Funny Conversations Between Friends: This Text Thread Deserves To Be Famous

Between Sadie and several of my other hilarious friends, I am always laughing. Well, usually…

What I am saying is I have funny friends. And we say funny things. We have funny conversations.

 

Read on.

 

Betony I’m fooling myself in thinking wearing mascara to therapy is a good idea aren’t I?

 

Jasmine Totally

 

Betony Well. YOLO?

 

Jasmine Best fucking text convo ever.

 

Betony I’ll be doing raccoon impressions on the corner of West & Dickson. Peace out.

 

Jasmine You realize I am going to blog this, right? It deserves to be famous.

 

Betony I am fodder for you my dear.

 

Jasmine You are so much more than fodder.

 

 

Much later

Betony Haaay. I ‘m sending you and instant bucket of calmies. 

Jasmine What the hell is that?

Betony Its like an imaginary smoothie if chill out you get to pour on little folk who are running amok. I’m using loads today. 

Betony I made it up.

Jasmine Lol, Am I running amok or are you?

Betony Well my kids are, aren’t yours?

Jasmine A bit. I am more bored than they are. 

Betony Hand print turkeys? That’s my last resort. Heh

Jasmine Think we are headed to the movies…

 

Much much later

Jasmine Happy white people stole more shit that didn’t belong to them day ;)

Betony Sweet potato pieeeeeee

Jasmine Pecan Pie over here

Betony Have you seen the “girl you’re giving me goosebumps parody on YouTube yet?

Jasmine My hands smell like ham

Betony That could be considered risque in some circles

Jasmine Not because I put my hand in my vagina

Jasmine … wait. My vagina does NOT smell like ham…

Betony That is not at all what I was thinking.

Betony I am happy for you?

 Betony Ham Wallet.

Betony Hahahahaha

Jasmine Ham wallet lol!!

Betony I think the whole quote is “vulcanize the whoope stick in the ham wallet.”

Jasmine Lol. Barf. 

Did Morgan Freeman Just Piss Me Off?

I am sure y’all are worried. OF all the people I have picked a fight with you are thinking….”this woman had better NOT be bad mouthin’ our beloved Morgan Freeman.”

It is true. I am about to open a can on Morgan Freeman. I feel a little insecure about it, because, you know, he has played the voice of God and all… but when it comes down to doing what is right you just have to do what is right.

Garrett was reading me a quote from Politico.com the other day. He exclaimed, “Jasmine! Morgan Freeman said Barack Obama isn’t the first Black president.” I shrugged thinking that OF COURSE Politico.com misquoted the undeniably amazing Mr. Freeman, because no asshole would say something like that out loud… or at least to be quoted. I grabbed my laptop and followed Politico’s source, NPR, and as it turns out Morgan Dead-to-me Freeman DID say what was sited.

Now, let me clarify that I have put up with this bullshit my whole life. I have dealt with being called “high yellow” the girl with the “good hair” and not being “black enough.” My mother is Belgian and Cherokee and my father is African American. My birth certificate says African American. I was raised as a Black woman with proud Black and African American roots– though I’ve fought hard to be respected as such. I got the shake down from both sides. I was never white enough for the White people and never black enough for the Black people. I have been told that I don’t sound Black, my nose doesn’t look Black, and I just don’t seem Black… not that I ever knew what any of those things even meant. But when Morgan Fucking Freeman decides to weigh in on the conversation and say we have NOT had our first BLACK president, but that we’ve only had our first MIXED RACE president, I am prone to pull the bullshit card.

Bullshit Morgan Freeman. Bullshit.

I watched African American Lives 2, Morgan. I learned, right along with the other fascinated  PBS viewers, that your slave lineage has some “mixed race” as well. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. totally outed you, man.  So do we get to call you a mixed race actor? Do you get a lower ranking in Essence Magazine because you are not “Black”, but just “mixed race”. More to the point, I am pretty sure Bill Clinton and all the other White presidents have “mixed race” and so technically President Obama isn’t the first “mixed race president.”  I am not trying to enforce the one drop rule, but I am saying  DUDE. MORGAN FREEMAN!… BARACK OBAMA is black. No one is hatin’ on you or reframing your heritage because you have some Indian cheekbones in your lineage.

I think what you meant to say to NPR is that you are a racist. Like so many other people you look at other African Americans with distinct Caucasian heritage and label them as “not Black” or “not Black enough.” I am pretty sure that is the very definition of racism. You are engaging in racial hierarchy and you need to knock that shit off.  You make it hard for people like me and Barack to enter into the race conversation because we automatically get disqualified. We don’t carry the “Black card”. It is sad, Morgan Freeman, that you moved from my “People I want to narrate my life list” to  my “Racist Assholes” list.

We BLACK PEOPLE (YES WE) have a hard enough time in society, Morgan. Can we stop with the inter-minority racism? It doesn’t help anyone’s cause. You were interviewed by MSNBC back in 2005 about race:

“The actor says he believes the labels “black” and “white” are an obstacle to beating racism.

“I am going to stop calling you a white man and I’m going to ask you to stop calling me a black man,” Freeman says.

Well , Morgan Freeman. It seems as though seven years time was enough time for you to decide that “beating racism” wasn’t so much for you and that you’d join the likes of my racist   junior high peers who called me “Oreo.”

Knock that shit off, Morgan Freeman.

 

Are You Teaching Your Daughter to Diet?

Some of my most detailed childhood memories of my mom were of her dieting. She is still dieting today. I remember her talking about the macrobiotic diet and how she had already lost ten pounds, I remember her using B12 “because it revs your metabolism”. She was a phen phen user, swore off bread, and frequently did the cabbage soup diet. I remember my mom as beautiful and strong. I never understood, as child, why she was dieting. She’d use words like fat, chunky, and overweight to describe herself. “I feel disgusting,” was a commonplace descriptor she’d use when referring to her body. I remember choosing Yoplait yogurt as a kid because I saw mom doing it, because it would help me be “skinny”.

 

I was watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta the other day.

I KNOW!

You are SO surprised at my taste in classy entertainment!

So I was watching the RHOA and it was the scene where Kim was getting a body wrap. She was waddling through the house with these wrappings on and saying she hated fitness but loved to lose weight. She made her way out to the pool where her daughter was sun bathing and shouted, “do I look skinny yet?”

This is the message she is sending to her daughter. Here you might be thinking, “oh Jasmine… here you come with your judgey attitude. Tsk Tsk!” To that I say: YOU bet your ass I am going to judge her! Children, even Kim Zolciak’s children learn about their bodies and their value through there parental figures. This isn’t the only source of identity formation but it is one of the most powerful ones. A young girl sorting out her value sees her mother ask, “am I skinny yet” as if skinny is the apex.

I am not saying the other extreme is doing kids any favors either. I saw my mom binge eat and lay around for years and it impacted me as deeply as her diet mentality did.

Kids overhear things, they observe things, and they integrate things from our lives into their own. It does impact how they see themselves in the world.

I want to give my kids the gift of health and wholeness. I want to show them that your size doesn’t determine your quality of life, that healthy movement is the way to go. I want us to celebrate the beauty of food- not punish ourselves with it.

Ladies,

don’t teach your daughters how to diet.

 

 

 

[photo credit]

Training Day

We are two weeks from closing on our new house (gasp gasp sputter fall over!) and as the date draws ever nearer I find myself in this weird mix of emotions. I am beyond excited, but trying not to be too excited since you never know what may happen in two weeks. I am ready to start packing but am afraid that if I do and test the universe, the universe will come around and bite me in the behind, so I only pack strange assortments of things, like the drawer of puzzles. So that way if the universe comes around looking to see what I am doing I can just say “Me? Packing? Noooo, I am just organizing and moving the things the kids don’t use…..promise!” And the universe will be fooled by that. I am excited to have a new space to decorate and create in, but don’t want to start any of that until we know what is happening. Again, with the universe. I hate her sometimes.

Mostly, I am in a weird limbo, waiting but not waiting, running forward in my mind and staying still in my body. It is annoying and I am pretty well ready to be done with this.

A thought occurred to me yesterday afternoon as I was getting ready to take some of the kids’ old things to a consignment sale. We have lived in our current house for five years now, plenty of time for the neighbors to become accustomed to me and weirdness. But when we move, I will have a whole new set of neighbors to break in. That is a scary thought. It has been alot of work these last five years, training my neighbors to understand that yes, I am crazy, but in a mostly amusing way, certainly nothing harmful or to be worried about. I mean sure, I don’t understand the concept of de-icer on a car window and prefer to smack futilely at ice on my windshield for twenty minutes (without gloves on). I regularly walk around outside in my pajamas at all hours of the day, including but not limited to breakfast time, lunch time, dinner time and bedtime. I just like my jammies. I admit sometimes I run from my bedroom to the other bathroom in the nude because I forgot a towel again and during these jaunts I pretend that no one can see in my windows, and I appreciate that my neighbors pretend the same, thankyouverymuch. And I am not much for planning, as evidenced in the countless times I have tried to fit large objects in my car, objects like strollers, chairs, huge boxes, and as was the case yesterday, a mondo dollhouse. In the place of planning I like to stand out in my driveway cursing and stomping around, trying to figure out how to fold up the stroller or take the stupid dollhouse apart.

This is just how I operate. I am done trying to change, and I have full faith that my neighbors have come to accept me as well. But sheesh, I have all new people to begin training to avoid accidentally glancing in my windows, pretend my jammies are real clothes, and look the other way when I am wrestling (and losing) with a giant dollhouse.

The task is daunting I tell you.

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