I will not be typecast by the slant of my eyes, the color of my skin or country of origin.
I am a Woman of faith of dignity who demands and commands respect.
I refuse to suffer indignities of your racist sexist perversions.
I follow the laws of God as dictated by my belief system whatever it may be.
I am not an exotic playtoy or life size Barbie doll existing only to gratify, satisfy or fulfill your twisted sadistic carnal predilections.
I am not the one and today is not your day.
I will not be afraid and will not back down.
I am not a victim.
I am more than a survivor.
I am defiant.
You do not have license to ill.
My height, weight, shape do not delineate me as a loose woman or a hot number.
I am not your Ethiopian Chocolate Fantasy or submissive Asian delight found in the back covers of men’s magazines.
I am not your Indian Maiden with feathers in her hair or a sari wrapped around her waist.
If I’m a Lesbian nothing between your legs will make me straight and certainly does not impress me.
Whatever fever you got, be it Jungle Fever, Yellow Fever, Red Fever, Hot Spicy Latina Fever, I’m about to throw cold water all over it and knock you out cold. Get over yourself. You’re not all that and a bag of chips.
I choose who, when, where and if I will lay my body down.
I am the Goddess and only the worthy may gain access to the Temple. As Women we are called to maintain order in the Universe. Ladies ~ Realize your calling.
Asshole Repellent
Ladies sexual abuse, workplace bullying and sexual harassment is the Elephant in the Room that everybody sees but fails to acknowledge its presence. Instead we step lightly around him hoping he will go away of his accord. Do not remain silent. Speak up. Speak out.
Funny Moment when a guy’s rap about his package nearly does him in
Getting off the J train at Broadway Junction and this young guys looking at a girl on the train telling her, “It’s this long” — well Mr. Super Stud walks right into the steel column along the platform and nearly knocks himself out. BAM!! You know that shit hurt!
I did chuckle a bit but I had to get me and my groceries back home in one piece!! He did try to play it off though. I think those humongous Beats by Dr. Dre headphones kept him from further injury. Perhaps he is practicing to be a future Anthony Weiner but those of us in New York know what happened to him and even though he’s running for Mayor Mr. Weiner will never live down exposing his little wiener via Twitter.
Perhaps Mr. Big Stuff should concentrate on getting something into his big head instead of focusing on impressing a girl with the little head. Stud Muffin wins this week’s Darwin Award.
Yesterday I finally came to grips with the fact that I’m a Geezer Magnet. Every man attracted to me is in the 65+ category. I blame the overuse of Viagra and his brother Cialis. The discovery of these medications has given dirty old men a new weapon in their limited arsenal.
My 78 year old neighbor Ms. Ruby and I were enjoying yesterday’s R&B music concert at our housing development. Good turnout. Great soul music. There was a 90 year old man sitting in front of us who kept trying to hit on me. Wanted to dance. For almost the entire concert he kept turning around trying to touch me. At one point I smacked his hand away. Ms. Ruby says he can’t do nothing. She says his dick probably like a dried up chili! Ms. Ruby also let me know that he was a widower who took up with five women after his wife died. One of his girlfriends’s wound up in a nursing home.
How this old coot wanna touch or dance when he can barely walk and if I pushed him hard enough he’d be crying, “Help me I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” Limp dick, bald head, spotty hand mofo still trying to get coochie! Damn shame!
Old Folks finally left the show around 7pm. Whew!! I could finally enjoy the rest of the show in peace & quiet. Mr. Age Spots almost got smacked in the head by one of my Muslim neighbors because he was trying to touch her butt as she was talking with us! Never mess with an African-American Muslim Woman. We had to hold her back. Shoot! Neither Allah nor Jesus would have been able to help that old coot if my Muslim neighbor had started whaling on his wrinkled behind.
Ms. Ruby told me he had buried one wife and put some girlfriend in a Nursing Home. One day that dirty old man will come and go at the same time! Viagra has made him overconfident. There is no way I’d want to see a man old enough to be my father naked.
Thankfully we were able to enjoy the final hour of the concert and our Kool & the Gangs favorites from the band. Next week is Gospel. Hopefully he won’t be there. Oh well as my parents used to say, “There’s No Fool like an Old Fool.” Rochdale Village seems to have an overabundance of dirty old men on the prowl. Go figure.
Another only in New York Geezer hit man story. A couple of Thursdays ago my friends and I boarded the Downtown M3 bus. Naturally we took seats close to each other near to the door. Paul was reading a story in the New York Times about the passing of author Gore Vidal. Next thing we know the drunk in front of Paul turns around and starts talking to Paul and Keith about another author Tennessee Williams. Paul and Keith are doing their best to ignore this idiot when after Cora and I began to talk he turned his ugly gaze upon us or rather upon me in particular.
I was trapped. He went on and on about how beautiful and natural I was, if I was married…. I told him that I was taken. He asked me what sign was my husband. I said Scorpio. “Hey, I like Scorpio men and they like me.” However this began to lead to sex talk. I told him I was a Christian. Then this demented beat up elderly excuse for Leon Spinks starts telling us or rather me that he used to be a pimp but now he’s a Christian. Meanwhile Paul and Keith have gotten very quiet. Every time we try to talk among ourselves, Old Folks Leon Spinks would chime in. After several tense moments Cora and I are praying that this guy gets off the bus. Our prayers were answered but not before he asked me to go with him to the liquor store. Damn that Negro had way too much Ripple or Thunderbird already.
Mr. Rotten Teeth also gave me a speech on his days as a Pimp along with his pleas for me to join him. When Raggedy Man realized I was moving he got off the bus but not without giving me a broken teeth leer.
Paul, Keith and Cora were relieved as well as me when he finally left. Dear God I don’t know why I attract idiotic good for nothing worthless men. Then to make things worse they all want to touch me and/or take me somewhere like the 75+ old coot who came to the museum talking trash to me about how I’d make a good slave in this play he was producing in North Carolina. I asked him, “Why I gotta be the slave?” Then he added insult to injury by asking me how to get to the New York Public Library. I informed him that the downtown buses; M2, M3 or M4 would happily take him there since I would not. Just get off at 42nd street. By this time he was getting desperate and saw that he was getting nowhere with his corny lines so next he implored me to escort him to the 19th Century Art section within the museum. Once again I refused his request stating that my supervisor who was in plain view through the glass doors would not allow me to do so. He looks at my supervisor then lets loose with the final insult. “Oh he looks like Obama.” My, my, my…. How white of him. Jackass.
At this point I’m totally disgusted and said Sir now go out there and tell my supervisor what you just told me. He and his cane hobbled through the doors over to my supervisor. After gaining his attention he thought better of his statement and just asked directions to the Impressionists.
Hopefully the next time I see Cora, Keith, Paul or my neighbor Ms. Ruby we can all laugh but hopefully we will not see this kook or any of his horny brethren again! Nursing home rejects. Nutty dirty old men in the museum, in the park, on the bus and in the subway!
Ladies I’m like Moms Mabley. As Moms used to say, “The only thing an old man can do for me is to show me where to find a young one!”
Donations and Freewill offerings can be made directly to my PayPal account deborah.palmer280@gmail.com
Shall we regard our girl children as Jephthah’s Daughters? How long will we continue to perpetuate the adage, “Women love their sons, but raise the daughters.” Every child deserves the opportunity to succeed in life but success comes through accepting responsibility and learning to be accountable. Any child male or female who constantly lashes out at authority figures in a bid to always be “right” is a child bound for prison or the graveyard. Stop making girls the sacrificial lambs!!
Ladies, let’s love our girl children and stop putting them on the altar in order to save a son who does not wanted to be saved and does not think he needs help or worse some no account man who should not even be a part of our households to begin with. Let us not return to ancient times when girls and women were thought of as little more than chattel or commodities to be bought and sold. (See below for more details on ancient economies)
“One of the unusual things about the Bible is that it preserves some bits of this larger context. … It would seem that the economy of the Hebrew kingdoms, by the time of the prophets, was already beginning to develop the same kind of debt crises that had long been common in Mesopotamia: especially in years of bad harvests, the poor became indebted to rich neighbors or to wealthy moneylenders in the towns, they would begin to lose title to their fields and to become tenants on what had been their own land, and their sons and daughters would be removed to serve as servants in their creditors’ households, or even sold abroad as slaves.
“[This is what the biblical book of Nehemiah is referring to in the passage,] ‘Some of our daughters are brought unto bondage already: neither is it in our power to redeem them.’ One can only imagine what those words meant, emotionally, to a father in a patriarchal society in which a man’s ability to protect the honor of his family was everything. Yet this is what money meant to the majority of people for most of human history: the terrifying prospect of one’s sons and daughters being carried off to the homes of repulsive strangers to clean their pots and provide the occasional sexual services, to be subject to every conceivable form of violence and abuse, possibly for years, conceivably forever, as their parents waited, helpless, avoiding eye contact with their neighbors, who knew exactly what was happening to those they were supposed to have been able to protect. … http://www.delanceyplace.com/view_archives.php?2009
Donations to this Ministry for the Housing Fund can be made in U.S. Funds via money order or bank checks made payable to Rochdale Village Inc. 169-65 137th Avenue, Jamaica, NY 11434, Account No. 083-11G-16924 or directly to deborah.palmer280@gmail.com via Paypal. Thank you and God Bless.
Listen to my voice. Listen to the sound of my voice.
Leda & Radu
Leda began her hair color ritual in the usual way. She carefully laid out the tools of her trade on the bathroom sink and the top of the commode. Being a small bathroom there was not much space but Leda made do within her sanctuary. Hair color, towels, mirror, comb, gloves, check. Now Leda was ready. Using a wide tooth comb she divided her thick unruly curls into sections applying even amounts of color first to her roots then all the way through to the ends. Pulling the comb through her mane Leda envisioned Radu’s well groomed hands entangling themselves within the kinks and knaps of mother Africa all the while gently massaging her scalp and kissing the nape of her neck. Leda massaged the remaining color through her tangled tresses then set the timer for 25 minutes walking the short distance to her bedroom to meditate while the process worked its magic.
During the 25 minutes of meditation Leda visualized her lover Radu sitting next to her on the bed speaking softly and gently in his Eastern European accent all the while kissing her brows, the bridge of her nose and finally her lips. She could feel the bristle of his closely manicured beard against her face all the while falling into a deep blend of olive skin intermingled from Slavic, Romanian, Turkish and Macedonian blood lines. From his lips issued the voices of ancient Kings worshipping the Queens of Africa, Sheba and Candace.
He sometimes stopped to look deeply into her eyes mentally willing the both of them to become one flesh.
Suddenly the buzz of the timer interrupted her reverie and off she went to turn on the shower preparing to rinse out the excess color treatment. As Leda stepped under the powerful flow of the water Radu’s spirit stepped in with her and they were transported to the thunder of Caribbean waterfalls, enveloped in thunder of the cascading streams. Radu’s hands were like the streams of water entering into every sensitive place of her temple. She could feel his lips and hands as they worked their way down from her neck, breasts to that soft mound of flesh above her pubic area where he loved to rest his head after a night of lovemaking. Water and color ran down over all the nooks and crannies of her curves.
Ring, ring, ring, the sound of the phone brought Leda out of her fantasy and quickly toweled off and managed to answer before the machine kicked in.
“Ello Layda. I just arrived at JFK. Taking a taxi to your place. See you in a few minutes.”
Leda rejoiced. Her fantasy was about to become real. Her Lover was almost home. Her thoughts wandered to a romantic tryst in the hot tub at their friends chalet.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 