the Super Sistah Blog

Be Super. Watch Yourself Soar

Blogging while Black February 6, 2011

Like driving while black, blogging while black comes with occupational risks. Just like fights break out on the playground, the blogosphere can be a hostile place filled with bullying kids.  Recently I clashed with a site that made me feel like I was Rodney King and they were the cops. It’s a big bad blog with enough site visits per day to make this blog weep. The site: whataboutourdaughters.com is as popular as my site can only hope to be. They inspired me. Or so I thought. This is what I did to piss the site off.  By now you know the Super is sassy and sarcastic. I have my own opinions and those aren’t for everybody. For instance, I could care less about the Steve Harvey scandal and the fight brewing between the comedian and his ex-wife.  But when I stumbled upon the blog post and read the commentary dissing and dismissing Steve’s female fans as mindless fools without class. I took offense.  The Super is all about the sisters so I took the bashing personally.  I began my post reply on this black blog with…..judgmental much? Instantly the site’s author, the blogmother started breathing fire. This is a part of what she said to me: “The Super Sistah is no sister at all, she’s a MALE-IDENTIFIED woman who thinks women are disposable and men are Gods. Steve Harvey’s agent needs to get off this blog!”

Now dem be fighting words. So I fought.

With shaking hands I whipped off a snarky reply and sat back waiting for the dog fight. My blog is a little Chihuahua but it’s scrappy and knows how to bite. After a day or two of waiting I realized the site had no intention of posting my reply. It was all for the best. I hate when black blogs fight.  It just would have gotten ugly, ultimately ending with protective Vaseline covering my keyboard and my monitor pulling out her monitor’s weave. What would have been the point? If I scrap I try to do it over something more important than a celebrity’s personal life. Maybe my post reply was too cryptic or I caught the blog on a bad day which made it treat me like a white journalist reporting from the Middle East. Being blasted online was like getting a cyber bitch slap.  So that’s what a backhand feels like. My cheek is still stinging. I better get used to it. I’m a little blog with a big mouth. If the blogosphere is anything like High School then I think I just got punched in the eye and shoved in the locker by the school jock. No one said blogging while black would be without its occupational risks. My keyboard’s eye is swelling but I’m still typing. You can’t silence me.

Have you ever been bullied because of your beliefs?

Blogging while Black

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Bitter Best Friend January 18, 2011

My sister says that when I walk down the street people see me coming. She claims I have a bounce to my step and an attitude that says here I come or for my Jamaican readers, “see mi ya.” I never gave her observation much thought.  But recently I realized that not only was I not bouncing, I was dragging and moving slow. There was no pep to my step and no fire in my blood.  I started to disappear. When I entered a room no one did a double take and when I walked down the street no one’s gaze held mine. These were things that happened to me regularly which I had taken for granted as my right. People always stared at me. I never knew why. Didn’t care.  It certainly wasn’t because I was beautiful or had any striking features that made me stand out.  I generally attributed the curious stares to the fact that when I was ready I knew how to vibrate. I knew how to unconsciously convey the message, “look at me, I’m important.” Someone must have blown up my bull horn because I’d gone silent. I attribute this silencing to the old saying that ‘you are what you say you are.’

Recently I fought with my evil twin. Amidst all the hoorays, good jobs and high fives I gave myself, I was also sneaking in some put downs. As I told myself I was pretty behind my back I whispered for a big girl.  While I told myself I was smart, snidely I said, so why aren’t you more successful, dumb ass? While I was telling myself I was well-liked, to my secret self I admitted, yeah for someone who has no friends. I was my own bitter best friend like the sister that always has positive things to say to you while hiding the voodoo doll with your likeness in her backpack.

I have to kill the secret side conversations going on in my  head. When negative thoughts intrude shake the venom free. Learn to push pause on the auto play button when its starts to sing songs of acrimony. I’m not the positive affirmation chick with the Hare Krishna Hammer pants and tambourine so this is going to take some work.  Does anyone have any techniques that might help that doesn’t include shaving my head bald except for two wispy ponytails on the side?

 

the Super Sistah Video Blog December 17, 2010

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Girl Fight December 3, 2010

When men think of the words Girl Fight they instantly conjure visions of muddy girls in bikinis pulling hair and slapping each other hard enough to make panties fly.  When women fight in reality it’s less sexy.  Michelle Rodriquez is not bobbing and weaving Mohammed Ali style looking tough and sultry.  When they exchange words it usually involves hurt feelings, bruised egos and words hot enough to burn.  Women strike with verbal and not physical blows.  Despite having years of love to bind them and having formed ties as strong as Zena and her vaguely hetro sidekick, many women at the slightest provocation will lash out with acid glued to their tongues and give out disses as painful as fingers balled into fists.  What happened? 

I’ve never longed to be a man or pee without squatting, but I wish that women would learn to fight like men.  I’m digging their combat style.  A man will punch his BFF in the face; bloody his nose and put him in half nelson head lock.  Fast forward an hour.  They’ll have a talk containing less than five words and fight finished. Over.  No hard feelings.  Women? Not so much.  An angry woman will make a pact with the devil before she relents. What’s up with that? Why can’t women fight like men?   

"You fight like a girl"

 

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell November 12, 2010

Like the U.S. Military I have a strict Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy between me and my friends.  This has nothing to do with whom they bump uglies with and everything to do with the question of honesty. I’ve always had a problem with the truth.  They say that the truth will set you free. Bullshit!  Instead, throughout my life, the truth has gotten me yelled at, cussed out and disrespected.  For protection, I’ve tried lying, dissembling and making non-committal sounds of agreement in an attempt to keep my thoughts and my opinions to myself.  For the most part I’ve failed miserably.  To save myself from yelling matches with people who only wanted me to listen, I enacted the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy. I sent out summonses to all my friends with the notice that if they didn’t want an honest answer not to come to me.  If what they needed was a hand holding session and a good cry while their girlfriend agreed with all their Special Ed behavior, I was not the one.  I knew my weaknesses.

I’m the friend if you really wanted to know if you were fat, I’d tell you straight, ‘yup, sort of’.  If you really wanted to know if your boyfriend was cheating, I’d reply, “Yeah girl, I think he might be.”  If you really wanted to know if you sucked at your job, to your face I’d admit, “There’s definite room for improvement.” If you wanted the politically correct answer wrapped in bows and niceties I was the friend you skipped.  I thought everyone knew this.  I thought I made myself clear.  Nope. After a particularly brutal exchange with a friend I was kindly advised to, “Learn to lie a little bit.” Really?  Can’t do it.

If I see a friend headed for the train tracks I won’t tell them that I don’t see the Amtrak. I won’t ignore the danger signs, the blaring whistle and the steam engine blowing air up their ass. I won’t close my eyes and watch as they get run over.  If I have breath in my body I will yell, WATCH OUT!  I would want them to do the same for me. Apparently my desire to protect makes me a bitch.  The Super didn’t get the memo that lasting friendships are sustained by lying and backstabbing.  I get it now. Check!  Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie here I come! When asked a question I must learn to nod and agree.  It’s going to be hard. I need a support group like M.A.D .D – Mothers Against Drunk Driving.  Should I create F.A.D – Friends Against Deceiving? I’m considering it. Are you with me?