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

Because it’s flat on one side
(That’s right, random songs because WHY NOT!)
Briya here! So this time *I* am not the one still talkin’ about the Oscars. My Sissie is. So please to enjoy Nisha’s contribution to Let’s Talk About Black People Month.

They say that people don’t move when they see smoke, but when they feel the fire. So, Bri gets her wish and you get your BHFOTD. (FINALLY. JAYSUS – B.)

I was so enraged over the recent ignorant statements of E Online correspondent/Fashion Police host(/Lollipop looking*) Giuliana Rancic that I was motivated to write about it.
This is 18 year old Disney Star Zendaya. Apparently she smells like patchouli and weed.
Zendaya could not have handled the situation more eloquently for a young lady. In case you haven’t noticed, many Black women are choosing to go natural.
Unfortunately, what comes with the territory also includes stereotyping and judgments by our white counterparts.
Unless of course, THEY appropriate styles normally seen on people of color. Then it’s BOLD. And Epic. And Epically Bold.KJ Braids

On black folks, it’s ghetto. OH.

In the 1960s, natural Black hair was transformed from a simple expression of style into a revolutionary political statement. It became a fundamental tool of the Black movement in America, and hair came to symbolize either a continued move toward integration in the American political system or a growing cry for Black power and nationalism.” Prior to this, the idealized Black person (especially Black women) “had many Eurocentric features, including hairstyles.” However, during the movement, the Black community endeavoured to define their own ideals and beauty standards and hair became a central icon which was “promoted as a way of challenging mainstream standards regarding hair.” During this time, black hair “was at its height of politicization,” and wearing an Afro was an easily distinguishable physical expression of black pride and the rejection of societal norms.[

Black militants and members belonging to the movement perpetuated the idea that straightening one’s hair, whether chemically or with the use of heat, was an act of self-hatred and a sign of internalized oppression imposed by White mainstream media. At this time, a Black person’s “ability to conform to mainstream standards of beauty [was] tied to being successful.” Thus, rejecting straightened hair symbolized a deeper act of rejecting the belief that straightening hair and other forms of grooming which were deemed ‘socially acceptable’ were the only means of looking presentable and attaining success in society. The pressing comb and chemical straighteners became stigmatized within the community as symbols of oppression and imposed White beauty ideals. Blacks sought to embrace beauty and affirm and accept their natural physical traits. The ultimate goals of the Black movement was to evolve to a level where Black people “were proud of black skin and kinky or nappy hair. As a result, natural hair became a symbol of that pride.

Deja vu anyone??
*My sissie would NEVER call Giuliana a lollipop (Big ol’ head, stick body). I would. Because I am petty.

You’re welcome guys! LOLOLOL

So I…totally got distracted yesterday.
‘Cause yannow. WORK. I have a pretty awesome job.
But they do NOT care about black people my duties as BHFOTD AMBASSADOR.
I’m kidding, of course.
They do. They make each and every one of us come to work so they can have a Black History Presentation on MLK, Jr. Day.
That I never go to. Because if you want ME to celebrate being black, give me the day off. I’m just sayin’.

As usual, yesterday’s post woulda been about the Academy Awards. Because OF COURSE IT WOULD.
After all, I watched. In fact, as usual, I watched every single movie in the Oscar nominated Best Picture category.
I liked them ALL. Except American Sniper.
Generally I like war movies. Blame it on the fact that I am a military wife.
Even the ones that turn me in to a sobbing mess because they are too close to my life.
(See: Hurt Locker. Never forget that I had a meltdown so bad that I almost had to leave the theatre)
(Sorry again, Dani. lol)
When they’re made well. This one…wasn’t. I’ma leave it at that.

I loved all the other ones, though. I didn’t even hate Boyhood. I did hate that it was LONG. SOFA KING LONG.
Two hours and 46 minutes.
And lemme tell y’all. That’s a long time for me to sit (reasonably) still. Luckily, there was chips and guac. And vodka.
I got through it. Which is more than I can say for Gone with the Wind.
Y’all. That movie is almost 4 hours long.
I tapped out. I tried. I really did.
Because I’ve never seen it AND since I was gonna talk about Hattie McDonald, first black person to win an Oscar,
I thought maybe I should. But I couldn’t. Because it was fours long.
I got up to around the halfway mark.

A few things:
In this movie, these people went to a party so long that all the women retired upstairs for a nap. Y’all really doing the most. A nap. So you can day drink AND night drink. TURN UP!

ALLLLL this time, I thought it was Hattie’s character that said “I don’t know nothin’ bout birthin’ no babies!”
That was not her. That was Prissy (Butterfly McQueen)Huh.

The more you know.

ALSO. You can file these things under THINGS I DID NOT KNOW (about Hattie McDonald):
She appeared in over 300 movies, but only got credit for about 80-ish.
She was the first black woman to sing on the radio in the US.
She has TWO stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. TWO! (Radio/Motion Pictures)
AND. She was the first Black Oscar winner honored with a postage stamp.

Hattie accepting her award
I don’t know if I forgot or just never knew that she sat separately from the rest of the cast of Gone With The Wind.
But, WOW.

Now everyone sits all together at the Oscars, and they’ll have a diverse cast of presenters, and not once single person of color nominated in any of the acting categories.
In fact, the only Oscar given to black person/people was given for Best Original Song.

I’m not even gonna say it. ‘Cause I don’t have to. But you know what I’m thinking. And I guess so were the Oscars.


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