Sometimes We Need A Lil Thug Loving

My usual argument is I'm not ghetto.

But I suffer and endure a love hate contrary affection to Barbadian urban men. 

In essence, I am infatuated with those thug types on the higher scale of intelligence. 

I admit it, I find them refreshingly creative, ambitious and viciously intelligent. Obviously you realize I'm not speaking about those idiots that rise at 7 am to sit on the block and watch the catties pass, who been selling 5 bags for the last 10 years and still only own the latest fashions, a few cheap hats, and a phone bought only because it can WhatsApp and share videos of sexy Bitches they dream of bulling til she ancestors weep. 

I mean the others.

 The guys who go to work. Who quick to jump in a conversation about the effect of over taxing a nation in denial about it's obvious employment dilemma (the dilemma where in the private sector, where they work, there are two options. Go to work and bust yuh ass for bosswoman peanuts, and hear how lazy black ppl are because they only putting in a 40 hour week for somebody else, at minimum wage, still got rent to pay, children to support, groceries to buy, and keep themselves looking decent, but can't start up their own lil business OR, try to start their own lil thing, but can't get legit funding because the system doesn't accommodate "niggas" with ambition, so they use what they have access to, to spring board them... Often, getting caught up in the success of the illegitimate)

Those are the men I am drawn to. So it pains me when one of the other idiots, the plebeians who so caught up in the street image, the ghetto life rhetoric, disturbs my early morning meditation with their vapid conversation starting with " u... U sexy yuh, good morning. Psssst. Psssst sexy rasta ting. Girl I would..." 

You would what, bitch?

You would what? 

Stick your dick in me the one time, in your condom filled with stone, and try to prove you're a man by moving my uterus? All the time thinking you've established something impressive? You would keep my pics to share with your boys on the block and tell them how you tore my pussy up and had me bawling? 

You would what? 

Start a conversation telling me I'm sexy, then ask me for my WhatsApp, to find out I live in convenience of you coming over and liming and getting down to putting my ankles by your ears on my own bed so you don't have to worry about the fact that you don't even own a bed? 

Where's the rest of the package? Where's the depth of character?? All you lil hebitches doing the same thing, looking just like each other, with your washcloths tied under your chins, in your tight cut off jeans, and light wife beaters, corner of the washcloth between your teeth, pulled down over your faces, hiding the insecurities of being lost little boys, struggling to find manhood. 

Yet, not realizing that your brothers, who sit on the very same block, under the very same shed, playing the very same spades at 11pm, smoking the same weed you sell, in their muted fashionable clothing, laughing as you whip out your phone to show them my picture, and tell them how you would make me hear... Not realizing those same brothers, putting in the work to undo your fucking failings. 

They hate to read just as much as you do, so they watch YouTube. The learn how to do whatever, they find documentaries, they know how to start a conversation or join one, and they know how to talk dirty just like you. 

They have all intentions of getting into a woman's panties, right after they get into her mind. 

Yet, fuckboys, every single time one of you open your fucking mouthes, you force the street men, the educated thugs, backward by 3 fucking steps. 

So I'm asking on behalf of those of us women who love the "street niggas" who know what the fucking word vapid actually means, that you little, insignificant, twat swoggling, single celled testicular mishaps ease the fuck up on the opening of your mouthes. 

Sit the fuck down, Hebitch. Shut the fuck up, fuckboy. 

I'm tryna see that smart thug behind you. With yuh loud rasshole.

Struggle of a Big Ass Chic

Woman

You have a large, shapely posterior.

It captures the attention of everyone around as long as it's visible.

You should hide it.

It's distracting.

It's too sexy.

Men can't control themselves because of it.

Seriously, put it away.

You whore.

You just gonna stand there with that thing in everybody's sight.

Slut.

No man will want a woman who has such a dominant physical attribute.

At least not on display like that.

Woman.

You're what's wrong with society, with yuh big ass.

- Arte

The Pomposity Of Nepotism Within The Public Service Of This Little Rock - (Or The Fact That Bajans Appearing More and More Sheeplike When Faced With Blatant Bullshit)

Pretty little buses all in a row.

A few years ago I chanced to get on a St. Patrick's bus, and we got all the way to Sheraton Centre, going towards St. Patrick's. A little old lady got on, flashed her ID card, and stood beside the driver as the bus was full to capacity, I remember it being rush hour, and the bus was hot, and crowded, I was a few steps away from the driver, standing with my headphones in as usual, just bobbing my head along as I usually do to make it through the ordeal of being on board a bus with so many bodies pressing here and there.

It took two songs about 3 minutes in length before I realized the driver had turned his engine off, and was casually picking his fingernails, I mean in the most nonchalant manner at the height of the evening rush hour when the working public, parents, students, everybody hustling to get home.

Then the cussing began, "BUS MAN WHA IS DE PROBLEM? WE WAHN GET HOME, TRY AND MOVE DE BUS!" I pulled out my headphones and stretched this way and that until I could see the driver, who was still just there casually seated, drumming his finger tips on the steering wheel, seemingly lost in thought.

The little old lady was trying to push herself down in the bus through the sheer mass of us in the front, and as she reached my side, I blurted out exactly what I thought the issue was.

"So, NONE of you here in the front of the bus are gonna get up and give mums a seat??? Those seats are for her not you!!!"

If you could have heard the sucking of teeth, the under breath cursing, the genuine disgust from the most of us standing, you would have been proud.

Not one of the persons occupying the 7 or 8 side on seats at the front of the bus were elderly, pregnant, or disabled, nor carrying a child. Other passengers echoed my sentiments and the driver took his defiance even further.

Mr Driver got up, pulled out the keys, and disembarked from the Government Of Barbados' Transport Board Bus, with the most serene facial expression I had seen up to that point.

To be honest, I was very frustrated, but not at him, in fact, I was quite impressed with him. People began cussing him and carrying on, the way you know they will, eventually he answered.

" If Gran doesn't get a seat, I am not moving this bus, I don't care if they bring Ghandi himself! "

I was in stitches because I had never heard anyone use that term.

Eventually the little old lady got a seat, even though she fussed that she was strong enough to stand, one of the kind, thoughtful individuals in the front of the bus actually did get up and stand so she could sit.

Which brings me to August 12th 2014, and my friend Terrance Holder's encounter with a driver highlighted by a video of him and a driver going at it.

Of course that video has gained more than 1200 comments, 4200 shares in and around the region, in fact, the world.

Now, I have been active in my natural personality on that post, cussing here, there and everywhere because I am incensed to the blatant truths being shoved in my face on this thread.

see for yourselves
Some of those truths being as follows:

Much of the social media viewing public in this region are either illiterate, or just plain lazy, they are also cowards.
Too many people rather just roll over and get cursed out, than take a stand, for fear of being targeted, by boisterous persons IN REALITY, because, well, that's what we do, and finally,
There is no sense of ethics in many members of our work force, not just the public servants, the ENTIRE workforce, there is a reason why I say this, since the beginning of the thread we have seen Terrance's character been attacked, he has been told he's trying to provoke the driver into a confrontation in an attempt to defame his - the driver's - otherwise pristine reputation, he's been told he's breaking the law by recording the driver's outbursts and communicating with him, and finally he's been told he should have been put off the bus.

What appears particularly distressing about this situation is the fact that aside from a very apologetic member of staff from Transport Board, the humble and soft-toned Sherphene Waithe, who has apologized -she did so BEFORE the matter was addressed by the relevant authorities- for his behavior (the driver), and one other who publicly chided the driver for his behavior, which for all to view, is raucous and obscene, and directly contravenes with the mission statement of the fifty eight year old establishment of the Barbados Transport Board, the amount of people who support this driver's actions and words, is one too many.

From fellow drivers at the Barbados Transport Board, to senior members of the journalism family, have displayed the essence of poor countryman-ship and judgment, actually, if you follow the thread through its nearly two week lifespan, Mr. Holder has been cursed, poisonously, by members of staff, proud to announce that they have been employed by the transport board for quite a few years, in the case of Derek Goodridge and his scathing display of pomposity, with absolutely NO regard for the image of the Barbados Transport Board, in fact, his piece of horse fodder is written with the opening sentence of  "I joined transport board in 2007..." and ends in " ..call the minister of transport and works, you pussy."

Just to be certain I did not misread his comments, I captured the screens, this man and the driver share a common factor. I don't personally know if it's fueled by our society's blatant and significant nepotism, OR, if its just how ignorant some people are.


The pressing question remains, is The Transport Board going to discipline its subordinates in any way?
As it seems, to us the public, they have no control over the staff they chose not to make redundant, in fact, these subordinates seem to be the ones running the state owned company, not the managers, and definitely not the minister.

Meanwhile, those of us in the public who choose to speak out, and represent ourselves, demanding better of them, might just have to sit here, with our rear ends biting, for just a little while longer.

Bubbling Pot Of Expectations.

I have never hidden the fact that I preferred to date younger men, in fact I made that common knowledge for most of my adult life. 

I found myself attracted to the virility of youth, the power of a younger man's ego and convictions, their zest for more in life and the fact that they were not jaded so, we often had more time to enjoy each other. 

Of course then I deviated from this pattern, and got impregnated by someone slightly - not significantly - older than I, resulting in a complete reboot of what I thought had been my final programming. 

Fast forward, I am now a thirty year old woman. 

Do you know what that means for me? 

You don't ? 

Neither do I. 

"youthful virility" ... go on ... judge me.

Honestly I went through the panic before I turned 30, worrying that I had achieved absolutely nothing besides becoming a single mother and disappointing my own mother further by being unwed and underachieving in any set career mode. Then the big day came and honestly, it was over so quickly and my mind adjusted to telling people " I'm 30 " without so much as even a blink to calculate. 

The major changes came though, I became quite aware that I am playing the ass with my time, and also aware that I have been hitched to shit that is also not worth my time. 

So I began to hustle like there's no tomorrow. 

I have officially been unemployed since October, but haven't actually been out of work for any more than 2 weeks at a time, making enough for the period that I am employed within to hold me over, once things were good. 

I began taking a microscopic view of my "relationships", and realized that the main one was a waste of time. It was not growing in any direction. Completely moribund, to be honest. 

Get your minds outta the gutter, it is a measurement regarding intellectual
... erm... growth? 

My sexual interests were replaced by an extreme hunger for intellectual challenge and emotional capability. I am an alpha-female, the glaring truth remains that there is no male, incapable of forming a basic conversation with me regarding public issues, who remains soft and malleable under my ferocity and unwavering bellicose attitude, that is capable of being involved with me for a period of time longer than seven months. 

As nature would have it, the stars aligned that fateful night of the first Blood Moon/ Lunar Eclipse. 

Long story short, I ended up meeting someone so dynamic they have continued to leave me hungry to sidle up into their mind, and just get inside that head of his and run around naked until I am intimately familiar with every corner dark and light. 

Here's the big kicker for me.. 

annnnnnnnnnd just like that... they done fucked me right up.
Ton and a Half of bullshit... how am I supposed to choose here?

He's 10 years older than I. 

Not much to you eh? 

Since I turned 18, I have only ever been seriously involved, with 2 men 6 years my senior, never a day more, and my BEST relationship, - security, dexterity, lack of conflict, support, attraction and raw affection outweighing all others- was with a guy 2 years my junior. For me, ten years is a massive leap. Ten years is the culmination of all my fears of him wanting to control me, to own me, to possess me, and losing my identity in his, ten years is the difference between stamina and lethargy, ten years is me wanting to go out and shake my ass every now and then, maybe hit a strip club, and a man telling me he's not into that so I MUST stay home to keep up the appearance that I am the doting and controlled girlfriend. 

That ten year difference has terrified me out of talking to many a man in the past, because right out the gates they all demonstrated, both verbally and non-verbally any three or more of my fears. 

Then I met him, at a blasted bondage themed party of all places, and he made me question everything I thought I knew. 

Conversations were ripe, conflicting opinions were met with perfervid debate and never ending cycles of conversation which feel so natural I have to remind myself ... "OLD BOY IS RIGHT ON THE CUSP OF OVER THE FUCKING HIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLL!!! " and then poke in a quick jib to bring us both back to reality. 

The real shocker is his appreciation of my candor and dismally disguised abruptness, he relishes it, like a man who has been fed simple gruel every day for years, and then he's introduced to lasagna. In fact, he matches it, completely comfortable baring all his sins for me to pick whichever I find distressing, of course this process takes time, as we're feeling out the terrain that we will be walking upon.

We have gotten to the point where it has been stated " every relationship begins with this excitement, then that quickly wanes, and complacency takes over, the difference with us should at least be the fact that neither of us seems to be the least bit interested in getting so comfortable, as to get bored with the other." 

... 

Just like that I'm off on another adventure, and I think I might like my new company more than any other. 

My expectations have never been lower, as I expect nothing. Only honesty, and he seems mature enough to understand and deliver on that.

Addiction

Everyone thinks they know me.

Everyone thinks they understand me for where I have come from, been through and done in the past.

Truth is, I don't even know me.

Or maybe I do but I don't have a clue what it is I'm looking at.

I've been managing several different addictions on my own, and up until a month ago I was getting it done.

Then something happened and I just let go control, thinking it was for a little bit, but everything collapsed.

Now here I am questioning my sanity, my resolve, my so called ability to control myself before everything.

The only thing I know for certain is I can see that I am losing control.

The time I spend with my daughter, I'm fine, but when I'm functioning without her, I have to have at least 2 vices present.



Everything I worked on for the past 3 years, to suppress have all come back and in roaring form, pain, sex, drugs and alcohol...  and I'm losing the struggle.

Beginning to doubt I ever had control in the first place.

And because of how I am, I face it alone most of the time, unless I run away, but I can only escape for a few moments and then I'm alone again.

There are no 12 steps to control for me.

I don't know anything but excess, I revel in it.

The major difference now, is I respect the consequences because they affect the one person I value more than my own weak existence, if not for her, I would be that cold shell who left the clubs 3 years ago and never cared to call back the next day.

How long until I make the mistake and forsake her to answer the beast that is my nature?

I managed to screw up everything and then some, in a month, so, I understand it is a grim eventuality I face that one day I won't be able to pull back, I won't be able to, or want to stop myself.

Guess I for all my talk am the essence of a hypocrite, I lack control to even master my own bullshit but can sit here doling out advice, like some omnipotent screen shrink.

Believe I am terrified, because all I know is to do it alone, and I have yet to meet anyone who can endure me long enough to really impact my own stubborn will.

See, everyone thinks they know me, but they can never know the silent tears that fall as I realize I will fail her because I lack the simple strength to keep my own demons in check.

The same demons that brought me to her, are the ones that will cost me the most valuable treasure ever.

The Truth About The Pierced Princess- Or A Simple Crock Of Lies I Told.

Just how many sheep are there? 

I'm into body modification. That much is obvious when you count the 11-13 tattoos I have, the various piercings I have had and removed over the years ( eyebrow, labret, tongue x2, ears x8, navel by 4 and most recently my septum, which I haven't removed and am in absolute love with ) and the fact that I can't honestly say I wouldn't like to look down one day and see my entire body covered in ink, but I just don't have the time for it. Each of my tattoos, save for 1, are nearly 10 years old and scheduled for either touch ups or covering, but, then there's the healing time for them. 

Meh. 

To be honest this isn't what I want to talk about, I want to speak specifically about my septum piercing. 

I frankly adore most septum piercings, and decided I want one for myself, and went and got one. 

Since doing that, I have had countless people asking me why I did it, giving myself a "bull ring". So, purely for my entertainment, I plucked at the vast and expansive knowledge stored in my inexhaustible brain, and came up with a convincing yet completely unsupported, utter hogwash, hilarious, "fact" surrounding my nose ring. 

FIERCE.
dinner time must be a riot with him.

It is absolutely farcical, how many people in Barbados will believe anything you say justifying your choice to modify your body, as long as you include the word "Africa" in your conclusive explanation. So far I have told 5 people it is a sign of royalty amongst eastern African tribal women, only the princess was allowed to pierce her septum, I have told 2 people it is a sign that I am a descendant of Egypt, and I have told other people it was used by the tribes in Central Africa to control and reduce pains of womanhood. 

Fulani woman, who looks like my Aunty Pat,
who's daughter is my piercing partner and
best friend of 25 years.
I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP.

Not one of these people questioned me, not a single one even so much as doubted me, they all actually accepted and are now defending me ( I cannot tell you how hard I am laughing about this, it's HILARIOUS ), and furthermore see me as even more educated and a follower of the ROOTS RECOGNITION movements. 

Now, tickled as I am at these things, I find it a bit disconcerting that persons can so easily be fed any drivel I make up, once I am somber enough during my delivery, and they not only swallow it whole, they LIVE in it. 

I'm not too far gone to have forgotten when I first got my tattoos and was called a "wannabe white girl" who was "following the white skin heads, and neonazis" by defiling my body with their "European fads" with my tattoos... 

Yet, here society is, eating up anything I say about my choices to pierce, all because I use "Africa" as an excuse. 

This all started me thinking again, about why I am so vehemently opposed to swallowing dogma without question. 

Anyone can tell you anything, providing they tell you it in a convincing enough manner, you will be inclined to believe them, because you WANT to believe them, because you NEED to believe them, for your own selfish justification of acceptance. 

Or, you can actually dare to question them, and seek answers for yourself, wherever that may lead you, until that yearning for knowledge is completely satisfied. 

* ps. It is tribes from upper Africa, and the Middle East, who pierced their septum, along with some warrior tribes from upper eastern, all mostly nomadic, to give a fiercer appearance, amongst many other older civilizations,

... but don't take my word for it. LOOK IT UP! *

Investment? What Am I? Lucrative Stock? GTFOH!

" When a man invests in a woman " 

..But hold on a minute... 

TWEET LIKE RASSHOLE MAN!
TWEEEEEEEEEET.
FLAGRANT!

What context are we using this term "invest" in ? 

The definition of the word "invest" via my google bar is 

1. expend money with the expectation of achieving a profit or material result by putting it into financial schemes, shares, or property, or by using it to develop a commercial venture. 

2. provide or endow someone or something with (the state invests upon magistrates and justices of the peace)

3. clothe or cover with a garment.

4. surround (a place) in order to besiege or blockade it. 

Now being completely honest, none of these sound very "loving" to me ... 

So I cannot appreciate in any context a man stating I, as the woman he is enamored with, is an investment, nor can I promote the use of the term, regarding why the mentally and emotionally violently unstable men happen to be killing their women, who they "loved" and "invested" in. 

What is so hard to understand about the fact that no human being is your possession therefore does not require your INVESTMENT into claiming them? 

Yes, that's what you creatures are doing, investing into the claim of a woman. 

S

ince when was love about possession? and since when is emotional enslavement acceptable?

women, stop allowing men to own you, its seriously counter productive, backward as shayhaywhitey and offensive to the stalwart foremothers of our blah blah - insert overly repeated and enunciated speech about women's rights activists in past years here - 

I checked, I contain no traces of bovine, equine, ovine or porcine dna...
but it's early and I'm having mince meat for lunch, brb!

I certainly am not livestock, property nor anyone's commercial venture... 

If a man is going to invest in my presence, let him put my name on a payroll, and we'll sort out a job description that I can utelize an appropriate tax bracket for. 

At the end of our contract, he can remove himself and move on ... like any other investor would at the end of alloted time. 

Not strangle the life out of me in a jealous rage because I found a more lucrative and creative investor.