This was the question posed to me over dinner last nite by my friend Darrel. I almost choked. He went on to explain how Black folks are always talking about our cousins “this” and our cousins “that” and how we make people that aren’t even related to us into cousins… But he couldn’t remember any of his white friends or coworkers ever talking about their cousins.
And as bad as it may sound, I couldn’t either…
I know for a fact that White people have aunts and uncles and grandparents. One of my best friends is White and I’ve actually MET and had DINNER with her grandparents (see how dumb that sounds?) But I literally can’t remember a single conversation where we’ve discussed cousins. Maybe all the White folks I know just come from really small families.
Or maybe White people just don’t put their family’s business in the street like Black folks do. ‘Cause usually when I’m talking to one of my Black friends about their cousins, it’s in the context of a ridiculous story I end up having a hard time believing. “Girl, you won’t believe what my trifling-ass cousin did the other day…” Anyway, so I plead for you, White person who reads this blog, to tell me a story about one of your cousins — or better yet, e-mail me a photo of you with one of your cousins. Help disprove this myth. EJ@erinjackson.net
I see how you could get us confused… what with our chocolate complexions and fondness for Fuschia (rhymes with Rasputia by the way) but I have to say — and you’d better freakin’ agree — that that’s where the similarities here stop.
What are you talking about EJ? Well let me explain. I did a show this weekend with good buds Kojo Mante, Jason Weems and a very funny dude I just met called Adrian Rodney. It was a benefit show in the Lounge showroom at the DC Improv. Two sold out shows and I was proud to be part of it.
First show for me went great. Got the opportunity to do a little more time than I originally planned so I got to work thru some stuff. It was right on time. Second show about a minute into my set, I made a comment to a guy in the front row. Then after his response I told him I wasn’t scared of him because he was light-skinned. And he responded by calling me “Rasputia” — who in case you were confused — is the one on the left.
What surprised me the most is that in the moment I wasn’t insulted at all. I actually wanted to laugh because it was such a specific heckle. He could have called me ‘fat’ or ‘bitch’ or you know ‘fat bitch’, but no… He wanted everyone in the room to know exactly which ‘fat bitch’ I looked like. And I can’t hate on that. Hahaha… What’s more embarrassing?… being compared to Eddie Murphy in a fat suit, or admitting that I saw Norbit? I decided that I would address it and thus began the awkward nature of my set at the late show.
Twice I went to say something else to him but I kept telling myself. You are doing a benefit show for a very sensitive subject. This is not the place. DO NOT engage. But it was hard. About two jokes in I kinda got back on track. But when I got to the section of my act where I usually tell a group of jokes about size and weight and perception I got mad — again, not at his comment — but at the fact that now I didn’t get to be the one to bring up weight so it lost some of its punch. I did two of the jokes and right before I remember saying, “Here come the fat jokes, sir. Sit back and enjoy.” But I didn’t even get to the more clever bits, which are among some of my favorite bits in the act because by that point the topic had been addressed. Oh well. (pokes out bottom lip).
The table and the Rasputia guy enjoyed most of the rest of the set I think – I mean I saw them laughing. But I had to run to get to another event and I couldn’t stay til the end of the show. I’d have loved to talk to him and literally tell him how funny his comment was and how he threw me because literally I was standing there like… Good one. Ha! Anyway, that is what happened to me this weekend. I’ve been a lazy blogger. Trying to get back into the swing.
They’d be unemployed. That’s a given. But even though I managed to hail a cab last nite — 4 cabs actually — I never got a ride home. And that’s just as bad.
Now, of course I’m not new to the concept that cab drivers, chinese food carry outs drivers, etc. don’t always wanna travel to what folks consider the hood at nite, but dammit, if you refuse to enter an entire quadrant of the city, it’s time to rethink your career choice.
I’d been out of my house since 7:30 AM, so by the time I got off stage at about 9:30 PM I was ready to hop in a cab, go home and make myself a turkey sandwich and go to sleep. I was in Adams Morgan and I got a cab pretty quickly…
I got in and shut the door and here’s what transpired next:
Punk-ass cabbie #1: [Inaudible grunt] Where you going?
Me: [Street number, Street name] Southeast.
Punk-ass cabbie #1: NO.
No? Really? Cause I think the answer is yes. That is absolutely where I’m going. But he didn’t move. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even ask me to get out of the cab. He just sat there. So I flicked him off and got out of the cab.
So now I hail another cab, and here’s what transpired next:
Bitch-ass cabbie #2: [Gurgle]
Me: Hi, I’m going to [Street number, Street name]……………….. Southeast.
Bitch-ass cabbie #2: Sorry, I have to pick someone up by 10.
Me: Then you shouldn’t have stopped.
Bitch-ass cabbie #2: Sorry, No.
Again no movement. Just a No. Once again I flipped him off and got out of the cab. Pissed. To the point of maximum pisstivity… But I tried again.
This time I was picked up by an American Black cab driver. I’m not saying that for any other reason than I figured., “Finally… This brother is gonna understand where I’m coming from. He knows people who live in Southeast. Hell, he may live over there too. Yay!” So I get in the cab, shake it off — ready to tell him about the 2 other drivers who wouldn’t take me home when…
Bald-Uncle-Tom-ass cabbie #3: Good evening, sista
Me: [Exhale] Hi, how are you? I’m going to [Street number, Street name] Southeast.
Now at this point I’ve unclenched my jaw. I’m rolling my neck around, ready to close my eyes for the 20 minute or so ride across the river, when…
Bitch-ass cabbie #3: Awww, hell no. You gon’ have to find another ride.
Alright, am I being punked. Really? What happened to “Good evening, sista?” This time as I was getting out of the cab, I added some colorful profanity to my bird flipping. It felt good to get that out, but I was still standing on the corner with no ride home. I won’t even go into what happened with Cumin-smelling-ass-cabbie #4 cause I think you see where this is going, but suffice it to say I had to go back into the show and wait for it to be over so my friend Jason could drive hella out of his way to take me home. (Thanks, J).
Now I know some of you are thinking, “That’s illegal, EJ. They can’t do that. You should have gotten their permit numbers and reported them.” And I gotta tell you. Each time it happened I thought the same thing. But I was exhausted and in disbelief and each time I told myself… No way is the next guy gonna do the same thing… Now I wish I’d done it, because as my boy John pointed out, D.C. Mayor Fenty is big into cracking down on this type of thing. A letter with the four drivers’ numbers may have done some good.
Also as I was typing the paragraph before last, I remembered the “Looking Ass N***a Youtube clip that I saw on a friend’s blog and it made me smile. Maybe it will make you smile as well. Here is his explanation of the title phrase in case you don’t quite get it… ENJOY!
For those of you not familiar with all the ins and outs of black culture the term, “Looking Ass Nigga” is an insult. It’s like playing the dozens. Here’s how it goes, You think of an insult about a person, and then you say the insult and follow it with the phrase, “Looking ass nigga”. For example, an insult one could spit at Michael Jackson would be a “Ol Chimp Loving Single White Female Looking ass Nigga.”
OK… so my friend Keisha and I went out to this bar/lounge last nite for the launch of this new Wednesday nite hot spot (hopefully) in downtown D.C. My friend Ra helped to promote it and I hadn’t been out in D.C. for a while, so I told him sure I’ll come.
While we were there I ran into a girl I’m friendly with and know socially–she seems like a very cool girl, but we’ve never actually hung out. Keisha and I were at the bar batting our eyelashes in hopes that men would buy us drinks–like any self-respecting women would do–and we were talking with this young lady. Anyway… to make a long story short, it was a Wednesday nite so I didn’t feel like staying out too late and the three of us all decided to leave at the same time. But as we were walking out of the door and saying our good nites, she slapped me on the butt.
?
I was so shocked I just kept walking and didn’t tell Keish til we got down the block what had happened. Is that what’s poppin’ in the streets, now? Ladies, are we just going around slapping each other on the butts like we just won the pennant?
I know she and I have had conversations about guys in the past, so I know she’s not gay. Maybe she thought I’d be cool with that. Maybe that’s how she and her friends say “Peace.” Or maybe… maybe… maybe?
Whatever the reason I was uncomfortable all the way home wondering if I should have addressed it, so that it wouldn’t be awkward the next time we see each other, or wondering whether other people saw the little exchange and my non-response led her and/or them to believe I was OK with it… I dunno. Weird-o nite indeed.
Have you ever had someone shout an insult at you, and you knew it was bad, but you also had no idea what the heck it meant?… I was listening to a prank CD–I’ll Slap You to Sleep–by buddy and hilarious comedian Roy Wood, Jr. of roywoodjr.com…suckas, and I heard an 87 year-old woman refer to the woman who set her up for the prank as a “Shit house shorty”… wait I’m sorry an “International shit house shorty.” Huh? Roy didn’t know either.
Clearly the use of the word ‘shit’ lets me know it was an insult, but what kind of insult? I’m guessing it wasn’t racial. Doesn’t sound like she’s calling her a ho. Is this equivalent to the ‘b’ word? Is it a jab about this woman’s mama or her kids?
If someone said this to me, for real, I’d be like could you please explain that random ass insult as I’d like to know exactly why I’m headed to jail. I don’t wanna be explaining myself to the cops like, “Well yeah I hit the old lady. No, I’m not sure what it means. When do I get to call my mama?” I wanna at least be able to rile up someone behind me… “But what would you have done, officer? She called me a shit house shorty. I mean, what other option did I have?” Random.
Also random is the response I got from someone I didn’t know about the blog I posted yesterday. I thought only my friends read this blog. Hahaha… This Internet thing is WILD. Anyway, apparently she confused erinjackson.net for MSNBC and wanted to set me straight on a few issues… I’m glad she found the blog however she found it, and I’m glad she left a comment because now I can tell the rest of you about it and laugh. I’m not in the habit of commenting on the blogs of people I don’t know or haven’t met… unless its like a major blog like the Daily Dish or something like that. Anyways, hope y’all have a good weekend. I’m off to Ocala, Florida tomorrow to kick it with the gators and the wild horses… Y’all remember my boy Frank I met last year while I was down there…
“I jacked it up but I couldn’t get the nut off. I don’t know why. I’m usually really good at it.”
I said this to my old boss a few years ago. I was explaining that I was late because I had problems changing a flat tire. I didn’t realize why she was blushing until a while after I’d walked away. Sometimes life is funnier than any joke you can write.
