Because we could all use a change of subject…

How about a look into my family tree?

My Dad has 2 girls and 2 boys.
And only the girls had boys.
And the boys (BOY, actually. Only one of my brothers has kids) have girls.
Also, the girls are done having kids.
So I guess it’s on the boys to make us sommore of my surname.

Really, just my baby brother. Because I’m pretty sure that if my little brother tries again for a boy he’ll probably have TWINS that will also be girls for his trouble.

This has nothing to do with anything except for the fact that today’s my Daddy’s Birthday!

And what better way to commemorate my Dad’s birthday than with a Black History Fact of The Day (BHFOTD)?
*AHEM*

On THIS day in 1862, Ida B Wells was born a slave in Holly Springs, Mississippi just before President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. Wells-Barnett became a prolific social activist and champion for the right of African-Americans. She was also a founding member of the NAACP.

In March 1892 a white mob invaded her friends’ (Thomas Moss, Calvin McDowell, and Henry Stewart) store because was seen as competitive with a white-owned grocery store across the street. During the altercation, three white men were shot and injured. Moss, McDowell, and Stewart were arrested and jailed. A large lynch mob stormed the jail and killed the three men.

The murder drove Wells to research and document lynchings and their causes. She began investigative journalism, looking at the charges given for the murders. She officially started her anti-lynching campaign. She spoke on the issue at various black women’s clubs, and raised more than $500 to investigate lynchings and publish her results. Wells found that blacks were lynched for such reasons as failing to pay debts, not appearing to give way to whites, competing with whites economically, being drunk in public, walking down the street with a pack of skittles and an iced tea (WAIT. WHAT?). She published her findings in a pamphlet entitled “Southern Horrors: Lynch Laws in All Its Phases.”

Wells received much support from other social activists and her fellow clubwomen. In his response to her article in the Free Speech, Frederick Douglass expressed approval of her work: “You have done your people and mine a service…What a revelation of existing conditions your writing has been for me.” (Freedman, 1994). Wells took her anti-lynching campaign to Europe with the help of many supporters. In 1896, Wells founded the National Association of Colored Women, and also founded the National Afro-American Council. Wells formed the Women’s Era Club, the first civic organization for African-American women. This later was named the Ida B. Wells Club, in honor of its founder.

Wells spent the latter thirty years of her life in Chicago working on urban reform. She also raised her family and worked on her autobiography. After her retirement, Wells wrote her autobiography, Crusade for Justice (1928).

She never finished it; the book ends in the middle of a sentence, in the middle of a word. Wells died of uremia (kidney failure) in Chicago on March 25, 1931, at the age of sixty-eight.

An aside: I know I said we could all use a change of subject. I mean I changed it right? We’re talking about a lady who chose to expose lynchings of her people in a time where it was pretty much acceptable to do to people whatever they wanted because even though black people were free they were still considered insignificant and not really people, so what’s the big damn deal because it’s not like people aren’t still killing black folks with no consequence, right? has the same birthday as my Daddy.

 

 

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One more thing crossed off my bucket list

So here’s what happened:

I got to talking about getting into shape, and starting the Couch 2 5K program. Not because I had some 5K to get ready for, but because it was a running program a lot of my twitter peoples swore by.

And so I started tweeting about my training. And then Aaron was all “What? 5K, I’ll run one of those with you.” WHICH. Although, I hadn’t really considered running one, I did then. (I’m running THIS ONE. I blame this one on Megan, actually. Apparently a mud run is on HER bucket list)

And then EMMIE was all “You should think about running this relay race in October.” And in typical ME fashion, I was all “IT’S MY BIRTHMONTH!!” (Sidenote: I turn 40 this year, y’all. Get ready for real ridiculousness)

Another friend, who is NOT on the twitters goes “You know what would be great training for a relay? A half-marathon.”

I know right? It’s like everybody I know got into running ALL AT ONCE.

Actually, running a half-marathon is on MY bucket list. I have no interest at ALL in running 26.2 miles. But. I always thought running a half marathon would be just far enough to prove I was badass, but not so long that I would question my own sanity.

So I signed up! And talked several people into signing up too. Half marathon on May 20th.

Even though I’ve been a runner for a significant portion of my life (before I fell out of the habit), I know absolutely ZERO about long distance running, so I signed up for a training program called Start Training. It’s pretty awesome, not gonna lie. We meet every weekend to train, and get tips. Last weekend I ran a 10K as training. I have a feeling that I will be more than prepared to run 13.1 miles by half marathon day.

ANYWAYS (here comes the begging for money part), the Start Training program is run my the American Heart Association. And in order to participate, they ask us to do some fundraising for them. Did I mention that I HATE FUNDRAISING? Because I do, I really, REALLY DO.

BUT. I love love LOVE my trainer. And? My first job at Big Fancy Hospital was in the Cardiology department, and I do have a soft spot for AHA for that reason alone. Plus, Did I mention how much I love my trainer? She’s teaching me WAY more than I would have learned trying to do this on my own. Which THANK GOD I DON’T HAVE TO DO.

And so now I’m asking for money, because I love this program enough donate to it myself (which I did) AND ask OTHER people to donate to it too. Don’t y’all want to donate to a good cause? Of course you do.

And please do spread the word. Even though I have a minimum fundraising goad, I’m pretty sure they won’t hate me if I raise more.

How sick is sick?

Blah blah blah, surgery

Blah blah blah A WHOLE MONTH OFF TO RECUPERATE.

A. WHOLE. MONTH.

The funny thing is, when I first got my disability information for surgery I was like, ” THE FUCK they mean a whole month? What exactly are they doing that I’m going to be off for that amount of time?!”  I started envisioning frankenboob with tubes and such, and me lying in bed in horrible agony because why else would I have so much time off to heal?

And then I had surgery. Which, you know… was surgery. The first day, @laprimera hand delivered these babies from @emmiej and @undomesticdiva. Which I …and The Man, enjoyed. I even tweeted about them. High on Vicodin, because I HAD SURGERY GUYS. I’m not a machine.

But then I felt weird because I had surgery. I am SUPPOSED to be in agonizing pain, right?  Too hurt to do anything but pop pills and sleep. Too broken to send daily (okay, every other day) emails for Black History Month? Which, I also send to my manager, WHO KNOWS THAT I’M OUT FOR A MONTH.

Nope.

I’m in pain, don’t get me wrong. But not it’s debilitating. I am capable tweeting and tumbling my heart out. I can have visitors; I can still walk around.

I’m in purgatory: Too sick to really do anything, but too well to sit around on my ass all day. It sucks. Because I want to do more, but I can’t really. Or at least I can’t without being in pain.

I had a doctor’s appointment today. That I went to alone, like a big girl. I drove myself, and reported back to The Man because he had to work. And then I had to go to class because I can sit in the back of the class and zone out just as well as I can sit and stare into space at home.

Yes, in case you were interested, I’m in some pain. NO, I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna kill me. Though to be honest, I wouldn’t mind some ice on it and some tylenol. But I’ll be home in hour. And when I get there I will pop a pain pill and settle into bed for a nap.

And until then, I’m going to assume that whoever thought a month was how long it was going to take me to feel like myself knew what the fuck they were doing, and stop feeling guilty for the things that I *do* feel well enough to do.

Hopefully this will include Jack Daniels soon enough.

 

Who you callin’ a ….?

 

It’s been (passively agressively) called to my attention that I’m a bitch.

 

Maybe I am. But I’m not going to lie. I’m perfectly okay with that description. Before y’all get all riled up, I’m not gonna get all “let’s be empowered to call each other bitches” on you, because it’s not the point.

 

The point is that sometimes, people do things and don’t expect that I will call you on it.

Or I don’t react how you thought I was going to react.

Sometimes, I say what I REALLY MEAN, instead of what you thought I was going to say.

Occasionally, my opinion is not your opinion.

 

That’s not to say that I am the kind of person who will get ALL IN YOUR FACE with my opinions (but, this *is* my blog. This is one place where I am allowed to be as opinionated as I want). I’m not. Usually. I tend to take things comfortably in stride. Because THAT is really the kind of person I am. I’m not aggressive, unless I think that the occasion calls for it.

 

That being said. I’m not PASSIVE either. You don’t get to decide what I’m going to do or where I’m going to do it, unless

a) I don’t really have an opinion.

b) I am in the minority (majority rules when you go out in groups y’all.)

c) I wanted to that anyways.

d) You’re paying.

 

I am also not the person who is going to let people treat or talk to me any old kinda way. That goes from stranger on the street to the woman who gave birth to me (although, she’s got some privelege, yo. That’s my mama).

 

I like to think of myself as being somewhere in the middle between doormat and aggressively obnoxious asshole.

 

HOWEVER. If you act like a complete asshole, please do not be surprised if I respond in a manner befitting your completely obnoxious behavior.

 

And if that makes me a bitch to you? I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.

Talk about facing your fears

Took me a while to get to my #OpEleanor update. But there was a reason.

First I should tell you, I really got a lot done. Things I never would’ve tried except, I said I was gonna face my fears, one day at a time. So I did.

And of course, I ended up having to face a huge one.

‘Member that mammogram? It was Day 2 of Operation Eleanor. An aside: Most MDs suggest getting your first mammogram at age 40, and then going yearly. In case you were interested, I’m not 40. Yet.

But. Both an aunt and cousin (mother and daughter) had breast cancer. And I figured this was as good a time as any to get started.

It was simple. Easy. As comfortable as you can imagine a perfect stranger adjusting your tits on a glass table-y thing might be. And after she was done, I asked if I could look. Because, hello! I’m curious. I got the spiel, ” You’ll get your results in a couple of weeks, blah blah.” I’ll be honest. I stopped listening because I figured I’d done what I came here to do and now I can go do a little Christmas shopping.

I got a call a few days later. They found “inconsistencies”, they wanted me to come back for another mammogram and maybe an ultrasound. Please cue internal screaming.

So I did. And this time, they took the pictures and took them RIGHT OVER to be viewed. Not comforting at all. I’m not going to lie. Also? Lemme tell you about awkward: Bursting into tears for NO REASON AT ALL except being scared of something that may not even happen and having perfect stranger comfort me because: CRYING WOMAN. I’m pretty sure it must happen fairly often though. BUT STILL.

And on top of all that, boobies still inconsistent. Now for a biopsy. I would like to take time in this already already long story to tell you that I took pictures of the fancy biopsy table and stuff, but I got a new phone and when they reset it I LOST ALL MY PICTURES. MOTHER. FUCKERS.

Moving on. Biopsied. Right before Christmas. Results? Right before the New Year.

Not cancer.

Still though. The lumps inside my lady lovely lumps? Must be removed.

According to the surgeon, they are so small that I never would’ve known they were there if I hadn’t decided that I needed a mammogram RIGHT NOW. And I kind of shudder to think what those lumps woulda looked like a year from now, or maybe would’ve been when I was actually 40.

BUT. Hurray for early detection! And Yay for #OpEleanor!

Because I’m fairly certain I would’ve put this one off forever if not that that.

 

 

I’m actually going to give something besides thanks today

So today is Thanksgiving Day. The day that I usually call “Turkey Day” because you really ought to be more thankful EVERY DAY and not just wait for the 3rd Thursday in November. And because really, these days, today has been more about how much food you can eat before your top button pops, before going out for a shopping frenzy at midnight in order to catch all of the sales.

But then my friend,  Undomestic Diva happened upon an organization called Feeding America. For just a buck, they can provide 8 meals. EIGHT OF THEM.

 

Do you know what *I* can do with $1? I can’t even buy a bag of chips at work with a buck. So, when Undomestic Diva went all Faberge on us. But. She was right. If 8 followers donated $1, and those followers donated, that would be a lot of meals.

Which is kinda my point. I’m not rich, by any means. But you know what? I have a couple of dollars in my pocket, and food on my table. Doesn’t seem like much, until you think of how many don’t. AND NOT just the homeless and impoverished. Some of your neighbors right there in the suburbs are also wondering where the next meal is going to come from.

And just like that, I became even MORE grateful for the things that I have. And because I do have them, I can give to those who don’t. And so, I’m going to donate. Because, I can. Because I have to. Because there shouldn’t be hunger in a place where people have EATING COMPETITIONS (Which. Gross).

Also? You should stop by Undomestic Diva and Jett Superior‘s place. THEY are the masterminds who are putting the giving, back in Thanksgiving day. And even though *I* don’t have a giveaway, they are giving away fancy gifts and prizes to those who do a little donating today.

So have at it kids, Have yourselves a Happy ThanksGiving!

 

P.S. If you need help, go here. When they said that they are Feeding America, they meant you too.