a good pickpocket can out wit surveilance cameras, I shouldn’t feel bad, just unlucky. I was hit by a smooth operator.
“I like your hair!” Says the little white girl running up to me in Walmart. I smile. Say thank you. I slay. Even little white girls in Walmart can see that. She makes my day. I’m wearing what I euphemistically call my Sideshow Bob hair style. Orderly disorder. Does everyone in Walmart see it? Appreciate the care it takes to manage the chaos of a million disorderly kinky hairs of different lengths and textures into something wild, yet stylish?
My gaze lingers a few seconds longer that natural on the faces of Walmart patrons. Is the black grandmother of 3 little girls in greeting card aisle checking out my hair approvingly? Are the 3 little girls broadly smiling at me because they know I slay. Or is it because I’m staring at them uncomfortablely long? No matter. I rack up other approving looks. A nod from a 30 something black man. You are way too young for me baby, but I appreciate the love. “I like your hair,” says cashier as I leave. I smile. Say thank you.
So, a week later, as I painstakingly untangle my nappy head, I think of advice that a wise young woman who chided me for always wearing my hair in a ponytail gave me, it’s hard work being beautiful.
So, I’m a liberal..
First time I heard “white privilege” I thought “That’s it! That’s exactly what it is!” Now when I hear it I want to scream “Shut up! Shut up! For God’s sake please shut the fuck up!”
War on drugs, war on women, war on Christmas/Christians/religion. A metaphorical war is like an actual war you dehumanize and demonize, turning opponents into enemies. Unlike a metaphorical war, in an actual war you can end the war by killing all of your enemies to get them shut the fuck up.
Years ago a women at a conference said she hated the word empowerment. I didn’t understand why. A few years later, I knew exactly why.
Let’s not speak truth to power anymore. Let’s speak lies to power. It’s more effective.
Disruptive is what the teacher calls your kid who calls out random answers before a question is asked.
Is authentic more real than real? Because it used to be “real.” Now it’s “authentic.”
Get the fuck back inside the box and don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.
Conservatives gave us death taxes and death panels. Progressives gave us cisgender and trigger warnings. Conservatives are better with words. Liberals gave us progressives.
Progressives are ashamed to be called liberals, so fuck them and their politically correct reality-based community cisgender microaggressions. I don’t really know what any of that means.
Three major food groups are: rice, corn, and sugar. Everything else is condiment.