25 Things About Myself That I Probably Shouldn’t Share.

This was passed to me by some friends and I figured it’s a nice easy way to introduce myself to you.

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Update on Ebony and Daniel

I wanted to give you all an update on Ebony and her family.  After WBALTV picked up the story, CNN.com came to interview us.

See the story on CNN.com.

See the CNN video.

That was really amazing.  As of now, they have the money and they are talking with the bank. I didn’t know that getting a final payoff balance is a long involved process, but the bank is obviously willing to work with them once they heard how they got the money.

Christmas was wonderful. Several local charities found out about the story on the news and they sponsored their family for Christmas. Ebony’s pregnancy is coming along. She’s big as a house and I like to poke her belly to really piss her off. Daniel has at least one interview that I know of but now that they are getting the car fixed, he can continue to apply for jobs.

For everyone that donated, I wanted to say thank you. I apologize for not updating sooner but I was waiting to get the link for the CNN interview to add to the blog. I wanted to show that this was legitmate since there were still some people who doubted it. Things have also been a little crazy this holiday season so I apologize for not getting back to you all sooner. I owe you a huge thank you and so does Ebony.

The following is a message from Ebony to everyone who helped out:

My family and I would like to express our gratitude to all of the caring people that assisted us in raising money for our home. We never thought that God would touch so many hearts just to help us. This was truly a humbling experience that we will remember for years to come. I will never take the the kindness of strangers for granted. In a world that is slowly crumbling economically, you all found it in your hearts to give. So many gave out of their personal need and others sent their warm thoughts and prayers. Every simple gesture manifested into an overwhelming outcome.

As a result of everyone’s generosity, my family and I are able to bring our home out of foreclosure and my husband has gotten two job offers. Another great outcome is that I was able to pay for my training to become a licensed home child care provider. I plan on opening my daycare within the next 6-8 weeks. I am overjoyed and grateful for friends like Jaki, and miracles like all of you that made my only Christmas wish possible. I have a warm home for my children, and finally a chance at financial independence and stability.

Because of the blog, we have also been adopted by different families and local organizations for the holiday, and my children will also have presents for Christmas. As of right now, we are in search of an engine for our 2000 Ford Focus and plan to purchase that with the overflow of money received.

Again, we say thank you, and God Bless.

Sincerely,

Ebony Sampson & the Sampson Family of Aberdeen

Once again, thank you all.  I hope you had a happy holiday and a prosperous New Year.

So You’ve Been Told You’re Racist…

I’m told I am a scary person to be around because people (read: whites) are terrified of saying something offensive to me. That’s understandable. I don’t like being offensive to people I like. I don’t understand why people who supposedly want to hang out with me are so terrified of being in my presence. I have never lashed out physically at anyone because they said something offensive. In fact, the majority of the time I’ll simply disagree with the statement. My usual response is, “Wow, that’s offensive.” followed by a brief explaination. Continue reading »

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

I know there are so people who are reading this blog and wanting another update on Ebony and Daniel.  Well, I started my morning with an interview with CNN.  Someone gave them the story so I’ll be sure to let everyone know when it airs.  If you have a specific question about what happened, you can email esampson84 at comcast dot net.  Now that the goal was reached, I’m letting Ebony handle it from here.  I’m completely grateful and swamped by everything.

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Help a family keep their home.

I’m a pessimist.  I’ve spent my life believing people aren’t willing to help others.  For once, I really hope I’m wrong.

You see, my friend Ebony and her husband Daniel have a small problem. Actually they have several small problems that add up to a big problem.  Ebony is a stay-at-home mom with her two kids.  Things were going along well until Daniel lost his job.  Then the car died and without money to get it fixed, they couldn’t go job hunting.  And without a job, there is no money to fix the car.  With bills piling up and their cars failing, they took out a second mortgage on the house to keep the family moving.  Months later, now they’re facing foreclosure.  They need the money by December 8th or they have no place to live.  “You don’t happen to have $10,000 laying around, do you?” Ebony joked with me.

This bothers me because it shouldn’t happen to them.  It shouldn’t be happening with anyone.  But it hits me personally because she’s done so much to help so many people.  When we went to high school together, her mom passed away and she used the money from that life insurance to buy the house her family is in.  It’s sentimental for that reason and I would hate to see them have to leave it now.  And god knows we aren’t getting a bailout package.  It’s hopeless right?  This is where the pessimist in me kicks in and I felt so useless because I want to help.  After all, they’re both ministers who scraped together the money they had to help other people and now they don’t have anyone to turn to.  Her oldest son is developmentally delayed so they have to pay for his nurse and special schooling.  Then, surprise!  Ebony found out she was pregnant on top of it all.  You’re kidding me, right?  It’s impossible.  No one can possibility get $10,000 in that short of time.  For once, I don’t want to believe the worse in people.  Just this one, I’m putting on a happy face.  So I said I’d ask around online.

I’ve been calling around to news stations to see if one of them would be interested in doing a human interest story on them.  I feel like it wouldn’t take a lot for this to happen but I’m so doubtful.  Look, I know you guys aren’t rich.  And I don’t ask for this type of stuff often.  Hell, I understand if you’re hesitant to help. But if we get 10,000 people to read this post and each one of them donates $1, we can help a family keep them home.  I spend so much on things much less worthy and I’m willing to bet a lot of you do as well.  Whether you want to call it a miracle or whether you believe in people coming together during the worst of times… whatever you believe, all I’m asking is $1 from each of you.  One minute of your time and for you to believe that this can happen.  Please prove this pessimist wrong.

10,000 hits. $10,000. Please donate $1.
Help Daniel and Ebony keep their home.

If you can’t afford to help, please link this post around. I’d appreciate any help you can offer. Thanks a lot. If you don’t feel comfortable sending money online, I can provide an address to mail donations. Leave a comment with an email for details.

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My vagina is not appropriate for children.

Shawn and I decided we aren’t having kids.  More than a few reasons but it honestly boils down to selfishness.  I want to have the least amount of responsibility possible.  I don’t want to change my body that way.  I want to have lots and lots of sex without a consequence or a curfew.  I want to be able to spend my money on myself and the people I choose.  I don’t want a child as a legacy.  I want to be my own legacy.  Also, kids come out of your coochie and that will never stop sounding disgusting to me.  I mention this because we were at his Grandmother’s 80th birthday party last weekend.  We’re all drinking a little and I’m telling some embarrassing story about Shawn to his siblings.  Shawn, now beet-ass-red, tried to explain himself and his brother starts one of those slow sarcastic claps.  The kind that say, “Way to go, fuckhead!”  Shawn’s laughing and glaring at me so he puts me in a headlock.  Around this time, the second half of the table, who hadn’t heard the joke looks down at us.

“Why is everyone clapping?”

“They’re having a baby!”

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I’m furious and without answers.

It started as a normal party, or I should say, what constitutes “normal” at a BDSM club. There was good music. Everyone was friendly. There was lots of PVC fetish wear. The sights are half the reason I go. I’ve always been a voyeur but it’s not even the naked people hitting and clawing at each other. I go for the atmosphere. I saw some familiar faces and I made my rounds. I usually start the night in fairly vanilla clothing but it doesn’t take long to get into the mood if the crowd is right. I had my cock with me. I’m always pretty popular when I bring it along. Nothing starts a conversation quite like a big black cock. I don’t even play much at the parties. I like to people watch because there are so many different types of people in one room. It’s fascinating, really. I feel comfortable being in public with people who don’t find my fetish weird. It’s just nice not to be the odd one because it’s like someone collected all the odd ones and put them in one place. Even when we don’t like the same things, there is this wonderful camaraderie, this sense of community. It’s palpable. It’s always worth it to me.

Around 1 am, the police showed up. Continue reading »

And the more you think about it, the more it hurts your brain..

I was offered an interview for a position as an high school English teacher.  I interview extremely well.  I’ve never interviewed for a job without getting an offer.  I could see myself getting into this job a lot.  Working with teenagers, grading papers, even discipline isn’t something that I would be a problem for me.  I dared to get excited about the possibility until I was reminded, “Um, don’t you have naked pictures on the internet?”

Damnit.

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Don’t Gimmie that Blacktalk, Young Lady!

Here is the scene:

I’m at work.  My two coworkers were heading out for lunch.  A customer was walking up to speak to me but he hadn’t reached me yet.  I turn to my coworker and say something to the effect of, “Where ya’ll headed at?”  It’s important to note that everyone in this situation is a Black person.  The customer reaches my window and promptly proceeds to let me have it.

“‘Where ya’ll headed at?’” he fusses, “I know your mother taught you better than that!  That nigger shit is why people don’t take Black people seriously!”  With that, he begins a mini tirade that includes the ways in which speaking in slang is making Martin Luther King want to spin in a circle and Malcolm X just bitchslapped an angel.  Continue reading »

“$3.99 a pair? That’s GAS prices!”

Feminism starts small. You don’t wake up one morning in your grandmother’s living room with a mohawk introducing your life partner. You aren’t on the bus and words like “patriarchy” and “fascism” start falling out of your mouth. At first, there might not be a large difference to the people around you but when you are a feminist, there is a change in you that is just as real and valid as plastering stickers on the bumper of your Subaru. There is no universal battle that defines the female experience for every woman. There are personal conflicts that are personally tailored to each woman’s situation. For me, it was those damn stockings.

I hate stockings. They are the most useless article of clothing ever created. It is fabric so sheer that it offers no elemental protection. They are expensive and no matter how many you buy, you always need another pair because they are completely destructible. They force you to change the way you interact with everything around you. The world is full of sharp corners and chairs with snags. For me, stockings are the cruelest form of mental bondage–they tie you to a seat and inhibit your movement until you transform into a mannequin. A run in your stockings is a chink in your armor and it lets everyone see the real flesh beneath it, the flesh that has scars and stubble. Be ashamed of it. Hide it away. Cover yourself. As a grown-up (or what passes for one), I have no hatred of stockings. I find them sexy at times and I have enjoyed wearing them when the mood fits. As a young girl, I found them confining because of what they symbolized. Stockings were what ladies wore.

Now, I’ve worn stockings on numerous occasions and I’ve done several unladylike things while wearing them. My first sexual experience was in the basement of a church. The young man I was with grew impatient with me and ripped the crotch out of an expensive pair of pantyhose. I remember protesting but he slid his hand through and under the material until he reached behind me. It was the ultimate act of subversion for me to be dressed so primly while being taken on a dusty floor. Wearing those ripped pantyhose during the rest of service was a silent thrill.

That’s when it began.

That’s when I started to realize the hypocrisy of it all. I could look like a lady with smooth sheer legs while hiding so much underneath, like a very ruined support top. A lady has to be more than stockings. For that matter, who gets to decide what is a lady and if so, who wants to be one of those lady thingies anyway? The next Sunday, I didn’t wear any at all.

My mom was livid. There is a proper way things are done and ladies don’t walk around barelegged. Ladies don’t flaunt themselves. All the reasons she gave me for wearing them only strengthened my resolve.

“You mean, I can’t be a lady without stockings? What about women in the Bible?”

“If my stockings snag on accident, am I not a lady anymore?”

“If I can’t afford stockings, can I still be a lady?”

“If my legs are enticing men, then doesn’t that mean they need to be gentlemanly?”

There were several Sundays when I’d leave the house wearing them only for them to “accidentally” rip. There was a struggle for a while. My mother started to carry a back up pair and on several occasions I was told to walk down to the nearest store to buy a pair. I don’t remember the final conversation but at some point, I stopped discussing it. She’d complain about my bare legs and I’d ignore it. She’d lecture me on proper dress etiquette and I’d nod along. Things progress to the point where I realized that I don’t have to justify my life and my choices to anyone besides myself.

Stockings are thin destructible pointless rules that made me feel like my nakedness is too hairy and pockmarked to be beautiful. Fuck stockings. We should burn then in a compost heap filled high with your bras, her veils, someone’s makeup and whatever else binds us to the sexism of a society that will never be satisfied. Now I know that what I am is dictated by more than what covers (or does not cover) my body. I play the lady role when it suits me. I have the dresses and the accessories. I love a cute pair of peep-toe pumps like the girliest of them. It’s almost perverse the pleasure I get from slipping some pumps on and walking out into the world with my brown bare legs.