Disclaimer: Ratchetness is about to ensue. If you are ratchet-intolerant or have a system that is sensitive to ratchet, continue to read at your own risk.
So I started watching Love and Hip Hop NY last season at the constant prodding of my cousin.
I swear I didn’t want to like it. I didn’t want to get hooked. But I soo did (so many brain cells I will never get back, I tell you).
Anyways, when I saw the previews for L&HH Atlanta, I immediately thought “this is way past my ratchet threshold”. But of course, my cousin and her uncanny powers of persuasion (she is an attorney after all) had me watching faithfully every Monday.
Monday night was the finale (I’m NOT watching next season I SWEAR). But I did want to give my thoughts on the finale and the season itself.
I broke it down by the different story lines:
Kirk and Rasheeda – Kirk’s apology was sorry. And he only apologized once he realized how much he stood to lose monetarily. Cheaper to keep her. He knew exactly what Rasheeda meant when she said “do you” (or rather what she didn’t mean). Big ups to Rasheeda for standing her ground. I don’t believe they’re really on the outs though so they should be OK.
Stevie/Joseline/Mimi – FAST: Stevie has been actively trolling Joseline for the entire season. Whyyy did anyone think the finale was going to be any different? Joseline is an idiot for watching Mimi go through what she went through and then thinking it was going to be different for her. Mimi’s new boobs look good. Stevie J has issues and needs counseling.
Kay Michelle – Good luck with your singing career.
Ariane – Who?
Erica/Scrappy aka Darryl/Momma Dee – Momma Dee needs to get a man and stop trying to date her son. Kudos for Erica for standing her ground and kudos to Scrappy, I mean Darryl for getting clean.
Benzino – Benzino needs to find himself a neck before he starts looking for a girl.
Traci and Drew – Who?
I’m sure the reunion episode will be…interesting.
I know July is almost over but I was almost scared to write much during that retrograde period. side note: wasn’t that something waayy else though? i mean it was like everyone went nuts there for a couple of weeks.
Anyway, back to The Star.
Boy was this card a sight for sore eyes!
The Star, a symbol of hope, let’s you know that all will be well and that you are on the right path. That balance will be restored and that you will find rest. It’s not a particularly active card. I tend to think of it much like an oasis in the desert. When you see it, you feel relief. you know that your journey, though perilous at times, hasn’t killed you. Not yet. You know that, at least, for a little while, you have a respite. You feel blessed. You feel like everything’s gonna be alright.
And that’s been July for me in a nutshell. The one major stressor that I had, let’s call it a professional adversary, was suddenly removed from my life. Just like that. I feel calm. I feel balanced. Like feels kind of effortless right now.
Definitely gonna focus on enjoying it for these next ten or so days.
You do the same.
Picture it. Brooklyn, New York circa 1995.
It was a crisp fall day. I was a fifteenish, a freshman in high school. No major worries. No idea how cruel life can be.
For me all was right with the world.
Though I wasn’t really a sports fan, I, like the overwhelming majority of my peers, found myself interested in the OJ Simpson trial. I followed it loosely, mainly interested to know the workings of the law surrounding the case, but I wouldn’t say that I was emotionally invested in the outcome to any real extent.
First off, I never once thought OJ wasn’t guilty.
But yes, a small part of me did want him to walk.
Is that wrong?
But it’s how I felt.
A hush fell over the entire 7th floor lunchroom at Brooklyn Tech. Radios and walkmans hidden discreetly in back packs and stuffed with headphones were going at every table.
When the verdict was announced over the radio, the lunchroom erupted in cheers, with many students jumping on top
of the tables in pure elation. People outside were smiling widely and giving each other pounds as if this was some huge victory for The Race.
Fast forward almost two decades and I an in my, hopefully wiser, adult years, similarly anticipating another verdict.
I’m at work instead of school this time and I don’t feel so good about this one.
I mean I literally don’t feel good. About a half hour before the New York Times alert flashes on my screen, followed immediately by a BBM from my husband, I feel sick to my stomach. My head is spinning and I’m nauseous as all hell. I mentally go over what I ate earlier to to try and figure out what has me feeling this way.
After a while I go to the ladies room to see if I need to throw up. Once in the stall, my phone lights up and flashes the sentence “George Zimmerman found not guilty”.
I let out a breath and then didn’t take in another online for some time.
I was surprised.
I know many weren’t but I remain an incurable optimist (sometimes to a fault). I was more worried about President Obama not being reelected than I was about Zimmerman being totally acquitted.
Incidentally, another fault of mine is that when things seem painfully obvious to me, I assume those things are obvious to everyone else.
I never once thought George Zimmerman wasn’t guilty. I couldn’t understand how everyone else, or at least those six jurors did not see that as well.
I started to cry, thinking about Trayvon and his family. Thinking of the seemingly endless black youth we lose day in and day out to violence of this nature. Thinking of the very clear, at least to me, message being sent here; that black life is still, in 2013, of little value in this country.
Those who know me well know of my ambivalence toward motherhood. Especially now that I’m married and in my thirties, everyone seems to be expecting a baby to pop out of me any day now.
When people have asked me why I don’t yet have children or what I’m waiting for, I tend to give the quick and easy answers. “next year” or “we’re saving up some money first”.
The truth is I just don’t know if I want to have a child.
And a large part of that is not wanting to give this country another black child to dismiss, and ignore, and misunderstand, and be suspicious of, and fear, and make feel less than, and target, and ultimately dispose of.
How easily could that have been my son, if I’d had one? And really were not taking about just children but black men altogether. How easily could that have been my little brother? My husband?
And what’s more, I don’t know that I could have handled it with the grace and dignity of Trayvon’s parents.
In fact, I know that I couldn’t have.
Motherhood is scary enough.
Black motherhood? Damn near impossible.
So I’m very tempted to ensure that the system doesn’t get ahold of my child by just not having any.
Honestly, I’m not even sure if that’s a win or a loss.