After Work (The Whole Story)

She walked in the house and flopped on the couch, her bottom making a soft thud against the material. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the familiar smells that filled her nostrils. Work had been a bitch - and to be home placed her in a grateful mood. She kicked off her pumps while pulling off her suit jacket, then loosened her braids that had been pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She wanted to do nothing but lay on the couch and relax. But suddenly. She craved chocolate.

She got up and made her way to the kitchen, and rummaged through the cabinets. She squealed at her success. An unopened bag of Reese’s mini cups wee sitting there, begging to be devoured. She peeled back the seal and leaned her hips against the counter, savoring the little pieces of heaven as she popped them in her mouth.

“Beauty?” His rumbling voice filled the air and almost made her drop her candy. She still wasn’t used to his presence - they had only moved in together about 2 months before - but hearing his pet names for her still made her body shake with absolute desire. He came into the kitchen, and upon seeing her, crossed the threshold with his arms open, his thick lips puckered into a kissy face. She giggled and kissed him playfully, while his arms wrapped around her waist and gripped her ass, pulling her closer to his body. He kissed her again - This time, deeper. Slower. Making her drop her bag of candy on the floor.

“These lips...,” he muttered before he kissed her again, “have been on my mind all damn day.” He kissed her harder, then pulled away and smiled. “You tongue taste like chocolate.” She laughed and motioned to the bag that was now on the floor. He raised an eyebrow and picked it up, then immediately placed one on his tongue. He sucked for a moment, then smiled at her. “Kiss me, beauty,” He hissed. She obliged his demand, and sucked his tongue while her nails dug into his chest. He moaned while his fingers made their way up her skirt, where he began to stroke and play with all her sensibilities and wetness. She began to fumble with his belt and his pants, her fingers moving quickly and elegantly as it brushed his skin. She made his pants fall to his ankles and instantly dropped to her knees. He raised his eyebrow as she slowly kissed his exposed skin. She grinned back at him and softly said “I’m craving chocolate.”

His eyes got wide as he watched her weave her magic spell, his hands gripping her braids and guiding her head in the perfect rhythm. Sounds of her slurps filled the quiet apartment, while profanity spilled off his lips. Her tongue licked and caressed him, making his hips buck slow but hard against her face.  He looked down at her to see a smile mixed with passion in her eyes.  That sight was more than he could take.  He pulled her away and in one motion, lifted her up and sat her on the counter.  He ripped her panties off, and hiked up her skirt, planting her firm ass on the cold marble top.  He stopped for a brief moment, and started deep into her brown eyes that were brimming with passion and love.

Before she could say his name, he was between her legs, lips plastered to her core.  He made deliberate tongue strokes against her while his finger maneuvered inside, causing rippling sensations through her body down to her toes.  She yelped and tried to run, but his arm appeared, wrapping himself around her hips and holding her in place.  She placed her hands on his head and held him in place while she left her traces, soaking his mustache and goatee until it dripped from his chin to the counter top.  He stood up straight and smiled at her.  She smiled back and beckoned him toward her.  He leaned forward while she licked her evidence off his lips, causing him to shake with fury. 

"Mine," was all he growled as he entered, slowly - his hands gripping her thighs, his lips planted firmly on her shoulder.  She lifted her legs higher and wrapped them around his waist, silently encouraging him to do his bidding.  He bit down, leaving his first mark of the night against her honey brown skin. She moaned his legal name softly, then louder as he grooved his hips to it's own rhythm.  "Look at me while I fuck you," he muttered as he lifted her chin and kissed her slowly.  The look of pure lust in his eyes drove her mad, and made her shake harder than she had before.  He pulled her closer and went deeper, causing a soft squeal to emit from her tongue.  She dug her fingers into her lover's chest and shoulder, leaving whelps across his dark skin.  He bit her bottom lip, making her smile in pure lust as she spread herself wider to allow him access to more of her center.  His stroke sped up as he fastened his lips to hers.  In an instant, she scream and shook violently, collapsing against his chest, her breathing shallow and reeking with satisfaction.

"Baby...," he moaned as he gathered her entire body close to his.  Her orgasm set off a chain reaction in his loins and before he knew it, he slammed into her one more time, spilling himself inside of her.  He got ready to pull out, and felt her limbs tighten.

"No." she whispered harshly. "Again."

Brown Boy Body Issues

You know, Brown and Black boys have body issues, too.

I think we as women don't recognize them because....hell, let's be honest. We ourselves are finally shedding a lot of the misconceptions of our OWN bodies - and we haven't even touched the iceberg of THAT fact.  So dissecting and de-learning the things about our Black men is just as hard, and will take just as much work as well.  But do you want to know when I realized that our men have body issues too?  In my last relationship (I learned a lot from that situation. A whole lot).

When we first met, we were doing the whole "exchange pictures every morning of what the person is wearing" thing.  One day, I made a comment about how tall and lanky he was - not because it was a bad thing, but because he is.  You know. Random observation.  I said something along the lines of  "Oh my God, you're so thin. I'm going to break you because I'm 200 lbs SOLID."  He didn't text back for about ten minutes (you know, in the early talking phases, that's like, a LIFETIME lol). When he finally texted back, he says "You're beautiful just as you are - and yes, I know how skinny I am.  I've dealt with that all my life. You don't have to remind me."

"You don't have to remind me."

And it clicked.  Like, a light bulb literally went off in my head.

See, our Black and Brown men are INUNDATED with images just as we are.  What is "handsome". What is "attractive".  Tatted men with beards, Lance Gross, Big Papi Ortiz, Michael Ealy types are flaunted in front our them on a regular - in our #ManCrushMonday posts, in the pictures that we post on Facebook with the lustful "Oh my god" captions with the heart eyes, on our snap chats of men out in public - and we don't realize that we have set our men up for failure.  Just as we have been set up.  They feel that if they are not the buff, big arm having, washboard ab procuring, long thick beard flaunting type of man, then they aren't deserving of the women they are, in turn, attracted to.  After the conversation with him, I begin to really pay attention to the way men responded to our open lust.  Many act as if they aren't bothered by it, many throw shade about it, but if you read between the lines....they are bothered.  They are indeed VERY bothered. Pressed. Upset. And feeling a little (or a lot of) unworthy of our affection. Or attention.  I never realized that so many men went back to the gym in an effort to look like the men we fawn over.  I never realized that so many went for broke on protein powders every month in an effort to look like Idris Elba.  Or they struggle to grow beards because that seems to catch a woman's attention.  And oh, God. Please don't let him be short.  That's....a whole new can of worms, gnats, and triggering conversations. 

I used to read studies in grad school all the time that said that Black men and women weren't "as affected" as white men and women were by images in the media.  Bruh. Strike up a conversation with your friends. A real deal conversation. Those studies are tailored to a particular population, and they are quite frankly a load of bullshit.  Media shapes and molds our minds - from childhood throughout adulthood.  And if you consistently see images that say you aren't attractive in the natural state that you are born into, then guess what?  You won't see yourself as attractive.  And then when you add the reinforcement from your own? Man. It's bloody war.  And we expect for women to feel pressured. But we never think about the pressure that the men, especially our Black men, are under.
 

Now, I'm not saying that women should run out there and date men that they aren't physically attracted to because.....well, let's face it. Physical attraction is often what gets you through the door.  Man, woman, gay or straight.  People walk up to us and say "Hi, I'm xyz" because something about the physical makes their eyebrows raise.  But as we as Black women are reclaiming and celebrating our shades, statue, and physique....we should definitely encourage our Black men to do the same because, let's face it.

They are still a reflection of us.

Shaming Our Non-Sluts

Gather around and repeat after me.

Stop Shaming Virginity.

Say it again.

STOP SHAMING VIRGINITY.

Stop this shit right now, fam.

See, in our quest to be "Pro-Sex" or "Sex Positive", we often only talk about those of us who openly speak on sex - how much we have, don't have, toys, lack of toys, BDSM, kinks, the list goes on and on. We put up a banner and call people like that "free". We hold rallies and tell them that they are amazing. That their sexuality is a healthy part of who they are and they should not be ashamed for being a red blooded, sex loving, sex drive having human because - that's what we are, right? Mammals. And mammals have sex. 

But in doing this, we have managed to shame those of us who AREN'T having sex.

Ever met a woman, or ESPECIALLY a man, who is over the age of 16 who is a virgin? Have you ever listened, I mean REALLY listened, to the way we talk about them? Or talk to them?  If we don't revert to treating them like children, we immediately go into shaming who they are and their conscious decision to not have sex.  We ask them "Why?" and "Are you not sexually attracted to people?" and "Do you not like the opposite sex?" and in many scenarios, we laugh at them and act like they are the weird ones because they didn't start dropping their draws at the first person who said they had a pretty smile.

All these reactions, however, are pretty fucking trash.

First, it's no one's business why ANYONE has decided to remain a virgin. In the words of my sister, "YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!" Some people could do it for religious reasons. Trauma. Fear. Mental health reasons. Hell, it could just be their damn choice to be a virgin until either marriage or they feel they have found the one. In whatever case - Stop asking virgins why they are virgins. If they want you to know why, they will tell you. And if they don't share why, leave that shit alone.  It's not your business - It ain't your body.

Also, virginity has NOTHING to do with sexual attraction, whether it be to the opposite or same sex.  And to assume that a virgin must be a virgin because they are gay is the stupidest logic known in the sexual hemisphere.  Like, what the fuck does someone not having sex have to do with their sexuality? Stupid fuckers. Always making assumptions.

And to laugh at ANYONE'S choice of what they do sexually is just....horrible.  Laughing at a person's life decision is like.....laughing at their life. Matter of fact, it is laughing at their life.  And their choices. And that's something that grown folks shouldn't do. 

Oh, this also goes for celibate individuals as well.  What they do ain't our business. Why they don't do it ain't our concern. 

You can't claim to be Sex Positive if you shame our non sexually active friends.  You aren't being sex positive.

That's sexual bullying.

Self Care Is Never Optional

Self Care is mandatory.

It is never optional. It can never be second guessed. It can never be placed on the back burner.  Sometimes, you have to unplug and disengage - for your own good.

Right now, it is open season on African-Americans.  Sorry, my white friends and readers.  This a sad truth that you yourself must face as well.  And social media outlets are overran by videos of shootings, articles detailing deaths of our people, opinions of how we should just "comply" (even though the proof is there that comply STILL means die), facts and articles about Black Lives Matter, or how Black on Black crime is more serious than police brutality, opinions of athletes and stars shouldn't deal or say anything about what is going on in our nation, and it's a lot.

It's a whole fucking lot.

So let me remind my people of a few things.

First, please keep in mind that you are not obligated to watch this snuff films of our people dying.  We do not have to consistently burden our hearts with the knowledge that our people are receiving punishments that don't fit the supposed "crimes" they are committing.  Why? Because history has shown us that our government and their officials will kill us whenever they feel the time is right.  So we need no proof. We need no videos. So please, remember - you ain't gotta watch what you already know.  You ain't gotta see what we have known since we were children.

Secondly, stop expecting all Black people to speak out and up about certain things.  I know this is hard. And I struggle with this daily.  I see things and I see Black people not even trying to acknowledge it and I just want to scream "WAKKKKKKEEEEE UPPPPPPPP!" The truth of the matter, though? Every Black person ain't down with the resistance movement.  Keep in mind - a lot of the push back during the Civil Rights movement was within our OWN community. So, stop expecting others to help - a lot of the ones pushing back are coattail riders any damn way.

Finally.

Self Care is important.

Self Care is important.

SELF CARE IS IMPORTANT.

Ain't shit wrong with taking time out to go play Pokémon Go. Or a video game. Watch a crazy TV shows. Or go see a movie. Or go fuck.  Forget what people say you should be focused on - or my personal favorite, what we should or should not be "distracted" by.  We as African-Americans go through a lot (PTSD.  I believe that's what we suffer from. Seriously). So taking care of one's mental health is an important part of the game.  Go do something that reminds you of who you are and why you are happy.  Indulge in things that you enjoy. That make you feel like you are human. Things that remind you that you DESERVE your space and your humanity in the most righteous of ways.

Because self care is never fucking optional

Self care is fucking mandatory.

I Ain't Sorry (No Beyonce)

So, I had to take a quick break, right? Because really. Healing from heartbreak is strange. Some days you feel really up, and some days - it's like being kicked in the teeth on a regular basis. But in this two weeks that I've been off the blog, I've been having conversations with family, friends, sorors, frat about - what else? - RELATIONSHIPS.  And sometimes, I feel like this:

Mr. Ed been catching that work, fam

Because dating is pretty rough.

It's even rougher when you are a sex positive, LGBT, Pro-Black, super politic, anti-bullshit over the age of 30 Black woman.

Yesterday, during a conversation with my sister, I brought up the fact that ALL conversations with men turn sexual - and it's annoying.  And, I don't think she meant to, but she hit me with the "Well, you are always posting something about sex. You should expect it" line.  I didn't get mad, but instead I got really, REALLY sad. Like, that cry until you get a headache sad.  That I don't feel like texting or talking to anyone sad. Because in a weird way, I SHOULD expect it.  I shouldn't be mad or frustrated because the reality of it all is this - men perceive what they see, and what people see is often their version of reality.  So if a man sees my Instagram page, which is full of sex positive quotes, endorsements of toys, statements about sex in general - he is going to assume that I'm a freak (By the way, I fucking HATE that word), and I should expect for every conversation to turn a certain way because sex positive means that you are fucking (and apparently means that you are fucking anything that comes your way.)

So, last night - I legit thought about scrubbing my IG, scraping the Sex Positive Sundays on the blog, and doing this whole Godly, wholesome image that will prevent men from treating me like meat and taking me seriously.  Like, I did.  Because I'm tired.  I'm tired of being talked to a certain way, deemed a particular way, perceived as some sex crazed animal - you know, the Jezebel or Sapphire media stereotype brought to life. And I'm scared of not finding the one. Absolutely frightened of it.

And then, I thought about Sex in the City. (Ya'll know that's my favorite show/set of movies). And I thought about when Charlotte stopped running because she had finally gotten pregnant. And Carrie looked her dead in her eye and said "You can't stop being who you are because you're scared, right?"

Bitch. Carrie. My Cosmo drinking, cigarette smoking, in love with Big for ten years Bitch.  You spoke a word.

So I woke up this morning, and smiled a slight smile.  Still heartbroken. Still jaded. Still annoyed to high heaven, but smiling none the less.

Because I am me.

A single, sex positive, LGBT, super political, anti-bullshit Black woman over the age of 30.

And I'm not scared of these facts.

And I'm sure in fuck ain't sorry.

A Strange Love Story

You know....the love of the black male genitals is a strange love story.

Google "Black Male Artistic Nudes" sometime. It's intriguing.

And I know why it's done.  It's about the dick. The penis. The tallywacker. The schlong. It's about the perceived sexual nature of the Black man, something that goes back to moment the Dutch took the first African off the continent. Throughout history, the Black Man's dick has been something he has been killed over, demonized about, and overall heralded as some oversized.

The 1970s changed that to me.

For me, the Blaxplotation movie was the first time I ever was introduced to the Black Man as a sexual being.  Seeing Rudy Ray Moore in bed with four and five women (many times, only one or two would be Black; the rest white); Seeing Goldie openly pimp women and seeing these women fall in LOVE with him; it was fascinating.  It was intriguing. Seeing Black men wanted - desired - CRAVED was amazing to me.

The 90s ushered in the Black athlete and his sexual prowess. The stories of Wilt Chamberlain became more and more open.  The pictures of Magic Johnson surrounded by beautiful women.  Dennis Rodman and his many stories of his love affairs with some of the most famous women in the world.  All stories based in sex.  All stories based in how big their dicks were. How they made it swing. How that thang made women feel. 

And I don't know if it was because the 90s was the Black Sexual Revolution (I will discuss this in a Sex Positive Sunday post. I promise) or what, but the 90s made the Black dick cool to discuss.  Bernie Mac famously said "If I pull out my dick the whole room will get dark" - Man, I remember the audience of Def Comedy Jam ROARING with laughter.

And then, high school.

Ever seen a group of white girls call a Black Man "nigger" in one breath, then offer to suck his dick the next?  I have.  Ever seen a group of Black men EAT THAT SHIT UP? I have.  It was confusing. It was angering. I wanted to protect my brothas (because that's what Black girls are taught - PROTECT THE MALE) but how could I protect them when them seemed to like it? When they liked sneaking around with (insert a stereotypical white girl name)? I didn't want my Black men treated as a fetish....but.....they seemed to like it.  Maybe it was because we were at a school that was 60% white for MOST of my academic career. But it seems like the brothas enjoyed the attention.  So what could I say but watch from the sidelines, head shaking. Wondering.

So now, I'm in my 30s. And I'm looking at social media.  Seeing how women of other races flock to social media accounts where Black men display their prints in those gray sweat pants. Seeing where Latina women post things like "Black Dick is for Latinas."  Seeing white women post things like "That Big Black dick is coming home to me and not you nigger bitches" (Yes. These are things that have really crossed my twitter timeline)  And I can't reconcile it. It doesn't compute. This isn't desire. This is the over sexual usage, desire and breakdown of a body part.  It's not love.  It's not concern - because as it was so aptly pointed out, the Kim Ks of the world aren't the ones screaming "Black Lives Matter" when a young brotha is shot to death by cops. But it's an overwhelming desire to feel conquered by something that seems so forbidden, still, in 2016.

And then I got to thinking of media stereotypes that date back to the movie "Birth of A Nation" (No Nate Parker)

Mandingo.

Buck slave.

Our brothas have always been a fetish. And we ain't even know it.  And sadly - it ain't a love story.

It's a legitimate nightmare.

The Pussy in Politics

Why is it that philandering husband means that a woman can't handle business?

Case and point.  Anthony Weiner and Huma Abedin.

Sis slayed in her gown tho. No lie. Bad Bitch Alert, fam.

So we all remember Anthony, right. Smart dude. Nice family background. Was a rising star in the Democratic party?  He marries Huma Abedin - top Clinton aide; Hillary's closest companion; and is the top choice for her Chief of Staff position when and if Clinton is elected President. Their marriage was the poster child for forgiveness and religious tolerance - Andrew is Jewish, Huma herself is Muslim. Their interfaith ceremony was heralded as beautiful and a new step in the direction of Jewish-Palestinian relations.

Yet, the ink wasn't even dry on their wedding invitations before he got caught sexting a woman in 2011, an act that forced him to resign from the Senate.  He got caught again in subsequent years, but this last incident, which just hit the press this week, has caused his wife Huma to release a statement, stating that her and her husband are now separated and will do everything they can to do the right thing by their four year old son.  The moment the news dropped, Republicans pounced.  Claiming that her sext driven husband was a "threat to national security" and that means that Hillary Clinton isn't "Fit to lead" the country because her top aide has a husband that can't keep his dick to himself.

Wayment.

It reminds of the 2008 election.  A lot of people, Democrats and Republicans, said that Hillary wasn't fit to lead because her husband was a cheater and "if she can't control her man, she can't control the White House."  Something that was first said as a joke began to catch traction and was taken as a serious indictment of why Clinton "wasn't fit to lead a nation."  She can't control the Presidential Penis, so she can't control the nation. HUH?  When the Monica Lewinsky scandal was brought up to Chelsea during a town hall meeting, she famously gave that tight smile and told the reported "I don't think how my mother handled that is any of your business."

Why is this a thing?  Why is it that when a man does something inappropriate, we question the wife's leadership skills? Clinton was never challenged when he stuck his dick in another woman's mouth.  People often still consider him the best President in this century, even thought it's been documented that his economic policies helped in the collapse of the nation's economy in 2008.  Matter of fact, many say that his flaws made him a BETTER president.  Why is it, however, that a woman's choice of husband is often deemed as the "make or break" situation in her political career?  Even when it comes to Sarah Palin (who I DESPISE); Many of her choices were questioned whenever her husband went off the cuff or did something stupid.

Why?

Which brings me back to Anthony and Huma.  Suddenly, she being on Clinton's staff is a National Security threat because "she may have told her husband something and he may have told someone he is sexting that information."  I mean, Have you ever sexted anyone? Politics and National Security and secrets isn't on the agenda when someone hits send.

I don't know. Maybe it's just me - but I think a man who gets his dick sucked while on the phone with international leaders is a bigger threat to National Security than a woman who was cheated on by her husband.

Just a thought. Juuuusstttt a thought.

Athletic Activism

Malcolm X said that all of us have to stand tall for something or fall for anything. All of us also have had to have an evolution in thinking. You can't have a "revolution" without an "evolution." You didn't become the next Huey P. Newton or Angela Davis overnight. It took unlearning attitudes and beliefs and challenging yourself, your privilege, your pride. Evolving what we feel, what we think, how we see the world. 

Colin Kaepernick had such a change.

Peep the hat.

We can't say when for sure. Posts about Martin Luther King, Jr, the Black Panther Party and more didn't show up on his social media accounts consistently until last fall.  All we knew was that he was a quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers who loved football and God. We didn't know where he stood politically. 

On August 26, Kaepernick made it clear where he stands, by sitting down during the national anthem during a preseason game against the Green Bay Packers. When asked why, he did not mince words about why he sat. 

"I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color. To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder."

Kaepernick took a stand that neither Lebron James and his boys at the ESPYs or Michael Jordan took. And those names are bigger than his and have more influence.  The ESPYs speeches by James, Chris Paul, Carmelo Anthony and Dwyane Wade and Jordan's monetary donations to organizations helping Black people and the police aimed to play both sides of the fences.

Stay in the middle.

Don't offend anyone.

Kaepernick made it clear he's on the side of justice.

He's not asking for peace. He's asking for justice, for all people in this nation. He's on the American side, where you stand up for what you believe in.  Through Kaepernick's action, we also learned where many stood on America's constant destroying and disrespecting of black bodies.

In actuality, It was never a secret where they stood to be honest. We heard them through their silence. Silence is siding with the oppressor, allowing them to continue disrespecting and destroying our bodies win no protest or pushback. 

But when it comes to the American flag and what it represents? People speak up and stand tall for that.  A flag that stood tall during slavery. A flag that stood tall during segregation and the "separate but equal" era. People are more concerned about respecting this country's flag and what it represents than the daily systemic oppression, disrespect and destruction of black bodies in this country. 

People care more about protecting the nation's flag and what it stands for than protecting all people who live in that nation. They care more about the ideals than living out the ideals: Liberty, freedom and justice. FOR ALL. 

Those who say Kaepernick was wrong and disrespectful? For speaking about how all people don't have liberty and freedom? How all don't get justice?

Well.

know where they stand. 

Editor's note: The website The Root wrote an incredible article over the history of the Star Spangled Banner. We here at the Nerdy NonConformist encourage you to take a read over such a brilliantly researched article.

Michael Livingston resides in the Carolinas and writes in the name of food.  He is an active contributor here at TNNC.  Follow his words and his exploits on Instagram and Twitter at @mikelive06.

Fat And Fuckin'

Dear Society,

You....you do realize that fat girls fuck, right?

And we often fuck men that you think we don't deserve? You mad?

Like, I need you to realize that we have sex lives - often, really really GREAT sex lives - and that we are not all just laying in the bed, huffing and puffing, doing the missionary position only.  Or always doing doggie style so we can rest on our elbows.  We can bounce like no other and can put ourselves in positions that are AH-MAZE-ING.  I need you to realize that "normal" people want to have casual sex,  intimate relationships, and do nasty-freaky-naughty things with us on a regular basis. I need you to realize that men (and women) make passes at us. Call us beautiful.  Rub our stomachs, outline our stretch marks with their tongues, and hold on to us as if we are the sexiest thing in the world. 

I need you to realize that we cum, too. 

Hard.

I need you to realize that we have our own kinks - many of which don't revolve around being "big" or "large". We like being tied up. We like discipline. We like being restrained (even if it takes a little more rope) We adore handcuffs. And furry tails. And cat of 9 tails. And paddles. And all the quirky little things that others like.

Society, I need you to realize that there are men and women who like this fupa.  Folks who ain't upset about a little bit of gut. Or a lot of gut. 

I need you to understand that just because I'm fat and fucking, that does NOT mean I'm desperate. It doesn't mean that every man who smiles in my direction can whiff my draws, get my number, or experience this greatness that is Fat Girl Sex.  Realize, oh society, that 90% of the DM slides get ignored - especially ones who are trying to just "experience" a fat girl; especially ones from men who dog big girls on their IG and twitter and snapchat timelines; especially from men who make it known that they have a big girl fetish.

  Society, I know you don't care about these words.  You're still going to demoralize women like me; Pornography companies wills till consider us a niche market.  Lingerie companies will still only go up to a size 14, and anything higher than that will cost in the hundreds of dollars.  You'll still see us as undesirable, sexually frustrated, and unwanted.

Now excuse me while I text back or ignore these messages and DMs.

Last Summer

Last summer, I was working on a YouTube series with two friends.

The series was blah at best. We had no direction and no real idea of where this was going. It was a constructive way to fill our time and think we were really doing something.  It was a “talk show” YouTube series where we interviewed interesting people in Richmond, Virginia. But we didn’t have any guests lined up. And once the show started, we didn’t have a list of guests waiting. The unpreparedness and “winging it” attitude conflicted with my meticulous methods.

But I'm a hustla. I'm going to go get it.

For the second week of the show, I went to an artist showcase for local artists that a frat brother had put together. I found an artist who agreed to go on the show. Like a real artist -- if he doesn't sell his paintings, he isn't eating. We needed guests and I went out and found one. I got him because his art was good. He is openly homosexual, but I didn't care about his sexuality because he's not here to discuss that. He's here to talk about his art. His sexuality is his own business, I thought, and there's no reason to discuss it at length.

My friends were not here for it.

They (we'll call them Po Boy and Euro) asked me to make sure the artist was not going to discuss his lifestyle, and not talk about the biggest news of the summer: same-sex marriage becoming legalized nationwide.  They did not want to have a real conversation on being an openly gay Black man and all that entails. Instead they played it safe, and it made for an okay interview.

The exposure for him was great. He has hella followers on Instagram and we expected the interview to get a lot of love, and it did. Months later, he made a portrait of a very popular reality TV star and she put it on her Instagram. That’s wash poppin’.

Po Boy and Euro made some really nasty, degrading comments in private about the artist's life: his personal style, his eccentric selfies and how he had a boyfriend. They, two straight men, talked about him, a gay man, a lot in private conversation. They were on his Instagram every now and then when he came across their timeline, and looked at his shirtless selfies and poses with his boyfriend.  This was the same summer that Bruce Jenner made the transition to Caitlyn. Again. I don't think it's a big deal. I supported it. If he felt better about himself and his life if he were to become a woman, I support that. Who are me to judge?

Po Boy and Euro did judge. They judged Caitlyn just like they judged the artist. They despise his lifestyle - yet they talked about it so often.

Black men, if we are engaging in violent behavior against the LGBTQ and women, we are no different than the people who are holding us back.

That means having to have uncomfortable conversations with our problematic friends.

The first uncomfortable conversation happened at Buffalo Wild Wings of all places. Po Boy and Euro liked to have their "meetings" at B Dubs for whatever reason. While there, we ran into "Hakeem" and "Henny P. Newton." Newton is a guy who has gotten a lot of my respect because he's a Woke Black man who seems to be on the right side of this issue. Hakeem is my best male friend and I was surprised he joined with Newton in the argument.  Hakeem and Newton argued Po Boy and Euro could take the show and be interesting, entertaining, engaging. Everything that it currently wasn't.

"Why not talk about the Caitlyn Jenner issue?" Newton and Hakeem said.

"We don't want that gay shit associated with our brand," Po Boy and Euro argued.

Po boy referred to the Supreme Court's decision to allow same-sex marriage in all states as "bullying." He said he felt bullied by the LGBTQ community pushing their agenda on the public.

Their pride made him uncomfortable.

I'm soft spoken, and all four of them are loud as hell so they can speak over the music and sports on the TV. When we got back to Po Boy's apartment, I wanted to finish the conversation and let it be known where I stood.

I was uncomfortable with the jokes about the artist. I was uncomfortable with them calling Caitlyn Jenner “he.” Because it was problematic and close minded.

Not too long after that, the show had only one good episode. It was two vs. one for the rest of the show's life. Later, I accepted a job offer down in Danville, Virginia and that was that for my role on the show.

I was in Richmond because I had lost a job, and then lost myself.  Down in Richmond, I found my voice and found the confidence to align myself on what I believe is right … Even if I lose some friends. I learned about the LGBTQ community, feminism, male privilege, misogynoir, and all of those topics because it made no sense to me how they get treated differently because of their sex, gender or sexual preference.

Later, I learned that I was becoming “woke.” But learning information can’t be the end of the “woke” process. You should share what you’ve learned.

No one looks at a pack of wolves and tries to figure out “which one of them is the nice one who won’t tear me apart.” They are all the same. They hang together. So, if all of your friends engage in fuck nigga behavior, guess what? That’s who you are.  I ain’t a fuck nigga, but I hang out with them, so I’m guilty by association. I am no better than they are by sitting back and allowing their actions to carry on.

Sometimes it’s just words, but words can leave a lasting influence on a person’s self esteem.

I had a friend tell me this about street harassment (which is a public safety issue btw): the only thing you can do is educate yourself and educate your friends. The latter can make for a lonely time; I’m talking about losing people you’ve known for years.

But what is worse than that, is people losing their liberty and their lives to ignorant people.

People I used to call friends.

Used to. 

Michael Livingston so happens to be one of the cool kids.  He stays woke, loves the people, and he definitely writes for food. Follow him and his words on Instagram and Twitter at @mikelive06. 

A Man And His Game

Lately, I’ve been seeing an increasingly negative opinion of my women against one of my favorite hobbies/past times: video gaming.

This could be us, but you playin'

 Now, let me preface this by a bit of context.

I was brought up in a single parent home. For the largest majority of my life, it was me, my mother, my older sister and at times my grandmother. Yeah, I grew up the only boy in a household of strong, matriarchal women. I have no complaints! I took the dog out, fixed the wifi, screwed in bolts, raked leaves, took the trash out and many other duties befitting the “man of the house” label and expectations, even from a young age.

With that said, growing up with all women was an experience. Lifetime movies were the bane of my existence. I’d never really got to watch what I wanted to watch on tv unless my older sister wanted to watch it, too (I remember racing home from school to make sure I could control the remote so we could watch toonami while doing our homework, and hoping that she would agree to watching Dragon Ball Z or Gundam Wing) but if that wasn’t the case, or my mom was home, we would simply watch what she wanted to watch. Times like this I learned to go in another room, read a book, maybe go outside if it was during the day- Basically find ways to entertain myself, whether it be with my action figures, or other imaginary things I filled my time with.

But then, one day everything changed. It was Christmas, actually, if I remember correctly. My dad came through and brought his usual assortment of gifts. My parents always tended to find a way to get along with each other for birthdays and holidays, luckily…but that’s beside the point. One of the gifts my dad had for me was a Sega Genesis. I had seen one before, he had one at his house. And I would play it when I went to stay the night over my cousin's house or something like that…but this one, was all mine. My dad brought me two games: the original Sonic the Hedgehog, and X-Men: Escape from Asteroid M (or whichever one it was where you could play as Gambit and the first level was the wild lands)…my dad told me, “Don’t let these women drive you crazy. Take that little tv in the middle room and escape. This is for you.”

In my young age, I didn’t quite understand the totality of what he meant, but as time went on, I realized that my video game was the only thing in life that was all mine. The girls didn’t really care for it (although, in later years my sister got eerily proficient at beating my ass in Tekken…I'll still never figure that part out). This was everything to me. Even with my action figures, my sister would draft them into her barbie day time stories and I’d happily play along, playing the roles of my action figures…it was just nice to have someone to play with. But my video games were mine. All mine.

Which brings me to the topic of this article.

Let your man play his video games.

Just let him. I get it. You want his attention. You work hard, and how dare he not recognize your magic or your queenly glow every waking second of the day, or even on demand? This is flawed thinking. Just like you, he fights battles every day that you would never know about. He may not complain. He may compartmentalize. He may deal with stress in his own way.

OR

He may wait until he gets home and can escape from it all.

He may be looking forward to knowing he can come home to a good woman who loves him and supports him and is willing to listen to any issues he has, but he may honestly rather not worry you with his petty issues or complaining. (us men aren’t really conditioned to complain…but that’s for another day, another article)

He may look forward to coming home and melting the face off an alien with SMG fire. Or meeting a friend online for a game of 2k where he can live out his childhood dreams. Or traveling to an alternate reality where he can be his childhood hero. Or….I could go on.

See, being a gamer does not mean he doesn’t love you. Or isn’t interested in spending time with you. And I can't speak for all men, so please take this article where it applies, but for some men, gaming is what keeps us sane. We see how fucked up the world is, just as much as our Queens do. And even though many of us fail at it, our charge is to not only strongly navigate this world, but protect our women who are in it as well. The man who takes this charge seriously and does his duty deals with that pressure. He deals with those expectations. He deals with it. He may not complain. Or talk about how seemingly impossible it is to be semi-conscious and not in a state of constant rage, as james baldwin so eloquently said. He feels it. He carries that burden. And sometimes, just sometimes, he needs to get away. He needs to go back to being that kid again who just wanted something all his own. Maybe he’s like me. Maybe he’s not. Maybe he has other reasons to love playing video games all his own.

What I do know is this: let him play. Or, ask to play WITH him…not play for a few minutes, do terribly, then ask if you guys can do something else, just to say you did it. If you’re going to play put actual effort into it. Try. And if it’s not your thing, then let him do him.

I can’t tell you how many times my wife has had the tv on Chromecast, watching makeup tutorials. The big tv. With my game connected to it. And she KNOWS I’d rather be playing it than watching some random woman do her makeup. But that’s the thing about balance, ladies. Think about it. Really take a second and think of all the things your man sits through, or goes to with you, or does with you…that you KNOW he could care less about doing.

Think about it.

Then ask yourself "why can't he have a few hours to himself?"

To some, this may sound selfish, and for that I apologize. But also, I hope it helps to give much needed perspective on a multi-billion dollar industry and hobby where one trade show may make millions of dollars of profit. This is serious business to everyone but yall, my Queens. And that needs to change.

Let him play. Bring him a beer. Sit with him. Play in your phone. Or have basic conversation, depending on the game. But stop acting like him being a gamer is a negative check on his sheet. There are so many more things I could go in on with this post, like the fact that him being home playing video games with online friends you may not know, should beat the hell out of him being out somewhere doing God knows what with real life people you may not know…but that’s a given (I hope). Ill end this here, but know this, Queens.

We love you.

We just sometimes need a bit of time, a world, a court, gun, some powers to ourselves…sometimes, in order to be our best for yall, we need to get away, and be that kid again.

Marshall Stevenson is the podcast host for "The Legion of Love" Podcast group and an all around nerdy kind of guy. Follow his podcast on Facebook at www.legionoflovepodcast.com, and make sure to follow his shenanagins on IG/Twitter @marshallpoetry. 

The Trump Turnpike

America.

Hey. Hey. We need to talk.

How. Did. We. Get. Here?

You know what HERE I'm talking about.

FAM.

I've never been really big on fear tactics.  I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm a product of the 9/11 generation.  Maybe it's because like so many, I heard the USA chants.  I watched several of my friends sign up happily for military service, subscribing to the "We need to protect our shores" at an early age.  Maybe it's because at that same age, when things didn't start lining up, I became a questioning mind and an open mouth.  I don't know WHY fear tactics don't scare me anymore, but this election, no lie.  The tactics got me, fam.  They got me.  I'm so ready to put on a Hillary pin, hashtag my tweets with #ImWithHer, and run to the nearest poll that I don't know what to do.  Which is tragic, because I don't trust her as far as I see anything, and those who know me know I'm blind as a damn bat in broad daylight.

But how did we get here?  The Republicans have always had a pretty craptastic candidates (although I'll be the first to admit - John Huntsman is my guy. Like. I love him. LOVE HIM) And Democrats have never been far behind,  but how did the Republicans go so far into the bigot closet that they are finding white sheets from the 1920s?  How did they let it get this bad? How did we make this left off of  Freedom Freeway and onto Trump Turnpike.

It wasn't the media. It wasn't the establishment.  It's simply because Donald Trump's 2016 campaign is VERY reminiscent of Barack Obama's 2008 campaign.

Hear me out though. 

When President Obama began his campaign, the country was in a state of unrest. (sound familiar?)  The people were hungry for change (I know that sounds familiar.)  The economy was fluctuating. (We getting warmer.) Protests of all kinds were springing up, with groups begging for acknowledgment and order in a time of restlessness (LISTEN)  The people were searching for someone who wasn't quite establishment, but had a little knowledge of....something....anything (Fam. You should be uncomfortable by now)  And then....out of the shadows came a community organizer turned politician who had this way with the people (Uh oh.) And could make thousands of people nod their heads by uttering one simple phrase (Yes. We. Can. Make. These. Comparisons.) And now, 8 years later, here we are again - staring at the television as a candidate has catapulted into Rock Star status and has become almost bigger than the election itself.

Trump Turnpike is a cluster fuck of traffic - news stories about this business deal or that scandal.  Articles about his health and his obsession with fast food.. Think pieces about how racist he is.  Detailed filled articles about how he is a bankrupt slumlord who is nothing but a TV personality looking for new advertisers.  What it is, this road seems to be going nowhere FAST.

And I, for one, can't wait to get off. 

How Do We Love The Skin We're In

Celebrating the skin we are in is hard work.

There are so many factors that make it hard, too.  Between society, racism, music, movies, television, and other outside factors, loving this perfect, mocha - chocolate - deep rich coffee - melanated skin is a tough job. BUT SOMEBODY HAS TO DO IT.  Somebody has to love this skin because it's a reflection of our past.  Somebody has to love this skin because it's the focus of our present.  Somebody has to love this skin because it is the projection of our future.

But at times - you know who makes it hard to love this skin we are in? 

Us.

THERE. I said it.

Now this ain't a Willie Lynch type blog - besides, we should all know by now that the Willie Lynch letter is one of the biggest hoaxes in Black Pop and Historical Culture.  But we cannot deny the colorism that is rampant in our community - how light skinned men are deemed "soft" and light skinned women as "more exotic" and "high maintenance."  How dark skinned men are loved, but it's more on a sexual nature, and how dark skinned women are either treated as an artistic art piece (think of the Bilal video Soul Sista) or demonized as something that is ugly and undesired (I'm looking at you, Kodak Black).  How "redbones" are something popularized by Black music and considered exotic or "video vixens."  Or the invisible caramel (medium skin toned) Black person - those of us who aren't exotic looking, or too black to be made fun of, so everyone just acts like we don't exist.

We know that slavery played a major part in this.  See, everyone owned us at some point - From the Arabs, to the Dutch, to the Native Americans (Don't believe the hype. All of them weren't trying to fight the "Pale Faces." Some were trying to assimilate) And with owning slaves, come rape. And with rape, children. And when children were born, those who looked a certain way were often treated better - by Massa and the family.  Fear of the "Big Black Man" was used to pass laws, from 1863 until at LEAST the 1920s (ever wonder why coke was made illegal? Yea.....about those big black dark skinned men who were raping all the women.) But we know this, right?  This is common knowledge if we barely even picked up a book - all you have to do is watch the movies "Roots" or "Queen".  Or read the Slave Narratives where they talk about biracial children being treated with a higher level of twisted love. 

With that higher elevation, comes the bullshit.

My generation is the generation right behind the resurge of 90s Black Power - Images of HBCUs, successful Black entrepreneurs, empowering singers, and conscious rappers fill my childhood memories.  But even in that, there were tinges of colorism.  "Don't play outside, or else you'll get too dark" was a mantra my friends and I heard often.  My friends have often told me stories about how their lighter skinned cousins weren't made to do any housework at Grandma's house during the family Sunday dinner, while the darker cousins could barely eat for being ordered around and made to be the house beast of burden. The way Whitley on a "Different World" was uplifted by many to be the standard of HBCU beauty.  Dark skinned Black men were demonized, then elevated to a point of "this is the only example of Black manhood".  The AKA paper bag test was something I grew up hearing about from my older cousins who attended school - a practice that dated back years before any of us even thought about crossing the sands into our respective Greek letter organizations.  When the video vixen trend became popular, most of the women in the videos were medium to reddish brown skinned women, with flat chest and big butts. As the 90s went on, however, the trend became Afro-Latina - why? Again, the whole "exotic" factor.

How do we break this? It's easy to say that education is the key, but everything I mentioned in this blog is pretty common knowledge, and yet, Colorism lives on.  It thrives.  Some people say they never experienced it because "everyone in my family is the same color" - meanwhile, the experiences of some and how they were treated haunt them, even into adulthood. 

We have been taught for so many years that the color of our skin isn't the content of our character, but what are we to do when it's our own who upholds such hurtful standards?

Black Girl Kink Problems

You know, it's hard enough getting people to understand a sexual pleasure that has been deemed as "taboo" or "something that white girls do".  Things such as fellatio, anal, and bisexuality have been long deemed by the Black community as "nasty" - some even say it's ungodly (especially the bisexual part - that's another story for another day).  Ever heard a 40+ aged Black woman talk about head? Their views on it are often - I don't wanna say wrong, but one's definition of sex is just that; THEIR SEXUAL DEFINITION -  But their views are often borderline damnation.

"Oh, you like that? You're nasty."

"It shouldn't take all that."

"You should never put your mouth on a man's piss stick"

The list goes on and on.

So, picture this - imagine how Black Women who are into BDSM (Bondage - Domination - Sadism - Masochism) feel when trying to explain our kink to our fellow Black Women - or even Black Men that we are dating.

"What's that?"

"So you like that slave shit?"

"So you like being beat on? That's not sexy"

Again. The list goes on and on.

Images and wording like this don't help the situation. At all.  Not because we don't like the terms used or the images - but bbecause those who don't understand our kink have placed it into the tiniest of tiny boxes and feel that these images, along with some porns, are somehow degrading to Black Women (and some are - but again - another blog for another day)

*Bites bottom lip and smiles big*

Ah, rope work. The way to my little submissive heart. But I digress.

See, this is the world that Black Girls With Kinks live in - a world where our kink is shunned, deemed as something that nasty white girls, black girls who wanna be white, and perverted white men do, and we are viewed as strange because of what turns us on.  In my last relationship, when explaining what I liked and what I was, his eyebrow raised to high heaven when I tried to tell him that "Your Kink is what you make it."  He did like most do in this time of technology - he googled "BDSM" and the first images he saw were images of girls with the words "Slave" written across their chest; pictures of women in dog kennels; submissive women who had been branded by their masters, and he was turned off - which I found interesting, because he has his own set of kink, but his was easier to explain than mine.  He couldn't understand how a woman who he described as "powerful" and "magnetic" could be into something so....degrading.

And then - he experienced it. We sat down. We went over the rules. He explained his expectations and I told him mine (because truth be told, the submissive person hold the power. Word is bond.) And before we realized it - we had our dynamic going.  Because I trusted him. I believed in him.  And before he knew it, he was into the swing of it. And didn't mind it. And respected the trust levels it brought to our relationship.

But, every Black Girl with a Kink doesn't get her way.  Masters leave. Lovers reject ideas. Trust is hard to come by. A lot of people think that BDSM means that you just like to get choked (NEWSFLASH. There is a difference between rough sex and BDSM).  So what is a Kinky Black Girl to do when she loves her kink, but has to find the happy medium between Kink and Vanilla Sex?

In the words of one of my loves, "Sometimes, you just gotta settle for fucking."

*Sighs in Kinky Black Bitch*

A Little Bit o' Truth (For The Fellas Friday)

So, it happened again, huh?

You met a pretty, melanin filled, afro fleeking, dashiki wearing, Black power spitting Sista.  Ya'll exchanged numbers.  Social media information.  Ya'll go back and forth flirting. She sends you sexy selfies (no nudes because she says "She ain't that type of woman") You even go on a few dates.  You met a few of her friends. She meets a few of yours.  Vibes are nice.  She's not down with the reality TV show craze. She got a degree or two. She got her head on straight.  Attitude ain't that bad.  You thinking "This shit just may be legit."  She don't have you ready to make her a #WCW (because you don't want your homeboys knowing that you done found a BANGER) but she got you subconsciously slowing up on the sexual memes that you post; she got you reading belle hooks and Angela Davis; Hell, you even down to go see the Barack and Michelle "Southside With You" movie.

Then you fuck.

And things are still going decently - not titles because "She's been hurt before" and "doesn't want to risk being hurt again" and you are with it - hell, you've been hurt, too - so the concept of a home cooked meal, good conversation, and a little consensual sex action is right up your alley.  AND SHE LIKES SPORTS.  You get upgrade from sexy selfies to nice, classy nudes ("I trust you" is what she says. "I know you won't put me out there in a bad way")  You feeling like you done hit the low key lotto - not even the million dollar one. Just the basic $10K dollar lotto so you can get a few things cleared up and move on about your life.

Then it all just....stops.

Her texts and calls about your day drop from several a day to maybe three times a week.  The sexy pictures end.  Long paragraphs about her day or how she feels now are only about two sentences long - if you even get a response.  And now, big fella,  you are in your apartment, staring at your PS4, trying to get your mind off of her because "she wasn't your girl in the first place." (which we will address in the blog one day soon) You got the Drake going.  You've had a few one night stands.  Your boys gone brought you drinks and weed, trying to make you forget about her ("Man, there are plenty of fish in the sea!" They say)

But for some reason, she lingers.

A little truth for you, honey.

You did nothing wrong.

Sometimes - a woman just isn't into you.  Even when she appears to be.  Even when she is desperately trying to be.  It doesn't matter how much she cooked for you.  It doesn't really matter how much she listened to your problems.  It doesn't matter how she made your dick feel.

You wasn't it, fam.

Listen, some women are just callous. And hurt. And bitter. And not over their exes. And filled with momma issues.  And harboring father issues. And bad at dealing with stress. And scared.  All those reasons that you and your homeboys use not to commit to a woman - or use to leave her high and dry - are applied to women too. Why? Because we are human. We are frail, just as you are. It doesn't make her a bad person. Just means she wasn't the person for you, no matter how you felt about her - or did feel and didn't want to admit to her at the time.

Sometimes, you gotta swallow the truth that the one you think is for you, ain't for you.


So look....go listen to a little more Drake.  Drink some more Henny.  Go ahead and shed that tear that you've been holding back since the last text that she didn't respond to.  And once your done - WORK ON YOU.

For you.

Dear Black Men

Dear Black Men,

I appreciate so many of my Black men for stepping up and saying "Yo. I'm sorry we have failed ya'll as men." I do. It warmed my dark little heart. It means a lot to see so many of you saying "Yo. I get it now. I understand."  As a Black Woman who has openly said that I fear ya'll - It means a lot that ya'll are hearing these words and your shook by it.  It means a lot that those words bothered you.

It means that there is some love there - and that the bond between us can be salvaged.

Yet, I need ya'll to understand - it takes more than words. It takes more than statuses and memes of Black couples with the hashtag of #BlackLove. It means not supporting men (and women) who promote and uplift rape culture. It means not supporting politicians who invade our womb and break the core of our reproductive rights. It means not supporting those who beat us or make jokes about domestic violence.  It means listening to us when we speak on our experiences that are hurting us to our core. It means you must allow for Black Women and Girls to be carefree. It means supporting Black Women who are business owners. It means not downing us to women and men of other races and placing them on a pedestal to where THEY think it's okay to speak and talk to us any type of way.  This means supporting Black Trans Women - whether you agree with their "life" or not.  This means means calling out the Umar Johnsons, Tommy Sotomayors, the Tariq Nasheeds, The Chey Bs, the Steve Harveys and letting them know that the Black Woman - YOUR Black Woman - is not to blame for what we are facing, but she is a product of her environment, much like you are.

Protecting the Black Woman ain't always about taking up arms and shooting (although sometimes, that may have to happen - Think of DuBois. Who sat outside his house with the shotgun to protect his wife and child from the KKK) - many times, its about ASSISTING and UNDERSTANDING her.  It's

about understanding the history of the Black man and woman as it dates back to Africa and through modern times.  It's about loving us in spite of - the same way we do ya'll.

Oh, and by the way - for my homosexual Black men? This goes for ya'll, too. You may not want what we have - but you dropped out of one of us. You have sisters. Many of you get your make up tips from us. Many of you came OUT to one of us before you came out to the rest of the world. Many of you have cried on the shoulder of a Black Woman when that bi-curious man broke your heart because he was "confused about what he wanted." Many of you get your support from us when it's time for you to venture out into the world and start your businesses. Stop calling us fish, gather your skirts and let's get it in.

Build us up like we build ya'll. This is the key to REAL Black Love. On any and every level.

I love ya'll. The Black Woman Loves ya'll. Always have. Always will. Let's build.

You Make It Hard To Be Black

Blacks make it hard for other Blacks to be their version of Black.

There.

I said it.

*exhales*

I don't think ya'll know how hard it was to type that.  Like, my inner Black Panther was screaming out NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO with each keystroke.  See, my inner Black Panther is much like David Banner - that whole "let's address our issues with each other privately" mentality.  But this is my issue - Blacks are not quiet with the criticism of things that aren't....."black".  Black America has a very group think mentality.

WE ALL HAVE TO FOCUS ON THIS AT THIS MOMENT RIGHT NOW AT THIS TIME!

WE ALL HAVE TO HATE/LOVE THIS ONE THING AT THE SAME TIME RIGHT NOW!

YOU HAVE TO LIKE THIS ARTIST RIGHT NOW OR YOU AREN'T COOL/HIP/WOKE.

IF YOU LIKE THESE THINGS, YOU ARE AN IDIOT/STUPID/CHILDISH/A SHEEPLE.

Excuse me while I read these uppity and judgmental Facebook post.  

Example. One of the biggest games in the WORLD right now.

Hold on. Let me catch this Mewtwo right fast.

Got his ass. Ok. Now where was I? Oh yea.  Now, no one is denying that people have gotten hurt while playing the game.  No one is denying that the places that have become "Poke Stops" is downright offensive. Or that people have used the game for some fucked up reasons.  But for one second, can we as Black folks let other Black folks live?  See, there are a lot of us that are using this game to cope.  Being Black has been kinda hard lately (if you hadn't noticed) and you don't know someone's level of mental stability.  So if a grown, 25 year old, job having, boyfriend having, sexual active red blooded Black American female wants to play Pokémon go, Then dammit SHUT UP AND LET HER. 

See, many Blacks want us to be so focused on one thing that we are supposed to ignore the rest of what is going on in our lives.  I'm not going to apologize for having various interest.  Yes, I believe in social justice.  I'm vegan when I have the money to afford it. Yes, I am a BIG TIME feminist who believes that my Blackness and my womanhood are two of the most important things I have (My ovaries and my word, fam) Yet, I also love anime. I love video games.  I LOVE ALL THINGS SPORTS.  I love make up and play it in often.  I think the snap chat filters are adorable as hell, and I'm annoyed by white privilege and Blacks who want to be among the ranks of the oppressors.  But that's the thing about being black - about being human.  I'm allowed to be all those things at once. I'm allowed to be me because in this world, all I have is my humanity and my version of it.

You wanna build the black nation? We wanna become a strong community.  Let's start with the first rule - it comes before economics, religious thoughts, sexuality, all that.

Rule #1 - I will NOT interfere with or judge my fellow Black person for being themselves.