Love

In the name of love - I tell you this. Even though it might seem to be awful hard to not have SOMEONE on V-Day...it's alot harder to be abused by the someone you DO have. It's alot harder to deal with the after-effects of rape. It's alot harder to free yourself from violence in a world where "She deserved it" still spills out of people's mouths after they hear about a punch or a rape.

There is a non-profit organization called V-Day whose mission goal is to stop violence against girls and women across the globe.
Through V-Day campaigns, local volunteers and college students produce annual benefit performances of "The Vagina Monologues" to raise awareness and funds for anti-violence groups within their own communities. V-Day itself stages large-scale benefits and promotes innovative gatherings and programs (The Afghan Women's Summit, The Stop Rape Contest, Indian Country Project, and more) to change social attitudes towards violence against women. In 2002, more than 800 V-Day benefit events were presented by local volunteer activists around the world, educating millions of people about the reality of violence against women and girls.
This year's public service campaign consists of women (and men) from many walks of life talking about what they will do once violence against girls and women has ended - rape, battery, incest, female genital mutilation (FGM), and sexual slavery.

For all the women you have ever loved - and for all the women who have never been loved - Please do something! Give some time, go see the Vagina Monolouges (they are GREAT!!!), buy some cute V-day jewelry, join the email list, give some money.

Everyone deserves a life free of fear.

What will you do when women across the world don't have to walk in fear anymore?

A weighty matter

Dear Miss Manners,
I have been married to the girl next door for 22 years and when we married we were both in very good shape. We have three wonderful children and a marriage that lacks for romance.

I have maintained my size and shape after all these years because of my workout habits. My wife, even after the three births, was able to maintain a very sexy figure for years because of her workout habits.

Over the last six years, she has lost most of the joy and a majority of her discipline to work out and has gained weight. She went from a slim 120 pounds to 145 pounds and grew from a size small (6) to a large (10). Over the last year I have mentioned her weight many times. Too many times, to the point that I have hurt her feelings with several of these comments.

This is my question. How can I tell her the truth of how I feel toward her without hurting her? I still love her and would never divorce her but I have lived for the last six years with a women that I did not marry and would not have dated 22 years ago at her current size. She is only 40 years old!


Gentle Reader,
Honesty in marriage is vastly over-rated, Miss Manners has always thought. She can hardly think of a worse topic to be truthful about to your wife than that you feel aggrieved that her looks have changed after 22 years, and now consider her someone you would not date, let alone marry.

Even if you succeeded in upsetting her to the point where she wasted away -- although you would be taking the risk of driving her in the other direction, toward the refrigerator -- what good would it do you? She would only feel aggrieved that she married someone whose feelings had shrunken so unattractively.

The only acceptable way to go about encouraging her to lose weight is with flattery, not criticism. Tell her you are worried about her health because you love her so dearly. Tell her that the greatest present she could give you would be to let you see her once again in her wedding dress. Tell her that you hope she still finds you attractive. Just don¹t tell her that your having maintained your weight makes you entitled to a more attractive wife than you consider her to be.



Ya know - this is the kind of attitude that sends women into anoreixa. FOUR sizes over 22 YEARS and THREE children??? FOUR sizes. And he wouldn't have dated her at a 10? Oh god lord man! Did her marry her for her waistline or for love and compassion and trust and all that other good stuff?

Worried about her health!? *sighs* Since when does a size TEN put in the the 'unhelathily fat' stage? Even if she WAS say - 4'9....145 isn't super fat. Gee Whiz.

And the wife would be wrong if she complained that he couldn't get it up like the 18 y/o she married did.

Ugh.

jasmyn

What Next (part 2

Okay... a few note replies

1) Thanks for the updates about what the Immaculate Conception truly is, but in Gibbon's Rise and Fall, the point was that Mary had NOTHING to do with the idea of conceiving Christ except as a incubator. She had no choice in the matter... you see? Once she was filled with the Divine Sperm (and she was told… not given the option) all that mattered was that she carry the child to term.

*smiles* Now I am going to have to go home and re-read the book. Anyone who might be interested in a rather fascinating exploration of gender roles and far far far far right conspiracies might want to pick this book up and read it. Sheri Tepper has some fascinating...thoughts on gender.

2) I know the fact about pills not allowing you to ovulate (mainly because they fool your body into thinking you are pregnant anyhow). I was just making the point of how ‘some people’ come up with the craziest things.

*sighs*

Relating to another Entry:
I'm trying to decide if I should be thrilled that enough random people are reading me that I got half assedly sniped, or if I should be pissed that I got half assedly sniped.

Stay Jazzed.

Ways of the World

The first time I read this, I wasn't sure whether it was funny or sad. Funny...to see the guy get his comeuppance...or sad for the simple fact that I can SEE something like this happening. Read...discuss amongst yourselves....

When a car skidded on wet pavement and struck a telephone pole, several bystanders ran over to help the driver. A woman was the first to reach the victim, but a man rushed in and pushed her aside. "Step aside, lady," he barked. "I've taken a course in first-aid!"

The woman watched for a few minutes, then tapped him on the shoulder. "Pardon me," she said. "But when you get to the part about calling a doctor, I'm right here."


Stay Jazzed.

Ways of the World

The first time I read this, I wasn't sure whether it was funny or sad. Funny...to see the guy get his comeuppance...or sad for the simple fact that I can SEE something like this happening. Read...discuss amongst yourselves....

When a car skidded on wet pavement and struck a telephone pole, several bystanders ran over to help the driver. A woman was the first to reach the victim, but a man rushed in and pushed her aside. "Step aside, lady," he barked. "I've taken a course in first-aid!"

The woman watched for a few minutes, then tapped him on the shoulder. "Pardon me," she said. "But when you get to the part about calling a doctor, I'm right here."


Stay Jazzed.

La La LaLa LA LAAA....LA LA la la laaaaa

I’m joining the Camera Club at work. I figure that way I can have some outside support and guidance for my photography. I have this lovely tripod that Chef gave me that I have yet to use…and I feel a need to.. *shrugs* expand I guess. I have been reading about people catching sudden episodes of wanderlust lately.. and I can feel the start of that infection in me. I wanna get out… go.. just wander about with no real goal in mind but to SEE what’s around me. Something tells me that once I get my car, I will be doing a lot of that. Just wandering…hopping in my car after work, opening the sunroof and rolling down the windows and just going. Driving around the city…maybe going to the ‘country’ and gazing at the stars… just being GONE And as spring is coming up, that is just adding to the urge. Saturday… it was perfect. Wonderfully warm, a little breezy and smelling like all kinds of fresh growing things. I’m eager to start putting together my garden. *sighs* I don’t know how I am going to actually get the stuff to my house… but ahhh… I’ll figure something out.
: ) My mommy likes my furniture. I love the magic of email. *sighs* I’m not sure how long I should let the furniture people go before I call them up about when I will get my stuff delivered. The TV repair man came by Saturday too… fixed the TV and then about ½ hour later, the damn thing broke again. So…. This Saturday they are bringing me a new one. *grins* Yayyyyy!! I think I am actually gonna get away with this. Not that I am really getting AWAY with anything per-se. *sly grin* Just getting a bit of a discount. Kinda like paying invoice instead of MSRP for a car. *LOL* Oh man…. My mom is starting to date (finally…after *thinks* over 10 years of no smurfing…. DAMN!!!) and it’s interesting as she is trying to date the Muslim way, which is damn near a contradiction in terms…but I’m glad she is doing it cuz she deserves to be happy. Well… the first guy was an almost total loss. *grins* Exceedingly anal he was…a bit too much of a number cruncher.. he had crunched a lot of the small joys out of his life. A Baby Scrooge is what he was. She just had me on the phone nearly dying of laughter… *shakes head* no WAY they would have worked out. I wonder if I should tell her about the magic of meeting people online (as she is playing and getting comfy with her new computer) or if I should just wait and see if she finds that for herself. : ) Can I say again that I LOVE my mommy?
I’m distinctly not going to talk about my health. *shrugs* I’m healthier than a lot of people are…and that’s all I have to say about that.
*grins* And I smurfed. : ) *groans* Man it is AMAZING what two weeks of no smurfing will do to you after a long period of time when smurfing was had on a regular. *sighs* Yes yes…it was two days short of the deadline but I figured HEY! Will two days realllllly make THAT much of a difference? Nah… I didn’t think so either. And besides…. He is SUCH a hunka hunka muffin.
Hmmm.. what else is going on that is full of joy for me? Oh yeah… I LOVE my hair. It’s interesting right now.. kinda fuzzy and mildly unruly… but it behaves itself enough so that I don’t feel odd or unprofessional coming to work. And it’s growing like mad…and it’s so so so soft…*sighs* so wonderful. *shivers* ahhhhh…..smurfing.
*grins* I’m such a feminist. *LOL* and it’s no fun with Chef because he firmly tries to avoid getting into any conversation/debate with me about feminism…mainly cuz he knows it will be a losing battle, and secondly because he KNOWS it will be a losing battle. We had a mini debate/conversation about double standards that are embedded in most people. : ) Mainly because of a comment he made about someone being a slut in a porno. Now, while the fact may be true that she WAS… I just wanted to point out the fact that the assumption was that SHE was a slut… wile the guy who was fucking her was not. *raised eyebrow* Takes two to tango… always. Speaking of which… we watched some that was ever so much better than the other stuff. Either the ladies were really enjoying themselves or they were simply excellent actors. *shakes head* umph. The sex industry… it’s so fascinating to me.. but… *thinks* shadowy at the same time. I know that it has levels to it… from the totally seamy to the totally elegant…but it seems like seaminess always wins out. Urgh.

Stay Jazzed.

A Fairy Tale for the Assertive Woman of the 90's

Borrowed from Cultured Pearl
Once upon a time, in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat, contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle. The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said, "Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and setup housekeeping in yon castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so." That night, as the princess dined sumptously on a repast of lightly sauteed frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled to herself and thought, "I don't fucking think so."

She's DEAD

Hmm...as I was rooting through my mailbox... I found this...

On August 26, 1995, at 11:55 p.m., while struggling with the reality of being a human instead of a myth, the strong black woman passed away, without the slightest bit of hoopla.
Medical sources say that she died of natural causes, but those who knew & used her know she died from: being silent when she should have been screaming, milling when she should have been raging, being sick & not wanting anyone to know because her pain might inconvenience them, and an overdose of other people clinging on to her when she didn't even have energy for herself.

She died from loving men who didn't love themselves and could only offer her a crippled reflection.
She died from raising children alone and not doing a complete job.
She died from the lies her grandmother told her mother & her mother told her about life, men & racism.
She died from being sexually abused as a child and having to take that truth everywhere she went every day of her life, exchanging the humiliation for guilt & back again.
She died from being battered by someone who claimed to love her & she allowed the battering to go on to show she luvvvvvvvvv'd him too.
She died from asphyxiation, coughing up blood from secrets she kept trying to burn away instead of allowing herself the kind of nervous break-down she was entitled to, but only white girls could afford.
She died from being responsible, because she was the last rung on the ladder & there was no one under her she could dump on.

The strong black woman is dead.

She died from the multiple births of children she never really wanted but was forced to have by the strangling morality of those around her.
She died from being a mother at 15 & a grandmother at 30 and an ancestor at 45.
She died from being dragged down and sat upon by unevolved women posing as sisters.
She died from pretending the life she was living was a Kodak moment instead of a 20th century, post-slavery nightmare.
She died from tolerating Mr. Pitiful, just to have a man around the house. She died from lack of orgasms because she never learned what made her body happy & no one took the time to teach her and sometimes, when she found arms that were tender, she died because they belonged to the same gender.
She died from sacrificing herself for everybody & everything when what she really wanted to do was be a singer, a dancer, or some magnificent other.
She died from lies of omission because she didn't want to bring the black man down.
She died from race memories of being snatched & snatched & raped & snatched & sold & snatched & bred & snatched & whipped & snatched &worked to death.
She died from tributes from her counterparts who should have been matching her efforts instead of showering her with dead words & empty songs.
She died from myths that would not allow her to show weakness without being chastised by the lazy and hazy.
She died from hiding her real feelings until they became monstrously hard & bitter enough to invade her womb & breasts like angry tumors.
She died from always lifting something from heavy boxes to refrigerators.

The strong black woman is dead.

She died from the punishments received from being honest about life, racism & men.
She died from being called a bitch for being verbal, a dyke for being assertive & a whore for picking her own lovers.
She died from never being enough of what men wanted, or being too much for the men she wanted.
She died from being too black & died again for not being black enuff.
She died from castration every time somebody thought of her as only a woman, or treated her like less than a man.
She died from being misinformed about her mind, her body & the extent of her royal capabilities.
She died from knees pressed too close together because respect was never part of the foreplay that was being shoved at her.
She died from loneliness in birthing rooms & aloneness in abortion centers.
She died of shock in courtrooms where she sat, alone, watching her children being legally lynched.
She died in bathrooms with her veins busting open with self-hatred & neglect.
She died in her mind, fighting life, racism, & men, while her body was carted away & stashed in a human warehouse for the spiritually mutilated.

And sometimes when she refused to die, when she just refused to give in she was killed by the lethal images of blonde hair, blue eyes & flat butts, rejected to death by the O.J.'s, the Quincy's, & the Poitier's.
Sometimes, she was stomped to death by racism & sexism, executed by hi-tech ignorance while she carried the family in her belly, the community on her head, & the race on her back.

The strong silent, shit- talking black woman is dead.

Or is she still alive and kicking?

I know I am still here.

The OTHER facts of Life (for us)

Excerpts from The Other Facts of Life : from Mad at Miles: A BlackWoman’s Guide to Truth by Pearl Clege
These are the other facts of life. The ones your mother probably didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to scare you. What she didn’t realize that being scared isn’t the worse thing that could happen. Being unprepared is much worse

Violence
In America, they admit that five women a day are killed by their husbands, boyfriends, ex-husbands, ex-boyfriends, or lovers.
In America, the main reason women are hospitalized is because they have been beaten and tortured by men.
In America, thousands a women a day are raped and/or tortured and abused by men in as many ways as you can think of, and probably a whole lot more you haven’t thought of, and don’t want to, including beating, shooting, scalding, stabbing, shaking, and starving.
All men are capable of abusing women, no matter what they tell you or what they call it, so don’t kid yourself about this one or that one being different. It takes years of work & trust to eliminate the probability of violence in relationships between men & women. Don’t think you can rush the process because you wish you could.

Rape
Review the facts at the start of the section on violence. Let yourself think about them and feel what they really mean to each of us. Keep them in mind while you read about rape.
Rape is a crime of woman-hating and violence. It is NOT a crime of passion or a sex crime.
The victim of rape is never, never, never, never responsible, no matter what she was wearing, where she was walking, what she was doing or who she went out with, had a drink with, married, kissed, flirted with or lied to. Bad judgment and carelessness are not punishable by rape.
NO rape is ever justified and no rapist ever has an acceptable reason or excuse. Ever.

Sex
Take complete responsibility for birth control. Of course, in the best of all worlds, men would share equal responsibility for birth control. but realistically speaking, they won’t take it as seriously as we do. They can’t get pregnant.
Take complete responsibility for safe sex. Protect yourself against AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases by always carrying and using your own condoms.
Don’t fake pleasure, excitement, or orgasms. There is no excuse for it, no end to it, and no way to justify it. Whenever you find yourself considering ‘faking it’, ask yourself why & who benefits from such bullshit?

I got Flowers Today.....

I got flowers today. It wasn't my birthday or any other special day. We had our first argument last night, And he said a lot of cruel things that really hurt me. I know he is sorry and didn't mean the things he said. Because he sent me flowers today.
I got flowers today. It wasn't our anniversary or any other special day. Last night, he threw me into a wall and started to choke me. It seemed like a nightmare. I couldn't believe it was real. I woke up this morning sore and bruised all over. I know he must be sorry. Because he sent me flowers today.
I got flowers today, and it wasn't Mother's Day or any other special day. Last night, he beat me up again. And it was much worse than all the other times. If I leave him, what will I do? How will I take care of my kids? What about money? I'm afraid of him and scared to leave. But I know he must be sorry. Because he sent me flowers today.
I got flowers today. Today was a very special day. It was the day of my funeral. Last night, he finally killed me. He beat me to death. If only I had gathered enough courage and strength to leave him, I would not have gotten flowers...today.

STOP DOMESTIC VIOLENCE TODAY!!! DO NOT TOLERATE IT!!!!!

I got this in an email a few weeks ago…and I just read it, got thoroughly upset, and left it there, because I didn’t really know what to do with it. I’m still not sure what to do with it…because it touches something in me. It’s odd, because while I have never been subjected to physical/sexual (why are the two separate? isn’t sexual abuse the most abusing of all physical abuses??) abuse, I know entirely too many people who have been, whether in a relationship, or a marriage, or whatEVER and it scares me. It scares me because no one, male or female is safe from it. It scares me because as a woman, I have a 75% chance of being exposed to abuse on my body at some point in my life. And there is nothing that I can do to protect myself from it. I make every effort to ‘keep safe’, and no matter who ‘he’ is, I try to be sure that I am alone with no man who I don’t trust with my life. And trust me…most of those men are gay. But waayy back in the back of my head, I know that I am never safe… and I know that love can turn in to pain and even death. And I know that people may ignore my pain, and that even I may ignore my pain. And I know that every time I walk down the street… I take a chance. And that knowledge sits in the back of most women’s minds…no matter how many self-defense classes they have taken…or how fast the can run… or how unattractive they may feel themselves to be. We are hostage in our own bodies…on the constant alert & guard against violence.
I wonder if men fell the same way, and I can’t imagine that they do. I am not saying that I feel weak, or that I feel like prey, I am saying that I have the awareness that someone else may look at me and see me as weak, or as prey, or as a victim, and that I may have to fight for my life & my soul… and that I only rarely can I be totally safe. And I know that the only thing that may save me…beyond me being able to save myself… is for others to see what is going on, and assist me. So I’m doing this with it….scattering it out you the people in the Open Diary (many many many more people than I will ever have email addresses for) and with it, a plea.

If you see someone being hurt, whether it be a child, or an adult, or if you SUSPECT that you are seeing the side effects of someone being hurt…talk to that person…ask them if there is anything that you can do…anything that they need. And if you even consider yourself the least bit of a friend to that person… KEEP asking them until either you are CERTAIN that nothing is wrong, or until they turn to you or someone else for help. I am asking this for YOUR daughters & sister & brothers & cousins & sons & mothers & fathers & aunts & friends & loved ones. I am asking you this for every ONE who has ever had someone lay hands on them in anger or rage…I am asking this for ANYONE who has ever been harmed by someone they loved. I am asking that you do this for yourself…because the life you save my be your own.

Stay Jazzed…

Inner Quandries & Issues

It is odd to have to try, as a black female, to NOT be bigoted/racist. I have had a different life/childhood and so that has led me to have slightly more of an open mind than most people, but I still find my self on occasion falling into those traps that our culture seem to leave…big gaping holes that simply INVITE you to make a fool of yourself and insult half the folx around you. In addition, considering that I have also had to train myself out of the habit of speaking before I completely THINK about what I am going to say… well I have had some occasions when the floor opening me up & swallowing me whole would have been Nirvana.

Today, as I was taking a final, I realized that I consciously have to not make assumptions about the sex or age of people or examples. I KNOW that in our culture he/him is considered an appropriate word for generalities of any gender, but how can I consider myself a feminist and use them so casually? I have caught myself making comments about ‘natural hair’ to a black friend of mine whose hair grows out of her head straighter than anything Crème of Nature could imagine, and wondered where that subtle racism/colorism crept into my thought processes? I catch myself saying Jesus, or Merciful Mother of God, and even though I am nothing even resembling Christian/catholic or any other the other major religions, they pop out as if I was a rosary carrying nun…and I can’t figure out why & how.

I cannot solely blame it on growing up in culture where such things are the norm. While that does ( obviously) have a major impact on how people think and how they view the world, shouldn’t my conscious understanding that some ways of viewing the world are just WRONG override that? I have never fallen into the ‘bone thin is in’ ideal, or the ‘light & bright is right’ ideal that tends to haunt African Americans, or even the good hair fallacy (which I grew up hearing about ALLLL the time). So how in the WORLD did the sexism creep up on me? It is rather scary that something that I make a conscious effort in my day to day life & actions to reduce… still creep out of me in such subtle ways.

Maybe I am stressing over it too much…maybe it is just one of those side effects of living in America and being bombarded with constant images of what is right & what ain’t. It makes me wonder what ELSE that I would prefer not to be a part of me is tucked away inside of me as a side effect of living here, in the land of the brave & the free.

Okay.. a TOTALLY random and side note…why is my body acting crazier NOW than it was while I was pregnant? I told my mom that if I didn’t KNOW I was pregnant I would never have had any clue…and now that I am not pregnant anymore…I get nauseated in the morning…I get bloated…my breasts are tender… I mean REALLY!

I finally finished one final. Only one mind you, but thank god (see..there it is again….I would say thank the goddesses but.. I am not in touch like that to be comfy saying it…it seems rather like sacrilege), it is the one for the class I have been stressing about. I think I did pretty good, but I am hoping that he will have mercy on me. *sighs* I mean he is LEAVING anyway…speaking of which… (another random note) the Comp Sci department at my school only has 5 teachers, one of whom is the department head & doesn’t teach much, and another who is a newbie ( this is his first year here). Yet…at the Senior Farewell (which had us in TEARS) the other three teachers announced that they were LEAVING. To say we were in shock is putting it mildly… oddly enough we (the seniors) feel betrayed, even tho we would be leaving them. It’s an odd reaction on our part, and the poor juniors are devastated. So, I’m hoping that since NONE of them will be here next year, they would not be cruel enough to force ME to be here next year. But then again, they might just say.. hey.. I’m gonna give her the grade she got *shudders* That might get ugly. All I want is a C. *grins* Like Shasta said… C stands for CASHMONEY!!! Well, that ain’t EXACTLY what she said, but you get the general idea.

Okay… my head is going ballistic and I am starting to hear things, so I think I will go to bed now.

Stay Jazzed.

Oh where..oh where... has my soulmate gone???

I am quite quite disappointed. I brought this book called "Stolen Women, Reclaiming our Sexuality, Taking back our Lives" that dealt with the issues that many AfricanAmerican women have with their sexuality because of our heritage of slavery. I expected a scholarly book, that looked into the minds and heart of the various women who had been interviewed for the book and who showed various sexual behavior (whether healthy or unhealthy) and related it all back to slavery. What I got instead was a plea to ‘others’ that little black girls aren’t all ho’s and the ones who are, are usually that way because of some previous sexual experience (abuse/rape). Ugh. Disappointed wasn’t even the word for it. After a point all I was doing was skimming through the book, trying to find some part that wasn’t mealy mouthed about the issue of sex & sexuality. I have to applaud her on how she dealt with lesbian woman (or at least the beginnings of it) but my main problem was that the book was mainly directed at how we can prevent our daughters from growing up with twisted sexual views of themselves. She however, said very very very little about what women who have grown up with these twisted sexual images of themselves and of others can DO about them now. And I guess that is more of what I was looking for.... a handbook on how I can reclaim the sexual being that maybe I should have been? *sighs* I don’t know. I am just quite thoroughly upset about the misrepresentation of her book that she gave from the title. It should have been called "Stolen Women: Giving our Daughters a healthy sexual view of themselves and others" or something along those lines. *sighs* So that was a wasted book to read...at least right now.
So what’s going on that has me trying to reclaim a sexuality that may have never been lost?? I don’t know... I guess that I am really trying to look into what causes relationships of mine to crash and burn. I mean.... I know that as far as being very much so emotionally available.. I am not there. I am not the type of woman to pouuuuurrr my heart out to someone (that I am in a relationship with). Why? I don’t know.... it just to me seems to be too hard to try to explain how you feel to someone who will assume that most or at least some of what you are feeling is affected by them. I mean.. how do you nicely tell the one that you are supposed to be in love with that your problems don’t have a DAMN thing to do with them??? And still expect them to be as receptive and as listening as someone who is outside of the relationship would be? Okay.... so that would be one problem. Another thing is that I am selfish. *shrugs* I admit it. It takes alot for me to give a damn about you...and how you may be feeling.. and what you want. For me it is always Jazzy first, Jazzy last, Jazzy all between. Yet with my friends, somehow I can work it out so that they never feel left out... and I STILL do whatever the hell I want to. What else? Of yeah.... one of the reasons I grabbed the book... sex.... I *thinks* I don’t know... to me sex is ...has been.. and always will be something fun to do where you have alot of energy.. are bored.. and are around someone you are sexually attracted to. TO me..sex doesn’t have a damn thing to do with love. I have (and I am sure will continue to have) sex with folx I don’t love... wouldn’t even consider loving... but the opportunity was there.. and both parties were interested.. so we got down.... but to say that sex is a representation of love? I don’t know about all that... it seems like you are making a mountain out of a molehill. I have felt the deepest love that I will ever feel with someone who I (at this point) can’t even IMAGINE having sex with. It would be unnatural and unsuitable, yet that does not change in the least the amount of love that I hold for him. The person that I have had the MOST sex with in my life.... I avoid him like the plague now.... there is no interest (on my side), no love (on either side) and yet there is no bitterness either. And I don’t know... it makes a woman start to wonder if she is unnatural... when most of her thoughts about sex fit into what classically a ‘man’ thought about sex and not a woman. I mean yeah... me being gay might have a bit of something to do with that but still.. even most of the gay woman that I have been in close contact with have been stuck in the ‘womanly’ sex equals love kind of mindset. So what is up with me?? Do I have the distinctive luck of being that woman who never fits into the scale of what a woman is supposed to be? I don’t know...because at the same time as I look on sex in a distinctly ‘unwomanly’ way, I look upon myself as being all 100% bona -fide triple femme woman. I am the girly girl.... the girliest of girls. Even in jeans, a sweatshirt and a baseball cap there is never any doubt as to whether I am a girl or a boy.... I am a woman.... all woman. The way I walk, talk, move, switch, shift, stand, sigh and even BREATHE dammit lets you know that I am a woman.. and that everybody within thirty feet of me knows that I am a woman too... but at the same time.. I don’t THINK like a ‘woman’ does. *sighs* I don’t know.... sometimes I just accept myself as I am.... and other times (usually right after I bounce offa somebody else’s expectations of me) I just have to sit down and analyze myself... and I keep coming up with the same answer ( you would think that one day I would listen to myself...right?? ) I need my emotional/mental/psychic twin to be in a relationship with. Until I find that soulmate of mine... that half of me that was lost when the world first began.. *laughs* I will never make it through a relationship. And while when I find that person I don’t expect life to be all sweet and peachy suddenly.. (we will fight, cuss, break up and all that ) I expect that I will have no problems always being totally and fully myself.. no one else... no side issues... no softened words.. no nothing but raw and pure Jazzy. And somehow I think that if I EVER find a person who is strong enough to deal with that.. and at the sane time soft enough to be able to love & be loved... I will hold onto her/him for life.... and beyond.


Stay Jazzed.

Gender Lines

Okay... after many clicks of my random button... I have got to ask... what is up with young girls who are turning into women and these diaries? It has become somewhat of a epidemic...but at the same time when you think about it, there has always been the image of the young girl who is turning into a woman having her little book of her secret thoughts and desires and musings. And the little boys who are turning in to men are outside running and jumping and doing the little boyman things that the little girlwoman is writing about.
So soon our little girlwomen are learning to keep their mouths shut, to keep their hearts hidden, to conceal everything that really matters to them...their anguish, their pain, their joys and their laughter. So soon our little girlwomen have realized that no one else will listen to them other than themselves, and so early they are learning that they can barely trust each other. *sighs* While the little boymen are running and jumping and fighting, having learned much much earlier that little boymen do not cry, and there is never anything wrong with them, and god forbid that they have any feelings to share. Because if the little boymen don’t act like they have no hearts, and like they have no tears, and have no fears and have no worries and no loves for things other than themselves and the thing all the other good little boymen love, they are called boywomen, and cast out of the gender.
So our little girlwomen turn all of their passions inside and hide them between thin paper and locked books, and our little boymen have no passions that are not of the body and through the flesh, and we wonder why the sexes don’t get along.

It is written...on the wall.

The Rise and Fall of Humankind

Things that rub me the wrong way:

Black people who denigrate their own people, assuming that everyone who is black is inferior and can never do anything right.

Men who assume that lesbians hate men.

Women who play the helpless and dumb role in order to attract men

Any human that treats children as idiots. You were a child too once upon a time.

Men or women who brag about the number of sex partners they have had, and have no shame about enumerating their children’s various mothers & fathers.

Men (boys) who act as though the burden of procreation is not on them but on the woman.

---

Yeah, okay... I was doing a bit of ranting... but I had a long ride home last night, and I was hearing things that...I didn't need nor want to hear. I swear, sometimes I simplt get so sick & tired of HUMANS in general that I don't know what to do with myself. *sighs* I don't know...somedays it seems like intelligence is being sucked out of people at an exponential rate, and that most folx are already too damn stupid to care. *sighs* There are times when I wonder what use there is to.... to caring about others. And by that I mean the 'world' in general. Some things are so patently obvious that it seems like either there is someting seriously lacking in that person as a whole, or I am simply not comprehending where they are coming from. For my own sanity, and for the continuance of the littel bit of hope I have for the human race, I assume that I simply just DON'T get it. And then.. there are the things that people do...thinking that is it utterly cool & right & wonderful...and never seem to comprehend the utter chaos it will throw thier life into. *sighs* I don't know. I thrive on simplicity... rolling with the punches... delicately bending life to do what I want it to do... *sighs* and chaos...I just don't work well with. ah well. I am making myself tired....so...

Stay Jazzed.

Coming Out of The Box

I read an article not too long ago about how some fundamentalists types were accusing some large universities (oh how I WISH I had remembered more details) of concealing rampant lesbianism in their Women's Studies departments. They went as far to say that the school should be honest and call them Lesbian Studies so that girls would not be drawn to the department under false pretences. This has been floating in the underbelly of my mind for a while... and it wasn't until I started really READING about the history of my college (an all women's school) that the reason for its continual floating in my mind.

One) Okay... yeah... sometimes the Women's Studies Department does have slightly more gay/bi women in it than most other departments. It is a matter of going where you heart leads you. But at the same time... there are more straight folx out there than gay ones ANYWAY.... * rolls eyes * so that is kind of a moot point.

The next thing that intrigues me was something very simple.... but frightening at the same time... The fundamentalist assumed that because it was Women's Studies...most of the women interested would be gay ones. They believed somehow... that the determination of real woman hood is only in relation to manhood. And while I can in my logical mind understand that concept of polarities. (man/woman dark/bright young/old), the intuitive portion of me recoils from it. Why...are we defined in terms of what the other lacks? Why... in order for me to be considered a 'real' woman.... I must shun all of those things that have been classified as 'manly'? Why ... in order to be a real 'man' he has to shun those things that are classified as 'womanly'?? Why is there such a chasm.. a gap between what is and is not... it seems that it would make...so much.... simpler if we viewed ourselves as PEOPLE/humans foremost.. and then as man/woman next... to further separate ourselves. * sighs * Just like the black/white divide.

And I think the reason that it was floating on my mind even more is because I am SICK SICK SICK and tired of being boxed.. categorized.. and expected to make a single choice from a million and one options. *sighs * I am trying to escape out of this tiny box called black bisexual womanhood into a mental, emotional and physical state called Jazzybelle. I am TIRED of being limited in what I can do by fears of what I will be called and considered. I am TIRED of busting my hump to fit into some mold that pinches and prods and gets tighter by every day. Dammit I want to be ME so bad I can taste it in my very bones.... and yet sometimes... I wonder if one woman can ever hope to escape from centuries of societal pressure....and still be sane.


Stay Jazzed.

J said - Women

I admire women.
Women who manage to remind me of how wonderful life can be over thirty.
I admire women who wear their gray hair as a sign of diginity and growth.
I admire women who stand up to whatever bothers them, and make the personal political.
I admire women who won't take no for an answer.
I admire women who with out knowing it themselves, know what we MUST do to grow as a people.
I admire women who can write and make me cry.
I admire women who can write and make me think.
I admire women who posses themselves.
I admire women who allow themselves to be themselves.
I admire women who want to be whatever they want to be.
I admire women who become what they want to be.
I admire women who raise their daughters AND their sons.
I admire women who love unconditionally...without being fools.
I admire women who give of themselves...and expect nothing in return.
I admire women who can say NO. And mean it.
I admire my mother...my aunt...my grandmother...my great grandmother...my cousins...my sisters of the hand and the heart.


J.

Fantasies

I want to be a dancer. or a escort. In other words, a stripper or a ho. I don't know why...but I have known that those were two of my life goals (things I want to do before I die) for a while. why? I have no earthly clue... it is most likely because those women see just how much sex (or the offer of it) can consume folx, and that fascinates me. And of course the power thing. I think later in life.. if I can find the right perosn (preferably a man.. but hey! I'll take a women too) I will be a dominatrix. Something in my life has amde me desire that sense of control over others. And my constant fasciantion with sex simply makes that more of a way for mre to gain control. Besdies all that.. I can WORK a pair of 6 inch heels.

So why haven't I? I'm over weight.... not grossly.. but enough for me to feel that I wouldn't get paid much for stripping... sexing..yeah I could work that *Thank you Dr. Kegel* but that striping I couldn't.. and yet.. somehow the fact aht know at this point in my life.. I could actually DO that (no momma no school) suddenly my goal (the latest one that is) is to get in shape enought o be able to strip. This will require three (or four) main steps.
1) Lose around 64 lbs.
2) Get about five or six shades darker (tanning salons and southern sun..here I come)
3) Increase my upper and lower body strentgh
4) Learn HOW to strip...I mean I work it now.. but I wnat to be GOOD.

I have noticed that if I don't really care about what I'm doing.. I will do a utterly half assed job of it. But when I CARE about my work.. I STRIVE to be the very best. and this work.. this is something I CARE about.

Of course.. there are the moral isues... and the societal mores (widely held morals)...but somehow those I'm not worried about. I'm worried about my own safety, and being able to walk away from it when I'm done.
And of course.. the temptaion of the CASH that you can make in such occupations is overwhleming.

It's wierd. .but I don't think that I should be so calm. I mean...prostitution.. *shakes head* but I have always been good about separating sex for fun & profit from love. Maybe it's cuz the first person I ever loved (and still do) I have never had sex with.. never even kissed. *dammit all* SO i have never confused passion with love. Sometimes I wonder if it is even needed... if I don't love you BEFORE I have sex with you.. I sure ain't gonna love you just BECAUSE I have sex with you. Ah well.

And I don't consider the work degrading. I'm one of those feminists who firmly believes that a womans place is wherever she wants to be.. in the kitchen... in the boardroom...in the air.. on her back. Hey.. whatevver works for YOU.

Stay Jazzed.