I'm one part word nerd writer, one part shoe hoochie fashionista, and all parts mother of Skylar, the flighty but fabulous 14 year old who is the object of my undying affection (when she's not immersed in teen funkiness). Aside from storytelling for The Stir, I pen pieces for Essence, Ebony, Vibe, Clutch and just about anyone else who'll have me. On any given day, I find solace in Five Guys fries, Hello Kitty paraphernalia and crime TV. Love me anyway, please.
Sprite on the rocks. Oh, you thought this snarkiness was alcohol-induced?
It’s pretty easy to tell the difference between a scene from pornography and a scene from classic literature. Porn is artistically uninspired smut, lit is beautifully descriptive prose. Porn shapes barbaric acts into sexual fantasy, lit taps into the angst of those tragedies. Porn leaves nothing to the imagination, lit incites it. Given that, it’s impossible to mistake Toni Morrison’s epic novel The Bluest Eye with pornography. Unless you’re president of the Ohio Board of Education.
OK, this is just odd. Wrong and odd. A Chicago woman is accused of holding a man at gunpoint and forcing him to have sex with her friend in the backseat of a car. The situation unfolded when Cierra Ross, 25, offered the victim a ride after she spotted him walking down the street. He accepted and moments later, the mother of two brandished a firearm, insisting her unsuspecting passenger put his hands on said friend’s breasts and behind, ultimately demanding that he get into the backseat to service her partner in crime.
It was girls’ night out and my feet were screaming from the inside of a pair of time limit stilettos. I plunked down on an ottoman to comfort my pinky toe and wait for my friends to trickle in so we could indulge in some artsy fartsy music and poetry. In the meantime, I busied myself observing a couple sitting at a table a few feet away. She was lurched over a plate of pasta and he? He was sleeping. Head lolled back, mouth swung wide open, body tilted to the side sleeping.
How the heck does that even happen? I mean, I’m far from anybody’s dating authority, but when your companion goes night night right there in the middle of the evening, I’m pretty sure that’s a sign that things have gone south. So, too, are these varying and random acts of complete boredom, disregard, or rudeness that spell certain doom for the date and, almost definitely, any chance of a second one.
On Saturday, ESPN aired its annual College GameDay and, as part of the infectious hype and hullaballoo, thousands of manic game-goers put their Sharpies to some serious work to show off the wittiness they’ve been cultivating at their respective institutions. There were plenty ofManti Te'o “Catfish” jokesat the Notre Dame-Michigan game, but one sign stood out for its pure inappropriateness. It read “Hi Lizzy Seeberg,” hoisted high above the crowd. When a rape accuser dies, can she really ever rest in peace? Not if a Michigan fan has access to poster board and a little bit of television airtime.
Every love story has a certain degree of “awww” factor, but this one stands out for a few different reasons. When Brandon Wylie posted his wedding day photo on Facebook to commemorate six happy years of marriage with his better half, Nicole, he was just a guy making a sweet gesture to celebrate his anniversary. (Good man, Brandon.)
Much to both of their surprise, the pic got more than 100 likes. Then 300. Then 500. “By the time we got home that evening, we literally had about 700 likes,” he told Black and Married With Kids. "I said ‘what is going on?’ She doesn’t know 700 people!" Six hours after he shared it, the photo he’s been posting every year since they got hitched had garnered about 3,000 likes.
It’s gone viral and has generated buzz because Nicole has vitiligo. In her, folks have been reminded that love is available to everyone.