Saying Goodbye to My Blog “Reckless Acts of Punctuation”

BOOKS!
BOOKS! There only so much I can say about them, apparently.

When I started this blog in May 2013, I envisioned it as a word nerd’s lair. Book reviews and adjectival clauses and discussions on Roland Barthes galore! And then I actually started writing the blog regularly. I quickly found that there are not enough words in my vocabulary to talk about writing topics ad infinitum.

The subjects that filled my mind instead were much more interesting to me. I wrote about being a petite girl with belly bulge. I broke down my problem with using the terms Uncle Tom and Aunt Jemima too conveniently. And I even was asked to write about how feeling bullied at the birth of my daughter later gave me strength to stand up for myself.

Someone told me when I first started blogging that my voice would find me, but I first had to speak. And now, at the end of the year, I do believe I’ve found my writing voice. I am deeply invested in writing about how race and popular culture influence our lives; in offering a balanced perspective to issues many find polarizing; in letting my nerdy flag fly because my culture includes nerd culture; in describing the poignancy and anguish that we encounter just by living.

Confession: I have no idea what Reckless Acts of Punctuation really means. I made it up and it sounded like a good idea at the time. 

Phew! That felt kind of good to get off my chest, because I means that I don’t have to attempt to focus the blog on what I think my own title might mean. So, I have been brainstorming for months about a new title. That deluge of thoughts led me to ponder a new look entirely, a free-standing domain name, and that brings me to this:

I’m excited to announce that on January 1, 2014, this blog will cease to exist under the title “Reckless Acts of Punctuation.”

Santa came early and fixed me up new digs at a completely different URL and with a cleaner design. I will continue posting here for the next 11 days, but this site will go dark on December 31 to get its own makeover for my freelancing business. I won’t reveal the name of the “new” blog until January 1.

If you like what I’ve been writing here for the past eight months, then I hope you’ll follow me to my new website. The content and the writer will be exactly the same. 🙂 If you are currently subscribed, then your subscription will transfer automatically. There’s so much to read out there; I am humbled and delighted that you stop by my little house of words. Gracias, my peoples.

Do you have any exciting things planned for 2014? A new haircut? A move? Spill the beans! 

Wading Through Grief One Tear at a Time

Last night I saw my grandmother in my dreams (she passed away on October 5, 2013). I had moved to a new home and stood watching a honey-toned, elderly woman rock on a porch swing across the street. She looks like Grandma…wait, no, that’s her sister! 

And when my dreamself realized that I had a piece of my grandmother back close to me, I ran out of my house, overjoyed. She was headed through her own door when I saw her begin to fall.

And before I could reach her, the edges of my dream faded into the light of morning. I woke up, devastated; I haven’t cried from dreaming in ages. Grief leaks out of the fissures in your subconscious sometimes and drenches you when you thought you were finally done wading in it.

My dream illustrated to me that I still miss my grandmother deeply. I don’t know how much I needed the reminder.

Pretty Helps and Hurts: Examining Internet Beauty Bias

I hate the color pink. It is Pepto Bismol branding for girls and women, assigned to us before we were born. We are bred into choosing pink by virtue of the clothing put on us from infancy. Rebel that I am, my favorite color has long been the shade of blue most like the Gulf of Mexico at sunset. I used to avoid wearing pink until I admitted that it complemented my shade of brown.

But I still hate pink in principle, if not in practice.

For the past month, I have been shopping for WordPress templates to give the blog a makeover. (More news on that coming soon!) The world of blog design is a wide and wondrous place, with dozens of flashy offerings clamoring for a click the minute you enter the search term, “WordPress template.” Choosing the right one is not so easy. From what I’ve read, web development is still a very male-centered field and the landscape reflects that.

~Here’s how to recognize a Guy Blog: lots of angular shapes, bold use of screen space, primary colors, focus on the utility of the website.
~Here’s how to recognize a Girl Blog: Pink. Lots of it. Everywhere. Roundness and circular icons. And ribbons and polka dots and pastels.

Le sigh. What is a pink-phobic girl who doesn’t want a masculine Guy Blog to do? I have searched blog demo after demo hoping to find functional, attractive sites that do not scream Girl Blog with “pops of pink” offending my eyes. But most blog templates that advertise themselves as feminine don’t skimp on the femme. Strangely enough, I find them beautiful, oohing and aahing and wistfully sighing at whimsical clip art.

So what’s the problem? I write about life, race, culture, and occasional nerd activities, subjects that appeal to both genders; the design should reflect the message. Honestly, I am afraid that if I make my site too pretty, men won’t read it. My friend calls girly sites “cupcake blogs” and this-blog-right-here, as you well know, is not about cupcakes. As much as I love them. I am of the belief that if a guy sees something feminine, he will click the X button faster than Olivia Pope drops drawers for President Fitzgerald Grant. I’ve heard men say they will avoid something just because women like it.

Not on your life.

I think that men and women, including myself, dismiss pretty things as trivial. Recently, I was watching a What Not to Wear episode that featured a cute, curvy woman (Vanessa) who dealt with the insecurity of having a willowy model for a younger sister. Throughout the show, Vanessa, a chemist, threw subtle, almost subconscious shade toward her sister and other attractive women. She said (paraphrasing), “I thought if you put a lot of effort into looking pretty, you must not have a hard job. If you are pretty, people won’t take you seriously and will think you’re not smart.” Or: you only got where you are because you’re pretty.

As problematic as those statements are, I admit to sharing some of those misgivings. I am just coming around to dabbling in “girly-girl” trifles after spending much of my adolescence and adulthood emphasizing intellect over eyeshadow. My concern is for people who would encounter my blog, see “pops of pink” and dismiss me offhand as a woman who doesn’t “have a hard job.” Or assume I write just for women. I am spinning my wheels trying to market myself as guy-friendly but still womanly enough to be me.

Ultimately, I have made my peace with my girl parts. Whatever blog design I choose will be reflective of my personality, which is apt to gush over fantasy football and nail polish in the same breath. Just know that there will be no baby’s breath clip art on my site. And no pink. 

So, ladies and gents, be honest with me. Do you frequent any “cupcake blogs” and does the notion of a pretty website turn you off? Am I off in my assessments? 

3 Reasons Men Shouldn’t Hate Independent Women

If thou knowest not, thou shouldst ask somebody.

Ever since Destiny’s Child gave women a titular anthem to declare their independence, so-called Independent Women have had a bad reputation in the black community. The result of the misconception has been a “conversation” where men and women talk around the subject of independent women, casting blame and dodging accusations.

But what if, this whole time, our talking in circles has caused us to miss the central point about love and relationships? There are three reasons why I believe men shouldn’t hate independent women.

Read more at Up 4 Discussion…

Dooky Twists + Farts: Can Women Keep it Funky in Love?

I plead the filth.

Generally comfortable in my own skin, I have never been a glam girl who “puts on her face” every time I leave the house. I see a lot of #nakedface posts on Instagram and I chuckle because my naked face is my default, rather than a marked occasion. I actually have to remind myself that it’s okay to put on makeup sometimes.

But wise women before me have said that there is something valuable in deliberately making yourself attractive for your mate. When we are courting–not formally, but the act of wooing another person–we pull out all the stops. The shoes shine. Those fuzzy edges get the Chilli baby hair treatment. We whip out that special perfume never worn except in moments like these, for whip appeal.

Classic black girl dooky twists, the start of beautiful things.

Working from home has a way of turning every last bit of my black girl down. If I’m not stepping outside the house, what do I need to dress up for? Dooky twists are my go-to sleep style to avoid knotted-up hair in the morning; but some days, I do not bother to unravel the fat two-strand twists poking out from my head. On braid days, I channel Cynthia from Rugrats. The other day, I kissed my husband hello as he came home from the lab. My hair looked a wreck. I had intended to fix myself up, but the time slipped away while I worked. The next time he saw me 10 minutes later, I had a fluffy twistout and lip gloss popping. I felt foolish, like I belatedly shouted, “Surprise!” to someone who already unwrapped all the presents.

Which brings me to this question: How do married women navigate keeping their sexy while still keeping it funky?

I’m sure that my jeans-cami-bed hair uniform is not what Beyonce was talking about when she said, “I woke up like this” in her new song, “Flawless.”  But this nonchalance is what love has blessed me with, the ability to live in my own skin with him, without apology. Sometimes, I forget to pretend to be bashful when I fart in front of him. And other times, I truly do feel embarrassed; um, my bad, babe, that one really did just slip. What mystique is there left to hide from someone who has peeked under the hood, rumbled the engine, and driven the car cross-country?

On the flip side, a couple of my friends went to a conservative college where they took a womanly course advising them to:

rearrange the furniture for their man’s visual delight;
line the children up stairstep-style to greet Dad at the door;
keep yourself alluring to him with makeup;
make sure dinner is hot when he sits down.

The result of my beloved dooky twists (before I cut it all off). And my usual #nakedface.

Those are all wonderful suggestions to make a husband feel special in his own home. At the same time, I wonder about the long-term viability of rushing to put on foundation and concealer in the morning before he wakes up. Flawless? I woke up like this. (Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline?) The concept of narrowing beauty to something women adorn themselves with can leave little room to face one’s mirror and one’s lover and say: Naked, I am yet loveable.

I have this conversation with myself occasionally and never come to a solid conclusion. “Keeping it funky” is a layered phrase to me: 1) keeping it entirely real, farts, dooky twists and all; 2) spicing it up. Ultimately, I think that the balance between dolled up and comfy is an ongoing negotiation for me. I will keep plaiting my hair à la Cynthia to avoid split ends–non-negotiable. But it can be utterly fun and empowering to randomly slip on something eye-catching for an audience of one. Last week, I dressed up to work from home in leggings and a shirt that barely iced the top of my cakes. I moisturized my situation from head to toe and greeted him smelling like a chocolate candy cane.

He noticed. For the win.

How do you feel about the “comfy stage” of relationships? What’s your approach to keeping it funky–farts or otherwise?