Monday, December 31, 2012

2012: What a Damn Good Year

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 of adoration) and then in opportunities. God showed me his favor this year. Here's a superquickreallybrief recap of what I'm talking about

*inhale*

Saturday, December 1, 2012

My Letter to Impressively Stupid Non-Black People

*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 ounce of English you've ever learned in grade school. Throwing around the word nigga -- the same word you'd be TERRIFIED to even refer to in my presence -- laughing at the funny you just made. And as hilarious as you may think your duck faces may be to your, erm, "homegirls," I, for one, am not impressed.