just had to pass it on...

Please Don't Tell Martin
by Bitter B

Thank you Ms. Coretta for the grace, strength, and dignity that you displayed. Since your wonderful husband was assassinated by the bullets of fear and hate. You know they killed him because of their ignorance. Thank you for not allowing bitterness and anger to engulf your very existence. Now that you are reunited with Martin tell him that they are stripping our rights away, day by day, but his fight was not in vain. Tell him that although my generation glorifies drugs, debases black women in song, and calls us vulgar names - that his dream still remains. Our men no longer celebrate our natural black beauty - we have to have long weaves, small waists, and big ole booties. The videos are so degrading, they mirror soft porn. Us Blacks own television stations now, but that's all that's shown.

Tell Martin that my generation apologizes for its lack of respect for his legacy and the dormancy of our elders, we might as well call this the Civil Rights of Unmovement Era. Tell him thatalthough we as black people make more than we've ever seen, that we squander it on diamond clad teeth, 24 inch rims, and designer clothes due to our sagging self-esteem. Tell Martin that our babies are growing up without fathers, while the mothers are catching buses just like he remembers. Our children take to the streets in droves, not to march or proclaim the injustice of this nation, but to pledge their gang affiliation. I can't rhyme to this next line. On any night thugs hang out while bullets ring out - not freedom. And yes we continue to be judged by the color of our skin by America but I wonder most about the lack of the content of our character. Advise him that the grand-daughters of the Civil Rights era are making their money as strippers. The Grand-sons of the marchers are ignoring their sons and daughters and hanging and slangin' on corners. They're going to jail in mass numbers, not for protesting, marching, or defying racism, but because they commit illegal acts to gain materialism. Our children are making babies, ignoring education, committing felonious capers, I wish they'd read his Birmingham Jail Papers.

Tell Martin that those in the ghetto are not the only ones forgetting his dream. There are those who've forgotten where they came from because of a little cream. Who refuse to give back to the community, because their motto is 'More for me'. They've forgotten how to lend a helping hand, to help their fellow man - all the while thinking, 'If I can make it, they can'. Looking down without offering a leg up, getting on elevators with their noses up. Some of us are even republicans now, but that's a very exclusive black crowd. Striving to get to the top of the ladder, to make their pockets fatter - instead of doing something that truly matters. Leaving the 'hood' in droves and only moving back when Whites buy up all of the homes.

Tell Martin that we still like to dance and sing, but not Negro spirituals cuz we've got Beyonce grinding and shaking her thing. Ms. Coretta, this may hurt poor Martin the most - it just may seal the deal, we as a people don't attend church anymore. Cuz we've gotten a little education and found out that God wasn't real. For those of us who still believe, it makes us want to holla, we've got a pimp named Bishop and a Bishop named Dollar. I don't know Ms. Corretta, maybe you'd better not tell Martin that for all that he's done to make us free, equal, and just - that we still migrate to the back of the bus. I'll bet looking down - he doesn't recognize us. We've forgotten how to march, protest, and vote - but be at the club, standing in line for hours - in the freezing cold. Sporting the latest gear; stilettos, hoochie clothes, teeth that's froze, and Tims - driving cars with less tire more rim. Dying to get in so that we can 'shake it fast', drop it like it's hot' - forgetting the respect and dignity that we were taught. I neva' thought I'd think this thought, but please don't eva' give Martin your report. Ms. Coretta, maybe you should just avoid mentioning my generation all togetha'.

Bitter B
Released: January 31st, 2006

Confessions of an Independent Woman

I swear...it really isnt all its cracked up to be.

This whole, I'm a woman, independent mantra that we as black women have been indellibly marked with is really not fun sometimes. Yeah, its cool that I dont NEED a man, but I definitely can relate to some women who believe they do.

Case in point: toilets. I have had more run-ins with a plunger in the last 6 weeks than I have had in the last almost 24 years! I went from not even owning a plunger, to not knowing how to use a plunger, to using one quite frequently. Yes, there is a sense of accomplishment in being able to say "I can plunge my own toilet when the need arises," but I experience the same level (if not a higher level) of positve affect by being able to simply ask William to handle it.

Now that I mention it, I dont think that wanting a man to do things for me (we'll table the full blown discussion of chilvalry for some other time) undercuts my independence. If anything I think it makes me resouceful. Yeah...resourceful! One of the laws of Girl Scouting encourages us to "use resouces wisely" (and running the risk of sounding chauvanistic), when men are conceptualized as resources, I'm just using what I'm given wisely.

I like thinking of it that way. Glad I wrote it down :)

I can still be my fabulous self-sufficient, open to discovery, and willing to try new things and develop new skills self, AND realize that sometimes it may be more desirable (and less gross) to outsource.

#1 on that list of times: Toilets.

xoxox

When you care enough to say your very best

I love Daily Candy.com....their lexicon always helps me find the right words to say.

February 14, 2006

What in Carnation?

You two might be a long way from carving your names in the old oak tree, but there’s nothing like Valentine’s Day to remind you whom you heart (or don’t).

amoraphobia
n. an irrational fear of Valentine’s Day.

blue bawls
n. an emotional, romantic version of flirting that leaves you feeling sad and crying.

bud light
n. the blatantly cheap flower selection from a guy who needs to be dumped ASAP. (How was your V-Day? Bud light.)

carniwhore
n. a girl who puts out for carnations.

do-or-diamond
adj. as in, if I don’t see a ring today, he’s dead to me.

long-stem posers
n. people who send themselves flowers from a “secret admirer.”

lote
v. to walk the thin line between love and hate. (I lote Johnny. One day he’s a dollface; the
next he’s a total wanker.)

ménage à flaws
n. when you crash your friend’s Valentine’s Day date only to talk about all your
relationships gone wrong.

PDR
n. public display of rejection: when your valentine takes you somewhere lovely only to break your heart in front of strangers.

Valentiny Tim
n. a man whose masculinity is put in question by his overenthusiasm for V-Day. (I mean, I don’t expect him to be a Valentiny Tim, but he could at least try to hide his total amoraphobia.)

Random Question #8

Is anyone else concerned that EVERYONE goes into the fresh flowers business for Valentines Day? I'm sorry, I just dont think I want to buy my roses from Walgreens...

and if I dont get back here tomorrow...Happy Valentines Day!