Brute

“It comes down to this: black people were stripped of our identities when we were brought here, and it's been a quest since then to define who we are.” –Spike Lee




I went for a run in the park with a friend before church. When we were done she shared something that is quite horrific.

Friend: My cousin and her friend were robbed at gun point last night.

Me: WHHAATTT??!!! WHERE!

Friend: Up in the Bronx. Two dudes were trying to holler and her and her friend. They went inside the corner store to get some snacks. Dude was like “If you aint gonna get at me… then you need to give me something!” She’s a Bronx chick, so she got to talking loud in the store…

Me: She reserves that right! Although these days you have to be careful.

Friend: Exactly! Dude was like “I’m gonna get something from you!” He pulled out a gun and made her give up her phone.

Me: Please tell me she dropped the phone….

Friend: She did. Meanwhile the other dude was in the next isle doing the same thing to the friend. They got away. The police came and as the girls were talking… 5-0 came to the conclusion the thugs matched the description of an incident that took place a few blocks up with some other females.

Me: Damn. I’m so sorry that happened! She okay? How old are the girls?

Friend: 16. I guess so. Let’s just say she’s shook, happy to be alive, and can’t wait to get to church today…

Me: I know that’s right!

Rewind to the 3am this morning. Shots were fired on 144th and Lenox (my hood) leaving one dead and six wounded. The fight was over a woman. (Click link to full article) http://www.ny1.com/content/top_stories/123410/one-killed--six-injured-in-harlem-shooting .

around 10pm last night I was walking out the door of my complex when I stopped to talk to the girl who lives in the apartment above me.

Neighbor: You always look so cute, why you out here dressed like a lesbian?

I had on what I refer to as “ex boyfriend gear” (the stuff you never gave back). Oversized basketball shorts, Air Jordan Tall T-shirt, flip flops with tube socks, and a fitted hat which my head scarf hung from underneath.

Me: (laughing) I do look like I’m bout to go hoop…. with my girlfriend!

Neighbor: Where are you going?

Me: The grocery store. Truth is… I always dress like this after dark. I just don’t want to deal with the drama.

Neighbor: Drama?

Me: This isn’t me trying to sound self-centered or anything… but I purposely dress like crap. I don’t like the big groups of dudes trying to get at me, commenting on my body, or grabbing me. No one wants to hear “Aye, yo ma… can I talk to you?” “Can I walk with you?” “Daammnn you got an ass… let me holla at you!” And they always stare…….. licking their lips like lions… and I’m the last antelope left in the world!

Neighbor (Cracking up): Yo! I thought I was the only chick that gets extra baggy when I’m in chill mode cause I don’t want to hear it!

Me: Unfortunately, you’re not!

Neighbor: I feel you! It’s like DAMN! I’m just trying to get some milk! LEAVE ME ALONE!

Me: Foreal. Conversation always plays out like this:

Dude: Aye yo ma, I’m trying to get to know you
Me: Why is that?
Dude: I just want to holla (looking at you all nasty)
Me: No Thanks.
Dude: You got a man?
Me: Yes
Dude: Well… can’t you have friends?
Me: Nah, I’m good on friends.
Dude: That’s a lucky dude that’s hittin that. You got a phone?

Is he serious?

Neighbor (shaking her head): Always the same. And you have to say something back. If you just ignore them… they get loud and want to yell at you like “BITCH! YOU THINK YOU TOO GOOD TO TALK TO ME?”

Me: It’s really sad. And in large groups it comes off as a threat! Do I look like the type of woman who would respond to that nonsense from bunch of dudes in white t- shirts all unproductive and unruly on the corner?

Neighbor: Actually, dressed like that you blend right in with them.

Me: FORGET YOU SON! I’m going to the store!

It bothers me. From men I call “brotha” I fear. I have to walk out my way to avoid street dudes, mask my body… but even worse engage you in a conversation so that you can feel respected… when you stand there on the corner with the intent to disrespect me. Who is to blame for this?

Absentee fathers?

The low self-esteem brod who responded to this foolishness?

The Media?

“The Man” for keeping you down thus forcing you to hang on the corner cause you can’t get a job? So now acting a fool is your way to “take back power”.

Hip-Hop?

With the gentrification of my neighborhood it sickens me that many non-black females are being subjected to this harassment. Black woman know and understand not all men in our community act like this. But for many White and Asian girls on my block… their first encounter with a person of color is now one of uneasiness. One that degraded them. One that now gives them a reason to say “I’m scared of ALL black men.”

The stereotype that has plagued society since the beginning of time continues to live among a nation that ironically is lead by a phenomenal black male.

The black brute. It’s time to take control of how others define us.
When is enough….. enough?


Transcript pulled from Jim Crow Museum:

The brute caricature portrays Black men as innately savage, animalistic, destructive, and criminal -- deserving punishment, maybe death. This brute is a fiend, a sociopath, an anti-social menace. Black brutes are depicted as hideous, terrifying predators who target helpless victims, especially White women. Charles H. Smith, a writer at the end of the 1890s, claimed, "A bad negro is the most horrible creature upon the earth, the most brutal and merciless."1 Clifton R. Breckinridge, a contemporary of Smith's, said of the Black race, "when it produces a brute, he is the worst and most insatiate brute that exists in human form."2 George T. Winston, another "Negrophobic" writer, claimed:When a knock is heard at the door shudders with nameless horror. The black brute is lurking in the dark, a monstrous beast, crazed with lust. His ferocity is almost demoniacal. A mad bull or tiger could scarcely be more brutal. A whole community is frenzied with horror, with the blind and furious rage for vengeance.3--snip--The "terrible crime" most often mentioned in connection with the Black brute was rape, more specifically, the rape of a White woman. At the beginning of the twentieth century, much of the virulent, anti-Black propaganda that found its way into scientific journals, local newspapers, and best-selling novels focused on the stereotype of the Black rapist. The claim that Black brutes were, in epidemic numbers, raping White women became the public rationalization for the lynching of Blacks.

Cadillacs, Cabs, and Dummys

Dad: My strength, my heart, my nerve, my fight. HAPPY FATHERS DAY TO MY BEST FRIEND!


Thus far my 25th year on earth has been one of self discovery. And what I have learned is… the older I get the more like my parents I become.

I’m going to take you back to 1996. I was in 6th grade and my brother Justin in 4th. Dad had recently purchased a 1975 gold and brown Cadillac from a grocery store parking lot for $300. Here we were…. one of 5 black families living in the suburbs of Des Moines, Iowa and my dad had to be the one driving a pimp mobile. He called it a classic….I called it an embarrassment. I used to lay down flat in the back of the thing so no one would see me… but the truth is, when you live in a small community… everyone knew who owned the car whether they saw me in it or not. Looking back on it… I should not have been embarrassed to ride in that car… I should have been proud! You see, Dad drove that cheap vehicle so he could purchase the brand new car my mom was riding around in, the house we were remodeling, and pay for all the little leagues, dance classes, and Tommy Hilfiger clothes my brother and I were wearing. The biggest lesson of life I learned from this man: A real man will put the needs of his family before his own.

My brother was getting ready for his school’s 4th grade bike ride (the class takes a trip to some famous trail). There was one problem… Justin didn’t know how to ride a bike.

Me (being the older sibling that I am): You know the kids are going to make fun of you if you show up with training wheels.

Mom: Jessica, stop! I have training wheels on my bike and I don’t care what anyone has to say about it!

Me: That’s unacceptable…. and no offence very embarrassing since you’re old. You should want more for your son.

Justin: Jessica is right! I need to be riding a two wheeler!

Dad (laughing): How is it you got to the 4th grade and still have training wheels? (That’s the million dollar question)

Mom: Well, when did you teach Jessica how to ride a bike?

Dad: I never taught her….

Me: That’s right! I had my friend push me down a hill a few times in like 1st or 2nd grade… eventually I just took off! I’m self taught!

(My family ignores me when I start self promoting)


Justin: Dad, would you please teach me how to ride a bike real quick?

I looked over at Dad who CLEARLY did not want to spend his entire weekend doing this. But because he didn’t want his son to be the butt of all the jokes he loaded the bike in the trunk of the gold Cadillac.

Me: Oh I’ve got to see this! (Evil laughter)

Dad: You can come as long as you promise to leave the peanut gallery at home!

Me (puppy face): I just want to support my brother ….

Mom: You’re such a brat!!

With that we left the house and went to a neighboring elementary school that faced the major street in town.

Me: Don’t you want to teach him in the back of the school… there is an open lot and parking.

Dad: Why? Here is fine.

Me: I mean… we don’t want Justin’s friends to happen to pass by and seeing him learning to ride a bike!

What I REALLY wanted to say was: “You don’t want MY friends to pass by and see this ugly car AND my brother who is too old to just be learning to ride a bike!”

Dad agreed and drove around back.

Teaching Justin to ride was the longest day of life. He just was NOT getting it and Dad was trying to be patient… but I could tell it was wearing thin. This was no longer fun to snicker at. Fed up I went and sat in the car. An hour went by. I looked up and saw Justin riding down the hill! HE WAS DOING IT! Dad was jumping for joy and I began honking the car horn in jubilee!

Dad: BREAK JUSTIN! BREAK!

Me (scared) DAD HE’S NOT STOPPING! DO SOMETHING!

Justin: HELP! HELP!

To paint a visual Justin had on acid wash paints pulled over his stomach and a yellow tank top… something AC Slater from “Saved By The Bell” would have worn… minus the muscles and my purple helmet that is too big for him and is now covering his face! He is no longer on the cement, but on the grass heading straight for the side of the school building. Dad is chasing after him.

SPLAT! Justin flies of the bike and hits the brick wall and is pealing himself off like the Coyote on Loony Tunes after he runs into the side of a giant rock.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Justin gets up. He survived.

Justin: I’m okay! I’m Okay! Whoa, Man! That was crazy!

Dad is livid at this point because we’ve been at this for hours in 100 degree weather… and this dude STILL can’t ride a bike!

Dad: YOU FUCKING CRASH TEST DUMMY! SHIT! DID YOU REALLY JUST DO THAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?

My Dad had NEVER cursed in front of us… and NEVER called us names. So when he combined the two calling Justin a “fucking crash test dummy!” I thought Justin was just traumatized for life! This is one of my all time favorite quotes from Dad.

After the initial shock of getting cursed out for goofing around on the bike Justin got serious and learned. It was just what he needed to focus himself. Dad got just what he needed when we returned from Mom… a few choice words his damn self.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago. My boyfriend was supposed to come over at 7:30pm p.m. so we could get something to eat… talking too long at the barbershop he arrived at my apartment at 10pm. Anyone who knows me can tell you….if I am hungry or tired… I turn into an angry beast.

Me: I’ve not eaten all day. If you were going to come hours later you should have called and I would have gone to the corner store for a snack!

BF: Well let’s go get something now. (Guys are clueless)

We caught a cab.

Me: 125th and 5th ave please.

Mind you… we got picked up on 148th

At 140th the cab driver turns down a residential block where a big charter bus is stationed backing up traffic down the block.

Me: WHY DID YOU TURN HERE?

BF: ssshhh!

We sat in this unnecessary traffic for about 5 min.

Me: You can stay, I’m getting out. This is ridiculous!

Cabbie: I CAN’T HELP IF THE STREET IS BLOCKED!

Me: YES YOU CAN! Clearly you saw this before we made the turn… because I saw it! I don’t have time to sit here and wait for this to clear up. I’m getting out.

BF: Sir, how much do I owe you?

Cabbie: That will be $7!

Me: $7???? ARE YOU FOR REAL! You didn’t take us anywhere. It would have been 7 if we got to 125th street! I am not at my destination! In fact, you took us 8 blocks! Give him $3

With that I jumped out the cab but not before yelling to the driver: “YOU FUCKING DUMMY!”

With that I took of walking really fast down the street and the poor boyfriend looked extra embarrassed walking 10 ft behind me. He stops another cab.

BF: Come on, get in. You need to be fed AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!

Once in a booth at the restaurant I returned to my pleasant happy go lucky self.

BF: What was that?????

Me: That incident with that cab driver?….

BF: Umm yes

Me: My father

Beauty and The Lion King

It finally happened. A few weeks ago an ex told me what I have been waiting 5 long years to hear.

Ex: “Jess, I was stupid. We were a good pair and I should have never let you go. I’m so sorry for the way I treated you. I was wrong. I fell hard for you then pushed you away. And honestly, you had so much going for yourself I didn’t want to hold you back. You were too good for me.”

I expected trumpets to sound, krump dancers to appear, skittles to rain from the sky, Tyler Perry to quote this in his next film, and perhaps Whitney Houston to ride by on a float belting “I’m Every Woman”. But I felt nothing. And as I thought of something profound to say back along the lines of “I RISE” or “It takes playing with rocks to learn to treasure a diamond” all I could say was… “It’s all good. I’m better because of it.” Wow. Talk about too little too late… I really did not care.

3 weeks ago I jumped back onto the dating scene after taking a brief leave of absence. Quite honestly it is exhausting dealing with weirdos.

I met Mufasa “out” a few weeks ago. (details on the exact way we met is an long story that I promise to share soon.) As an ex college basketball player he stands 6 foot seven, lean, nice smile, caramel… 10 years older than me…..

I have been putting in some overtime at work so every time he asked me out… I declined. Then one Sunday he called me up and said:

Mufasa “I don’t care what you have goin on… you are mine today!” (imagine this in a Bronx accent… it sounds cute in theory, but the way he said it… it came off more like a threat)

Me “Is it still raining?”

Mufasa “NO Beauty, now what do you want to do?”

Me “You’re asking me out… why do I have to come up with something to do?”

Mufasa “Okay, okay. Well, we can go play pool, grab a bite, you can help me wash my car….”

Me “I aint washing shit!” (was this dude serious? Yes… he was)

Mufasa “You really don’t want to help wash the ride?”

Me “How about you come up with a game plan… and then call me back once you have one.”

10 min later I got a text that read “I’m in Times Square near my job. Want to meet up around here? I’m on 45th and 8th”

Me “Perfect. Let’s meet at Latitude.”

I threw on a leather jacket, a hot pink scarf, jeans… and some flats. I don’t believe I even put makeup on. 2 signs that I already wasn’t into dude. On the subway I recalled Mufasa saying that he worked in education, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of a school in Times Square… something in the milk aint clean.

Once at Latitude I spotted Mufasa at the bar. He was grubbing on some mac n cheese and drinking a mojito.

Me “Really? Usually when a guy asks someone out… they wait so we can eat TOGETHER!” (this was strike one)

Mufasa (picks up his plate and moves over to a booth) “We have all night Beauty. I’ll eat again! Now order yourself something. Whatcha drinking?”

Everyone knows my signature drink is a sex on the beach, but when I’m out with guys for the first time I don’t order it. Something about the words “sex” and “beach” make for a night of inappropriate comments.

Me “Can I get a cosmo and an order of calamari please”

I then got a good look at Mufasa. This dude was dressed like he was fresh off the basketball court!

Me “May I ask why you have that sweat band around your head?”

Mufasa “It helps to keep my glasses on. See, when I take it off my glasses slide off my face.”

Me “Why don’t you just get your glasses fitted?”

Mufasa “You feisty Beauty!”

Me “Nah, you just look like Horace Grant right now… when you really don’t have to.”

Mufasa (cracking up) “JOKES! What do you know about Grant?”

We spent the next 10 min making small talk when I asked…

Me “So… where do you teach?”

Mufasa “Teach? I don’t teach…”

Me “Oh… well you said you worked in education I assumed you taught… do you coach?”

Mufasa “Nah…”
Me “Counselor……”

Mufasa (looking uncomfortable) “Nah…. I work for a musical.”

Me (confused… not “working in education”) “Oh… I love the theater… which musical?”

Mufasa “Name some….”

Me “You’re being really shady right now…..”

Mufasa “Just name some musicals and when you guess I’ll tell you.”

Me “Shrek, Mary Poppins, Fela, Hair, Phantom, Little Mermaid, Lion King…..”

Mufasa (extra excited) “A Kuna Ma Tata BABY! That’s me!”

Me (with the “WTF” face on) “So you work for the Lion King… I’ve seen that… you aren’t in it… you work production?”

Mufasa “It depends on the night….”

Me “I’m tired of this game…”

Mufasa “Well, some nights I hand out programs… other nights I seat people… sometimes I work the front…”

Me “You are an usher?”

Mufasa “Yes, I am an usher”

First let me say I’m not knocking anyone’s hustle. Own up to what you do! If you are an usher that does not mean you work for the show… you work for the theater the show happens to be playing at. And Mufasa is 35 years old! The reason I went out with a guy 10 years older than me is because I’m tired of feeling like I have to carry the other person. I’m not about to have the same issues with a 35 year old man that I do with guys my own age! I’ve made piece with the fact that I’m a lot to deal with… and I have to be honest… The Lion King… that just won’t cut it. (strike 2)

Mufasa then showed me a picture on his blackberry.

Mufasa “This is me back when I played ball”

Me “How long ago was that?”

Mufasa “About 12 years ago…..” (yea dude… it’s time to get over it)

All of a sudden this cute Latino guy comes to our table

Mufasa “Yo! Latin Sensation… What’s good Bruh!?” (he really called him Latin Sensation)

Latin Sensation “What’s good Son! My bad you on a date?”

Mufasa “Yea man, but sit for a sec. Beauty here is cool… she won’t mind”

I stuck my hand out to shake Latin Sensation and he kissed it. I tried really hard not to smile… he was kind of cute… okay more than kind of. He sat on the other side of me.

The three of us got to talking and laughing. I was glad Latin Sensation showed up. He was hysterical! Then we started talking about TV.

Latin Sensation “Do you watch that show called The Game?”

Me “OMG! That is my FAVORITE SHOW EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Latin Sensation “Man, I really want Jason and Kelly to get back together!”

Me “Me too, but I don’t know… Jason got with Stacy Dash… it’s going to be hard for her to get back in there…”

We talked about every show on TV. And then Mufasa says:

Mufasa “I don’t watch TV… If it’s not sports… I think it’ dumb.”

Latin Sensation (turns to me) “So where do you work miss lady?”

Me “I work for a Television Network”

Mufasa’s face hit the ground. All he knew was I worked in entertainment. Talk about putting your foot in your mouth!

Latin Sensation “Really?”

Me “Yea… got a degree in it and everything!”

Mufasa “Well since the two of you are having such a good time I’m going to leave you alone for a little bit” with that he got up and went to the bar.

Latin Sensation and I continued talking for about 15 min. He got up when Mufasa came back. Mufasa was a pussy cat for that move… how do you leave another man with someone your out with?

Latin Sensation “Yall going to be out much longer?”

Me “Nah, I have to get home to watch Kendra”

Latin Sensation “Girl, me too!”

Mufasa (extra salty)“Me too! I don’t know who Kendra is, but I’m going to watch her too!”

By this time I’m on my 5th cosmo.

Somehow Mufasa and I got into a conversation about what each other’s “type” is.

Mufasa “I don’t find a girl over 150 lbs attractive”

Me “Good to know. You don’t find me attractive…. Then why am I even here?”

Mufasa “You aren’t more than 150!”

Me “ummm… yes I am.”

Mufasa “Well, not more than 155 at least you don’t look it.”

Me “I’m well over 155. People carry weight differently. At 150 I was a size 4… and it was not a good look. I looked skeletal. That’s a messed up requirement to even have! Some people are just solid. You can’t put a number on it.” (strike 3)

Mufasa “Well….15 of that is in your booty and about 5 in those lips” (this dude needs to learn to SHUT UP!)

Me “Well, you are the type of guy who after their wife gives birth you would be calling her names and constantly telling her how unattractive she is post carrying your baby for 9 months!”

Mufasa “No, I would work out with her…”

Me “I’m over this. Kendra is about to come on. Thanks for the evening. I’m going to take a cab home.”

Mufasa “So what do you want to do on our next date?”

Me “You think there is going to be another one?”

There was only one way this dude could slightly redeem himself. After my dates I put them to a test. My chivalry test. I’ll make you go through a series of doors to see if you open them for me… see if you walk on the outside closest to the street. If I stop to get a pack of gum… do you buy it? I need to be around a man who has me. (yes, I know this is similar to the “chili” test in the movie Deliver us from Eva)

Once outside I spotted Chipotle.

Me “Hey, I don’t have any food at the house. I’m going to grab some chips and salsa for later.”

Once at the door of Chipotle I stopped.

Mufasa “Why aren’t you going in?”

Me “I don’t open doors when in the presence of a man” (my boy Adam taught me this)

Mufasa opened the door. At 35 him asking why I paused... shows me he’s not used to women of my caliber. I ordered my chips. The total was 2 dollars. I looked over at Mufasa who was looking to the sky. I reached in my bag and pulled out two crisp bills.

Back outside I haled my own cab… clearly he did not pass the test. I would never entertain him again.

Mufasa “So maybe the next time I can come scoop you up?”

In New York finding someone with a vehicle is like striking gold. Part of me just wanted to say yes… after all, a girl has been trying to get out to Wal-Mart for 2 years now!

Me “Have a good night.”

A few days later Mufasa called 10 min after I got the “You were the one I let go” call from the ex. The old me… would have led him on to think there was still a chance. But the grown me… had to keep it real. After all, eagles don’t soar among pigeons and diamonds are meant to be treasured.

So Sue Me!

I’ve been dealing with roommates since the age of 18. TCU freshman year my roomie would leave her used maxi pads exposed on her bed… I changed roommates at semester. Sophomore year at U of Iowa one of my three roommates accused me of pulling a gun on her… I’ve yet to see this alleged firearm. Senior year of college one of my roommates returned from summer as a completely different person… I’ve not talked to her since the day we moved out. And my last roommate… she took me to court last week… I now live alone!

Lois moved into my apartment last August. I met her through a friend. I didn’t know too much about her, but she was better than getting a complete stranger off Craigs List. Lois didn’t have a fulltime job. Having been laid off once I was very understanding and collected rent and bills around the time I knew she would be getting her unemployment check. After living with her for about 3 weeks… I realized this arrangement was not working.

Living with Louis I felt like I was in a relationship.

“Can you take the trash out?” “Can you buy toilet paper?” “Can you straighten your shoes by the door?” “Can you move your flat iron?” “Can you call the super to change the light bulb?” “Can you fix the toilet?” “Can I give you the money for the cable next week?” “Speaking of cable, can we get HBO?”… all of this would be said within 2 min of me walking into MY apartment after working a 12 hour day! And the nerve to want to pay extra for HBO… when in that same sentence she asked if her portion of the bill could be late!

Things hit the fan when she sent me an email while I was work and attached a picture of 1 blue cup that was left in the sink. “Can you not leave dishes in the sink. I am tired of cleaning up after you.” I went SMOOTH off! Did she really feel the need to interrupt my day over 1 cup! You would think I cooked a spaghetti dinner and made some Rice Krispi Treats, leaving 20 crusty dishes in the sink!

Not to mention she was cheap. This girl had the nerve to take my Bath & Body Works shower gel to refill the dish soap dispenser! WHO DOES THAT? Take yourself to the corner store and buy some… it’s $1. I had to bring my own toilet paper into the bathroom for fear I would get a yeast infection from that 20 cent construction paper she was wiping with.

Lois would come home at 5am after a night out… every night… and be loud for no reason! Cooking, and banging on household items trying to “fix” them with a hammer. IT WAS TIME FOR HER TO GO!

I never put Lois on the lease… didn’t make her sign a sublease contract with me. She was on her honor month to month to pay her rent… and was free to leave anytime.

Christmas come early on Nov 2nd when I received an email where Lois stated she would be moving out Dec 1st and would give me rent and utilities for the month of December. She had already paid me for Nov rent. (keep this in mind as you continue reading)

December 1st finally came! Lois gave me a check for $800 and turned over the keys. I quickly locked the door behind her. “Free at last, Free at last!”

While out for my birthday on December 8th, I received a message from Lois on my Black Berry. “Happy Birthday Jessica! I hope you are having a good one! I just realized I gave you money for December rent. Since I did not live at your place during the month of December, I would like for you to write me a check for the amount of $800 this week. Sorry for the inconvenience. Have a great day!”

She done lost her mind!

1. That was not your typical “birthday” message. 2. She sent it on December 8th! Sorry boo, but rent is due on the 1st “wake up, wake up, wake up!”

I shot her back a quick response. “I don’t have your money. I used it on the rent. I don’t have $800 just sitting around. I will not be writing you a check.

We went back and forth for 2 days.

Early January I received a subpoena to report to small claims court. I was being sued for “failure to return a security deposit.” This was crazy...she never gave me a security deposit. I only charged her first months rent. I was furious!

Court day finally rolled around. Not only was I annoyed that I was there, but she took me to court in Harlem. Don’t get me wrong I LOVE my people… but a courthouse full of us and my Latin brothers and sisters… FOOLERY! And this wasn’t just any court… Lois took me to night court!

In small claims court you have the option for your case to be tried in front of a judge or a mediator. If you go in front of the mediator all decisions are final. If you pick the judge, you have the option to appeal the verdict. Being that Lois was suing me, she got to choose who we saw. She picked the judge.

There is no place to go while you wait to see the judge… so everyone stays in the courtroom while trials are going on. I couldn’t believe that half of Harlem was about to see my act as my own attorney. After 4.5 hours of hearing about domestic disputes, food poisoning at restaurants, and slumlords… the bailiff called me and Lois outside.

Bailiff “The judge won’t be able to hear your case tonight. You will have to come back”

Me “Are you serious… I’ve been here since 5:30! It is now 10pm!”

Bailiff “We are open every Thursday. You two must agree on a day to come back.”

Lois “I can come back in 2 weeks”

Me (throwing on my snobby voice) “Well, I can’t come until next month.” (Honestly, I was not letting her pick the date… she was the one wasting my time… after all… I am the one with the job and I’m not letting anyone run me.)

March 5th I met Lois for round two. This time we went to trial.

The judge asked Lois to state her side of the case. I felt really bad. Since the last time we were in court… her mother had passed away. She could barely articulate her points and had a “moral support” person whispering in her ear what to say.

Lois “Your honor I lived with Jessica from August 2009-December 1st. I forgot that I wrote her a check for August rent. I only intended on paying for the months that I stayed. It was an oversight on my behalf. When I realized what I had done, I asked her for December rent back and she would not give it to me. This is why we are here.”

Judge “So you paid August, September, October, November, and December. Totaling 5 months of rent…. But you only lived there for 4 months? Why did you pay December if you did not live there?

Louis “I was in a rush and didn’t realize what I was doing. I was rushing to be with my sick mother who recently passed so I just wrote the rent check out of habit.”

Judge “Ms. Wilson. Do you have anything to say to that?”

Me “Yes, your honor.” (I was about to get my Gabrielle Union in “Daddy’s Little Girls” on) Lois claims that she left my residence in a rush and wrote a check out of habit? I have an email from her dated Nov 2nd where she informed me that she would be leaving December 1st and would give me rent and utilities for that month.”

Judge “This was after she paid you November rent?”

Me “Correct your honor. This is after she paid November rent”

Judge “Was she on your lease?”

Me “No, she was not on the lease. I am the only person on the lease. I had a roommate move out in August and I decided to stay and took over the lease. This is when Lois moved in. She was on an honor system to pay rent each month which she did. I only charged her rent and half of the utilities… which are cable/internet and electric. I never asked for a security deposit which is what she is suing me for.”

Lois “That is the best way to put it….”

Me “She premeditated writing that check your honor. I would like to submit her email as evidence. How does one put in writing a month prior that they are going to do something? She paid me. Then asked for the money back claiming that it was an accident. She knew she paid me in August… how else would rent have gotten paid? This was not an oversight.

Judge “Do you recognize this email Ms. Wilson is holding?”

Lois “Yes, I have a copy of it right here.”

Judge “Ms. Wilson, please read the email out loud. Will the court note this is as evidence A.”

Me “Gladly! This is dated Nov 2nd 2009. “Hi Jessica. This is notice that I will be moving out Dec. 1st and will give you December rent and utilities for December prior to moving out. Thank you”

Judge “Why did you not move out before December 1st?”

Lois “My new place was not ready until the 1st”

It was interesting the judge asked that. In doing my research for court I read that if you stay for even one day of the next month… you owe for that entire month.

Judge “So, you want December rent refunded to you…. even though you wrote that you would pay it?”

Lois “It was a mistake.”

Me (getting a little crunk) “And why should I pay for your mistake? Your honor, as a grown woman it is my responsibility to keep track of my bank account. I have the check I wrote to the landlord on December 2nd that has the same date marked on the deposit slip. The money was used on the rent.”

Judge (looks at Lois) “Do you have anything else to say?”

Lois “I have a written statement from my current roommate say that I did move in with her on December 1st”

(What that had to do with anything… who knows. We both agreed she move out on the 1st)

Judge “Ms. Wilson, do you have anymore questions for Ms. Counts?”

Me “No…not other than why am I here” (I had to get one smart comment in)

The judge asked Lois a few more questions and then turned to both of us and said:

Judge “You will receive my verdict in the mail”

WHAT??????? When has Mathis, Judy, or Joe Brown ever said that on TV?

I thanked the judge and turned to Lois. I wanted to say something about her mother… this was one of the first times in my life I didn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t look at me. I walked out.

A week later I received my verdict in the mail. There was no explanation. All it said was: “Judgment in favor of Defendant, dismissing claim. No monetary award.”

Where is Black Barbie?

(The above was taken with my BB around 4:30pm today)

A couple weeks ago worldstarhiphop.com posted a segment of The Tyra Show called “I hate my face”. Tyra spoke with 9-year-old girls and their mothers about body image and how it affects self-esteem. The prettiest little brown girl was center stage. What she said probably should have shocked me. Unfortunately it didn’t.

Tyra had the little girl circle what she hated about her face. The little girl drew around her nose and lips, but what she focused on was her skin saying that it was too dark. She said she preferred to play with white dolls because they were prettier than the black ones. She said a little black boy in her class told her she would be prettier if she was light skinned with lighter eyes like one of her classmates. It was apparent this little girl wished she were white. My eyes focused in on her mother. She sat there crying… feeling hopeless and telling Tyra as a mother she doesn’t know what to do. “I tell her everyday that she is beautiful. I never thought that my child would be going through what I went through all these years later.”

A day later I went to a friend’s house party where a young gentleman sat beside me. We had a brief conversation and then he said this:

Guy “You’re pretty. What nationality are you?”

Thrown off by the question I responded proudly “I’m black”

Guy “I see that… I mean where are you from?”

Me “America. That would make me African American.”

Guy (sounding disappointed) “Oh, well… I thought you were Dominican.”

With that he got up and walked away. Did that REALLY just happen? When did it become uncool to be an African American girl?

I’m sure by now everyone has seen the ABC segment on 42% of black women will never marry. I’m sure by now we’ve all read or have seen Steve Harvey on the talk show circuit in all his clown suit glory… shoving his “how to get a black man” book down our throats. I’m sure by now the media has worked its way in to the mind of the black woman telling you that all your men are in jail, not parenting, and are with the white woman.

Being from the #2 state of interracial marriages (Iowa, Minnesota is #1 according to an article I read in EBONY a few years ago) I’m used to seeing mixed couples. Since moving away I don’t see it as often. In Iowa most of my black male friends date white women, but in NY ALL of my black male friends date black women. All of these are good guys who are college educated with promising careers and many of whom attend church on regular bases. I have to give credit where it is due. It is important to know that there are good black men out there… who want to be in relationships with black women. Don’t believe the hype that there are not.

Last night I hopped a train to Jersey to attend the party of an old friend. The party was packed and pretty well mixed. I couldn’t help but notice the herds of white women going after the black men. They were on a mission! What quickly happened was most of the black men were entertaining the white girls…. leaving the black girls to entertain ourselves. Mission accomplished!

Even though I was slightly perturbed about the situation I swept it under the rug. After all, you can’t always be the most popular.

Around 4:30pm today I returned to NY and ran in Kmart. As I was passing the toy isle I stopped cold in my tracks. There in the Barbie section was a Blonde Barbie shelved right next to the Black Ken. I walked over and began looking at the dolls behind them to see if perhaps the two in front were placed side by side… by mistake? No. The Blonde Barbie and Black Ken were purposely placed next to each other. I quickly searched the section for Black Barbie. Perhaps she was shelved next to some fine Italian Ken. No. She wasn’t even on the shelf. I rang the buzzer for retail assistance.

Me “Excuse me… is the brown skinned Barbie doll sold out?” (that is the only acceptable reason as to why she was not on the shelf)

Associate “I don’t believe so. They must not make one in this surfing collection.”

Me “Why? Contrary to popular belief… black girls swim.”

Associate “Ummmmm”

By this time a young black mother and a Hispanic mother were in the isle with their little girls.

Me “All I’m saying is there is Blonde Barbie, Brunette Barbie, the one over here appears to be Spanish Barbie, and here we have Black Ken… but his counterpart seems to be missing. I understand you have nothing to do with this, but I just don’t see myself. Where is my doll?

By this time the two mothers are behind me cosigning.

Associate “See yourself?”

Me “I’m tired of being ignored and being made to feel that no one wants Black Barbie! Where is she? I want to buy her… in the surfing collection!”

At this point my frustration of the Black Ken being next to Blonde Barbie grew to the fact that he didn’t even have Black Barbie as an option. I had been taken out of the equation. I suddenly became my inner 9- year-old. The one who was teased for having big lips and a big butt. Who was told that she would never be on TV because there was only room for one dark skinned woman and Oprah had that on lock. Who sat in all white classrooms and felt like she wasn’t as pretty as her classmates. Then my 25-year-old-self kicked in and remembered what it was like to be ignored at that party last night. Whose seeing Kim Kardashian being praised for her backside when all my homegirls have bigger ones. Whose being fed all of these statistics that she’d have better luck if she dated outside of her race. The one who just saw a brown skinned girl tell Tyra “I hate my face”.

Me “I just want little black girls to see how beautiful Black Barbie is and have the option to play with her. And I just want Black Ken to stand proudly at her side. If I was walking down this isle with my kids… that is the image I would want them to see.”

That poor associate slowly walked away. Being blonde she would never know how I felt in that moment. She will never know what it’s like to be a 25-year-old black professional woman at the bottom of the food chain. Because she is a 25-year-old Kmart employee at the top of it.

At this point the black mother gave me a hug.

Mother “Do you have a little girl?”

Me “No, but I know what it’s like to be one.”

Mother “You will make an excellent mom one day”

Fighting back tears I gave her a wink and got back on the subway. I starting crying around 72nd street. By the time we’d reached 135th the tears were flowing hard, but not for sadness. I just want little girls everywhere not to judge themselves off the photo shopped images, that rude little boy in class, or by what they do or do not have.

I love being a black woman. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world.

My Style
My Swag
My Walk
My Talk
My Courage
My Strength
My Witt
My Pride
My Laugh
My Love

My Resourcefulness… this is all effortless.

I deserve to be on the shelf for everyone to see and despite what the media has you thinking is beautiful… I know there’s a black Ken doll for me.

"Can I Screw Your Nut?"

Back in October my dear friend Shaena’s boyfriend hit me up on Facebook. They are in a semi long distance relationship (he lives upstate) and he wanted to throw her a surprise birthday party in NYC. I love the girl to death so I was game for whatever he wanted me to do.

After weeks of planning the big day had arrived. Shaena’s bf had the place all laid out! VIP at a posh downtown night club, Grey Goose was flowing, red velvet cupcakes were….velvety, shrimps (yes shrimps) were jumbo, and all of Shaena’s closest friends were in attendance. There was just one thing…no guys. I guess that’s what happens when you get in a serious relationship… friends of the opposite sex seem to disappear.

As I was conversing with a friend…a tapped me on the shoulder.

Woman: I could not help but notice all the pretty girls in this area. I am having a singles event downstairs and we have a rather large group of guys and no ladies… would you and your friends like to come?

OMG. My prayers had been answered! It’s not everyday 30 eligible, educated, employed, black, bachelors are just sitting around waiting to mingle. I didn’t want to appear thirsty, but I had to dip my cup in that! Most of the other girls were either in relationships or were too shy to go downstairs, but me and my wing woman put on our baddest walks and went to strut downstairs!! “HOW YOUUUU DOIN?”

Once there the event coordinator told us we would be playing a game.

Coordinator : I have a bag of bolts and a bag screws. Ladies, you will pick a screw out of this bag, gents, you will pick a bolt out of this one. (she began passing the bags) . Okay, now ladies… you are going to go up to each guy and say “Can I screw you nut?” After you say this, you will see if the bolt and screws match and that will be your partner for a small date.

Me (to my wing woman): Did she just say we have to walk up to these guys and say “Can I screw your nut?????????”

Wing Woman: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA She Sure Did!

Me: (shaking my head): This is soooo inappropriate!

All of a sudden I got really shy. These were some good looking guys… I didn’t want to say that! After all, I’m a Fuc&%$* lady!

My wing woman had met the love her life earlier in the year… it’s changed the dynamic of our pimping...But hey, more for me! I went to the first guy.

Me: So umm…. Can I screw your nut?
Guy 1: I need you to screw me!!! (this game was going to be interesting…)

Our bolt and screw did not match. I went to the next guy.

Me: Can I screw your nut?

Guy 2: We can do whatever you like!

We were not a match.

I looked over at my wing woman whose screw was fitting EVERYONE’s bolt!

Me: ARE YOU SERIOUS! You have 5 matches…. I don’t even have one! AND you have a man! YOU ARE A LOOSE SCREW! JUST LOOSE!

Wing woman: (cracking up) I don’t know why… I guess I’m just a perfect fit for everyone!

Me: Not fair! I CAN’T GET A NUT!

Wing woman (realizing I was taking this personally): Jess, you have a lot going for yourself… trust me… plenty of guys want to screw you!

I know you’re not supposed to hate the player… so I was definitely hating on this game! After several attempts my screw was not fitting anyone. Several guys tried to make it work, but when their true match came along they were ripped away from me and forced on their minnie date. At the end of the game… I stood alone.

Me: This is some BS!

Wing Woman (cracking up): It’s just a game!

Me: Well it mirrors my real life! Not even when the odds are in my favor do I have a man!

That’s when I got a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a tall, dark, built, guy with an awesome smile standing before me.

Eddie: My name’s Eddie, I know my nut didn’t fit but….

Me (cracking up): what an awkward intro!

We talked for a quick min. The Cavs game was on so our convo was mostly about Lebron. I found out Eddie was a producer/actor (like everyone in NY). That’s when I noticed he was wearing a Phat Farm sweater….EWW. I realized… I was doing it again. I need to stop picking brothers apart… one of the reasons 42% of black woman are not married. The other reason being the white woman… LOL (just playing… but not really).

He was cute… and seemed smart. I gave the signal to my wing woman and she worked on his friend and invited them back to Shaena’s birthday party. While the wing woman did her thing I fled the scene… after all… have to make them want more.
15 min later Eddie came up to VIP.

Eddie: So what are you doing tomorrow?

Me: working

Eddie: Not going to the Yankee World Series Win Parade?

Me: Yea… I’m going…. (I really wasn’t but if that was going to ensure a call the next day… I could act like I was going)

As Eddie and I were conversing Shaena’s boyfriend came over and started talking to me. THIS WAS NOT HAPPENING!

I shot the BF an evil look!

BF: My bad, I didn’t mean to block!

Me: See! You have a girl! Why does everyone do this to me!

Shaena’s boyfriend started laughing and made his exit stage right.

Me: Sorry about that, what were you saying?

Eddie: Do you have a card? I’ll give you a call in the morning. If you want to come, we are about to hit up another spot tonight….

I gave Eddie my card, but declined to go to the next spot… I aint no holla back girl.

The next day Eddie hit me up asking where I was in the parade line… geeze… I had lied already… this was an end to something before it even started! We talked 2 or 3 times… and that was it. Oh wells.

So in 2010 I want to fall madly in-like… I won’t say “love” because I would never want to rush that. Now, I know what you all are thinking… I can’t control when or if that happens. Well…. why can’t I?

My entire life I’ve achieved whatever goal I have set for myself. Wanted to be Student Body President… did it. I wanted to work in magazines… I’ve worked for 3. I wanted to be a published writer… done. I wanted to do PR for a major TV network… currently do. Told myself I wanted to build a closer relationship with Christ and my fellow man (friends) I strongly believe this has happened too.

I’ve never been the “I need a man” type and I’m not saying that I have started now. But, I am at a stage in my life where I am open to the possibility of finding something real and it all starts with being in like.

So now you’re probably wondering if I have any prospects. I don’t kiss and tell, but I will say something like a prototype took me to PF Changs back in November and he’s been on my mind ever since. MUAH ;-) We’ll see what 2010 brings.

Happy New Year Everyone!