Did Morgan Freeman Just Piss Me Off?

I am sure y’all are worried. OF all the people I have picked a fight with you are thinking….”this woman had better NOT be bad mouthin’ our beloved Morgan Freeman.”

It is true. I am about to open a can on Morgan Freeman. I feel a little insecure about it, because, you know, he has played the voice of God and all… but when it comes down to doing what is right you just have to do what is right.

Garrett was reading me a quote from Politico.com the other day. He exclaimed, “Jasmine! Morgan Freeman said Barack Obama isn’t the first Black president.” I shrugged thinking that OF COURSE Politico.com misquoted the undeniably amazing Mr. Freeman, because no asshole would say something like that out loud… or at least to be quoted. I grabbed my laptop and followed Politico’s source, NPR, and as it turns out Morgan Dead-to-me Freeman DID say what was sited.

Now, let me clarify that I have put up with this bullshit my whole life. I have dealt with being called “high yellow” the girl with the “good hair” and not being “black enough.” My mother is Belgian and Cherokee and my father is African American. My birth certificate says African American. I was raised as a Black woman with proud Black and African American roots– though I’ve fought hard to be respected as such. I got the shake down from both sides. I was never white enough for the White people and never black enough for the Black people. I have been told that I don’t sound Black, my nose doesn’t look Black, and I just don’t seem Black… not that I ever knew what any of those things even meant. But when Morgan Fucking Freeman decides to weigh in on the conversation and say we have NOT had our first BLACK president, but that we’ve only had our first MIXED RACE president, I am prone to pull the bullshit card.

Bullshit Morgan Freeman. Bullshit.

I watched African American Lives 2, Morgan. I learned, right along with the other fascinated  PBS viewers, that your slave lineage has some “mixed race” as well. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. totally outed you, man.  So do we get to call you a mixed race actor? Do you get a lower ranking in Essence Magazine because you are not “Black”, but just “mixed race”. More to the point, I am pretty sure Bill Clinton and all the other White presidents have “mixed race” and so technically President Obama isn’t the first “mixed race president.”  I am not trying to enforce the one drop rule, but I am saying  DUDE. MORGAN FREEMAN!… BARACK OBAMA is black. No one is hatin’ on you or reframing your heritage because you have some Indian cheekbones in your lineage.

I think what you meant to say to NPR is that you are a racist. Like so many other people you look at other African Americans with distinct Caucasian heritage and label them as “not Black” or “not Black enough.” I am pretty sure that is the very definition of racism. You are engaging in racial hierarchy and you need to knock that shit off.  You make it hard for people like me and Barack to enter into the race conversation because we automatically get disqualified. We don’t carry the “Black card”. It is sad, Morgan Freeman, that you moved from my “People I want to narrate my life list” to  my “Racist Assholes” list.

We BLACK PEOPLE (YES WE) have a hard enough time in society, Morgan. Can we stop with the inter-minority racism? It doesn’t help anyone’s cause. You were interviewed by MSNBC back in 2005 about race:

“The actor says he believes the labels “black” and “white” are an obstacle to beating racism.

“I am going to stop calling you a white man and I’m going to ask you to stop calling me a black man,” Freeman says.

Well , Morgan Freeman. It seems as though seven years time was enough time for you to decide that “beating racism” wasn’t so much for you and that you’d join the likes of my racist   junior high peers who called me “Oreo.”

Knock that shit off, Morgan Freeman.

 

The Day The Bloggess Tried to Kill My Mother-In-Law and Steal My Husband.

There are moments in time where the clarity that one possesses is so strong, so very clear, that what is going on in the world becomes laughably obvious. This was the case on Sunday, July 1st, 2012. This day was the day that I realized that Jenny Lawson, also known as The Bloggess, and my husband, Garrett Brown, had been colluding to kill my mother-in-law and frame me with her murder. While I imagine the reflex to shrug off my accusations facts as nothing but hysterical drivel, I assure you that this well timed strike on my mother-in-law, Connie, was so perfectly orchestrated that it was undeniably an attempted to  put me in jail. I don’t know why The Bloggess wants me in jail, probably because she is a racist, or wants to marry my husband, after I am dead, and start her own brother- husband commune where she bosses Garrett and Victor around, making them procure more of her collectables for her petrified death house… I mean, what else could you expect from someone who continually talks about zombies, vaginas, and may or may not have her home on an Indian burial ground. I contend it is because she is a racist. Did you know she has a huge ass metal chicken that she named Beyonce? Uuuh yeah. Hello, Bloggess! Not all Black people like chicken! Sheesh.

 

So. I was on my way home from Kansas City, Mo.  My mother-in-law was with me, as I had turned my Biggest Loser casting call into a mini-vacation with her. I brought along my fancy schmancy Kindle Fire. The FIRST book I downloaded on my fancy piece of book technology was, of course, “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir)”.

My Kindle Fire lost its book virginity to The Bloggess

I have been a fan of Jenny’s for years. YEARS, y’all. (That is why this attempt on my life and plan to steal my husband is extra hurty. Shut up. “hurty” is a word.) We were driving along and I was reading “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened” aloud to my mother-in-law. I was reading the chapter about the time Jenny decided that she’d OD on ex-lax. As I was reading I got a text from my husband and a conversation ensued. This conversation, I have realized was the way that Garrett and Jenny were working together to frame me for my mother-in-law’s murder. This is how the conversation went:

 

 

Garrett: “When will I free you.”

 

Me: “I am pretty free already motherfucker! Is that why you married me? You wanted to feel morally superior one day? Besides! Who asks that question? As if you are just considering freeing me, but aren’t sure yet.”

 

Garrett: “Ha! It was supposed to say see. I saw it and left it thinking you would think I meant that I was asking when I’d free you from my mom. That is even better.”

 

Me: “So now your mom owns me? This is an unsavory conversation {to have with a Black woman}. It all makes sense now.”

 

I resumed reading and only looked half squinty at my mother in law, because as it turns out- they thought they owned me. Me. An emancipated Black woman. Which makes sense, since she was always calling my children “her babies”. If I am correct about my slave history, when you own the momma slave you get the baby slaves too. Remember that moment of clarity? Yeah… this is the one I am talking about. So I continued reading as if Garrett had not just revealed their dirty little slave secret to me. Connie was laughing and enjoying herself. I read the line, “So I yelled, “I’M CALLING THE POLICE! AND I HAVE DIARRHEA! From… AIDS!” I began laughing. My my whole body trembled with laughter. The scene I played in my mind of Jenny sitting on the toilet, OD’ing from Ex-Lax while a psychopath passes her notes under the bottom of her door. I mean… that shit is literary gold! Move over “The Odyssey”! We will soon find “Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir)” bound in those classy antique looking collections of novels. You know what I am talking about, right? Those book collections that are on fancy book shelves in smoking rooms. I can envision Jenny’s name right up there with Homer, Shakespeare, and Dostoyevsky. Well, I could, until she plotted to kill my mother-in-law and pin it on me. The next moment I noticed the car was swerving. I looked up from the book and glanced at Connie.  In that moment she went from smiling and laughing to something else.

My beautiful mother-in-law, Connie. She LOVED Jenny’s book… you know, before Jenny tried to kill her.

She was red, gasping, and her eyes were bugging out of her head. She quickly, so quickly I had to hold on to the roof of the car, barreled onto the side of the road. She was doing this wheezing gasping thing and coughing and sputtering. She started to slap at the dash…. I quickly put the car in park. “Do you have your inhaler!” She hacked and gasped and grabbed at her chest and managed to shake her very veiny and red face back and forth. No no no no. Fuck! She does not have her inhaler! Because awesome. She is having an asthma attack- brought on my The Bloggess and her account of shitting herself. Connie turned the air conditioner on full blast. I placed my cold hand on her forehead and told her to breathe. I mean… what the fuck else was I supposed to do? I had just found out she and her son, my husband, thought they owned me and weren’t even planning on freeing me. If this woman died in this car the police would OBVIOUSLY want to check my phone and then they’d see that I had just discovered their very racist secret. Then the police would be all. “How did she die” and I’d be forced to say that I was reading a story about a fellow blogger who wanted to lose 3 pounds and so she OD’ed on Ex-Lax. I’d be forced to further explain that my mother-in-law choked to death on water because The Bloggess was shitting and screamed, “I have AIDS.” The officer would, no doubt, not believe me because that story sounds too far fetched in the first place.

My mother in law finally started breathing. She explained, “I took a drink right before she screamed, “I have AIDS” and when I laughed I inhaled water and began to choke.” IT was this moment I realized we’d all been laughing about someone having AIDS and it turns out we are all huge assholes. I waited to make sure she was REALLY okay before I was all, “I am so blogging that shit!”  She agreed that I could blog about her spitting and coughing and almost dying as long as I didn’t mention the reason why she had to sit on a towel to the next exit.

This is what happens when you choke up a whole bottle of water and spittle all over yourself.

 

I stayed true to my promise. It is NOT my fault if you inferred that while almost dying from   choking on water while reading The Bloggess’s book my mother-in-law almost peed on herself. It is not my fault my readers are really good with context clues. I can neither confirm or deny that she might have peed herself while laughing/dying/being murdered by The Bloggess.

As fate would have it my mother-in-law did NOT die and I was NOT framed. Your plan was foiled Jenny Lawson! Besides, you don’t want my husband for your brother-husband commune, he likes Nickelback…no one should be married to another person who actually enjoys Nickelback’s music. I didn’t know about his musical tastes before we were wed… else I would have cut my losses and moved on. Because seriously. Nickelback. Ew.

Your plan to murder my mother-in-law and frame me sucked. Your book however, was amazing… It will be forever remembered as a highlight of our trip! Thank you for such a fun piece of work.

Interested in Jenny’s Memoir? Find it here

The Power of Awesome and Adventures in Babywearing

Here is the deal folks: We are all awesome in our own ways. Regardless of what the bullies and mean girls have told you, you rock in a way that is uniquely you. It could be that I had homemade biscuits for breakfast and I am riding a carb high, it could be that I just chatted with a blogger whom I’ve quietly followed for years, or it could be the amazing support I received after announcing I was considering Biggest Loser auditions.

Regardless!

I have been popping around my house with this  friggin’ awesome attitude. (It MUST be the biscuits!).  The power of social media has blown my mind the last two days. Mind=Blown. While chatting with Stephanie,  I had this realization. Here I was chatting with the lady who authored a blog that inspired me to buy my first Moby. My family culture is to babywear, but I had never heard of the Moby wrap. Three little people later, here I am a babywearing parent- in large part to her influence. Which made my wheels start turning. I bet there is one person who has read my blog and been influenced.  One person who thought differently because they read something I was honest about.

That is some power.

Social media amplifies our voice to degrees we could otherwise not be able to achieve. I know people like to hate on social media, they say it creates de-personalized personas and limits authenticity since people are able to control the “them” that you see. That is true.

It is ALSO true, though, that social media gives a platform for those of us that are putting our true selves out there. Social media can connect people, educate people, and inspire people. I learned a lesson yesterday. Never doubt the power of your awesome. So read those blogs, tweet, link in, and status update. Social media isn’t evil. It is a tool, and like any tool can be used to build good things or bad things.

Now… off to make  my Biggest Loser audition tape. Eek!

Also, check out AdventuresinBabywearing.com

Gosh Darn It and Other Culturally Relative Acts

The other day on The Facebook. My Twitter fed this status update:

 

 

 

 

Isaiah has been struggling a lot lately with some explosive anger and it is HARD. I didn’t think much of the tweet, until…

 

 

 

I responded and this is the conversation that took place:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have had someone make comments on my Facebook page before about language. I once said, “when in the hell is this kid gonna nap?” Then I received a comment about how I should, as a Christian, be ashamed of my language.  ASHAMED?

This particular conversation was very interesting and had me thinking about belief and what some people choose to emphasis as important. When I said that I think language is language, that it is relative I was being very serious. I believe “gosh darn it” is the same as “goddamn it”.  Language is relative to culture, yo. I also stand by the statement that I can think of a lot uglier words than goddamn. What was interesting was her response to me saying that God Almighty is relative:

“Well, okay! That explains a lot.”

I don’t exactly know what that comment means, but I do know that as I said in the comment thread, God Almighty is different to each of us. YOUR God Almighty tells you saying goddamn is a horrific thing and saying “gosh darn it “or “dang it” is totally Kosher …assuming your God recognizes the laws of Kosher ;) What is so interesting to me are the things that people feel motivated to correct, some frame it as “edification,” one another on.

Just a couple of days later this Facebook acquaintance posted that her elementary age daughter had “led her friend to Christ at recess”. She said that she quizzed her daughter and it sounded like she had indeed did it. Responses flooded into her status update praising God and praising the awesomeness of her daughter. I didn’t have that reaction, though. EVERYTHING in me wanted to respond exactly how she had responded to me, I wanted to respond with shock. I don’t think it is appropriate to teach our children about “leading others to Christ”. At least not in the sense that your kid comes up to my kid and asks about life after death, sin,  Jesus, and follows that up the Sinner’s Prayer. I would be PISSED if my kid came home and told me your kid got him “saved” today. I would probably call the school and pitched a fit.

What if your kid came home and said, “Mommy! My friend Isaiah lead me in a prayer of repentance, he told me God loves gay people just the way they are. IN FACT Isaiah told me that God actually made them that way and that me calling them “sinners” is wrong- so he helped me pray and repent. I believe in God mom and I know God loves gay people just as they are…”

You see? We both believe in the Judeo-Christian God, yet our “God Almighty” is VERY different.

If you are wondering, no… I didn’t respond. I quietly respected that we have very different values and that language, belief, and actions are very usually relative.

 

 

Please don't steal shit off my site. It isn't nice to steal.