The psychopathology of “Becky”: From southern slave economies to Sir Mix-A-Lot to Beyonce

This is BRILLIANT!

Z. Samudzi

Oh, my, God Becky, look at her butt
It is so big, she looks like
One of those rap guys’ girlfriends.
But, ya know, who understands those rap guys?
They only talk to her, because,
She looks like a total prostitute, ‘kay?
I mean, her butt, is just so big
I can’t believe it’s just so round, it’s like out there
I mean gross, look
She’s just so, black

For all intents and purposes, we were first introduced to Becky in Sir Mix-A-Lot’s admittedly misogynistic but still bumpin’ booty appreciation anthem (and musical and kind of conceptual precursor to Nicki’s “Anaconda,” though I won’t give him that much credit) “Baby Got Back.” In the video, Becky is a limp brown-haired fringe jacket-wearing gum smacking white woman talk listening to her friend rail on the dress and physique of a dancing black woman, aptly introduced by a heavenly…

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Smile…

Smile…

I’m not into being fake happy. I seldomly show excitement, half a smile is just as good as a full one and don’t expect my voice to go an octave higher than my normal tone. Resting bitch face is a natural state of being for me. I don’t do it to be shady or for any petty reasons. Shit, I don’t even know I do it until it’s pointed out to me! I’m always told I don’t show feelings, to smile, to not be such a bitch…since apparently not smiling equates to being “a bitch”.

People have caught feelings about giving me gifts because I haven’t shown levels of excitement that were acceptable to them. People have called me heartless, bitter, cold, bitchy (they love that one) and whatever other adjectives suits them at the moment to point out the fact that my demeanour makes them uncomfortable.

Well guess what bitch? I’m me. That’s it. I don’t smile because life has conditioned me not to smile. I don’t smile because I don’t fucking feel like it. I don’t smile because I’m not obligated to make your insecure ass feel better about yourself if I flash you some teeth and gums. I don’t smile because I’ve gone through so much hurt and have so much inside to deal with that my half smile is all I’ve trained my mind to project just to feel a little bit normal at times that a smile would be warranted. I don’t smile because it’s not a welcome sign for men to approach me or talk to me when all I want to do is get to where the hell in going!

So if you ever do see me smile and even more rare hear me laugh out loud…then know that you’re truly appreciated and your presence is indeed a present.

Hard Knock Life

Those closest to me know my rough past. They know a blue bandanna was a staple for me. Despite going to a catholic school with uniform we still managed to make it look as hood as possible. Thick black eyeliner, curly hair, blue bandannas and white K-Swiss kicks paired with a very short kilt and with a white button up or over sized white golf shirt. That was the look that set the cholas apart from the predominantly white population of the high school I attended. The school was mostly full of Italians and Polish kids. Most of the coloured kids concentrated their lockers in one or two hallways. If we were assigned lockers somewhere else we either traded with someone or ended up with two lockers for the year. The hallway was dubbed “the night hallway”, it was where you found all the black kids, Filipinos, Latinos and the white kids that grew up with us. It was the hallway where you found all the singers, the breakers, the star athletes and the roughnecks in one place. We were a family. It was us against them. You call one person a n****r, you call all of us a n****r. You call one person a s**c, you call all of us a s**c. We were like a swarm of angry bees if you disturbed the nest. We used to go to each other’s court dates. If someone thought she was pregnant, we’d borrow a health card so she could go to a clinic. If we knew you were gonna get your ass beat at home for whatever reason we’d walk you home in hopes that your pops or mom would forget why they were mad in the first place. When the time came to go home we’d let you know that if shit went down we’d have a bed ready for you. We looked out for each other because nobody else was doing it. The other kids would call us juvies, short for juvenile delinquents. Teachers would always be trying to catch us in something to suspend us or telling us we would end up like our parents if we didn’t smarten up. As if it was the worst thing in the world. Cops would target us and follow us home. It was always us against them. Some of us made it…others didn’t. It’s a hard knock life.

7 Ways People Who Have Been Emotionally Abused Love Differently

7 Ways People Who Have Been Emotionally Abused Love Differently

The scars are internal.

When it comes to abusive relationships, it isn’t always just physical abuse. While this isn’t meant to detract from the issue of domestic abuse that far too many women have suffered (and still suffer), it’s to address the fact that emotional abuse can be just as damaging, but in completely different ways.

When you’re in an emotionally abusive relationship, it’s not always noticeable right away. You don’t bear the bruises of a physical attack, but you’re still scarred in many ways, and that scarring leaves an imprint that can affect every future relationship.

It’s hard to love again after you’ve been manipulated, put down, controlled, belittled, and made to feel worthless by someone who was supposed to love you and care about you.

As someone who’s been emotionally abused in the past and can now clearly see it, I’m also able to see how it changed my idea of relationships and my approach to love. Here are seven ways those of us who have been emotionally abused love differently:

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i will not apologize

“neediness is not a dirty word. needing love and affection and attention does not make you weak. needing kindness in the morning does not make you childish. needing a smile to brighten your day does not mean you see the world as grey. needing a hug does not mean you cannot stand on your own two feet. needing a kiss does not mean you do not love your own lips. needing another person, or two, or an entire village to make you feel whole does not mean you are a half, or a fraction or a fragment – it means you want more, and darling to live is to want, and you want, want, want. needing dreams doesn’t make you scared, or lost, or unfocused – it makes you a dreamer, and love, you see the world in colors of the future, you see possibility where other see limits, you see freedom where others see fear. so dream. dream and need and want. and take from life all that you can, and if you still want more and need more then grow, grow your voice – say what you need without your will quaking, without your voice breaking.”
— marina v., i will not apologize, pt. 1.

WILDFLOWER SUNDAYS MIX BY ERIC THE TUTOR By Eric The Tutor

When nothing else makes sense. When you try and try to think of ways to get through yet another week, weekend or day. When you just want to say ‘Fuck everything!’ Music comes along and makes it all go away. It’s like a soothing balm. No matter what type of music you listen to or how varied your preference is.

I’ve been on a trap music tip for awhile now. This mix is a perfect playlist for my weekend.

Racism on the Playground

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“Martin Luther King Jr. Day, when America takes a brief moment to pretend it truly cares about integration, nonviolence and racial harmony.” – Huey (The Boondocks)

Mi Vida Loca

Hope everybody had a great Easter, enjoyed family time, the great weather and the abundance of chocolate (I’m stocking up on all that Easter chocolate going on sale). I had time with my family, enjoyed some good weather but also experienced what I think has been one of the most difficult parenting broken heel moments I’ve encountered yet. It’s very unfortunate that it’s the negative experiences the ones we learn most from.

On the Saturday we had AMAZING weather so I decided to go visit a girlfriend of mine with my kids, my sister and my mom. We ended up meeting her at a park that’s near her home so that the kids could enjoy some time outdoors, all in all it was an alright afternoon. All until I noticed my oldest daughter (7 years old) being cornered on a park bench by one of the other mothers that was on the playground with…

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