The Ailment; Claiming One's Fatness

Before I begin, I ask that we observe a moment of Silence for Arsenal Football Club.


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Thank you.

Now, raise of hands if you've accepted your Fatness as your Lord and Personal Saviour.

Jk. Lol. No, but seriously. Being a part of this community I've discovered that "denial" is certainly more than a river [two, to be accurate] in Egypt.

How many of us truly acknowledge our Ailment? Nothing surpasses the uncomfortable silence that comes after having what you thought was a candid heart to heart with another fat woman about The Ailment, followed by the unexpected flush of her cheeks, her face growing rigid in defiance. What can one do but to excuse oneself from this conversation and scuttle away in shame?
To my annoyance, this is a regular occurrence and leaves me with no one to whom I can relate. Not unlike the little seal girl, in her little seal world, it truly is hard to get by. Except Seals can't even cry :(.

It brings about the issue of self-awareness. In speaking to a young lady the other day, she insisted that she had only recently come down with The Ailment, and that not 6 months ago, she was "an itty-bitty thang". Seeing that we disregard that which is in live and living color, but rather rely on our Facebook lives to speak to our reality, she immediately reached for her phone and rummaged through her 1046 pictures. After going through the last year of her virtual life, she finally decided on the picture that was to validate her proclamation. Guise, she was neither Itty nor Bitty.
Being told as a child to withhold any commentary that wasn't a positive addition to a conversation, I pulled my face into a tight smirk and insisted that her hair was indeed, Snatched for the gods. I'm still congratulating myself on that display of tact and grace.

So, personally, I hate getting set up. In the few instances I allow my friends to set me up with a guy, I ensure that the man is forewarned of my Ailment. Imagine the crestfallen face of a man who is misled by the strategic angles, and deceiving filters on a woman's Instagram, to have mustered up the testicles to agree to meet up with this beauty, and be completely caught off guard by her size? I know I've said before that it is discrimination to not date a girl because she's fat, but we're human, we have preferences and perceptions; my heart sincerely goes out to said unsuspecting men who have and are facing this predicament. Hats off to those of you who were able to tastefully overcome the situation. In that breath, when people that have known me, seen me, surpass the obvious ailment and proceed to pursue me, they've gained that much more of my respect.

Ladies we need to fess up to our fate and, as my compatriots would say "Accept our P". Stop reveling in the reverie of a thinner yester-year, or some distant, imaginary future. Even worse, don't make it more awkward for other people. I for one enjoy seeing Empowered Fat Bitches like myself, and engaging in conversations with them; "OMG, where'd you get that skirt?" "Where did you get that bathing suit?" "Are you hungry?". I'm not asking you to be encompassed by the fact that you are one of the chosen few. I simply ask that we stand in one accord as we take to the streets with our Full-Figured prowess.

When you guys behave this way, scornfully dismissing your home community, not only do you deplete the credibility of your mental health [I mean, really] but you eliminate the prospect of us relating to and being supportive of each other.


Until next time,
EFB


P.S. The H.O.V. lane is nothing more than a discriminatory device for single women forced to sit in the purgatory that is Atlanta's rush hour traffic.

READER DISCRETION ADVISED

Barack Obama has been once again elected as the "Leader of the Free World". While many of us rejoice, drunkenly roam the streets and erupt in tears of joy, many others sit writhing, seething in anger at what they view as a travesty. [Sorry Trump, you'll get 'em next time.]

But all is "fair" in love and politics, yes? *chortles*

Please read the follwoing slowly and cautiously. The views expressed are just that, MY views, and nothing more.
If you get nothing from this post, understand that our bias has provisioned a sickening regard for and the verbal abuse of people with differing opinions, as young educated blacks.

I write to you all today not as an Empowered Fat Bitch, but as an Intelligent, Independently Thinking Black Woman in America.
In the 2008 election, I debated with the prospect of voting. I was quite annoyed at the general consensus that I was to vote for a man based on the colour of his skin. I mean, wouldn't that be the same as the white populace voting for someone on the basis of the colour of his skin? [Even worse, NOT voting for someone for this reason] And wouldn't we then go on to label these people as racists? [See the double standard there?]

Anyways, at work, while discussing the topic, I was encouraged by my supervisors to vote "because people have died trying." After tirelessly explaining to them that i was unconvinced by the political ideals of either candidate, I was told "you need to vote for the lesser of two evils." After much eye-rolling and conceding just to get everyone to shut up, I was handed a crumpled note from the sheepish young graphic designer in the cube next to me. It read, "The lesser of two evils is still evil".
I was reassured that sensible people still existed.

Last night a young lady tweeted the following:

"I've gotten like 3 good ass non debatable reasons to vote this week that have nothing to do with the ghost of Annie-Mae screaming 'Vote!'"

This sentiment warmed my heart. I've become sick to my stomach of people being coerced into voting for the sole reason that "We had to die for this". I'm always forced to bite back a nonchalant "And?" when confronted with this reasoning.

If one is unconvinced or unmoved to vote because they are indifferent to the results of this election, then why should they be scorned, ostracized and chastised? People behaved as if Mitt Romney's winning would  have such a drastic turn in events of the country that evey person of colour would be desolate and in the streets by Wednesday afternoon. Am I the only one who remembers the power of LOCAL elections? The fact that the President does not have the ability to make rash decisions and implement them without the council of the Senate, Congress, Supreme Court, etc? And none of you seemed the least bit concerned when the States were actively trying rob millions of there rights to vote... It makes me truly question you guys motives. As they say in my home country, seems to me like alot of you were "Looking a Hype"

The Dangers of Group Think

In trying to be as objective as possible, I've watched President Obama, congratulating him on victories, [ESPECIALLY when i got that good-good 2010 Tax Return, Yes Lawd!], however speaking out on where I feel he has fallen short. In 2007 then Senator Obama delivered the convocation address to an excited freshman class. The address was ultimately his lamentation on issues affecting the Negro Poplulace. If nothing, I can say I learned about Prison statistics. Nonetheless, it was an exciting event, but I felt extremely manipulated. As a new student embarking on a major milestone, my plight was exacerbated by the fact that I was Fresh off the [banana] boat from Jamaica. I needed encouraging words, not an oratory barrage of campaigning and artificial charm.

In any case, he won. And I must say, similarly to last night, I was ok with this.

Idolized by many far and wide, President Obama indeed ran himself into the ground trying to make life easier for middle class families. [Whilst countless displaced impoverished persons sat, thumbs a-twiddle, waiting in vain. I digress]

But then, issues arose directly affecting aforementioned Negro population . Troy Davis comes to mind. Appeals to reconsider were sent in directly and on behalf of the likes of Pope Benedict XVI, Sister Helen Prejean and spurred a campaign with Amnesty International. My First African American President sat silently. Many will argue that as President it was not his duty, nor his place to comment, but Sir, with all due respect, the Pope. The Pope mustered up the testicles to have uttered his support of merely a proper trial of this man. My first black president was not courageous enough to utter a single comment about this issue.

Make no mistake. This man drew historical numbers of black voters in 2008, for the SOLE reason that he was expected to, at the very least, be courageous on the behalf of minorities in America during his term as President. Once again, make no mistake in thinking that President Obama did not manipulate this expectation and insinuate that this would be a concern throughout his administration.

I digress. Guys, don't let me start on President Obama's foreign policies. The point is that after all of this we continued to *blindly* support everything done and said by President Obama. I feel as if we'd become afraid to call him out, and those of us who did were verbally abused and forced to abscond. Talk about Freedom of speech. Tuh!

That being said, we must, as blacks, change our attitudes towards Black Republican voters. In the weeks leading up to last night's climatic election watch, I often questioned [and chuckled at] the concept of freedom of speech in this country. We often forget that freedom of speech is not confined to the general opinion of a group of people. For example, if someone intelligently alludes to leaning towards a Socialist ideology, we go bat shit crazy, forgetting the operative word, IDEOLOGY! The same stands for our attitudes towards our Republican cohorts. My God man! Guys, give people the freedom to be conservative or liberal as they so choose! Don't get me started on the condescending manner in which we speak to people who aren't so fortunate to be as educated as we convince ourselves we are on current political issues.

Please do not classify me as some irrational, radical Anti-Obama person. I'm merely imploring you to be open-minded, less biased, and call a spade a spade. I am satisfied with last night's results. Despite everything, there were ideals that I disagreed with Governor Romeny on. However, let it not be said that I'm "Dick riding Obama" as Aaron McGruder so cleverly termed it. I expect us all to be objective citizens, and most importantly, hold our President accountable.

Lack of constructive criticism can bring the mightiest of men to their knees. Let us spare our President that tragedy.

Best,

EFB

Growing Out of Hand

So it's been a while, huh? I know, I solemnly swore I'd write more this summer, and now, we've braced ourselves for the crisp chill of the autumn air lovingly caressing our faces, the pungent aroma of Pumpkin spices and cinnamon  to tingle our nose, and basking in the in the comfort of our big, fluffy, cashmere sweaters and scarves.
However, my friends, I'm back. I'm currently undergoing an interesting life experience that I feel is imperative to share with women in our community. Here beginneth my tale.

I had an amazing summer. I spent 3 months in the comfort of a friend's fully decked out Condo [that we decorated together]; took several trips to New York, where I was greeted with welcoming smiles and new friendships abound; I had timeless experiences with friends, moments I'll never forget, and I ended my summer by packing up all my earthly belongings and moving, albeit reluctantly,  to the next chapter of my life; Atlanta.

My friends, it is with a heavy heart that I relate to you the expense at which my most wonderful summer came; through all the fun, travel and reckless "YOLOing", I have managed to morph into a Morbidly Obese Orangutan; a "MOO", if you will.

I'm not quite certain when it began, nor quite sure how. I can say that there were certain points throughout the time off that I was more than liberal with the items I put in my mouth. Even then, I didn't begin to see the weight gain until very late in the summer. Moving to the soul-food capital of the world  only exacerbated my plight. I underestimated the effect of sitting in an office for 12 hours per day, 5 days a week, having access only to [and being able only to afford] Dunkin Donuts with unlimited chocolate munchkins. Living within a 5 mile range of 2 Chick-Fil-A restaurants also did me no good.

The Battle
Being self aware, I verified my status as a MOO. My horizontal expansion was accompanied by my plummeting self-esteem. I've forced myself to give up on my newfound hobby of Prospecting men on the highway [it's not what it sounds like, but it's really fun], because I feel undeserving of any male attention. I don't even bother to flirt anymore. I don't think I've ever felt this unattractive in my adult life guys. The warning signs were all there; taking pictures from elevated angles, creating the illusion of a waste in how I positioned my arms in full body pictures, wearing peplum tops and dresses, and finally, becoming the Grim Reaper and wearing all black, everyday, for every occasion. The breaking point finally came a few days ago as I risked my life rummaging through the Chick-Fil-A bag in the passenger seat while taking a dangerous corner. I was determined to get that last waffle fry. It was at that point I knew I needed help. [Unpurse your lips and get rid of those disdainful stares. Don't pretend as if you've never risked your life for a waffle fry before.]
Nevertheless, I am at the point where I'm extremely uncomfortable with how I look and feel. I'm choosing to empower myself, and take hold of my physical and ultimately my emotional health. I refuse to go another day living this way. It's costly, it's unwise, and there's no emotional gratification at the end of it all.
A close friend of mine, Loni, stated to me with concern in her eyes that I sat dangerously close to the threshold of being unacceptably obese, and being a presentable, Empowered Fat Bitch. And I agree with her. Never become so engrossed in the pleasure of food and laziness, to the point where you lose control. You'll hate yourself for it more and more as you progress in life.

The Inspiration
Over the past year, I've witness countless friends empower themselves, gain self-discipline, and successfully become healthy. One in particular stands out to me, as I literally saw her regain her health right before my eyes. Her positivity and her willingness to share her journey truly inspires me. Every night I stare longingly at her Instagram amazed by how much fun she's having with her journey. What stands out to me is her emphasis on not being "skinny", but being healthy. K, I raise my hat to you my darling. [Also wishing you an Especially Happy Birthday!]

The Internal Conflict
There's one more issue that remains on my conscious. Perhaps you all [3] can help me by providing feedback. Was I correct in feeling useless and unattractive because of weight gain? Does this not contradict my plight with the incessant Anti-fat sentiments that I combat on a daily basis? This blog is dedicated to making larger women feel good about themselves, with a tidbit of advice here and there. I do constantly stress the importance of good health. But with the gain of a few pounds, I've fallen into a state of panic, depression and emotional despair. I'm beginning to feel guilty about my reaction. I look forward to any and all feedback.


Until next time,
EFB

P.S. - I was joking about the Cashmere scarves, that variety isn't available at the local Rainbow.

Wide Miss; He's Just Not That Into You. No, really, I promise, he's not.

As you read this, I insist that you put Frank Ocean's "Thinking About You" on blast. If I am to expose myself in this manner I'd prefer to share my experience in its fullness, and for my sorrow to to resonate throughout your spirit in the hope of arousing empathy.
Though most of my posts come from personal experiences, this particular entry hits extremely close to home, and is inspired by a recent occurrence in my life. I've learned a great deal, and I feel compelled to share my thoughts and possibly shed some light to women on how to handle the situation even better than I did.


This is the second, and I assure you, the last time I'll place myself in this situation. It happened for the first time back in 2006 with Whites and it presents itself as an issue to most girls at some point in their lives. [Except, of course, those of you who are extraordinarily attractive. Bitches.] We get what we presume to be an indication of interest from some guy that we've already targeted. We get our hopes up, and at some point or another, our hopes and desires come to an ear splitting shatter. Some of us remain in denial, others of us bow our heads in embarrassment, and move forward with our pathetic lives.
Everyone likes having a crush. The butterflies fluttering in the pastures of your stomach as you reminisce on the electrifying eye contact; the tingle of your nostrils as your olfactory recollects that distinct fragrance; the flirtatious conversation and smiles of delight every time he crosses your mind. All of that bullshit. It's all very enchanting. I'm not a romance novelist, but I'm quite sure you can relate to one or more of those feelings. 
Everything is going great. You start mentally planning how you're going to lure him into your loins, the possibility of yourself and him in the distant future, how drunk with happiness you'll be when your future selves are curled up on his California King [in his Park Avenue loft, no less], snickering at the witty humor of Frasier.
Then he drops the colossal pile of figurative shit right on your head. Not intentionally, of course, but inadvertently so, as he absentmindedly ignores texts, Facebook comments, tweets and any other desperate ploy to get his attention.  You come to the realization that he really, truly, is not in the least bit into you, and could ACTUALLY give two shits about you. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what went wrong, what could have gone awry.
Did he lose interest? Was he even initially interested? Your self esteem takes a plunge. You question your intelligence, your life, your existence.

It's a tough pill to swallow. Trust me, my throat is still raw with pain as I type. However, let's analyze this from the perspective of the recipient of our affection. 

If we're honest with ourselves, as women, we have a tendency to perceive an inch as a mile. Fitzwilliam Darcy said it best "A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, love to matrimony, in a moment." Someone can show the slightest bit of attention and we perceive it as some cunning, subtle hint of his undying love. Our cluelessly overzealous friends, friends who truly have our best interest at heart feed the seed that is a morsel of admiration, water and nurture it until it roots itself deep within our mind. 

Eventually, an idea flourishes and runs amok through your subconscious, convincing you that this man is head over heels in love. The slightest attention is taken, not with the grain of salt it ought to be taken with, but as a monumental event, we cue the fireworks in our mind and stand in wonder.

Now, imagine the startling realization one day that this was all in your head and that you're no more to this man than a follower on twitter, a status in a newsfeed. The walls of your prissy little world come 

tumbling down.

The above was obviously not the case with me, that shit is simply preposterous. It took one time for me to misunderstand someones feelings on a similar scale when I was 14 to never let it happen again. I keep it realistic. I'm a very perceptive person. There is not a doubt in my mind that Whites was interested in me back in 2006. At some point, however, for whatever reason, he lost interest. Perhaps one of the reasons sited in a recent post, Close Encounters of the Fat Kind.  As a naive 17 year old, fresh out of boarding school, I was crushed. For the next 8 months I obsessed about my every flaw, physical and otherwise. [I even vaguely recall him commenting on the hardness of the palm of my hands once, and have since developed a debilitating habit of not being able to function after washing my hands without applying copious amounts of lotion. Before and after I touch anyone, shake any hands, I also check the softness of the palm of my hands. I find myself clasping them so that the light perspiration will keep them moist and soft.] 

I know for a fact that this was also the case recently. There's no shadow of a doubt that   my most recent conquest was indeed somewhat interested, at the very least. For whatever reason, however, my life was played. [Womp womp woooooomp]. It's not a nice feeling, but before we absolve ourselves of all blame for our predicaments and start cursing these men and their families to 15 years of acute diarrhea, let us be honest with ourselves and ensure that it wasn't our actions that sent them, arms flailing, running as far away from us as possible.

Where I went wrong:

Many females these days speak of being independent, having their own car, clothes, house, shoes and other material objects. More significant than this though, is the mindset we put ourselves in, not needing a man for any reason; this new age feminism suggests equality in all respects. My bitch Robby refers to said women as "21s Century Bitches". Here's where conflict arises, when do you demand traditional roles, and when do you insist on resuming the role of "equality"?

I fall into this category. I have a crippling complex that urges me to try to have the upper hand in any relationship, sometimes emasculating the guy in question. In the same breath, however, I expect to be treated with 18th century chivalry. [The menacing concern of who texts who, etc]

Ladies, we cannot do this. We're either 21st Century Bitches or we're not. I am a 21st Century Bitch, and it was preposterous of me not to send a simple text message saying "Hey, we still on for later?", just because I thought it was his job to do all the work. Because of my hard headedness, I spent Friday evening watching the Golf Channel and lashing out on the Twitters in frustration. 

Anyhoo, I digress.

Yet and still, bitches lives stay getting played. We must prepare ourselves for this to happen because it truly is a cold and cruel world. I try to encourage women not to Show their Asses after having dealt with trauma from a man. Below are a few things on my list of what showing one's ass entails.

What to DO and NOT DO after getting your life played

DO NOT

Incessantly text - it may seem innocent, but bright flashing lights will appear in the subconscious of the man that reads, in all caps, "STALKER BITCH". Seeing that us larger women have somehow gained a reputation of being prone to this activity, it would behoove us to avoid any behavior that would exacerbate this situation altogether .

Seek Attention in Public Places - Ladies, this rambunctious, look-at-me-I'm-having-fun behavior isn't cute. If you're naturally a loud ass bitch like myself, you're excused. You shamelessly expose yourself in a futile attempt to have him internally writhe in jealousy and pain. Endless onlookers shake their heads and furrow their brows in disdain at your efforts, knowing that you're achieving only the opposite of what you hope to be the outcome. He looks on sending a mental prayer of thanks to his Lord and Personal Saviour that he dodged the bullet that is an obnoxious, immature, twit; i.e. you. 

Argue - I cannot reiterate this enough. Do not argue with a man who has been firm in his resolve. Do not try to persuade him to change whatever decision he has made, in the long run you will absolutely regret it. Do not insult him and engage in pointless verbal conflict. 

Cry - Please, have some pride. Don't give any man the satisfaction of knowing that he has enough of a stronghold over your emotional stability as to bring you to tears. Depending on how much of a bitch ass this man is, [Max], it may have the effect of making a temporary change to the man's decision, but that eventually goes out the door. Don't guilt anyone into making a decision that benefits you. It's selfish and almost always goes sour.

Get super friendly with the guy's friends [read: Hoe the fuck out] - It seems like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect you'll realize that you've only depicted yourself as a cheap and classless harlot. Hindsight is 20/20, but I'm giving you some foresight, accept it.

DO:

Keep your composure - even if you didn't have any before, you had better muster some up from the deepest realms of your innermost femininity. After having your life played, hold your head high, scoff at the Motherfucker, and walk away as if nothing he had to say was in the least bit consequential to your life.

Appear Indifferent - It's hard to tell someone to be indifferent when they truly care about an issue. My solution is to fake it 'til you make it. If you put forth the facade of indifference for a long enough time, it will probably start to become authentic. Maybe? I don't know, it works for me. It can take time, depending on the person, but.... it happens.

Lastly, a note to you Men: 

Be better communicators, seriously. 

I hope this was helpful to you guys out there. I guess I'll start taking my own advice and get my shit together.

Until next time,

EFB

The Creole King

To Alex.

So small in his way
He loathes the light of day
Smokey the Bear
So proudly, that hat he shall wear
Several Hats, Proud Haitian, Archeologist and Sinner
In each and every capacity, my darling is a winner
Clever, full of wit,
After smoking, never does he spit
Experiment though he may with illicit drugs
He's never too high to hand out those special hugs
Selfless and endearing,
His Mom was excellent at child rearing
The best decision I've made lately?
Definitely, traveling along with him on that service trip to Haiti.

Close Encounters of the Fat Kind.

I've been meaning to do this for months, so now that I'm comfortably out of school, having successfully completed this Degree, *Pelvic thrusts and epilepsy attacks*, I have all the time in the world to explore this issue;

 Factors Preventing Women in the Fat Community from Healthy, Lasting [Any] Relationships.

N.B.- Fortunately, this situation is far less prevalent than it was in yesteryear. However, personal experience has moved me to bring the issue to the forefront, so shut the fuck up and hear me roar.

I have several theories that attempt to explain the evident apprehension experienced by men facing the current predicament. I invite you to take a few minutes from your stressful day and indulge me. I promise, it won't be long.

The first, and more common of the reasons is the fear men often express of the negative reactions from their Friends

- at which point, I daresay, you shouldn't care to be bothered with this man, he clearly isn't mature enough to independently think. I would hardly even classify the creature as a fucking man. Men go about engaging with women NOTORIOUS for their promiscuity, ignoring any commentary or forewarnings from their friends. These same motherfucking pieces of shit men will exclaim in an instant "Nah, I'm not boutta try to talk to her, you want my friends to play me?" Sir, if this is your excuse, hold a heartfelt FUCK OFF and go about your pathetic life, Many Thanks.

The Second reason has much to do with stereotypes of Fat Women. These include but are not limited to the following.

- The delicate issue of activities in the boudoir. - Basically, Awkward sex. I blame the media for never showing us in an intimate light. There are NEVER any fat bitches in the Bold and the Beautiful [Sally Spektra ain't NEVER get no kinda love!]

- Not sexy - If this wasn't an anonymous blog, I would SHOW you bitches what sexy truly is *scoffs*. I again blame the media for their portrayal of what women should look like. You hoes KNOW I stress good health, but I also am vehemently against the idea of striving for dress sizes rather than a healthy weight. The media has little or no positive Portrayal of larger women in functional, lovey-dovey, mushy ass relationships [again, hats off to "Drop Dead Diva"]. No matter your argument, Media defines what a "Bad Bitch" is, and I haven't seen a SINGLE magazine since Adele's Grammy wins portraying anyone over a size 8 in an attractive light. In this case, i urge you to go against the cookie-cutter image of what is taught to be sexy, and see and acknowledge what truly is sexy in the flesh, when confronted with it. [Size 6, or a size 16].

The third reason is one which is far more forgiving than the previous.

- Fat women simply may not be the preference of a man in this predicament. Everyone is entitled to a preference. I'm personally partial to the taller and darker members of the sex. Just as I find it humanly impossible to be attracted to any man less than 6'2", it's forgivable to simply not find larger women attractive. This reason aptly segues into the final justification a man may have for being apprehensive, I implore you to read on.

Lastly, the most complex of the justification of Fat-Bitch abuse; Dating a Fat Woman is against the better judgement of the person. 

- This concept is extremely complicated so allow me to explain. I'm an attractive young lady, gorgeous face, commanding presence, [extremely] well put together, BADDEST BITCH ALIVE,  etc, etc. I also happen to be keenly perceptive and observant of body language, facial expressions and any other indicator that a man is in the least bit attracted to a woman. [Yes, bitches, I'm on the prowl]. I know many of you will read this and think "what a self-obsessed, narcissistic, snobbish bitch". Though I am exactly that, the previous description of myself is not without credible evidence. I cannot count the amount of times I've seen men second-guess me. Attractive, civilized, seemingly successful men. They stand agape for all of 10 seconds, they double, triple, quadruple-take, and then the look of apprehension spreads across their face, they hang their heads, and continue about their business not without stealing a final glance. I graduated from an accredited University with a Bachelors in Psychology, I know what I'm talking about. 

To the men who find themselves often plagued with this.... this syndrome, stop second guessing. We really don't bite [vouching for myself here, I don't know the freaky shit other bitches be on]. I know society's tried to convince you of what attractive women should look like. Many of us don't fit the description, but we're fucking gorgeous. It's within your hands to grow some balls, step your pussy up and make the best of it. 

In concluding, please allow me to say that any alleged man who refuses to court a woman or engage with her on an intimate level on the basis of Aesthetics must immediately desist from classifying himself as such. No true man would allow so petty an issue to cloud his judgement and impede his potential happiness. If you, as a man in this day and age has taken the brave step, [for it is indeed a brave step], to date a woman from our esteemed community, I take my hat off to you.

Sincerely,

EFB.

On another note...

My take on society's treatment of Aesthetic Deviants:

Society allows an excruciatingly precise level of deviance, one calculated to sit just before the strand which separates the limitation of individuality and that which is deemed unacceptable.

 Perhaps an example of the phenomenon is necessary to better illustrate what I’m trying to say [for the dumb asses out there who got lost]. Let’s use the grooming of Black men. The standard for society is for a man to don a neatly trimmed low cut; goatees, moustaches, and the like being acceptable to a certain degree. The accepted deviation of this would be what many call “dreads”, however, if and only if these dreads are regularly re-twisted and kept neatly, are they considered societally acceptable. At best, the furthest acceptable deviation would be the man with a mildly twisted afro, perhaps a beard, and though his hair is unkempt, it is not without the upkeep of regular shape-ups at the barber to ensure his edges are always in tact, with the same policy standing for his beard.

Jamaica is the very birthplace of Rastafari, from whence spanned the social  movement to grow Locks. It was this movement which  begat the trend now known as “dreads” in hundreds of countries over the globe. This very trend, and it's pioneer, Robert Nesta Marley has allowed this small Caribbean nation to make a monumental footprint in hearts and minds across the world. Ironically, however, in Jamaica, a man of Rastafari who embodies the principle of not putting a blade to his face or head, is scorned, shunned, socially ostracized and openly vilified among the public.  

Now, ain't that about a bitch.

A Spike Tail?

I've recently decided [in the last two minutes] to not go on dates during the Winter. Not only must we squeeze our stomachs, sides and asses through the maze of impractically tight seating in these alleged establishments, but imagine how tedious it must be for us, after this journey to the ends of the restaurant [particularly bitches my size, panting, sweating and shit] to gracefully shed all those layers, stacking and stuffing our items in whichever crevice that will allow it; hauling our leggings up to fit comfortably within the pockets of our crotch, (much like the "lock and key" method of an enzyme with it's substrate); fixing our top to show just enough cleavage, etc. etc. All this while, of course, maintaining the sexy, sophisticated facial expression, trying to discretely wipe away beads of sweat. After all this toil, we must be cognizant of our urge to plop our wide rears onto the often times less than stable seating, lean back, and do the fat girl sigh. [You know the one, it's legitimately 48-55 seconds long, our eyes are closed, neck rolled back, and legs sprawled open]. But we resist. We maintain our posture, smile daintily, and for the remainder of the night are the perfect ladies. Don't worry, I feel for you, girlfriend.

The sad part? This description doesn't begin to describe what can, and all too often does go wrong during these winter time dates. Fuck bundling! Fuck these coats! Give us us free!
Lucky for me, I don't foresee myself suffering the misfortune of having to be bothered with a date in the near future! *sobs*. But if you do, I feel bad for you, I truly do. *scoffs*

In moving forward, lady and gentleman, this post is merely me wishing you all a prosperous New year. In true Caribbean form, I'll be telling people this up until June, because that's what we are, extra as hell.
I'd apologize for the lack of posts, but I'm not sorry. At all. I, lady and gentleman, am in the final lap of pursuing my degree from this God Forsaken hell of a University [I'm a PROUD Bison, shitting on you fuck niggas since 1867]. And so I refuse to apologize. I'll write as I'm so inspired, but just in case you're an editor seeking new talent, I'll happily jump to your every whim, and humbly shake my ass to make that cash v_v.

As I'm currently avoiding long overdue assignments, and quite honestly, quite over all this pretentious, pseudo academic bullshit, you'll probably be hearing from me pretty soon. I've had some issues I want addressed and I have a feeling you'll agree with me, and maybe help me seek out the answers.

In the mean time, I've been wondering.....
Maybe I just haven't been to any awesome restaurants lately, but are there any where the bar serves beverages that are merely spiked? It's not quite a cocktail, but perhaps a cork full of happiness in the dark abyss that is a glass of Coke, just for some inspiration. [A "Spike tail"?] Well, if it isn't being done, it's a travesty. I refuse to pay for a full cocktail if my drink is merely being spiked, but alas, I also refuse to subject myself to a completely non alcoholic beverage in my last semester of University.
Will not stop until I'm SHIT- FACED!

So if you know of any such bars in the District of Columbia, feel free to let me know!


Lovingly,
EFB.