Just Another Girl On The IRT

Freestyle musings from a pseudo-intellectual hellcat in high heels with Huxtable aspirations in a ghetto fab world. Proudly sponsored by bouts of bitchy mood swings, one too many swigs of Turning Leaf, the letters F & U and the madness that is the Rotten Apple.

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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Work in progress. Neurotic. Daydream believer. Bookworm. Addicted to the arts. Stubborn. Spoiled rotten. Lefty in more ways than one. Pop culture whore. Equal opportunity hater. Kid at heart.

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Friday, July 15, 2005


The young and the cluelessOnce the temperature dances above 75°, the first pangs of summer fever send women out in a frenzy to strip down and show off. The seasonal alarm isn't only extended to the "grown and sexy" but also to the "underaged and fresh" who want to follow in the stiletto-heeled footsteps of those older, though not necessarily wiser.

It wasn't too long ago that I teetered on the edge of two steps past precocious as a Bubbalicious-smackin' young'un myself. Still sheltered and sweet masquerading as sophisticated n' sassy, ready to push the envelope with off-the-shoulder tops and hemlines that zoomed higher than a cherry bomb on the Fourth of July. Nowadays, the bar has been raised with an open market of bared midriffs, legs, arms, backs, asses and every crevice in between at a street corner near you.

Seeing toddlers walk hand-in-hand with their moms for a mani/pedi isn't just a novelty anymore. The most jarring aspect to the sluttification in teenage girls is now the mothers are becoming willing participants in allowing their daughters walk around like potential video hoes.

Picture this, downtown Brooklyn, strolling down Fulton Street. Sashaying out of Jimmy Jazz was a mother and daughter duo in almost matching outfits. Lycra capris that were tight enough to show the imprint of a fart, tube tops which resembled a sausage casing straining to keep the cleavage intact and rhinestoned wedges. The little girl appeared no older than 12. Is it any wonder why it's the most wonderful time of year for pedophiles everywhere? R. Kelly's parked in front of a McDonaldland playground, trapped in a wet dream right about now.

In a post-Britney world, it's hard to just let kids be kids when pop culture celebrates the nymphet that walks the delicate tightrope of sexuality as exploitation. As much as the media gets blamed for beaming in negative imagery, they aren't the only ones who a finger should be pointed at. It isn't Viacom whose taking these tweens to the nearest Wet Seal or G&G to dress up like their favorite TRL star. Women have to take responsibility for setting boundaries for their children. I put the onus squarely on the mothers in particular because just as a female can't adequately teach a boy to be a man the same way a father could – the same rules apply vice versa.

We can't sit idly by and send them out in a whore's uniform then play dumb, deaf and blind when they begin falling in with "the wrong crowd" and suffer the consequences of being equipped with a PG-13 mindset in a rated-R game geared to adults.

Let's not only focus our efforts to wage campaigns about taking back the music. Let's take back our innocence at the grassroots level with the errant cousin, the sister, the niece, the goddaughter, best friend's child — before it's too late.

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link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 2:01 AM |

Blogger Rell commented at 7/18/2005 09:35:00 PM~  

It starts with us, the black men.

We have to stand up and stay in the homes with the children we create.

It's a cyclical issue... and we've got to stop the cycle at it's beginnings -- the extermination of the black male.

Blogger Berry commented at 7/28/2005 06:39:00 PM~  

...and let the church say AAAAAAAMMMMMEEEENNNNNNNN!!!!

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