10 Reasons Why Holiday Wokeness Needs To Go In The Trash And You Need To Mind Your Business.

Tomorrow is Independence Day and already my timeline is full of the Uber Woke People throwing shade at other people for celebrating it the same way they crawl out of their coffers for every other holiday and it’s actually quite tiring.

  1. Lots of economically challenged people who work part time jobs don’t get any vacation or personal time to spend with their families outside of national holidays. They look forward to these dedicated days where the vast majority of the country is off or working shortened hours knowing that they’ll get time to enjoy their families. The last thing they need is your heavy handed woker than thou memes. IMG_2143.GIF
  2. Mind your damn mother fucking business bitch.
  3. If they do have to work these days they often get time and a half to compensate them for working and if you’ve ever had your $8.50 jump to $12.75 just for working a holiday you don’t even care about, then you understand that that’s something to be celebrated.tumblr_nvrvtocxzX1ua4csuo1_500.gif
  4. Mind your damn mother fucking business bitch.
  5. People can walk talk and chew gum at the same time AKA they can be aware that they are not truly free in this country and enjoy time off of work to do whatever the fuck they want with whomever the fuck they want AT THE SAME DAMN TIME.  images.jpeg
  6. Mind your damn mother fucking business bitch.
  7. The look on children’s faces while they watch fireworks is one of the beauties of the world. You’re hastily typed shamey meme is one of the trashy things of the world. See why we need to keep one and get rid of the other?giphy-2.gif
  8. Mind your damn mother fucking business bitch.
  9. The alternative would be black people not getting the time off of work because black people weren’t really free on the original Independence Day. Where is the logic in that? tenor.gif
  10. Mind your damn mother fucking business bitch.

On a more serious note, it is totally possible to educate someone without making them feel like shit. When you create memes and posts that judge people for celebrating a holiday that they’ve chosen to celebrate your information gets lots in the negativity of it all. At that point you’re not really trying to educate. You’re moreso trying to shame someone for their happiness and as my mother in law would say “You need to get you some business.”

Black people have enough crap to deal with and being judged for enjoying themselves by people of the same hue is just something they could totally live without. We deserve every chance at happy we can get and if we want to get that by wearing red, white, and blue and lighting some sparklers with our families then let us and remember to mind your damn mother fucking business bitch.

 

5 Reasons Why I HATE Hair Salons AKA Why I Went Natural.

If you google the phrase “why I went natural” you will find 100s of women of color giving you all sorts of reasons from the fact that the perm never took, to the fact that it burned, or in some cases thinned many a woman’s hair to nothingness. Those snatchback ponytails that many people make fun of are in direct correlation to the thinning effect of lye and no lye perms alike.

But my reason; I hate Hair salons. 

Here are my 5 Reasons why:

  1. The smell of the chemicals make me sick to my stomach. I spend the majority of my time in the salon with my hand over my mouth trying both not to throw up and to decrease the amount of noxious smells I inhale during my service.                                                                                         200.gif
  2. Stylists never seem to value your time. They consistently seem to fill the room with more people than they can handle at one time. Which forces you to either run late for future appointments or to block off the rest of your life while you sit in a chair waiting 84 years later for your 10 am appointment.                                                                200w.gif3. THOSE DAMN DRYERS DON’T DRY MY HAIR. If I added up all of the time that I’ve spent sitting under a dryer waiting for my hair to dry I’m certain it would be equal to like 6 years. The worst part is when the stylist walks over to check your hair giving you false hope that it’s finally dry after 3.5 hours only to tell you that you need to sit there for another 30 mins… 1 hour…10 weeks…25 years.  So all of these videos of people having fun sitting under dryers is NOT TRUE. Destiny’s Child and Bruno Mars lied to you!!!!
    200-1.gif
  3. I don’t care about other people’s business and sitting around in a salon listening to people complain about their lives or talk about how their best friend’s baby may or may not be the Mailman’s is not how I prefer to spend my days. 200-2.gif
  4. I don’t enjoy Wendy Williams, The Real, TMZ, or any of the other celebrity gossip shows that all stylists seem to love to watch while they torture your hair in to perfectly pretty submission.  It does something to my soul to be forced to listen to people gossip about people and the damn paparazzi pictures drive me crazy. I’m not sure why this is a thing we as society loves so much that daytime telivision is full of options but I can definitely do without ever hearing Wendy the idiot Williams ever say “How You DOehn” ever again in life.                                               200-3.gif

 

So those are some of the reasons why I went natural. Now I only have to see my stylist every 5-6 weeks to retighten my sisterlocks and for the most part I don’t have to deal with any of the reasons I’ve listed above.

When The Driver Says Fxck Your Life and Means It.

I’m in a shuttle traveling from NYC to Stamford CT. The driver is rude or maybe he’s just “I don’t give a fuck about you.” but whatever it is I’m impatiently counting the seconds until I get out of his vehicle. Weirdly enough I’ve heard him be rather nice to customers who call and request his services over the phone even using his professional -read white- voice.

He drives like Fuck your life is his motto. Within the first 5 minutes of being in his death vehicle I began praying to all of the ancestors and all of the Gods. ALL OF EM. Especially when he said Fuck the bus and just drove in front of it. 

(In case you can’t tell what you’re looking at the red and white stripes are on the bus mirror that he drove in front of who had the right of way.)

His breath smells like when you leave organic waste in your trashcan for too long and it gets wet. Which isn’t the only reason that I’m happy he’s not a talkative friendly driver but it’s at the top of the list. But when he blows his breath at the other drivers my life passes before my eyes. He’s an angry driver so this has happened quite a bit on this 50+ minute drive. 

I guess he is who people are talking about when they say “Rude New Yorkers” he eminates his rudeness from his pores. I knew it from the second he walked up to me at the airport as if the mere fact that I needed his shuttle (which he gets paid for) was the entire bane of his existence. And though I HATE not tipping people it’s not looking good for this dude. And although I REALLLY dislike tipping people who treat you like they think that you’re not going to tip in the first place brother man from the dumpster has like 20 minutes to at least act like he has some customer service or imma have to keep my pennies in my purse. 

My travel day has been pleasant up until this point but now I’m really wishing I would’ve bought some Tequila in the airport. 

Mantra for today: That was then this is now. The past is the past and the future is everything.

The Boy is Lazy AF and I May Just Punch Him Square In The Jaw

zvIzRRH.gifMy son is Lazy AF. Like typical teenage rolls his eyes in the back of his head when you ask him to do anything outside of his wheelhouse:laying down, eating, playing on his phone; lazy. As a parent I don’t know how to combat this.
At least without slapping him into another ethnicity and ending up in prison and I’m way too cute for prison.

I’ve tried to build him up and pour into him his greatness. I’ve tried to appeal to his sensibilities. I’ve tried to ask for his assistance as his mother. I’ve even tried guilt, yelling, cajoling, and a bunch of other shit that I’m not proud of, but as I write this I’ve just finished yelling at him about being a lazy ass who wants to lay around the house every weekend. Again I’m not proud but I’m fearful. Fearful that this laziness is going to follow him through his life.

images.jpeg

How my child prefers to spend his free time. 

Fearful that he won’t go to college, or trade school, or build his own business. That he’s destined to be a couch surfer floating from place to place building robots in the freetime he has from whatever menial ass job he has at the moment. Fearful that I will lose my cool and punch him square in the face. *slightly kidding*

I know, I know, he’s only 14 but I worry that he doesn’t have it in him to work two times harder, be two times smarter than his white contemporaries. That because we have a little bit of money and have placed him into a school with wealthy children, he thinks he’s on equal footing with his peers. That he will be so fucked when he has to face the real world and since he’s only 14  he only has a few years left to get his shit together before life smacks him in the face and shocks the false sense of affluenza out of him. Because unlike his lazy schoolmates who will end up being mediocre, running companies give to them by their parents, even if we were to still have our companies as he gets to the age when he could run them, we CAN’T afford to have mediocrity running our businesses.

I don’t want to get too down on him. I realize that he’s a good kid. A great kid; funny, smart, caring, and loving. He’ll give you the shirt off of his back (if you really needed it) BUT he is also LAZZZZZZZYYYYY AF! Currently he is laying in bed with a headache solely because I am in the living room and he CAN’T lay in here in front of the TV. As opposed to going to work and making money for the many things he wants, or going to hang out with his friends, or even just building something in the shed, or doing ANYTHING. Laying around the house is what he prefers to do at every opportunity.

images.png

I’m trying to get him to understand that a good personality only goes so far. Especially for black boys. Hell, good black boys are being killed by police everyday. Jordan Edwards who recently died was only a few months older than he is.  I joke about punching him because I honestly don’t know what else to do and I worry so much for him. That he could face something as horrible as being killed by the police or that he can end up a lazy bum sleeping on his grandma’s sofa (since he gotta get the hell up outta here as soon as he graduates if he has no further plans for his life) or spend his days driving some smart girl crazy as she takes over trying to pull him forward into the life of greatness which I have been desperately attempting to push him into.

I know that I can not want more for him than he wants for himself and lately I don’t have much energy left to do any extra wanting for anyone outside of myself. I’s tied boss. Parenting is hard enough but add lazy and angsty into the mix and it’s enough to drive anyone over the moon.

I really wish that there was a magical pill to cure his laziness because, at least for today, I am at my wits end.

Hell Yes to Working Vacations!

If you ask me how my vacation is going I will tell you AMAZING. If you follow that up with “Oh yeah, what have you guys been doing?” You will be surprised at my answer: SLEEPING, EATING, RELAXING…WHATEVER THE FUCK WE WANT.

For most people traveling to foreign countries is all about being a tourist; exploring, taking in the sites, sounds, and experiences of the regions. And,  don’t get me wrong we’re doing that too, but really we’re doing WHATEVER THE FUCK WE WANT. Which is mostly to sleep, take long baths, wake up when we’re ready and watch movies. (All of which we don’t have the privilege of doing often at home.)

And because we’re (AB and myself) serial mompreneurs with two auto repair shops and a business services start up, and I’m a writer with a new book floating around the world, we’re working many hours of each day on our businesses. But there’s something about employees having to figure shit out on their own without calling, texting, or slacking you every five seconds, that makes working remotely so much more FUN and Productive.

There’s something very powerful about being reachable but unreachable at the same time. About sleeping in and still waking up 6 hours before your employees. About decreasing the screening process for potential new employees and realizing that all of the time you spend vetting people over the phone is a waste of time. That removing yourself from the process and letting the manager find out that people are either qualified or unqualified or batshit crazy once the person shows up for the interview, is a much better use of everyone’s time. Especially yours.

So far I’ve been to Amsterdam, France, and Germany and I’ve enjoyed each place tremendously while still getting shit done so YES, HELLLLLL YES to working vacations. If it weren’t for the boy, I would think twice about returning home. I lie it’s cold I need to eventually go home but I’m going to be a changed entrepreneur when I get back.

Dear Cancer, You Missed A Spot.

Man… FUCK CANCER. In all caps.

Cancer can take all of the people we know and love. Can snatch mothers away from their children, children away from their parents, and plenty of our beloved celebrities but apparently Cheeto McFartface and his goons are immune.

My grandmother used to say “Don’t wish death on nobody.” and I don’t. Not really. I mean.. death is a part of life and apparently cancer is death’s bottom bitch, the one he sends in to seal the deal but apparently she’s myopic. She keeps killing the wrong damn people and imma need him to bring her back in and do some retraining. Cause CHARLIE MURPHY? Like really?

Unknown.jpeg

America has an entire administration of movie star villains and Cancer could’ve taken any one of those idiots, likely saving millions of people in the process but Nah. When the roulette board of who to take today popped up on the screen death’s bottom bitch was like yeahhhh, let’s take that boy Charlie Murphy. Heaven needs more comedians.

Le sigh. I know he’ll rest in peace but I can’t help feeling like the scales of life and death are totally off balance right now.

I’m Terrified 

I’m terrified

Of Love

Of the way it changes everything.

Builds them into crescendos 

Then drop kicks them into black holes millions of light years away.

I’m terrified 

Of people.

Their ability to make you feel things.

To love you.

To stop loving you.

To suffocate you with their love until you no longer resemble the person they loved in the first place.

I’m terrified 

Of art. Of my heart. Of artists and surgeons and architects. Of brilliance. Of passion. Of everyone finding out that I have absolutely no idea about anything or anyone.

I’m terrified. 

Of change. Of nothing ever changing. Of words. And the world. Of light and sound. Of sounds. Especially laughter. Especially the laughter of the ones I love.

I’m terrified 

Of the ones I love. Of lost. Of possibility. Of brilliance. Of mattering. Of pain. Of my restrictions. Of myself. Of people who say shit like “there’s nothing to fear except fear itself.” When I’m so terrified of every single thing, especially fear itself. 
9/30 I have been writing every day I’m just terrified of sharing certain pieces. I’m only sharing this one because I’m terrified. #NaPoMo 

Reasons I Didn’t Text You Back But You Saw Me On Facebook.

Frequently from “friends” I get the dreaded question “Why didn’t you text me back?” on one of my Facebook or other Social Media posts forcing me to respond “When?”

Because, I likely don’t remember the text and more than likely don’t care about it. Not because I really don’t care about it but because instead of that person texting me back to ensure that I received it they wait around for the right post to ask on the internet. LIKE THEY DON’T HAVE MY DAMN PHONE NUMBER. Which they obviously do because, “Why didn’t you text me back?” means that there was a first text. Right?

Sooooo anyways here are a few reasons why I didn’t text you back. Hopefully I don’t hurt your feelings but if I do feel free to A: Unfriend me. or B: Cash Me Ousside.

Reason #67

I received it while I was doing other things read it, and either started to respond and got interrupted before I could send it or was busy and forgot about it by the time I finished reading it. (This is 98% of the reasons why.)

Reason #28

It wasn’t about money. Honestly I’m busy AF. I have three businesses, a wife, a child, a blog, a book and a bunch of other shit to do.  I have to prioritize. If it ain’t about the money I can’t give it too much of my brain space.

Reason #1

You were asking me for something and it wasn’t life or death. AND someone is always asking me for something which to be quite honest; is tiring AF.

Reason #44

The internet is my JOB. Most things I do on the internet are about business so while I HAVE to be active on the internet I don’t HAVE to be active in text messages.

Reason #2

I just didn’t want to. For whatever reason, I didn’t want to text you back. 

Those reasons are in no particular order and there are probably more but whilst I type this employees are calling, AB is Slacking me, DJ is texting me, and I have other shit to do. Hope this helps. If not send a text or two.

 

Ups/Downs 3.17.17

Today was a shitty fucking day. Things happened with an ex employee that I’m probably not supposed to talk about on the Internet which is a whole fucking problem in and of itself but I can say that dude was a FUCKBOI. Caps fucking locked.

 For close to two months I’ve felt like he held me hostage and I tried my fucking damndest to be professional about the situation because, unlike some people who are very short sighted , I play the long game. So I played his fucking game. And he still did fuckboi shit and quit in the most unprofessional of ways. And then today he and his raggedy ass, bitch ass, raising fuckbois for fun ass mama continued to try to rain on my fucking parade. 

Being the fucking Girl Boss that I am I pretty much ended the situation but every second of dealing with that shit  ate at my soul. So it’s not surprising to me that when I finally sat down for the day, my anxiety slowly crept up to panic attack on the floor of my dark closet hoping that neither my wife nor my son asks me what’s wrong cause my answer would be: EVERYTHING.

But it’s not. My day was actually great. I ran the shop next to my wife while simultaneously handling business for our other business, my networking Chapter, and our home.

 Really, I’m proud of Adrien because I am her and I don’t even know how the fuck she does it. Oh and while she was doing all of that shit she managed to figure out a way for Kitchen Table Literary Arts Center to convert more of their 1200 friends into fans on their Facebook page before they shut down their Yvonne Frederick page before the FUCKBOI of a Facebook shuts them down. 

So why if my day was really great am I typing this while hunched under a fuzzy throw on the floor of my dark ass clothes closet? Because I let a raggedy ass FUCKBOI and his bitch ass mama get all the way up under my skin. That’s why. 
Here’s a pic of me in a car making a face at Fuckbois and their bitch ass mamas. 

On the real: Death to Fuckbois 🖕🏾<- *middle finger emoji*