Why I Like Being A Bitch

I say, heffa say what?! Get yo' life.

Given the state of black cinema, and by “state of” I mean “lack of quality,” I was somewhat excited for the opening of Think Like A Man. I wasn’t overjoyed because the casting department got way too excited and put everybody and their Wendy Williams in it. But I wasn’t lackluster since hilarious Kevin Hart flooded the advertising. So I expected a pretty decent film, and that’s what I got. But when it was over, all I could think of was the mistakes that were made from a production viewpoint and obvious bloopers. Why couldn’t I just be proud of this–accomplishment?

Then just a few weeks before, an associate of mine invited me out for drinks. I declined. Twice. Why? Because I have nothing nice to say to this person. I don’t hate them, I just have ill feelings & sincerely don’t want to entertain them for even 15 minutes. So I chose the avoidance route. Why can’t I just sit down, get those issues off my chest, and shoot the shit for a few hours?

Because I don’t want to.

Either I want to be (humanly) upset and in my zone for a while, or I’ve got to say what’s on my mind. And in my eyes, there is a decent explanation behind it (I know you couldn’t wait for me to say it). I’m mid-20s, so I’ve got a lot to learn. But that doesn’t discredit the trials of life that have already beat me up. Remember high school? Sure you do. That was probably the best four years of your life! You kicked it, saw it, drank it, smoked it, did it, and all of the above. Well I didn’t. I fucking hated high school with a passion! It was miserable deep down inside, but no one knew. I always covered it up because I was the ‘happy’ friend. Didn’t matter what day it was, I had a smile. I made someone laugh. I helped somebody with their work. I decorated for Homecoming. I was a cheerleader. I did all these things to boost my image and to maintain popularity. Didn’t get me any real friends, though (we’ll talk about that later). I was just trying to remain the girl who people liked. That means I hid a lot of bad days!

Fast forward to college, and Mr. Nice Rhonda disappeared by the end of the first semester. There’s only so much a person can take!!! (breathe…inhale…exhale) My dorm roommate was pushing the right WRONG buttons and I went loco on her ass. I used so many curse words at the top of my voice that the Resident Assistant came to see if we were fighting. Yeah, it was that bad. But you know what? I had never felt so good.

That one experience, yes that one, taught me not to hold in anger towards people. Why? Because I can crush them with my words (a skill that continues to develop!) and not lay a hand on them. That keeps me out of prison. And releasing those ill feelings makes me happier. Sounds messed up, but it’s the truth.

Lately, I try not to take things out on the wrong people, so I keep my distance. And you know what that makes me look like? A bitch.

Here’s an example. Months ago I was at a bowling alley with a group of friends and… long-story-short, some guy there made me upset to the point where I wanted to fight him. But he was a cool 300+ lbs so I wasn’t about to be stupid. Instead, I stormed away and didn’t speak to anyone the rest of the night. I was still mad. He pushed the right WRONG button. But my attitude in the situation toward my friends was quite bitchy. Oh well.

Now that I’ve lived a little, I’m tired of apologizing when someone has wronged *me* just to mend the bridge. I’m sick of picking up the phone to reconnect with people who *used* to call me all the time. And I’ve worn myself thin with fake hellos and goodbyes. I’m just fed up. I’m gonna be a bitch about it.

I know what you’re thinking: Rhonda, that’s not the way to be, don’t bow down to these people’s low behavior. Guess what? Fuck you, too LOL! What’s done is done. I’m tainted. There’s something like 7million or so people in this town, so I don’t feel the need to stroke a handful of egos just to keep them as “friends.” Honey I’ve got 6,999,995 more people to meet so step aside.

But I do look forward to the day when I’m nice to everyone again and their actions toward me aren’t a bother. That’ll be the day when I’m assured I’ll grow into a sweet old lady and not a mean one. Because eventually, someone’s gotta change my diapers again, and they deserve the utmost respect. So let me be a bitter bitch now while I’ve got the time. And when my inner Nene Leakes/Stasi Quinn surfaces, don’t say you weren’t warned.

 

“I mean, is there something wrong with society that’s making us so pressurized, that we cannot live without guarding ourselves against it?” -John Lennon
“It’s not the events of our lives that shape us, but our beliefs as to what those events mean.” -Tony Robbins
“No matter how dull, or how mean, or how wise a man is, he feels that happiness is his indisputable right.” -Helen Keller
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I’ll Keep Holding On

While watching Love and Basketball these lyrics are playing as Monica watches Quincy pack his old room. I happened to land upon this scene as I’m flicking through channels to avoid being flooded by more recaps of Whitney Houston’s funeral. Oh that funeral…

It was probably the most beautiful home-going service I had ever seen. In my lifetime, I only recall seeing three. I went to four, but the last one was mostly a blur and I like to think that it never happened. But it did (now’s a good time to grab some tissue).

I was completely saddened by the loss of Whitney because like everyone says, she was like family even to her fans. We were rooting for Whitney. And to follow the death of Don Cornelius? Man, this proves that most times we have no idea what a person is facing. Just think about how much we hide behind our smiles. Personally, I hide most of my whole life. No one really knows the things that I  go through because I don’t know how want to say it. There’s no point. What would be your initial reaction after hearing something sad? “Awe, that’s messed up. I’m sorry to hear that.” Save it. Those words mean nothing without action.

One of the hardest times of my life was having to deal with the death of a close family member shortly after I relocated to LA. As I stated before, I haven’t faced death of loved ones very often. So when I heard that my cousin died, I was ruined. And on top of that, I was alone. Sure, I called a few friends to let them know I would be going home for a funeral, but only two of them reached out to me. I’d have to say I guess these friends did the best they could to…you know, be a friend for me. However, I needed so much more.

No one was there when I came home from work everyday crying. No one was there to take me to the airport crying. No one is here when, years later, I still cry. What I did feel was overbearing love from my family once I got to St. Louis. It’s amazing how tragedy brings people closer.

When something weighs heavy on my heart, I call my best friend, aka my Granny.  I was discussing the Whitney Houston situation with her and how it got me thinking: Hmm. I’m not gonna be okay if we ever have to bury you. I had to whisper it under my breath since the mere thought of it turns my stomach (I can’t even ride past Normandy High School without getting queasy, it’s next to the cemetery). But Granny assured me that I would be just fine. She said I have enough memories of her and anybody else to move on, knowing that they’re watching over us. Then she got off the phone with me to go celebrate Mardi Gras.

Granny, you’re trippin’! There is no way I can go day-to-day knowing someone I cherish will never be on the other end of the phone line again. One small part (or in my case, huge part) of us will grieve forever and another piece of you is tugged with every memory. Admit it. You keep holding on.

So I hope that the Houston/Brown family can learn to live with their loss because she’ll never be forgotten. Neither will my cousin. Hell, he’d probably be offended to know we’re trying to move one without him; he was always the center of attention.

I hold on to thousands, if not, millions of his memories. I remember when we buried watermelon seeds in the back yard just to see if they would grow. I remember how we used to read the booklet for Mortal Kombat and try new combos for ‘finishing him’. And I’ll definitely never forget the Booty Dance we made up to Outkast’s “Roses” while cleaning the grill at McDonald’s. Note to self–teach his kids this dance.

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