So last Thursday, I finally gave in and downloaded Time Hop. After looking at all my friend’s Instagram pictures, I was like


One year ago: Selfie o’clock. I had braids. Same as I do now. Same color and er’thang.
Two years ago: I shared a hilarious story about this girl who punched a guy in the face as an example of victim blaming.
(“if you weren’t just standing there when i decided to start swinging wildly, you wouldn’t have gotten hit. it’s your own fault”)
Three years ago: I was complaining about it being OCTOBER 15th and 84 FUCKING DEGREES. SAME AS I DID THEN.
Four years ago: I went to a Foo Fighter concert. Same as I did Sunday. (The Love Ride was a blast. Same as last time)
Five years ago: I learned that music lyrics make excellent status updates on FaceBook.
Six years ago: Nesto surprised me with a pirate birthday party!

pirate lasses

I was completely oblivious to all of his scheming, so I was TOTALLY SURPRISED when we got there and everyone was there! There was food! And drinks! And piratey cupcakes!

I had the best time!

I don’t remember all the details (see: drinks!)
But I DO REMEMBER that we almost got into a fight ‘cause some random white dude called somebody a nigger.
And that we left before we needed bail.
Escorted by Security. Through a side door so that nobody would punch him in the face on the way out.
Because God forbid you throw out the white guy using racial slurs.

What a terrible way to end a perfectly wonderful evening.
I had completely forgotten about that. Until Time Hop.

ANYWAYS. So many things have happened since then.

Like my cousin and I got called niggers at a USC football game about a month ago.
Oh. My bad. Did you think I was gonna say things have gotten so much better?

The hows and whys don’t matter. Because really? .
We were at a Football game. In 2015.
This wasn’t no Remember the Titans.

But from the minute he opened his mouth, EVERY comment was directed toward the two black women.

And what better way to put some uppity black women in their place by calling them niggers?

My friend, who is white, called him out on it. Because WHO DOES THAT?
(A: Rhetorical Question. We ALL know who does this. Welcome to being Black 101.)
She was horrified. And the only thing that she found more horrifying was that we were not horrified*(or really all that surprised) as well.
It was in every word he had said to us. “Rude”. “Disrespectful”.
(We were also fantastically drunk, by the way, because tiny shots are still shots)
Because he had been dismissed.
Because we weren’t scared.
Because when he said “what he oughta do” and we turned around to give him the hairy eyeball, he fell back.
Because we did not bow to his authority. And probably ‘cause we scared him a little.
You know black people being black is a frightening experience for some racists.
(Sorry, boss!)
(No. I’m not.)

Here’s what does matter:
I’m not less than you because I’m black.
I’m not any more (choose your own adjective) because I’m black.
I’m not obligated to make you comfortable/less fearful because I’m black.
I’m not willing to MAKE myself less than you because I’m black.
I’m not always gonna walk away from people who call me nigger because I’m black.
(Shout Out to friends/family who woulda had my bail ready)
(Also! shout out to white allies who DO come for their people when shit happens.)
(I appreciate her having our back. A LOT)


I suppose, though a lot of things HAVE changed.
I have definitely changed.
I’ve gained some new friends, lost some old ones.
I’ve grown. I’ve learned things about myself that I didn’t know 6 years ago.
I’m stronger. I’m more adventurous (YES, JACKASSES, IT’S POSSIBLE)
I’m more willing to try. More willing to fail.
More open to trying to understand.
More willing to fight for the things that I believe in.

But some things haven’t changed at all.
Racism is the same today as it was yesterday as it was six years ago.

*F.Y.I. – Things that ACTUALLY horrify me:
Needing to get my eyebrows done on picture day.
BBQ when I’m wearing white.
Crooked eyeliner.
Wearing dresses that flair on windy days.
Tall people.

I was dropping Nesto off to the airport the other day and he tells me this story about how he almost got jumped by undercover security once while he was waiting for me to pick him up at the airport.
He’s like, yeah so this dude walked up on me and was like, “are you traveling alone?” and since he didn’t know him, he ignored him.
And then another dude came outta nowhere and walked up on them
Nesto: “Is he with you?”
Dude: Yeah, we just wanna ask you some questions.

He interjects his story to say to me: Pro tip- If you’re ever find yourself in a position where you’re about to get jumped, take it to the street,
because then everybody can’t just pile on; they have to worry about getting hit by cars.

So when he stepped in the street the guy was like, HEYYY… we just want to talk to you.
And Nesto was like I DO NOT KNOW YOU SO FUCK OFF
Now there’s like 5 or 6 dudes coming toward him, and of course the airport people are starting to gather to watch ‘cause WTH?
THEN the security dude takes out his badge ’cause he sees that Nesto is not backing down.

They ask Nesto for ID and he provides his military ID and they apologize for getting him all riled up
Nesto tells the guy ”I was for real getting ready to take out at least 2 or 3 of your people before I went down.”
(Another pro tip from the husband: Stand with your legs spread so they can’t just take you out at the knees. Thanks, honey!)

I LOVE when Nesto randomly tells me horrifying stories like this, and then acts like he already told me.
(No. No, I don’t)

Cut to me on my way to work Wednesday morning.

I park on a side street and walk over to where I need to cross and some dude is standing at the light.
Him: *looks me over* I’m gonna cross the street
Me: Congratulations.
Weirdo: You may as well just arrest me

(It’s just me and some random woman waiting to cross the street)
Me: *looks around*….? WHAT? I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Then the light turns green, so I start walking ’cause FUCK THIS.

He starts crossing the street and I’m walking super-fast ’cause NOPE.
(I *can* walk fast if the situation calls for it, guys)
THEN he starts to RUN UP BEHIND ME
and I turn around and square up because IT’S TOO EARLY FOR THIS SHIT
He rushes past me, says EXCUSE ME and keeps moving.
And all I can think is HOW APPROPRIATE Nesto gives me this advice right before I ended up almost fighting some stranger in the street.

You guys.
I was anniversary-ing this weekend.
We went down to Humphrey’s (not just a concert venue, they have lodging!)
(Jill Scott is playing there today in case anybody wants to drive almost 3 hours to see her)
Saturday I did a little walking before Nesto got up because vacations away from the house mean sleeping in.
EVERYBODY WAS BBQ’ing down by the beach.
I came back and told Nesto he needed to feed me immediately right now.

And so. We go to Sister PeeWee’s Soul Food Restaurant:

Food: You ever been to a church where some ol’ mother of the church makes lunch during the break between morning service and afternoon service?
Like that. Only worse.

Décor: One wall was covered in Bumper Stickers, The other one was covered in pictures of family and friends. REALLY OLD FAMILY AND FRIENDS.

Nesto: *points to a picture of Marine* Hey! I know that guy. Because OF COURSE HE DOES.

Menu: Smothered Chicken/Pork Chops, Mac & Cheese, Rice, Greens.
“I woulda gave y’all some cornbread, but we ain’t got no mo’” – A DIRECT QUOTE

Also a direct quote: ‘Y’all want something to drank?”
**Pours two glasses of Kool-Aid**
(I swear I’m not lying)

Me: Trying to be game, because the Yelp reviews were thumbs WAAAYY up.
**Cue Rapper’s Delight**

Have you ever went to a restaurant to eat
And the food just ain’t no good?
I mean the macaroni’s soggy (and also it’s KRAFT crappy mac) the rice is mushed
And the chicken tastes like (gravy covered) wood?

-An interpretation (with some changes to describe exactly what I tried to eat) of The Sugar Hill Gang

I tried to eat it. I did.
‘Cause Nesto always calls me Bougie (I’m also the WORLD’S PICKIEST EATER)
so I was like MAYBE IT’S ME.

Nesto says all of the salt, vinegar flavor was in the greens.
And I don’t eat greens.

After that we stopped by the 7-11 ‘cause I needed water.
I could feel my hands swelling from all the salt I needed to get some of that food down.
And Nesto told me that he could feel his hypertension flaring. (LAWD)

Then we went for a drive where I couldn’t stop laughing because

Anyways, the next day, we went to Brunch. At our Hotel. Where they had live jazz.
And we were the couple who had been married the longest.
Twenty-three years of wedded “bliss”
(I’ll be honest. I’m no walk in the park, guys)
(But neither is he)
We were not the youngest. By a lot.

Everyone else was in their fancy sun dresses and slacks and stuff.
And us: Me in white shirt with BBQ sauce on it because
I have yet to master how to eat BBQ without making a mess
Him in a white tee and a pair of sweats.

I think that sums up who we are as a couple perfectly.

Yesterday I could not get away from the story of Cecil the lion.
Is it Cess-il as in B. Demille?
Or Cee-sil as in Jackson?
Who the fuck names a lion CECIL?


This story is awful. No animal deserves what happened to Cecil.


Have you considered what the lion did to provoke Mr. Dentist Man?
Okay. Fine. Yes. He had a bow and arrow (and a gun).
Maybe he was roaring and being all threatening?
Maybe THAT’S what killed him. His arrogance. Who told him he was king of the Jungle?

Maybe instead of that large mane, he shoulda got trimmed up all proper like and learned how to meow.
I mean…do we even have all the facts?

What was Cecil doing out of his sanctuary?
He didn’t belong outside of his area.
If he just stayed where he belonged, he’d still be alive today.
Did anybody think of that?

I don’t want you to get me wrong, though.
I care about Cecil. Of course I do! #alllivesmatter #alllionsmatter*

I’m just saying:
If we’re gonna talk about Cecil, we need to talk about how lions kill other lions too.
Because they do. In fact, Jericho (the next lion in charge) will probably kill all Cecil’s cubs.
Because bloodline is serious business. Even in the animal kingdom.
I don’t see anybody talking about THAT.
I mean. Cecil was a major tourist draw at Zimbabwe’s Hwange National Park.
And now he’s dead.
But maybe lions need to stop killing each other TOO.

And while I’ve got this platform to discuss lion murder…
I have one other thing to say:
I think that the media really needs to stop with this death porn.
How many times can one person look at violated dead black bodies dead lions?
YES. He was skinned and decapitated.
How many times do I have to look at pictures of Cecil’s body lying dead and bloodied?
I mean WHY would you…say what now?
You haven’t seen any pictures of Cecil’s skinned beheaded corpse?


*S/O to MochaMomma for the use of her hashtag

“If YOU legally carry a gun into a store there’s a high possibility that your black ass will get shot because you are a black man carrying a gun into a store in Georgia”

…wouldn’t it?

bang bang

(I’m just sayin‘)

So a couple of years ago, I wrote this for my Dad’s birthday.
Happy Birthday Daddy!
(And Nisha Bisha – tomorrow!)
(And Mommy – Sunday!)

But. This morning I was told that today’s Google Doodle was a BHFOTD.
And WHAT A COINCIDENCE, I had this one about this self same person laying around.

How about a look into my family tree?

My Dad has 2 girls and 2 boys.
And only the girls had boys.
And the boys (BOY, actually. Only one of my brothers has kids) have girls.
Also, the girls are done having kids.
So I guess it’s on the boys to make us sommore McDuels.

Really, just my baby brother. Because I’m pretty sure that if my little brother tries again for a boy he’ll probably have TWINS that will also be girls for his trouble.

This has nothing to do with anything except for the fact that today’s my Daddy’s Birthday!

And what better way to commemorate my Dad’s birthday than with a Black History Fact of The Day (BHFOTD)?

On THIS day in 1862, Ida B Wells was born a slave in Holly Springs, Mississippi just before President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. Wells-Barnett became a prolific social activist and champion for the right of African-Americans. She was also a founding member of the NAACP.

In March 1892 a white mob invaded her friends’ (Thomas Moss, Calvin McDowell, and Henry Stewart) store because was seen as competitive with a white-owned grocery store across the street. During the altercation, three white men were shot and injured. Moss, McDowell, and Stewart were arrested and jailed. A large lynch mob stormed the jail and killed the three men.

The murder drove Wells to research and document lynchings and their causes. She began investigative journalism, looking at the charges given for the murders. She officially started her anti-lynching campaign. She spoke on the issue at various black women’s clubs, and raised more than $500 to investigate lynchings and publish her results. Wells found that blacks were lynched for such reasons as failing to pay debts, not appearing to give way to whites, competing with whites economically, being drunk in public, walking down the street with a pack of skittles and an iced tea, jaywalking, switching lanes without using a blinker (WAIT. WHAT?). She published her findings in a pamphlet entitled “Southern Horrors: Lynch Laws in All Its Phases.”

Wells received much support from other social activists and her fellow clubwomen. In his response to her article in the Free Speech, Frederick Douglass expressed approval of her work: “You have done your people and mine a service…What a revelation of existing conditions your writing has been for me.” (Freedman, 1994). Wells took her anti-lynching campaign to Europe with the help of many supporters. In 1896, Wells founded the National Association of Colored Women, and also founded the National Afro-American Council. Wells formed the Women’s Era Club, the first civic organization for African-American women. This later was named the Ida B. Wells Club, in honor of its founder.

Wells spent the latter thirty years of her life in Chicago working on urban reform. She also raised her family and worked on her autobiography. After her retirement, Wells wrote her autobiography, Crusade for Justice (1928).

She never finished it; the book ends in the middle of a sentence, in the middle of a word. Wells died of uremia (kidney failure) in Chicago on March 25, 1931, at the age of sixty-eight.

An aside: I don’t usually post my random BHFOTDs because y’all get a solid month of black people shit in February. And these are the ones I send when I feel like it. Because it’s Tuesday. Or I am avoiding doing work stuff. Or maybe I have something to say and you just have to be paying attention. But NOT TODAY! Today, we’re talking about a lady who chose to expose lynchings of her people in a time where it was pretty much acceptable to do to people whatever they wanted because even though black people were free they were still considered insignificant and not really people, so what’s the big damn deal because it’s not like people are still killing black folks with no consequence, right? has the same birthday as my Daddy.

And do you know what summer time means? Bikinis. And Beaches. And Pools. (Oh my!)
Usually me and the girls make a trip to Palm Springs in the summer.
Because nothing says “IT’S HOT” like Palm Springs in the summer time.
We love it!
We spend our time day drinking and playing in the pool.
I know.
You don’t know what’s harder to believe:
That I day drink or that a black girl got in the pool and got her hair wet.
(Definitely that I got my hair wet)
Good times are always had by all. I think.
I don’t always remember.
Except that one time we were all in the pool and they cleared everyone out because of a CODE BROWN
Which was definitely not awesome.
I’m pretty sure I’ll never forget that because WHO THE FUCK doesn’t get out of the pool to POOP?
I mean, I feel like I’m dealing with a certain amount of pee (because people are gross, and lazy, and YOU AREN’T GOING TO MISS ANYTHING BY GOING TO PEE, FFS)
And this is why pools are so heavily chlorinated.
But really?
I can’t remember if the pool was closed for the day after that (see: day drinking)
But I know that *I* was done swimming for the day.

What does this have to do with anything? I bet you’re thinking that I’m gonna talk about current events, don’t you?
Well you’re wrong* because this is a black HISTORY fact. As in, in the past.
Like in the past, black people weren’t even allowed to swim in a pool with white folks.
As in, on this day in 1964, James “Jimmy” E. Brock wouldn’t allow Martin Luther (the) King, Jr and others to eat at the Monson (Motor Lodge) restaurant.
And on June 18th they planned a “swim-in” (I see what they did there) where black and white protesters jumped into the whites-only pool
And in protest to THEIR protest, Jimmy Brock poured muriatic acid (which is generally used to clean the pool’s tiles) into the pool hoping the swimmers would get scared and leave.


They didn’t. Police were called, people were arrested.
And this guy will forever remembered as the asshole on the wrong side of history.

So I don’t have to draw any similarities to what happened in 1964 to what happened in McKinney, Texas because
a) These kids weren’t protesting at all. They were INVITED TO A POOL PARTY. AND.
b) Segregation has been illegal since 1954. OR SO I HEARD.
I mean, YEAH. The police were called because of a code brown (people in the pool and yes we are “tolerant” and “love all people” and we “have black friends” but where the holy hell did all THESE black folks come from? This is too many!)
BUT. NOBODY GOT ARRESTED (not even the woman who was attacking a child and using racial slurs).
(note: Damn, people ain’t playin’ around when it comes to getting racists fired from their jobs. Good job, Internet!)
And OKAY, (EX) Police Office Eric Casebolt will ALSO be remembered as the asshole on the wrong side of history.


COMPLETELY the same because even though FIFTY-ONE FUCKING YEARS have passed, apparently black kids in a pool is just as upsetting to some white folks in 2015 as it was in 1964 DIFFERENT.

*wrong. As in OF COURSE I AM.

I went to a Dodgers game last night*. Which was not smart ’cause I still wasn’t packed completely for Coachella, but I would never turn down tickets because that’s ridiculous and also I can buy whatever I forget on the way and I can sleep when I’m dead.

Nesto bought us tickets, but then ditched me, so I gave the extra ticket to my cousin. Told her I’d meet her there since it’s definitely easier for me to get there from Beverly Hills than to go home first.

SO. I got there, got my gift and got comfy in my seat while I waited for my cousin to get there. While I was waiting, the guy sitting directly in front of me wearing his Dodgers jersey (#42), as people do, called Security over to point out a guy sitting waaaay down in front because he was smoking a cigarette. Well. First he called over this lady and pointed him out. And she went down to check it out, then SHE brought Security over.

He starts whispering to security.
Security: Which one is he?
*more whispers*
Security: OH. The one in the 42 Jersey? *SMIRKS*
*coughs and looks away*


JR Day

I haven’t laughed that hard at anybody since that one time this teenager was being a jerk in the movie theater skipping up and down the aisles and generally being an annoyance to everyone fell down the stairs. All of them. Yes. I’m petty. So?

*Yesterday, was the Civil Rights Game/ Jackie Robinson day at Dodgers Stadium/baseball fields all over the country. It was pretty awesome. Mrs. Rachel Robinson received a standing ovation because we Dodgers fans love our own. *sniff* I may have gotten some dirt in my eye or something over in the Left Field.

“..We’ll all wear 42 , that way they won’t tell us apart.”

Also. Good Job! We won last night.

So. There’s a guy here at work.
He…Ummm…is not my favorite.
Mostly because I think he believes he should be my favorite.
And I have never given him any sort of indication that he’s my favorite co-worker.
Mostly because he isn’t.

He called me at work after he’d left for the day.

Him: Hey. Can you do me a favor?
Me: I don’t know.
Him: I’d really appreciate it if you did.
Me: Well. Tell me what the favor is, THEN I can tell you if I can do it.
Personally, I don’t think it’s mean to want to know what it is you want.
You’re the one asking for the favor, mother fucker.
I don’t owe you shit.

Turns out I *could* do the favor for him. He left his iPad at work and he needed me to lock it up for him.

But, seriously. DUDE. I’m not in the habit of just saying yes and I don’t even know what the fuck it is you want from me.
ESPECIALLY, work people who tap dance on my nerves just by existing in the same space as I do.

The other day my co-worker got an email. Another co-worker of hers is getting married in two weeks. (YAY!!) And her supervisor sent an e-mail requesting they defray some of the cost by donating money to the bride/co-worker. I would like to add this request was SPECIFICALLY for money. Not gifts.

So, lemme get this straight: You want her to donate money to help pay for a wedding that she is not even invited to?
What part of the game is that?
Somebody. Please help me out.

Because HELLLL NAW. She asked me if I got the e-mail too.
Me: Nope. And you better hope I don’t, because if I do, I’m gonna go HAM. AND? I’m gonna reply all.
Because FUCK YOU, that’s why.

If you can’t afford this wedding that YOU planned for YOURSELF, maybe you shouldn’t have it.
The Courthouse is pretty reasonable.
OR. You could elope.
OR. Talk a friend into getting an internet certificate so they can marry you. (Holy Briya at your service!)
OR. If you INSIST on having a wedding: Wait until YOU can afford it.


I get it. Weddings are expensive. That’s why I didn’t have one.
I got married while I was already on vacation on the beach.
The whole thing probably cost $300 bucks or so.
Including the very tiny wedding rings purchased on a Private’s salary.


Oh, you need to get your hair done?
You can’t pay your cell phone bill?
Would you walk up to a stranger on the street and ask them to buy you a new outfit because you can’t afford it?
No? Then stop it. STAAAAHP.
(And if you would, you deserve the junk punch that you get for asking)

You shouldn’t be trying to make any of these things somebody else’s problems.

That shouldn’t be what crowdfunding is used for.

I mean, YES. There are things/reasons/emergencies* that relying on the kindness of strangers/friends/family is not completely inappropriate.
Nobody ever PLANS to have wildly expensive emergencies appear out of nowhere.
And sometimes big dreams require big money.

But that thing where you think that somebody else is supposed to finance the lifestyle that you want to become accustomed to? No. In fact, not just no. HELL no.

Even though it may not sound like it, I say this with love:
Learn how to manage your money.
Learn how to save up for things that you want.
Get a better paying job.
Get A job.
Be responsible for the things that you want.

I know the internet makes it look easy. But. It isn’t. My paycheck won’t let me be great either. Anthropologie has pretty dresses. And the ones I love most are ALL expensive. So I have to wait until payday before I can buy it. Or two paydays. Or three. Or maybe I won’t buy it at all because in reality, I don’t really NEED an almost $400 dress.

Until I become independently wealthy, I can’t have everything that I want. And that’s the way it is. I’m not asking friends/family/co-workers to fund my insane lust for expensive dresses.
Because that isn’t how that works. *I* want it, *I* save for it. ME.

You want it? YOU save for it. *YOU*.

But don’t ask me. Because even if I *do* have extra change lying around (Which. Is HIGHLY unlikely with a college student living in my pocketbook), I want to spend it on me. Possibly my husband.

Not you. You go fuck fund yourself.

*yes. these are ALL my opinions


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