I was talking to my sissie while I drove around town running errands(hands-free guys. Calm your tits). I got in a workout, a quick stop at the Farmer’s Market by my house and an even quicker trip to the mall to pick up a gift card for my neighbor’s tween-ager. Is that a word?
Whatever. You know what I’m talking about. And they’re worse to shop for than ACTUAL teenagers in my opinion.

I pass a police car. Because, listen. I don’t care if you ARE the officer of the god damn law. If you’re going 20 miles an hour for no apparent reason, there’s a pretty good chance I’m gonna pass you if the speed limit allows. I am NOT afraid of the police. I’m a grown ass woman.

Well.

I don’t think the police lady person cared for that too much because she went through too much effort to catch up to me. BUT. I got into the turning lane because THIS IS WHERE I TURN TO GO HOME.
I see her pull up behind me in the next lane to run my license plate. And because I’m an asshole, I made sure to look back and make eye contact. I also made sure she saw the “FUCK YOU” implied in my raised eyebrow.

I know that SOME police officers get off on seeing if people are bold enough to pass them when they’re driving like assholes. (Yes. Yes they do. One of the many jobs I had growing up was at the CHP, and I remember them laughing about it)
And yes. I am bold enough. But here’s the thing: Why SHOULDN’T I pass you? Why are you going out of your way to intimidate people? Why are you running my plates hoping I got tickets or warrants or a REASON for you to pull me over?

More importantly: WHY ARE YOU OUT HERE FUCKING WITH ME? YOU REALLY DON’T HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO?

So. Nah. I’m not scared for you to run my plates. I don’t have a reason to be. And really, even if I HAD gotten pulled over, I probably still would’ve been low-key talking slick. ‘Cause I’m an asshole, but I’m not STUPID.

FOR THE RECORD, I’ve had more positive experiences (and by that I mean not awful) with law enforcement than bad ones. I mean, at least once a year (at our annual tailgate) some asshole calls the cops because LOUD PARTIES ARE LOUD.
And the cops are pretty good natured and polite when they come over to tell us our jackass neighbors (the ones who weren’t invited) want us to be quiet in the middle of the afternoon because we’re having too much fun.
(Relatedly: why are all the cops in my neighborhood UCLA alumni/fans?)

But one thing I can say about all of the bad experiences is that they’ve been bad because of the police officer.
Because they start off bad. Because they jump out the car talking shit from the very beginning.
And I have questions. SO MANY QUESTIONS:
Why is that a thing? Why am I supposed to show you respect when it is not reciprocated?
Why are so many of y’all so quick to act a fool and then want to claim self-defense/threat to your safety when y’all come at the public (of color) sideways from the jump?
Why are y’all out here wilding out like y’all don’t know the age of camera phones are upon you and mother fuckers are tired of your bullshit and are now filming you for their own (and others) safety?
Why do y’all act like y’all don’t have any idea why most of the public (of color) can’t trust y’all?
Why do my white friends with black babies need to worry about having “the talk” wherein they gotta tell them that yeah, sometimes the police will target you because you’re black.
Why do black/brown people grow up afraid of the police?
Most importantly: WHY DO BLACK/BROWN PEOPLE NEED TO BE AFRAID OF THE POLICE?

I’m SURE THEY’RE NOT ALL LIKE THAT. But really, who has the time to figure out which ones are the cops and which ones are the decepticons when they’re all wearing the same uniform?

Like. A lot a lot. Because I’ve lived a lot of places.

Random stuff, like:
Coconut Bras
Shot glasses
The world’s largest wrench. (Don’t ask)
A toboggan (This was the most fun I ever had with my clothes on. Not lying*)

But some of my favorite stuff is stuff that my mommy gives. It’s important! And OLD! And HISTORY!

Poll Tax

*Teacher Briya voice*
(I’m kidding. I don’t have a teacher voice)
(Only a *I’M NOT PLAYING WITH YOU, YOU ARE ABOUT TO GET THE BUSINESS*voice)
*pushes up glasses*

This here is a receipt for a poll tax.
Poll Taxes were used as a way to keep black folks from voting. Along with bullshit laws like grandfather clauses, literacy tests and intimidation (No, people still aren’t trying to scare people away from the polls, why do you ask?).

SO. This ISN’T a BHFOTD. This is just a copy of a poll tax receipt used so that this person, who is most probably black, whom I may or MAY NOT (mommy WTF did you get this from?) be related to was like HA MOTHERFUCKER, I WILL PAY YOUR FUNKYASS POLL TAX SO THAT I CAN VOTE.

WHY THIS IS IMPORTANT: Because today is National Voter Registration Day!
With all the random fuckery happening these days all over the country,the best way to express your displeasure with the current events is to VOTE. Vote because not even 100 years ago, this right was denied to A LOT OF FUCKING PEOPLE.

Vote people in who care, Vote out people who don’t.
You care about an issue? VOTE.

The best way to tell the people in charge FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON
Is to stick it in a ballot box.

Okay. That’s today’s not BHFOTD. I’m hopping down off my soap box. See you the next time I decide to post random ramblings about whatever I randomly ramble about!
*I love all of the music guys. And since I write the facts, I pick the music. And there’s (almost) ALWAYS music, and you know why.

I love musicals. Because I love to sing along. Luckily, I’m part of a family who are ALWAYS singing something. ALL. OF. THE. TIME.

So this weekend when my Sister From Another Mister was all #auntiesbabies are gonna watch The Wiz (and also the Wizard of Oz), I got all excited ‘cause OOOOHHH… I hope it’s on Netflix.

It isn’t.

I HAVE IT ON DVD, but I couldn’t find it. Probably because Nesto hid it from me. Because I suppose there’s only so many times you can listen to me sing, YOU CAN’T WIIIIIIIN, without wanting to punch me in the throat.
NOT THAT MY HUSBAND IS ABUSIVE BECAUSE HE’S A MARINE, NOT A MEMBER OF THE NFL AND ALSO HE’S AWARE I’M CRAZY AND I KNOW HE’S CRAZY, SO WE LIVE IN FRAGILE STATE OF
“EVERYBODY IS CRAZY SO LETS NOT GET RILED UP, LET’S JUST GIVE EACH OTHER THE SILENT TREATMENT UNTIL ONE OF US GIVES IN AND DECIDES THAT I DON’T CARE HOW MAD YOU ARE I STILL WANT TO CUDDLE” type of existence.
I’m kidding, of course. Because we’re adults, and adults discuss their problems rationally and probably don’t dump buckets of cold water on people while they’re showering or take unflattering pictures of each other sleeping and post them on the internet, or stand over them with air horns while they’re sleeping to wake them. Because that’s just ridiculous.

Moving on! The Wiz was NOT on Netflix, but you know what was? SGT PEPPER’S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND. It’s in all caps because I can never resist singing it. LOUDLY. So I watched that instead. Because Nesto was not there to stop me.

Some random things:
• Steven Tyler in 1978 was pretty damn handsome. Not my type, but still a pretty good lookin’ cat.
• This movie is both the worst and the best.
• My favorite thing about this movie is the very end when all these random musicians (Minnie Minnie Minnie…MINNIE!!) are doing a sing along to SGT PEPPERS LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND.
• I was probably an adult before I realized THESE WERE ALL BEATLES SONGS.
• My second favorite thing is that Earth Wind and Fire are in this movie!

Which brings me to the facts. Or something:

FACT: I’m gonna go see them at the LA County Fair this September. Because I can! Because I love EWF.
FACT: EWF is the first African-American act to sell out Madison Square Garden.

And there’s your fact ladies and gents! Random and for no reason at all, except to say: Earth Wind and Fire. SQUEEEE!!

On August 9, 2014 August 28, 1955, Michael Brown Emmett Louis Till , an African-American boy who was murdered in Missouri Mississippi at the age of 18 14 Ferguson police officer Darren Wilson drove up to Brown and a friend, Dorian Johnson, and ordered them to move off the street and onto the sidewalk. An altercation then took place between Brown and Wilson through the window of the police car. after reportedly flirting with a white woman. Till was from Chicago, Illinois, visiting his relatives in Money, Mississippi, in the Mississippi Delta region, when he spoke to 21-year-old Carolyn Bryant, the married proprietor of a small grocery store there. . A shot was fired from within the vehicle and Brown and Johnson began to flee. Wilson left his vehicle, fired his pistol at Brown and confronted him. Wilson then fired several shots at Brown, fatally wounding him. Witness reports Brown was on his knees with his hands up when Wilson shot him multiple times. Several nights later, Bryant’s husband Roy and his half-brother J. W. Milam went to Till’s great-uncle’s house. They took Till away to a barn, where they beat him and gouged out one of his eyes, before shooting him through the head and disposing of his body in the Tallahatchie River, weighting it with a 70-pound (32 kg) cotton gin fan tied around his neck with barbed wire. Brown’s body is left lying in the middle of the street for four hours. Three days later, Till’s body was discovered and retrieved from the river.

Till’s body was returned to Chicago. His mother, who had raised him mostly by herself, insisted on a public funeral service with an open casket to show the world the brutality of the killing. “The open-coffin funeral held by Mamie Till Bradley exposed the world to more than her son Emmett Till’s bloated, mutilated body. Her decision focused attention not only on American racism and the barbarism of lynching but also on the limitations and vulnerabilities of American democracy”. Tens of thousands attended his funeral or viewed his casket and images of his mutilated body were published in black-oriented magazines and newspapers, rallying popular black support and white sympathy across the U.S. The shooting sparked unrest in Ferguson due to longstanding racial tensions in one of the most segregated metropolitan areas in the United States. Protests, and other forms of social unrest continued for more than a week, with night curfews being imposed and escalating violence by State Police Department. Intense scrutiny was brought to bear on the condition of black civil rights in Mississippi, with newspapers around the country critical of the state. .Rep. John Lewis (D-GA), who nearly 40 years ago suffered a fractured skull as police officers attacked civil rights protesters with dogs and billy clubs in Selma, Alabama, denounced the police treatment of protesters and journalists in Ferguson, recommended the federalization of  the Missouri National Guard to protect citizens from police brutality. . Although initially local newspapers and law enforcement officials decried the violence against Till and called for justice, they soon began responding to national criticism by defending Mississippians, which eventually transformed into support for the killers. A support campaign for Darren Wilson, the Ferguson police officer who shot 18-year-old Michael Brown six times, has managed to collect over a quarter million dollars in a few days via GoFundMe, a crowdsourcing site. Several donors passed racist comments on the page while making donations, prompting GoFundMe to disable the comments as it was in violation of the site’s terms

 

The trial attracted a vast amount of press attention. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) opened a civil rights investigation of the shooting. President Barack Obama issued a statement expressing condolences to Brown’s family and committed the U.S. Department of Justice to conduct an investigation. “When an all-white, all-male jury acquitted Bryant and Milam of kidnapping and murder in September, the verdict shocked observers across the country and around the world. And when, mere months later, the men openly admitted to Look magazine that they had, in fact, mutilated and murdered Till, the outcry was so intense — and the reaction of Till’s devastated family so dignified — that it lit a spark that helped ignite the modern civil rights movement”. Bryant and Milam were acquitted of Till’s kidnapping and murder, but only months later, a Look magazine reporter interviewed Bryant and Milam. Protected against double jeopardy, they admitted to killing him, which further inflamed black opinion. Till’s murder is noted as a pivotal event motivating the African-American Civil Rights Movement. The shooting of Michael Brown is under investigation by a grand jury. The demographics of the jury are 68 percent white and 24 percent black.

If you don’t learn from your past you are forced doomed to repeat it.

 

You guys, my anniversary is coming up. Next weekend I will have been married for 22 (!) years. I think. I’m pretty sure it’s 22.
I’m also fairly certain it’s next weekend… I’ll be honest: I have a horrible memory. But I’m absolutely certain of two things: We got married. AND it was a LONG ASS TIME AGO.

YES. I GOT MARRIED REALLY YOUNG. (see also: 24 year old son. Hi, Adam!) I did a LOT of things really young. Heh.

ANYWAYS. Not the point. The point is that I never know what to do about our anniversary. I looked up wedding anniversaries; apparently this is the year I’m supposed to gift copper.
A copper WHAT, though? Really, it doesn’t matter because when you’ve been married as long as we have, I feel like you pretty much have all the things you could ever really want.
EXCEPT JEWELRY, YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH JEWELRY. So I guess I’ll just sit tight until my 25th anniversary: Sterling Silver. Tiffany’s here I come!

And while I was looking up anniversary stuff, do you know what ELSE happened on my anniversary?

Houston Riot of 1917 (also called the Camp Logan Riot)!
So what had happened was… two Houston police officers busted in this (black) lady’s house(they were “looking for a suspect in the neighborhood”). They assaulted her and then dragged her into the street.
A soldier from the 24th Infantry was like, Well WTF IS HAPPENING HERE?
And the police officers were like, you can get some of this too.
The official reports and later news reports stated the soldier was charged with interfering with the arrest of a publicly drunk female.
Later on, Corporal Charles Baltimore went to the Houston police station to investigate the arrest, as well as beating of another black soldier, and attempted to gain the release of the soldier.
An argument began which led to violence, and Corporal Baltimore was beaten, shot at, and himself arrested by the police.
Once he was set free and sent back to camp all beaten up, the infantry became angry and decided extract revenge.

The riot began the evening of August 23, when 156 angry soldiers stole weapons from the camp depot and marched on the city of Houston.
They were met outside the city by the police and a crowd of armed citizens, frightened by the reports of a mutiny.
A virtual race riot began, which left 20 people dead – four soldiers, four policemen, and 12 civilians.
Order was restored the next day, and the War Department disarmed the soldiers.

There you have it folks! Your unnecessarily long, but still informative BHFOTD!

But I don’t want y’all thinking I’m trying to insinuate some sort of correlation between police officers from 1917 to the present day are out here causing riots because they don’t know how to treat black people. So, may I share one more anniversary with y’all?

This year marks the 25th anniversary of the movie, Do the Right Thing.

SMIRK
#jerks4life

The other day I was watching some Korean equivalent of America’s got Talent! Or maybe it was The Voice or…something. I dunno. There was a girl singing and people judging her and it was all in Korean. Except the song the girl sang.
Why am I watching Korean shows, you ask? ‘Cause The Brat is home. And she felt the need to make me watch all the shit I haven’t had to watch since she’s been away at college.

ANYWAYS.
Me: I don’t think she picked a good song. I think I’d like it better if she was singing the original version.
Brat: ….?
Me: The Fugee version is a cover. The original singer of this song is Roberta Flack.
To be fair, there’s not really a reason you should know that. That song is WAAAY before your time. And really, I was barely born when that song came out.

My mom (who’s visiting): That CAN NOT be true. That song isn’t THAT old. (Did she just call me old?)
Me: It was released in 1973. I wasn’t even 1 year old yet. (Thanks, Google!)

My mom: DAMN.

And because I’m a jerk, I felt immeasurably better knowing that even though this entire conversation made me feel old, I managed to make MY mom feel even older.

#jerksforlife

I went to BlogHer this year. It was a last minute decision, so sorry if I gave some of y’all heart attacks by being where I didn’t say I’d be. Usually I go for the parties, and to stalk my favorite bloggers who I don’t get to see regularly because they don’t live in SoCal. This time I went for something else. BUT WHILE I WAS THERE (I stalked up a few faves, went to a few parties and ALSO), I dropped in on a few panels. One of which was  The Girlfriends’ Guide to California Politics that was being hosted by the California Women Lead organization. While I’m not usually “politically minded” (y’all read my blog, right?), I was interested. Even more so when I realized that women are severely lacking in leadership roles in California. One of the more disturbing facts that were presented was that of the 296 seats County Boards of Supervisors in CA, 68 are women. Many counties have 0.

 THIS IS AN IMPORTANT LESSON ABOUT REPRESENTATION GUYS.

 We need to get involved. We need to be interested, and active in issues that affect us. Our homes, our healthcare, our bodies.

And if you don’t think it matters…Lemme tell y’all a little something I learned about….Ducks.

In early July, I went to Vegas with some friends. One of them is getting married! That isn’t why I was in Vegas, it was just a happy coincidence that she told us she’s plannin’ to get hitched. And in the way that women do, we asked lots of questions. One of them had to do with the living situation, which, he hasn’t completely moved in because he has ducks. And I think chickens? Maybe she owns the chickens? I’m not sure because I was drunk and in Vegas drinking out of straw shaped like a penis. ANYWAYS. The point of this story is that the chickens (whoever owns them) need protecting from the ducks. BECAUSE APPARENTLY DUCKS ARE RAPISTS.

 No. I’m not exaggerating. She told me a horrifying story of ducks raping chickens, ducks raping other ducks, and corkscrew penises. And then I did some research! Because WHUT? That can’t really be a thing. But it is, Blanche, it is. But NEVER FEAR. Apparently female ducks* are constantly evolving ways to not get pregnant from forced sex. Female ducks have the vaginal equivalent of false passages and dead ends.

 Sidenote: I bet in a million years you never thought you would be learning about duck sex (forced or otherwise) on my blog. You’re welcome.

HOW DO THESE TWO THINGS EVEN CONNECT?! WELL. There are 20% or less women in Elected Office. Maybe if we got more involved in politics, more involved in seeking public offices, ignorant mother fuckers wouldn’t be trying to convince people that we are not in fact human ladies, but lady DUCKS. (See what I did there? There’s always a point guys, sometimes you just gotta look for them)

 

**As it turns out Female PEOPLE also have ways of preventing pregnancy (forced or otherwise): birth control and emergency contraceptives, but if there’s no one representing women and what’s important to us, how much longer will we have them?

I like our neighbors a lot. They’re nice people. They are the son and daughter-in-law of the man who has owned that house since I was 5 years old or so. I know that because that’s about how old I was when I moved into the house next door. Which is coincidentally the house that I currently live in. 

They moved in a few years ago. It took some time to get used to them. Because the neighbor who lived there prior to them had been living there for 20ish years.  She had an asthma attack, and didn’t have enough time to call 911. It was pretty terrible, I have to say. But that’s all I’m gonna say, because that’s not what this story is about really. And also talking about it still makes me cry. 

So back to what I was saying. Our neighbors have kids. Really adorable ones. The daughter is 3. She’s very shy. Sorta. If I happen to be outside when she is, she’ll only say hello from behind her mama’s legs. But if I’m outside and she’s inside, she’ll talk my ear off from the window. She knows my name, wants to know what I’m doin’…she asks about Nesto because my husband is some kinda baby magnet. Which is kinda hilarious, because people are always telling me he’s intimidating. I guess they’ve never seen him in his kangaroo outfit. 

The baby just had his 1st birthday. He’s a BIG BOY. And is definitely the more outgoing of the two of them. The other day when I got home from work, they were all outside. The baby girl waved at me safely from the porch. The boy crawled over and pulled up some grass to give me. And I have to say, I fell in love with him a little bit. He’s so sweet, in the way that babies are. Friendly and happy and one of those babies that are willing to let you pick them up and snuggle because BABY.

Fun fact! This baby was born in that house. His mom had that (9 lb something oz) baby at home in the bathroom because she didn’t have time to get to the hospital. In fact, by the time the ambulance arrived, she was already holding a baby.

I like to tell this story. I will probably always remember this story about these neighbors and that house. It makes me happy to know that a birth happened in that house. I feel like it was a reset button. A death, and then a birth.

I know. I’m not generally all in my feelings. But apparently it was a story I wanted/needed/decided to tell.Life goes on. Even when you don’t think it will, or think it can’t, it does.

Maybe I needed a reminder. Maybe *you* do. Here it is! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Restaurant: fiftyseven (Another soft opening: that’s what HE said)

Food: Fancy, and tiny. They served briya-sized portions.

Me: Fettuccine & lamb. (LAMB! I ate Mary’s friend! And it was not awful!)
I would also like to say that I chose it because it was the least scary thing on the menu.

Nesto: Bratwurst with salsa (?) and pretzel w/mustard (Everything was made in house!)
Everything was pretty good. Didn’t even need extra seasoning (which is good ‘cause there was no salt or pepper on ANY table)
ALSO: They had a pre fixe menu. NO.

People: Hipsters. We actually sat next to a lady wearing all black and a beret. Lived in a loft in the (very sketchy) area.
Gentrification! It’s coming for ALL of LA!

Other stuff: They had a singer downstairs in the club area of this place. She was good from what we could hear while we were eating.
Went downstairs and Mr CrazyPants decided there were too many people for him to remain there.
Something something…Rhode Island Fire (fun fact: I lived in Boston when this happened)

7/10 would recommend. Because menu was only pre fixe or appetizers. And there needed to be an plainer option for people who are not food adventurous

There are wonderful things about living in a house with no kids after living in a house with kids your whole married life.
Most of those things include sex. (Sorry, guys. I’m not sorry)
But they also include things like eating cheese and crackers in bed. Which I do. A lot.
Which I also bitched out both of my kids for doing.
And also having ice cream for breakfast.
Because you’re at war with your husband because FUCK YOU, I don’t always feel like cooking.
Or yannow. Not cooking. Because FUCK THIS, that’s why.

But here’s the thing:
It’s hard to cook for 2 people when you’re used to cooking for 4.
Going out to eat is expensive.
(Related: Did y’all know I have a kid in college? She is also expensive. At least paying for her is not gonna make me gain weight)
(which going out to eat is doing because WTF would I go out and order a salad? Also: I hate lettuce. I don’t care if that sounds weird to you)

Anyways. Recently, I told The Man that we’re gonna eat better.
(and that he’s gonna workout with me. But that’s another story)
AND AS IT HAPPENS, I did this fancy Freasy walk through.
It’s FreshER! And Easy-ER(easier, guys. EASI-ER. *cough*)

Image

So I gotta tell y’all. I was impressed.
I like convenience. If I have to eat and/or cook for other people, I prefer not having to do too much work.
Otherwise, back to cheese and crackers.
Healthy food! Snacks! Food for two!
Image
I pack lunches.
And two snacks. Because I’m at work a long fucking time.
And I don’t eat a lot but I do eat often.
So it’s good they have options for snacking.
Fruit, meaty cheesy snacks. And deez nuts.
(for your mouth. Not mine. Because I also hate nuts)
(also that’s A LOT OF NUTS)
(that’s what she said)

 Image

They even have breakfast things now.
Which is fantastic. Because after taco Tuesday, is I’m slightly tired Wednesday.
And there’s a fresh & easy express on my way to work.
So when I wait til the last minute to leave the house I can run through
and throw some stuff into my lunch bag!

And apparently the freshest eggs this side of a farm.
You know that joke: What came first? The chicken or the egg?

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Turns out, Freasy agrees.

 Image

I can never resist a dirty joke.
Also: happy shopping guys! I think I’m in love with this place.

 

 

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