a town that cares?

November 5, 2011
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I keep seeing these articles online and in print about how STL cares about its’ people. If that’s the case, why are there women and children homeless in this city? How is it that someone can donate $100,000 for a bronze statue, but not subsidize housing or create jobs for so many out of work? What’s wrong with this picture?

If this town is so great, why are there so many homeless here and even worse, why are there so many women and children who are homeless?

How is that people can drive past “Hope City” every day and not see the conditions that people there are living under?

Who in this city has the funds to donate more than $100,000 for a statue with no other use than to be looked at and someday ignored? If this person has that kind of money to toss around, give me a couple of million and I’ll show you “how your money is spent”. Not only will I improve my life (currently no permanent job), but I’ll use some of that money to find the female residents of “Hope City” and really give them something to hope about!

Far be if from me to belittle the exploits of Albert Pujols swinging a bat for STL, but come on, now! How will that do anything to lift up the people living in squalor and poverty right under our very noses? Wouldn’t that money have been better served to feed, employ and even house some of these women and children?

And why in the world would you want to hold your head up with this kind of atmosphere? Why is it that this city seems to spend an enormous amount of time blowing its own horn about how “caring” it is and people like me remain un-, under-employed, homeless and hungry?

Put your money where your mouth is, find and maintain a building for working women with children, give me the money and I’ll find the women who need help and are willing to work hard to “lift themselves up by their bootstraps”.

Ain’t I a woman?

November 1, 2011
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stings doesn't it?What I’m saying is based on a chat I had with former lover. I’m going on record with the following:
I’m not some exotic animal that escaped from a zoo in California. I had the same dreams, hopes and ideals as anyone and feet of clay, to boot. I looked for some happiness and caring and what I got was a bunch of people examining me under a spotlight and once it was discovered that my cunt wasn’t snapping or singing an aria and only human, cast aside. Whatever these people thought I was completely made up in their heads. The guy even said something about me being a bumble-bee — my ass! Flitting around like some damn mindless animal…

Matter of fact, when I moved here, I was all about meeting people, getting a good paying job and getting myself into some sort of stable environment that was different from the non-stop party that was Atlanta, GA.  I couldn’t take it–much as I loved living there–I couldn’t keep a job long enough to get ahead in any manner in that city.

For five years, I had a new job every year I was living there and nothing to show for it.  Lost my ability to have children because of a tumor; lost my fiance to a conniving, lying cow looking for a husband; lost my family to a lie…
Having this conversation with the gentleman, went a long way towards clearing up a question of perception I had been asking myself a lot of years while living in STL. I am not an exotic animal with no feelings or goals in life, I have been in love and had my heart and spirit broken more times than you might think and always for the wrong reasons.

But now, I understand why. For some reason, the people I met somehow inferred that I was some soulless, mindless creature, flitting around without a care in the world nor a pot to piss in. None of them took the time to take a look at me as a real human being.  All anyone saw was some zebra-stripped doppelgänger passing for human; never mind that I bleed and weep and grieve and hurt just like everyone else. No one here has taken the time to get to know me for me and not that stupid California-mystic bullshit.

I’m stepping out from under the spotlight and stating here and now that yes, I was born and raised in Los Angeles, California, but living there did not make me some sort of supernatural being with benign powers and a glowing personality. The difference between me and these Midwesterners is that I was raised in an environment that nurtured me, taught me, groomed me and never told me I was less than someone because of the color of my skin.

Some folks might laugh at that concept, but it’s true. I read about racism, bigotry, slavery, uncle tom, jim crow and pretty much saw every movie that was available in the 60s, 70s and 80s on the subject, but didn’t get called “colored” until I was working at a 5-star hotel’s corporate offices on Peachtree Street in the late 80s. It was there I began to understand that people wouldn’t like me because I was Black, brown-skinned and nappy-haired. My entire life I believed I was beautiful and even as an “old” dame, I still believe I’m beautiful, even though I am daily assaulted by bigots to the nth degree here in St. Louis. Even people who call themselves Black, and should know better than to be struck by the shade of a person’s skin and lie about that condition, to boot.