In light of my recent posts, a few people from my past have stepped forth wondering if I’m referring to them. HA! Ironically, these are people I wasn’t even thinking about while writing, much less targeting my slow-simmering rage at. It still works for me, though: by thinking I’m even remotely referring to them and their actions, they expose themselves as just the kinds of people I am talking about. Smh.
All I have to say on that is this: Watch how you approach a G, y’all.
In these online rants—directed toward no one specific in most cases but everyone in general who’s ever said or thought such nonsense—I’m just telling my story. ALL of my story, and that includes the ugly parts. Those ugly parts helped me get to this point just as much as the fantastically great ones. I value my readers enough to keep it 200% real with them, and the reality is: not everything is perfect. None of this happened overnight or without extreme sacrifice and
focused effort on my part and those of many other people, too.
You don't have to like the truth I'm spitting—everything isn't for everybody. But one thing you will do is respect it.
These are powerful thoughts not everyone is ready for. But that’s not my problem in the least. So Imma continue to vent here on my blog. I know you feel me: in the past week alone, 3K+ page hits confirm that. That is validation to me that these things NEED to be said. If my words are helping another person out there feel a little less alone or crazy, then Mission Accomplished.
So anyways, I was having a convo recently with the bf about the trappings of fame. I frequently say that I never want to be famous, just rich wealthy. Especially after being recognized by the butcher in the grocery store, I just wasn’t feeling the inevitable, which is some sort of recognition. But I misinterpreted all of that as something else: fame blossoming.
I wanted no parts of it. This is what fame does to you:
Admittedly, I tune in to it on TV or via celebrity gossip sites, but in real life, fame is a nightmare to me. I want zero parts of that mess!
While we’re having this convo—with Kanye West’s Last Call playing in the background… how appropriate, lol. I can relate a lot to ‘Ye’s story—bf says something most profound: “There’s a difference between recognition and fame. A big one. Being recognized is a good thing.”
And he’s very right:
recognition – noun; the action or process of recognizing or being recognized, in particular:
• identification of a thing or person from previous encounters or knowledge
• acknowledgment of something's existence, validity, or legality
• appreciation or acclaim for an achievement, service, or ability
fame – noun; the condition of being known or talked about by many people
Recognition is defined more robustly, having a much deeper and varied meaning than simply fame.
I can dig that.
Also, recognition is the most applicable word for my situation. Not everyone reading this is the enemy; in fact, the vast majority are family, friends, and supporters. In the three years I’ve been running this blog, I’ve received one, promptly deleted angry comment a year: always from Anonymous, and always about some real-life celebrity I insulted. You guys should see the comments I got when I spoke on Janet Jackson’s cutlery cheeks, lmao. Girlfriend has some SERIOUS stans!
Talking to the former dean I referred to in my comeback post about the popularity of my blog and some of my concerns surrounding that, she also had some profound things to say. One of them was that all those page hits show that others out there can relate to my story. She reminded me that I’m very well-equipped to tell it. And what a wonderful position to be in, reaching so many people at once with two of my most powerful tools: words and the internet.
My mind was blown all over again.
Something else the dean noticed is that my face and personality is all OVA this blog. She said she doesn’t think that’s unintentional, and she’s right. Especially in IT, women like me need a voice. Some people out there don’t even know that we exist, much less what we look like or think about or the obstacles we have to overcome. Very few, if any, others in a position similar to mine seem to be speaking to and for us, leaving me to claim what is rightfully mine. Woop woop.
The dean said my story is very inspirational, and that more than a few girls and women—and boys and men, too—need to hear it. All of it.
So long story short: I’m gonna keep venting and trash-talking all over this internet, and those who feel me are gonna keep reading and relating.
Seems like a fair enough deal, no?
). He then proceeds to bone the phoenix.
Of course something like this would only happen to me, ON THE FIRST DATE. I'm fully convinced I've made a complete a$$ of myself and my date will never want to see me again... but first, I must pass out in the backseat of his car (cue Kanye West's 
You KNOW it's bad when a freakin' crackhead is telling you how to act in public!
