Nnekay.com

A few years back, I used to get into regular arguments with a guy friend of mine. He would complain about how crazy women were, and I would then counteract with how stupid men were. These arguments would always go in circles and conclude with me saying something irrational and him saying something idiotic. Needless to say after many failed relationships, whine-a-thons, and never-ending debates- we came to the conclusion that neither one of us were wrong.

yep… women are crazy and men are stupid. It’s that simple. It took me a long time to realize that I, a woman, was insane… but after looking at the multitudes of relationship woes that my friends, family, and I have experience… well, women do some pretty crazy shit. Yet, it’s in direct correlation to the stupid shit that men do. Before I begin my exploration into the insanity of women and idiocy of men, I must explain that relationships cause the change. You can have the sanest woman and the smartest of man- hook them up, and suddenly you’ve got a psycho and caveman.

I’ll start with a personal example. I, Nnekay, a normally rational and sane individual, dove off the cliff into CrazyTown when my boyfriend at the time stopped calling me for 3 weeks. I tried, reeeaaallly hard to hold on to my sanity, but with every tick-tock of time, I felt my stability slowly melt away. Somehow, I thought it would be a good idea to to call repeatedly day, after day, after day. I left messages on his cell phone, his dorm room, and at his mom’s house. All I could think about was him, and practically wore my cellphone around my neck for the chance phone call from this so called lover. Thanksgiving rolled around about two weeks into the phone freeze, and I was a psycho mess. The dinner went a little like this: I would put on a happy face, try to have a normal conversation, excuse myself to check my phone, cry a little,  put on a happy face, conversation, check phone, cry a little…. so on and so forth. Soon my cover was blown, when I went full on crazy and started crying in the middle of a “normal” conversation. I received looks of sympathy from the women and nervous glances from the men. A week later he called to break up.

Lucky for him and I, my little episode was low on the female crazy meter. I have known ladies to ruin cars, beat other ladies up, check messages and e-mails, spread private secrets, and other more creative things. All of these psycho outburst can cause incredible damage- just look at that crazy ass astronaut lady- the one who drove across the country in diapers and a wig to kidnap her lover’s other girlfriend. Well, she got arrested. Just to further my point- astronauts have to go through rigorous testing, both mental and physical. So he must have done something incredibly stupid for her to go off the deep end so very very bad.

Yes, when it comes to relationships- men are dumb. Take my little episode. To not call your long distance girlfriend around the holidays… is stupid. My ex was, and probably still is an incredibly intelligent man, yet somehow, it never occurred to him, to call me (or pick up one of my hundreds of calls) to tell me he needed time to think things through. Recently, the governor of New York, a man who used to crack down on prostitute rings got caught cheating on his wife with a prostitute. They caught him using methods he once used to catch other people… stupid.

This isn’t secluded to hetero relationships, either. I’ve seen crazy ladies and stupid men in same sex relationships as well, so ya’ll ain’t exempt.

Granted, it’s hard to know when you’re in the middle of a stupid/crazy fit, but I noticed that taking a step back for a moment to re-evaluate the situation- before action- can help tons. If you’re about to check an ex-boyfriend’s e-mail… before you type in the password, think to yourself, “I might find something fucked up… and if i confront him about it, I’ll look crazy.” If your girl friend asks you how she looks in a particular outfit, comparing her to your fat mom probably isn’t the smartest idea, no matter how much you love mommy.

I know I’m young and I probably have some crazy left in me, but I’m hoping that since I can recognize this fact the only thing I’ll ruin is my eye make up.

I’ve been fortunate enough to swing a schedule where a couple times during the week I’m home during Oprah. Like most American Women I like Oprah and TLC’s A Wedding Story. Like most Young American Women- I tend to keep this fact under the radar. But for the purpose of recent discoveries I’m going to talk about this sorta secret fascination with Op-a-dope.

Women. Love. Oprah.

If Oprah is on, I’m probably going watch it- or at least catch the opening so I can see if I want to watch it.

Hey! Who remembers when Oprah sang the opening credits to her show. That was weird.

So, anywho- I’ve been watching Oprah a bit recently and found out that Oprah + Cheesy Singer = Nnekay will cry.  This is incredibly embarrassing, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how or why this dumb ass equation works.

Please refer to example 1A: It’s a calm Wednesday afternoon and Oprah is on. I lazily flick on the tube, and groan as I find out that today’s special guest is none other than the queen of cheesy dumb-dumb songs— Celine Dion! For some unknown reason I’m fascinated and keep watching. Hell it’s either this or watch the Top Model rerun played for the millionth time on VH1 or MTV or both stations at the same time… Is Tyra Banks having an affair with one of the exec at MTV or something, because, I swear I’ve seen all episodes of Top Model at least 4 times and feel like I have a personal connection with at least one of the models in each “cycle”. blah. So, here I am watching the windblown (now kinda haggard looking) Celine belt out portions of her sap-a-dap songs to a multi-colored sweater clad audience of women, while Oprah nods along- because I know for a fact the woman doesn’t know the lyrics- she sang along to Barry Manilow, which is a whole ‘nother can of worms I would not like to open right now. The wind machine is blowing, she has graphics of clouds behind her, and then in fancy script writing “Celine and Oprah” blasts on the screen. I’m in shock. Then I start to giggle, because this is utterly ridiculous- I can only imagine the producers falling to pieces behind the scenes, because this is pure-cut Colombian shlock.

Yet, for some reason I keep watching.

Then it happens… enter woman who’s father died. They had a song that they used to dance together with- it just so happens to be a Celine Dion song. Celine Dion’s father died as well. Celine sings song… woman and family cry. Celine Cries. Oprah is rock solid, but I’m a blubbery mess. Snot everywhere, tissues thrown around, I’m huddled in a blanket, and peacefully thinking to myself how wonderful this moment is. Not that I can relate. My father is still alive and kicking- kicking so much that he manages to still believe I don’t brush my teeth, or wash my hands and makes a point to grill me about these hygiene facts whenever I go to visit him. No… me and my dad are not the Celine Dion dancing type. So why the hell am I crying?

Example 3B: This time Oprah wants to celebrate celebrity couples. Yay!

I hate celebrity couples. Why the hell do rich, hot people get to date other rich, hot people… there should be a “big brother” type program where rich, hot people are assigned a poor, semi-attractive people to date. I mean… it’s only fair. So here I am, poor semi-attractive, and single- very-very-very single. Why the fuckers, am I watching a show about how much Hedi Klum luuvs Seal? Anywho- Oprah is rock solid while Seal and Hedi look googly at each other, hold each others hands and talk about their charm necklaces that they each have. Then the video starts. And my jaded stomach almost causes me to barf the remaining tid bits of romance I might have left in my being. Seal and Hedi strolling on the beach, Seal and Hedi with their cute kids. Seal and Hedi recording a song together that he wrote on the morning of their wedding (Hedi- please-please stop singing…please…seriously), Seal & Hedi, Seal & Hedi, Seal & Hedi- ahhhhhhh! Make it stop! But I keep watching, why God, whhhhyyyy? Then it happens… enter Seal’s sap foster child story. Long lost family, no pictures of childhood, and crazy parents. Uh-ohh Hedi and Oprah have something up they’re sleeve. Hedi found long lost foster parents. They were interviewed in Jolly Ole England. Seal is shocked. Oprah hands Seal a photo album of his childhood. Seal starts to cry. UH-OH one more surprise… Oprah flew Seal’s foster sister in from Jolly Ole England. Hedi and Oprah are rock solid. Seal and I are a mess.

Damnit, Oprah!!!!!

I don’t understand it, but it happens… I just wish I knew why. I didn’t cry when Miley Cyrus was on Oprah…. why do I only tear up when 90s has been soft jam singers are on Oprah. This is madness, but it’s not going to stop… If Toni Braxton, Brian Adams, Paula Abdul, or Taylor Dane are on, you can be sure I will be on my couch, confused, and crying.

side note: what they hell happened to Steadman?

I try to steer clear of political talk, because of several reasons.

1. When you talk politics you are either having a really boring conversation where you’re just agreeing with one another or your having a heated argument, because you guys can never see eye to eye. There is never a middle ground… because people are pretty damn set in their political ways.

2. Politics takes itself too seriously.

3. In politics, low blows are acceptable. Who cares about private dirt… if you can run my country fairly- I really don’t mind if you were spanked by a stripper in 1972.

But since this is my forum, and there won’t be any one to interrupt me, override me, discredit me, or argue against me… I’m going to venture into my own little world of political opinion for a moment.

I recently filmed a historical reenactment of the Seneca Falls Convention. An 1848 conference held by abolitionist regarding women’s right to vote. This was clearly ahead of it’s time because women didn’t attain the right to vote until 1920.

At the time of Seneca Falls, the abolitionist movement and the Suffrage movement had a partnership. Unfortunately, this partnership ended. Soon groups were pitted against each other, and a bitterness grew between women’s rights groups and Black’s rights groups. Due to several events- which is too long and annoying to go through- Black men began to ignore the effort of women and White women began to ignore the efforts for blacks. This concluded in a massive amount of racism and misogyny.

Same shit happened during the 1960s, during women’s lib and civil rights.

Both times black women found themselves over looked or asked to choose which side to fight on. A tough spot, because by choosing one identity you are inadvertently giving up the other.

Unfortunately, times have not changed and once again the white woman and the black man are pitted against each other. This time- the democratic presidential nomination. I should, and for the most part am pretty damn excited about this presidential race. Yet, I can’t help but feel a little miffed about the focus on race and gender. Granted these two candidates have very similar views and stances, but I feel that there is enough of a difference to focus on their political stances rather than if we should have a female president or a black president. Maybe it’s because I’m a Black woman and I am able to look beyond the exterior… or perhaps, it is because I grew up in a time and place where I wasn’t overtly discriminated against for my race or my gender. Or even more so, it is because I have been, especially recently , discriminated against for being a woman and being black.

Either way, I’m sick of all the woman/black conflict. One would think that after so many years of repeated history we would have learned to see a pattern, but unfortunately… we haven’t.

1. bolo ties

2. leather fringe

3. pencil toppers

4. ascots

5. clear high heels

6. puffy paint

7. grills

8. cell phone crystals

9. belly chains

ahhhhhh Highland hospital in Oakland, CA.

Having grown up in the Bay Area, I have heard much about this infamous hospital… mostly, “Stay away from there if you can.” Knock on wood- I never had to use their services, but because I have never set foot on the premises (or even been around it) I started to adhere to the dangerous, “It can’t be that bad,”frame of mind. I found out a few days ago, that yes… it is that bad.

A few days ago I had a panic attack, I hadn’t been tested for HIV in a really really really long time. And even though I’ve been safe, and can count my partners on one very small baby hand…somehow, last night I managed to freak myself out so much that I was fully convinced I had contracted the virus and needed to start preparing my “I have HIV speech” to my parents, and how I could turn this imaginary lemon into lemonade by becoming an inspirational speaker who travelled across the country like Pedro from The Real World.

But first I had to find out if I actually had the virus…

So I did some some quickie ass research, found some rapid testing centers and decided to go to the nearest one on my lunch break from work. The nearest one was Highland Hospital, and I thought to myself, “It can’t be that bad.”

As I circled the old historic looking portion of the hospital, I thought to myself, “wow this is actually kinda pretty…” I parked my car in a sketchy part of the Oakland- perfectly equipped with wanders with slouchy pants, and hustled into the not so pretty- actually really ugly and scary entrance of Highland. I was stopped by three security guards at check points as I tried to go to the second floor, passed by at least four of my library regulars, and finally entered the free HIV testing room.

When I got to the waiting room I waited… waited… and waited. I was the only one in there… and while I sat and silently freaked out… I started to look at the posters surrounding the room to set me at ease… Ease my ass… there were the drug posters, “Take these with your pill cocktail and you will prolong your life,” the shock posters, “I’ve only had sex with my husband, but he never told me he was HIV positive, now I am” the cheesy, “AIDS doesn’t rule my life!” I quickly decided that during my across the nation talk about HIV, I would not endorse a cheesy poster.

Finally I was called in, the counselor was incredibly friendly and knowledgeable… she was all business at first, explaining how the test worked and how I wasn’t at risk. She used science-y type words that I didn’t understand, but respected. While we waited for my results, the counselor transformed. She first asked me if i had any questions, I asked a few, she answered in a sterile, friendly, and science-y way, then launched in to this fabulous monologue,

“baby-girl, you just got to protect yourself, cause you don’t know what these mutha-fuckn’ men are up too. I mean, shit, who the fuck knows what they got going on. Plus, there are theses bitches who probably have all this shit going on, and will fuck your man, just to give you some shit. I’m so tired of fucking men. They’ll fuck you up”

Needless to say I was scared straight from that little exchange. Not to seem like a total cornball, I added some “shits” and “fucks” into my response.

I was negative. After saying my thanks and goodbyes, I proceeded to fly out of her office… when I was down the hall I heard my counselor yell, “PROTECT YOURSELF, BABY-GIRL!!!!!!!”

Once again I was eyeballed by the security guards as I happily bounced through the halls. I put on my ipod and proceeded to leave through the front sliding doors.

One foot into freedom I was met with at least 15 people yelling at me, “YOU’RE IN BLOOD!!! DON’T STEP IN THE BLOOD!!!” Like a freaked out deer, I stopped mid-step and looked around at the psycho insanity that was going on around me. Slowly my eyes drifted from the nurses with mops to the floor and discovered that, yes… I was stepping in droplets of blood and was about to step into a huge puddle. “BACK UP, AND GO OUT THE SIDE ENTRANCE” I back-peddled and left the hospital as fast as I could.

As I drove back to work, I made a mental list:

1. always have health insurance

2. protect myself

3. watch where I step at all times

man, have I been out of commission… lots have happened in the past week. Aside from me being incredibly lazy and not updating this blog as much as I should, I’ve been traveln’ the world, folks. Well, not the world, but the United States… and not the whole United States, but Georgia… and by Georgia, I mean just Savannah.

So I went to Savannah, Georgia… and wooooo was that place different from the East Coast and the West Coast- two areas of the United States I’m rather familiar with. Deep South, Ya’ll- where the food is fatty, the trees are gorgeous, the people are friendly, where things are still pretty segregated, and the confederate flag waves freely.

Sheesh.

Nnekay enters gift shop. The shop has different sections representing the many aspects of Georgia…Arrrgh, a pirate section, ooooooh a seashell section- surprisingly Savannah is incredibly tropical and for a lot of the time thought I was on an Island- something people should talk about more. Then there were these cheesy African-American figurines …. you know the type with sassy girls talking to each other and on the bottom of the figurine is written, “girl talk!” Cheesy and cute. Then I decided to look at the next section… Confederate flag section! YAY! In this given shop- you can buy cowboy hats with the flag, confederate army hats, key chains, bumper stickers, even flip flops covered in this wonderful tribute to the perpetuation of slavery with the words written, “rebel chick!” on the thongs. I hate that this is my lasting image of Savannah, Georgia… well, it’s not entirely, because the city is incredibly rich in history, architecture, and beauty. Honestly, I didn’t come across any ’bouts of discrimination either- in fact everyone was freakytown friendly…. but confederate flag flip flops… that is an insult to my heritage and fashion sense.

I dunno if i’m reading too much into this ad, but it rubs me the wrong way.

Altoids.

 Written on an old parchment type of paper it reads:

Awakens

like a

horse whip

on  back flesh

altoids

a slap to the cerebellum.

…..

is it just me or does this totally bring to mind slavery.

The old parchment paper- ie runaway slave notices

horse whip on backflesh (!!!!)

and granted i know that the cerebellum is the brain… but it does sound an awful like antebellum- “before the war”

ad people know what they are doing… i highly doubt that this passed though all the many meetings it takes to create an ad campaign with out someone mentioning “hey, this is kinda like slavery”

I’m disgusted.

alert! alert! alert! Self-centered blog coming through!

 Things I would really enjoy right now:

1. a hot tub

2. a fancy drink with an umbrella

3. a backrub

4. a foot rub

5. a beach

6. a snooze

7. no work

8. plenty of money

9. hair down to my butt

10. a fancy car

Thank you.