Adventures of a Midwest Transplant

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It’s Hard To Escape These Microaggressions

So I’m sitting there, minding my own business, catching up on the DVR. What you need to know about me is that I watch a lot of TV, like a lot of TV, and I’ve got my shows categorized not by genre, but by feels. 

Most HGTV shows are categorized in my world as fantasy. Right now, any thoughts of me being a homeowner doing a renovation is just straight up fantasy. 

So back to this story. I’m watching Flip or Flop Atlanta. I miss the real Flip or Flop, but it is what it is and these not-as-good spinoffs are filling the gap as best they can. 

There’s already a lot about this show that bugs me. The best example would be how the husband gets so excited by gentrification. Making a nice profit off of people being priced out of their neighborhoods is the American way, which is some bullshit, but I still get mad at him for the premise of the show. 


It’s like fuck dude, must you enjoy selling some old black lady’s house to some young white couple sooo much? 
But the husband’s gentrification hard-on isn’t my biggest gripe with this latest episode. His wife finally pissed me off more. 

They finished overhauling this adorable little house and were having an open house. The families at the open house included a black man who looked to be around my age with two young daughters. All three of them had locs and immediately warmed my heart. 

The Flip or Flop Atlanta couple are always there at open houses, interacting with the families and getting feedback. So when the wife interacted with the black family, and I felt on high alert, I questioned my alertness. This couple, the Corsinis, live in the Atlanta area, surely they can interact with black people in a non-offensive way, I told myself. 


She spoke to the little girls in this treacly sweet voice, but that was typical to how she spoke to most children she came across in open houses. Their walk through the house was without incident. 
I was ready to breathe a sigh of relief and chuckle at myself for basically holding my breath waiting for some stupid microaggression that never came. 

The little family said their goodbyes and as they exited the house, she reached for and ran her fingers through a handful of the youngest daughter’s hair. 

I froze in disbelief. I had to rewind and watch that shit again. Like we’re still at the point where white folks don’t know not to touch our hair??

There are songs about it! 

And it was the way she did it too. The father and other sister were already out the door. She reached out like she was going to pat the little girl on the arm, but redirected her hand mid-air and aimed for her head. 

It was like she waited until there was the least likelihood that she’d offend someone even though the cameras were still rolling. It looked like it was a compulsion. And that’s what makes me think she knew better but she couldn’t help herself. In their ultra-gentrified housing market, I wonder how many black kids with locs she comes across. I’d bet, not a lot. 

So now I can’t even mind my own business and fantasize over houses I’d never actually want to buy in the Atlanta area without dealing with the husband’s love of gentrification and the wife’s inability to keep her hands to herself. 

So, I’ve gotta stop watching Flip or Flop Atlanta. For people who aren’t as sensitive to those topics, I can totally understand how they’d still enjoy the show. But when my TV is just another frustrating moment in my life, I’ve gotta move on. 

At least on Flip or Flop Vegas, there aren’t any black people ever around for the couple to treat in a way that offends me…

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Blogging While The World Burns/Drowns/Divides/Etc.

I’ve been wanting to try something new with this blog, but it’s easier said than done. I keep thinking about things I want to say, but then it feels like they’ve already been said. Or it feels trivial. Or it feels like how dare I have a moment of happiness when multiple people are killed by the police almost every damn day.

But I started this blog as a bit of an online journal situation. I have so many thoughts about stuff that happens. And life is still fun at some points, so I want to share that too. For instance, my trials and tribulations trying to get someone to go apple picking this weekend. That could be fun to read about maybe…?

Things are just feeling very transitional right now for me. Not the weather though. The weather is stuck on warm. I woke up this morning feeling itchy because of a fucking mosquito bite. At the end of September. Because I sleep with the windows open. Because it’s still so hot outside. Because global warming.

That got dark quick.

But my point still stands. A few weeks ago when it was in the 50s, I was so cold when I got out of the shower, and I was missing the summer that I was sure was gone. But now, it’s so damn steamy. I don’t appreciate the heat anymore because it’s the end of September! I will miss it when it’s gone though because I love summer time. But I don’t love it like I usually do around June. Fall clothing is my favorite and the window is possible closing.

It could stay warm for so long that fall weather lasts for two days then it’s winter. Or the global warming could continue and fall weather will last from mid-October to January. Who knows?

Can we all just agree that hurricane season can’t end soon enough though?

I think I’m successfully talking myself into remembering why I found blogging fun. And how maybe I can avoid some of the tone deafness. I won’t be all like, “hey, look at this pie I made and only look at this and let’s all pretend Roger Goodell doesn’t have the moral high ground over Trump for some crazy fucking reason!” It’ll definitely be more like, “hey, had another great night at a jazz club where we drunkenly discussed the best way to undermine white patriarchy.”

Eh, I really just woke up in a writing mood, so this may not last. I wrote a whole bit that was inspired when I read that Hugh Heffner died. It’s far too soon for me to say what I want to say, so I’ll post it in a month or so. The casual misogyny will keep. For the record, totally not accusing Hugh of that by any means. I’ve always viewed him as one of the most women-loving capitalists of our time.

In the mean time, I’m going to get back to planning my boss’s going away hang and finding someone to go apple picking with me.

Gotta Keep Resisting, Tryna Be Happy Too

It feels weird to share happy life events when every day people are killed all over the world because of their ethnicity, beliefs, race, or refugee status.

It feels weird to enjoy life’s moments when life is so difficult for people I love very much. Folks are breaking up, dying of cancer, and experiencing myriad failures left and right.

Being a millennial, I’m well-versed in self care. So I know on an almost molecular level how important it is to celebrate the happy in life and the small victories, and to take time for just me, burning world be damned. 

But that shit feels tone deaf and selfish when the racist, anti-Semitic, misogynistic, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, ageist, and ableist oppressors grow more bold each day, you know?

So today, I remember how fun my family’s family reunion was last month, and remember how fun my mother’s 60 1/2 birthday was last month. And I’m excited about finally pulling the trigger on applying for grad school. And I’m really excited to be traveling overseas for my birthday this year.

But also, I’m saying her name. Heather Heyer

I’m also redoubling my resistance efforts. And I’m making sure I show love to those I love while I have them and they have me.

I’ve got a ton of other thoughts, but I’m still working them out. So I’ll stop here.

Thoughts All Over The Place

I have started three different posts in the last month, and I just can’t. I don’t quite have Trump fatigue yet, but what I can I say that isn’t already being said? Not much. On Twitter and Instagram, I like and repost a lot of stuff that I think others need to see. I DVR and eventually watch every episode of the Late Show with Stephen Colbert. It’s good for my soul, like chicken soup.

I thought about something the other night. I was out with my husband and some of our best friends in New York. We were, of course, at a jazz club. In the middle of our friend’s set, playing some amazing music, we were conversing about Trump. One of our friends and his wife are Canadian, and they are worried about a number of things: visa renewals, NAFTA, whether a quick visit home could turn them into illegal immigrants. Shit is bananas. Then another of our friends started speaking about the rise in anti-Semitic attacks and threats. Shit is bananas.

It hit me that at this moment in life, I kind of feel the least under attack, at least compared to some others.

I’m worried as shit about what Trump is doing and how many people I know and don’t know that it will affect. But in terms of my body and life, there isn’t much he can do to me. I look at my husband and I worry about Trump reducing funding for arts and possible re-instating Stop & Frisk. I look at my in-laws and worry about Trump’s immigration policies. I look at my friends we’ve met since moving here and I worry about anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, homophobia, hell I worry about generalized xenophobia.

I’m not trying to have any babies, but if I did get pregnant, my husband and I would roll with it, and I’d do my best to match the enthusiasm he and our parents would have. My healthcare comes through my job and is not at the mercy of stock markets and whatnot. People are always going to need/get organ & tissue transplants. My pension also goes through my job. My husband and I have really good healthcare (medical, dental, eye, & pet insurance) through my job.

I’m American born and raised, and I live in a city that’s very multicultural, and people look at me and assume I’m from here. I occasionally have people assume my parents are from whatever country they’ve come from, but they always assume my parents came from said country to America, then had me. They’d be wrong because my parents, and their parents, and their parents, etc. are all American born, but that’s not really important.

My point I’m finally circling back to is that Trump can sign into law that will mess me up any more than I currently am. I live in Brooklyn, where all the cops don’t yet have body cameras, but they can somehow afford to have those airport do-you-have-a-bomb scanners. I got stopped on my way to the A train so they could swab my bookbag-style purse and lunch tote. I had the thickest attitude about it, and the cops were all don’t-hate-me-I’m-just-doing-my-job. And I was all fuck-you-and-your-job-aren’t-you-the-same-ones-who-are-going-to-be-harassing-one-of-my-neighbors-for-being-male-and-black-and-outside-in-a-few-hours?

Ugh, I’m so irritated at everything right now.

Well, not everything. There are moments of wonderfulness. Nights at Smalls Jazz Club are my favorite. That place is like home to me. Literally, I walk in and I feel as comfortable as I do in my favorite places on this planet. Obviously, there’s the caveat that I have to wear pants, but still. And including tonight, I’ll have gone to to Smalls three times in 8 days, so that always gives me happy vibes.

And then there’s the Sims 4. I love me some video games in general, and the Sims in particular. I’ve made time to play more in recent weeks, and that has led to more writing and reading SimsLit. I’m telling you, these little computer generated people & aliens provide a great escape from everyday life. One of my sims fell in love with a man who was young enough to be her son, but she gave him a chance because he’d had a crush on her since he was in high school. They hit it off and she got pregnant. When she told him, he confessed that their child would have a sibling the exact same age. He’d slept with his sister’s fiancee on the night before their wedding, and she got pregnant too. The family’s plan was to raise the children as cousins, not siblings. I promise you that the only thing I had a hand in was letting my Sim sleep with the guy who’d loved her forever. The rest happened on it’s own (with the help of a story progression mod).

And there’s my volunteer work. I finally felt useful this past week. I was helping a high school girl with a ridiculous Algebra II project based on Angry Birds. I dug the movie, but does anyone even play angry birds anymore? Fucking parabolas man. I lost 35 minutes of my life because neither she nor I could remember that the vertex of the parabola is halfway between the two x-intercepts. But it’s cool because we figured it out and she got Part 1 of the project done. I don’t often feel useful tutoring those particular kids, but I really felt useful this week.

I wish I had more cohesive thoughts for this post, but I don’t. Sorry, not sorry.

People, at least black people, aren’t outraged because her feet are on the damn couch, even though that is trifling as hell. If you think the outrage is about feet, then you CLEARLY don’t watch porn, didn’t hang out with black guys and white grls in college, are naive about the politics/optics/history of black men/white women and white people/black people as a whole and are unfamiliar with the basic socialization of women and body language. I won’t call her a thot. But is she thotting? Well. 💅🏾 Get ya damn feet off the couch and close your legs, ma’am. At least TRY to look like a professional woman. You’re supposed to lean in, not bust it open. Part of what’s so infuriating of this is her casual comfort like this room of college presidents is the damn help. It’s like, you’re changing and half naked and a servant walks in, no biggie. They’re like living furniture. You’re changing and someone that actual matters to you comes in, you get embarrassed and throw something on. That she can be so casual and without f**ks and sitting in f*** me formation in the presence of White House guests, and guests of such note at that, or even her boss, is mind-blowing. Also, she is absolutely, 💯 percent putting her ***** on Orange’s sideburns. #kellyanneconway #whitehouse #potus

A post shared by Demetria Lucas D’Oyley (@demetrialucasdoyley) on Feb 28, 2017 at 3:10pm PST

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