My 26th birthday was a week and a half ago. It was quiet and I spent most of my time with my mother. I know, I had quite the raging party with my mom. We cleaned the house and laughed at the memories of us throughout the years. Yep, real party animal over here! We started to look at my baby pictures and I became fixated on this one picture, my very first baby picture hours after my birth at George Washington Hospital in D.C. Continue reading
*Trigger Warning* Mike Brown’s death discussed in detail
I wanted to write about American Horror Story but I got sidetracked and sickened by the foul display of an American Horror Story of my own, the disregard for black life. As you may already know, Darren Wilson was not indicted for the shooting death of Michael Brown, a teenager that was heading to college mere weeks before the shooting. Why did I put that information about college? Because that was told to me since I was young that I should go to college to make something of myself so that I could be more accepted by the overall white patriarchy. He, unarmed, was shot six times, twice in head, twice in the torso, twice in the arm. Why did I give that gruesome information about his unnecessary death? To let you know that being unarmed won’t fucking save you from your eventual demise as a black person in this country. His body was left in the street for a total of 4 and half hours. Why did I give that detail about his body after the shooting? It is clear that to much of the public that black bodies are dispensable and a hassle to clean up.
Last week on Wednesday, there was talk that the English department puts on to showcase a professor from that department. The department choose Professor Rudacille, my English 383 (Science Writing), to present her different projects she is taking on and how they all relate to one another. So far she is writing a play that is loosely based off of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in 1911, she is writing a piece on the mountaintop removal issue in West Virginia, and she is finishing up doing interviews of individuals of the Catholic Faith in regards more radical ideas outside of the church. It was interesting to see how all these vastly different things relate to the idea of healing.
I have had boobs since I was eleven years old. In fact, it would seem at eleven, I would experience all the things associated with puberty in that one year. Some of my oldest friends can’t even remember me being “flat-chested” and they would joke about how I was born with boobs. I have had a love hate relationship with my boobs mainly because others seemed to notice them. I have heard every single epithet hurled at me from eleven until now at twenty-five from males and females alike. Just to name a few names, Tits McGee, Tig O’ Bitties, and my all time favorite, Jiggles. Through these names were probably meant to be endearing, I am growing sick and tired of the attention solely based on my boobs. But it is not only the names but the gawking, the back handed comments, the jokes ( I have heard every boob joke by now), the jealousy of other women, and the back problems.
Unruly Bodies 