Sarcastic Chick Rant Alert
So much for a post-racial America. My blood boils whenever I hear/read Zimmerman's name. I get chills and a wave of sadness when I think of Fruitvale Station. I am still not mentally ready to watch 12 Years a Slave. Need I mention the recent Grammy snubs where Macklemore wins over Kendrick Lamar and HOV. It is mind-blowing to hear racist crimes, comments and illogic in 2014.
I am often the only meatball in the rice in the workplace. It is like working two jobs: (1) your salaried position and (2) being the only black example in an office of sprites. It is super annoying to be asked my opinion on anything black-related. Must I comment on everything POTUS does? Must I share thoughts on every racial news story? Carrying the burden of representing the black community is enough; don't pick my brain too. I am tired of being viewed as a live science project when my brown skin tans. If I get one more "you didn't sound black on the phone" look...whew, ancestors give me strength! Not to mention that whenever chicken is on the menu, I am assumed to choose it as my lunch. (Yes, this all actually happened.)
Le sigh. I have been forced into a "let's give them something to talk about" mood. This Black History Month I am putting on a symbolic black beret. I feel like humming old negro spirituals like We Shall Overcome just because. Dare anyone to ask what song is stuck in my head. I should change the wallpaper on my computer to an image of a plantation with slaves in the field. Maybe I will temporarily change my job title to Sprite-Acclaimed Urban Connosieur. I might as well wear primarily black all month. This meatball is rebelliously rolling around in the rice slinging gravy.
So Fed the Fuck Up,
