It’s Big Fat Flea Time!

It’s Big! It’s Fat! It’s Fabulous!

Okay, what on earth is Raivenne raving about you ask? Why I’m so glad you did!

On Sunday, May 13, 2012, The Big Fat Flea will be holding its rummage sale!

The Big Fat whatchootalkinbout Willis?

The Big Fat Flea (formerly The Fat Girl Flea Market), is an amazing all-gender inclusive fatshion rummage sale that just happens to also be an amazing fundraiser for NOLOSE.   This event is NOLOSE‘s biggest fundraiser, with all proceeds directly benefiting their work to end body oppression. Plus sizes of all genders get to shop fabulous items for a bargain and get to do a little philanthropy in the process.

It’s a win/win!

What kind of bargains you ask? Oh please, let me show you!


Yes, this is what I look like after molting (click for full size).

These two dresses were originally from Igigicom.  Igigi has fabulous clothes for us big gals, but they are not exactly on the cheap side. Each gown retailed for nearly $200 on the website. I purchased each maxi at the Flea for  – hold on to your girdles girlies – $10 each! Yes, ten dollars – each.  I also purchased really some cute tops/skirts and accessories at the Flea. And because I could I also bought the most God-awful, beaded monstrosity of a sweater for no other reason to have it for the next “ugly sweater” contest. Essentially, I easily bought close to $600 worth of clothing (retail), for barely $100. Now that, my dear people IS A BARGAIN!

I have participated with the Big Fat Flea in the past, simply as a shopper. Last year, I went a step further and volunteered to help organize/prepare for the event.  I had such a fabulous experience and met some amazing people in the process. I loved it so much that I wanted to cry when I thought I might miss the chance to do so this year, but I am happy to say the philanthropic (and shopping), deities have smiled upon me and I will donating my time, energy to help out again this year.

Unlike before when it was The Fat Girl Flea Market, available only to the ladies, this year it is opened to all genders. Thus the name change to Big Fat Flea because After all, no matter how we identify, we all want to look good and to be able do so at a bargain is just icing on the cake.

I’m guessing right about now some of you are at the point of – yeah well that’s all nice for you and all, but how do “I” get in on all this fatshion goodness?

Here’s the nitty-gritty :

  • Be in New York City next weekend.
  • Have cash – the Big Fat Flea does not take credit cards.
  • Show up Sunday, May 13th from 12pm-7:30pm at the NYC LGBT Community Center- 208 West 13th Street, NYC on the 3rd floor. There are elevators and the space is wheelchair accessible.
  • Pay a $10 entrance fee (remember, this is a fundraiser after all).
  • SHOP!

But wait there’s more!

Noticed the words rummage and flea (as in market), being bandied about here? There’s a reason. Yes, plus-sized clothing stores and private plus-size designers donate items to the Big Fat Flea, but the bulk of the clothing comes from us the fat folk shoppers who know just how hard it is to find good stuff in our sizes. You bought those fabulous pants and without trying them on first, ripped the tags off because you know they’ll fit. Two weeks later you’re ready to wear them and only then do you realize they don’t fit they way you thought. Not that I would ever have personal knowledge of such a scenario (cough).  Naturally, the store won’t take them back and they’ve sat in your closet ever since. They are perfectly fine pants,  I -er- you just can’t wear them – donate them and make someone else who has coveted but couldn’t get to the store in time to purchase them happy! Have that fabulous dress you wore once or twice, but know you’re never wearing again – donate! Hey, it’s spring – now’s a good time to go through that closet and donate your clean clothing sizes Large and up to the cause and get some replacements at bargain prices.

For more information on shopping and donating at the Big Fat Flea check out their Facebook and FAQs pages.

And last, but not least – I’ll be working there – now how’s that for incentive?

Reading Raivenne

When the Book of Me was fully open to the life of you, it was tough handling what was written on those really private pages wasn’t it?  Now that the private section is closed off to you, it’s tough not always knowing what’s written there. Especially, the private parts you think may be about you.

Sucks for you, huh?

And what if there are? Private parts written about you…

I could tell you that there is nothing concerning you, but it’s me, with a history of you. We both would know that for a blatant lie. A part of you is always going to be in that very private section of me.

I could tell you a truth that may have something to do with you, but what could you do about it even if you wanted to? Would it assuage your curiosity? Build an even thicker wall between us?

I could mind fuck with you and tell you, yes there is something, something that I can’t tell you, knowing the curiosity of such would drive you crazy. But I couldn’t live with myself putting you through that for no reason other than Schadenfreude.And I am happy to say, I now care a hell of a lot more about who I see reflected in my mirror, than who I thought I saw reflected in your eyes.

Or I could do exactly what I did, and tell you the truth…there is nothing concerning you, that you need to know about. I know, you do not like not knowing anything that may concern you. It may bug you for a hot second, but by the time you’re reading this (if you ever do), I know you’re already over it.

(I hope) you know me well enough to realize, if it really were important for you to know, I’d tell you.

So you say you can’t read me any more, not the way you used to. Is it really that surprising? We had a long time apart and neither of us are the same people anymore. I had to quickly learn to build one bitch of a thick ass wall to function around you without falling apart. The wall held shakily at first, but it is formidable now. I don’t know how to lower it.

Besides, I don’t think I should.

When I desperately need a friend to open up a page to at 3am, your name is no longer on the short list which comes to mind. While, I may still choose tell you things others may not be privy to, you’re no longer among those few 3am-ers.  Thus you no longer have access to deep private pages written any more. And that really is a shame; for you were an excellent sounding board once.

These are the new chapters of the Book of Me.

Only time will tell if you are a continuing character…

…Or already an epilogue.

Moshing

Music blares through amplifiers
Heavy Metal
Bass line
Loud

My age shocks some
In this
Crowd

Me in the mosh
Thrashing
Proud

<>==========<>==========<>

Last week I went to an underground concert to support and critique a friend whose band was performing there. Let’s just say I could have given birth to most of the other attendees with whom I was front stage and center dancing up a storm. Conversations while different bands set up, comparing the ones performing that night to other older (sometimes much older), bands is when some realized I was not even within fifteen years of their age. As faces ebbed and flowed that night, it became something of a running gag for some whippersnapper in the know to grab a newcomer and have him or her guess my age. Yes, Advil was dear my friend the next morning, but this Mama held her own proudly that night.

Because when this mama rocks, it’s not in a chair.

A conversation I had yesterday regarding my love of head banging music reminded me of last week’s concert. I decided to immortalize it by trying another Zeno poem (Ten lines with the syllable count: 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1 and a rhyme scheme: a/b/c/d/e/f/d/g/h/d).

That it also happens to fit this weeks dVerse challenge of “keeping it small” is an added bonus. 22 words total!

dVerse ~ Pets Pub | MeetingTheBar: It’s a small, small world — so let’s LIMBO like there is no tomorrow

Living For the Art Of It..

Last night I had the pleasure to enjoy Left On Red (two beautiful, talented young ladies I am happy to call friends), perform at The Bitter End. As I sat there, bopping my head, humming along, I marveled at how my life had changed artistically.

I grew up in a home where the arts were not appreciated. My father truly could not have cared less. While my mother did enjoy a pretty picture, at least  as much as the next person, that was the end-all.be-all of her interest. Karma in, full bitch mode, lands her a daughter that adores music, creative writing and drawing. I was attempting pointillism and abstracts, metaphors and onomatopoeia a good decade before I ever heard the terms. Her favorite form of punishment was to break my pencils and tear up anything hanging on my walls. Eventually, I learned to stop  trying.

In fact, I learned it so well, that I was with my late-husband for about five years before he had any inkling I could draw. Still, I lived a relatively closed life at the time and really had no other creative people in my life.  Of course, being a mother, wife, worker etc., life itself got in the way. Okay, that’s not true, I let life get in the way. It was much easier to say I don’t have time for that nonsense, than to pick up a pencil and see if I could still do any of it. Other than painting a mural on a closet door (that’s how my late-husband final discovered my dirty little secret), I did practically nothing for nearly twenty years. Then one day in frustration with my life, I picked up a pencil and started writing. That writing turned into the first poem I had written since high school Somewhere. It was a start, but then — nothing.

It took a couple more years and the internet to finally kick-start my writing into high gear. I entered an online poetry challenge on a website that required you to write a poem based on a given phrase. I did not win, but for the first time in my life, my words were praised by people who were not related to me and whose talents I enjoyed and respected. The dam burst. Within, two years I had written nearly one hundred poems. Now I have no idea how many I’ve penned, I stopped counting after four hundred. Not all of them are gems obviously, but they are all mine.

Unlike some artistic types, I realize now I cannot live in an artistic vacuum. Like misery, my art loves company. Which is why it amuses to no end, that while my childhood was a dearth of creativity, my adulthood now overflows with it. In the past few years, I have found myself surrounded by artists. People with amazing talents and several with the guts to go for it as their life pursuit. Singers, sculptors, painters, spoken word etc. It is a complete 180 turn of events and I am loving it! Granted, I have not picked-up painting/drawing again, the way I picked up writing, but every now and then, I feel little tinges of that urge starting to take hold, so who knows…?

Someday you may own an original Raivenne artwork. You can show it off along with the hardbound edition of my poems. Go ahead and name drop that you knew me when I was just a simple web blogger among the masses.

I won’t mind.

>========<

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

Liebster Blog Award

I am pleased to have received the Liebster Award from one of my newest followers, Eva Van Pelt.  You can read some of Eva’s lovely words on her blog “Words Dripping From The Night Sky“. Thank you so much Eva, I am honored my words have touched you so deeply to give me this.

Liebster (German) is in Dutch language – Lieveling – my dearest, a word used for the one that is your most special, the one you love beyond borders.

In accepting this award, the recipient agrees to:

1. Show thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people in the Blogsphere.
5. And, lastly – have fun and spread the karma!

A difficult task to choose only five of all the amazing blogs I visit, but here they are in no specific order:

Girl Griot: If You Want Kin, You Must Plant Kin
My fellow Slice of Life-er, is a friend I just don’t get to see often enough.  Reading her rich words was one of the deciding factors in my finally choosing to blog . She is inspiring.

Andrew Wilmot: In Narro Veritas
Andrew creates worlds with his words that frighten and intrigue and captivate you. Luckily for us, that extends to more than just the written word as he is equally talented in several art forms.

Charles Mashburn: Marbles In My Pocket
I have followed Charles for a few months now. I enjoy his wonderful short stories, poetry and the daily reminder that He Is.

Bajanpoet: Poet: Whispers
A recent find, his words whisper, scream, laugh tease and pull you into them. It is almost scary how often he and I are of the same mind, in spite of the many, may miles between us.

CastingPearls: Blowing Big Bubbles
So many say they give you a piece of them when they blog. Once you read CP’s words, you will know it for the sometimes gut-busting, sometimes gut-wrenching, always heart pulling veracity it is.

Visit these wonderful bloggers and browse around, your soul will thank you.

in public passing

I reference Whitney Houston in the following as she has become the latest occurrence of that which has garnered my ire, but I mean this in deference for all troubled celebrities who pass…

Does any one remember “don’t speak ill of the dead”?

I don’t understand this vitriol that occurs whenever a fallen celebrity dies. I concede my interest in Whitney Houston of late began and ended within the length of whichever song of hers popped up on my iPod. I enjoy the beauty of her voice for however long I may (or may not) have the song on replay until I move on. She was a talented singer and that we my never her anything new from her again is a loss for those who enjoyed her singing.

Those of us that don’t find the humor of such disrespect (especially within minutes of the announcements of the person passing) and dare call the critics to task don’t know how to take a joke or are taking things too seriously. No I, like millions of other Houston fans, did not scour the Internet each day for all news Whitney. That did not make us any less of her fans or make her passing any less meaningful to us in our own little ways. The disrespect of the dead is bad enough and some also choose to also belittle the living who want to take a moment to offer their respects even if it’s only something as simple as a single line Facebook status.

Did she take a superstar career and blow it all to smithereens? Yes, no one denies that. Ninety-point-whatever of us in this world get to fuck-up in relative private and will never have our laundry out but to a select few. In this world of information overload, most celebrities don’t have that luxury and intentionally or not, Houston’s laundry was there for all to gander. Eventually, even she owned up to her mistakes. Yet, because she (and other celebrities) don’t get a chance to “redeem themselves” in the public eye, it justifies the internet critics carte blanche to spout whatever snarky bullshit they feel like in the guise of being funny. Why? Just because the dead and their grieving family will likely never read it, does not make it any less hurtful. It is not gallows humor, it is just mean. So no, I do not feel compelled to pat such behavior on the back.

Just remember whether you (the critics), become famous, infamous or not, some day you will die and someone is going to talk about you.

Let he who is without / cast…

Here goes…

Why is my brain so scattered this month?

I barely, and I do mean barely, seem to be able to focus on any specific artistic pursuit to save my life and goodness know I have more than enough things on my to do list that needs to be done. Someone asked what’s up with this blog and I was actually shocked to realize that I had posted nothing since September 8. Granted part of lack of content, as all who know me in real life are aware, is the celebration of my birth month of September. Between preparing for vacation, being on vacation and the various activities surrounding my birthday itself, September is always a whirlwind so no surprise there of the lack of content. However, the dearth of activity in October is another matter all together.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. I have. And then … crickets. No new blog entries, not even about my stay in Oregon (and I did have a wonderful time there). No work on about a dozen partially started ideas I have in the queue. I’ve written no new poems; nor have I worked on anything in progress in that realm. The blinking cursor with nothing in front of it has been a very haunting and daunting thing these past couple of weeks as I try to kick-start a muse that seems to still be on the vacation that the rest of me has returned from for already.

It really irks right now me as I am seriously considering entering NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) to finally put to pixels an idea of mine that has floated on the outskirts of my mind for several years now. I don’t know if entering NaNoWriMo will be a dismal failure if I can’t shake whatever this is that has my brain so scattered or if being forced to concentrate will be the jump-start I need. NaNoWriMo officially starts November 1, I have less than a week to decide. I will say this though, if I do plunge in, unfortunately this blog will be what suffers the most. So, for you few followers/subscribers who’ve patiently stuck through this dry spell with me thus far, I thank you so much and kindly ask for just a little more patience as I tackle this. After all nothing beats a failure, except to not even try right? And when have I not at least tried?

Hmmm, sounds like I’ve made a decision there doesn’t it?

Me Likey

Confession: Recently discovered guilty pleasure of mine?

You know that hollowed out spot just under the hip bone, but before the crease of where the leg meets the thigh, that defines the curve of the lower abdomen? I love that spot. It’s a visual erogenous zone for me especially on a male. We see it a lot on females because of bikinis and low-cut hip-hugger jeans and trousers, but it’s a hard find on the average male unless he’s a) shirtless and b) wearing his pants slung low or c) completely nude (don’t do it dude – also totally ignore the previous four words 😉 ).

I didn’t realize just how much I like that spot until an online friend posted a picture of himself and my eyes were immediately drawn there. Not his toned pecs, not his nicely muscled arms, not even the hint of “happy trail” all of which was very delectable eye candy indeed! No, my eyes were drawn to that spot just enough to be drool worthy over his pants line. And no, I most certainly am not sharing the picture here because he’d probably kill me!

In the case of that picture, the photographic angle was perfect. (To me) It looked like the deities themselves chiseled the perfect contours. It’s the duality of being a not quite public, but not quite private spot on the anatomy. Oddly enough, I prefer the visual tease of when they are clothed or half covered by a sheet/towel whatever. It always makes me want to have the pleasure of removing that obstacle from my view. It’s that last and final bit of modesty before, well — you know…

I’ve found myself looking for hints of that spot everywhere during the summer and enjoying it immensely when I do. Alas, autumn is on the horizon and all casual live shots will be gone until next spring. As to my friend who awakened this — thanks a lot for adding to my perv list dude as if I didn’t already have enough!

But for the next few weeks please excuse me while get my new-found perv on 😉

Oh Hair We Go!

A male friend (who wears locs), commented on a New York Times article regarding US Surgeon General, Dr. Regina Benjamin. The article titled “Surgeon General Calls for Health Over Hair” was commentary on how studies revealed a third of Black women exercised less because they were concerned it would jeopardize their hair. That of these women, 88 percent did not meet the CDC’s guidelines for physical activity, which is 150 minutes of moderate intensity exercise each week, or about 20 minutes a day. What pissed me off were his ending comments…


Are you one of these sisters? Real talk. Whether you rock a curly hawk or a sew-in special, we honor and respect you. Now get your sneakers and go sweat your perm out! With such an awesome task ahead of her, our hair should not have to be on Dr. Benjamin’s radar. And let’s be clear, this is not a School Daze – straight hair, natural conversation. This is a show-your-daughter-that-sweat-is-your-swagga-and hair-ain’t-your-dagger-conversation. A new priority. A paradigm shift.

I am not commenting on the merits/demerits of the surgeon general’s or the journalist’s comentary (Black women are fat ’cause they got their hair did), but on his.

You have NO idea how it pisses me the fuck off that it’s always the people with wash and wear hair and others who don’t have to deal with our hair every day always telling us what the fuck to do concerning it.

I don’t know any woman who goes to the gym regularly and only does twenty minutes of “moderate” exercise. For those of us that go to a gym to work out, WE WORK OUT. For me, if I’m not doing at least forty minutes on the floor, it’s not worth the time of changing into my sweats. Once my hair gets funky from sweating it’s funky for hours until it eventually peters out or I wash it. I planned my gym days around when I had time to at least damp wash (which is an extra maintenance time unto itself), if not to fully wash my hair.

My hair is thick, when I had it permed bone straight it took three hours to dry naturally. Yes, it only took about an hour with a blow dryer, plus whatever additional curling time if desired, but no woman in her right mind, is going to damage her hair by blow-drying it two or more times a week, every week. Not if she wants to keep her hair. And here’s the irony, even women with a weave need to have some hair to weave it to, so we can’t damage our natural hair underneath by blow-drying it constantly. Even a loctician will tell customers not to heat dry the hair, because it’s damaging. So I need to wait it out.

I currently wear braids, once wet it takes considerably more time to dry than when straight, especially if I want it curled. Even the weather affects drying time. I have washed my hair at 7pm on cold damp days and woke up the next morning at my usual 5am only to find it still damp. Every spring and fall, I risk catching colds for this reason alone. I’ve asked and a lot of my sistas wearing whose hair is long in twists, dreads and locks have similar drying time issues.

A few years ago, I wore my hair in an all-natural Afro for three months one summer. I’m not going to comment on all the societal-political ramifications from such, that’s a blog for another day, but it was the most miserable time I’ve ever had with my hair. If the wind blew strong, it was messed-up. If I leaned back in a tall chair or on the subway, it was messed-up. If I wore a hat, or pushed my sunglasses up, it was messed-up. And like most women, different parts my hair grow and behave differently than others, so sometimes it was just messed-up. I felt I was always in a mirror checking it, making sure it was nicely rounded and I don’t have time in my life for that kind of vanity.

I’m single with adult children, so I have no demands on my after work time except the ones I put on me. However, I can tell you from experience that there are not enough hours to work, commute, run errands, be mom-wife-girlfriend-lover as is, in a day. Going to the gym meant something else was being put off until another time, or I was in for a very late night. If I just spent half of my day (usually a Saturday, twice a month, when I should have been doing something else), in a salon for four or five hours and spent serious dollars for the privileged to boot, you’re fucking right I’m going to try to maintain that look for as long as possible. Even women with locs/twists have to take time to get to a loctician every couple of months or so for maintenance and I guarantee you, they are not likely to be doing ‘moderate’ exercise, let alone a full-on work out for a few days after that until it sets.

Should our hair not be an issue (read excuse), for exercise? No, it should not be, I fully concede to that, but let’s be real. Even for the regular exercise enthusiasts, the majority of the day is not spent in the gym and we have to deal what we look like when we’re not in it. We may not care what the average stranger on the street thinks, but it’s bullshit to pretend the average woman is not, on even a subconscious level, thinking about how she presents herself. And it’s equally disingenuous to pretend we’re not being measured, if not outright judged on it, down or rather up to our hair, even by the people whose opinions we may care about — our own friends, co-workers and families.

To him I say: You are not the one having to take more time out of your schedule because of return trips to the salon (or home maintenance), to get that do back in order for the next day. A month from now when your comments are relatively forgotten and you’re greeting – hugging – standing next to a woman and her hair is smelly as all get out, at that moment, you are not going to be thinking check out Sistagirl taking care of her health. You’re going to be thinking damn her hair’s funky!

We’ve all scrunched-up our noses at the woman who otherwise looked fine, but the hair wasn’t up to par and that was before we were close enough to smell it. In a perfect world every woman would look fab in whatever style that washed and dried in no time, but it’s not a prefect world. These are our realities and belittling it down to pithy sound bites because it’s not your hair apparent reality doesn’t help (our hair or our fat asses for that matter).

It Will Never Be Funny

“Nazi’ing”?!  Nazi’ing? Are you fucking shitting me?!

I saw the above on a friend’s Facebook page and had to comment.

You want to ask yourself if they have no idea of what they do. For a split-second, you’re praying they really were just that ignorant as to what they do. But the fact they created a tumblr blog page for this is indicative of their blatant complicity in it. There is no reconciliation of how culpable the Bang Bang Blog and TUKS FM radio station were for this. The non-chalant way in which this was displayed was appalling to say the least.

“Planking” and “Owling”, be they ever so marvelous examples of how inane some of us humans can be, there is relatively no harm to any one other than the individuals engaged in the stupid acts. These acts of nazi’ing insulted millions of people in one fell swoop. Millions. We have come so far in humanity and then shit like this rears its ugly head to remind us of just how far it is we have to go. We will never be far enough removed from such atrocities of humanity as the Holocaust that this will ever be in the most remote way possible humorous. The term Nazi became something foul as a noun due to the acts of many who wore that title proudly, it should never be a verb.

The good news is apparently enough people were as outraged as I about this. I did a Google search and the above page is gone. It is replaced by rexing (I’m guessing doing something that impersonates a T-Rex by the photo). Rexing is something as equally stupid looking and relatively harmless, as planking and owling, but not as reprehensible as the above.  There is some hope for us, after all, but the shame of it is that this ever existed as a source of humor (however briefly), in the first place.