Cruel Irony

Irony is standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus a half a block from your own car.

Irony is while your standing there waiting for the bus hungry because you haven't eaten all day, you are surrounded by food: Kentucky Fried Chicken, Burger King, a steakhouse, a fish house, Bajio (mexican food), and Maddox chicken. But you can't have any because all you have is your two dollars in bus fair to get you home.

My Piece of American Muscle

Take a look at the pictures of the car on the left. That's my 1981 Chevy Camaro. My first muscle car. I call her Betty. I've own her for about six years now. And she's been sitting at the shop since January 20th, 2009.

Most women don't and won't understand my attachment for this piece of machinery. Most men will understand. I've had more than one person say to me that I'm overdue for a new car or at least a newer used one. But I don't even have the money for a newer used car, so it's not really up for discussion. Yet even if I had the money for something new, big and fancy, I wouldn't give up my Betty. They just don't make cars like this anymore.

I'm not saying that's an entirely bad thing because yes Betty is a humongous gas hog. I would really like to see her be more fuel economical, environmentally friendly and I wish she were a stick instead of an automatic :( But your average new car just isn't built to last. It's all about just buy a new one. They really don't want you to buy anyway. They make more money if you lease it. And I have no intention of making a house payment on a car every month no matter what. And I'm definitely not interested in owning a Fix Or Repair Daily (Ford).

I'm having trouble just paying my rent right now. If I don't find employment soon, like two months ago, we won't even have a car to sleep in. I don't think the guys at the shop would appreciate finding me and my daughter camped out in my car out front. Besides, Betty's bucket seats don't recline.

It makes me wonder. I saw on TV the other day where our first lady spent $550 on a pair of kicks (athletic shoes). What's it like to be able to throw money away like that? $500 is my monthly rent. And rent can get much more expensive than that around here. But this was what I could afford at the time and I can't even afford this now and public housing won't accept us because my credit is bad. Isn't that what public housing is supposed to be there for? For people who are having trouble financially?

Now I'm not mad at the first lady for her good fortune. I think it's wonderful that she's got a good man and her daughters are simply adorable. I'm mad that God doesn't love us all like that. Thousands of people are loosing their jobs and their homes here in the good old USA everyday. What does that say about our country right now? This is supposed to be the land of opportunity. But so many of us are never offered a real opportunity. We're set up for failure from the start with crappy parents and grandparents. And unless you were born with some extraordinary talent, if at the bottom you were born, then at the bottom you shall stay.

It's so unfair. I didn't pick my parents. And if I did, I want a redo. I'm tired of being passed over for employment I'm more than qualified for because I don't look the part. I'm a hard worker and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. So, what's the deal? Well, I'm definitely crippled transportation wise right now. There is a bus and a train, but neither runs twenty-four hours a day and not at all on Sundays. A potential employer isn't going to hire some one who can't make it all the hours and days they need you. It just makes me want to scream. It's got me spending way too mush time looking at my gun.

So, the next time someone has money like that to throw away, they should come pay my rent, or buy a bunch of canned goods and take them to the nearest food bank. Anything but waste it on an item of clothing you're only going to wear a few times. Just do something useful and helpful with it.

Color

Color, the world would be so boring without it. Yet it makes life so difficult for some of us. Color? Simply how we perceive different light rays. White, as far as light wave lengths is concerned, is actually the presence of all light wave lengths that make different colors. Wikipedia explains it differently, but this is how I understand it. While Black is technically the absence of light or light waves that we can perceive. Black is technically a non-color.

So, how did this thing called color come to be an identifier of race? Hell, if I know. I just know it's been a pain in my red, white and black ass my whole life. What's wrong with simply being a member of the human race. Why is it when someone meets me they feel the need to categorize me according to the color of my skill? And some people find it disturbing if I don't fit into the niche that they are comfortable with.

Now as far as my skin color is concerned, I'm quite fond of it. I have a year round, head to toe tan. People buy lotions to rub on themselves to try and appear as if they have what I've got. They spend hours laying in the sun or pay to lay in a tanning booth. Or if you're on Dancing With The Stars, they spray it on you. None of that nonsense for me. God blessed me with the skin I'm in and I like it.

Problem is many other people don't like it. My maternal grandmother was quite ashamed of me and my younger brother when we were growing up. It was as if we were a stubborn stain on her favorite blouse. The funny part is my grandmother wasn't as white as she believed herself to be. Her mother was Native American, but we don't know what tribe. Her mother had been taken away and given to white people to raise and they married her off to a German man when she was twelve or thirteen. Now as far as this man was concerned, his wife's heritage was not up for discussion and he raised his children to believe they were white and to live nice white lives.

That man would of hated my mother. With her beautiful thick chestnut brown hair and her green eyes, my mother, like her mother, easily passed for white. But the last thing my mother wanted was a nice white life or a white man. She seemed to gravitate to the darkest brother she could find just to make my grandmother squirm. And despite any and all shame my grandmother had for me, she loved me. I know that with out a shadow of doubt. Not every grandma would spit on your principal out of love for you just to make her point. That poor man. I wish I could remember his name, but I have trouble remembering my own.

Try to imagine my dilemma when my own preference for men is white men. Oh, there have been some very upset parents after meeting me. I was always up front about being part Native American, because I knew that African American would cause trouble. Where I was growing up in Ohio, it was a much bigger sin to be part African American than Native American.

Except no matter where I go or what I do, I'm wrong. I cannot ever be considered white. This is a fact. And it's a fact that doesn't bother me. No spray tan for me, thank you. I already have my own.

The problem has been that I'm not black enough. I act too white. I'ld like to hear someone tell Oprah that. Now it's not my fault I never learned to be a proper black woman. I really didn't have my father or his family to show me how. I understand my blackness through the eyes of my mother's family. A family that was ashamed of me and my younger brother. As far as white people are concerned, they don't care how well educated you are or what a good person you are. You're not one of them and never will be.

When I gave birth to my daughter, a very kind white nurse was good enough to inform that even though it seems I actually have more Native American blood than anything else, if there was any amount of traceable black blood, no matter how distant, you were black. But she called herself doing me a favor by listing my daughter as Native American instead of black. As if it were going to affect how much I love my child.

So I grew up with my mother's family that was ashamed of me. I really didn't start to really get to know anyone on my father's side of my family until I was in my teens, but I was already me by then. Other black girls often wanted to beat me up because of my hair. Apparently, I was supposed to think I was better than them because I had hair. Black men are often interested in me which doesn't help me get along any better with other black women even though I rarely meet a black man I'm interested in. Then there are those nice white boys that no matter how much they love you don't have the balls to stand up against the pressures of their families. They marry nice white girls to make their moms happy and live unhappily ever after themselves.

Me? I'm still hoping to find happily ever after. And no I'm not only attracted to white men. Others may apply. I'm also attracted to Asian men and Native American men, occasional a Hispanic male. Ricky Martin watch out. I've got my eye on your bonbon. And the last thing I need right now is to learn I'm not red enough. Some life lessons we can really do without.