Kitty Power

Color Blocking

Another day, another event. Waiting for Fizzie, partaking in the open bar. Some guy slides up for me and I neutrally respond to his chattering. His dismal game involves him dropping that he knows the artist through his cousin that went to school with him. They’re from “a suburb of the Bronx called Mamaroneck.” I sneer, “oh, you mean Westchester?” He continues by dropping that he used to be involved with music himself in Europe back in the ’90s but “really really bad stuff.”
“Bad like sucky? Or bad like evil?”
I was mildly intrigued. Some guesses included being a Vanilla Ice background dancer, producing him/C&C Music Factory/Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch/skinhead rap/rapping Swedish children/Kylie Minogue/Ace of Base/rapping Swedish grandmothers/ABBA before he dropped the working mostly in Germany clue and I guessed Milli Vanilli. Bingo. I laughed a lot before saying that at least he made money instead of being a member of the group.
He encouraged me to tell a deep dark secret and I assured him I don’t have any (which is mostly true).
“Well I’ll tell you some stuff about me: I live in Westchester. I don’t eat pork. And I don’t date white women.”
*blink, blink* I laugh…and laugh..and laugh some more. “Okay, I’m kinda stuck on that. You said that like, ‘I don’t eat pork and I don’t like the color green.'”
“No really. I can’t stand it when I see a black woman with white men. I love my African Queens. My mom’s an African Queen, my nieces are African Queens…”
“Right. Didn’t you say you lived in Germany? What’d you get up to there?”
“Nah really. I never went there. I grew up in the suburbs. They’re not mysterious to me.”
Hmm. I was saved by the ringing phone. I went to take Fizzie’s call and conveniently forgot to come back.
Not that I was feeling him in the first place, but I can’t really get behind that approach. You don’t date white women? Wow…neither do I! We’ve got so much in common! I might set off a powder keg here but coming at me with some borderline bigoted shit isn’t really going to push my interest level anywhere but down. I could be any black woman to him because as long I’m not white, I’m alright. Does he want a medal? Was I going to do some sort of a “thank god, one real honest to goodness black woman-loving black man! My prayers were answered!” jumping around and being gleeful thing? I think that was a piece of unnecessary and not at all flattering info. The flip side of the “I can’t stand black woman because they’re so…blah, blah…and white/whatever women are so much better at…blah, blah.” That’s your personal dumbass preference. I could really give a shit. Besides, when you’re protesting that much, you’ve got some issues.
Am I supposed to be anti-white women or whatever? I shake my head at all of those chicken little articles that come out all the time about them “stealing” my theoretical men. I don’t think of them much as a monolith much at all…unless I’m cursing one mentally from flipping her fucking hair in my face, treating me like I’m invisible, and generally tripping on herself or trying on pants and hating a faceless girl for making it practically impossible to find shit that fits. But, in general, I dislike people on an individual basis. The feminist me is all why do you have to kick one group of women down in order to big the other one up? Again, that’s more to do with a him than us.
My personal stance is black like me is great, but I’m really not going to stand on the wall biding my time for some Tyrese lookalike to take me away. I wondered later if he would’ve tripped out if he would’ve seen me and Fizzie hanging out? “You’re a traitor to the queens!” I should’ve gone back with him just to fuck with that guy. Clown.

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