idkwntht-blog

[idkwntht-blog]

The Plight of the Pick Me

I’ve said this before and I’m sure I’ll say it again: Y’all hate women.

If anything, this has been made exponentially clear in the aftermath of Tristan Thompson’s cheating finally striking a nerve with Khloe Kardashian. You’ve been watching the fallout (unless your wifi got cut off or something), and you know that somehow Kylie Jenner’s (ex) best friend Jordyn Woods is bearing the brunt of the blame.

How.

This is not the first (or the second) time that we’ve been on Tristan Cheating alert. Add to that the fact that it’s super hazy if Tristan cheated on his pregnant girlfriend with Khloe to begin with -- and by hazy, I mean not hazy at all. And he cheated on Khloe when she was pregnant too.

All signs point to this man being a hoe and a unsuitable partner, but Khloe has convinced herself that Jordyn is the reason her family has been ripped apart.

Do you know why? Because even women hate women.

Let’s backtrack just a bit. Jordyn has now spoken out publicly, saying that Tristan initiated the kiss. She said there was no making out, no tongue and no sex. She alleges that she lied to the Kardashian family because she was scared. And you know what? I absolutely believe her. Why? Because the devil works hard, but Kris Jenner will always work harder.

Don’t get me wrong. The child was wrong, but the level of backlash she’s getting is unwarranted.

Back to the current promo material for Keeping Up With the Kardashians: Khloe and her posse are now online publicly bullying a 21-year-old about ruining her family, the child is getting death threats, and Tristan Thompson done fucked shit up and hahs evacuated the premises to have pasta with yet another fling. Khloe is legit online cussing Jordyn out and protecting Tristan because hEs ThE fAtHeR oF heR cHilD.

What in the “the family fucked my husband” is really going on here?

Our socialized urge to absolve men of guilt by transferring it to the women is not the only example of our inherent misogyny. We’ve also been socialized to distrust women and that rears its ugly head in many ways -- from disbelief and conspiracy theories when women come forward about rape and sexual assault to the way women love boasting that they have no women friends.

My Mimi will say to me that she doesn’t understand why I have so many female friends and why I let them in my business because when she was growing up she only had one girlfriend. All her other friends were men. I get her point, but the language is problematic af.

It’s important to acknowledge that a lot of that behavior stems from the fact that women are socialized to see other women as competition for the affections of a Good Man. We’re taught that the things we do affect how Good of a Man we end up with -- which is obviously some bullshi.

We don’t see women as allies, we see them as opponents to “outwoman” in order to snag the man.

Pick me’s are just women who still subscribe to that in a big way. There are enough of us who know that someone being a good man is less about the woman you are and exponentially more about who the man is.

We’ve been taught this myth that finding and keeping a good man is more reliant on what a woman does than a man’s character. If someone is trash, they gon be trash. Nothing you do will make them not be trash because that behavior isn’t about you.

I can guarantee that my ex is somewhere calling me a hoe. We were together for 8 years and in that time frame he cheated more times than I probably know about, got at least one girl pregnant, and emotionally abused the hell out of me. Breaking up was always the most logical decision, but I had to learn the hard way that there was nothing I could do to save that man from himself.

I stayed so long because I had put in the work, I had forgiven so much and bitten my tongue so often that he just had to get it right. He never did. I couldn’t save him, so I finally decided to save myself.

And that’s where the pick me comes in.

A pick me still fully supports the emotional labor of trying to turn a man into a Good Man. Since that’s an impossible feat, they spend a lot of time being mistreated by men who take advantage of their willingness to carry the relationship. These men are not good men, and they don’t wanna be good men, and they don’t have to be good men.

(I should mention here that no man, even a genuinely good man, is perfect. But no woman is either. )

The issue with a pick me is not that she chooses bad apple men in hopes that following Good Woman rules will make them shiny and new again. The rest of us can’t be mad that you’re taking them off our hands, you’re honestly doing the Lord’s work.

The problem with a pick me is that she’s fucking PISSED at the rest of us who refuse to abide by those rules. She stans for T.I. and Tiny’s relationship and she defends Rasheeda in the IG comments. She’s blasting Future, screaming “fuck Ciara” at the top of her lungs until the end of time. Why? Because Ciara said fuck this bullshit and found a good man and sis is a ride or die.

“Why leave a sure thing for a maybe?” they ask. But if the real sure thing is simply that you’re just going to keep getting hurt and you’ll never actually be happy, maybe starts looking a lot more attractive.

She probably still doesn’t see why Offset crashing Cardi’s set to apologize for cheating on her was a problem. The fact that Offset cheated on Cardi, that Jay Z cheated on Beyonce is literally all the proof one should need to realize that a man’s behavior is not rooted in who his woman is.

To be mad at other women for being their true selves and still getting chosen because you’re following these rules and still barely happy is as “I hate women” as Mike Pence. A man will never chose you if you’re not what he wants and there’s really no way to change that. Pretending will only get you but so far. So be yourself and be happy, sis.

[idkwntht-blog]

The Myth of the Fast-Ass Little Girl Pt. 2

TW: Pedophilia, sexual assault/abuse/harassment, statutory rape 

The screenshot above are of the lyrics to I Like the Crotch on You by R. Kelly. The track is on 12 Play. But some of y’all would still rather blame the victim instead of the creepy man drooling over babies.

In a world of social media, there’s really no excuse. And if it took Surviving R. Kelly to convince you that Robert needed to be canceled or that there is a huge pedophilia problem in the black community (and America, in general if we’re really being honest), you’re part of the problem.

I don’t keep up with most celebrity news, but this was everywhere. And Jim DeRogatis’ July 2017 Buzzfeed article on the “Pied Piper’s” cult was breaking news that was on my timeline for weeks.

It’s real hard to defend a man who calls himself the Pied Piper of R&B when he’s accused of statutory rape and pedophilia. I have no idea how ya’ll do it. FYI, I don’t care how good you think 12 Play is. It isn’t good enough to give a man a pass for preying on underage girls.

Beyond that, we KNOW he married Aaliyah when she was 15. There is nothing at all that can convince me that child marriage is okay. I don’t care about what her family says to save face and distract us from the fact that they failed her.

There’s also a point to be made that he’s on video peeing on a 14-year-old. Police found child pornography in his home. Even if you never saw the video, you HEARD about it. The facts were that the child was 14 and there was video of him peeing on her. Chicago jurors let that man go because they wanted to keep playing I Believe I Can Fly at kindergarten graduations.

Maybe part of the reason I can’t relate is because I was so deep into the Boondocks (both the comics and the show) and most people I know were, so I don’t personally know many people who need the docuseries as a reason to cancel Robert. Aaron McGruder did a great job of being real about the situation even in joke form.

Huey’s monologue is THE SAME EXACT point we’ve been making.

However, what I will say is that #muteRKelly has been around for a year or two. Maybe you didn’t know the specifics, but I’ve been looking at my FB memories and I’ve been sharing R. Kelly shit since I was in college, I guess that’s why I’m shocked that people can say that they just saw that he was a problem within the last week.

Unfortunately, at this point I’m convinced that some people who didn’t know just didn’t want to. And that’s disheartening as fuck.

[idkwntht-blog]

The Myth of the Fast-Ass Little Girl Pt. 1

TW: Pedophilia, sexual assault/abuse/harassment, statutory rape

I have a question for ya’ll. Do you blame the pig for letting itself get killed and made into ham for your sandwich?

Do ya’ll blame the drunk driver or the victims of car accidents for being on the road in the first place?

Do ya’ll blame black men for being killed at the hands of police? (I know some of you do, but if that’s your feeling you’ve absolutely come to the wrong blog. I’m gonna tell you right now, reading further will spike your blood pressure.)

If you answered no to all of the questions above, then why the FUCK would you think its the fault of teenage girls -- CHILDREN when they fall for the advances of predators?

The strange thing is that we (and by we, I mean the black community) have this thing about children acting “too old” or “too grown” while simultaneously never allowing them to be children. How can children be children when we punish them for being just that or we assign them adult qualities for doing things that aren’t inherently adult-like?

Black parents call children too grown for asking too many questions or for wearing their hair a certain way. Ya’ll fussed and cussed about North West’s red lipstick in those holiday photos like the lipstick turned her from a cute toddler into a salacious sex kitten just like that.

I don’t know what kinda red lipstick ya’ll own. I love Fenty Stunna as much as the next girl and I rarely feel like a sexpot the minute I put it on. I mean maybe paired with the right outfit, all of the Kilowatt highlighter, and a nice shoe, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I certainly don’t think a little red lipstick is to blame for predatory ass men manipulating and raping children who cannot consent.

I remember being in high school and having crushes on men way out of my age range. I’d get butterflies when they spoke to me, I’d think about them when I should have been doing my homework. Let’s be honest, older men were way more attractive than the scrawny, high-pitched voice boys I went to school with. They seemed smarter, more sophisticated and finer because they’d survived puberty and lived to tell the tale.

HOWEVER, crush as I might, nothing ever happened. One, every grown ass man I ever crushed on knew that I was A CHILD. Beyond the fact that my parents would likely have gone on a murdering spree if someone over 18 even asked about me, those men had the good sense to know that there was nothing -- absolutely NOTHING that I could offer them.

Now, of course, I got a little lucky because my parents didn’t find one thing cute about an older man asking about their daughter. Hell, when I was 13 or 14 a young man in high school tried to date me. He was 16 or 17. My parents shut it down. They told him, they told his mama. They told everyone at the studio I danced at (which is where I met him) that nothing was cute and nothing was happening.

But obviously, everyone doesn’t have my parents (and even that isn’t foolproof), and a lot of children fall through the cracks and into the grasps of predators everyday. The fact that some would rather blame the helpless for being targeted instead of the person committing the crime is high key sick and THAT’S why your uncles, brothers, fathers, pastors, and boyfriends been getting away with this shit for years.

I’m looking at aunties and babysitters too because we ALSO need to talk about the fact that losing your virginity in grade school to a grown ass woman is rape too. There is no 8-year-old boy “smooth” enough to seduce a woman 8+ years his senior. He was taken advantage of, manipulated, and raped. Ten-year-old boys don’t want pussy, they wanna play with their Legos. If you’re one of those people who look at news reports of women teachers having sex with their underage students, and think no wrong was done because she was attractive then you are also a part of the fucking problem and you need to figure that out and straighten up.

I would like to pause for a second to say that pun tho.

Listen, we got to protect our babies instead of punishing them for being children. Times up on people who think it’s the victim's fault for being preyed on. Half of us are STILL being manipulated by trash ass men, but we expect the children to have the tools to protect themselves. Babies. And yes, they’re still babies even at 16 and 17.

I’m routinely dragged by Facebook memories when my posts from high school resurface because I was young and embarrassing. I can only forgive myself because I was a baby and I’ve since grown. But we gotta grow. 

I still know very little about men and how to be in a healthy, committed relationship, but I didn’t know shit then and I didn’t know I didn’t know shit. And I’m subsequently still in the process of unlearning a lot of the problematic shit I retained between getting my first period and going off to college. What I do know is that we shouldn’t have to plead with you this hard to believe children instead of protecting predators.

Predators keep people around them to protect them from the consequences of their trash actions. And to be honest, some of the biggest protectors of pedophiles are the ones they don’t pay.

[idkwntht-blog]

“I can’t believe

what you say,

because I see

what you do.”

- James Baldwin

[idkwntht-blog]

Being Better

Happy New Year. Welcome to the first year (that I can remember) where I’ve ever felt like a new beginning was coming. I’d give you a sandwich reference, but the only thing I can think of is a turkey sub from Jersey Mike’s. I haven’t exactly been making a lot of sandwiches in real life...though I have recently discovered the joy that is pork bacon and the BLT’s are worth the impending heart attack.

But, back to the topic at hand.  

This year feels like discovery in a lot of ways. I think it’s the first time I’ve been able to look ahead instead of dwelling in the reflections of yesteryear. (FYI: I was super pressed to use the word “yesteryear”)

I’m so excited to figure out my next steps, to determine my path forward, to figure out what I want and attract the energy of those who will help me navigate that path. I spent a lot of time in the past worrying about how to be successful on other people’s terms, but I think I’ve finally reached a point where I can outline what success looks like to me and for me.

I was watching a Cocoa Butter (by Buzzfeed) video earlier today on Billy Porter’s 7 Rules to Live By. For those of you who don’t know (I fell into that category up until like 20 minutes ago), Billy Porter plays Pray Tell on Fx’s Pose. I still haven’t seen the show because I no longer have FX because I thought getting Comcast cable was a good idea. Plot twist: it wasn’t.

Anywho, I took two really great things from his rules that align with my goals for the new year. The first: Don’t wait for anybody to give you permission to practice your art.

I’m a writer, first and foremost. My top goal is to invest more time, money and energy into myself and my future than anyone else. Deep, deep, DEEP down, I worry that I’d be opening myself up to more anxiety and depression if I start going for what I want because I’ll be way more invested in my success when I’m the sole benefactor of it. That sounds like a good thing, right? The flip side of that is that my failure is also only on me. Ain’t no “we’re all in this together” because this isn’t High School Musical. As much as I’d love to just dance across the Wildcat court with Zac Efron, sometimes you have to face the reality that you’re probably not going to be in a Disney Channel musical any time soon. But I digress.

Addressing my shaky self-esteem, my anxiety, and my unwillingness to advocate for myself are issues that can be aided by actual self-care. Yes to peel-off charcoal masks, eyebrow appointments and Lush hot oil treatments. But also yes to journaling, scheduling, and setting attainable and realistic goals. Yes to taking up space, and speaking up. And I’m working on convincing myself that if I take care of myself than maybe putting my happiness first won’t be so hard.

That set up leads me to the second takeaway: Choose yourself.

I spent the last couple days of the year wondering why I couldn’t get it right. I felt this rising panic about running out of time and not making the decisions I need to at the right moments. It was a shitty feeling, one that I think a lot of us are extremely familiar with especially in a world where we can paint a picture on the internet that doesn’t actually correlate that closely with real life. It’s an uncomfortable and alienating experience to see so much joy on your timeline and being genuinely happy for folks, while meticulously keeping track of all your L’s and not forgiving yourself for any of them.

I think part of that goes back to not choosing myself so long. You can’t choose yourself  and constantly compare yourself to others. You also can’t choose you if you’re investing more time, money, and energy into people who aren’t you. You just can’t. And if you don’t keep yourself on your list of priorities, how on earth can you expect others to?

To be completely honest, 2018 wasn’t my best year, but it also wasn’t my worst. By a long shot. 2018 served as a sort of mirror for me because I spent a good part of it taking a very hard look at who I used to be, who I am, and who I was becoming. Now, I’ve started the groundwork for figuring out who I want to become. It wasn’t easy at all, but it was so necessary. I’m not perfect, and I doubt I will ever be, but when I say I’m working on me and being better, I mean that shit.

I didn’t make all of the right decisions last year, but every decision I made wasn’t wrong. I have to keep telling myself that, but I know in my heart of hearts that it’s true. 2018 turned into a case study on growth for me. I hope every year is about moving forward and that I never stop growing because I’m definitely still a work in progress. I may not be where I need to be, but thank God I’m not where I used to be.

[idkwntht-blog]

See how fast this year passed? You better stop playing with your life.

[idkwntht-blog]

Should I Assume You Didn’t Mean It Like That? Nah.

Do you remember the episode of The Cosby Show when Rudy had a crush on Clarence? (I’m sorry, I’ve been doing some guilt-free binge watching of the Cosby Show on Amazon Prime since Cosby ain’t getting no royalties from it).

The episode starts with Vanessa teasing Rudy about writing Clarence’s name all over her notebook. Rudy and Clarence are paired together for a class activity and basically make the most googly of eyes at each other, which Clarence gets teased about after class. He then acts rude to Rudy when she asks him to get out of her way. Later on in the episode, he provokes Rudy by blocking her way out of the classroom. She beats him up.

At some point, Heathcliff tells Rudy that Clarence is only acting the way that he is because boys at that age lack the maturity to express liking someone and instead resort to bullying. Basically he’s mean to her because he likes her.

We tell little girls that boys who are aggressive and mean to them “like them.” We tell women that jealous, overbearing and irrational men are desirable because it means “he cares.”  We have a bad habit of teaching women early on that toxic ass masculinity is something other than toxic ass masculinity.

This post is coming to you after a dude I used to talk to told me that I was shaped like an eclair. This is not the first time this young man said some mean shit to me. I’ve made mental excuses for him in the past like “he’s going through a lot” or “he’s joking” or “he’s still talking to me so that’s clearly not how he feels.”

I pride myself on being a tough woman. I pride myself on being able to roll with the punches and being able to dish it out and take it back. But that he’s only mean to you cuz he likes you shit is some ‘ol bullshit.

It’s a myth than women are by default more emotionally mature than men. If we’re more emotionally mature it’s because we’re held emotionally accountable in a way that men generally aren’t.

Men are capable of being nice and saying exactly what they mean. It shouldn’t be assumed that mean behavior means something deeper under the surface. Sometimes he’s just trash.

I can admit that cultural norms, and I can speak especially to the African-American community, don’t encourage men to express an array of emotions. Traits such as sadness, fear and unadulterated joy are considered feminine.

However, sometimes a mean boy is just a mean boy. Sometimes, he’s saying exactly what he means and sometimes that means you don’t need to waste your time. There are plenty of men out there who want to love on you and want to be open with their feelings and tell you nice things.

It’s easy to convince ourselves that when men who actually give us their time are mean to us, it’s simply because they can’t express their feelings. I know that’s what I wanted to believe. This fine ass man, with amazing intellect and bomb dick who answered my texts couldn’t possibly just be mean. He had to just be unable to talk about his feelings. 

Admittedly, he never indicated that that was the case. I made the assumption because that’s what I’ve been conditioned to do. And maybe the kid was just taking his frustrations out on me like Clarence did to Rudy after his friends teased him about liking a girl. 

But that’s still not an excuse.

No matter how fine, or smart, or whatever he is, you deserve to be treated nicely, sis.

[idkwntht-blog]

A Bitch Made a Sandwich

Between this outcry of hurt black (men) nerds blaming black women for pushing them into the arms and beds of non-black women because the Beyonce’s of their grade school years rejected them and this Yale #NappingWhileBlack incident, I have a lot to say this week. But, I am also tired and sad and pms-ing, so instead of taking on the world’s issues at this very moment, I will instead share this recipe for a turkey club sandwich I made earlier that was super tasty and fulfilling for my soul. Okay, so I clearly love sandwiches. Hell, I named my blog that has very little to do with sandwiches about my constant urge for sandwiches. In fact, before I went to bed last night, I promised myself I would make a bacon and cheese sandwich with egg in a basket toast. Clearly, that’s not what I made so that’s a different sandwich for a different day.

One of my favorite sandwiches in the world is a turkey club. I’ve always been a huge of them and they’re one of my favorite sandwiches on days when I want a filling meal, but not a lot of work. In this case, I was heading to work...late as per usual because I was enthralled in a Facebook debate about how blerd men cry about black women not wanting them while simultaneously treating blerd women like trash. After all that trash, I needed something to soothe my soul. You know what never lets you down (well, until the possible heart attack anyway)? Bacon.

I eat turkey bacon. Don’t judge me.Or my toes that I just realized are in this photo.

Since I was running late af and watching the three little dots on Facebook gyrate like a nervous stripper, signaling some hurt man going in on his keyboard to formulate a half-assed rebuttal to my five paragraph essay response, I popped the bacon in the oven while I went to throw some clothes on. 

I literally meant throw some clothes. One day I’ll put some effort into my appearance at work...but not any time soon. I don’t need to give the security officers another reason to chat with me in the elevator.

Anywho, after getting myself ready, I returned to the kitchen to check out my bacon. It was flaccid, like the penis of one of my least favorite ex-boyfriends so it needed a few more minutes, which, oddly enough, was also reminiscent my ex.

At that moment, I realized I had no tomatoes. I had this great homemade turkey breast that my grandma made for a dinner the previous weekend and no goddamn tomatoes. But you know what goes with turkey? Cranberry sauce.

I, for some reason, keep crasins in my house. I don’t ever eat crasins. I’m still confused as to who purchased them. Anywho, apparently you  can rehydrate them by boiling them in some water. When they were good and looking all cranberry like again, I blended them up with my immersion blender and removed a few tablespoons to mix with some mayo.

Sidebar: stop spreading the myth that black people don’t like mayo. Mayo is fucking delish. It’s egg whites, lemon, oil, vinegar, salt and pepper. That shit is tasty af and you’re a hater if you say otherwise idc idc idc.

Honestly, that was really all the work I had to do. I layered both sides of bread with cranberry mayo (I eventually went back and added some Grey Poupon to one side to add some kick cuz it was a little sweet for my tastes). I layered one side with Swiss cheese, turkey bacon and the turkey breast and the other side with mixed greens. I then smooshed both sides together and cut in half. 

It was really good, if I say so myself. I then ate half, laid in my bed for another 20 minutes and went to work. I haven’t cursed anyone out yet today, so I say it did the trick.

 Ingredients:

2 slices of bread (I used rye, but I wish I’d had some sourdough) 1/4 cup of dried cranberries  3 tablespoons of mayo, give or take (I only used Hellman’s and prefer the one with olive oil --DO NOT USE MIRACLE WHIP CUZ THAT’S NASTY) Grey Poupon to taste 3 or 4 slices of bacon 1 handful of mixed greens 2 slices of Swiss cheese homemade turkey breast

Directions:

Fry or bake  bacon. While bacon is cooking, bring cranberries with just enough water to cover to a boil. When cranberries are rehydrated after about 6-8 minutes, use a food processor or blender to puree. Mix three tablespoons of cranberries with mayo, add more to get a smooth, spreadable consistency.  Toast two pieces of toast. Generously spread each piece of toast with cranberry mayo, spread one piece with Grey Poupon. Layer Swiss, bacon and turkey on one piece of bread, and place mixed greens on the other. Smoosh sides together, cut in half and serve. 

[idkwntht-blog]

We’ll Just Take the Salad, Thanks.

Who’s going to fight for the rest of us when white women get equal rights?

That’s literally the question we’re asking when we point out the issues with white and/or non-intersectional feminism.

Hold on friends, I’ve got another sandwich analogy coming in hot for y’all.

Imagine feminism as a meal, specifically lunch.  

You order a turkey club — hand carved turkey, crispy bacon, cheddar, some avocado for good measure, Roma tomato, and mixed greens (because the e.coli in the romaine these days might kill you). You recognize that’s three slices pieces of bread, and your birthday’s coming up so you sub a tasty apple and pear salad for the fries. It’s got a sweet balsamic dressing, Gorgonzola and toasty walnuts. You’re starving so you tell the waiters to go head and bring the salad first. Salad usually comes first, right?

You finish your salad and you’re kind of stuffed. You take a bite out of the sandwich just to say you tasted it, get your check and bounce.

It’s not a perfect analogy, but I think you get the gist. American has a habit of taking care of their salad (white women) and taking a small bite out of their sandwich (every fucking body else) to say they did something. Remember No Child Left Behind? It’s like We Got The Cis Het White Women, Who Cares Who’s Left Behind?

(I recognize that’s an obnoxiously long name for a bill.)

A lot of the rhetoric from some white women when women of color criticize the white feminist movement focuses on criticism (even accurate criticism) for being divisive, which is laughable when the movement itself is divisive by often ignoring or marginalizing women with melanin and pigmentation.

If the monopoly on women’s rights is left in the hands of women who are cis, able-bodied, not mentally ill, and most importantly (it seems) white, it leaves society an option to meet the demands of a few and continue to ignore the many -- a common practice in our beloved ‘Murica. White women often enter conversations about intersectionalism with the war cries that pointing out that women of color face different issues on top of being women is “divisive”.

“We’re all fighting for the same cause. If women point out the flaws of our movement, men will have no issue doing so,” Katie writes angrily on Facebook. Katie. Honey, sweetie, baby…shut the fuck up.

I’ll give you a little homework. Yup. This is apparently that kind of blog. The next time you listen to a white woman speak on feminism, listen to how she brings up the pay wage gap (they always do). “Women make 20 percent less than men,” Rebecca will say matter-of-factly. The “white” part of that statement is always silent. According to the Institute for Women’s Policy Research, in 2013 the ratio of white women’s earnings to white men’s earnings was 76.9 percent. Compare that to 65.4 percent and 53.8 percent of white men’s earnings for black and Hispanic women, respectively.

IWPR, which tracks the gender wage gap over time in a series of fact sheets updated twice per year, says that if change continues at the same slow pace as it has for the past 50 years women won’t reach pay parity until 2059.

Again, the “white” part is implied. Black women will wait until 2124 for equal pay, and Hispanic women won’t see it until 2124.

With statistics like this, that clearly highlight the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the differences between the struggles facing white women and women of color, the appropriate response would be to include women of color in the conversations, disabled women, women with mental illness, transgender women, transgender WOC.

And no, inviting Amber Rose to your rally and playing Sorry by Beyonce doesn’t count.

[idkwntht-blog]

For BW Who Scream Cardi B Lyrics When the Code Switching Isn’t Enuf

“Cardi B is trash,” my brother said to me three days after J. Cole’s album “KOD” was released.

Me, an intellectual, basking in the warm rays of BeyChella and the spirit of Cardi’s “Invasion of Privacy”: NIGGA YOU TRASH *insert gif of Erica Mena screaming erratically”

Look, I get it. Between being the fuck triggered by Bey turning “Suck my balls, pause” into a probate step, Cardi twerking while pregnant and Drake saying women don’t have to be nice to men, it’s been a rough April for ya’ll.

Society loves being mad at black women for loving to be themselves.

Cardi gave us an album chock full of the same energy she brought to Love and Hip Hop. Shawty talking about stripping and bad bitches doing what they want and somehow she ended up featured on SNL and co-hosting The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. In front of white people *gasp, clutches pearls*. And SHE PREGNANT. How dare her well-paid, successful, independent ass do such a thing?! Oops, you probably couldn’t hear me over that Offset track playing in the background.

This hoe ass hoe got black women rolling their tongues at the end of ok. And not just the hoodrat ones, the “respectable” ones too. Your wives out here on pay day saying shit like “Gwap, gwap get some chicken. Gwap, gwap get some bread.” And now the woman you thought you were gonna give a ring is rapping at the top of her lungs in the shower about being sexually free and we all know that only men and Madonna can talk about not being sexually repressed.

Cardi makes music for women who gotta code-switch in their offices every morning, black women who gotta shed their skins every time they walk into white and/or male dominated spaces, black women who like proving niggas wrong and doing what they say we can’t (Cardi fans will see what I did there, GANG GANG GANG). Cardi makes us FEEL good, Cardi makes us proud, Cardi makes us mourn for the version of ourselves we have to hide to be more palatable.

Plus Cardi has us low-key twerking at our desks Monday through Friday and that’s just lit.

So, ya’ll were already in a tumultuous space, but you could handle it. The talking points for Cardi were already written on neat little post its conveniently stored in the frontmost part of your mind.

But then, Bey had the nerve to deadass gave us Lift Every Voice and Sing, danced with her little sister like they were in their mamas’s living room, had a step show, swag surfed, had A WHOLE HBCU ASS BAND and Malcolm X explains the plight of the black women in a blackity black ass performance on a white ass stage.

And it would have been all fine and dandy if she hadn’t told ya’ll to suck her balls. In a step. At Coa- I mean, BeyChella. And ya’ll souls started burning, hands started shaking and breathing got labored.

The internet went wild. Twitter felt like the let out of the biggest Pretty Nasty party ever.

At that point, some of ya’ll just couldn’t handle it. “I don’t get the big deal. I just like Toni Braxton better,” said one furious Facebook commenter.

So ya’ll were stressed. April started feeling like Black Women’s History month. Drake put out a video including visuals of Issa Rae looking like a snack being shady towards a table full of white men. It was a dark two weeks.

Then Cole came, your knight in shining sleepwear riding a wave of consciousness and “real” content to black it all out.

“My girl she got a diploma. She got wife written all over,” he says, and a universal sigh is heard around the world.

[Note: I have a diploma and a great career. Wife is not written all over me. I am not a chalkboard. Thanks, the mgmt.]

I’m not saying Cole doesn’t have his merits. I added Motiv8 to my library earlier. And if I ever smoke, I promise I’ll give it a thorough listen and I’ll probably appreciate it more. However, what you not gon do is use Cole to invalidate shit over here. Look, if you like your think pieces presented to you in a 42 minute, 12-track lullaby that’s cool. Get in where you fit in. Cole’s beats and flow may be sponsored by Serta or Tempurpedic, but apparently ya’ll like that shit.

My point is what my brother said in the middle of our conversation (though the conversation was admittedly overall a fail): “One of the things I have recently come to terms with is that I can't define what people are empowered by.”

Basically, let people live. Many a bitch would rather party with Cardi. Everything ain’t for you and that’s fine. We probably wouldn’t want ya’ll to party with us anyway. Probably play KOD and turn it into a sleepover anyway.