Grounded in the Stars

Emotionally, the week leading up to Mother's Day was fine...until the night before when I found myself gnarled up in an emotional heap over asshole comments on the internet. Triggered, bothered, agitated by online reactions I read to the installation of this statue, Grounded in the Stars, by artist Thomas J Price in New York City's Times Square.

I like it. I wish that I could get to New York to see it up close and in person before the exhibition ends in June, but the way life has been lately, that might not be in the stars...

As for reading the comments, I know better. I've been on Al Gore's internet since the beginning, and I know that people shitpost and troll and get away with being awful because that is the nature of unmoderated free expression. People are going to post their innermost asinine unfiltered thoughts because there are no other places in polite society where one can go around and say whatever nonsense pops into one's head about other people unless they are Donald Trump holding a rally for his cult of deplorables. Not unless they want to get beat down...

So trust, I didn't go looking for negativity. It was dumped onto my timeline by the geniuses who manage the Meta algorithm. Apparently, they get bored once a week and decide to flood the zone with crap that I would never interact with from all kinds of random pages. Or they throw out red herrings since I did happen to like a post that highlighted this very statue; perhaps they thought that meant I would appreciate seeing some alternative viewpoints.

Hell to the naw!

Which brings us to this unprecedented Busy Black content move: I erased a post I had previously shared to my Facebook page. When I saw some of those nasty comments, I was compelled to write on impulse, and even after I allowed my thoughts to marinate overnight before posting, I ultimately changed my mind. I was uneasy about what had triggered my anger though I remain steadfast in my admiration of the work itself. However, once I sat with my discomfort and deconstructed it, I figured I would write about my change of heart.

My initial reaction to the piece was to shrug and think, huh, as in is this a newsworthy distraction given everything else that is going on in the world? In the same week that we got an American Pope from the Southside of Chicago by way of the 7th Ward in New Orleans with Haitian Creole ancestry, does a 12-foot statue of a Black woman dropped in the middle of Times Square really need all of this attention? Of course, I shared Grounded to the FB page as it had become clear that the reactions appeared to be divided between the like and laugh FB emojis. Hardly scientific, but random enough to take notice that while some pages celebrated the installation, others deemed it "woke"--the new buzz word to indicate that something is unnecessarily polarizing. Nevertheless, I posted a quick looky here and moved on...until a post in one of my groups directed my attention to the comments section. Curiouser and curiouser the farther I fell down that rabbit hole...

There I saw numerous cruel and mean-spirited memes attacking the work and Black women, including this re-imagining of the Statue of Liberty as a heavy-set Black woman checking her phone (inspired by this other Price exhibition in Florence, Italy perhaps). Accompanying their laugh and hate emoji reactions were images depicting morbidly obese Black women scantily dressed with exaggerated breasts, protruding stomachs, and thick hips. One meme depicted a woman pushing a shopping cart from the "EBT" store; another picture juxtaposed the image of a woman "mocking" the statue by posting a picture of herself striking the same pose. The most offensive meme contrasted this statue to a "preferred" mock-up to immortalize the recent racist encounter on the playground with the woman from Minnesota. 

Having made a trip to see the iconic Lady Liberty colossus in person just last year for the first time since high school, I decided to share this meme since I deemed it the least problematic. My visit to Liberty Island had been so uplifting and empowering, especially as I learned that this beloved American symbol had been a gift from France in celebration of the abolition of slavery. Over the years, her symbolism evolved to serve as a welcoming beacon to immigrants from abroad (and despite what anyone else says, those dual purposes are not in conflict).

My knee-jerk reaction to this and those other aforementioned memes? An emotional fuck y'all. Fuck y'all racist, sexist, homophobic, fat-shaming, Trump-voting fascist asses! This was the day before Mother's Day, so fuck your Momma (since she raised you to be this special kind of asshole); fuck your Daddy next month when Father's Day rolls around; and whomever else agrees with your fucked up worldview! But instead of all those f-bombs, this is the more thoughtful reaction I initially posted: 

Moment of emotional transparency: I really effing hate how *free speech* on social media has turned this country into a nation of rude assholes.

Really. If I could cuss people out and be convinced that it would matter for them to know that I see their racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. And while it may just be words that aren't supposed to permeate or hurt, the truth is that taken individually, no, you don't hurt me. But the accumulated impact of your cruelty and meanness, yes...it's like pouring lemon juice on a thousand paper cuts. Salted wounds.

I've been writing about the small indignities and micro-aggressions endured by Black women on this page (and other platforms) for YEARS. I know only a handful of people care or are moved. I write anyway because I think that maybe, one day, someone's heart will be pricked, pained by seeing the impact of the hurt that is so easily heaped on others. But I know better. No one who knowingly and casually inflicts pain recognizes or cares about how exhausting it is to wake up EVERYDAY as the object of their insatiable cruelty.

I know who and what I am, as well as what I am NOT. I am NOT the ugly, stupid, classless, undesirable, useless, (fill in the blank with whatever adjectives/insults you've been taught that are supposed to describe Black women and girls)... I am not a mule, nor a beast. I am a woman of flesh and blood, who knows better, even as I foolishly and vainly hope otherwise.

We are taught to let them...Laugh. Joke. Think the worst. Believe the lies of their superiority and our inherent inferiority. Prove their weaknesses and insecurities by highlighting our ability to endure, survive, and sometimes thrive in spite of their best efforts to destroy us. 

I should mention that I did not (will not) post any of those memes but chose this one that spoke directly to how I feel. I also did not wish to attract the wrong kind of attention to engage with my page (I have better ways to waste my time than to argue with morons). A few hours later, my anger wasn't as raw or as intense, but much like seeing a taunt from this DEPOTUS posted on his official social media account, it had numbed. Stings at first, then I get used to the pain of the daily indignities and humiliations because he can, so he does...and the futility of accepting that there is nothing I will ever say in retaliation that can penetrate or appeal to any semblance of decency. 

As far as I am concerned, everyone who sees this Grounded statue as an object of mockery or scorn, that is how they see me, my nieces, my daughter, my sorors, my aunties...my late mother. My dilemma is whether to accept their judgment or to subvert it. I will admit that it isn't always easy to ignore the noise. The attacks began to feel personal upon seeing the fourth, then the fifth, and later the subsequent posts that took aim at this composite of a random, non-famous Black woman. The comments assumed that she's on welfare, that she speaks in her outside voice, that she barges her way into exclusive spaces where she doesn't fit in or was not invited. That she has multiple children by different men. That she doesn't work a full-time job. That she expresses herself in vernacular colloquialisms. That she twerks when her favorite songs play. That she eats at McDonald's and so do her children. That she complains about injustice.

That she exists.

All she did was stop for a moment to survey the sights in Times Square, just like everybody else visiting for the first or even the 50th time, because you try navigating an amusement park without a map to indicate where things are? Doesn't everyone need to take a moment to get oriented to the utter chaos and confusion that is New York's Time Square?

So let's do just that--take a moment to fully establish what Times Square is and what is surely ain't. Like it ain't the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Not the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA) nor the Whitney Museum, where I took the Kid on a special trip to see an exhibition on Alvin Ailey last December. It also ain't the Guggenheim. So the idea that any kind of art installation in Times Square is supposed to evoke fantasies of taking a leisurely stroll through some tranquil sculpture garden is insanity.

The most accurate way of describing Times Square to someone who has never been there is to compare it to a large open air, overpriced food court located in the middle of the most crowded and loudest set of city blocks in America. I've never been to the Mall of America, but I imagine that is the same kind of chaos. Thousands of tourists; folks trying to sell you same-day show tickets; the stench of burnt hot dogs and roasted peanut wafting from the carts on every corner; Sirijul and Mujibur; bootleg merchants; overpriced chain restaurants; and ginormous neon billboards with blinking lights. There is a Naked Cowboy and his wife. There are also people walking around dressed as cartoon characters, so if you've ever wanted your picture taken with a Disney character but cannot afford a trip to the other most expensive amusement trap on Earth, then Times Square is a viable alternative. That is, if no one will notice that the Times Square Mickey Mouse always looks like he just lost a bar fight in the alley with Elmo (also on hand in case you get lost on your way to finding Sesame Street, which as it turns out, is within 2 miles, not that far away).

The only reason to make an effort to go to Times Square is to see a Broadway play. I was there a year ago to see The Wiz. The only other reason to be there is to kill time on your way out of town by bus at the Port Authority or by train at Grand Central Station. Otherwise, you're only there to get robbed--by spending too much money at one of the multi-level concept stores (like we did on M&Ms), or by one of those shady looking dudes posing as the Mario Brothers.

As the resident of another city that is full of statues and monuments, I appreciate when something new comes along to break up the monotony of generals, presidents, and historical figures as decorative sculpture. Nothing wrong with a little whimsy here and there, such as past public art installations that featured painted pandas, donkeys and elephants, and now all kinds of vibrant murals. There have been varying responses to these kinds of works. They can be polarizing. They stoke derision. There is no such thing as a universally beloved piece of art that appeals to everybody, so it isn't surprising that some works are more controversial than others. However, as long as people understand that not all pieces are intended to appeal to everyone, then the easiest thing to do is move along until there is something that does appeal to you.

For example, a local favorite piece of public art here in DC wasn't initially an art installation but an advertisement for a furniture store. The Big Chair of Anacostia was erected in 1959 and is located in a strip mall in Southeast DC, across the Anacostia River--a world away from most of the city's other more famous monuments. For years, it was known primarily to those of us who grew up in the neighborhood, but as our population has grown and changed, the chair has become a more recognizable city landmark. It is still mostly significant to those of us who live in the SE quadrant; I doubt that anyone who doesn't have a reason to drive into Anacostia would go out of their way to see an oversized piece of furniture. Nor do people who have only become residents of the city in the last 20 years know that this isn't even the original chair.

In response to Grounded, I had no visceral reaction other than curiosity for why a 12-foot tall figure? Assuming the same question was asked when it was an installation of 10-foot tall Balloon Dogs or the 8-foot tall LOVE sculptures, then part of that answer becomes why not? If public art is meant to be seen, discussed, engaged, debated, then it has to make some kind of bold statement. Perhaps the next logical question is why now, given these tumultuous times we've entered with the return of Donald Trump. Because once the default complaint that this statue was "woke", that became a bat signal for MAGA to come out swinging. To which, my retort: if not now, then when?

For such a time as this, why not celebrate an unassuming Black woman standing in her own skin? Why not look upon that Mama Liberty meme as an affirmation of our power, instead of the insult to our appearance as was intended? Black women worked hard to preserve American democracy and its ideals in the 2024 election. One of us was handed the baton at the 11th hour and still got 75 million votes. No need to cringe as Mama Liberty holds that torch aloft while also busy organizing and handling her business!

To be clear, one can dislike Price's statue and not be a racist. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. My problem is that people were intentional and comfortable in bashing the work through the lenses of racism, sexism, classism, and body-shaming. We've already acknowledged how the term woke functions as a dog whistle; others sought to express their anti-Blackness in more subtle forms. For example, conservative provocateur Matt Walsh penned this pseudo-intellectual opinion piece to proclaim his disdain for Price's oeuvre of public art. Then there is the use of the historically loaded term Mammy which somehow becomes the default description of any full-figured Black woman...

Mind you, Grounded could just as easily have been someone's impression of me during the pandemic. Me, or any one of my friends whose struggles with menopause, stress, and the weight of the world have manifested on our bodies, settled into our curves. Once upon a time, full-bodied women were symbols of fertility and abundance. Isn't there a proposal floating around about paying women to have more children? When did our society become so repulsed by the sight of fleshy, Rubenesque women? Especially since many of our mothers, grandmothers, and your Trump-loving aunties have that same body type...when did we become so intolerant and shallow?

Instead of being distracted by superficial concerns, we ought to be more offended that our society has become immune to the ways that racism and sexism compound to harm the psyche of Black, Latino, Asian, and Indigenous women. Or that we're too proud to admit that the daily drip-drip of undeserved mean-spiritedness, insults to our intelligence and competence, and the outright hostility and disrespect exact a heavy physical, emotional, and psychological toll? Women of color disproportionately suffer from higher incidences of infant and maternal mortality, more diagnoses of autoimmune disorders, and greater tendencies to develop aggressive and debilitating chronic diseases. 

Why is it so triggering that a temporary art installation in the most garish public plaza in the most crowded city in America happens to be statue of a Black woman? If you aren't in Times Square right now, nor will be at any point before June 17, then why do you care? Everything you see in her is a reflection of you: your assumptions, your insinuations, your discomfort, your anxieties, your prejudices and biases, your insecurities. It is incredible to see how much fear and loathing she's inspired just by standing there, taking up space without saying or doing anything remarkable!

Stand tall among the stars and stay grounded.

Ten Years to Life

My daughter just celebrated her tenth birthday. I had wanted to write a long dedication in the days leading up to the big leap from single to double digits, but I got all caught up in my feelings. I am ecstatic. I am in disbelief. I am overwhelmed by a list of things to do for this "surprise" birthday party that I'm sure she'll be smart enough to figure out is really happening in spite of what I told her. (That it was cancelled because she got out of line, but how can I be expected to keep that kind of promise in anticipation of this particular birthday???)

And now, when I should be packing for a family trip, I am procrastinating to write about this pending major milestone, because this is a moment that deserves to be preserved and celebrated!

So let's start at the beginning: ten years ago in March 2015, I returned to this blog after a hiatus of two years. The last post I wrote in 2012 was on my 39th birthday. The first post I wrote in 2015 was to announce my pregnancy with just little less than a month remaining. At the time, I was still very unsure and uncertain of what was to come, including the gender of the child I was carrying. That was an intentional choice for reasons that I can only summarize as a delayed delusional denial--I was scared but unwilling to unpack those fears. Not knowing was a way of maintaining control, managing expectations, and like I said, delusional!

You can read between the lines I wrote in the few weeks before the Kid was born, including two pieces that were published hours before I went into labor. I had NO idea. Then the Babe was born, and I got caught up in those sleepless and seemingly endless post-partum days and nights. After a few months, it took more time to find both my motivation and rhythm to write. For example, when I wrote at the end of that year about Mommy-blogging, it was with the explicit intention of avoiding that lane and label. I was ambivalent about identifying myself as a "Mom" in the political sense, because I believed (and still feel) that it was necessary to embody many identities as a woman. 

Before I take you down that road, let's talk about my evolution over the past decade. 

First, let's acknowledge the transition from being pregnant (and still fertile) ten years ago to entering this new season of life called menopause. It is jarring. Literally, just a year ago, I still felt halfway normal, and now I don't. I have weird sleeping patterns, night sweats, and I am perpetually unfocused and cranky. As someone who never dealt with major PMS until after I had a baby, it is unnerving to undergo such drastic changes after so many years of knowing my body and how it worked. Now, I have no idea what to expect from one day to the next. Given my "advanced maternal age" when I finally got pregnant, I knew that I was on Team One and Done, but this change effectively ends the game.

Which brings me to the significance of this past year since the death of my Mom. Because if losing a parent forces a formidable life adjustment, letting go of the ability to have more children has me mourning another substantial loss. And for lack of a better way to describe this, it just feels cosmically unfair. My life isn't over, but this change puts the matter of my mortality on the horizon. I know, referring to menopause as the start of a death march is overly dramatic, but I can't help but to think that I am now counting down as opposed to gearing up. And that sucks.

Especially when your ten-year old is going through puberty. Because it suddenly registers what that all entails.

She's still my baby, but no longer a baby. She's still very much a kid, but she wants to engage in pre-teen things. Soon, that will become teen things, and before long, I will have a young lady making decisions about her future. So while I adjust to my own changes, I have to mentally prepare myself for hers. I know I've joked about that once or twice, but now that the time has come, and we are both in transition I'm not laughing. No, I'm not curled up in a ball, but I am trying to come to terms with this season of growth for her while trying to resist the fatalist tendency to regard this as a season of decline for me.

Ten years ago when my daughter was born, I had a dogwood tree planted in our front yard. I was following the example of my mother who had planted a dogwood tree in the front yard of our family home when we were kids. The tree at my parents' home started off small, but it grew and spread over the course of nearly 40 years to become a focal point of the yard. We took our annual Easter pictures in front of it and continued the tradition with younger cousins and grandchildren. 

Then about three years ago, I noticed that the tree seemed to be struggling, especially in the summers through successive years of drought. Since the tree had been resilient in previous years, we assumed it would recover, as it had each spring. Unfortunately, in the summer of 2023, only half of the leaves came back and one weekend, they all just dried up and died. I initially fretted this was an omen...

I had a tree specialist come by to conduct a post-mortem and we learned that the tree wasn't supposed to have been planted in full sun. It had survived a lot longer than it should have in the wrong location, so it wasn't neglect, but a combination of factors that had killed it. (Incidentally, two dogwood trees planted by a neighbor are also dying under similar conditions.) For a replacement, we opted for a sun-loving cherry blossom and planted another dogwood in a more temperate location. The new trees were planted in November 2023; my Mom passed three months later.

It didn't escape my notice that the cherry blossom tree bloomed the week of her funeral, followed by the new dogwood tree a few weeks later. Instead of regarding the death of that older tree as an omen, I have chosen to interpret my observations of all these trees as messages. The end of one life and the flourishing of another is the how this world turns. As painful as it was to accept that my mother's time was coming to an end, like the dogwood, she had lived a lot longer than expected under unsustainable conditions. Alzheimer's had taken so much from her and us...

I chose to have my daughter and niece read When Great Trees Fall, by Maya Angelou at her funeral. I knew they were too young to grasp the significance, but I knew that it was important for two of her saplings to have a prominent role in saying goodbye. It was important for people to see life flourishing, planted firmly in temperate locations and blossoming. 

Ten years of motherhood. At times it seems surreal to recall that I had a very different life prior to the birth of my daughter. I had different dreams and aspirations. It was by random chance that I ended up on the path toward motherhood after I had determined that it would only happen by some divine intervention...and I guess, that is how I would define the sequence of events I shared in this post. If I didn't believe in miracles before, I sure do now.

They Sleep Fine...

On a mattress, in their McMansions, on the leafy side of town where you need an access code to enter their gated communities. And they are lulled to that aforementioned restful slumber by the dulcet voice of Lionel Richie.

They sleep fine. 

I don't know who needs to be convinced of this now that we are two months and counting into the re-booted American Apprentice reality nightmare starring Donald Trump, hosted by Elon Musk. Or maybe only one of them sleeps just fine (we'll see how those weekly doses of ketamine for "depression" work out for Musk sooner or later).

Nevertheless, I think their decisions to unleash daily calamities and chaos are the stuff their dreams are made of: how many lives can I ruin today, just because I can (click here for evil laugh)? Let's fire half the people who work for the federal government, even those who own Teslas! Let's take over the Kennedy Center and revamp the programming to feature a series of dramatic readings performed by Sylvester Stallone and Scott Baio! Let's start World War III by invading Canada, Panama, and Greenland! Because any and everything is on the table, no matter how absurd, obscene, or unprecedented.

They sleep like newborn babies.

And just like cranky newborns who can't communicate what they need except through crying, if we the peasants get any ideas about trying to catch a few winks, there will be some outrageous tantrum or a ketchup-stained wall some minion has to clean.

About a month or so ago, I saw a video on Al Gore's internet featuring an interview with one of America's favorite drunk Aunties Kathie Lee Gifford explaining why her 'good friend' Donald doesn't need any of this; however, because he cares enough to put himself through this in order to fulfill his promises, we should trust his benevolence in choosing to systematically dismantle the lives of millions of people...

As soon as the thought bubble that contained et tu, Kathie Lee dissipated, there was Lionel Richie singing in my head. I looked up and just as we believe our smart phones are probing our thoughts, it was one of those Mattress Firm commercials. I had to laugh at the irony and the timing. Initially, I was just going to call her out in a Facebook post, but there's so much to unpack, so much smug, sanctimonious entitlement that she deserves more than just a quick passing rant. 

However, when I went back to replay the video after weeks of leaving the tab open, it had been disabled. Was that some kind of sign that the moment had passed or was it just a matter of reloading a different page to see that, yes, Gifford is still among the millions who believe their own lies because that's how she sleeps at night. Content with the knowledge that so long as she is safe from persecution, she don't care about the havoc being wrought on the rest of us.

To be honest, there isn't much else to say. It isn't a difficult or highly nuanced concept to grasp that these people watch the news every day and only pay attention to how the stock market performs to ensure that their wealth is secure. They see the video that Homeland Security Secretary Kristi "I shot that dog" Noem filmed in front of El Salvadorian prison bars flanked by half naked men, but they hone in on her expensive jewelry and perfectly coifed hair. Taking notice of the dehumanizing way those people are stacked and packed like cans on a shelf is a bit too compassionate. While some on the MAGA fringes might be expressing some remorse or regret, the vast majority have been happily enjoying the slaughter because they DON'T CARE.

Therefore, to my FB friends who keep posting daily rhetorical queries to their remaining Trumplogyte acquaintances, stop waiting for a response. The only people who are reading and reacting to your posts are the same 25-40 people the FB algorithm allows to interact and engage with your posts. The majority of those other folks never get to see what see what you have taken time to eloquently write, not even at random. The Trumpists are too busy liking and re-posting their own anti-democracy content. So to answer your question, yes, this is what they wanted.

Do I know this for sure or is this an educated guess? Well, call it my Busy Black Woman's intuition based on the fact that I never deactivated my X-bird app accounts. While not as active on that site as I used to be, I still peek in on those accounts to see what the tweets are saying, and as we predicted, it is inundated by bots, pro-Trump ads, and assorted propaganda. Since every account that pays for a blue check is verified, their thoughts and musings are what gets amplified. The same is true for the content on Meta, where the algorithm boosts the pro-Trump and pro-Musk posts. Dare I say it, not only do they ooze with glee at each new executive order, but they are downright orgasmic in their anticipation of more to come.

I suspect then, that like Parker Posey's character on this season of The White Lotus, after several rapturous hours spent in paradise, they'll pop a special little pill, and sleep just fine.

I propose that instead of waiting for their humanity to reset, that in lieu of praying for changed hearts and minds, we accept what is and plan our next moves. And please don't start by suggesting that we find common ground.

There isn't any.

If you have seen any of the aforementioned Mattress Firm commercials, you will note that right before they pump the Lionel Richie, the previous scene features someone engaged in some disgusting, vile, or unconscionable behavior. Imma need everyone to linger on that part whenever someone suggests that we can find "common ground" with the Trumpers. Really? Take a moment and consider whether you can join in when you see someone heckling a child during an elementary school basketball game. Or if you are eager to eat some of that guacamole after everyone sticks their grubby unwashed hands in it. Go on and try to remain unbothered in the seat in front of this dude because the stench from his feet will override your fear of the plane being flown by a DEI pilot. Better yet, let's all follow the lead of the impatient driver who is late for her dog's grooming appointment, because surely there is no good reason to have an emergency lane or an unoccupied shoulder during rush hour when she has places to be and things to do.

If you can find common ground that you would be willing to share with those people, more power to you. There isn't an inch in that gutter that I find appealing.

The irony of how they appropriated the term woke and made it a pejorative is that they actually celebrate being the opposite--unenlightened, intolerant, but proud and patriotic assholes who prefer to sleepwalk through life, unconscious, unaware, and unconcerned about anyone or anything but themselves.

A few hours before I went back to revisit that video of Kathie Lee, I heard a segment on NPR about the lack of empathy that seems to be more pervasive in our society. We have clearly entered an era of not giving a good damn about hardship or suffering. As long as chaos and calamity are contained way over there, why should that keep me awake at night? Why should I lose any sleep over matters that don't directly impact me?

I'm too old to contract measles, (besides, I got my vaccinations years ago). For the time being, my husband's good government job is not in the line of fire. I don't live in California, Oregon, Hawaii, or anywhere else where wildfires have burned entire communities to the ground. I'm not a student on a visa who wrote an editorial in the student newspaper in support of Palestine. I'm not a purported gang member with a questionable tattoo. I'm on the other side of childbearing, so abortion restrictions don't endanger my health. I could keep listing examples that distance my life from the realities that impact others, yet in spite of my relative comfort and safety, I can visualize the faces of those who are not exempt.

One unvaccinated child might not be my problem or my business, but a community of unvaccinated children quickly becomes catastrophic for an over-stressed public health system. Knowing a handful of people who lost their jobs is unfortunate, until those job losses reverberate to impact others whose livelihoods depend on folks patronizing their businesses. We live in a society, not in individual pods. Eventually, all of this harm being unleashed will accumulate, and the effects won't be as easy to ignore. 

So forgive me, Kathie Lee, for not giving one-tenth of a hoot that your good friend Donald intends to keep his promises, because all that communicates to me is that you are just as horrible and shitty a person as he is. The fact that you are more concerned about him keeping his word to inflict maximum pain and pursue retribution against those who didn't support him (as opposed to appealing to him not to engage in this vendetta) is just proof of your true character. I wish I could unleash the right combination of expletives to articulate what I think of you and your façade of faith and dubious morality...but FUCK YOU Kathie Lee sums it up succinctly.

If you're wondering why it took all of this just to flip Kathie Lee the bird, please understand that I know she won't ever read any of this. Nor will anyone in her orbit. As far as I am concerned, they are a lost cause, so I'm not writing in hopes there will be some massive national change of heart that reshapes how she and a third of this country view the world. Beloved, I am writing to appeal to YOU, my tribe, to warn you of the depravity of the dark side. It is tempting to see how they live, how they sleep and want some of what they have to ease our suffering and pain.

Be ye not deceived by false prophets and promises, perverted faith, and the allure of community with those who celebrate the triumph of evil. Too many people have already been fooled. How many years did Kathie Lee sell viewers various delusions of perfection--whether as a carefree passenger on a cruise ship or as a happy traditional wife and mother on a talk show? This isn't about judging her faith or her life, but how people like her love to flaunt their privilege as evidence of their virtue and as vindication for their political beliefs. She claims that Trump is a changed man since getting nicked shot last summer, that he doesn't need any of this...and by this, it's hard to parse whether she meant he doesn't need to be this cruel and maniacal or if he doesn't need history to remember him as the man who destroyed America.

Either way, I'm sure that as long as the fires rage far, far away from her, she and the others in the cult will sleep just fine.

In their leafy green subdivisions across town, in their McMansions at the far end of the cul-de-sac, under heavy surveillance, armed guards, and with a loaded gun on the nightstand. I hope their apathy and indifference causes them such agitation and distress that the only way they can get to sleep is by taking whatever special pills with a chaser of whatever expensive liquor they keep locked away in their expensive liquor cabinets. I hope that even if sleep comes easy, rest doesn't.

Sleep fine...but with one eye open.

Judging Amy

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about Supreme Court Justice Amy Coney Barrett. It got an unusual amount of attention as I have come to believe that the FB algorithms are being manipulated to promote engagement among MAGA-leaning folks who generally wouldn't see my content. I said something nice about her, and talk about fireworks! I got two angry emoji reactions from folks who don't follow me. YAY! 

The premise of my post was that Barrett had gone from being the Belle of the Right-Wing Cotillion to becoming the target of right-wing ire for not carrying water for the Trump Regime. Then I predicted that these folks were going to abandon all pretense of preserving diversity on the Court when the next vacancy occurs. (So if there are any Black MAGA who were hoping to get that "black" job Clearance Thomas has been holding onto for 30+ years, keep dreaming. Yes, I know I spelled his name incorrectly.) That seat will be reclaimed and filled by another good ole boy who got his law degree from Trump University. My bitcoins are on the Interim US Attorney for DC because, what a tool...

In case it hasn't become clear by now, women in the Trumposphere are expected to serve very specific functions. Melania Antoinette is still the mermaid-Medusa on the mast of the Titanic. The Chief of Staff is one of those post-menopausal mean mother figures. The Press Secretary is probably some runner-up pageant contestant who is auditioning for her next gig on FOX or Newsmax. Attorney General Pam Bondi is destined to be the Ann Boleyn of this Administration, first to get her head chopped if the court losses continue to pile up. Laura Loomer, conspicuously sidelined from the campaign once we all figured out that she was a wannabe mistress, has been reduced to harping against Elon Musk, her nemesis, on his platform. Expect her to provide a Stormi Daniels-y plot twist of some kind to keep the ratings afloat. Linda McMahon is giving us Lovey Howell vibes--another rich socialite with no friends so she commits herself to charitable destruction.

Kristi "I shot that dog" Noem is starring in a series of commercials that showcase her habitual cruelty in mistreating God's creatures to the taxpayer tune of $200 million (at least $50 million is covering the cost of her botox injections, hair weave, and makeup). The ambassadorship that is allowing Kimberly Guilfoyle to detox on the other side of the world is an interesting consolation prize for having kept Don Jr. from breaking things in the Oval. It is also proof that it was always a projection to accuse VP Harris of getting ahead through sleeping around with powerful men. I won't bother making dishonorable mention of any of the others unless they do or say something worth noting. 

My guess is that if MAGA is truly pissed at Amy Coney Barrett, it is because they underestimated her. They expected a mannequin, a female dress-form to drape in a black robe, to pose and put on display as needed. Barrett was conveniently in the right place at the right time when Fate intervened and sent Death to finally pry the dissent pen from Ruth Bader Ginsburg's cold left hand. This vacancy was the answer to their prayers for ideological dominance--a sixth vote. So they lied and bent the "rules", rushed her confirmation through the Senate, and then promptly appealed every precedent they wanted overturned to their newly fortified Supreme Court. Since they had jerry-rigged the process on the front end to install Neil Gorsuch as the intellectual heavyweight and North Star, the debutante Justice need only follow his lead and sign her name to his opinions. 

That's what they expected, and at first, she dutifully played along. She kept her head down, helped to dismantle a few major precedents, and waited a respectable amount of time before seeking to build her own legacy. See, it's been almost five years since her trip to the Emerald City, and like everybody else, she left there disillusioned upon discovering that the Wizard is just a useless, failed con man standing behind a frayed curtain. She never needed anything from him--she was born with a spine and a brain, and that lifetime appointment came from Mitch McConnell's bag of tricks. All Trump did was pick her name out of a hat and give her a big coming out party where everybody got COVID. 

Although I am no fan of Justice Barrett's, the Court is a co-equal branch of our government. I don't have to agree with her ideologically to understand why she's in the line of fire. MAGA thought they were getting another pretty blond stereotypical Barbie fresh out of the box; who woulda thought she would go all Sandra Day O'Connor on their asses? 

One of the angry troll visitors to my page expressed exasperation that Justice Barrett could vote for wasting taxpayer dollars on foreign-born transgender mice...an intriguing head-scratching claim until I understood the context. I offered her a quick refresher on reading comprehension and the three branches of government. She didn't return to thank me, which was rude, but also on brand for folks who have time to shit post on social media, yet can't figure out how to use Google. Another angry troll complained that Barrett must have been threatened and unduly influenced, so my reaction--by what, her own conscience? She's still a Karen like the rest of you, only she's not content to play a supporting role in the Shakespearean tragedy of America's downfall. Amy has always been a leading lady, so she's seizing her moment and commanding the stage. 

Let's break down the absurdity of the suggestion (once again) that a woman born with a fully functioning brain that she used to earn a law degree is somehow unable to think for herself. Y'all tried that with Ketanji Brown Jackson, and I wasn't having it then, so I won't allow it now even as I'm clear how Amy Coney Barrett voted on Election Day. She's brilliant though not always, but nobody is perfect. Not even an Amy. 

Yeah, we all saw that face she made at the Joint Session, but that doesn't reveal anything other than Trump probably has bad breath. The fact that she showed up and sat there for two hours on a school night should tell you that she hasn't suddenly switched sides. So going all Red Queen on her over one or a handful of decisions is pointless unless she does something more substantial and defiant to indicate that this wasn't just another example of a broken clock being right twice a day.

In other words, she may lunch with the other ladies of the Court periodically, but she's not joining their coffee club nor is she inviting herself to catch up over drinks with them after a grueling day. Don't get it twisted--they may work in the same building, but they aren't girlfriends. Doña Sonia and Soror Ketanji may personally like Amy, but they ain't about to taste any of her Cajun potato salad with raisins. They just started to let Elena Kagan bring the bagels...

If Barrett is receiving threats, it ain't from the sister Supremes. They're too busy writing children's books and personal memoirs; issuing dire warnings about the end of our democracy; receiving alumni honors; or moonlighting on Broadway to worry about what Amy is doing. I could be wrong, and I will retract if proven otherwise, but again, she's not their friend. The very notion of the law school class valedictorian being hazed by a wise Latina, an awkward Black girl, and a Jewish yenta--a trio of nerdy feminists--is beyond laughable. 

We're all decades removed from law school, but trust me, those dynamics persist and follow us throughout our lives. Lawyers are not normal people--we're all weird, quirky, brilliant, self-deprecating, arrogant, and exactly who we've always been since high school. Every person pictured here represents the different "types" of people one encounters in law school (starting from the bottom row on the left): the older student who always wanted to be a lawyer; the self-loathing Black guy; the president of the College Republicans; the boot-strapping conservative son of immigrants; the Betty Friedan/Bella Azbug feminist; (top row from the right) the quasi-militant busy Black woman; the guy who thinks he is the life of the party; the most imperious man in the room; and Amy, the fairest one of all.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a letter to my daughter that contrasted how the world regards us as opposed to Amys, and after rereading it, I was amazed at how visceral and raw my anger was. I recall my righteous indignation at the various microaggressions and outright racist taunts directed at Ketanji Brown Jackson, and by extension, every Black woman I knew. It stirred up so much of the resentment I thought I had let go of; instead, I had buried it in a vacuum-sealed time capsule. As triggering as looking back on all of that was, unearthing my resentment and bitterness was also quite liberating. 

You see, having been a quasi-militant Busy Black Woman for all of these years, I know that no matter how well groomed, prepared, and appropriately packaged I arrive, I won't be judged on any of that. I will be judged on how much I remind them of Amy, or maybe on how long they can tolerate and settle for me in lieu of an Amy. Even when we're not in competition against each other, somebody has got to be Jan Brady feeling some kind of way about Marsha (or is it Marcia? Marsha? Marcia.) Of course, the fact that I want to be seen in my own light, on my own merits doesn't matter. My presence there is meant to compliment Amy since I'm not supposed to outshine the galaxy's brightest star. 

Just so that we're clear: I'm not coming for Justice Barrett. She's definitely one of yours, so if you're feeling any remorse or regret that your cult leader didn't take the time to vet her properly, then tough noogies. Y'all are out here railing against DEI (an acronym most of you cannot explain) and admitting that you didn't expect her to be capable of putting in the work required. You thought she'd be too inundated with homework and laundry to draft her own opinions. Now you know that she's not the pretty smart girl whom you voted most likely to end up with a job as a FOX News spokesmodel; she's the pretty and smart girl who got all of the awards at the high school honors assembly. Ione Sky's character in Say Anything. 

At the same time that I assure you that I am not piling on, I must admit to taking some perverse glee at seeing the high school burn book levels of betrayal MAGA world has unleashed on one of their own. It's brutal and ugly. Because their sexism and misogyny reduces women to utility as opposed to appreciating us as fully formed and complex human beings. When I look at our life stories and realize how much Amy Coney Barrett and I have in common, I can find some empathy for her current predicament. Quasi-militant busy Black women can be just as polarizing as an Amy. Too smart for our own good.

However, if you know anything about the pecking order of classmates we don't hang with because of high school or college (and definitely not after law school), there is a reason why Amy is at the top of that list. We've been burned by women who seem nice and friendly at first, only to the extent that their kindness is convenient and comfortable for them. Lest we forget those women who were demanding that the world re-open in the midst of COVID so that they could get their spa treatments (while they continued to work from home). Sure, we can relate to an Amy's perpetual Type-A struggle for perfection, but unlike her, we can't just hire more help. There aren't enough of us to outsource the work of dismantling the systems of oppression. Our reasons for seeking access to those exclusive spaces don't include serving or preserving the patriarchy; therefore, we know better than to trust Miss Amy to be any kind of ally.

We have never forgotten how Missy Anne Reynolds treated Kizzy in Roots...

Finally, it isn't as if Amy Coney Barrett is personally hurt, offended, or intimidated by any of this backlash. She knows exactly what it takes to survive as a woman in conservative legal circles. Amy set her sights on the Supreme Court back when President Ronald Reagan nominated Sandra Day O'Connor. Every move she's made since we were in elementary school has been intentional and executed with the sole purpose of earning that seat. So trust, her problem isn't that she doesn't fit the bill ideologically as a conservative, because res ipsa loquitur. Her problem is that these MAGA folks forget that Amy has been teased and taunted by their kind all of her life, which only motivates her to work harder and smarter.

She spent those high school weekends at home hitting the books instead of hanging out at their sporting events and getting drunk at their parties. She was never a cheerleader, on the pep squad, nor even an extra in the school play. Her extra-curriculars were debate team and the school newspaper--she's the Amy who wrote those editorials on obscure political topics that no one read except the faculty moderators. Since she didn't rush the popular sorority in college, she found her tribe among the College Republicans, most times as the only woman at the mixers not looking to land a rich husband (but she's an Amy, so she married one anyway). She excelled in law school, clerked for Antonin Scalia, adopted Haitian refugee children, sorts her garbage, shops at Talbots, never misses Mass, and is otherwise practically perfect in every way.  

Y'all got the exact Justice you thought you wanted, except Amy Coney Barrett ain't no Mary Poppins. The political winds may shift, but thanks to lifetime tenure and a strict exercise regimen, she's not going anywhere anytime soon. She didn't work this hard for all of these years to get to the Court just to watch Donald Trump destroy this country like a Golden Bull run amok in a china shop...thus, to the extent that she has any power to stop him, she will. She's the mother of seven, not the governess, so it is not in her job description to clean up after unruly children. That's for Congress and the voters to sort out. You should have read the fine print, caveat emptor. Case dismissed.

Daddy's Home

The DNC definitely feels like a lifetime ago in dog years, and this is one of those times when I wish I hadn't let myself get so caught up in my head. This piece was supposed to have been a homage to all of that Good Dad energy we saw back in August and as a September birthday tribute to my Dad. Welp...

Yesterday I saw a snippet of a Sunday news roundtable and one of the participants, Rep. Byron 'not Brian' Donalds exclaimed "Daddy's home" as part of his comments on the return of Trump. In addition to losing my appetite, his statement prompted me to revisit and post this piece. I will post the bulk of what I initially wrote with minimal edits, then provide my updated commentary after the jump. --ADH

I watched Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff's address to the Democratic National Convention and came away with all of the warm and fuzzies. I like him, a lot. I have had something of a soft spot for him ever since I saw a clip of a campaign event back in 2019 where someone tried to rush the stage at then-Sen.  Kamala Harris. And with the speed of Clark Kent changing into Superman, Emhoff was up on that stage and standing in between his wife and her would-be assailant in the kind of 'oh snap' moment that could only endear him to women everywhere as that dude.

A few weeks ago, right before Madam VP Harris announced her choice of running mate, I happened to see an interview with a burly white-haired guy who referred to the former DESPOTUS and his newly appointed running mate, James David Vance as weird. And I liked him, a lot. Because there was something about the way he tagged these men as uncool, in spite of their delusions, that definitely made sense. Later when the Hub and I discussed potential running mates, our mutual favorite was that same burly guy from Minnesota, so I was absolutely ecstatic he was her choice.

The week prior to the Convention, I received an email that invited me to attend a town hall with President Biden (and Madam VP), and I jumped at the chance. I tried to convince my Dad to attend with me because I thought, how many times does he get to go to political events? He initially agreed to tag along, then declined in order to attend Mass...and until the moment when I realized I would be close enough to take a picture of the President, Vice President, and the Governor of Maryland in a crowd where there were only four to six people between us, I figured Dad had made the right call. My insistence on staying at this event was pure obstinance; I imagine my Dad, who is a tolerant man, still would not have wagered on that kind of patience paying off. But I like Biden, a lot. And this was my way of counteracting the FOMO I felt by not being able to go to Chicago for the convention.

I waited up late to hear former President Barack Obama even though we've all heard him speak a thousand times (but we still miss him). I was in the car and happened upon former President Bill Clinton's speech, fully remembering that he has a tendency to just talk and talk (and talk). I still need to go back to listed to the entirety of President Biden's convention speech because that started and went on way past my bedtime. I really appreciate that Governor Tim Walz, the burly football Coach chosen to be her running mate, understood the assignment to give us the perfect win-one-for-the-Gipper keynote/pep talk in 15 minutes or less.

I don't know about you, but I liked LOVED all of the positive Dad energy that was being spread by these Democratic men. It's all very soothing, in a retro yet very modern kind of way. On the one hand, it seems contradictory to feel so reassured by their presence in a year when we are looking to elect a woman to be the Leader of the Free World; yet on the other hand, also radical to feel so elated that they are happily standing in-formation beside some formidable, badass women!

And they LOVE it too!

For half a second, I was ready to offer a similar complimentary nod to James David for his full-throated, you don't want none of this smoke response in defense of his wife, Usha. Almost...but, I can't because of every other toxic attack he has made against childless women or against the military service of the Coach in the past couple of weeks. The vibe I get from him is that of a guy who talks really big and tough, until forced into a corner. Thus, even in defense of his wife, if he had to actually stand up for her, I think he would make up some distraction to give him cover to cut and run. It's giving Ted Cruz blaming his wife for booking a vacation to Cancun during an ice storm. Or that clip of Josh Hawley running to hide under his desk that never gets old.

I am just learning about these new Greek-letter categories of men--alphas, betas, sigmas, etc., so I'm not quite clear on the distinctions but to be honest, I don't care. I know that the so-called alphas are on top of the food chain, but that's if your diet consists of Cheetos, protein bars, and energy drinks. Their patron saint is the former DESPOTUS, which is kinda yikes if we're supposed to look at him as some exemplar of virile masculinity and strength...

But that's not where I'm going with this. Because they're the ones who poke fun of those other men who are different, sensitive, married to women they actually like. They are the guys who enforce the high school caste system of jocks, nerds, goths, stoners, etc., and can't readjust to redefine themselves beyond adolescence. They are forever frozen in a world where Hulk Hogan is the still WWF Champion...

All of that positive Dad energy emanating from Emhoff, Walz, Obama, Clinton, and Biden contrasts with the retro projections of Father Knows Best the other side has been promoting for decades. For years they have attempted to paint the Democrats as the Mommy party of feelings and participation trophies while presenting themselves as the Daddy party of hunting and golfing. And for the life of me, I don't get why we're supposed to believe that a bunch of Dads dressed in company logo shirts and Dockers have a better handle on things than a bunch of Dads driving minivans to carpool their kids to soccer games. Because hello, the Moms were the ones holding it ALL down anyway. Who made sure Dad didn't forget the snacks and water? Who did his laundry because the last time he forgot to sort everything came out pink? 

(Before anybody hits back with a whatabout single Dads, don't worry, I am not forgetting about nor short-changing them.)

Consider the ways the Alphabots have attempted to define the manhood of their opponents in feminine terms: Tampon Tim (too attentive) and Sleepy Old Joe (too old and feeble), for example. Their attempts to make Obama look like a menacing urban thug never took hold, (and they didn't see the endless potential in calling him Urkel) so they attack his wife to imply that he's gay. And because the only thing worse than being happily married to a Black woman is being a gay man, they poke fun of Pete Buttigieg for taking paternity leave after the birth of his twins. 

Take a second to really think about that: they ridiculed a man for being the kind of Dad who wants to do more than just empty the diaper genie when he gets home from work. Imagine being so rigid in your idea of gender roles as to be intimidated by the sight of a baby's poop.

Their disdain for what they perceive as weakness in men is really a hard-wired hatred for women they cannot control. We've been telling you that for decades, but some of you remain unconvinced that the man who goes on the attack against every woman who stands up to him is a thin-skinned unrepentant misogynist. His current running mate, James David the Toady...let's just say that I have my theories, or that he's been doing all of this non-stop campaigning so that he doesn't have to keep sleeping on the couch in his Senate office.

Those man-babies saw all of that joy and fun at the DNC and responded with full tilt mantrums. They can't fathom a world where a man would take to the stage and speak glowingly about a woman he admires for qualities other than her looks. They can't believe that half this country looks upon Madam VP as a beacon of hope and light, and that her supporters aren't just a bunch of childless cat ladies, but also a bunch of happy warrior Dads in flannel shirts who aren't afraid of strong, independent women.

These people hate that our Dads love us for exactly who we are. Our Dads love our tattoos, un-plucked eyebrows, and general weirdness because we're their daughters. Our Dads don't try to shame our brothers when they get overcome with emotion because they have taught them that it's okay for real men to cry if they have to. Our Dads aren't ashamed to say that they love us and that they are proud of who we are. 

Mind you, all of this gushing over the Democratic Dads doesn't assume that these qualities are ideological. Because Real Dads come in every political flavor. Good fathers are the kind of men who teach values to their children. They teach their sons how to look a person straight in the eye, give a firm handshake, and reassure their daughters that their ambitions can be infinite and unlimited. Good fathers sometimes have to work multiple jobs in order to keep the lights on and the food on the table, but they do it because they see it as their responsibility. Good fathers don't make manhood a thing they put on display for Christmas greeting cards, but in daily acts of setting positive examples in their homes. Real Dads respect and honor the women they have children with, even if they aren't married to them. They don't get on social media to complain about child support ruining their credit rating or wealth building because they recognize that the money spent on raising their children is an investment.

For all of the talk about how feminists hate men, I bet some of y'all are surprised to read all of this praise from me...but you shouldn't be. Instead of finding fault with a movement that seeks to give women the same rights of self-determination and choice, you should find fault with a hierarchal mindset that teaches men that gender equality is an existential threat. Freedom for women doesn't displace men, it liberates us all. 

As I gush on about these other men, I can't help but to look at the men in my family. My Hub is totally that guy when it comes to our daughter. He's going to be that Dad in the feminine hygiene aisle asking some random woman if she can help him figure out wings and absorbencies because I'm going to be off Busy Black Womaning somewhere and our Niece won't be answering her phone. I can totally see my Brother K as the carpool Dad, easily alternating between sports and dance recitals. Brother O is the girl Dad MVP around here, so you already know that man is battle-tested and ain't scared.

My Dad, well...he's the reason why I'm not the kind of feminist who hates men. He has been and continues to be the best example of all the traits I admire and applaud--compassionate, considerate, respectful, responsible, and unapologetic in his love for his family. Not that I didn't see all of this in him throughout my life, but especially since my Mom's transition, I see my Dad with more clarity. He's the same age as Trump, so they were raised in the same era and witnessed the evolution of women's rights. 

Hate On Me Hater

In just a few hours (depending on when you read this), Scar and his hyenas will take over the country again. As you might imagine, I am one of many people for whom this will be a most dreadful state of affairs. No need to elaborate on just how unpleasant since we will have four more years to watch it all unravel...

As a native and resident of DC, having grown up literally just a few miles away from where this hostile takeover will occur, I have witnessed the much hallowed "peaceful" transfer of power quite a few times, with both anticipation and dread. The first time was 44 years ago when President Ronald Reagan was inaugurated. I distinctly recall being excited because there was to be a parade that we could walk to from my Grandmother's Capitol Hill home. My parents and most of the other adults in my orbit were decidedly unenthusiastic, but in my childish naiveté, I was undeterred and cheered along with the rest of the adoring crowd.

Fast forward to 1997 when the Hub and I were dating and were given tickets to attend one of the second Clinton Inaugural Balls. The excitement I felt then was genuine and informed since not only had I voted for him, but I had flown in from New Orleans to take part in the festivities. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to guess how I felt at each subsequent Inauguration, including eight years ago. Suffice it to say, it was only out of a morbid sense of curiosity (and because I let my travel anxiety get the best of me), that we happened to still be at home to watch the preliminary formalities. Instead of packing the car or driving to New York, I just had to get one last glimpse of the Obamas as the historic outgoing First Family. Then I saw Michelle Obama's WTF-how-long-do-I-have-to-sit-here-and-not-vomit face...

So, it comes as NO surprise to anybody who knows better when former First Lady Michelle Obama announced that she wouldn't be attending Abomination 2.0. She really didn't need to tell us, but perhaps she felt that she owed us some advance warning since she passed on sitting next to Trump for the 90 minutes it took to formally eulogize President Jimmy Carter at the National Cathedral last week. She must have determined that it was better to get ahead of the news cycle, lest any outlets spend too much time speculating on her whereabouts. 

There should be nothing controversial about her decision, except that the people who make it their business to talk shit about Black women have made it their business to opine for several days on the appropriateness and etiquette of declining an invitation. Petty and classless, they have deemed it, because it breaks with "tradition" that an able-bodied former First Lady would decide that she would rather stay home in her pajamas binging Bridgerton on Netflix than to sit out in the snow on a dais to witness the inauguration of a man whose racist and xenophobic rhetoric endangered the lives of her family.  

I'm mad that y'all expected her to forgive all of that.

But let's not even dignify their imitation clutched pearls and offended pretense of decorum because more than half the population of this city has decided not to attend or tune in to watch the Trumpocalypse. Folks are fleeing this city like it's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Anybody who doesn't have to be here for work or who didn't pay the million-dollar access fee will be rearranging their sock drawers or otherwise preoccupied. Second, Mrs. Obama attended the Inauguration when she passed the keys to the gilded walk-in cage closet to her successor. That was her last official act as First Lady, a role that is undefined. It's not even a job in the traditional sense, just a title. Much like the First Lady at most of our churches, the most important thing she does is not wear the same outfit twice in a month, so why are we even discussing what the former former FLOTUS does or doesn't do in the grand scheme of things? Isn't the focus supposed to be on the incoming DESPOTUS? Y'all should be more concerned if Melania or her decoy will be there...

Truth be told, we really need to channel all of our good vibes and positive energy towards Madame Vice President Kamala Harris, the only Black woman who has to be there in order to perform an actual constitutional duty. We need to pray for her poker face at that crucial moment when her historic role comes to an end, and she has to act like she's not pissed and ready to blow the roof off the joint. We all know that she would rather be sitting next to Michelle Obama in matching pajamas drowning her sorrows with a box of wine. I suspect that as soon as James David finishes his oath and doesn't immediately combust into flames, Madame VP and 2G Doug E. will quietly exit the scene stage left. (Where they go from there is anyone's guess, but let's hope that it won't be the last we'll see of them.)

Since we're on the subject of Kamala Harris and the optics of decorum, let me say it loud and clear for anyone who needs to hear this: I ain't mad at all that she hasn't offered to give the Vances a tour of the official residence before they move in. It's a big ass house, but they are smart people who went to Yale, so there is no need to point out where the bathrooms are located. I get that there was a tradition there as well, but naw, that man called her trash, and it wasn't just meaningless campaign rhetoric. She doesn't owe him or his wife anything more than the keys.

In the weeks since it became clear that we are doing this again (and stuck in a Groundhog Day nightmare), I have been paying attention and contemplating the state of things. I've been reading the tea leaves and slowly becoming more accepting of the things I cannot change. Malcolm X once said that the most disrespected, unprotected, and neglected person in America is the Black woman, and I have come to the conclusion that he was 100% correct in that assessment. 

I could pull out a CVS length receipt of names and situations as proof...I have done so in the past, but it won't matter. I could mention how folks are blaming Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass for wildfires she didn't start; how Rep. Jasmine Crockett gets criticized for keeping it too real even though she's 100% right; how some of you have been way too silent and accepting of how Atty. Fani Willis was effectively stripped of power; how some of you will downplay every example I cite just because. I bet most of you haven't listened to Chrisette Michelle in a couple of forevers--not since she performed at the first Trump Inauguration, but you won't rid your playlists of Snoop Dog, Nelly, or Rick Ross after this one.

Therefore, once I realized that I too am just another disrespected, unprotected, and neglected Busy Black Woman, it dawned on me that I need to stop worrying so much about what I say and how I am perceived. Damned if I do and damned if I don't, right? Y'all are going to find fault, pick me apart, and toss my bones out to be picked clean by Scar's hyenas, the vultures, and other scavengers. So it don't matter (yeah, I'm intentionally using AAVE), because what does it matter? I can be Mary freaking Poppins, practically perfect in every way, but if I fail to pronounce the -ing with the appropriate inflection or slip into a regional accent that reveals my hood adjacency, I'm just another Eliza Doolittle at the races. Another DEI Sheniqua that y'all would dismiss as unworthy of being allowed in civilized company without an apron and duster...

Ask me how I know. 

The irony for me is the expectation that Black women ought to be grateful that the insults hurled at us and the roadblocks intended to stop us today aren't as bad as what was said and done to the generations of women who preceded us. Once upon a time, when our great grandmothers and great aunties had to take on domestic work that kept them from raising their own children while caring for the children of others, they were mistreated, called lazy and incompetent, and were blamed for the destruction of the "traditional" Black family because they were the primary breadwinners. The difference in these modern times? Apparently not as much as we were led to believe. In spite of our higher rates of education and expanded access to opportunity, we were hoodwinked into believing that all we had to do was work twice as hard to become half as successful. We didn't factor in how deeply entrenched misogynoir always sets us up for failure in the end.

Take the very accomplished, poised, and fabulous former FLOTUS Michelle Obama as the prime example. If anyone embodies the narrative of the great American meritocracy, surely it would be the Black woman whose path took her from the Southside of Chicago to Princeton University and ultimately to the White House. Instead of finding inspiration by such an improbable trajectory, MAGA was appalled and offended. They called her everything but a child of God for the unforgiveable sin of being proud of her country for seemingly moving past its racism!

When she became First Lady, she rarely stumbled or misspoke. She never had a bad hair day nor committed any fashion faux pas. She took up the worthy crusade of encouraging children to become more active. She installed an environmentally conscious kitchen and butterfly garden on the White House grounds. She raised her daughters out of the glare of the public and they are now college-educated young women. Since leaving the White House, Mrs. Obama has written a couple of books, produced a few movies, lent her name to worthy causes, and generally stood by her man. 

But haters gonna hate no matter what. Because if performing for the Abomination is the highlight of Kid Rock's birthday weekend, then what makes Michelle Obama so special as to refuse to cancel her plans for brunch? 

I can't speak for all Black women, but I can aver on behalf of the 92% of us who swallowed the bitter pill of defeat on November 5 that we are simply following through on our promise that we are done! No more Mammying America. No more missionary work to convert people who don't want salvation. Y'all booked this trip on the Titanic II, so go on and enjoy every doomed minute of the voyage. Maybe there will be enough lifeboats and jackets this time...if not, thoughts and prayers.

You can't force us, bully us, shame us, nor blame us for anything that happens from now on. We didn't choose this, so we're not acquiescing to any demands that we smile and grin for the cameras. We're going to lean into the disappointment we feel, and more than anyone Michelle Obama deserves space to rest and recalibrate. She did her part. Weeks after losing her beloved mother, she channeled her grief into a pitch perfect motivational speech that included her recollection of the painful impact of Donald and Melania Trump's birther conspiracies on her family. Y'all weren't the least bit offended by what her daughters had to endure as children hearing and seeing those racist descriptions of their parents for years. Now there are lofty principles and ideals to uphold? Really???

If that were true, then the Black woman who dedicated her career to upholding and defending so-called American principles and ideals would be taking the Oath at noon on Monday. So miss me, Michelle Obama, and every other Black woman you know with ANY and ALL that bullshit! 

We not coming.