Throwback Blog #20

Most people write or type in their voice, in their normal speech pattern, literally putting the words in their mouths to print. I'm no exception. While reading this entry, I became aware of my speech pattern. I've started several blogs with "So yeah...." That's funny to me.
I remember the fun I had writing this entry, but on re-read, I realize it's not as chuckle-worthy as I'd thought. Que sera.
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Originally posted on Friday, December 08, 2006 at 2:28PM
bourgie chicks don't fight...
Current mood: mellow
Category: nostalgic
Life

So yeah... I'm quiet. Until I get to know you and feel comfortable. And then, the inappropriate, unnecessary, and unreal part of my personality pops out. I can't stop it. It's like Sasha to Beyonce - random, kooky, what-have-you.

All this week my mouth has been writing checks I can't cash. Which brings me to a topic I love to laugh at - trash-talking that leads to girl-fights.

A few months ago, there was this video circulating on YouTube of some girls in the basement of an HBCU dorm fighting it out. One side was cute girls, dressed in club-wear, waving long, fake-nailed, hands in the air.. They were the ones talking the loudest, making all the threats, acting like a can of whoop-a#$ was about to pop open. The other side were the homely ones, in sweats, with hair scarves, and zit cream. I don't know if the video is still on YouTube and I'm not posting it (gotta try not to perpetuate the Black-on-Black violence, you know. I'm still reppin' Riverwood High Non-Violence Club, '97 - 98. LOL). But you can guess the outcome - the pretty girls got bodied. PERIOD. All that lip and signifying didn't mean a thing.

It's brings to mind the shame of my youth - (hanging my head, cue the violins) - the tag-team fight me and Trace got when I was in the 5th grade.

We were running the neighborhood - the only kids with the Nintendo Power Pad, a big-Wheel, a plastic playhouse, and an electric car, so we just knew we were it-on-a-stick. We were the only sister-act on the block, living in the house on a corner with a big rock in front. This was before College Park was the 'hood' and when Old National had a brand-new Target, no discount mall, four grocery stores, and real gas stations. Us spoiled, bratty kiddies who went to Teddy Bear tea, pretended that our grandmother's Caddy was our limo, and had our parents wrapped around our fingers. I'm talking matching sailor-suits to church, ballet and piano two times a week, bratty. Our materialistic, bossy heads were swole'.

So yeah, we were Sandgate Circle pimpin'...running the block and such. Popular, attention-whores, our house as the hangout - the classic queens-of-the-hill scenario. We were so dope the school bus stop was OUR FRONT YARD - curb-side service, whatuknow about that? All the other kids had to come to us in the morning. Negroes was eating still-warm Pop Tarts when the bus pulled up and the hair-grease still shined in our freshly-brushed hair. We owned the neighborhood.

Then the Bell Family showed up with all their new-people swagger and bully tactics. The two eldest girls in the family were the same ages as T and I, so a face-off was set up almost as they arrived. We're on the school bus one day and the wildebeest Erika, the oldest sister, threatens to scratch my eyes out because I'm hall monitor at good old Bethune Elementary. Perpetually crunk Trace is quibbling with the younger sister, Erin. The next thing I know, we're getting off the bus, I have thrown my new Sally Jessie Raphael spectacles in the grass and I am having my first and last "girl-fight"! (T throwing me into the family Christmas tree on year doesn't count - we were having a pinch-fight and I took it too far. My little sister whooped my tail. My head hangs in shame at the memory....dang.) IT IS ON!!!

We tussled and slapped, scratched and bit, but bearing the true hallmark of any chick fight, we primarily pulled hair. Trace handled the little one, and I'm crushed under the weight of this rough-and-tumble girl. No one was winning. What seemed like hours may have only been minutes. My next door neighbor had to break it up, because my mom was inside unaware that her babies were tag-teaming in the front yard, defending our status as head sistas in charge.
No one won, a draw was called, and to this day, if you ever mention Erika or Erin Bell to me and Trace, we salivate. Those heffas really tried to play us.

Anywhoo - talking too much, girl fights, I forgot my point. Yes, memories do light the corners of my mind. Oh.... stop all the talking, before you have to back it up.


I will admit it though..... I can't fight. But why should any lady?
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Proust Questionnaire:
Q: Your favorite painter?
A: I can't just pick a painter. Let's expand that to artists, period. Monet's works are just luscious, but I like Romare Bearden, Elizabeth Cattlett's sculpture, and John Biggers, as well. I really like the new work commissioned by Spelman College by Varnette P. Honeywood for their anniversary.
I'm a novice visual art fan, though. I wish I had time to go to more museums and galleries and money to start a collection. In due time, I guess. Until then, here's a good website to peruse paintings on the web: http://www.artcyclopedia.com/. It's lean on African-American artists, though, so here: http://www.liunet.edu/cwis/cwp/library/aavaahp.htm.
AllPosters.com has good art posters, too.


Be easy, breezies!
Currently watching : Black Orpheus - Criterion Collection Release date: 08 June, 1999
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