Occupied

This Flatland Diva has been struggling since the bubble busted 3 years ago. Just about everyone I know is a paycheck away from financial disaster. Where is our bailout? Instead, multi-national corporations and banks have received billions upon billions to correct a market they put in risk everyday by manipulating the market to feed their own greed. The rich have gotten so much richer in the shortest amount of time in American history. The government has assisted them every step of the way and we are at a place now where there is more disparity between rich and poor than ever.

Occupy Wall Street is right on the money. It was Wall Street that initiated what has amounted to class warfare by stealing people pensions, life savings, homes and jobs. I am so proud of my fellow citizens for finally standing up to say, "No more."

My friend, who I'll call Stacey, was simply disgusted with the Occupy Movement when we texted about it the other day. "Girl, what do you think they are going to accomplish? Corporations have been greedy. Do you think they are going to stop? This world is made on greed. So [change] will never happen." She believes that voting is the best form of political action for the masses.

I could not disagree with her more. It's been shown time and time again that change comes when people defy business as usual and get in the streets to protest. The 21st century protester has a tool that is unarguably more powerful than a musket. A shot caught on film and streamed live is truly a shot heard around the world, in real time. More repressive governments have restricted access to social media and expression because they recognize what a threat it is to their governmental control.

There is little doubt in my mind that the Age of Aquarius is in full swing. The masses are thinking for themselves, in their best interest and they are acting out in the streets, in America, land of the complacent. Nothing like it has been seen coast to coast in nearly 40 years. Everyday people have had enough of being underpaid, underemployed and thrown under the bus by our representatives and financial institutions.

Occupy Oakland has taken on an important role within the Occupy movement against police misconduct. Oakland PD has shown it's ass to the world. Their modus operandi  has been exposed as Scott Olsen, a two tour Iraqi war vet fell victim to their violence on camera, hit in the head with a tear gas canister. Olsen survived an actual war zone for years but a trip to Oakland to execute his citizen's rights got him a fractured skull and nearly killed. Oakland PD is very serious about their obligation to protect two things-- the State and private property.

Oakland PD has a long standing history of exacting brutal force on it's own citizens, particularly the black and brown. The Black Panther party was formed in Oakland as a reaction to the merciless treatment of the cops to the community. Many, from Bobby Hutton to Oscar Grant, have simply been murdered by cops who get off because the State protects it's own. The disproportionate number of traffic stops of Blacks compared to Whites is astronomical to this day in Oakland.

To police brutality and the thieving financial system, I too say no more. I am a member of the 99 percent. We have strength in numbers. We cannot allow the powerful to hijack our pursuit of happiness and that of future generations. With our numbers we must demand a return to regulations that ensure our interests are being protected.  I'm hoping with many others that the Occupy Movement is too large to fail.

She Will-- Pussy Poppin' (The Dawn of Twerking)

I've been digging this Lil Wayne song called "She Will," right? However, in it he repeatedly calls on his girl to "pop that pussy." I messaged my friend and asked him what that meant. Yeah, I'm not the hippest 37 year old, granted. I only had a vague idea. He replied that I should check out some videos on YouTube. I did and what I found shocked the hell out of me. Over 2,500 YouTube video results for pussy poppin' alone.

Do men really expect their women to perform just like an erotic dancer? Hell yeah, some do. Homeboy told me that's how ALL the girls where he lives in the South get down. Savion Glover's was hot (back when he was keeping up with his grooming) but I don't expect my dude to tap. Am I expected to pussy pop now? These young girls make it hard for everyone. No middle age woman came up with these contortions. I've seen grandmas doing it and little kids too though. Surely, I could do this. I studied Afro-Haitian dance for a year in college. But the Jamaican dance hall derived moves are another animal.

Booty Poppin' 101

I decided I would take some instruction from YouTube. In one video, the women pop to a  UGK's song "Like That." The song should be called, "Bitch, You Know You Like That" as that is the phrase repeated to excess through out the video. The women exhibit moves whose sole purpose is sexual arousal. In thongs, some appearing to be made of nothing more than dental floss, the women lean forward, legs agape, to expose a rearview of their thinly-veiled vulvas. It's a mating dance that would make peacocks blush as there is no ambiguity in what is being showcased-- it's the pussy.

Now, I like to dance just as much as any other soul sistah. But I've never considered learning these stripper moves before. I think I missed my window to learn these moves. Try as I might, I just don't have the jiggle moves down. Ugh! This really frustrates me. Makes me feel dead inside. Sadly, my booty has no brains.

My overwhelming inclination is to feel contempt for the dance simply because I can't do it. However, I don't want to descend into Haterville. I want to stay positive but I can't help resenting the expectation that I be more of a sex object than I already am. It's no longer simply good enough for the booty to look good and feel good. It's got to twerk like there is no tomorrow. What gives?

What Men Want

Men are so simple sometimes. They really expect something for nothing. They blow in our ear and expect us to squirt from our vaginas. What's more, we women give them our everything for the lowest of returns. I myself have been guilty of this. A good-looking, smooth-talker offers up a few compliments and we're ready to fulfill these dude's every carnal fantasy especially when he makes us feel there is a future in it.

This goes back to our rearing as children. Girls are taught to give their one man their all while boys are taught to give as little as possible to as many as possible. Like the Lil Wayne song says, "She will"-- if she will pop for him he will let her. No matter if he thinks she's disposable afterward.

It should not be surprising that so many willingly objectify themselves for free simply to appease the male sexual appetite. I'm thinking why should I emulate the sex act and you're not making it rain? The way I see it, the only women really making out with pussy poppin' are strippers and women who actually have the ring. All the women in between are setting themselves up for plaything status.

2K Man

Sometimes a Flatland Diva lives a lonely life. A single life. Everyone may not agree but I think that being alone is the pits on Friday nights. A night for lovers drained from the work week to come together to cupcake and continue each other's delights through Sunday. I know Saturday night will come and I still may be doing nothing else new.

Dating today is not for the faint of heart. It seems to have come down to a predator versus prey situation. The eternal question posed to me by my experiences in life seems to be, simply put, "Which are you?"

I've been back on the dating scene for nearly four years. Over that course of time my heart has been chopped, diced and served back to me more than my fair share to know which category I've fallen into. Opposites attract. I've always been attracted to men who are emotionally shutdown. I can hardly be surprised cupcaking is not on their agenda.

I recently began talking to a man who lives 2,000 miles away. Normally, I would never consider a long distance relationship but this guy has me floating on the ninth cloud. We can talk about anything it seems. Recently I revealed so much about myself that I actually felt naked and exposed afterward. I was left feeling like a gazelle in the African savannah chased down and devoured while knowing that I'll only be reincarnated as some other form of food. Yet, he has not abandoned me. Instead, he has licked my wounds and I love that.

We are both wondering if the other could be The One. What my friend's German in-law calls, "The Big Love." I haven't believed in soulmates since I was old enough to date. Now, twenty years later, I am reconsidering the soulmate concept. Some ancient Greeks believed that humans originally had two heads, four arms and four legs and were split in half by Zeus to search the world all their days for their other half. We meet in high school. He was an athlete. I was a budding feminist whose life revolved around her journalism class. I avoided him then like the plague. Have you seen Sixteen Candles? Well, he was my Jake Ryan. Can you say,"Too fine?" I always considered him the prototype of the good dude. Enter Facebook 20 years later. Between in-boxing, emailing, instant messaging, telephone, text and Skype, we've got a thing going on.

Friday I'm buying my plane ticket to go see him. I'm highly thrilled and somewhat anxious. What if we don't hit it off? Can we remain friends? I'm geared to think positively though. What if we get along great? What if we fall in love? My visit is just weeks away. Then the real test-- face to face contact. I'm fitting well in my favorite Black Levi's, hence I'll be super confident, which is the cornerstone of sex appeal.

Here we are gearing up for 2012. It is the Flatland Diva's time to shine. I rule my grooming but a little professional help never hurt anyone. So begins a round of appointments-- hair, nails and wax (might just go Brazilian, y'all!). A Flatland Diva brings it and plays for keeps. She needs just one man who treats her like more than a play thing. In her eyes, her man is always a king. It's only right that she be a queen. The only thing she feels as deeply about as him are God, the people and their beautiful struggle. I plan to bring my "A" game and to stay present. It's not everyday I meet a man who is so emotionally available, even sentimental. The potential here with this man way over there is off the chain. He will not meet a gazelle. I will be a lioness whom he can make purr.

Cramps

Menstruation must be one of the trickiest processes in nature. That's my opinion anyway. Most women, come to think of it, every woman I've ever talked to about it has lamented about it. Hate is a strong word, but if there was ever anything to hate it would be a steady flow of blood the spews from the body out of our treasure chest ever three weeks. I hate it. It costs so much to be a woman. And I'm not just talking about the ridiculous cost of Kotex.

I recently agreed to a writing assignment for Rapstar Magazine that I'd consider a great opportunity to share information with the public as well it would nicely add to my clips. I met with my principle interview and his fiancee a few weeks ago at Everett & Jones Barbeque in Oakland's Jack London Square. He is the uncle of Oscar Grant, the 22 year old black man fatally shot by a BART police officer New Year's Day 2009. The uncle who has founded a foundation in Grant's honor, The Oscar Grant Foundation. His fiancee, is it's director.

The three of us had a great talk about how we'd like to proceed with the article. I wanted him to know that I would write a thoughtful piece, which in order to do I needed access to interview other principles, particularly Grant's mother and the mother of his child. He agreed to see what he could do. He and his fiancee then invited me to the Oscar Grant Foundation's reading festival for children. I agreed to attend, knowing I could adjust my schedule to make it that day to the event.

As it turned out, that gorgeous Saturday morning came with an ever unwelcomed guest, Aunt Flow. Ugh. Cramps. Motrin in the house, zero. I left Johnson a message that I was "not feeling well."  I hung the phone up just knowing I looked like a complete flake. After all it wasn't exactly flu season. Meeting his fiancee too, I didn't want to be inappropriate and reveal my cycle. It would have been tmi. My etiquette would not allow it. The chances it would have been taken for tacky or crazy would have been too great.

Riding the crimson tide is a lonesome misadventure. Which brings me to another topic. Most people just don't want to hear about your personal hell or abject misery. They just don't have time for your pain. Fact is on any given day hundreds of millions of ladies are cycling, yet the world manages to go around. We must just pull up our big girl period panties and just keep pushing forward without missing a beat.

With my cramps tearing at my womb without the meds to stop it, I had to concede defeat. Hopefully, I can work my way into better graces with Grant's uncle and his fiancee. Why I allow myself to ever run out of Motrin must be examined. Is it subconscious sabotage? Probably so. Am I being hard on myself?  Probably so. Is Motrin on the shopping list? Definitely.