Michael Brown is Resting on my Spirit

I can’t get this Michael Brown non-indictment off my spirit. It is seriously screwing with me. I hate the whole situation, the verdict, the jury, the cops, the Black people of Ferguson, the White people of Ferguson, everything about it. Like, I am so distraught I can’t even direct my anger, sadness, optimism. Plus, it’s been a while since I blogged and writing is medicinal for me.

Therefore, just like everyone else, I will also volunteer my opinion. Here is a list of the various aspects that make me feel some kind of way:

-        No Clean Slate. Being completely objective is only something we can aim for. In reality, we all got our biases. Let’s try pretending we are aliens who are just jumping in this. We NEED to at least start with the presumption of innocence. Let’s assume said survivor of said confrontation is innocent and go from there.

-        Excessive much? So if we assume said officer was doing his job, why did he shoot 12 out of 13 times? He must have been threatened! He must have been attacked! He must have been caught off guard! He must have been something. Or else why would he shoot to damn near depletion. And was he saving the last bullet for something? I mean his basic story is kind of a stretch but whatever. Did he have a moment of temporary insanity or is the protocol to rapid-fire on unarmed robbers (and yes, Officer testimony admitted that he knew Mr. Brown was unarmed)? Which brings me to my next point.

-        Officer Training. It is apparent that the police in Ferguson can’t do their job. Not only did the crime scene photographer NOT take photos, but the 6-year veteran officer also did NOT even bring his stun gun because it was uncomfortable...bitch say wha?.... Basically, he didn’t have a chance to inhibit Mr. Brown. Plus, said veteran officer did not want to approach Michael Brown because he was afraid. I get it. Being a cop is dangerous. All the Kevlar in the world can’t protect you from a shot to the skull. But waiting for back-up and stalling from a single assailant seems silly. Kind of like you are increasing the number of possibilities and not taking control of the situation. Overall, training (or confidence in said training) is non-existent.

-        Michael Brown. Let’s be honest. Like for serious. He is 6 foot tall, thick, and intimidating. He aint no toothpick. Let’s stop kidding ourselves by calling him a gentle giant and over-victimizing the victim. He may have had gentle moments but this aint one of them. People gotta be more honest and admit that maybe he had a little more involvement than being gentle and getting murdered. Now even if he was or was not a shop-lifting criminal, he did push the SHIT out of homey in the store. So gentle aint it. But does that warrant a death? Prolly not. But then again, don’t go off assuming that children are angels sent from heaven when you know that’s not always the case. #SomalianChildSoldiers

-        Riots. Yes my people. We have a reason to be mad. They took our son. They took our brother. They have torn a household, a community, and our nation apart and will most likely face no repercussions. And even worse, this particular town in Ferguson has a history of STUPIDITY, such as buying cameras and not using them and charging arrested black men for dry cleaning when they bled too much on an officer. But should we retaliate by stealing bags of chips from Wawa? HELL NO. I mean there ain’t even logic in that. It’s stupid to riot. As justified as you may think, you are being stupid and playing into the very thing that they want you to do. Don’t let yourself be manipulated. Which leads me to my next point.

-        Who’s in Charge of Ferguson. This is a big point which I feel no one is talking about. Everything about Ferguson and the management of the trial can be explained in a simple word “thoughtless.” Who thought it was a good idea to violently arrest people who were peacefully protesting? Who thought it was a good idea to buy police cameras and not install them on the vests of police officers? Who thought it was a good idea to roll out the tanks and riot gear? Who thought it was a good idea to release the results of the trail at 8PM at night and not at 2PM the next day? Who thought it was a good idea to cancel school a day in advance, leaving these angry teenagers the right to hang out all hours of the night with academic consequences? There is way too much not thinking going on. But it’s not just the Caucasians in charge. Which leads me to my next point.

-        Not getting involved. Black people love to complain about how much we hate when things don’t go our way. We love to argue about how useless the government is. But the one time where we need to get involved, we don’t even do something as simple as register to vote (which, in this case, is a prerequisite for surviving in a jury). So how do you expect to change things if you do not ACT? I mean seriously, the jury was 75% White and the city is 65% (rough estimate) Black. That don’t make math. Short story, DO better. The two ways to change the system or to get involved or destroy it. Let’s try option A before option B? No. Okay whatever.

After everything discussed, what have we learned.

- America has a problem with EDUCATION. People choose to not think and readily accept whatever they hear. For instance, everyone assumed this Officer Wilson was wrong before they even knew his name or his veteran status or a single detail. They saw a dead black kid and police car and heard some eye witness acounts and was DONE. Day 1 the media put out “Don’t Shoot” hand signals and portrayed this cop to be some racist. I mean seriously, the media has as much of a part in the riots as the rioters. They are literally shit-starters and most of the country is falling right along in their bullshit. Is he a racist? Probably not. Is he a bitch-ass-scaredy-cat-Slyvester-looking-pussy? Yes, all day long. But you can’t assume every white person that shows a black person is racist. They could just be trigger happy. Even now as I am writing this, no one’s asked how many cops are killed on duty. Or how they are desperate to hire people because no one wants to protect and serve. This officer seems like a bottom-of-the-barrel-dumbass who was fortunate enough to make it this far in his career without needing to think. When judgment played a part in his job, he relied on his personal beliefs and went full throttle on a situation that required 1st gear. This situation alone has probably deterred the Ferguson Police department from hiring Blacks for the next 20 years. Which will lead to more scared white police "protecting" an even angrier Black population. Man, if only people would stop and think.

-        America has a problem with FEAR. Black people are systematically oppressed and are therefore afraid of the police. White officers are afraid/intimidated of Black people, specifically men. Both parties believe the only way out of this bad situation is by killing the opposition. These pre-conceived notions are dangerous. Call it prejudice or profiling or whatever, it’s wrong, and it’s a problem.

Or what do I know? Maybe I should shut the hell up. I’m just a squirrel tryna get a nut like everybody else.

Fugly Gets You No Wheres

So I was chatting it up with my coworkers, discussing the follies of the world we live in, and we somehow got on the topic of ugly people.

Now before you get all judgmental, let me tell you, it was not I who inspired this debate. Cause if you aint know, I am as cute as a button. So cute in fact, that many people have attempted to place me in their pockets…unsuccessfully. However, I digress.

It seems like research and development departments of huge biology firms and research labs and whatever else are generally focused on discovering new, unimaginable connections. Things like “is homosexuality genetic,” “is smiling a learned behavior,” this, that, and the other.

I mean that’s great and all but let’s get back to basics. Let’s justify the truths we know before we justify the truths we haven't learned. For instance, let us re-imagine the reasons behind things like genetics relating to success, i.e. how is it that ugly people tend to be so unsuccessful at life?

I mean, let’s be honest, if you are ugly, your life is pretty much ruined. For instance, all presidents have been easy on the eyes, especially as of late (yeah that’s a shout-out to the half chocolate chip, half macadamia nut leader of the free world). 

And then there's the correlation between attractiveness and difficulty of major. Oh, wait. You haven't noticed? No? Well then, walk on to the campus of the university of your choosing, without looking like a sexual offender please. Count the attractive engineers and then count the attractive criminology majors. Count the attractive physicists and then count the attractive marketing majors. Now, correlate success rates to major. . . Do you get what I am laying down?

The secret to life is simple, if you aren’t attractive, find another way. I mean seriously, the only unattractive people that have some success (relative to how you define success) are comedians, rappers, statisticians, geeks, athletes, and any other profession that requires you to be extremely talented in one area or another.

Vice versa is also true. Attractive people can let themselves go. If Brad Pitt became robust, I would still try and rock his World War Z. But if you see a fat chick with buckteeth and a GED equivalent, you have to wonder how are you not dead yet or when is your episode of Maury coming on? (okay, so that was wrong but ehh my blog. #SuckIt ). To be realistic, how can you possibly compete in a world rampant with the Cash Money DJing Hiltons of the world. I mean seriously. This girl is so over-accomplished it is disgusting.

Well anyway as mean as that was, it was a thought I had. If you’re attractive, you are pretty much set for success. Whatever. 

But if you are ugly, motivate motivate motivate. Cause you might not make it boo boo. #Fact!

Aint Going Nowhere - The Investment Strategy

Let's face it. My investment strategy, when I do ignore Sallie Mae long enough to invest, is to put money in industries that I deem "aint going nowhere." Novelties such as gold and sugar and paper. These are the staples of the world.

Everyone knows it and loves it and ... I am an idiot. Obviously not the savvy investor. But funny thing, there are crazier people out there.

As I review the sadness that is my decision to work for the Federal Government, as they work toward cohesion, I am now forced to re-reflect on my life. Doing so results in scanning various CNN and news websites (totally not searching for a FT j-o-b but I may spot evening and weekend money just in case the whole, deadlocked Executive-Legislative situation doesn't improve).

And on this voyage to converting my soon to be student loan debt into my soon to be riches, I find an article about Sean Hyman and his "Biblical Money Code." I jumped to the same conclusion you've probably jumped to, which is an obvious theFuk. But, give the man a chance.

The article, which increasingly looks more and more like a scam, turns out to be an exploitation of the Bible for the easy price of ...exactly. And that's when I had my thought.

This is our future.

I hope we don't get to a point where all we are going to be seeing is more of these sorry attempts at taking our money. And these attempts will get better and more convincing. Until finally, we, as a nation, are forced to fund the private dreams of the SeanHymans of the world. We deserve better. We, the people, have rights to pursue happyness. We, not just the clever website developers who can post a video on a website, but all of us.

So, please, don't invest just in gold. As I will not invest just in my 9-to-5. Diversify your investments as I will my various future odd jobs.

Note: When Australia had a government shutdown, the Queen fired all of Parliament. Monarchs. Cray!

Blog Recap

So I have been blogging for over a year (my Blog-versary was on August 27th) and I decided it is time to re-vamp my blog. Talking to my followers, i.e. that one person, a few changes have been recommended. The top two being content reduction and inconsistent posts. Well don’t that beat all. I get punished for Having A Life!

But other than that sorry excuse for an excuse, I have no excuse. All the thoughts I think are accumulating into my mind and falling out of my ears. The only thing I can do, to ease myself of this medical ailment, is to type.

Anyway, therefore, as a result, in conclusion, I will be blogging at least twice a month and will be writing shorter passages (I mean not like 140-character, Twitter-short but you get me). And yes I know it is sad and I know the one person following me is devastated but Quality over Quantity!

So get ready for a whole new year of me continuing to be crazy. I hope I can present my ideas in a digestible length every other week. And if not, then well, screw you.

I’m Out like the Lights on Prom Night!

DJing Stories: The Old Man in the Club

Bars are so much fun to work in because of the nights where you get the randomly specific set of locals who come in. Those who know college park are familiar with Cluck-U-Pac, the 2Pac look-a-like who works at the corner store chicken joint, aka Cluck-U-Chicken. Then you got the guys who show up with props tryna book chicks. I seen one man walk with a toy horse-head-on-a-stick. Then we got the old dude in the club who would roll up in his 1973, John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, silk, V-neck shirt with grey taco meat on his chest. He staying picking up women and ballroom dancing to umm every song.

Honestly, most nights can be unpredictable. But beyond those nights of expecting the unexpected, you can find comfort in relying on the expected. Aka, the regulars.  Rarely do you find a bar where the crowd is dull and the regulars are lame. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it happens. But not that often.

The bar I DJed at had a host of normies that come in for their usuals and leave with fun stories to tell. To name  a few of the CP-flava, we had the following groups:

1.       Sororities – I swear these chicks had a competition to see who could spend the most of their non-academic hours at the bar.

2.       Jocks – you’re on scholarship so school is free, books are free, and there are drunk/horny/gold-digging sorority girls practically living at the bar. #ObvyChoice

3.       Locals – you were born and raised in Hyattsville and this is “going out” for you. A college bar for 19 to 21 year-olds.

4.       Perverts – scheming the dance floors looking for the freshman and the younger sisters who snuck in behind them.

Now I have had the displeasure of seeing a-many-a-drunk-woman get taken advantage of on the dance floor. I’ve seen finger rape and damn-near-gang-pile-ons. There’ve even been women who performed fellatio on the manager just to get in through the back door. It’s crazy what these drunk, desperate, young women do just to get in a bar (and not just any bar but a bar that smells like shit and is full of underage children and randoms. I’m sorry but no random penis in my mouth is #WorthThat . . .  But hey I guess I was raised different. Good parenting momma). However, I digress.

Despite the a-many-a-drunk-woman who were sexually mistreated and disregarded as a sexual object and nothing more, the universe has a strange way of evening the playing field. In addition to all the perverts that were checking out women, we had one dude who loved men. So, out of the handful of old men sprinkled around the bar, we had random disco guy, the owner, the manager, and the one who was taking advantage of men . . . sexually.

So quick synopsis, this dude was like in his 50s. Old, white man #SilverFox. Seemingly friendly to everyone. Men and women. Strange thing, this guy was rich. He had a lot of money and enjoyed buying drinks for everyone. Men and women. He even had a boat that he took out on the water on the weekend. If you were special he would even invite you on his boat. But not everyone, just men. He would take these jocks who loved to get shit-faced and they would set sail for an “adventure.”

And every guy who went on this boat would NEVER return to the bar. Dead? Nope. They would show up in school after the “adventurous” weekend. They would even show up at their perspective sports games. But not a-one would mention would happened on their sea “adventure.”

But we all know, he took them men out their and had a good ole sexperimenting time.

Okay, so maybe this is just some habitual rumor that gets spread every Fall season. .... Or maybe it's not. Either way, that is reason #2 why I won’t get drunk around people I don’t know. 

SOOOOoooo many life lessons learned at the bar!

Trayvon Martin Lessons

So this depressing-ass weekend has resulted in me saddened by the verdict. My first attempt at coping with this tragedy was to lessen the pain by creating a verb, either Trayvoning or Zimmermaning. But I couldn’t decide exactly what the situation meant to me. Does it mean being racially profiled? Or does it mean getting away with murder? Or does it mean shooting children? What exactly is being Trayvon-ed!

After a lot of reflection and with a lost for resolution, I, instead, have made a list of what I learned from the case:

1.       You will be judged not by the content of your character but by the bullshit of your social media. Be careful what you post.

2.       If you are a teenager, don’t fight adults. They may lose the fight but they won’t lose the war.

3.       If you want to get away with murder, fight a child, lose, kill them, and then plead self-defense.

4.       Racial profiling is inevitable. If you are a tall, muscular, Black man you should become shorter, workout less, become pale, and/or get a sex change.

5.       If you are Black, don't do things like wear hoodies at night.

6.       If you are Black, don’t walk toward your house at night.

7.       If you are Black, don’t go out at night.

8.       If you are Black and you’ve done nothing wrong, you are lying.

9.       If you are Black and you see a white man walking toward you, RUN AWAY.

10.   If you are Black and you are in a neighborhood, you should get down on the ground and place your arms behind your head so that the neighbors know you aren’t up to trouble.

11. If you are in the neighborhood watch, you have the right to police your neighborhood as if you were a trained officer with a gun. 
12. The State of Florida is not welcoming to Negro-kind.

So that last one may have been a little racist but this was a racially charged act. The 6 jurors all agreed that Trayvon was PROBABLY guilty of something and Zimmerman had the right to stalk him because of how suspicious he looked. And even though the 911-operator told Zimmerman NOT to leave his car, during his self-inspired pursuit of the most-likely-up-to-no-gooder, he was within his legal bounds to put himself in a dangerous situation. And no matter the result of said pursuit and said danger, his heart was in the right place. So he is innocent by conscience?!?

In short, I, as a Black person, should be okay with the Zimmermans of the world killing Blacks legally because they are good samaritans? Not to sound crazy but #FuckThatNoise.

The point is there are stereotypes against us all. Sadly, we can’t change everyone’s mind. And Black people repeatedly racking up the statistics for violent crime and filling up the prison system kinda looks bad on our part.

I guess the only thing we can do is be conscious of stereotypes against us, take the proper steps to avoid these situations, and hope for good circumstances.

Life sucks, and then you die. 

DJing Stories: The Veteran with the Red Lamborghini

So it was about 2007 and I was playing a weak night at the bar. I had just finished this Power Hour set (pretty much, you play a different song every minute of the hour and the people have to drink when the song changes. 60 shots of beer in 60 minutes = ReallyDrunk People) and was getting ready to pull out some actual songs that weren’t Power Rangers Theme songs and hits from the movie Grease.

The 30 or so people there were good and drunk and happy (again, 60 drinks in an hour). Unluckily, it was June-ish so all the college chil’ren were home pretending that they didn’t have a drinking problem. I was playing Christmas music and a little top 40 cause no one was there (yeah, I’m about that life), and people weren’t really paying attention.

The point is everyone was in a good mood . . . except for this one dude.

So, I put on one of those long-ass, white-people-love-it, bar songs that last like 15 minutes “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” (aka, my DJ has gone to the bathroom  song).I usually jump off the stage to chat with whoever is closest to me. This guy, who just happened to be in my vicinity, was at the bar, by himself, with a fresh scar on his head.

I ask him, in my “I’m a friendly, personal DJ that cares but seriously tip me or get me a drink” voice, how his night was going. He said well. And then leisurely explains how he is looking for a girl to take him home.

It turns out this guy is fresh from the Afghanistan war, thanks to our President at the time, and had survived a very serious bomb explosion.

I said something along the lines of “wow, it’s amazing you are alive.”

Then, he takes a moment to stare into his drink. He swivels it around and proceeds to explain how his surgery went. He says he was very fortunate that the doctors were able to remove the scrap medal from his head.  But while they were there, they found a malignant tumor in his brain. They gave him an estimated life expectancy of 8 to 12 months and sent him back to the US with six figures and hella veteran benefits.

I stared at him, shocked, as he sat there content. I told him how sorry I was to hear the news.

He goes on to tell me that he’s not sorry. He recognizes the fact that this will be his last 4^th of July, his last Thanksgiving, his last Christmas, his last everything with everyone. He doesn’t see a point in being regretful or maintaining poisonous friendships or focusing too hard on anything that causes stress. Apparently, when you only have so much time left in this world, you worry only about the things that matter.

Being the daughter of a veteran, my heart went out to this man. All he wanted to do was serve his country and prepare a better life for himself. In his effort to pursue happyness, all he received was the prediction of his untimely death.

I got on the mic and professed to the crowd that we had a veteran at the bar who just got back from 

Afghanistan who had NO BITCHES and a PARCHED MOUTH. He looks up at me and smiles as I point him out to the patrons of the bar.

In a few hours, the place gets packed and he ends up having a fantastic evening. (Noted, he didn’t get too much attention from the ladies. But he did enjoy talking to our busty bartenders. Smiling from ear-to-ear as only a man in lust can.)

At around midnight, when it was really starting to get crazy, he leaves surprisingly. He pays his tab, tips his busty beaut, and walks out to his car (with no woman on his arm, mind you). He jumps in this bright red Lamborghini, that is COMPLETELY uncharacteristic of College Park, and drives off into DC.

I tell this story to a lot and people always ask me “how do you know he wasn’t lying? Maybe he was just trying to get in your pants.” To them, I respond with it doesn’t matter if he were lying or not. Because at some point throughout this ridiculous war, we had lost men and women. Some of them never got the chance to finish their year with family. And regardless of whether his story was true or false, unbeknownst to him, he was telling an account of SOMEONE’s life.

So that was one of the most interesting nights at the bar. And plus, I got to see a lambo. And those joints are SHWEET!