hey, sugars!  i hope you’re all in the midst of the best damn holiday season you’ve ever had.  how was your thanksgiving?  mine went a little something like this:

it was awesome.  and it all began with my granny praying one of the most beautiful prayers yet.

hope yours was as fat as mine!

HOLLA HOLLA HOLLA HERE'S MY BUSINESS CARD HOLLA HOLLA HOLLA

So here’s a quick glimpse into what my life is like.

Saturday night a few weekends ago. I’m at a bar. Well, it’s technically Sunday morning, like 1, 2 am. My friends and I all notice an older man walk in wearing, like, a miniature leather safari hat. That’s the best way I can explain it. We look, we chuckle, we move on with our mozzarella sticks and assorted bar grub.

A few minutes later, I’m in line waiting for the bathroom and he just so happens to be hanging out by the door. The fact that he was just casually hanging out by the bathroom door, I think, is a good indication of this man’s level of oddness/ridiculousness. Anyway, I’m doin the pee-pee dance and walks over to me, because this is a GREAT time for conversation, apparently.

He goes through the standard motions. Hi, how are you, what’s your name, are you single, can we be friends, I just want to be your friend, COME ON LET’S PLEASE JUST BE FRIENDS, etc. Eventually the bathroom opens up and I dive in to end this conversation, because he clearly wasn’t in the market for any of the polite rejection I was offering him. I kind of even though he took a few steps behind me, so I shot him the look of death and was like “UM, GOOD NIGHT, PLEASE.” I potty, I leave, I re-join my group, I soon forget him.

I forget him, that is, until he stops past my table and mutters something about “If you change your mind…” and plops a business card down on the table in front of me. I’m really irritated. Because, like, who do you think you are?? You do NOT get to force your phone number into my life! I already said no! You don’t get to make this decision for me, I’m grown! I take the card, without looking at it, and hold it up in his direction trying to give it back, but he just walks off. I, never to be outdone with dramatics, open my fingers slowly and let it flutter to the ground like so many snowflakes in a beautiful kamikaze crash to imminent death.

Some time later, I’m in line waiting for a drink at the bar (which was right next to our table) and I see the card laying on the ground, face down. Something—some force, I don’t know what it was or what to call it—told me to pick that card up and look at it. So I do. And I see this.

…I have so many questions and comments and questions.

1. Why isn’t your last name on your business card?
2. What the hell kind of business is this, anyway? What are you CEO of?
3. Oh, I see you’re in sales. Or, wait.. sells?
4. How are you CEO of anything when you can’t spell “sales” correctly?!”
5. WTF DO YOU EVEN SELL?? WHAT KIND OF BUSINESS IS THIS, SIR?!
6. Do you sell bibles? Because that’s the only way this come-to-Jesus text on your business card could be a clever marketing strategy or good idea.
7. Seriously, WHAT ARE YOU PRETENDING TO BE CEO OF??
8. Which of your children made your Word Art logo for you back in 1996?
9. No. Just no.

Like, I just can’t deal with this. I don’t have the strength.

Needless to say, I Marcus did not get a little bit of a piece of a phone call from me.

Lulz sike, I called him the next day and now I’m pregnant with his kids. Like 7 of them.

So Tuesday, UC Berkeley went ahead with its purposely racist “Diversity Bake Sale.” The bake sale charges white people more for baked goods than people of color, with women getting a $0.25 discount. The purpose of this is to protest what the group sees as the racist practice of considering an applicant’s race and/or gender in the school admission process.

If you’ve been following for a whlie, you know that I went to a pretty racist school. What you don’t know is that I actually attended one such bake sale. And what else you don’t know is this: sure, minorities get discounted goods, but those goods are not created equally.

I attended the sale with a good friend of mine, Adam, a white male (I am a black female), and we noticed something interesting after reading the ingredients labels on our cupcakes (we checked after I noticed that mine was surprisingly bitter while Adam’s apparently tasted like good times and happiness). I saved the labels:

Guess which one the white folks got?

So sure. My cupcake was discounted. That’s kind of just a drop in the bucket compared to everything else I still have to digest.

okay. so don’t ask me how i got this because i can’t tell you, BUT, one of my awesome sources got their hands on a piece of juiciness. so you’ve probably heard about Ray J and Fabolous’ fight and Ray J’s batshit interview by now. apparently/supposedly, the two came to blows at a club or a party or something and Ray J–ever the thug–got locked up. …or that’s how Ray J said it happened.

this letter that Ray J wrote his sister, Brandy, tells a bit of a different tale. AGAIN–i CANNOT TELL YOU how i got my hands on this. just know it’s legit, and you saw it here first. text is below if the picture doesn’t show for whatever reason. (click to make it bigger)

brandy-

hey, sis, whats up. not much here, but i’m in jail though and i don’t even deserve to be in here though. it was crazy, here’s how it all happened. i was at a party and then Fabliss walked by and i was like “whats up homie” and he was like “do i know you?” i hate it when niggas front like that so i got mad like “what’s up then? we can take this outside” and he was like “okay lets go” and then i was like “i was just playin, gimmie a hug” but he didn’t. and then after that everybody was just like real mean to me. they got me put out of the Palm hotel, and you know i love that place. they have heated robes. don’t nobody else have heated robes. i dont know what to do, i just pray that DJ Clue can fix all this. for Clue is my light and my salvation; whom shall i fear?

anyway im in jail right now and i need you to come get me out because i do not want to convert to muslim and that is what happens in here. and the people here are mean. these people are definitely not here for the love of ray j and that is not cool. and these dudes keep looking at me like im a snake and egg sandwich and i do not want to smash these homies. people keep asking me to sing “Love ambition” and i am not Jason Weaver and i keep telling them that but they wont listen. can you come down here and tell them i am you’re brother so they let me go.

Ray J -aka- One Wish Willie -aka- Brandy’s Brother

hey, friends! hey! welcome to the newest feature around these parts: Dear Brokey!

so, i’m wise as shit, right? so i was sittin here eating around the peanuts in a bag of caramel corn and thought, “i should just tell people what to do for a living.” i believe that with all my heart and soul. now clearly, my trinkets of truth and wisdom aren’t going to pay any bills or keep me from goin down to the welfare. yet. but i have faith that in time, the world will realize that i’m smarter than all of you and give me my propers.

here’s our first quandry:

Dear Brokey:

I’m on the wrong side of 25 and I want to think bout settlin down and being in a relationship. Only problem is, I think the majority of people in this world are stupid, and I get along with people on twitter better then the jackasses in real life. I’m not a loser who sits in his mommas basement watchin anime, but you can’t find wit and intellect in the club. Where should I find a woman who has worthwhile conversation and isn’t caught up on how much money I make?

PS- all this could be resolved if you married me. Sheesh.

Love, Hannibal

dear Hannibal:

firstly, there IS no wrong side of 25. what’s wrong about it? what, you old now? i’m almost 30. what you tryna say? what does that make me? i’m Miss Havisham from Great Expectations? are my ovaries dusty like Chili’s after she didn’t find no man in that dating show she had? you just gon’ come in my house, call me old, and then propose marriage to me?? hey, fuck you buddy. maybe this is your entire problem right here:

you are RUDE! omg! you don’t know how to talk to people! really, who does that? here, let’s start off with some lessons on HOW TO FREAKING TREAT PEOPLE.

#1: DON’T FUCKING CALL THEM OLD BEFORE YOU ASK THEM TO MARRY YOU. this just may result in you not getting the answer you want. try doing the COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF THIS.

once you get your home training together, i’m sure everything will end up just fine for you. you’re YOUNG, you ignorant bastard. you got all the time in the world. well, i guess it depends on your demographic. if you’re a black male, you have a life expectancy of what, 35? 37? you might wanna step on the gas a little bit. go on down to the corner store, pick up a loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter, and before you leave, tell Ms. Nikki workin the register that the way the light catches her white eyeshadow reminds you of the new born Aurora Borealis, and when she says “who the fuck is aurora?!” put a ring on it. right then and there. propose, smack it up, flip it, rub it down, make some babies, and settle into a life reminiscent of a live-action daytime talk show.

if you don’t stop runnin’ round callin women old though, guess what. your balls are gonna stay dry. til jesus comes back again. get your shit together.

in addition to the corner store, you might also try:

-your local community college
-a bus stop of your choice
-church (the Unitarian one your free-spirited hipppie cousin Lyric goes to, not the First Corinthian Leather Baptist Church of God In Christ Our Savior Etc. Etc. Asiatic Temple, Inc. where the Reverend Ronald Rightaboutit is the pastor that Big Mama ‘nem go to)
-a Rally’s drive-thru (note: if you live in a city where you don’t have Rally’s but have Checkers instead, move. this could be part of your problem)

you’re welcome!

love,

(seriously though, you better not be somewhere feeling old. black male or not, you have time. don’t rush anything, cause that’s where we fuck up–when we want something so badly, we force our eyes to see what we want to see & get stuck with mirages and mouthfuls of sand. put yourself out there. be open, be you, be patient. be positive. there’s somebody out there as rude as you are and you will meet and fall in love and have tons of little rude ass babies. keep them off my lawn. thanks in advance.)

do you have a problem? need some advice? of course you do! shoot me an email and let me fix your life!

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remember this the next time you’re trying to remember that awesome time you had at Bob’s Buss-It-Open Boutique.

 
check out the interactive site to move the goggles around for yourself. and think about layin’ off the sauce a little, eh?

it’s raining exciting news!

first and foremost, congrats to GeeDee215 and the amazing PostBourgie team–we’ve officially packed our boxes, threw our clothes in some trash bags, and moved to the Huffington Post!  time for a house party!  who’s gonna do the kid n play with me?!

second and secondmost, i have officially and finally got my first paid gig as a writer!  check me out over at Uptown Magazine!

HOW FREAKIN FANCY ARE WE?!?!

just sound it out.

win a free moisturizer/conditioner from Bear Fruit Hair!

fellas, don’t feel left out!  your dusty ass hair needs some love too!  or enter & win for your boo!

click here for details!

she never could forgive him for "Wild Wild West." he never could forgive her for "Woo."

below is a list of appropriate responses and reactions that you are allowed to have to this event:

• “oh really? wow, that’s so sad.”
• “i remember when my parents divorced. it’s not fun.”
• “i hope the kids are holding up okay.”
• “i never saw that coming! they seemed like the perfect family! but, things happen.”

and here is a list of inappropriate responses and reactions that you are ABSOLUTELY NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE:

• “OH GOD, NOW I’LL NEVER GET MARRIED!”
• “BLACK MEN AIN’T SHIT.”
• “MAYBE NOW BLACK WOMEN WILL BE MORE OPEN TO DATING OUTSIDE THEIR RACE!”
• “THE BLACK FAMILY IS TRULY HEADED FOR EXTINCTION!”

here’s why these are unacceptable responses.

1.  you ain’t will nor jada.  shut up.

2.  will and jada aren’t prototypical black anythings. how many rich, black, superstar Scientologists do you know?  exactly.  shut up.

3.  if you ain’t shit as you sit in your chair reading this, your aint-shit ass would probably stay single regardless of Will & Jada’s nuptial arrangements.  don’t try to blame your lonely ovaries/dusty sperm on Will & Jada.

4.  it’s dumb.

for serious.  shut up.

image via