I have never been the type of person to call myself a “ride or die chick.” Like the popular meme says, I have too many questions. I will have talked us both out of riding before I commit to dying over stupidity. However, I understand the sentiment behind the phrase. We all want someone who will stick with us through good and bad times, even if our bad times are self-inflicted. Although I never claimed the title, the commitment of marriage has turned me into a de facto ride or die chick regardless.
Anthony Mackie has been in the (Black) news lately a lot for saying things a lot of people don’t exactly agree with. #BlackTwitter flipped a few tables. I’m flipping birds.
I don’t know at what point it became apparent to me I was Black and could not dance. Yet, here we are. Rhythmless Nation 1814. We’re fam, right? I can be honest here. We all “know” Black people are not a monolith and it’s wrong to stereotype. But dangit, all Black people are supposed to be […]
Every Saturday morning, long before the sun has considered peeking above the horizon, Bean wakes up. She grabs her baby doll, her Purple Cup, and sometimes even her downy pink blanket. Tucking the blankie beneath her arm, she resolutely pads into our room. One awkward climb later, she, the dolly, Purple Cup, and blankie are all ensconced between me and her father. Sometimes, her foot migrates 180 degrees to my face until I can smell corn chips in my dreams.
This is my life.
I want talk about Black love today. #BlackLivesMatter because Black love lives. Black love is the nearly imperceptible nod between strangers on the street. Kinfolk. Fam. It is the rallying hue and cry we raise when one of us is struck down. There is so much beauty in the solidarity of Black folk. This bond is not because of blind loyalty or even conscripted unity—it’s because we understand how inextricably linked our lives are. Like root to soil. Like oxygen to hydrogen.
My mother gave me words when we had little else to call our own. I do not crisply remember those days living in an apartment with an air mattress and hardly any furniture. I would have been too young, maybe three or four. Instead, I string together memories built from dog-eared photographs and stories she has retold me since toddlerhood.
I would be a dusty broad to hate love and I am decidedly well moisturized. I love love! But if you have ever had one girlfriend who discovers boys–or a boy–and never stops talking about it? You’re happy for her and stuff, but omg, if you hear about that boy one mo’gin…! Other peoples’ love, newly discovered and glittery, can be as annoying as sand between your toes after the beach. The annoyance is no different on social media. I have been guilty of some lovey-dovey habits that would make the mushiest girl’s eyes roll back into her head.
Time, and timing, is extraordinarily subjective. You ever been in the line at the grocery store behind the person who is writing out a personal check? You hate that person. It can’t take more than about five minutes to fill out those blank checks but it feels closer to 15 minutes. It’s almost as if you enter a time relativity warp and seconds become hours. Men, this is how women feel when we ask you to fix something and you say, “I’ll get to it.”
Dear White People: Hear me carefully when I tell you the name of Martin Luther King, Jr. turns to ashes in your mouth whenever you utter it to chastise the very people he died to liberate.
I used to run from challenges all the time because I feared they would expose my weaknesses. These days, I gravitate to challenges because I rather hope they will uncover my strengths. So this week, I am participating in the #YourTurnChallenge started by Winnie Kao, a Special Projects Lead for writer Seth Godin. What’s it all about?