You're Supposed To Write This

It's the last day of 2012. Zamn. Zamn Zamn. Right now, as I sit in my mismatch jammies, my father's tube socks and a haphazardly tied head scarf, sipping hot tea with milk (THE BEST), I can't help but feel overwhelmed by what an amazing year 2012 has been. For some reason it felt like double the length and 10 times the impact. It was no doubt a year of extremes. I can't even properly recap it all in the mass media scheme of things, with all the goods, the bads, and the uglies. Look at this year compared to 2011 ( Oh Gawd , 2011 was for the most part poo. crap. sugar honey iced tea). 2012 was better by a landslide. Even with the little things. There was soooo much good music to listen to. Like seriously. History was made (shoutout to Gabby Douglas and Keija Minor !). All my friends made major moves and received so many blessings. Including me. I was surrounded by so much love in all forms: in the form of support, in the form of physical love (unions and proclamations

*Before you read my letter, read the news . I'd like to make it clear that I am not racist, colorist, whatever-ist in any sort of way. Just an opinionist. Dear Blackfacers, Hi. Hello there. How are you? How's mom? Oh, that's wonderful. Tell her I said hi! Okay, now that all of the formalities are out of the way.... What in the hell is wrong with you??? ( The F-bomb is actually a better choice of words, but I'll refrain. I have a little bit more class than that.) I barely even know you personally, yet I keep hearing about you fools over and over and over again. I am a journalist, and at my office, we filter through news everyday no matter how big or small, no matter the region, no matter the race. I have the extreme displeasure of seeing your faces pop up across my screen, smeared in dark and cakey substances, pursing your lips in combination with the peace sign, hauling your shoulders around, flailing your Bloods and Crips fingers and purposely butchering every

I've noticed a little trend. Kendrick Lamar and his good kid, M.A.A.D city are getting a really big whoop. In the eyes of many music critics and aficionados, it’s well deserved. Off the bat, comparisons to Nas’ Illmatic were made in countless album reviews. So far, he’s been dubbed the “magnum opus of a generation” and “an anointed-by-acclamation savior” by The Washington Post and The New York Times, respectively. He’s bulked up on some hefty cosigns for the most part (let's all just ignore Shyne calling the album “trash”).  Game called him the “West Coast Nas” and earlier in time, K-Dot teared up as he, Snoop and Dr. Dre symbolically passed him the torch. His first week projections serve as his accolades, boasting sales of over 240,000 units in his first week alone even without a real hit single (Swimming Pools was nice, not viral).  Kendrick even joined the ad-lib/twitter quotables Hall of Fame (Ya Bish!) alongside the likes of Rick Ross’s heavy grunts, Yeezy’s ha

Why, hello there. Let me share my thoughts of the day with you: 1. Someone overdosed on their sodium intake today. 2. Kanye West doesn't smile. 3. White dress is not about kim. 4. Patience is a virtue. Going shopping tomorrow. 5. Train stare downs (and stare dodges) are always epic. 6. *laugh-cry emoji* 7. I can't let #oomf get under my skin. but more importantly............ 8. WHY IN THE HELL DO I NOW ONLY THINK 140 CHARACTER LONG THOUGHTS??? Damn you twitter. Damn you.

Whoa. *Big Sean voice* It’s been quite the minute. I sincerely apologize for that. Between my last post and now, a myriad of thoughts have been swirling around my mind. I’ve been exhausting notepads, post-its and napkins writing down germs of thoughts for what I could write about next. But somehow, I’ve never gotten to it. And as I listen to Adele’s new Bond movie anthem “Skyfall,” I’m prompted to write. You ever felt like everything was going in your favor that it scared you? That it’s too good to be true. You spend every day smiling at all that’s happened to you, but tip toe around like you’re on eggshells because you don’t want to mess it all up? I feel like I’m trying to dodge tetanus thumbtacks.

For most New Yorkers, Friday morning was like every other day. Of course the N train was crowded. Big and small arms stretched across more big and small arms in search of a pole or a corner for balance. A mother tickled her infant’s chin as it cooed and squealed in the stroller. Neighbors looked on and smiled at the sight of such maternal bliss. A sprinkle of daydreamers throughout the car gazed out the window with glassed over eyes, lost in their own thoughts. Everyone else was buried in something. Nose in book. Eyes on phone. Ears jammed with personal melodies. The air appeared still, normal and silent. The train was in perfectly harmonious order as it made it’s descent from Queens down into Manhattan.  Then, one nose curled from a young woman whose eyes wouldn’t normally part from Jay-Z’s “Decoded.” She was forced to look up. Her eyes met with another young woman who winced at the same moment. Other eyes in the slowly clearing out car nervously met others, faces scowling in retch

#AugustWritingChallenge - Day 10 - Green  Green, the color I have a love/hate relationship with.  I was never really familiar with that color and all that came with it until I went away to school. It started with the smell. At first I didn't know what that sour but sweet smell was that I whiffed any and EVERYWHERE on campus. After a few months, the scent became as standard an aroma as eua de parfum.  Though the smell was nice, I hated the way it permeated my collegiate social life. No matter the function, no matter the crowd, no matter the time of day, Mary Jane was always around and available plentifully, with eternally willing part takers in tow. Now I try not to judge avid smokers, but to often be the non-chiefer in a room full of bowls and blunts and happy blowers gets annoying.  Too many plummed lips and scarlet tinged eyes from a successful wake and bake greeted me in the morning. Too many late night nacho cravings, hap hazard laughing spells, overwhelming

This month, I will be joining along on a challenge to push myself as a writer. Hopefully at the end of the month after writing everyday and reading other people's work, I'll see some growth in me. To not flood my page, I'll update the posts with my weekly topics. Here we go! #AugustWritingChallenge - Day 5 - Faith I’m proud of myself for getting to where I am in life. I’m proud of the work I’ve done and all the applications for the lessons I’ve learned. I’m proud of me for trusting the God will lead me to my success. But I’m the most proud of my friends for having more faith in me than I have in me. It’s crazy how you can get so wrapped up in trying to measure up to some omnipresent standards of excellence that you get lost in the sauce trying to meet them. I’ve had so many “I’m a failure” breakdowns. It was my friends who shook me out of my funk by reminding me of all the good I’ve had and all the great that’s yet to come. So this post is a short and s

I won't forget the day that Frank Ocean came to town.  All afternoon, people  alternated between sitting, standing, leaning and crouching outside of D.C.'s 9:30 Club. The line -- peppered with American-flag bandana wearing Stans, pseudo-hipsters and Urban Outfitter frequents -- started as early as noon. At 7 pm, when the doors opened, the masses piled in excitedly, only to wait a little more.  The rumor of him not coming on until 9 p.m. (or later) circulated like catch-fire, and people switched from foot to foot to dilute the swelling pain in our ankles and foot bottoms, myself included.   I couldn't imagine the fate of those wearing heels.  I was pissed because they wouldn't allow professional cameras into the venue 'per the artist's request,' the girls behind me were squealing in excited decibels for a solid hour before he came on, and a wave of fatigue (the itis) came over me.  The house was packed, and impatient fans were hot and bothered. E

Think of all your favorite artists and favorite songs of today. What's you're favorite music genre? ...WRONG.  Yeah, you're incorrect. It doesn't matter what you did or did not manage to utter out.  It's null and void because t oday's music is genreless.  You like good ol' Frank Ocean don't you? Well, did you notice that on iTunes he lists his albums as a different genre each time? The Lonny Breaux Collection was listed as "R&B." nostalgia, ULTRA was "bluegrass" (wtf). And channel ORANGE , "pop." NONE of these titles relate to the sound.  But I bet you didn't look or think twice about that and you're still playing "Pyramids" and "Pink Matter" at least twice a day.  Frankie falls into no categories, and he said it himself.  In a recent interview with  Respect Mag , he responded to Elliott Wilson's question:: How do you categorize yourself? I know you’re not too comfo

Somehow, I have been cruelly tricked into believing that at this point and time in my life, I should be at my prime. Collegiates: STOP FEEDING EACH OTHER THAT BULL. That's some evil thinking, because at 22 and such, we should be at the starting line. Excited. Not defeated. I was scrubbing the shampoo out of my 'fro in the shower when I started thinking about where I was in terms of developing my career and my brand. I was marveling over some of the cool accomplishments of my friends as of recently. Then I was scorning myself for not being IT right now. 

 So, if you're not part of a "community," where do you fit exactly? photo courtesy of wired.com When Solange cut her hair, she was unofficially recruited into the natural hair community, although she denounced the hell out of that once someone commented on her picture saying she was in desperate need of a twist out. Rude.  Then, the second Frank Ocean stepped his big toe out the closet, the whole LGBT community welcomed him with open arms into their kumbaya circle and claimed him as their own (which is great, because he just stepped up as a beacon of light to people who found too much comfort in the darkness of their closet). But still, quickly snatched into a social circle.  And if I were to ask you who Asher Roth is, what would you say? White rapper. Machine Gun Kelly? White rapper. Kreayshawn? White girl rapper. Eminem? One of the greatest rappers of all time.. that happens to be white.  As a race -- the human race -- we sure do love to categor

It's July 4th, and I'm kind of heartbroken.  Frank Ocean, the musical love of my life and my long lost soul mate, clarified all questions lingering in the air about his sexuality. His first love, which he described so vividly and craftily in the official Thank You's for his album Channel Orange , was indeed of his own gender. I'm sad, but only because I convinced myself that I was in love. Now, this is huge news. Usually, I get upset when people huddle around their computers and deem things like this worthy of "news," but in this case, it was different.  It mattered so much because he was loved so much. His music had still has the ability to woo you, rouse your spirits, and reach past the ratchet that inherently lives in all of us and nudge our souls. Okay, I'm being dramatic. But that's what his music did for me.  It was real. Authentic. Genuine. And people, girls and guys alike, F'ed with that. This change, or realization rather,

Wow. I was rummaging through my files and found this old thing from junior year of college. I wrote this for Professor Lawrence Kaggwa, arguably one of the most difficult and dream crushing professors in the journalism department. He gives out D's like candy on Halloween. This baby got a B.   It was a joyous occasion. Read and enjoy! 5 p.m. laughter from students freed from final examinations erupts outside of my Howard Plaza Towers dorm room window. It’s a foreign noise to me, having not left my room or hung out with friends in 10 hours. My mouth is dry from reading my Reporting and Writing articles aloud over and over to make sure they sound perfect. My eyelids are sore and heavy from hours glued to my computer screen editing pictures from a photoshoot I did for a classmate’s marketing project. My mind is tired from struggling through Dr. Carr’s book assignment, “Black Marxism” by Cedric Robinson. I am starting to feel defeated.  One more paper to

I'd like to think that I'm extremely ambitious. Not sure if I was aware of it until recently. It dawned on me when I was thinking about all the things I want to accomplish in my lifetime career-wise. I was pissed that I was 22 and hadn't mapped my life out yet and decided on the name/title of the career I wanted to pursue. This summer, actually, I answered myself. There is no one occupation I want to claim.  I want seven. Yes, seven . And I intend to have them all. Possibly simultaneously (we'll see how that goes).    Now, in my current field (good ol' journalism), me living a quote unquote lavish life isn't going to be immediate by ANY means. Ha! No BMW. No posh condo nestled in the heart of the city. No Diane Von Furstenberg, YSL, Miu Miu, Louis V or Louboutin for me. Which is fine. Bragging about having all that stuff would just make me a buyer, or bought rather. Not necessarily a boss.  Success isn't being a buyer. It's being a BOSS.

Happy Humpday! Yesterday could have been yet another day at home spent rolling around under the covers, wasting away in the comfort of air conditioning.  Okay, okay. Being home isn't that bad. But I utilized my also-bumming-it little sister and decided to make a little bit of magic happen. I gave her full, yet temporary, access to my closet and makeup and decided to use her as a model and my home as a backdrop. She's grown ALL the way up since the last time we had a makeshift photo shoot and was so much more elegant in these photos. Here's a sneak peek: See the rest of them here I must say, it felt good to be shooting again. When you get home, you get comfortable. When you get comfortable, you get lazy. I haven't had access to "models" (aka my college friends) for quite some time, and therefore lost a little bit of my momentum to shoot.  Time to pick it back up again before I lose these creative juices.

One of my best friends sent me this article on Black Girls Are Easy about dating vs. "come over and chill."  Boys , read it. It's hilarious.  Ladies , read it. It's the truth. Best quotes from the reading: "Don’t think because some Hoes are winning that you should follow that lifestyle, little ghetto boys shouldn’t drop out of school and try to become Tony Montana, and frustrated girls  shouldn't  close their heart and start hoeing—few are built for that life. However keep one thing in the back of your mind when thinking about Hoes— Value . A Hoe knows her value, it may be a ratchet ass   Juicy Couture  bag or it may be a condo on South Beach , either way she got something." "Just because going over to chill is something to do, doesn’t mean it’s something you should do. Ask to go on date, better yet, steal a little bit of confidence from the Hoes and TELL him you want to go on a date. Stop being happy just to have a man like

Came across this really dope short film (called Infected Love) made by Howard U student  Akinbola Richardson . No words necessary, just watch: Powerful message. Now imagine him in a few years? 

For the past couple days, I've been playing Extreme Makeover since I've been back home. It needs to look like a place of permanent inhabitance (I made that up), not just summer housing.  It's coming along well.  Took a break from all that, grabbed a snack, drank some juice, found a scale. It's been a while so why not hop on. Hopped off just as fast.  I could have cried from the number, lol! Not a laughing matter though.  So, aside from making my room cooler, I have a new summer goal: Weight loss!  I'm not going to do some super rapid race to skinny. I've just accepted I'm going to be plump on the beach. *shrug* My goal is to drop 20 pounds by Homecoming. I have until October to change my lifestyle. Why wait til it's too late?  Time to research methods. And vacuum. Toodles!

Happy Saturday! Aside from me sitting on my ass all day, I found this interesting little read on EBONY.com called "Single, Saved, and Having Sex." I won't be the spoiler in this case and give the play by play of the article; go read it yourself. Seriously. But I will say it was an excellent read on how "traditions" are being modified as the climate of relationships is changing and an eye opener on how really real it is.  I mean, to be real, my eyes BEEN open on this issue, but it just made me think deeply into this generation and where they stand on relationships.  My perspective on black love and Generation Y have been thrown all over the place lately. According to the article (and life), people are getting married at much later ages, if at all. Unions of love are being taken as a joke because the L word is an either extremely overused or extremely unused term. We hear about as many divorces as we do weddings. No one's ever ready to settle

It's May 2012.  Here come the tears of joy, sorrow, triumph, frustration, and reality.  Bring on the Kleenex. After four years of living the undergraduate life, it's time to be spat into the black hole we globally refer to as adulthood. The real kind, not just the neck-roll induced "I'm grown" schpeel.  Time flies when you're chugging beers and churning out A+ papers.  More often than not, soon-to-be grads feel an unsettling rumble in the pit of their stomach when someone asks them the end-all-be-all-of-questions: "So, what are you doing after graduation?" -_____- My sentiments exactly.  My mind eases up a little bit when I think of what I REALLY gained from college: opportunity. College places you at the epicenter of innovative new ideas with the ambitious young minds necessary to bring them into fruition. Our peers -- our cranky roommates, teaching assistants, club presidents, sorority sisters and frater

I wouldn’t say I’m popular, but I love meeting people. My circle of affiliations, my rolodex, expands at an alarming rate.   Friends. Mentors. Peers. Associates. Mentees. Co-workers. Classmates. Whatever you choose to call them, I have a lot of them. When I sit and recollect my scraps of a social life, I often find myself in the midst of some extremely diverse crowds and in the company of some very special individuals. I see it all as blessings in the form of mixxy behavior.