theotherblackwoman

I sometimes think about how fortunate I am. My life isn’t super amazing. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a ton of friends in my city. No kids. No lover. Just an ex.

I don’t go out every weekend. 

Sort of a homebody. 

But I love what I have.

Good skin.

A clear mind. 

Good wit.

Good friends all over the world. 

Access to Xmas movies. Think. Home for the Holidays and White Christmas.

A parents love.

Siblings.crazy and all.

A dog. 

Benefits. A retirement plan. A way too expensive car. 

However…the midlife factor is there… Why can’t I head to Melbourne on the spur of the moment… Buy tickets to unlimited concerts.. Have a red ten speed bike..

A lover who digs sex in the morning and late evening. Hell..all day. 

A house with a yard for GSD. 

I grew up in fucking enormous houses with my own room. Once my even own floor. But a flat..shit I wouldnt mind a wide tiny house in my mid life or living overseas and crashing in a small Greek or Italian town eating gyros and gelato and cruising on a bike while my dog running next to me. 

Forty nine has been a yawn fest. Not exciting on any level.

This can only mean maybe I shouls shave off my curly locks, shave a few pounds and get out there. 

If you blink…it might be midlifewhat?

Don’t worry I am not buying a sportscar and dating a youngen. Well thinking about the second one.

 

Growing up in all white family in the seventies, I felt at times scared, odd, freakish, alone and loved. 

There would be times in New Jersey, mainly Princeton that I would feel judged, bullied and harassed on a daily basis. Granted this was by one girl Sherry_____. She had a way of bullying me after my classes at the YMCA and calling me halfbreed by the post at the corner. She would yell out,”you’re not black or white, look at you! You a half breed!” 

She added her little hands on my shoulders, pushing me back and forth as if I would choose a race from her shaking me profusely. 

This went on for months. I couldn’t tell my mom so I told my best friends mom. She looked like the mom from Good Times. She showed up one day after school and grabbed Sherry by one of her braids.” if I ever hear about you touching my baby, I will call your momma?” 

Do you want that? 

No, ma’am.

After that I was free..

America in my youth didn’t love me. 

Police locked me their cars in beat me with a night stick. 

Nazis skin heads chased me in Idaho. 

Getting pulled over for no reason

Asked for two pieces of ID

Followed while shopping

Disbelief my white mother is my mother.

Being a biracialbisexual woman will never be great in America, but I am/was proud to be one. 

After last night it reminded me of all that I fear. The facade people hide.

Their truth. 

Make a America KIND Again is the slogan some mom came up with. 

I agree. 

But as for now I will get on my armour and be ready. I’ve been fighting hate for over 40 years and you better believe….

I am ready or

It’s go time.

Remember when you fell hard? It could have been the way they touched you? Grabbed you? Kissed you? Fucked you? That feeling is captivating, sensual and so meaningful and hot!!

I do.

There have been so many times. 

An older woman fucking you in a car. 

A lover sleeping with you on his office floor.

Sex in a van. 

Sex in a hot tub outside while drinking champers.

Sex on a beach. 

Sex on the rug. 

Sex outside on a bench.

Someone holding sex for months…then you kiss and to be cheesy…it’s electric! 

You want it.

You’ve fallen hard. 

Is always awkward. 

Changed me.

Remember a slower time when we didn’t walk around with our cell phones in our hands.
We actually spoke to one another.
I am not saying only you do this. I’ve done it as well. But there was something so joyous about going to a movie with the ones you love, ordering popcorn and laughing while slapping your leg. My favorite is crying silently at the emotional bits.

Ok.. So strap in….buckle up..etc..
Chitty chitty bang bang is the first..why you may ask.. because of the child catcher running around dancing with multicolored lollipops between his fingers. I was scared of long pointy noses and pointy black top hats for three years.

Bed knobs in broomsticks taught me about nazis. Introduced my love for Angela Lansbury. Made me love being a child.

Close encounters of the Third Kind. Told me that crazy with shaving cream and potatoes is OK. Terri Carr compelled my love for passion and Richard Dreyfuss showed me to believe in your gut and don’t do the norm.  Follow your bliss.

The Goodbye Girl…
Genius film with Marsha Mason and RD again. Classic play, classic. film.. Strong writing, amazing acting and a joy to watch.
INTERMISSION