Fannie Lou Hamer was an African American Civil Rights activist of the 60s/70s.

She was well acquainted with the poverty and violence in the Jim Crow South.

A phrase she coined, in all of her activism, was “I am sick and tired of bring sick and tired.”

I feel you, Fannie, because I am tired, tired of being watched in unexpected places.

What do I mean when I say I am tired of being watched in unexpected places?

Well, i have lived most of my life being watched in unexpected places.




Here’s the deal…

I am tired of being watched in places where it is assumed I will not be or presumed I should not be.

Watched by startled eyes that mark my every move to make sure I live up to their lowered expectations.

Expectations gleaned from a family book of prejudices or a media that reports its own brand of digital apartheid or stereotypes paraded behind closed doors of private clubs or redlines rigidly drafted onto stark white paper strewn across dark walnut tables in a good old boys boardroom.

I am weary of others deeming denial as my birthright while privilege continues to labor to keep me in a place as defined by them.

I am sick and tired of my concerns being dismissed as yesterday’s old news while microaggressions nip at my heels day after day  after day.

Yep, I, too, am sick and tired of being sick and tired, so dear people, please be forewarned from this day forward.

Before you bring me any of your foolishness, fine tuned in the errancy of your self-entitled pride, take a deep breath, step back and re-think how you think before you speak.

Because if you don’t, I most definitely will “clap back.”.

Be very, very sure, and rest assured, that the next time you dismiss my truth, I will call you on it and just so you are not uninformed, here is my truth: I, too, am sick and tired of being sick and tired!



Where’s my mic?













Hillary Clinton is running for President.

No news there.

By the way, did she drop “Rodham?”

But, less I digress,

She is making all the rounds.

I get it.

Shake the hands.

Kiss the babies.

Attend churches that are predominantly black.

Learn how to twerk like the sisters (or was it the Nae Nae she whipped?).

Play dominoes with the brothers.

You know, all that stuff that shows how relatable she is to me and my hood (as in neighborhood).

Wait, what?

I can’t with you, Hillary, I can’t

Your face in what you think is my place does not automatically give you a free pass to my vote.

In fact, I am just a little irritated by your attempt to “connect” with what you think are my connections.

Were you twerking with Bill before this election year?

Did Bill watch you whip?

Did you teach Chelsea how  to play dominoes (or bid whitz for that matter) when she was a little girl?

When was the last time you sang one of those good old hymns you learned in the “black” church?

When was the last time you even attended a “black” church just to worship?

Many people will not get my irritation.

I get it. No big deal to some.

But, for me, it’s tantamount to Hilary proclaiming to the African American who wonders as I am wondering, “Some of my best friends are black!”

Microaggression on display.

I. Just. Can’t.


p.s. She was in South Central L. A. today (check out the demographic).

Yeah. . .







Commercial: PR generated contrivance created to lure unsuspecting souls into the abyss of consumerism to purchase what they didn’t know they needed until they realized they didn’t have it

I have yet to meet a commercial featuring bare chested cowboy hat wearing wranglercized men that has made me run out into the world in a sweaty rush to buy anything!

I have yet to meet a commercial featuring hot bodied daisy dukes wearing females manhandling hamburgers with pouty lips that has made me run out into the world in a feverish pitch to find the nearest burger joint screaming “I gotta have me some of that!”

I have yet to meet a commercial swollen with double entendre that has made me rush out into the world faint and flushed to find the nearest apothecary to buy anything that will increase my bedroom pleasure!

I have yet to meet a commercial rife with stereotypes that has made me rush out into the world for anything because “dey sho got dat one rite!”

i have yet to meet a commercial where an evening jacketed man pitching the superiority of a liquid detergent has made me rush out into the world to purchase that wondrous remover of stains because I did not realize doing laundry could be so glamorous!

I have yet to meet a commercial that can convince me that I should be anyone other than who I am doing what I do because I love doing it!

Addendum: Can anyone explain to me the point of the commercial where a well dressed African American woman carrying a microphone walks to the back of a wanna be muscle car and puts the microphone  to the tailpipe of said car and as the engine of said car is revved up she smiles knowingly into the camera?


Ohhhhh … yeah, now I get it!



Sigmund Freud would have a field day with this stuff!!!