Posted. #FootballStyle #UrbanCaviarCo #Blessings #BLSFootball #Preparation
Posted. #FootballStyle #UrbanCaviarCo #Blessings #BLSFootball #Preparation
You say Black is Beautiful but you diss me on the internet because of my dark tone
You say Black is Beautiful but because I’m light skinned I have less flaws
You say Black is Beautiful but you say I’m pretty… for a dark-skinned girl
You say Black is Beautiful and you put your fist in the air while at the same time beating me down
because you claim a dark skin woman can take a beating better
You say Black is Beautiful but you see no problem with those in the media disrespecting dark skinned females
You say Black is Beautiful but only if I’m dark enough to be called exotic
You say Black is Beautiful but your actions show that you hate black, and don’t want to be black
You say Black is Beautiful but if I’m light skinned I’ll cheat on you
You say Black is Beautiful but you place yourself as a second-class citizen
You say Black is Beautiful but your negative perceptions mirror those who enslaved us
You say Black is Beautiful but you chose me strictly based on my lighter tone
You say Black is Beautiful but then why does it matter how I wear my hair
You say Black is Beautiful but you don’t know what true beauty is
You say Black is Beautiful but the definition of it is affected by those in the media
You say Black is Beautiful but I don’t buy it.
You don’t think you’re beautiful. You don’t think you’re handsome. I don’t know if you think at all.
You don’t have to speak these words for me to know them
I was raised by a black mother. A black father. And no, their shade does not matter to me.
I guess sometimes I laugh
At our people. Our ignorance. Our arrogance.
Sometimes it’s better than crying.
Words without meaning, you’ve muddied the image
I was told I was beautiful for being me
I was told black is beautiful because of our history
I was told black is beautiful because of our struggle
I was told black is beautiful because of the legend we as a people embody
I was told black is beautiful for all shades
I was told black defines itself, but never forgets where it came from
I was told a lot of things about being black
Everyone has their own opinions
You say Black is Beautiful?
I live it.
Sorry I haven’t blogged in a while. I’m sorry to both of my readers. But I did start a twitter account for the blog so you can hear my thoughts on a more regular basis. It’s for all the stuff I want to say but I’m too lazy to write a full blog about.
I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but now’s a good time as ever. Can
we YOU please please please quit it with the Instagram? I get it, I do. It’s cool (sorta). It gives everything an air of nostalgia. It reminds you of a time when things were simpler: superheroes on your underwear, Saturday morning cartoons kicked ass, Nintendo, tube socks with stripes etc…But not everything deserves the nostalgia treatment. This shit has gone too far. I heard Chubby Chub on the radio last week shout out his Instagram account. Stop it. No app can make the Blue Hill Ave street sign any more interesting. It’s just a street sign, those are just rocks, this is still just a water bottle. It’s not that serious. Oh and ladies, you’re the main culprit. Newsflash: WE KNOW WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE! Instagram ain’t nothin’ but a lie. It’s like makeup, all smoke and mirrors. It’s going to get to the point where people need Instagram glasses to recognize each other (Let the record show this was my idea. I want my royalties). If you look like Fiona from Shrek on any given day and Instagram makes you look like this:
THE APP IS TOO POWERFUL!
Just stop it before more feelings get hurt. Old school cameras sucked and you all know it. Remember that rectangular camera that your mom had that she had to wind up after every picture? And if it was wound too far the film would break? Remember when digital cameras first hit the scene and how great the pictures looked? Good. Now resist the urge to Instagram your next meal.
Thank me later
(Source: foreverfervor, via )
Happy Valentine’s Day.
I’ve previously stated my disdain for New Years Eve but this flyer perfectly sums up everything that’s wrong with and could go wrong with NYE. It’s the biggest
timesuck lifesuck of a holiday ever. You know those people who get all hyped to party on NYE and try to suck you into their plans? That used to be me…a long time ago. I stopped caring when shit never panned out. It’s the worst night of any year to party. You’re paying $75 to get into a club where the cover is usually $5. This club is going to be packed, uncomfortably packed. That nice dress your date is wearing, it’s going to get spilled on. Then she’s going to get stupid drunk (high pitched slurring and death threats), and the next person who spills on her is going to hear about it.
Best case scenario is it’s a female, they exchange bitchy comments, and the night goes on. Worst case scenario is the Affliction wearing juice box there with his other juice box friends (they always come in packs) takes offense and wants to forcefully make you kiss the back of your knees. No thanks. If you manage to stumble away with your shirt intact you still have to deal with the drunk crying girl following you around who just incited that riot (Helen of Troy, Sammi “Sweetheart”). Does it sound like I’m being overly harsh on the ladies this time? My bad.
Guys are just as bad but without the tears. Your boy gets a shot of that liquid courage in him and everyone who bumps into him is doing it “on purpose”. So now you’re on edge all night because you know there’s going to be a fight, you just don’t know when. You can’t have any fun because you’re babysitting Bruce Banner on the verge of turning green, and you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. I’ll be watching the ball drop from the comfort of my couch. The vodka sodas are free.
Some of ya’ll reading do this stuff, and you like it. Don’t even invite me. I won’t RSVP.
Ok so I know it’s been a while since I’ve written anything and I have no excuses as to why. Call it disinterest if you will but after I became overwhelmed with requests (thank you, both of you) to write something I figure it’s time to put
pen to paper fingers to keyboard. Aaaaand I have a great fucking story to tell. Shit like this doesn’t normally happen to me although Mike would disagree because he claims shit like this only happens to me but here we go anyway.
So me and B go to the Mos def concert. Yes, I know it’s supposed to be B and I. Yes, I know you know how I feel about grammar. Yes, I know you wanted to call me out on it. But it’s too late because I’ve corrected myself. Besides, ya’ll are my people I don’t always have to be proper. I digress. Bad Rabbits opened up for Mos and they killed it. I’d heard of them before but never cared enough to download. Ran into 2 of my good friends at the show. After their set everyone is sitting around waiting for Mos but I get word that his plane hasn’t even landed yet so it’ll be a while. Fine, vodka soda to the rescue. Anyway Mos finally comes on and put on a great show.
We decide to go get a drink after but the bar downstairs in the Wilbur was real Eurotrashy so that was a no go. Across the street to the W Hotel bar only to run into George Smith from ESPN. Dude is a sharp dresser and clearly likes to have fun. Lots of champagne and shit. After his failed proposition to B he decides he wants to take us to a strip club (perhaps trying to increase his chances). We wander over to Centerfolds and the bouncers have no clue who he is. Centerfolds sucks. The dancers don’t dance. They barely strip. They just kind of stare out into the crowd and sway back and forth like cute nude zombies. The pole isn’t there for decoration, use it.
More champagne courtesy of George in the VIP Platinum Lounge. Cliche I know but I wasn’t paying. At some point he signals a zombie over and she starts giving him a massage. B has wandered over stageside and is berating some guys for throwing money at the strippers (it’s what you do at a strip club), all the while taking pictures of the strippers (not allowed).
Anyway that got old pretty quickly. So we decided to take off and leave George to his massage. Drunken night downtown always leads to Chinese food, so we head to Chau Chow City and the waitress pretended to not know what I wanted when I asked for cold tea. It means I want beer for the uninitiated reading out there. So after what seems like forever with no beer and no food I decide to go get the car. As I’m walking I see NY Pizza and get the brilliant idea to order because I’m starving. Large pepperoni. Walk out the door and the box caves in. There goes my pizza, face down on the sidewalk. No salvaging that. Besides, bum piss isn’t a flavor I want to get familiar with. I go back in to get another and the smart ass pizza boy greets me with, “Back so soon? Did you eat that one already?” I wasn’t in the mood. I told him where he could find his pizza and suggested he get to cleaning.
Apparently at this time Chau Chows has locked B in the restaurant because they claim we ordered a ton of food and we’re not going to pay for it. She’s been calling and texting but between the pizza servants comments and a dying phone battery the message wasn’t sinking in to me. Finally I get another pizza, I’m in the car, high tailing it to Chau Chow when I finally get to talk to her as she says she’s been standing outside in an alley (bad idea) after escaping Chau Chow waiting for me in tears. Crybaby. It wasn’t that long of a wait. Homeless guy felt bad for her and gave her a rose and paid for her cab home. Yes she took money from a homeless guy. Let that sink in.
I drive to her place to make sure she’s ok and she tells me I’m too drunk to drive home. Pure bullshit. I made it from Tremont to Southie and I should be less drunk now. I sat on the bed hoping she’d pass out so I could leave…and woke up in the morning. Maybe I was too drunk to drive. Look outside the window to see construction vehicles where my car was parked. Fuck I got towed. I hate parking in Southie. Everyone parks like a dickhead. That’s another blog though. I rush outside to see my car being the only car on that side of the street and the cop on duty asks if it’s mine. Said he didn’t tow it because he ran the plates, saw it registered in Dorchester and figured I must have been too drunk to drive, as evidenced by my blocking half her neighbors driveway. He tells me to move my car and then asks me about my night. I recall to him everything I just told you and he calls bullshit. I produce my ticket stub and a bunch of free entrance cards to Centerfolds.
He asks what I’m going to do with those cards and since centerfolds sucks I release them into his custody. He gives them out to the construction workers and then tears my parking ticket up. He says he was in the holiday spirit. Did I mention I had to be at work in an hour too?