Dear Consistency….

For why come do you not want to be a part of my life?! I need you! Why must you hide?! Ok, ok let me get real. I’m the problem in this relationship. I’m sorry. I’m going to do better. You don’t believe me? Yes, I know that I’ve said those words to you many a time before. I serious this time. I need you. Life is much harder than necessary without your benefits. Don’t look at me like that! You want to know why I’m serious this time?

*Insert picture of my mid-section here*

You see that? I’ve been attempting to get rid of the kangaroo pouch tummy for what feels like forever. It’s not huge and my clothes aren’t suddenly “shrinking” or anything like that, but Ugh! I want a flat tummy!!! If I keep riding on the lazy train, I’m going to end up in the land of booty-do and cottage cheese thighs. I haven’t been able to stick to a workout schedule to save my life! But that is the past. With you by my side Consistency, I’m going to be in tip-top shape. And don’t get me started on the roller coaster that is my eating habits. Like, I know that I feel better when I have a green smoothie for breakfast. I Know This. Yet, I can go weeks and weeks without taking the 6 minutes required to start my day on the right foot. Who DOES That?! A person without You!! All I need is you Consistency!!!


This is how I treat my blog most of the time. For Shame.

Another example? This entire corner of the internets that is my blog is perfect! Do you know how many ideas and thoughts fall into the abyss of my overactive imagination because I don’t consistently explore and write? If you look in my phone right now, you’ll see at least 25 beginnings. That’s it. And my many notebooks…. Beginnings and maybe a few extra sentences. Not one complete ANYTHING. I want to go back and finish everything that I start, really, but your homie procrastination is really good at diverting my attention just long enough for the thoughts and ideas to completely float away. What’s left? All of my beginnings.

So there. Do you get it now? I know you felt the frustration through these words. Even if you didn’t, know that I’m frustrated. I’m over it. I want you boo. I need you. Get over here!! Now!!

I Do Not Have A Diary

Negro, Please


I met a very intelligent old man this weekend. A doctor of history and latin, this man was pretty much a walking encyclopedia. I spent much of the weekend learning about all types of stuff that I won’t remember, but was cool in the moment. Dr. SmartyPants was good in my book, until he looked at me and let the most offensive sentence cascade out of his mouth. I was sitting on the couch, minding my business, writing.

“Oh, I see you’re writing in your diary there.”

*record comes to a screeching halt*

I don’t think I’ve given an eye as evil as the one that little Mr. I Know Everything About Everything recieved in that moment. This look was followed by an icy “This is Not a diary. I don’t have a diary.” What I really wanted to say:

Bruh, I’m 25 years old, and I write. I write everything. Notes, plans, thoughts. I write everywhere. Any paper at any time that I have words that need to be written will work for me. I prefer a notebook. I am currently writing in a notebook. This notebook is not pink, or purple or decorated with some freakishly feminine design. This book that I’m writing in does not have a little lock, nor do I need a key to access the pages. I’m a grown ass woman. I do not have a diary. Fall back. 


I write. It’s what I do, and a big part of who I am. It keeps me organized. It has kept me sane at times. It has prevented more bad decisions than I can count. It has assisted in the birth of ideas. I do not have a diary. I have a little extensions of myself.


Please Go Take A Parenting Class

I do not have children, but I do know plenty of people who are parents. Some are excellent, and some make wonder. Some questions that come to mind when I’m in the presence of horrible parenting are:

1. Do you really think that what you’re doing is going to work?

2. You know that YOU are the parent right?

3. Do you see your child right now?

4. Have you ever thought about taking a parenting class? Please take a parenting class!!

What kinds of things bring up these questions? I’m glad you asked.

  • Do you know what a little person’s job is? To fill our lives with love and affection, of course. They are also supposed to get on our nerves and test the patience of every grown person with whom they happen to come in contact. That is not a valid excuse for your day to be ruined as soon as your feet hit the floor. The little person doesn’t know any better. They are simply living their little person life. Your attitude won’t do anything but make them look at you with the ill side eye and go back to playing with their toys.
  • When there are twenty-plus years between you two, there should be no such things as an option. You want to give out options? Here’s one for you – Do what I say or catch a backhand. 
  • We’ve always been told that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and it’s my personal favorite. As we say in the wonderful world of twitter, Breakfasts >>>>>. With that said, I would like to point out a key word: BREAKFAST.  Here are some things that do not fall under the breakfast umbrella:
  • Goldfish
  • Any random remnants of candy found in a car seat
  • Any form of potato chip. This includes baked, healthy choice and veggie.
  • Oreo Cakesters
  • Children are taught to listen to grown ups. No child will obey someone their age. Bargaining will never lead to success, and your child will walk away from you like the crumbsnatchers in daycare. Man up. Act your age.

That concludes my first installment of Please Go Take A Parenting Class!




Growing up, I used to want to be a myriad of things when I became an adult. A great musician – can’t play an instrument or read a note of sheet music. A neonatologist – I figured out how many years of school were required and let that one go quickly. A day care owner – this one still pops up from time to time, but as something I want to do when I’m older. A teacher – only lasted a few days. You get my point.

Never have I wanted to be her. I’ve never wanted to treat people like dirt, and act like none of it ever happened when I need something. So I don’t. I’ve never wanted to drown my problems in alcohol. So I haven’t. I’ve never aspired to depend on substances. So I haven’t. I’ve never dreamed of allowing anger and depression take over my life. So I haven’t.

Becoming her doesn’t happen overnight. There is a mentality behind that way of life that I do not possess. She turned to things for comfort and answers instead of God and her family. She swam in an olympic sized pool of her own sorrows instead of doing something about what made her unhappy. She conveniently forgot how to support herself financially, mentally and emotionally. All of her everything lay in one thing and one thing only.

Nothing about the previous statements described the person that I am, the person who I’ve been or the person who I am becoming. When I hear that people who should know better are looking at me as if I’m her… When I notice that people are treating me in such a way that I know they are thinking of her… It is infuriating.

I am not her. I don’t want to be her. I never will be anything close to her. It is sad that  the very people who taught me, and exposed me to a lifestyle that equipped me to be the opposite of her, are looking at me and seeing her. These people, who have been educated in the type of person that she is. They should all know more than anyone. Me does not equal her. Me is not similar to her.

I am not changing anything about myself in an attempt to convince people who should need no convincing in the first place. Keep relating me to her and I will remove myself until I no longer feel that being myself will be met with insults.

*steps off of soap box*

*drops mic*

*flips imaginary hair*

*walks away*


I’m ok. No, really. No need to speculate or ask everyone but me how I’m doing. Asking my sister will land you on an express train to nowhere. All she does is tell me everything. And what do i do? I laugh. Just fall back guys. Stop worrying. I say that with lots of love.

I know you’re old and you mean well, but I’m at the ripe age of 24. 24 year olds go out and do things. I am in a position that has me at events that I wouldn’t be able to attend because I have other things to pay for, along with allowing me to go out and do the things that 24 year olds do for free. I’m going to go do these things.  I promise that my daddy knows. Stop snitching.
P.S – I am not my mother.
P.S.S. – shout out to you for coming through in the clutch. Love you Fox!

Stores With New Clothes,
I don’t think that I like you that much anymore. I’m cheating on you with thrift stores. Don’t get too down on yourself, I still need you for things like shoes and underwear, and from time to time I’ll stop by for wardrobe essentials. The thrift and vintage world is stealing my heart and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Get it together. I love you, and I’ll never denounce my love, but seriously GET IT TOGETHER! Offensive line, I’m looking at you.
P.S. – To my husband Hines Ward, I love you the mostest!

White Girl At Work,
Let me be more specific. Lazy white girl at work. I was not hired to do your assignments. I do not work under you. I am not in the office to do all of the things that you don’t feel like doing. Don’t put anything on my desk without an explanation. I’m going to assume that you forgot where the trash can is located and help you out.

Originally I was going to tell you that if you throw me one more curve ball then I was going to quit you altogether. Then I was reminded that I have favor and faith. So to you I say, bring it on. And I’ll leave you with the wise words of BoneCrusher: I ain’t neva scared.