Where My Tuition Payments Went

ME: someone is trying to get me to watch "Fargo" on TV.

K: Isn't that about wolves? And the wilderness?

ME: No... there's a movie called Fargo with Steve Buscemi but it's not about wolves.

K: Yes! That book, it's a classic, about wolves!

ME (thinking really hard): You mean Call of the Wild?

K: YES! Is it written by someone named Fargo?

ME (googles): NO. It's by Jack London.

K: There's something with an "F" about wolves and the wilderness...

ME: You mean White Fang?

K: Possibly.

ME: How is that anywhere close to "Fargo"?

K: There's a book about wolves! I'm going to find it!

Lord Jesus, help this child of mine. Freshman year has clearly stolen her brain.

*smooches...realizing my kids are me all over again*
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can you think of anything scarier??

Obviously We Don't Matter

I'm writing this with fresh tears in my eyes for a black boy who was denied justice. Even if someone goes vigilante on George Zimmerman, it's not justice, because what I want is for THE LAW to recognize what Zimmerman did was wrong. I want THE LAW to affirm what's in my heart. And you can be mad at everyone for saying Zimmerman should have gotten off but please realize, THE LAW was on his side, and that's where our rage should be focused. We have to change THE LAW that allowed this to happen in the supposed land of the free.

I'm also writing this with a searing hatred in my heart that I'm working to quell. I can't explain it exactly, but it's like feeling an anxious indigestion in your lungs. Almost hard to breathe because of all the rage. I have this nervous energy that wants me to do bad things. I have a brand new headache that won't go away. I have a brand new Voice informing me that me and my babies and my family and my people aren't worth shit. We aren't worth tears or fairness or sympathy or even the benefit of the doubt. I can collect all the degrees I want and send my babies to all the best schools and bust my ass to make my own way in this world and never, ever have a scuffle with the law and still, I'm nothing. I don't even matter.

That's what this trial made me feel like: I don't matter. And that's bullshit, because I follow all of your motherfucking rules, AMERICA! I have a social security number; I pay taxes; I immunized my kids; I send them to school and keep them off the streets; I pay my own rent and utilities; I keep a job "on the books" and still, I don't matter. Well FUCK YOU, then. AMERICA.

And while we're on the subject, I need to address something real quick. All my white homies, pay attention and pass it on to the people you love.

When I'm visiting with either Cathi or Celia, dear, dear friends from college (more like family!!!!) who happen to be white and who live in areas where black folks are an anomaly, despite the fact that I know these women are my friends and love me and much as I love them, it doesn't diminish my hyper-awareness of, most times, being the only person of color in the room. It's something instinctual, like checking to see where all the exits are when you enter a room or making sure you're not alone with some dude on a subway car during that long ass ride from 59th Street to 125th Street on the A-Train. Just another safety precaution. I also listen intently for anything remotely racist said around me when I'm in said scenarios. Again, I can't turn it off, it just is.

This has always been my life. This is how I've learned to co-exist in a world that would rather I just go away and stop pestering it with desires of fairness and justice and liberty to pursue my happiness. I had to learn to adjust ME so as not to upset "the white folks" and I'm not kidding; this is how I grew up. "Don't be loud; don't make a scene; obey the cops" and so on, because I am the wrong shade of human to be afforded the luxury of being loud, causing a scene or disobeying the cops. It's exhausting to know I don't matter!

I'm not looking for pity or special treatment here, just understanding. We are systematically oppressed every day of our lives, on a small scale AND on a large scale. Everyday and all the time. This is why shit like this Zimmerman verdict has me flipping out and yelling RACISM. Because it is.

AND ANOTHER THING (to add to this unorganized rant). Just because you are the only white person in your group, neighborhood, city, state, dorm or WHATEVER, doesn't make you a minority in the same respect that non-whites are considered minorities, OK? The system is still on your side. You're not being ignored by your elected representatives (any more than usual). The cops aren't going to target or profile you. You can buy a house anywhere you want and no one will question WHY you got into a good school or got a great promotion.

So no, JAMES MCLELLAN, being the only white person in your county is not the same thing as being non-white in America. Shut the fuck up and enjoy your white privilege, idiot!

*no smooches today; I'm mourning my basic human right to exist in peace*
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how was your weekend?

She Gon' Learn Today!

An email I sent to N's principal, vice principal and the parent coordinator of N's middle school, along with the text of the email I sent N's science teacher. Both speak for themselves. Names were removed because I felt like it.
--------------------------

Hello,

Below is the text of an email I sent to Ms. _______, N's science teacher, this morning, regarding an incident that occurred in the science classroom yesterday. I rarely try to interfere with another teacher's classroom tactics and discipline methods unless I see that it's not constructive. This is one of those instances and I wanted to bring it to your attention.

Thank you,
Raquel Penzo
--------------------------

Ms. ________

I hope this note finds you well.

N spoke with me about what happened yesterday in your class, and I found it very upsetting. While I understand that she was disruptive in your class, and she's been told to apologize for that, you handled it poorly first by shaming her instead of disciplining her, and then by speaking to her in a dismissive and rather catty manner.

Making N sit apart from the class and not allowing her to take notes because she tried to be funny in class seems excessive and unnecessary. All you manage to do with punishments of that nature is shame a child. This is NOT what I send N to school for. But I would have overlooked it had you not then gone a step further and made a snippy comment about being surprised that N didn't raise her hand when you asked that class who'd still take up smoking even after seeing the side effects. What was the purpose of this, besides hurting N's feelings and making her cry?

What you didn't realize with your carelessness, and what I can only assume was a desire to get one more dig in to the student who disrupted your class, is that N's paternal grandmother, whom she was very close to, died last spring from cancer that was caused in part by smoking. She was very upset about what happened in your class when she came home.

I expect that you'll make this right with N today and apologize for being mean. There's no need for that. I've been an educator and have had to run a classroom full of students with learning and attention challenges, and I know that getting them focused takes hard work. But it never calls for shaming.

Please feel free to contact me to discuss this further if you'd like.

Regards,
Raquel Penzo

*smooches...telling bitches off in the King's English*
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she's lucky I didn't just roll up on her and act a fool; my momma raised me better than that.

"A Real Person, A Lot Like You"

A few weeks ago, one of my biological father's sons sent me a private message on The Facebook essentially cursing me out for 1- being mean to his dad, 2- not allowing his dad to be a grandfather to my daughters and 3- not being a good sister. It was very jarring to read his drunken rant first thing in the morning, especially because, besides the validity of his accusation that I was not being a good sister, he was directing his anger at me without knowing the real story.

I mean, hell, even I don't know the real story- that's something that Mami and my biological father will probably take with them to their graves. All I know is what I experienced growing up: Knowing who my father was, attending his family's events, but having him pretty much disregard my existence (unless he had an audience in which case he's try to act like the doting, misunderstood dad done wrong. BOOOOO, negro, BOOOOO!). That was my reality. I'm not remembering it wrong and it's not, as my brother said, something I was told. That was real.

But the point of THIS post (because I don't want to get bogged down in the details of our exchange; he wrote me a private message so I'll not put all of our dirty laundry out there) is that his note, which I read early in the morning, set the tone for the rest of my day and week. Plain and simple, it hurt my feelings; I even cried a little bit. Not because he and I have this loving relationship or anything-I barely know the kid-but because this scathing note attacked me, my character and confirmed the someone out there didn't like me. ME! It was a slap in the face to the person I try to be every day.

And although he swiftly apologized for coming at me all wrong, the bad feelings had already taken root, all because he took to his phone or computer and decided that telling me how much he hates me would fill some void in his life. Which brings me to this:



I witnessed a pretty nasty exchange on The Facebook yesterday among some Penzo cousins, and although I initially gobbled up the drama unfolding before me, I was saddened at the underlying hurt that was hidden in the mean and nasty words being hurled electronically.

We really have to watch what we write, whether it be to strangers or family. This machine we're depending on for communication is not a buffer for meanness, it's an accelerant.

The next time you get infused with a dose of keyboard courage, please, stop and think: what is this going to do to the LIVING, BREATHING, FLESH-AND-BONE PERSON on the receiving end. I'll be sure to do the same.

*smooches...refusing to fall prey to Big Brother and his ilk*
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the Rise of the Machines has already started...don't let it get you!

I'm Strong When I Have To Be. We All Are.

The only good thing about staying up too late trying not to give in to a nasty bout of night-eating, is that once in a while you'll catch some good updates on The Twitter. There's something about the end of the day that makes us have these A-HA! moments, and for all the foolishness that happens online, sometimes twitter can provide some good food for thought, like the one listed below.

Because Shanelle's tweets were posted after 1AM, I don't know if many people were up to read them, so I'm posting them here (read from the bottom up; I'm too lazy to cut and paste everything in order for you!):

Everyone has had something to overcome in their lives; something that's made them put on their grown folk's drawz and put in work. To point a finger at someone who is taking care of their business, blaming them for others' insecurity, that's just counterproductive to the struggle. We're single because we're too strong and appear to not need a man? GET ALL THE WAY OUT OF HERE WITH THAT BULLSHIT. So if I were on public assistance, sitting at home desperately putting up sexy bathroom pics of me on Twitter and Facebook for attention, I'd be married by now? Honestly, I don't want a man who is attracted to that kind of woman, because clearly he's looking to take advantage of her somehow and possibly harm her and her children.

Yes, I pay all the bills at home, take care of my kids, have a good job, create great things as a side gig, am highly educated, opinionated and judgmental. My ideal guy will be all of that and then some, and appreciate those attributes in me. If that's not your scene, please, feel free to move the fuck on. You're blocking out the sun with all your hate.

*smooches...tired of ppl telling me why I'm single*
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the fact is, I'm single because I CHOOSE TO BE. deal with THAT!

How The Kardashians Pissed Off This Dominican

"Keeping Up with the Kardashians" is my trash TV guilty pleasure. There, I've said it. I relish in all their crappy, fake problems and eat it up like an endless batch of delicious Buffalo wings. I also indulged in the spin-offs and specials; basically, whatever they televise I WILL WATCH. Don't judge me.

The latest episode, however, had me questioning whether or not I can continue to support their shenanigans. Why? Because they kept botching up the name and "image" of my beloved motherland!

FIRST OF ALL the entire clan kept referring to DR as The Dominican. *side eye* Last I checked, we were still a republic and it was reflected in our country's name.

SECONDLY, during scene changes, etc, they kept playing mariachi music and talking about going to snack on some chips and guacamole. *double side-eye* Listen here, non-Latinos, because I'm about to explain something to you once and for all:

DOMINICANS ARE NOT MEXICANS. MEXICANS ARE NOT PUERTO RICANS. PUERTO RICANS ARE NOT VENEZUELAN. VENEZUELANS ARE NOT PANAMANIANS. And so on and so forth. Yes, we all speak Spanish but each country is different, has different roots, a different history and even a different way of bastardizing the Spanish language. You can't just lump us together all the time and expect that shit to go over well, RYAN SEACREST (yes, I blame him. We all know he's the puppetmaster behind this bullshit).

Now, I'm gonna watch the rest of the season ONLY BECAUSE Khloe and Lamar cancelled their show and I'm obsessed with them and I hope to see glimpse of them in future episodes. Still, the Kardashians are officially on Jaded Alert!

*smooches...tired of TVs racial agenda*
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that's right, I SAID IT! TV has a racial agenda and I won't stand for it anymore...right after this season of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians"...

A Mother Is Not A Father And A Father Is Not A Mother

Father's Day is coming up and unfortunately that means that all over Black Twitter and Black Facebook, some single mothers will be on some ol' "It's my day, too, because I'm his mother and his father!"

Ma'am. Sit allllll the way down.

Unless you are able to produce and contribute sperm cells in the life-creating process, you are NOT a father, regardless of what your household duties are. Hard as you may work, all you are is a single mother who doesn't have a male role model/father figure in your child's life. This is not to discredit all you do for your child; this is to smack some reality up in you.

You cannot be a father. There are things that only a man can teach his children. Please just accept that and move on with your life. No need to sully the day for real dads with your bitter feelings toward your baby daddy. There are quite a few men who take their job as dad very seriously and your encroachment of their day is rude and annoying.

And fellas, please note that this same sentiment applies to you. Regardless of how useless or ratchet or just plumb not there your baby momma is, you are NOT a mother and will never be. Again, there are some things that only a mother can teach her children and you don't have it.

Men and women are DIFFERENT. We just are. And each of us brings something unique to the parenting table. Enjoy your role and work it to the max and your child will have a fighting chance in life.

Besides, as The F$%k-It List so eloquently put it:

"How about: this is a made up holiday and maybe the focus should be put on parents that do what they need to the other 364 days a year."

Amen, sister. A-MEN!

*smooches...knocking multiple chips off of multiple shoulders*
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I'm sure my opinion won't be popular but whatever. deal with it.

Some Of My Issue With Cabbies: An Overdue Jaded Rant

Let me let you in on a little secret about me: I have a severe dislike of mediocrity and ineptitude. People who do things half-assed or sloppily or lazily turn me into the Incredible Hulk, smashing shit left and right. Since moving back to Brooklyn in 2006, more often than not, I've experienced many a HULK SMASH moment with this City's cab drivers.

I guess what upsets me the most is this- if I'm about to spend all this extra money for a taxi, I need my experience to be worry-free. If the train acts up well, guess what? You get what you pay for ($2.25). That's to be expected; the NYC MTA is janky and we all know this. But if I'm shelling out well over the cost of a MetroCard swipe for door-to-door service, at the very least I need my driver to know how to get to my destination. BECAUSE THAT'S HIS GODDAMN JOB.

I become so annoyed when I give an address (with cross streets, borough and neighborhood for accuracy) and the driver says "How do I get there?" Sir, are you for real? If I tell you I need to get to East 41st Street and forget to mention it's in East Flatbush and you take me to Manhattan, that's my bad. NYC is a big place and many street names are repeated throughout. But if I gave you the general area then it's not unreasonable for me to expect you to know how to get there.

Here's how it usually goes down when I get into a cab:

ME: Hi, I'm going to [insert random address here]

CABBIE: (repeats address back to me and stares off into space) Ummm, where is that?

ME: [insert borough or neighborhood plus a landmark just in case]

CABBIE: (repeats what I just said and starts to drive off slowly) Ummm...so which way should I go?

ME: Listen, if you don't know how to get there just let me out and I'll find someone who does!

I am not your map or your GPS. Your freakin' job is driving people to destinations around the City so please, for the love of my blood pressure, KNOW HOW TO GET AROUND!

Then, of course, we have the issue of cost. Yellow cabs aren't a problem in that regard because there is a meter and whatever the meter says is bible law. But these damn Gypsy cabs and their arbitrary pricing...I haggle and argue all the time because give me a freakin break! Brooklynites, help me out here: it should not cost $20 to go from Atlantic Center to my neighborhood (Greenwood/Kensington) if it costs LESS THAN THAT to go from my house to Bed-Stuy or Williamsburg! (For you non-Brooklyn folks, Bed-Stuy and Williamsburg are a lot further out than Atlantic Center. Wayyyy further, in fact.

Here's how that exchange goes:

ME: How much?

CABBIE: [insert insane price that I refuse to pay here]

ME: [insert Jaded stank face] I don't think so; get your dispatcher on the line and let me talk to him...

I won't even bother to single out any ethnicity in this diatribe because I think you all consider me racist enough, but just know the depending on what shade of brown I see behind the wheel, I already know some level of bullshit is about to go down and I'll have to come out my face at least twice.

All this drama just to get somewhere on time... It's enough to make a girl buy another bike!

*smooches...thinking this might be what pushes me to drive*
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the issues we suffered with cab drivers this weekend were just too much. TOO MUCH!

Jaded Photographs: May 2012 Edition

"YUP!"

*smooches...barefoot and happy*
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I can't believe I wasted most of my life cramming my poor feet into those torture devices.

This Is Your Artery On Fries

A few years ago, Cathi and I went to the Bodies exhibit at the seaport to get a real good look at what our innards look like. It was fascinating! Mostly, it made me think about the impurities I allowed to enter my body and how the amount of body fat I allowed to linger on me would affect my health. I dare say the exhibit contributed to Cathi giving up cigarettes for good. It was an eye-opener and I recommend everyone see this exhibit if it's in your town.

I remembered this trip to the museum when I recently read an article where famous southern foodie, Paula Dean, was quoted as saying "I didn't choose diabetes..." after admitting to having the disease for a couple of years, even as she promoted severely unhealthy recipes on her cooking show (I was shown a link for her Deep Fried Butter recipe and I almost threw up).

www.eatingrules.com

Oh, Paula. You may not have chosen diabetes, but you certainly invited it into your temple every time you ate the crap you were eating and opted for a night on the couch instead of in the gym. Listen, I read the Science Times. I watched my grandmother suffer the effects of and finally succumb to diabetes. You can't tell me that in Paula Dean's case, diabetes was just lurking about waiting to pick on an innocent bystander and afflict them.

A Jaded original drawing/re-enactment; may not be accurate.

That's not how it works. She facilitated it; regardless if she wanted the disease or not, she did nothing to prevent it. People who develop all types of maladies born of their own actions, in my opinion, need to stop acting like this was something awful that happened to them out of the blue. I do wish Ms. Dean well, but I found her statement to be irresponsible. We're in an age where people want to blame the alignment of the planets n shit for their problems and it needs to stop. Obesity, poor health, lack of proper physical fitness is a huge problem in this country, and Ms. Dean's passing-of-the-buck just won't cut it.

You did choose diabetes, Paula. One piece of deep-fried-butter at a time.

*smooches...sick and tired of excuses*
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sometimes I just want to SHAKE people...

Non-negotiables: Men Wearing Fur

I don't care if it is Kanye West or some pimp from East New York, a fur coat looks stupid on a man. There. I said it.

I deserve the best and in my opinion, the best doesn't need to hide behind the extravagant flash of a fur coat. I refuse to be associated with such idiocy!

*smooches...being choosy because I can*
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I'm too cute to settle. y'all know this!

Wherein I Realize White America Still Thinks Of Us As Dumb Ni**ers

This post used to be a rant about an article I read online where a middle-aged, middle-class, privileged white man gave his opinion of what poor, black kids need to do to succeed in life. And it used to be filled with F-bombs and threats and posturing because his asinine solutions included the use of technology (which many poor families don't have access to) and public libraries (that are suffering budget cuts left and right) and Cliff's Notes. I kid you not. I was angry that he had the audacity to think that poor black kids could have been saved this whole time if they just went to the library and learned some programming software. That's all they need to get out of the ghetto, according to this "journalist".

So this post used to be my knee-jerk and infuriated reaction to his ignorance to the real plight of poor kids everywhere- not just black kids but especially black kids.

Sir, have you ever lived in the ghetto? Where fathers are scarce but drug dealers are plentiful and take their place? Where mom's have to borrow from Peter to pay Paul, and still it's not enough so she has to work long hours for low pay? Where bologna sandwiches or cans of no frills "pork food" are dinner? Where the parents are sometimes less educated than the kids? Where kids are unattended after school and often have the responsibilities at home that should be carried out by an adult? Where resources don't seem to reach?

The reality is no amount of computer classes can overcome hunger or fatigue or depression or a low self-esteem. When everything around you is bleak and dream-crushing all you can think about is getting out by any means necessary. Sometimes that means illegal activities. A lucky few may find a mentor at school. Others may chance it and persevere despite their environment. But sir, have you ever known that kind of desperation? That feeling that you had to get out or you'd die? Have you ever had that fight or flight instinct kick in on your way to buy milk at the bodega around the corner?

Sir, you don't know the ghetto. You don't know the plight of the poor, be they black, white, Latino, Asian or whatever. You don't know how they eat, breathe and dream their surroundings, and how that affects everything they do. Cliff's Notes won't change the fact that some poor kid in the ghetto didn't get enough sleep because there was a shoot-out on his block, or that he didn't get any breakfast at home because there simply wasn't any food to make. And sir, chances are, if some of the neighborhood kids saw him reading Cliff's Notes, they'd probably steal his book bag and toss it somewhere. Just for kicks.

This is the ghetto. This is why a lot of kids don't make it out and succeed. I'm not making excuses, sir, I'm stating the facts of the neighborhood I grew up in. I was lucky. I made it out by the skin of my nose. My mom was the rare mom that went the extra mile to get us into private schools and summer programs and kept us out off the block. But not everyone is my mom. Some mom's take up with abusive men or are hooked on that shit or just plumb don't give a rat's ass about their kids.

You can't just sit there from your ivory tower and claim to know what a poor black kid needs to succeed in life, sir, because you're not one. And you'll never know what it feels like to be born with so many strikes against you that any effort seems futile.

Don't presume to know what poor black kids needs, sir, and then proceed to write a bullshit article about it because when it comes down to it all ANY poor kid needs is for people like you and me to stop talking the talk and start walking the walk. So what's it gonna be?

*smooches...saddened by the blatant racism that sparked that article*
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I'm trying to decide if I prefer my klansmen covert or in my face...

I Refuse To Apologize!

Man oh man! The internet is at it again, starting trouble among the masses. This time via an article written by a black woman apologizing to black men for a myriad of supposed infractions, including opening up her womb to "the enemy" and allowing her degrees to make her feel superior.

First of all, I won't link it here because I'd rather not be associated with what she wrote because I, sirs & madams, am NOT SORRY.

Second of all, get all the way the fuck out of my universe with that subservient patriarchal BULL.

Because let me tell you something: I will not be sorry for my advanced degrees and subsequent feelings of superiority over someone who does not have them. I worked for that. I paid for that. Hell, I'm STILL paying for that! I put in the time, the effort, expanded my mind, immersed myself in an intellectual awakening and I'll be damned if that doesn't make me better than someone who pissed his life away doing nothing in his mom's basement.

I will not be sorry for dating outside my race (on the rare occasions that I did that) because if a guy is good looking and nice and sexy and funny and intrigues me? Well guess what? I'm going to date him.

I will not be sorry for not needing a man in my life to be successful and happy and all that. The bottom line is no woman NEEDS a man. She may want one to complement her; someone with whom to share her life and grow old, to bring forth new life, and that's cool. In fact, that's beautiful! But she certainly doesn't NEED him.

And I won't apologize if black men feel emasculated by black women because we earn more or can support ourselves or are buying our own homes or whatever. Frankly, that's a YOU problem, not a ME problem. And if you're expecting THIS Afro-Latina to jump on that "sorry" bandwagon FOR. GET. IT.

Jaded AIN'T sorry; she's awesome!

*smooches...waving my degrees in the air like I just don't care*
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it's bull like that letter that sets us all back *smh*

It's Not NYC, It's You.

When I was younger, my cousin Minnie had caught an attitude with someone who had talked smack about my mom, which I found odd because Minnie and Mami were nowhere near being BFFs. But she said to me, "It's one thing if I talk about her because she's my aunt, but I'm not going to let some outsider say shit about my family."

That's how I feel whenever I hear derogatory or inflammatory comments about New York City.

Everyone feels a certain connection with their hometown whether or not they had a good childhood. I can understand if someone grew up in Key West, for example, moving to NYC can be a shocker (winter, questionable beaches, high stress environments) and that person will start lamenting having to wear shoes instead of flip-flops all day, or our high cost of living or the fast pace of the City. I get that.

HOWEVER... There is nothing wrong with this City. New York is New York. It has always been this place that never sleeps and every other thing you've ever heard about it. Midtown traffic is always crazy. Rats ABOUND in the streets and subways. It IS a concrete jungle with less green and more gray than many have ever seen. You might get stabbed to death while jogging in the park. So don't move here and then talk shit about it because you should have known this coming in. And frankly, we're dirty, congested, stacked on top of each other, squished into meager-yet-expensive living quarters and consistently stuck in traffic because a gazillion people keep moving here!

Manhattan is but five miles long- how else did you think we were gonna fit all you out-of-towners longing to make it in the bright lights of the big city? And the outer-boroughs are quickly filling up, too. Don't suck up all of our resources and then shit on the very place that provides for you, son! That is not acceptable.

I've lived in other places that are very un-New York-ish, and I get that it's hard to live in the unfamiliar. The first time I saw the farm country backwoods of Pottersville, New Jersey, and realized I had to call that place home because of family obligations, I cried real tears every night for a week. But after that I sucked it up, made the best of it (friends with cars are AWESOME!) and plotted my eventual escape.

Realize that you made a conscious choice to set up shop in one of the greatest cities in the world. YES, THE WORLD. No one forced you to come into my backyard and mooch off all the barbecue, so I'll thank ya kindly to either love it or leave it alone. Amen & God Bless.

*smooches...giving NYC a great big booty grope*
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that means I love you!

We Were Already Civilized. Thanks.

A while ago, The F$%k-it List sent me this comment she read somewhere regarding gentrification in BedStuy:

"There is a general Brooklyn blog media/press fascination with white 'hipsters' and other perceived 'gentrifiers' versus the stable, moderate earning black people who own the majority of the residential real estate in parts of Bed Stuy and Crown Heights. The implication seems to be that these neighborhoods are finally being "civilized" by trendy, wealthier white folks. It's truly tiresome."

Look here, I hope this person was mistaken and that this isn't what people are thinking about BedStuy, but just in case, let me explain something to you.

BLACK doesn't automatically equal uncivilized. The neighborhood may have been poorer with only a handful of businesses and services here and there that only catered to inner-city tastes (take-out Chinese joints, laundromats, bodegas on EVERY corner) but it wasn't uncivilized. There was (and probably still is) a huge drug problem all up and through the 79th Precinct's jurisdiction, but it wasn't uncivilized. There were many more abandoned and overgrown lots back then, but we were NEVER uncivilized.

We had jobs. We cared for our families and knew our neighbors- even the criminals- if not by name then by face, and they'd never let bad things happen to good people. Our kids played outside (well, not me...) and decorated our windows during the holidays. We had block parties that lasted from sun-up to sun-down every summer (or so I heard...you know I wasn't allowed to go, right?) with great music and fun and food.

To say that all of that was uncivilized because there were no wealthy white folks buying up shit and opening quaint little coffee shops and Ethiopian restaurants would be to call us folks from BedStuy animals, and frankly, I pity the fool that would have the audacity to call me an animal to my face.

So to the people that think the new white residents of BedStuy make the legendary (yes, motherfucker, LEGENDARY) Brooklyn neighborhood more habitable because FINALLY THE ANIMALS ARE TAMED, let me introduce this size 10 Doc Marten to your anus.

*smooches...beaming with pride for my neighborhood*
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it was a tough place but I'd change NOTHING I experienced growing up there. BK STAND UP!!

What's Your Point Again?

By now we've all been inundated with reports about protests down on Wall Street (and apparently in other NYC locations and states), but I'm wondering how many of us even know WHY they're protesting?

Personally I have no clue why these random hippies have decided to camp out near my favorite Sephora store and Halal food carts, but rumor has it they're mad as hell and they're not going to take it anymore! They are the 99%, GODDAMMIT, and they will be heard!!! About what? Your guess is as good as mine.

I've been to their website and read what I could but still, all I've learned is that there are lots of unemployed degree-holders in these streets and that corporate America is a mean ol' poopie-faced meanie.

Whatever it is that's got these unemployed Harvard grads' panties in a bunch, it can't help that they appear to be rather disorganized. I even asked around and I got the same answer- they're not doing anything other than sitting in and occupying a public space. How are you protesting for MONTHS and don't have an actual plan of action? Didn't you go to school? ISN'T THAT WHAT YOU KEEP BITCHING ABOUT- your over-priced education that no one forced you to take out loans for and now you don't feel like paying back? Then put something on paper! What are your demands, Blake? What are you going to do if those demands aren't met, Tristan? What exactly do you want Wall Street to do to get you to shower and quit ruining the sacred WTC money machine memorial so that King Bloomberg can continue to pimp us out to tourists from Omaha, Becky?

"...they are as a whole uninformed about things. And not addressing the real issues- racism, sexism, classism- because they are too busy beating on drums." -The F#$k-it List

That's what this protest is missing- a clear plan made up of possible solutions to the real problems affecting our economy. Until there is one I doubt the Wall Street fat cats will take them seriously. You're not hitting them where it hurts, crazy hippies, so they'll continue to step over you after the market closes, down some sushi & beer on John Street, run to catch the PATH train and head home to their fancy NJ estate.

And you will continue to be the butt of every joke.

*smooches...99 percent sure you haven't occupied shit, hippies*
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call me when the protest gets real; I have a couple of vacation days I can take & a tambora I can borrow from N.

And shout out to Russell "Blood Diamond" Simmons and Kanye "Imma Let You Finish" West for standing with the hippies in solidarity. For a couple of hours before they flew off in a private jet and feasted on Taiwanese virgins. #sarcasm

¡Viva La Jaded Revolución!

Two years ago I agreed to a new contract with my boss at the PR firm which would allow me to freelance for him and his clients as opposed to being a salaried employee chained to a desk all day. At the time I was severely unhappy at this job and welcomed the opportunity to not have to deal with these people face to face anymore. YES, working from home in my pajamas for [insert hourly rate], Alex!

Immediately after I also signed on for two other paying freelance gigs and figured it was time to do the unthinkable: buy a smartphone. You all remember Phillip (may he rest in peace), yes? Yeah, he was cool, as was his replacement, Esteban, until they weren't.

So I crunched the numbers, analyzed the pros and cons and finally had to make some hard decisions to improve my bottom line. Esteban had to be laid off.

As of Monday, October 10, I will cancel my fourth phone line, shut down my Blackberry smartphone and begin to enjoy life without having the entire internet stuck at my hip 24 hours a day.



Sure I'll miss its convenience and all, but the truth is, I'm not faring too well in this era of extreme accessibility. I like being able to escape, stay under the radar, fall into the background. All of this is hard to do when the whole world has access to you and vice versa.

First of all, the freelance gigs dried up and I found myself using the phone more for fun than for work. Sudoku and Brick Breaker kept me company on long commutes. I became obsessed with checking emails every waking minute. And don't even get me started on how much stuff I missed because I was mobile tweeting or BBMing more than I was living or working!

Then my phone bills started to come in and I almost died of a heart attack. With FOUR phone lines my monthly statements were nearly $230- completely unacceptable for someone who's living paycheck-to-paycheck like me.

And finally, the damn thing proved to be pretty crappy, volatile and prone to bugs and breakage at an alarming rate. I can't even tell you how many times I've had to pull the battery out and reboot the damn phone. I mean, is it too much to ask that a machine that costs me almost $50 a month in fees WORK when I need it to WORK?

In 2006, I decided to not get a television for my new apartment. In 2011, I've decided to not have a smartphone. Some may see this as moving backwards; I see it as taking back my life. When the Robot Invasion takes place, you'll all wish you'd followed my lead...

*smooches...wondering how long before I toss out my computer*
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SIKE! as much as I hate to admit it I actually NEED a computer. BOOOOO!

Why I Won't Sleep With You

For some reason unknown to me, when I tell a guy in no uncertain terms I DO NOT WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU they hear: no, not today, but try me again in a couple of weeks.

And I suspect this is happening to women all over the world. As if men got together one day and decided that No means Maybe. Well, it doesn't. It means GETTHEFUCKOUTTAHERENOBODYWANTSTOFUCKYOURWACKASSBEGONE!!

I never know if dudes ignore my vehement NOs just to annoy me and be funny or if they really believe they have a shot, but just in case... if you find any of this applies to you by all means take it as bible law and have a smooth motherfucking seat while I break it down so that it can once and forever be broke...

Besides the fact that I've promised myself the next guy I sleep with will be my last (as in no more casual times for the kid- only a serious monogamous relationship with a ring and a promise of forever will see my panty-drawz from now on):

>>I don't enjoy the physical act of sex with other people, so to get me to take off my clothes you have to be an exceptional man in looks, personality AND intelligence. Not either or, you have to be ALL of these things. This isn't something I've instituted in the past- I went slumming A LOT- but it's the policy now and forever more. Take a good hard look in the mirror. Is that you? Be honest, because if I've already said NO then the answer is NO.

>>If we've had sex before and now I constantly turn you down it means YOU WERE HORRIBLE and I find you sexually unattractive and/or repulsive. Also, see reason 1. Like, the thought of your nakedness anywhere near my nakedness ever again brings the chunks of last night's dinner to my esophagus. And I can only imagine how far I had to take my imagination to get through sex with you the first time! There will NEVER be a next time. Just NO.

>>If we don't know each other in the biblical sense & I turn you down, again, you do nothing for me. Again, see reason 1. We can be buds and whatnot, but don't waste your best game on me because you're already on the Unfuckable list and that list is laminated.

(What's an Unfuckable? Gay/bisexual men, dummies, fuglies, fatties, lame-os, marrieds/cuffed-ups, dudes my friends like and/or have already fucked, homies that are like family, Caucasian men and anyone under the age of 30. Some dummies used to be able to get it because they had abs of steel but I'm 36 now; you need to be able to conjugate some verbs and name a few current government officials n shit to turn my head.)

If any of this hurt your feelings, man, listen- I know I'm not perfect. Many of the guys I find yummy would never even look my way once let alone twice. I accept that and move on. So should you. Just because I find you repulsive doesn't mean that some other female won't want to treat you to many naked delights and make you hers. Go and find THAT woman because I just ain't the one, B!

I know you men like to think you're Magellan and shit, that YOUR sweet lovin' will be THE sweet lovin' to get me sprung and declaring your prowess from the mountain tops, but I honestly don't care to find out because I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU. Let me repeat that for the cheap seats...

I. DON'T. FIND. YOU. ATTRACTIVE.

PLEASE. STOP. PROPOSITIONING. ME.

DON'T FORCE ME TO CUT ALL TIES.

There. Maybe that was finally clear enough.

*smooches...so tired of repeating myself*
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sometimes the bitch card is the only one I have left to play

New Age Bitches.

In this age of Twitter and Facebook, a new phenomenon has emerged among the penised species, which one eFriend promptly labeled "New Age Bitches."

Here's the thing: I reveal a decent portion of myself on this blog and on twitter, so I suppose those on the receiving end of my tomfoolery might get the impression that we're homies. Sir... listen here and listen good- just because we exchange some jabs or harmless flirty comments here or there does not mean A) you will ever see me naked or B) you can talk to me any old way. Shit like that will get you eStabbed in these eStreets.

And frankly, unless we've met in person or someone I know can vouch for your character, you're no friend of mine and therefore not to be trusted. Point. Blank. Period. (c) Tamar Braxton

Where the BITCH part comes in is the behavior exhibited by these "men" when they are called on their BS. Straight up tantrums & pouty-like nonesense that I barely even tolerate from my 11-year-old daughter. SIR... please go THATAWAY ------> with all that, because no one here at the Jaded Empire has any fucks to give.

I bring this up because recently one twitter follower "took all his toys and went home" after I called him out for being inappropriate in my DMs (direct messages, for you Twitter virgins... it's like a private chatroom/message space). Listen, I know I'm inappropriate, too, but there are limits. There are lines that shouldn't be crossed. And in my opinion, he crossed it. Fuck his couch!

There are no regrets on my part; he's just one less fool to distract me during the day. But I write this to warn all of you about New Age Bitches. They're out there. They look & sound just like everyone else. They're funny and knowledgeable about some obscure stuff that you thought no one knew but you. You almost feel like, "Hey, if you lived here we could grab a beer and make fun of hipsters on the block."

But as soon as you lightly graze their ego their true nature rises to the surface and you realize: THAT'S WHY they're single and use social networking media...they're one of THOSE...

*smooches...hoping this isn't a pot-kettle situation*
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I don't throw eTantrums over trivial stuff- do I? at least not real ones, right? RIGHT?

That Awkward Moment...

...when you're on a date with a man to whom you've conceded to giving this whole monogamy-marriage-family a try, even though he's proven himself not really compatible with you and your life in the past, and think you look cute because you've lost 12 pounds, but he points out that you're still a fat ass cow with a looooong way to go until arriving at fit-ville... that's the moment you realize being single ain't all that bad.

So you go home, give the middle finger to washing the make-up off your face because, really- who the fuck cares at this point, right? And just plop yourself down on the couch you've been calling your bed for almost a year now (because your real bed is too big and the closeness to the couch cushions simulates not sleeping alone. True story!) and remember why it was you gave him his walking papers in the first place.

Exes are exes for a reason, y'all. I get that now. I didn't want to believe it before but yeah, I finally understand it. Because you ain't fitna have me wearing EYE MAKEUP and uncomfortable mother-fucking shoes AND insist I put a comb through my 'fro just to call me fat.

Negro, BYE!

*smooches...still mad I rushed home just to be insulted*
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I was having a good ol' time stuffing my FAT face with fried chicken and baked beans out on Long Island and had to end it early to make this date happen...ol' rude ass motherfucker...