Category Archives: Creative Non Fiction

White Girl Eggs and other myths…

fried_egg_clip_art_14010

An ex called me the other day. I don’t know how he got my number, but I guess that’s a subject for another blog. I really didn’t feel like talking. Not because it was him, although he is annoying; but because I kinda have a rule about engaging in conversation before ten in the morning, or before I have my first cup of coffee. He happened to luck out because I am battling a bad case of insomnia, and the coffee was already brewing. After the salutations and other pleasantries the conversation went like this:

X: What are you doing?

Me: Making breakfast.

X: What are you making?

Me: Just eggs, bacon and toast.

X: You still eat those white girl eggs?

Like I said, the coffee was still brewing, so it took a minute for the question to register.

White girl eggs? I asked in my head. He must have sensed my confusion and added:

X: You know, all slimy and shit?

M: Over easy?

X: Yeah that. That’s that white girl shit.

I had no idea how I cooked my eggs was a racial thing. I know it’s not good for you with the risk of salmonella and what not, but at times, I like to dip my toast in the yolk. Intrigued as much as I was confused, I asked the obvious question:

M: How are over easy eggs a white girl thing?

X: It just is.

So being Caucasian and an asshole, I asked X to give me other examples of white girl things. Little did I know there was a rather lengthy list of things only white girls do or are linked to. For brevity sake, I’m only going to touch on a few.

White women do not season their food:

This came as a complete and utter shock to me as X has eaten and enjoyed my food. So much so, that he used to frequently ask when I was going to make gumbo again. I have a spice rack, and I keep a plethora of spices in the fridge for freshness and convenience. I don’t put white salt on my table because I feel if you season your food correctly, you don’t really need it. The rule in my house is: taste the food first, and then if you don’t like it, I’ll hand you a salt shaker after I suck my teeth.

The only things I may be guilty of are the overuse of garlic, but I have Italian ancestors, sue me. I’m also a little heavy handed with cayenne pepper. Certain foods I just like spicy.

So to make a sweeping generalization that white women don’t use seasoning, is not only asinine, it’s just simply untrue.

White women love hockey:

(Enter confused face). I don’t even understand hockey. I mean I tried to support my local team, but I am nearsighted and I never know where the puck is nor do I comprehend the fighting.

White women don’t use washcloths:

Okay, I blame television commercials for this shit. Every time a soap commercial comes on there’s a white chick rubbing the whole bar of soap all over her body. I don’t think anyone of any ethnic background does that. It’s just unsanitary. I have multiple loofas and washcloths for the different parts of my anatomy. For example, I don’t wash my face with the hoo-hoo cloth which is completely separate from the booty cloth. And I tend to use body wash instead of soap.

When a white woman’s hair is wet, it smells like a dog:

First, who goes around sniffing dogs? Secondly, how dirty do others keep their dogs? My dogs have always been exceptionally clean. Bailey smelled like peach doggie shampoo most of the time and Cheech smells like fabric softener. Although I don’t know why Cheech smells like that, and I’m a little worried. All that to say, if my hair is wet and you think I smell like peaches or fabric softener, thanks and carry on.

White women wear shorts all year long:

Fuck that. I get cold too easily. I may wear tights and/or leggings under shorts, but never bare legged. That’s just really stupid, and I don’t want pneumonia.

White women are the only women who like and drink pumpkin spice coffee:

I am white; I like pumpkin spice coffee. I also know women of other races who like pumpkin spice coffee. I call bullshit.

White women are pushovers and will believe anything in relationships:

Maybe it’s because I don’t get in other women’s business, or the fact that I don’t socialize with too many white women, but I think this is more of a dating naivety than a race thing. Most women make dating mistakes when they are younger. Limits come with time and a blending of good and bad experiences. Typically, once you have been treated well, you don’t go back to mediocrity.

Because I have a MFA in Creative Writing, I know people can make shit up. I watch actions. And even those can be suspect. So now, I watch for consistency.

I must confess that there were times I have done the drive-by, threw a cake, a toaster, and ruined a gaming console…and no I did not take the man in question back. So no, this white woman is not a pushover.

White women pay for everything:

GTFOOH!!! Next…

White women are always early:

Guilty as charged. Y’all got that one, but never before my first cup of coffee.

  1. I ate my eggs scrambled this morning with cheese, but it had nothing to do with this blog.

Anyone have any other cultural myths they’d like to debunk?

Feel free to comment below.

© Michele Mitchell, 2015

Illustration: www.clipartsheep.com

An “Uber”-MiMi Milestone!

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For those of you unfamiliar with my story, please click here.

For everyone who has helped me get places and things since I got ill, I want to preface this by saying a HUGE THANK YOU!!!

If you know me at all, you know that I am/was ferociously independent. I am used to doing things on my own. So much so, I really do NOT like asking for help. I still feel like I should be able to be independent and I have a hard time admitting I am disabled. But the truth is I am, and I’m gonna have to get over it.

I guess.

Today marks a day of triumph for me. I took my first independent trip out of the house since my aneurysm rupture. I pretty much had to because I needed stuff, and I couldn’t wait for someone to become available to come get me.

I was told about Uber by a few folk, but I was apprehensive for a myriad of reasons. Most of which were probably fears fabricated in my broken brain. Those fears were outweighed by my need to get to the store.

But, I am rambling, I do that.

My bad.

I finally used my first free trip on my Uber account.

And where did I go?

Walmart.

I know, it’s kinda pitiful. Especially because Walmart is now a horrible experience for me because of the crowds and other “overstimulation” factors. (Noise, etc).

I am having insomnia issues, so I was up at three am. My broken brain said, “Aye you know if you go to Walmart early, it won’t be as crowded.”

So I did.

Uber is a life-saver. The drivers were so nice. I found out they like their “jobs” because they are their own bosses. If they don’t want to work one day, they simply do not turn on the Uber App. It’s a safer than being a cab driver because they don’t carry cash, (it’s all done through the app. And for the most part they can pick and choose what areas they want to drop off and pick up folk.

Both drivers I dealt with were relatively new with the company. They seemed to have one common issue.

The drunk people can be…well, use your imagination.

The cost, you ask?

Let’s put it this way.

My trip TO Walmart was FREE, because I used a promo code.

My trip back was roughly $11.

I dunno if that’s considered expensive or not, but when you consider I was picked up in under ten minutes by smiling happy people and I didn’t have to rush, to me it was $11 well spent.

Yes, I will use them again!!!

Oh and if YOU want to use them and get a free ride worth $20 hit me up, I have a promo code!!! Plus I’ll get another free ride too!!!

Not for nothin, if you’re lookin to make some extra money, I’d contact them to see what you need to do. Seems like a sweet deal to me.

I am proud of myself.

And once I do some finagling with my finances, I may actually be able to get out more.

Do things.

Visit people.

I am happy.

~Bohipsy~

Made Me Happy Monday

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what I’m sure I’d look like on the beach!

Photo credit: www.happyologist.co.uk

(in order of appearance):

10-Good morning texts

9-Being called “Sunshine”

8-The milk hasn’t spoiled

7-First sip of coffee

6-The guy at Verizon Fios who had English as his first language—YES!!!

5-My Spirit kinfolk

4-My Mom’s laugh

3-Family who looked out for me in a time of need

2-A loaf of bread

1-Being able to create this list

A huge thank you and shout out to: It Started in Oxford for the idea

~Bohipsy~

I Couldn’t Make This a Poem

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When I answered the phone, I didn’t recognize his voice. At the time, I was having difficulty putting together cohesive questions. When I asked, “Who…is…is…th..this?” he broke down crying. That sound I recognized.

He cried like that the first time he hit me.

After he raped me

While banging my head on the cement floor.

Repeatedly.

Because I made him do it.

My first instinct was to hang up on him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

He called out my pet name.

“I saw you in the paper…was that my fault?”

My silence must have scared him because he started speaking erratically. Slurring actually.

He was drunk.

Again.

I sighed. “No Love, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t do that!” He yelled. “Don’t call me Love. I don’t deserve your Love. I almost killed you. I…I…looked it up. It said head trauma could have caused what happened to you.”

In between tears, he rambled. “You were so sweet, so precious

My tears fell as they did every time he called me that, but I wiped them away and played it off, “Well, I didn’t die, so I’m still sweet and…”

“Precious.”

I swallowed back the bile and let him talk.

He was purging.

I knew most of his story from before.

His oldest brother getting killed.

The molestation by a family member.

Causing him to drink.

A lot.

He was in and out of jail.

A lot.

Then he met me.

And I had this light.

He had to obtain it.

So he asked me where it came from.

And I told him my story.

Then he hit me.

Then I left him.

Until he called me.

Crying.

I forgave him.

Without him asking.

Without question.

As I returned his hug, I whispered in his ear that it was going to be okay.

But it wasn’t.

Despite what you think vodka does have a smell.

It becomes pungent when mixed with blood and semen.

Basement floors smell like rain.

And when you are being choked crying sounds like moans of pleasure.

I thought I knew why.

So I never asked.

And I never expected him to tell me.

But he did.

Deep down, he resented me.

Because I survived my hell.

And he was still living his.

As he put the gun in his mouth.

He looked at the newspaper strewn on the floor.

Saw my picture.

Pulled the trigger.

The gun jammed.

He picked up the phone.

Called me.

Crying.

©michele mitchell, 2015

Photo credit http://www.deviantart.com/art/Cry-of-the-Blackbird-144237842

outing the innocent

poem

due to circumstances beyond their control

a war was raged on the pure of heart

deception and indifference extinguished their Light

Hope with without Faith was forced to fly blind

crashed into ashen rainbows and shattered

scattering shards into raw raped flesh

not yet covered by hardened scar tissue and malice

nothing grows in the dark except for mold and cold hearts

eyes eventually start to adjust to darkness and now the Light

actually burns

the first time

one wears rose colored glasses.

© michele mitchell, 2015

Prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/first/

Photo Credit: http://www.deviantart.com/art/in-the-cold-light-of-morning-172097799

Other firsts:

  1. http://myatheistblog.com/2013/10/30/daily-prompt-first/
  2. http://61musings.com/2013/10/30/daily-prompt-first-qigong-lesson/
  3. http://sayanything13.wordpress.com/2013/10/30/trifecta-of-naughtiness/
  4. http://thatmontrealgirl.wordpress.com/2013/10/30/daily-prompt-beginning/
  5. https://derekalanwilkinson.wordpress.com/2013/10/31/suicide-no-14-kindergarten/

Random Bizarre Banter for 6/18/14

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10. I took a past life quiz and found out that I was John Lennon—Kewl!!!

9. However, I woke up with The Long and Winding Road in my head, which is sung by Paul McCartney. Theme maybe?

8. In talking to my daughter last night, I am giving myself permission to get angry; I just don’t want to keep angry. Well, maybe in a little locked box fully loaded.

7. Sociopaths really do not care if you are angry; and if they did, if your anger doesn’t work to their advantage they really do not care.

6. I wonder if my migraines are caused by weaning off caffeine???

5. I seriously have no idea what’s going on in politics, but now I am wondering if I am really half Russian or half Ukrainian. And does it matter, as they both have intimidating, deadly mafias, and I am also half Italian???

4. Speaking of Italian, I took another quiz and the mob boss I am most like is Vito Genovese, which completely contradicts being John Lennon in a past life, but aye whattayagonnado—and KEWL!!!

3. I need to stop taking quizzes, because I am also most like the Disney Character Alice from the Wonderland and that definitely contradicts Vito, but not Lennon so– KEWL!!!

2. However in the character quiz for Alice in Wonderland, I am most like the caterpillar, which is a great fit with John and Vito. Say it with me—Kewl.

1. I am now taking applications for seasonal muses. I will need at least four. One for each season and possibly equinoxes. Must have current blood work, psychological exam and a complete understanding the job is an unpaid, on call, temp to perm position but it does have many unique benefits. If interested, inquire within and I’ll explain qualifications.

Extra Credit:

Yes these thing all ran through my mind this morning, before coffee.

Can you imagine if my brain was healthy???

                                    Love is Eternal,

                                    Bohemian Gypsy

Daily Prompt-Nosey Delights

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I write poems that incorporate scents a lot.

From the giggles of hyacinths dodging Spring raindrops that puddle on the concrete.

To the familiar scent of White Linen perfume and the leather jacket my Gram would wear when she took me shopping.

The only disappointment of my Keurig is that it doesn’t quite fill my bungalow with the aroma of coffee like my old fashioned drip pot did.

Aromas are as vital, if not more so, than shadows, hues and shades

Touch and tastes.

Symphonies of nature and Spirits.

Blend into beauty.

Prompt: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/nosey-delights/

Photo Credit: http://www.sharewonders.com/longwood-gardens-pennsylvania/

Some of my nosey neighbors:

  1. http://dragoneystory.wordpress.com/2014/07/17/daily-post-nosey-delights/
  2. http://zainabjavid.wordpress.com/2014/07/17/a-moms-favorite-smell/
  3. http://theflavoredword.com/2014/07/17/cow-shit-and-leather-old-leather/
  4. http://emilykarn.wordpress.com/2014/07/17/apple-pie/
  5. http://risingrave28.wordpress.com/2014/07/17/1511/