Exercise Your Pussy Power

You know the moment when you know that once you hang up the phone you’ll probably never speak to a person again? I had that moment today, and it got me to thinking. Is it really better to be straightforward, or should sexual advances come at an angle? I was talking to a guy today and he says to me: “So I’m just going to be straight up (note whenever guys start a sentence this way I know to strap in) I need a girl in my life that’s going to go crazy just wanting to have sex with me.” Insert long pause, uncomfortable giggle, and then my response: “Well I’m sorry ‘Guy that I just met last week’ I’m not that girl and that girl is not me



Mind you I prefer intimacy with women, so this guy was already working at a disadvantage, but his blatant display of sexual machismo was a total turn off. I have never been less interested in anyone in my life… That’s possibly a lie. I have to wonder do heterosexual women go for that?  Is that all it takes these days for a man to receive sex? If so that’s sad. Are women still setting the standard? Finally I have to ask, do I look easy, are have all women just become easy? It’s offensive. It hurts to see a man reduced to a douche bag. It makes me want to get my life together more, or consider having Iyanla fix it. I am not a whore! I am sexually aware, and I don’t need to be weaseled into putting out.  

 The thing is, at least for me, taking me to dinner and a movie is not perquisite to getting the snatch. I’m not interested. And the truth is that the women (and one guy) who have had experienced me sexually never had to be “straight up” to get it. I’m not a rubrics cube there is no secret code to my vagina. I share myself with whom I feel moved to share myself with. That’s where my autonomy lies. People will be attracted to me. That’s none of my business. Who I choose to lay with is. Today I control who receives the gift of the pink and it won’t be this guy! Thanks for stopping by, and let’s talk again soon!


Follow your heart…or is it your Nose?

I told myself a few days ago that if I were to loose my nose ring, (I had pierced all of five days) I would be totally devastated! Well I lost my nose ring tonight. Literally; I was walking down the street, I sneezed, and just like that my nose ring and pieces of my nose belonged to the streets of New York City. For a few seconds I was actually devastated. That is until I decided to weigh my options. I could either stand on the dark street talking to myself and looking at the ground, or I could choose to stop and step into my options. There are always options. So I stopped. I paused. I asked myself: “What are my options?” Just like that the solution came: “Get on the train and go to the place you were pierced. Ask for a new nose ring.


 ( prior to losing the nose ring)

I did just that. While on the train a million things went through my head like what if they’re closed? What if they try to charge me? What if my nose closes between now and the train ride over?


Once I arrived at the shop I awkwardly took to the stairs and to my delightful surprise they were open. I explained my situation.  The owner’s response was: “That’s fine but it will cost you five dollars.” My response was: “I don’t have that, but I tipped you when I had my nose pierced five days ago (shrugs).” He decided that he could not part ways with the five dollar ring. He could however give me a less expensive less hard to part ways with ring instead. Once he slid the ring in it was a perfect fit! It’s also bigger than the last one so people will know that I actually have my nose pierced. As I was leaving the owner suggested that I be careful because the ring could slip out easily. “Oh more easily than the one that flew out of my nose with the ease of a sneeze, (I thought), I doubt it.”



 (the new nose ring)

The thing is, at least for me; sometimes life can be like losing a nose ring, unexpected and upsetting.  What I learned tonight is that if I can remember that there are several solutions to every problem, then I just may see that everything works for the benefit of my being. My new nose ring fits my nose like a glove. I won’t be wearing a band aid on my nose tonight. More importantly, I won’t be sleeping with constant fear of losing something that means a lot to me. It’s a valuable lesson learned, and hopefully I will remember it the next time I lose something like a dollar, or a friend, or anything that feels irreplaceable when it’s gone until it’s replaced by exactly what I need. Thanks for stopping by and let’s talk again soon. 

No Church In The Wild

Last night I went out. Going out for me is such a task because to me, the partying experience can be so empty. I started the night out to the tone of sarcasm. People were standing outside of the party venue. I was thirty minutes late, so I made the mistake of asking if there was any particular reason why everyone was waiting in the hall? Of course there’s always that one person who uses sarcasm as a tool to make people feel inferior because secretly they feel unworthy themselves; I ran into that person. She was like “no we’re just standing here.” Why! Why not just say we’re waiting for the party to start. It pissed me off, but the pressure to play it cool was on. The stakes were so high! My insides screamed “this bitch.” Externally I just giggled and said “hump funny.”

Once I finally got into the actual space, the smell of weed and sage were so strong that I thought I may have to literally grab the air to avoid choking. But I knew I was in the right place once I saw the girl wearing the earrings shaped like a map of Africa (lesbian chic). “Oh here we go I thought.” I sat my coat behind some couch. I had twenty minutes of dancing in before the small space became packed with people. We were stampeding through one another for space. It was a mess (or signs of a successful party whichever you prefer).

party (Me at the party trying to snap my way to happiness)

I received a text from a friend inventing me to a house party a block over and I decided to grab my coat and leave. As I was walking out of the place someone I knew who was waiting on line asked: “so how is it in there?” The part of me that wanted to say girl a shitty mess resisted. I could literally feel people depending on my answer to preempt the experience that they were about to have. Instead my response was: “I hope you like bodies, because it’s packed in there!” Then I proceed to attend the next party, which was no better than the first. The only obvious difference about this party was that these people were heterosexual (boring).

The thing is; the fact that people gather together to celebrate and sweat is a beautiful thing to me. Still, when I see people bumping each other, being hostile, sarcastic, or just plain ole mean to one another I question the point of our gathering. When did partying stop being about the party? When did an intended joyous event just become a provided space for hostility and pea-cocking? Whatever the answer I’m bored and I’m tired of leaving parties feeling shitty…Later on in the night as I was walking back home with aching knees, hurting feet, and an empty spirit. It occurred to me. That feeling shitty is an option. Be it from partying or anything else, it’s a choice. In regards to partying I can stop. It clearly doesn’t work for me. At least according to last night’s experience. Thanks for stopping by let’s talk again soon.

Breath (A Poem by Me)

Unemployed and Uncertain

I heard someone say that money is just a tool to be used to produce the life I want. I thought it was an amazing perception about money. I found myself wondering, which was most important, what I do, how much I earn, or both?  I have a college degree. Yet, the professional sector looks at a person like me and knows right away that I am not qualified for their positions. It makes my LinkedIn profile less impressive, but it is fine with me. Still, in a world where what I do seem to be directly proportional to who I am, it makes me feel a bit uncomfortable when my response to my employment status is: “Oh I am gainfully unemployed. The job search is so competitive, got to practice that aggressive patience!” I spend so much time trying to sugar coat what I do. I never actually have the opportunity to ask myself what is that I want. I have to say too that it’s interesting how many people become impressed by the fact that sometimes I serve as an teacher’s assistant at CUNY. Here’s a picture below of me with my students.


I wonder still would they be impressed to know that in my spare time I am one of many welfare recipients. Here’s a picture of me at Food Stamp office trying to renew my stamps.


The truth is, most of the time anyway, I am not trying to be “somebody” so that I can celebrate myself. I feel pressured to be “somebody” because someone taught me that that’s what makes me a valuable person. Having a day time job with great benefits was a dream that was handed to me. It’s not my dream, and I don’t knock anyone whose dream it is. Still, what I am learning is that real value for me develops from pursuing my dreams. It’s amazing how joyous and abundant life becomes when I spend my energy moving towards what make my individual dream more tangible. This means that I write. I perform. I watch the seasons change. I am present. I buy flowers. My job today is to put as much into the day as I get out of it. Words help me do that and I will find my way. It feels amazing too that finally I can ask myself; “Well what do you want?”  I trust the answers will come. Thanks for stopping by, and let’s talk soon.

The great debate

I am a poet. More recently, the idea of using my blog as a platform to share my poetry as well my thoughts made me uncomfortable. That is, until I realized that poetry is thought.

This is me at work creating a poem: Image


This is what I wrote; it’s called Freedom Writer: 

I want to write myself free.

I want my words to be here long after me.

I want to use words to say what I can’t…I want to use words to do what I won’t.

I want my words to get angry for me. I want words to tell my story.

I want my words to say how I feel… I want my words to keep it real… when I don’t know how.

I want my words to speak when I can’t open my mouth.

I want to write myself free.

I want my words to find me. I want my words to out me,

I want my words to shout me! “Do Something!”

I want my words to tell stories to open ears.

I want words to be the reason that I’m here.

I want my words to release me.

I want my words to make me real, and…

I want to write myself free!

I want my words to entice imaginations. I want my words to inspire creation.

I want my words to be bigger than wrong and right. I want my words to speak… truthfully,

I want to write myself free.

I want my words to speak. I want my words to scream!

I want my words to say what I’m afraid to.

I want to write myself free… I want my words to free me,

I want my words to be here for eternity. 

The things is, for me at least, sometimes living in this world as an adult is like living in a box marked “do not exit.” I find that the world is constantly trying to define me.The real truth is that my person extends beyond the confines of a metaphorical box, but the box is  the world’s way of being comfortable with my existence. Still, there is so much more to me than what can be felt on the surface. Poems help me to delve into that “more,” and see more of me. I don’t know if any one can relate, but poetry sets me free, and I would be missing out on sharing a great part of myself if I didn’t include it on this blog. That’s why it’s here. Thanks for stopping by and I’m sure we’ll talk soon.  

Awkward Awakenings

Hello and welcome to the mind of me. I’m Brittaney by the way. This is me (see below)Image

Awkward black girl meets Oprah Winfrey aspirations, and I’m a mess. The thing is I am twenty-six years old, and I don’t know who I am. Which is  different from saying I don’t know myself, because I know where I’m from, how I was raised, my educational background, etc… but I don’t know who I am. I figure that maybe this blog could be a beginning, a way of finding out. Because I know that writing can serve as a map. My friend Sarah started blogging about her weight loss journey and now she’s eighty pounds lighter. Plus she has a man. I’m not suggesting that by blogging she magically transformed. What I am saying is that a beginning in writing is a beginning in living; that’s because writing exposes us. It sorts out the rubble.

So what’s my blog about? Simple really. My blog is about me. It’s about what I experience and how I see the world. It’s about my lack of knowledge about myself, and it’s about time I share it. Hopefully you’ll get something out of it. Or at minimum at least be entertained. Ideally this is the beginning of a no holds bar exploration of an Awkward black girl meets Oprah Winfrey aspirations who’s on a mission to self discovery. Enjoy and thanks for stopping by.