BLONDES HAVE MORE...DRAMA!
Recently, the National Association of Black Journalists, the Asian American Journalists Association, the National Association of Hispanic Journalists and the Native American Journalists Association held their convention, 2008 UNITY: Journalists of Color, here in Chicago.
There were thousands of attendees, (upwards of 6,500) from every nook and cranny in the land. (Perhaps it was the highly publicized Obama vs. McCain face-off that was supposed to take place that lured everyone, but McCain himself.)
Opportunity was alive and well and what I witnessed was a melting pot of melanin-rich media folk mingling and making new connections-connections that will definitely come in handy as print and broadcast media continue to merge and purge.
Most promising was the flurry of ambitious journalism students who made the sacrifice to attend the convention. These people mobilized, developed online donation drives and a few set up alternative, affordable housing options via Facebook.
An old associate asked to stay at my house during the convention and I happily agreed. I like her; and she had been threatening to get out of her dead-end job for at least four years.
After this week, I nicknamed my African American associate the Blonde Bombshell because she behaves like a young rich, blonde starlet--and only attended this media convention to party.
Blonde Bombshell laid on my couch during the entire convention, skipping the job fair and the informational breakout sessions, while opting to attend the award ceremony and the free after-parties instead.
She admittedly strolled the convention circuit for temporary sugar daddies, she told me, but had been getting some heavy competition from the younger, cheaper cuties and a down economy.
Intermittently, Blonde Bombshell barked about her boring job and "these cheap-ass men in Chicago." So, I casually mentioned that she needed to network while she was in town. You know, pass a few resumes around and talk to some media folks during the daylight hours.
Blonde Bombshell responded with a blank stare.
I must be a fool, she told me.
Blonde Bombshell dared me to name one quality connection, one job lead, one internship or professional mentorship that I received from attending such job fairs and breakout sessions. I couldn't name my own success story-and I had told her this in passing--but I assured her that such opportunities do exist.
Blonde Bombshell argued that conventions are the ultimate dog-and-pony show where the Haves come to flaunt, and the Have-Nots come to front-and the only truthful element that exists is the after party.
I let her have the last word.
What's the point in debating with someone who's glued to a couch and stuck in a dead-end job? I just hope that Blonde Bombshell soon discovers that removing her ass from one stagnant state is vital to removing her ass from another.
"LET ME DOWNGRADE YA"
I met Rajj, a beautiful, burnt-bronzed Nigerian, at an outdoor African art festival.
Rajj was a jewelry designer. He was so dark and flawless that nearly every woman on the street made a beeline to purchase something from him.
I stopped by his display as well, and I made it a point to ignore him as I knew that the lack of my attention would pique his interest. And I was right. (Power expert Robert Greene coined this seduction technique shadowing; that is, walk away from someone and he will chase after you, much like your shadow.)
I decided not to make a purchase and Rajj insisted that we exchange business cards. That's when I noticed that he was wearing a silver band on his wedding finger. Rajj glanced at his ring and quickly told me that it was a ruse; he wanted some kind of barrier to keep the women at bay while he sold his goods.
Fast forward a few months and Rajj and I have grown close. We were two single, good-looking adults who'd rather be talking to one another on the phone in the middle of the night, instead of clubbing.
I tell Rajj that he is smart and talented; Rajj tells me that my conversations are powerful and uplifting. We were platonic, but clearly, obviously, the attraction was there.
Finally, I hinted to Rajj that I'd like to take our friendship to another level.
I didn't make the first move blind, mind you, as I've been the recipient of several tender acts of kindness and gifts including the most exquisite, handcrafted silver ring that Rajj gave me for my birthday.
Rajj asked me about interracial dating; specifically, if I would be comfortable bringing him around my family. A little shocked, I told him that since we were both African descendants, I didn't foresee any problems.
Rajj told me that we could creep, but that his family wouldn't accept me.
In his culture, he says, if he dated or married someone other than a Nigerian, he'd have to date up the social chain, that is, he'd have to hook up with a White woman.
But an American sistah like me is a downgrade; strictly booty call material.
Rajj also mentioned for the first time that he was in a serious relationship with a Londoner. She dropped out of college and works in a pub. Marriage is on the horizon.
To recap: A successful African American woman who gives him "powerful and uplifting conversations" can't hold a candle to a white woman who works in a pub.
I was hurt, insulted and then just mad as hell.
I wondered if Rajj's cultural preference for anything other than Black was limited to his own family upbringing, or if it was more widespread.
In any event, I'll never know, as I have ceased all contact with Rajj.
Ironically, abruptly ending our friendship has set the shadowing seduction technique in full effect-and Rajj is chasing after this black woman and he can't help himself.
And that's just the way it should be.
email me at: zondrahughes@yahoo.com
FEELING POETIC TODAY
American Girl
See American Girl
embracing the swirl
‘cuz her married white lover gives her plenty.
Genuine Remi weave
imported from Belize
perfect caramel skin
drenched in Parisian lanolin
ten white, French tips
wrapped in Asian silk
and a Le Vian diamond on her pinky.
‘She's hot she's fly'
the brothas shout as she drives by
in her platinum coup
but she has no time
for the blackbirds on the stoop
She rolls her eyes
and rolls up her window
she hates this ‘hood
but skippin' church is a sin tho'
See American Girl
as she slips into the pews
with her naked legs and slingback shoes
but the church ladies are not amused
by what she does to pay her dues
The pastor begs her to stop
no need to drop it like it's hot
open the good book
it'll change your life, your outlook...
See American Girl
she's heard enough of this fluff.
her tithe is in the charity plate
but not in her heart
She departs
She jumps in her coup
races past the stoop
And picks up an unrelenting tailgate
Beep beep goes the Mercedes
behind the wheel, an angry white lady
on her cell phone
as she yells, ‘pull over.'
See American Girl as she does what she's told
and lo and behold
a swarm of cops surround her
‘That's my husband's car! I spotted it from afar!'
says the angry white lady. ‘Arrest her!'
Cuffed, and less cute
in her couture suit
see American Girl protest
‘This is some shady mess!'
‘This car belongs to my man
He's on business in Japan
And I'm allowed to drive it
To and from home...'
‘Not so,' says the wife
‘He came home last night
And who do you think is on my phone?'
‘I'd like to press charges'
Said the male voice on the phone
who wasn't about to lose his wife and his home
just cuz he likes to see American Girl
polish his dome
Frisked and roughed up
the cops didn't care much
as they threw her in the squad
head first
See Afro American Girl
betrayed by her swirl
and her concept of love
forever cursed...
email me at: zondrahughes@yahoo.com
BREAKFAST WITH BARBIE
On Sunday afternoons, my friends and I can be found at the pancake house, feasting on chicken apple sausages, waffles, pancakes and cheese grits, a caloric heaven that we have been starving ourselves all week to enjoy.
The breakfast is good, but it's our conversations that keep us coming back.
Collectively we--the Libra, the Pisces and the Cancer-have survived divorce, affairs, and rumors of affairs, baby momma and baby daddy drama, dragonlady bosses, job losses, promotions, random acts of stupidity, hideous hairstyles, misdirected angry emails and crimes of passion.
To our credit, we have kept the in-fighting to a minimum and our sisterhood circle has remained trump tight for the past three years.
Until recently.
Three grown women, the Libra (the balanced one) the Pisces (the honest one) and the Cancer (the loyal one) had a huge falling out over a doll.
Here's what happened: The Libra, a member of her church choir, has a great respect for her choir director's wife. Libra's affinity for this woman is understandable: I have met the wife on several occasions, and this woman does have a beautiful spirit. (And you can almost see the rainbows and butterflies appear when she sings.)
But I digress.
A few Sundays ago, Libra arrived at the pancake house toting the unopened box that contained the AKA Centennial Barbie Doll http://www.barbiecollector.com/shop/product.aspx?sku=L9657
that just arrived in the mail.
Libra took a butter knife from the table and carefully opened the box.
"She is going to be knocked out when she sees this!" Libra said, gawking over the official Barbie Collector's shopping bag. (Barbie herself was nestled in the bottom of the bag.) "This is her 100th Anniversary."
Full disclosure: We are all members of sororities--but not AKAs-and we were gawking too:
"AKAs have a Barbie doll?! Wonderful! We're next...how beautiful! What a wonderful thing..."
We could feel the other patrons' eyes, also waiting for the reveal.
And then Libra pulled Barbie out of the bag.
[Countdown to chaos: 5.4.3.2.1] "Why did you buy the white one?" asked the Pisces. "They didn't have a black one?"
Libra looked crestfallen, but the Cancer pointed out that the roundish nose is an indication of Barbie's Sistah roots. And the gown was fabulous. And the fact that there is a sorority-inspired Barbie doll opens the door for all of us to have our own.
"Are those eyes green or gray?" asked the Pisces. "Is she supposed to be mixed or what?"
By this time, the 20-something, tattooed server had come to fill our coffee cups, but in truth, to take a peek at the doll. She chirped, "Oooh I didn't know Rhianna got a doll!"
Libra gently tucked the doll back into its Barbie bag and the bag back into its shipping box.
"She'll be the first to have one at church," she said.
That Wednesday, Libra gave the doll to her choir director, for him to give to his wife.
Last Sunday, Libra returned to the pancake house with the Barbie bag in tow. This time, there was a hand-written rejection note attached to it.
In short, the choir director's wife was grateful, but was returning the doll because she has two "impressionable young daughters" and did not want to promote a "European/Latin" standard of beauty in her home.
The rejection crushed the Libra. The Cancer was maddened by it. The Pisces felt vindicated.
[This time, the faint crackling sound was not the eggs on the grill; it was our sisterhood giving way.]
First, Pisces said Libra was wrong to spend $50 on the doll in the first place...she should have bought sorority paraphernalia instead.
And then Cancer said the wife was wrong for returning the doll, and that she should have given the doll to one of her sorors to spread the love.
And then Pisces said Cancer's idea of re-gifting the ‘white' doll to another black woman only perpetuated a distorted standard of beauty.
And then Cancer reminded Pisces that some Black women do look like AKA Barbie and the doll was a symbol of diversity. And then Pisces snapped: "Nobody looks like that in your family." And then Cancer retorted: "And your family does?"
And then Libra told Pisces that she doesn't have a girly bone in her body and probably played with GI-Joes ‘when she was a little boy' so what made her the expert on beauty standards?
(This time, the clanking, clattering sound is not the wait staff removing dishes from the other tables; it is our sisterhood crashing and burning .]
And then Pisces told Libra that she was shocked that her credit card was approved to buy the doll, given her habit of overspending and not paying her bills on time.
And finally, Cancer recalled the time that Libra had to buy Pisces' pancakes because Pisces' lover stole her ATM card, drained her account and ran off with that Dunkin' Donuts girl.
"Oh, it's like that?" Pisces said as she pushed her uneaten food aside. She dug in her purse, produced a worn $50 bill, and laid it in the center of the table. "Breakfast is on me sweetie. I have money."
The silence that ensued permitted us to recognize how loud we had become and how ridiculous we looked to the other patrons.
Men couldn't come between us, money couldn't come between us, politics or religion couldn't come between us, and jealousy couldn't come between us. So how were we going to allow Barbie to bring us down?
In slow motion, the Pisces apologized to the Libra and the Cancer apologized to the Pisces and the three exited the pancake house with sincere ‘See ya laters' and vows to hook up the following Sunday.
That Monday, the Libra hand delivered Barbie to her rightful home, the national headquarters of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc.
And alas, all is well.
Signed,
The Cancer
email me at: zondrahughes@yahoo.com
