Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Let's be real shall we?

You, my readers. My friends. My homies who have lent me untold amounts of support, I have to confess something to you.

See, I thought I was done with the book and then I realized I'm just not.

I have to confess to you that I was trying (not purposefully) to leave out the really hard shit.

I told myself it was for you, that I didn't want to bum anyone out. And then I realized that it wasn't for you it was for me.

I'm still afraid to talk about some things.

So the book has been pushed back further. I have to give you as my friend Clint's giftastic (no really lots of gifs/shiny things) blog said when I opened it the other day- REALNESS.

I have to confess that I'm still afraid sometimes that if I show you the ugly and the pain that well you just won't want to read me anymore. And then I went back and I read a lot of the comments you all have made and the sweet notes and the anonymous thank you's and I told myself to shut the fuck up.

I will dare say that the rawness is why a lot of you actually like me.

I'm not totally sure when I'm going to be done now since I made this decision. There are some things that I have honestly never told a living soul that I want to write about and it hurts but it feels good.

I'm afraid but it feels good.

So that's that. Also I'm going to try and raise another 100$ or so to pay my editor.

What next?

OH oh my goodness y'all.

Can we talk about something?

Apparently as I'm learning how to in a way that means my blood sugar doesn't take a nose dive around 4-5 pm, I seem to have lost a little weight.

Nothing super noticeable unless you see me naked but, my two favorite bras are a big big in the cup, my already ill fitting couple of pairs of pants are bigger. I'm kind of annoyed.

I've entered a weird place with my body. I don't quite trust it not to start behaving badly. I have the cutest bras that Uniballer insisted I get during the last buy one get one half off sale at Fashion bug and now, what body you don't want them to fit well?

I feel like this is such a weird state. If I'm going to be honest it freaks me out when my body changes in small ways that impact how my clothes fit. This year I've decided that while I don't want to really excise pants from my wardrobe completing I need all new pants. If I buy pants say one pair a month for the next few months, what if my body keeps doing this and they don't fit? I would freak out.

The way I am built when it comes to bottoms small weight fluctuations can change everything. My body weight is pretty evenly distrubuted fat wise, so even a few pounds can make the difference between a well fitting pair of pants that makes my ass look hot and pants that make my ass sad.

It also annoys me because I have a vision of the look I'm going for and my body doing crazy things doesn't fit. I want more fitted items but this lose a little gain a little bullshit gets on my last nerve.

Also HI nerve wracking.

So that's what's going on my loves.

The book is going to be better than I had planned. My body is kind of being a jerk right now and I'm not super happy about it.

AND one more thing. If y'all would be so kind, if you spot cheap mid/higher rise Jeggings in black/grey (I will buy the ones from Torrid as a last resort) drop me links babies. Jeggings play a big role in my fall winter wardrobe. I fucking love them.

Tomorrow a fashion advice post on things you can do to stretch your wardrobe when you're poor.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Wherein I give the finger and reveal my stank ass attitude.

First thank you so much for your comments on my last entry.

Those feelings are often so weird and difficult for me to express and deal with. It's one of those things much like levels of self esteem that wax and wane and occasionally rear up to punch me in the gut.

I feel better today.

NOW today I want to talk about something someone on the internets, (they were anon so I don't know who it was) and the brief exchange we had.

So y'all know, or if you don't know let me tell you there are a shitload of pictures of me on the internets. Somewhere in the wilds of google there are probably topless pictures somewhere. I know for a fact there is an upskirt picture of my ass clad in fishnet with a pair of black and red ruffly panties. That happened because I was bragging to some friends that my fancy drawers made it look like I had more of a booty.

About a month ago or so I got an anon note in my question form here, someone had cruised my pics at flickr and had come to the conclusion that it was their job to instruct me on how to up my sexy factor.

This person included a throwaway email address and told me that I needed to a.) never make obscene gestures in a picture b.) that I should light myself better so people can't see the stretchmarks on my boobs and arms, the dark spots on my face yadda yadda.

If only I'd follow their instructions I'd be ever so sexy.

Here's the thing that I told this person and that I'd like to tell anyone else who gives bullshit unsolicited advice on being "attractive" to other people.

I do not give a fuck.

The only time I care about whether or not someone I don't know wants to fuck me is if I want to get into their pants.

I do not exist to give the entire universe boners. I don't care if I'm not your cup of tea. I don't care if you think my big fat thighs are gross. I don't care if you think my unruly eyebrows are ruining my look. I do not give a tin shit if you think I would look better in magenta rather than in black.

Fuck off.

The fact is neither I nor anyone else perambulating around the Earth has an obligation to be aesthetically pleasing to anyone. If they want to that's cool. If they want to only be aesthetically pleasing to themselves that's cool.

Now after I delivered my spiel to my anon their response was that my stank attitude makes me even uglier.

Here is my response:


[Image description: photograph of me (Shannon), a brown skinned woman wearing gold eyeshadow and red lipstick, giving the camera the finger.]

To put it more eloquently,

To Whom it May Concern,
Regarding my stank ass attitude and unacceptable appearance, go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut homie. Keep it moving.


Now my darlings. I'm working on a kind of difficult essay and I'm trying to (again) master keeping my blood sugar from plummeting by remembering to eat regularly and it's fucking hard.

ALSO homework babies.

There is someone you want to tell to fuck off. I know there is. If you need to go anon go ahead, but here is your chance. Go to the comments area, and tell someone (anyone I don't care) to fuck right the fuck off. I won't tell anybody. I swear.

Homo Out.

PS...did I mention how much I love you people? I do. I love you. Now do your homework, there will be a test.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Communal Blackness.

I've been thinking about Blackness, my own Black ness and I have a confession to make and I would really like to know if other Black folks feel this way and if this kind of feeling is something that transcends into intersectional territory.

Sometimes, especially now that I have eleventy million ways of interacting with Black folks from all over, fuck this is hard to say but sometimes I feel like there are gaps in my Black experience.

For instance.

I can't braid.

This seems like a small thing but in a large swath of Black culture this is a shared memory and experience. I was a member of some hair care boards and sometimes when it comes to my hair I feel like I'm missing a part of essential Black Lady things. I am not good at styling my hair. I wasn't when it was relaxed, I wasn't when it was short, I'm not now that it's natural and kind of long.

I feel like there are fundamental Black Folks things that I just don't possess because I was not raised in a place with a lot of Black folks.

Contrary to what one might think, at least from what I've gathered from some Black folks spaces on the internets, some folks might think I'd feel superior but I don't.

I feel incomplete.

I often feel isolated and hurt in a way that's really hard to express much less confess to.

I feel inferior.

Because of this sometimes it's really hard for me to engage with other Black folks. I feel like I don't have the right to speak up in certain situations.

I feel the same way in meatspace a lot of the time.

I just don't know how to approach this or how to process it when I feel this way.

When a very nice Black lady asked me about my hair in the store on Friday after Uniballer and I left the company party I panicked for a minute. All she suggested what that I would look cute with my big ole puff (picture forthcoming) and some corn rows in the front. It would look cute but I was too embarrassed to admit I don't know how to do that.

I am fairly shy and sometimes these things are just upsetting.

I don't know what my point is but I wanted to get it out. Does that happen to other people? How do you deal with it? How do you deal with it when you've had these feelings for your entire life and somehow the internet just makes it all worse?

SO what I haven't told y'all (totally switching subjects here) is that my home computer bit the dust a week or so ago and I'm really hoping it was just the power supply. There is a new power supply sitting in my apartment right now but I insisted to Uniballer that I put it in myself.

So that has made it way more difficult to finish The. Book because a good quarter of it is on my home computer and if my harddrive also crapped out, well let's just say it would take me another two months or so to finish The. Book.

Bad news. If it was indeed the harddrive be on the lookout for a virtual garage sale of clothes and shoes. Mostly shoes size 6.5-8 and clothes 12-18ish. Also probably some books and thangs.

In better news, I raised 235$ to pay my editor with. Hopefully Uniballer and I can budget out more to pay her. My chip in thingy is over with but if you'd still like to donate feel free to use my donate link in the sidebar there.

There you have it.

Suffice to say I'm in a little bit of a weird headspace right now. The. Book. Finances. ALL THE THINGS.

Thank all of you for being awesome.

Homo Out.

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