{I Can Only Be.Me}
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My hair is super curly. Late last year I made the decision to wear it kinda flat ironed out from now on. It’s easier to style, wear, fucking comb thru without breaking all the teeth in the comb, etc. Today, I was lazy and after washing it didn’t feel like doing any work so I let it air dry. Maybe tomorrow. Until then, taking lots of pictures because I dunno the next time I’ll let it air dry and chillaxin’ with my little misunderstood monster buddy, Domo. Pay attention the to pictures – he’s around these parts a whole lot.
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Listening to: Dana Fuchs – Don’t Let Me Down
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Although, as a writer, it’s gotten me a couple too, so I’m hoping that’s what continues to stem from my propensity towards exploiting myself, my past, my opinions on the world wide web. I put it all out there, I always have. I’ve been blogging for 6 years now and in the very beginning I made the decision to be real. To not try to create some sort of distorted image of myself, to try to impress anyone – to try to be anything except completely what I am. I’ve never gone looking for the opportunities I’ve been afforded and I’m glad, because I was able to put my foot down when an editor or manager or whatnot approached me and say “this is me. This is my writing. I’m not changing it, I’m not sugar coating it – I do this how I do it, and that’s how you’ll have to like it – take it or leave it.”
I can write, I know I can. That’s not being pompous, it’s being real. I’m a girl of very few talents and writing is my main one. I could easily be farther along as a writer if I was willing to give only part of myself, to tone it down, to be me but nicer/sweeter/more wholesome – especially since most of my online endeavors are heavily involved in the parenthood realm. But nah. It’s not worth it to me. I like for the people that read me to know me, all of me – the good, bad and ugly. In this avenue, I express myself freely, adequately. I get a sense of catharsis when I hit publish on every blog entry that compares to no other feeling. Screaming from the top of my lungs on every television and radio station in the world wouldn’t give me the same sense of satisfaction and freedom.
I wonder, when I’m done with college and I have to step out completely on my own (if I’m condemned to obtaining a real job) if some of the things I’ve written or some of the pictures I’ve shown will turn off an employer, if it’ll cost me an internship or placement or anything else. I have daughters to think about. I wonder if when they get older, will it bother them that their mother’s salacious pre-baby exploits are online for the world to see. I ask myself, is this so very public and narcissistic, not at all anonymous endeavor worth it?
It doesn’t take me long to realize that to me? Yes. It most definitely is.
I refuse to compromise. I refuse to write anything that doesn’t come from me. I refuse to censor myself for the sake of anyone. Of course there are things that are somewhat off limits, things that I prefer to keep to myself, but I think everyone has those. I just don’t have as many, and I’m totally alright with the potential repercussions of that fact.
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Listening to: Pat Benatar – Love Is A Battlefield
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I loooovveee white boys. I do. Is it degrading to call them boys? I call black men men. But white men boys. Hmm. There’s probably something psychological behind that, but I don’t care to contemplate it right now.
I have never been picky as far as race, and I’ve dated many ethnicities (that’s not a word!) and a few nationalities. But my overwhelming preference is for white men. Their wispy chest hair and happy trails, their pink headed cocks, their sun freckles and light eyes framed by lush lashes, their sharp noses and strong jawlines covered in stubble. And not really inside out Oreo cookie white boys (think about that for a second, I’ll wait…), although those can be nice too, but white white boys with their distressed jeans and comic book t-shirts and surf boards and flip flops and Jeep wranglers and the whole nine.
I’ve loved them since childhood. My first crush was black, but he rejected me (maybe that’s why I like white boys! I was traumatized in kindergarten!). Wait no, I had a boyfriend in Preschool named Luis, he was Mexican and I used to fight with the other María in my class over him. Whatever – anyway – my first boyfriend was Marcus Cippaloni, an Italian boy in the 3rd grade. He was sexy. Which is disturbing in and of itself, being as the last time I saw him he was 9 years old so how the hell could I consider him sexy?! But yeah, he was really good looking with big green eyes and jet black hair.
I’m not really sure why I prefer white dudes, but I don’t think it matters. To me it’s the same thing as someone liking tall men over short men, or girls with long hair over girls with short. I mean it’s not a requirement – it’s just something that will make our probability to date grow higher.
I giggle when people claim I’m a ’sell-out’ or a victim of ’self-hatred’. Tell me, who am I selling out to? I could care less about outside appearances and I don’t think it gives me any brownie points to be seen with a white man over a black man. And since I’m 1/2 Mexican – which race of men should I really be dating in order to align myself with what you think is right? Shouldn’t I limit myself to men of my exact ‘mixture’. If not, aren’t I hating on the other 1/2? IMPORTANT QUESTIONS!!
I used to think when I was younger that it was only black women that despised interracial dating so much. I’d hear about the latest basketball player or actor to ditch his black girlfriend for a white wife, as if she was the final symbol that he’d ‘made it big’. I never really saw the problem. And the whole ’stealing our men’ bit was perplexing too.
But it’s not just black women. Black men too. They seriously get man-ffended when they see an attractive black girl with a white guy. Sometimes they come out their face wrong to me and get embarrassed to the point where they can only manage to stutter out ‘bitch’ as I walk away.
The caliber of these black men that would feel the need to claim they that were better for me because they possessed more melanin than others was so lacking. Sorry, but I outgrew 24″ inch rims on Chevy Impalas parked in front of your mama’s house when I was a teenager. I don’t find Timberlands in the summer time to be attractive, or practical. I like pants worn low to show off obliques and those dimples above their butts, but I don’t need to see your underwear. Although there really is nothing sexier than a black man with a nice chest in a plain white tee over a wifebeater with some dark jeans and Tims – that should not be your only attire! It was amusing to me that they were so dismissive of my white boys, when my white boys superseded them in basically every way, except maybe penis size, but I can’t win them all. At least have something over them besides the fact that ‘I’m your sister and you can relate to me on a special level’ because really, I understand that and it’s totally true, but it’s not that important to my personal existence.
I understand that some people don’t date interracially because of physical preferences. They just aren’t attracted to another race, and that’s fine. I can’t date a guy that shaves his sideburns off if he’s not in the military, or that is shorter than me, or that waxes his eyebrows into arched perfection. Or that has longer hair than I do. Things like that. So I get it.
Isn’t it the same thing when I prefer to date interracially because of physical preferences? I think so.
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Listening to: T.I. – I’m Illy
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Yeah, I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t first watch his videos because he’s fucking hot. (look @ those lashes) I did. Found him when he followed me on Tumblr, checked him out and gave his vids a shot. I was sold after the first one. He’s crazy in the best possible way, totally schizophrenic in his thoughts and he curses so smoothly in his sentences, like me. The way he rambles on about a particular topic, getting distracted by something irrelevantly (is that a word?) awesome -- I do that SO much. I subscribed. And I’m subscribed to like only a dozen channels, after all my years of YouTub’ing.
So I’m a Rocci Berrini fan. He’s probably a real douchebag, but every girl needs that now and then. Oh! And I just realized what he says at the beginning of all his videos: “I’m Rocci, you’re YouTube.” ha. I had to read it on his page to make sense of it. I’m so slow. That’s similar to my tagline. Maybe I should change it, lest I be accused of biting…
No.
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Listening to: Guns N’ Roses -- Sweet Child O’ Mine
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