Read the whole entry here.
As I type this, I am sitting on the toilet, squeezing out my biggest dump of the week. Most of my internet time is spent in the restroom. When I am reading and commenting on the comments you leave me, I'm most likely taking a crap, too. Love me.
On Monday evening, I went out and drank with Steven and asked for his insight on a few personal problems, namely the question I've <i>been</i> asking myself -- Would it kill who I am if I took <a href="hellnaw.org/archives/00000020.htm" target="new">anti-psychotics</a>. Theres never a clear answer when it comes to such a question, and we of course, went back and forth with debating and informing. I really appreciated it though, because I wasn't looking for an answer <i>from</i> him, you understand, but I was looking for a dialog.
The rest of the night was filled with frollicking, and one of the best things about it was taking a walk through the capitol's lawn without any shoes on. Madison, in comparison to Florida, has the best grass I've ever felt under my feet. Florida has crab grass and red ants -- the only decent grass being on golf courses. And of course, even their golf courses sport the shittiest version of regular, Madison grass.
I also got my head bumped (ouch) by a very drunk er...homeless guy? He started singing rather loudly. Steven pulled out a cellphone and made like we were going to be late for something, and we hopped off the bench and took off.
I sought out the perfect bush for the purposes of urinating, and get this -- there were bunnies and flowers in the bush. ^_^ Girls.
<b><u>A tidbit about social tension.</b></u>
The real interesting stuff happened when we parted ways. There was a youngish guy by a bus stop I was passing on my way to the parking garage, dressed in some pretty clean but thugged-out clothes (picture FUBU and a pair of baggy Tommy jeans), a few diamonds here and there, etc. As soon as I passed him, he started following me. I quickened my steps (I'm surprised I didn't break out into a run) because it was very dark, and he did the same. I was a bit nervous, and mentally kicking myself for having lost my butterfly knife long ago, but I decided to embrace the situation (this following thing had gone on for about 2 minutes, practically a lifetime when you're in these sort-of situations), and I turned around and said "What?!"
He stummbled a bit, and said, <i>You got the time?</i> I showed him my wrists, and told him "I'm all cleaned out, man," which I basically intended to mean "I don't have anything you could rob me for." He laughed, walked up beside me, and asked me what I was doing out so late at night. <i>And where the hell are your shoes, girl?</i> I lifted the sandals up, and told him I was just walking around. Then we got to talking.
He was from St. Louis and just got to Madison in July. His name is Diamonte. Just enrolled at MATC's downtown campus. Taking classes in Sociology and Philosophy, so sayeth he. I shit you not.
He was out drinking with some friends, and he lost them when the bar closed. (As an aside, the bars here are insane when they close, and you can definatly lose your party.) He wasn't 100% on where he was staying, but he thought it was by East Wash and 1st street. He said something interesting, namely one "Man, where you from, 'cause you certaintly ain't from here." Let him know I was from Miami, and he told me he always wanted to see the place. We had an interesting conversation (that I innitiated) about being black and in Madison. I told him I felt bad for him, because this was white-bread capitol of the Midwest. He laughed, but looked a little offended. As soon as he shot me that look, I told him, <i>Hey! Don't be mad at me for spitting the truth -- In Miami, *I* was the minority, so I know how it goes. I definatly understand.</i> We laughed, and he asked me for my phone number. Just then, some white college kid came up and bummed a smoke off of me, and gave me and my new friend a few confused looks. I said to Diamonte, while the other kid was in earshot, <i>See, how do you put up with that shit?</i> We both laughed again, and I handed him one of my cards with my number on it. I think he was tripped out about the card, cause he started laughing and asking me "The fuck is this?" I told him it's a "personal card" (thanks for the idea, Sunny!), much like a business card, but it has personal information on it.
Some other dude was walking across the street, and yelled "Play on, playa", and kept going. I asked Diamonte if that was a friend of his. He smiled, and asked me for a ride to his house. Told him I couldn't do that, (momma didn't raise no fool), that I had to take care of my own, first. Asked if he needed cash for a cab, and he said naw, he didn't. We got going -- me in the direction of my car, and Diamonte in the direction of the other guy. "Maybe he has some weed," he chided. I smiled. I could have really gone for some weed at that moment, too.
But, it's funny, you know? You never know what or who you're going to get on a dark street somewheres. Was it the color, or the sound of the footsteps quickening, that had me on the defensive? I asked myself this on the way home, and came up with the following conclusions. Namely, I don't know. If he were white, the footsteps would have creeped me out in just the same way. But because he was black, my action was to turn around and confront (acknowledge him), because thats not usually what white girls do. Doing something someone else isn't expecting...and I guess even expecting something to happen basing my assumption first, on his skin tone, clothing and footsteps. Perhaps these are all pre-existing biases and conditions thanks part to my parents, and part to living in South Florida for so long. Granted, the guy was pretty cool after speaking to him, but it's sad that we (and I could tell by body lingo, that he's guilty of this, too) have these pre-existing notions about people who are only slightly different from us. I'm glad that, though I wish the world were different, I recognize what's <i>actually</i> going on with myself and others, instead of pretending that <i>nobody</i> has these pre-existing biases, and that the whole world is either colorblind, or racist. Naw. Everybody has biases -- I'm not the only one. I'm absolutly certain that Diamonte had pre-existing notions on how white women "always" act, and I'm quite certain I broke that mold. And, worth mentioning, but if it had been a white male with quickening footsteps, believe it or not, but I would have ran. As fast and as far as my little legs could carry me. White men in the midwest displaying those sorts of behaviors, are fucking crazy. Unless they're homeless. So sayeth me.
As I type this, I am sitting on the toilet, squeezing out my biggest dump of the week. Most of my internet time is spent in the restroom. When I am reading and commenting on the comments you leave me, I'm most likely taking a crap, too. Love me.
On Monday evening, I went out and drank with Steven and asked for his insight on a few personal problems, namely the question I've <i>been</i> asking myself -- Would it kill who I am if I took <a href="hellnaw.org/archives/00000020.htm" target="new">anti-psychotics</a>. Theres never a clear answer when it comes to such a question, and we of course, went back and forth with debating and informing. I really appreciated it though, because I wasn't looking for an answer <i>from</i> him, you understand, but I was looking for a dialog.
The rest of the night was filled with frollicking, and one of the best things about it was taking a walk through the capitol's lawn without any shoes on. Madison, in comparison to Florida, has the best grass I've ever felt under my feet. Florida has crab grass and red ants -- the only decent grass being on golf courses. And of course, even their golf courses sport the shittiest version of regular, Madison grass.
I also got my head bumped (ouch) by a very drunk er...homeless guy? He started singing rather loudly. Steven pulled out a cellphone and made like we were going to be late for something, and we hopped off the bench and took off.
I sought out the perfect bush for the purposes of urinating, and get this -- there were bunnies and flowers in the bush. ^_^ Girls.
<b><u>A tidbit about social tension.</b></u>
The real interesting stuff happened when we parted ways. There was a youngish guy by a bus stop I was passing on my way to the parking garage, dressed in some pretty clean but thugged-out clothes (picture FUBU and a pair of baggy Tommy jeans), a few diamonds here and there, etc. As soon as I passed him, he started following me. I quickened my steps (I'm surprised I didn't break out into a run) because it was very dark, and he did the same. I was a bit nervous, and mentally kicking myself for having lost my butterfly knife long ago, but I decided to embrace the situation (this following thing had gone on for about 2 minutes, practically a lifetime when you're in these sort-of situations), and I turned around and said "What?!"
He stummbled a bit, and said, <i>You got the time?</i> I showed him my wrists, and told him "I'm all cleaned out, man," which I basically intended to mean "I don't have anything you could rob me for." He laughed, walked up beside me, and asked me what I was doing out so late at night. <i>And where the hell are your shoes, girl?</i> I lifted the sandals up, and told him I was just walking around. Then we got to talking.
He was from St. Louis and just got to Madison in July. His name is Diamonte. Just enrolled at MATC's downtown campus. Taking classes in Sociology and Philosophy, so sayeth he. I shit you not.
He was out drinking with some friends, and he lost them when the bar closed. (As an aside, the bars here are insane when they close, and you can definatly lose your party.) He wasn't 100% on where he was staying, but he thought it was by East Wash and 1st street. He said something interesting, namely one "Man, where you from, 'cause you certaintly ain't from here." Let him know I was from Miami, and he told me he always wanted to see the place. We had an interesting conversation (that I innitiated) about being black and in Madison. I told him I felt bad for him, because this was white-bread capitol of the Midwest. He laughed, but looked a little offended. As soon as he shot me that look, I told him, <i>Hey! Don't be mad at me for spitting the truth -- In Miami, *I* was the minority, so I know how it goes. I definatly understand.</i> We laughed, and he asked me for my phone number. Just then, some white college kid came up and bummed a smoke off of me, and gave me and my new friend a few confused looks. I said to Diamonte, while the other kid was in earshot, <i>See, how do you put up with that shit?</i> We both laughed again, and I handed him one of my cards with my number on it. I think he was tripped out about the card, cause he started laughing and asking me "The fuck is this?" I told him it's a "personal card" (thanks for the idea, Sunny!), much like a business card, but it has personal information on it.
Some other dude was walking across the street, and yelled "Play on, playa", and kept going. I asked Diamonte if that was a friend of his. He smiled, and asked me for a ride to his house. Told him I couldn't do that, (momma didn't raise no fool), that I had to take care of my own, first. Asked if he needed cash for a cab, and he said naw, he didn't. We got going -- me in the direction of my car, and Diamonte in the direction of the other guy. "Maybe he has some weed," he chided. I smiled. I could have really gone for some weed at that moment, too.
But, it's funny, you know? You never know what or who you're going to get on a dark street somewheres. Was it the color, or the sound of the footsteps quickening, that had me on the defensive? I asked myself this on the way home, and came up with the following conclusions. Namely, I don't know. If he were white, the footsteps would have creeped me out in just the same way. But because he was black, my action was to turn around and confront (acknowledge him), because thats not usually what white girls do. Doing something someone else isn't expecting...and I guess even expecting something to happen basing my assumption first, on his skin tone, clothing and footsteps. Perhaps these are all pre-existing biases and conditions thanks part to my parents, and part to living in South Florida for so long. Granted, the guy was pretty cool after speaking to him, but it's sad that we (and I could tell by body lingo, that he's guilty of this, too) have these pre-existing notions about people who are only slightly different from us. I'm glad that, though I wish the world were different, I recognize what's <i>actually</i> going on with myself and others, instead of pretending that <i>nobody</i> has these pre-existing biases, and that the whole world is either colorblind, or racist. Naw. Everybody has biases -- I'm not the only one. I'm absolutly certain that Diamonte had pre-existing notions on how white women "always" act, and I'm quite certain I broke that mold. And, worth mentioning, but if it had been a white male with quickening footsteps, believe it or not, but I would have ran. As fast and as far as my little legs could carry me. White men in the midwest displaying those sorts of behaviors, are fucking crazy. Unless they're homeless. So sayeth me.