Black Inheritance, High School, and Breaking Bad

So.

I'm black, as you may or may not know. African-American, to be specific and lately, I've been feeling particular. I've been, as one might say, "Blacking it Up" (no, seriously Blacking it Up) and it's been... interesting to say the least. I've been picking on things that my friends or others will say regarding my blackness or blackness and general and asking myself "Hey, should I laugh at this, or is this ignorant?"

But what can I say? I'm one of ten black kids in my school and maybe even a part of a smaller minority that actually have this thought process.

I've also been thinking about bi-racial kids, too. A lot of my family is bi-racial, but I'm not. And a lot of my bi-racial family does not have the, what I like to call, black inheritance. Black inheritance is when people look at you, see that you're black, and immediately subconsciously associate bad traits with you. I'm not sure how true this is. You see, I've only come into my inheritance recently, or discovered it, rather, and I don't always have the words to describe it. My cousins who are poorer on my father's side are bi-racial and have black inheritance, but my uncle on my mom's side who is richer, does not. I think he's aware of the possibility of coming into his inheritance if he loses his money or does anything that might make him seem "black", but he is not visibly effected by it.

This is also why I have trouble making friends with bi-racial kids my age. They don't get it. They can do things white people can do with the beauty and grace of being black. It sucks, a lot. The biggest problem I have at my high school with being black is that I'm ignored. I talk to my black friends because they notice that I'm black too and we form a small cliche clique like the rest of the school does. But I don't see them that often, so the rest of the time when I'm in orchestra and everyone is talking to their own, I have to sit by myself or forcefully, awkwardly, and painfully self-aware insert myself into other peoples' conversation. They think I'm okay talking to the nine other people who will at any given point in time will initiate conversation with me or accept my invite for social interaction whenever I happen to see them when they can talk with the 97% of other white kids at my school all the time. This is some goddamn BS. Teenagers are social assholes.

Sometimes I hate being black and that perhaps ignorance is bliss. But then I realize I have the power to change it. To open peoples' eyes and hope that they spread the word that I, by some wildly improbable chance, might like to have a nice conversation with a white person my age. Maybe even be their friend. No, not their "token black" friend. A genuine Shawn & Gus, JD & Turk, bromance with lady-bits, friend.

I'm also really curious if latino people speaking spanish is in anyway similar to black people saying nigga.... It's one of those times where if it doesn't involve you, you've just gotta walk away. I've been watching Breaking Bad and people have not been doing nearly enough walking away.

Breaking Bad is the center of my rage for ign'it-ass upper-middle-class white folk who don't know how to shut the hell up about shit that don't concern them. Turn away pregnant stay-at-home mom. Your life isn't imperfect because your son is handicapped, it's 'cause you're so damn ig'nit!!! I'm only in season 1, folks. Shit just got real.

Side note: Don't get me started on white people adopting black babies.

Step 2: Actually Use Your Blog, Lifted Spirits, and Harry Potter Fanfiction

I nearly forgot I have a blog....

Silly me~!

I'm returning all thanks to my mother, who is better than yours, because she's starting up her own canning business. HuneyBeeJams.blogspot.com.

Check it out, but come right back. Or open it up in a tab or something.

Don't leave me.

Please.

I'm in better spirits than I was in my last post. That's thanks to one of my favorite podcasts My Brother, My Brother, and Me. Or, ma-bim-bam, MBMBaM, etc. The Brothers are hilarious. They search through Yahoo Answers and Formspring(?) for questions asked by A) literally, the worst people society has to offer or B) Someone who genuinely needs advice on something. They find these questions and ruthlessly mock them.

And it's hilari- wait, I said that already.

And I should be done plugging the things I love, now.

I'm writing a story. I may have mentioned it before, but I'm going to talk about it now because I'm procrastinating on this story as I am typing away on my blog rather than my actual story. This time, it's a fanfic. A post-war, Harry Potter fanfic, mind you. My story was born in the What-If land of Voldemort having a child.

Well, if Tom Riddle were to have a child, it would've been sometime before his fall from power, but after he left Hogwarts. And he would have a son, of course, because Tom Riddle is a 100% y-gene producing machine. Everyone knows that. Also, the real Tom Riddle has absolutely no libido. I'm sure of that, so his baby-mama would have to be a consort or something. There would be no love-making just heir-producing.

So far we have an older Tom Riddle with nearly all his horcruxes created, a baby in the making- wait. Why the hell would he have a baby in the first place?

Paranoia and fear, perhaps.

Fear of what?

The half-prophecy Severus told him.

Of course! Now it's all starting to come together! After Tom Riddle heard the prophecy, he freaked out and needed to find a way to keep himself from dying off completely. What better than a child that can be taught to do pure evil things? But that's not enough. It's too unreliable. If the Dark Lord is vanquished and all his followers scattered across the country, the world even, how are they going to get another rise out of that? Out of some kid, even.

What if there was a spell or potion they could use to bring him back? That's too easy, what if it were a place and a spell/potion? Maybe someplace in America? And American wizards! And American wizarding schools! So, I created the Catacombs of the Dead in an American wizarding school (run by Nicholas Flamel), located between the Four Corners of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah. Fun, right?

Now, we have a motive and means of bringing the Dark Lord back once he's vanished. But, what's the risk? He'll need a body to host his tattered soul in. 'cause, I mean, 7 horcruxes is enough to shred a soul to pieces, so a limp pieces of ghost isn't very threatening. Who's the host? His son, of course. But how the hell is his son going to get to America, perform the ritual, bring Voldemort back, and head back to England? What if his son, Anthony Riddle, I named him, was already a student at Akjfblk Academy for Magical Students? What if he instructed one of his followers to escort his baby and baby-mama away from England in case it is too dangerous for them to stay there during the war? And so, Mortimer Malfoy was born. Half-brother to Lucius Malfoy. They share a father. Probably the most loyal Death Eater to be trusted with such a secret mission.

Yes! Plot! It's so delicious. Still, we have one minor problem. How are we going to get post-war Harry Potter to America to meet his fate- I mean, meet new friends. The North American Triwizard Tournament?- Yes! The North American Triwizard Tournament! It's, like, super controversial and as a political move, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and a few guests/chaperones (Guess who?!) will be observing the North American Triwizard Tournament. They will take muggle transportation, but be guided by wizards in disguise as muggles.

Alas, I have given a lot away already, so I'd better stop right there. It's a premise. A nice premise, if I do say so myself. I'll probably provide commentary on my bloggity later. I'm about three chapters into the story. I have to send them to my beta readers and edit them myself. It's kinda all over the place so I'm hoping this little re-hashing will help pull it into focus for me. I still need a name for my American wizard school. 

Godamnit! Thinking is hard!

       Just Chaos

It's Just Chaos, Star Trek Fanfiction, and Why My Mom is Better Than Yours.

I was looking for a blog because there is too much going on in my brain for me to keep to myself. I tried making vlogs, but the editing process was too complicated and I ended up getting discourage. Other blogs were too complex with their filters and categories and scrolling and browsing. I just want to type what I'm thinking about and post it. Maybe I'll stick around here if it doesn't totally suck.

I say it's complicated, but I'm really just looking for basic stuff.

My thoughts come and go so quickly that I forget things and lose track of them easily. It's chaotic. And some people like to be clever and put "OrganizedChaos" as their usernames, but I'm even more clever. I'm JustChaos. There's nothing organized about me or this blog. So don't bother trying.

I started looking for a blog because I was pissed off at something or feeling pensive. That's how it really started. A diary is for my secrets, a blog is for my thoughts. I couldn't use my Facebook because I use it as a medium of communicating with my friends or my more short and witty thoughts and raves. I tried Livejournal, but it was too distracting.

I still wanted a place where I could get my thoughts out where I knew people would be reading and purposely looking for long walls of text- unlike some websites (Fuck you, Twitter), but with all the anonymity the Internet can provide.

So, here I am. I'll type until I'm dry. Until my whirlwind of thoughts and ideas has settled. At least until next time.

I've been reading a Star Trek fanfiction, Kirk + Spock, mind you. It's called Secret Vulcan Mating Rituals. It's a lot deeper than the title suggests. It's basically Spock going through Ponn Farr and Kirk is like going through some sort of search where he's looking for someone who can tame him. There's this whole thing about Psi-ratings and Taurus IV and bondage. Lots and lots of bondage. And it's this insane psychological warfare that brings a whole new meaning to the definition of "love". I didn't completely grasp it until the very last chapter of the first book. Love, in Kirk's mind, is someone who's need to take control and dominate balances his need to let go of himself and unleash. It's intense and has got my brain blended. I'm glad the author is done with the first book so I can take a break from the mental strain of the story and get back to reality.

My imagination can be too vivid sometimes. I think I think too much and I don't think like other people, either. I know I can't tell if I'm thinking the same way other people are, but I can tell by the way people act. The way they do things they don't want to, things they don't have to do. The best example I can think of is my mother. She's way too selfless, but she never breaks. Her childhood wasn't like many. She was 7 or something when her parents divorced and all she had was her mom and sister. Her dad was cheating on her mom with another woman who had my uncle, but that's another story. My grandma was working all the time and my aunt was too busy misbehaving and being rebellious. My mom could have easily done the same and just let the house go to shit, but she didn't. She cooked and cleaned and managed the household while her mom was working. Her best friend was wealthy and grew up with his rose-colored glasses. She never resented him. She never had any truly awful feelings towards anyone. And she still doesn't. She may dislike people, get fed up with people, but never any true negative feelings towards anyone.

She got married and had my older brother when she was 18. Her dream to be a veterinarian was virtually destroyed, so she became an oncology (cancer) nurse. My mom married a 35-year-old man, had his child, gave up her dream (I was honestly surprised she even had any), relocated halfway across the country to be closer to his family, but never gave up. After she had my sister, she divorced and moved away again to a small, shoddy town in Pennsylvania. She met my father and fell in love. What did he see in this single mother, new in town, completely separated from her family and with few friends? I'll never know. He's dead. He's been dead from plasma-cell leukemia. Cancer of the blood.

Not only does my mom have to put up with me, working two jobs, supporting my musical dream, three pets, a hysterectomy, and being 50, it seems Fate has been working against her by striking down her husband with the very thing she's fighting to prevent, thus making her a single mother for the second time.


This sort of thing never happens. At least I don't think it does. We don't live in the ghetto. Not me or any of my siblings have a drug problem or run around in a gang. It completely baffles me how my mom survived so much pain and disappointment. She deserves so much better than me.

I love my mother. The very thought of losing her makes me cry. The world has been so horrible to her- I have been so horrible to her, and the best part is: She doesn't even know it. Her endless spouting of love and joy overshadow any backward glances to the past or what could have been. I have yet to find another mother as awesome as mine.

I wish I could think of something more conclusive to say, but it's 3:08 AM. I'd better sleep know. I'm drained all the way through.