Grabbing a Bull by the Horns

I’ll be the first to admit I’m a stubborn bitch. 

I once starved myself down to a mere hundred pounds the first semester of my senior year in high school because I was in a month-long feud with my mother and nothing pissed her off more than the thought of me not eating. (I’ll spare you the gory details, but let me just say you’re body can’t run on nothing and I do NOT recommend it. Grossington Sr., for sure.)

I’ve walked through Na$ty City at 3am in nothing but board shorts and a tank top because I was in the middle of a heated argument and refused a ride home.

I almost failed Bridge because I wasn’t going to rat out a cheating, lying group mate and so I too had to take the wrap. (Ed. note: I have since learned my lesson on this one. Fuck that trick.)

I’ve opted out of good times to sulk at home, alone; I’ve narrowly missed getting a warrant out for my arrest (but that’s another story for another time); and I’ve put my health in jeopardy for the principal of it all. 

Moral of the story: I never back down. Even if it’s going to (literally) kill me.

Yesterday was no exception.

Today in Ethnic Studies

• Pour one out today for Ronald Takaki, one of the Godfather’s of Ethnic Studies. He died at the age of 70 and has taken a piece of my Ethnic Studies heart with him. Celebrate his life and legacy; go read a chapter of A Different Mirror.
• In otro news, Michael Eric Dyson will be speaking at the Commonwealth Club tonight, examining issues of “of class, race and poverty, and political strife.” Go and get a brain wrinkle. Knowledge is power!

Bummertown.

Saw this on the news last night, and then again in my Google News Feed this morning. Though we don’t speak, my thoughts and prayers go out to the family. 

Retail Therapy wins again.

I haven’t been feeling too hot these days. More like I haven’t been too feeling great these past 32 hours.

I’ve actually been kind of depressed. And not the I’m-just-now-getting-over-a-cold-and-my-feminine-troubles-and-I-have-to-go-back-to-work-Monday kind of depressed either.

More like I’ve just been through some mind-altering, earth-shattering shit depressed.

Like I’m hoping that my favorite moccassins and this sparkly-ass Luxurie hoodie will somehow transform my mood.

Like I’ve watched Gossip Girl, and First Sunday and Office Re-runs online all day to block it out. 

Like I kind of just want to curl up into a ball and listen to Sigur Ros all night.

Like I just bought a pair of purple boots online for no reason.

Yeah, that kind of depressed. 

Fuck that. This is not me. I am not that bitch.

I had a moment of weakness. I’m all cried out and shit, and you’ve made it better though you don’t even know it. I’m sooooo back.

FIghting fire with firewood. 

$arah Ann.

My Grandma called me twice in the past 24 hours to pretty much tell me I’ve been a bad granddaughter.

And I have been. I don’t call her as much as I should, or email her for that matter, cuz my grandma is down with the internets, ya’ll. And I need to work on that.

I’m the eldest of the entire bunch, the only grandchild from her five children for a looooooong time. So obvi her and I spent a lot of quality time together before I had to share her with anyone else. And you know what I learned? She’s one bad b*tch.

My Grandmother was 1 of 13 raised in Buttfuck, Alabama. Many never had the opportunity to leave, but she was beautiful, and could have any dude she wanted. So she chose my Grandaddy who was pretty handsome himself and was conveniently leaving for the Navy, got stationed in San Diego, and never looked back.

I would live here if they let me.

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