White chick + Afro wig = Racist

DANG, y'all.

Apparently, wearing an Afro wig as my (crappily) rapping alter ego, Ms. Crazy Papers, is racist.

That is, according to the majority of the commentors at Before and Afro.  It has to do with the appearance of caricaturing Black features and appropriating racial traits that aren't ours (as White folks) to possess.

Or something like that.

Like the blog author, I view wearing my 'fro wig as an expression of what I really like about Black culture. The attitude, the sass, the unapologetic, Here I am!

Unlike the blog author, I live in the White Capital of the World, so the fact that so many Black people find a White woman wearing an Afro wig offensive has never come up.

As I've written before, I grew up in racially mixed areas.  We moved a lot and in a couple schools I attended, Whites were the minority.  And I always felt comfortable.  That I belonged there.  I was accepted.  I wasn't prejudiced; I was "real"; I could sing, and I was "thick".

In other words, I was down.  (Check out my white girl "fade".)

And I still feel that way.

But I probably don't appear down to folks, since I've been living a very suburban lifestyle in a very Caucasian part of the country for many years.

This cultural juxtaposition is amusing to my White friends, something that I occasionally play up by wearing an Afro wig.  I really didn't know that it was a faux pas.  An incidence of cultural vampirism.  That wearing an Afro wig as a White woman was, in fact, evidence that I was not as down as I had thought.

Damn.

Other than taking Nature Boy and his friends trick or treating in our subdivision last year, I'd never worn my 'fro wig anywhere but at home.  This Halloween, I impulsively vowed on Facebook to wear my 'fro all day.  In the car.  To a jewelry store.  To that bastion of Whiteness, the "country Walmart".

And I was surprised to find that I was really uncomfortable.

For the first time, wearing my wig felt wrong.  I felt like I was misrepresenting myself as a racist.  To the people who know me, who've called me "the blackest white person" they know, the wig was funny and appropriate.  It was an outward representation of  the inner me.  But to people who don't know me, it most likely appeared that I was making fun of Black people.

That was already on my mind before reading the blog post (and the resulting angry comments) at Before and Afro.  Since I am now aware of the offense, Flo the 'fro is going into retirement.

"What?" you say.  "No mo' Flo?!"

I know.

But you know what?

I'm bad enough without her.

5 Things I Suck At

So much of online sharing is the brag-worthy good stuff.  My amazing nostrils, the bounty from some lady's garden, some dude's daughter's karate trophy.

I try to keep it real, both online and in person.  If anything, I overshare--which is huge for someone who tends toward paranoia.  Blogging is my exposure therapy.  (I just have to trust that you guys aren't crazy, stalking loons!)

Since I keep it real, I am now going to share 5 things I really suck at.

You're welcome.

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1.  Planning ahead.

I admit that I fly by the seat of my pants.  I am a fan of freedom and autonomy in all things.  Which sounds all noble, but isn't really conducive to responsible adult living.  I'm probably not the best homeschool teacher, definitely not the best employee, and likely not the ideal volunteer.  And I am most certainly not a money saver.  I usually don't know what's for dinner until 5 or 6pm.  Life with me is always a surprise.

2.  Eating in moderation.

Food is my drug of choice.  Especially sugar.  Especially in baked good format.  I will eat your slice too.

3.  Being reverent.

I know I'm not alone in this one.  Some of us just can't keep a straight face at church, at funerals, during a lecture from an authority figure.  As devastated as I was at my grandma's funeral last December, I couldn't help cracking up until I was sweaty and red-faced when the deacon decided to spend the service talking about purgatory.  PURGATORY!  Like people at a funeral want to hear about that!  Although at least half of my extended family is Catholic, I don't know that any of us even believe in purgatory.  But even if we did, we wouldn't want to hear about it days after losing a beloved family member.

Today's irreverent debacle was also church-related.  There's one older choir lady who is all old school when it comes to singing.  I was in choir growing up, so I know that she's just following the rules of choral singing.  She drops her jaw when singing vowels, seriously enunciates, and makes sure to end her words on a strong sound.  The problem is, no one else in the choir does that--so she really stands out to me.  And today she got a little overzealous.  She added hard "T" sounds to words that end with the letter D.  She was all, "We love you, Lort.  We obey your Wort."

I know I should have been focusing on the Word of God and the solemnity of the occasion, but I couldn't help laughing.  Nor could I be a responsible parent at that moment.  I brought Nature Boy in on it, and we both cracked up for the rest of the song.  Tree Guy doesn't appreciate public nonsense.  We totally got in trouble on the way home.

4.  Being on time.

I am always late.  Sometimes it's for a legitimate reason, but a lot of the time I'm late because I don't leave until it's time to be there.  It's not that I don't respect other people's time.  It's that I come up with 345345763786538 last minute things to do before I leave the house.  There's nothing like needing to be somewhere at a certain time to spur me to get stuff accomplished at home.  (Thing #76687 that drives my husband nuts.)  

5.  Tolerating bullsh!t.

This one's a biggie.  I am not very good at pretending.  I teach my son to ignore annoying people, but I don't always practice what I preach.  See, I inherited a gene from my mom that makes it impossible for me to avoid busting a (verbal) cap in a bully's ass.  When people act a fool, instead of quietly going about my business, I'm drawn in.  I'm all, "I'm your huckleberry."  (Obscure Tombstone reference.)  Which feels all badass at the time, but as I am 5'3", it probably looks absolutely ridiculous.  What I lack in stature, I make up for in crazy, though.  The best piece of parenting advice my mom ever gave me was:  Outcrazy the bullies.

Check.

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What do you suck at?

  

 

Partytime! Excellent.

Happy Halloween, y'all.

I have really enjoyed the costume thing this year.  And the party thing.  We've attended two costume parties, and it isn't even trick or treating time yet.  And that's awesome.  Tree Guy and I used to discuss how nice it would be to have parties and dinners to go to.  To have the kind of friends who host that stuff. His parents have a big group of friends who always have something going on, some event to look forward to.  Most of them met while raising their kids in the same neighborhood.  Now they are grandparents, and they're still friends.  They've moved out but not on.  

Times are different now.  Tree Guy and I wave to our neighbors (the nice ones, anyway) and help them catch their escapee minpins, but we don't socialize with them.  We don't have progressive dinners or block parties.  People are too busy.  We all have other friends.  And we have Netflix.

What I've learned is that to get invited to parties and dinners, you have to throw parties and dinners. There's a kind of esoteric party circuit in the 'burbs.  If you throw parties, you are added to the invisible list of potential invitees.  You become a "party person".  

I didn't have dinners and parties when we lived in our old house because it was too small for such gatherings.  At least in my mind.  The kitchen was TINY.  I admire folks with small homes who make them so comfy and welcoming that no one notices the lack of dining space or seating.  I aspire to be a gracious, relaxed hostess.  But the truth is, I am too neurotic to relax.  

Plus, in keeping with my general quirkiness, I have a "thing" about being crowded in the kitchen.  It drives me nuts.  Makes me feel claustrophobic.  The kitchen is my domain, and when I'm cleaning or cooking, I want to inhabit it solitaire.  Sometimes I get claustrophobic just having both dogs underfoot in the kitchen.  

And I really love my dogs.      

My nuttiness doesn't help in the hostess department, but I try to make up for it with my fantastic cakes and amazing rapping skills.  So far, so good.

I threw a monster party for Nature Boy and his friends a couple weeks ago.  Everyone had to come in costume.  Even Tree Guy dressed up, which was a departure from his personal goal to not appear goofy in any way.  As y'all know, he's totally into the fake warrior thing, so he dressed as a monster hunter. Sharpened stakes, actual holy water, and all the rest.  It was hot.

Anatomy of a Monster Hunter

Nature Boy wore a werewolf costume, then later turned into a zombie.

I was a disco zombie.  This talented young makeup artist did my makeup.

   
I concocted these refreshments.

Gooey Eyeball Cupcakes

Nasty Brews

And then invited over some seriously creepy kids to share brains with.

It was a monstrously good time!

Stay tuned for another costume-centric post.