When I was young, Polish and Hispanic jokes were all the rage with the people in my neighborhood. Adults would tell them to each other and the kids would overhear them, clean up the language a little and pass them onto their friends. When anyone would object to one of these clearly racist jokes, the retort would be, “But (insert known Polish or Hispanic friend) is (Polish or Hispanic) and he loves these jokes!”
As I got older and the neighborhood increased its Latino population, Hispanic jokes died out. Polish jokes still thrived. I wish I could say that I never told a Polish or Hispanic joke, but I can’t. I told all the jokes that my friends told; I even told dirty jokes before I even knew *why* they were dirty.
I grew up and moved away. I don’t hear any Polish or Hispanic jokes unless the little old racist man comes into my store. No one laughs at his jokes nor do they repeat them.
Now there are blond(e) jokes. I’ve heard them all. I don’t find them funny. I have never found them funny. Yes, I have told them and I have been the blonde that others used to justify their telling of the jokes. “See, she thinks the joke is funny and she’s blonde.” I understand how easy it is to just pretend it’s not insulting to be classified as stupid and whorish simply because you are part of a group that has a common characteristic.
It is easy to make a joke about a group of people, such as blondes or Polish people. In fact, I recognized some of the blond(e) jokes as recycled Polish jokes. It’s easy to tell someone when they are offended by that joke, “relax, it’s just a joke. It doesn’t mean anything.” That is wrong. Jokes are propaganda and have been used as such. Look at World War II era cartoons and comics from the United States, take notice of how they portray the Axis Powers. Jokes show how people are truly viewed. Look at The Daily Show. The whole thing is a joke, yet a large percentage of people use it to stay up to date with current events.
Let me say once again that I am a blonde. I am proud to be a blonde. I do not like blond(e) jokes. I do not like racist jokes. I think telling a blond(e) joke is no better than a racist joke, even if *you* are a blonde. I apologize if this is not as succinct as it should be; I fear I may have rambled. I simply needed to vent my frustration.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Someday
Someday, he will love me
Someday, the beatings will end
Someday, the truth will matter more than perception
Someday, I will find my happiness
Someday exists only in the minds of poets and dreamers.
Someday, the beatings will end
Someday, the truth will matter more than perception
Someday, I will find my happiness
Someday exists only in the minds of poets and dreamers.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
little girl
Little girl looks to the sky and dreams
She pictures herself successful
She will want for nothing
Her belly will be full not like now
Little girl looks to the sky and dreams
She pictures herself beautiful
A man will love her, be devoted
No one will call her ugly again
Little girl looks to the sky and dreams
She pictures a father who loves her
A father who treasures her
No more bruising outside or in
Little girl looks to the sky and dreams
She pictures friends who never abandon her
She will never need to do anything alone
No more loneliness like now
Little girl looks away from the sky and cries
No success, no beauty will come
Her father will not change, friends will not appear
The dreamer dies in her
She pictures herself successful
She will want for nothing
Her belly will be full not like now
Little girl looks to the sky and dreams
She pictures herself beautiful
A man will love her, be devoted
No one will call her ugly again
Little girl looks to the sky and dreams
She pictures a father who loves her
A father who treasures her
No more bruising outside or in
Little girl looks to the sky and dreams
She pictures friends who never abandon her
She will never need to do anything alone
No more loneliness like now
Little girl looks away from the sky and cries
No success, no beauty will come
Her father will not change, friends will not appear
The dreamer dies in her
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wanted
Wanted -
A carefree summer day spent with my mother speaking of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about my childhood and hers. Eating seedless watermelon as we sit on her front steps, wondering if the ice cream truck will come. Watching her neighbor talk to his squirrels, picking the blackberries from his bushes. Her sweating and asking me how I can wear a sweater. Eating dinner at her table, a perfect grilled cheese. Her telling me to be careful on my way home. Her hugging me to her overabundant bosom, telling me she loves me, asking if I want to take some watermelon home with me.
Item is priceless, shipping is impossible.
A carefree summer day spent with my mother speaking of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about my childhood and hers. Eating seedless watermelon as we sit on her front steps, wondering if the ice cream truck will come. Watching her neighbor talk to his squirrels, picking the blackberries from his bushes. Her sweating and asking me how I can wear a sweater. Eating dinner at her table, a perfect grilled cheese. Her telling me to be careful on my way home. Her hugging me to her overabundant bosom, telling me she loves me, asking if I want to take some watermelon home with me.
Item is priceless, shipping is impossible.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
A Night So Mad Tea Party
Halfway through our day at Con-nichiwa, my daughters decided they wanted to go to the Ouran High School Host Club Tea Party. As we headed towards the lounge where it was being held, Jamila and Jovial tried to explain some of the details of the manga to me. (If you are really curious about it, you can go to the Shojo Beat website and find more information. The Wikipedia page is riddled with small errors, and I cannot recommend it.)
We waited in line, the three of us, to try and get into the tea party. We slowly moved towards the front as others went in to the lounge. As we were inches from the door, the organizers asked if there were any pairs. I asked my daughters if they wanted to go in alone while I waited. I was informed that I was not allowed to do that. An announcement was made. Seating was done; next seating would be in one hour. People scattered to the other events. Not wanting to risk not getting in the next time, I told my girls that I would stand in line and wait.
My girls, ever loyal, chose to stand with me. The organizers were huddled. Another announcement was made. The last few people waiting would be seated this session. The three of us paid our $7 each and made our way to an empty table in the back of the candle-lit lounge. Jamila sat across from me, Jovial sat to my right, the chair closest to the rest of the lounge sat empty. A young woman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt came to ask us what we cared to drink.
As the young woman returned with our drinks, two of our hosts came over. The smaller one carried a stuffed rabbit and hopped into the empty chair. This one, I had been informed earlier, was Hunny. The larger one that loomed silently behind him was his cousin, Mori. Hunny greeted us in a chipper, high voice.
“Hello Princesses”
Jovial squealed, flailed, and sent me a text. The text read, “I can die happy now!” She had been hoping Hunny would come to our table. Hunny bounced in his seat and jabbered on about a million little things. The girls giggled and responded. Every so often, Mori would whisper in Hunny’s ear. After one such occurrence, Hunny asked us Princesses if we would like one of the cakes or cookies. We each decided what treat we would have and Hunny sent Mori across the room to get them.
Mori came back across the room and set Jamila and Jovial’s treats down. In a soft barely audible tone, he let us know that the chocolate cake I had requested had run out. I asked in a normal voice for the lemon strudel that Jamila had gotten. As Mori hulked back across the lounge, Hunny shouted, “Lemon strudel, lemon strudel, don’t forget lemon strudel.”
Mori gave Hunny an exasperated look and waved his hand in dismissal. He came back with my lemon strudel. It was sweet, tart, and smelled like childhood. One of the non cosplaying organizers came over and whispered in Mori’s ear. Mori whispered in Hunny’s ear. Hunny got a sad look on his face. The organizer had said that Hunny needed to move on to another table. Hunny said he would in a sad voice, then giggled and added the word later.
Jamila conversed with Hunny about what else would be going on during the tea party. Hunny got excited.
“We’re going to play some games!”
“What games?”
“Marshmallow fishing, and Chubby Bunny!”
“What’s Chubby Bunny?”
“It’s a surprise”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise!”
Eventually Hunny moved on to another table, hugging each of us in turn as he left.
The woman who brought us our drinks asked if we had any host requests. Jamila replied in a nanosecond. She wanted the twins. A few minutes later, a pair of redheads was standing in front of our table. It was Jamila’s turn to squeal. They went to Jamila and stroke her hair. They loved how soft and thick it was. Then they sat down. The twins shared the chair that Hunny had used. The one nearest to Jamila got her to feed him some of her lemon square. She briefly considered keeping the fork she had used.
The twins told us that we were the most fun table there. They noticed Jovial and my matching shirts with the upside down writing and turned their heads in opposite directions in unison. They complimented our shirts. We chatted with the twins for a while, until they too had to reluctantly move on to the next table.
Then the prince slithered up to our table. Unlike the others, he did not sit down. He sidled up to Jamila and took her hand. He stood behind her and leaned into her hair. He whispered something to her. She nodded and said something to him. He smiled, kissed her hand and oozed over to Jovial. He repeated his previous actions and then moved on to me. As he held my hand, he whispered to me.
“Are you enjoying the tea party, Princess?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything I could do to make it special for you, Princess?”
“Make sure they are in the games,” I said quietly as I motioned to my girls.
“It can be arranged.”
He slithered away after kissing my hand softly. Jamila, Jovial, and I giggled. We were glad that I had decided to stay in line. We noticed the hosts milling about the front of the lounge. The twins were conversing with the prince who smiled and pointed to our table. The twins had their mission. They sauntered over and grabbed my daughters.
They were the first to play Chubby Bunny. They had to shove their mouths full of marshmallows and try to say Chubby Bunny. Jovial, my vegetarian, participated without a fuss. She would have a stomach ache from it later; one she decided was well worth it. I laughed as Hunny, Jovial, and Jamila all tried to say Chubby Bunny with their cheeks stretched and marshmallows threatening to explode out of their mouths.
The girls came back and we all laughed as the other Princesses tried the game. Then we watched as others played marshmallow fishing. One of the hosts held a branch on which a string was attached. Tied to the string was a marshmallow. A piece of elastic was put under each contestant’s nose to hold them back as they tried to grab the marshmallow using only their mouths.
We left the tea party, still giggling and looked around the convention, trying to decide where to go next. We knew it did not matter what we chose; the tea party would not be topped.
We waited in line, the three of us, to try and get into the tea party. We slowly moved towards the front as others went in to the lounge. As we were inches from the door, the organizers asked if there were any pairs. I asked my daughters if they wanted to go in alone while I waited. I was informed that I was not allowed to do that. An announcement was made. Seating was done; next seating would be in one hour. People scattered to the other events. Not wanting to risk not getting in the next time, I told my girls that I would stand in line and wait.
My girls, ever loyal, chose to stand with me. The organizers were huddled. Another announcement was made. The last few people waiting would be seated this session. The three of us paid our $7 each and made our way to an empty table in the back of the candle-lit lounge. Jamila sat across from me, Jovial sat to my right, the chair closest to the rest of the lounge sat empty. A young woman dressed in jeans and a t-shirt came to ask us what we cared to drink.
As the young woman returned with our drinks, two of our hosts came over. The smaller one carried a stuffed rabbit and hopped into the empty chair. This one, I had been informed earlier, was Hunny. The larger one that loomed silently behind him was his cousin, Mori. Hunny greeted us in a chipper, high voice.
“Hello Princesses”
Jovial squealed, flailed, and sent me a text. The text read, “I can die happy now!” She had been hoping Hunny would come to our table. Hunny bounced in his seat and jabbered on about a million little things. The girls giggled and responded. Every so often, Mori would whisper in Hunny’s ear. After one such occurrence, Hunny asked us Princesses if we would like one of the cakes or cookies. We each decided what treat we would have and Hunny sent Mori across the room to get them.
Mori came back across the room and set Jamila and Jovial’s treats down. In a soft barely audible tone, he let us know that the chocolate cake I had requested had run out. I asked in a normal voice for the lemon strudel that Jamila had gotten. As Mori hulked back across the lounge, Hunny shouted, “Lemon strudel, lemon strudel, don’t forget lemon strudel.”
Mori gave Hunny an exasperated look and waved his hand in dismissal. He came back with my lemon strudel. It was sweet, tart, and smelled like childhood. One of the non cosplaying organizers came over and whispered in Mori’s ear. Mori whispered in Hunny’s ear. Hunny got a sad look on his face. The organizer had said that Hunny needed to move on to another table. Hunny said he would in a sad voice, then giggled and added the word later.
Jamila conversed with Hunny about what else would be going on during the tea party. Hunny got excited.
“We’re going to play some games!”
“What games?”
“Marshmallow fishing, and Chubby Bunny!”
“What’s Chubby Bunny?”
“It’s a surprise”
“What?”
“It’s a surprise!”
Eventually Hunny moved on to another table, hugging each of us in turn as he left.
The woman who brought us our drinks asked if we had any host requests. Jamila replied in a nanosecond. She wanted the twins. A few minutes later, a pair of redheads was standing in front of our table. It was Jamila’s turn to squeal. They went to Jamila and stroke her hair. They loved how soft and thick it was. Then they sat down. The twins shared the chair that Hunny had used. The one nearest to Jamila got her to feed him some of her lemon square. She briefly considered keeping the fork she had used.
The twins told us that we were the most fun table there. They noticed Jovial and my matching shirts with the upside down writing and turned their heads in opposite directions in unison. They complimented our shirts. We chatted with the twins for a while, until they too had to reluctantly move on to the next table.
Then the prince slithered up to our table. Unlike the others, he did not sit down. He sidled up to Jamila and took her hand. He stood behind her and leaned into her hair. He whispered something to her. She nodded and said something to him. He smiled, kissed her hand and oozed over to Jovial. He repeated his previous actions and then moved on to me. As he held my hand, he whispered to me.
“Are you enjoying the tea party, Princess?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything I could do to make it special for you, Princess?”
“Make sure they are in the games,” I said quietly as I motioned to my girls.
“It can be arranged.”
He slithered away after kissing my hand softly. Jamila, Jovial, and I giggled. We were glad that I had decided to stay in line. We noticed the hosts milling about the front of the lounge. The twins were conversing with the prince who smiled and pointed to our table. The twins had their mission. They sauntered over and grabbed my daughters.
They were the first to play Chubby Bunny. They had to shove their mouths full of marshmallows and try to say Chubby Bunny. Jovial, my vegetarian, participated without a fuss. She would have a stomach ache from it later; one she decided was well worth it. I laughed as Hunny, Jovial, and Jamila all tried to say Chubby Bunny with their cheeks stretched and marshmallows threatening to explode out of their mouths.
The girls came back and we all laughed as the other Princesses tried the game. Then we watched as others played marshmallow fishing. One of the hosts held a branch on which a string was attached. Tied to the string was a marshmallow. A piece of elastic was put under each contestant’s nose to hold them back as they tried to grab the marshmallow using only their mouths.
We left the tea party, still giggling and looked around the convention, trying to decide where to go next. We knew it did not matter what we chose; the tea party would not be topped.
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