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I’m back and it’s a bit different around these parts.

I have been doing a whole lot of stalling and stopping since the last time I wrote here. I’ve cried a lot. Been sad a lot. Smiled some. Laughed some. Ate a lot of trash. Drank a lot of trash. But…at this current moment, right now, I am happy. I am content. I stopped fighting myself. My body was telling me it was sick of my shit. Sick of the crappy food. Sick of the lack of exercise. Sick of not being used properly.
My moment of clarity came on September 13, 2014. I went to my cousin’s baby shower. I was excited for my cousin and hyped because I was gonna be around all the good Guyanese style food. Lo mein, roti, curry, black pudding (seasoned rice with pigs blood in a casing) , white pudding (seasoned rice, without pigs blood in a casing) and pastries… so many good pastries. I had some pastries and my stomach did it’s best impression of the Scooby Doo whimper. I ignored it because I was dead set on getting my eat on. I didn’t have a real desire for meat that day, so I didn’t touch any, but I got my lo mein, some salad and white pudding. I happily ate my food ,but, as soon as I was done ,my stomach began to throw up all kind of gang signs. I couldn’t understand it. My stomach hurt but it wasn’t that bad. Oh, I also had liquor (a small bottle of Mynx. It’s quite tasty.) so it was quite the turn up function in my stomach. The pain died down a bit so I was able to enjoy myself. (Sidenote: This was a garden party. It also rained. I was not made aware of this and wore heels. I spent the night sinking in the earth with every little step I made. Much fun. Many yay. \😐/) Eventually, we left (I was with my family) and started the drive home.

That… is when the hot sauce fell into the open anus. Listen. My stomach and head were playing a fierce game of “Who can hurt more.” I was in so much pain and I could not make it stop. I spent the car ride with my eyes closed trying to alleviate some of the pain. We got to the house and I went straight to the couch and laid down. I was familiar with this pain, as I had it before when I ate too much junk food but this…this was a whole other level of pain. I contemplated going to the ER. It was that bad. After about an hour, my food started to go down and I felt soooo much better. A sense of realization washed over me. I had to change. Had to. Had. To.

So, the next day, I didn’t eat much then I decided to try a bit of meat and rice, just a tiny bit. My stomach did that Scooby Doo whimper once again. I stopped eating immediately. I wanted no parts of what happened the previous night. In that moment, I decided to officially change my life. On Monday, September 15 2014, I started Insanity (Finished it twice but gained back the weight. ) and became vegan. I haven’t eaten anything but veggies, lentils, fruits and nuts for the past two week and I feel amazing. I’ve been vegan before (for almost a year at one point) but I worked my way back to trash eating. I won’t be doing that again. I refuse to. I simply cannot eat certain things. I have to accept it. No junk food. No meat. No juice. No liquor. I’ve only had one instance when I wanted to “cheat” and that was when I made Mac and cheese for the kids. I wanted some sooooo bad but then then I remembered that pain and said NOPE. So…I am here. Happy, nappy and pain free. It feels pretty good.




It fucks me off that this photo is still going around, why is this “nice guy” still getting championed for being a total creep

quote credited to tumblr user deadlydinos


Reblogging for the fixed version because that guy was beyond creepy.

In both versions, he is an entitled asshole. It does not matter how much you do for someone if they don’t like you, they won’t like you. Should he have stopped doing all of these things in an effort to “wear her down” aka the “nice guy ” mantra, when he saw that she was not reciprocating in kind? Yes. She probably thought he was just a “nice guy” who was doing things for her and accepted it without thinking it was anything more. Let’s say she did realize he liked her and was using him. Maybe even sent him some mixed signals. She is wrong for that, if that is the case. Either way, he isn’t entitled to a damn thing. She is a person and can choose who she wants to be with. Lastly, he was doing these nice things with an agenda. His agenda was to get her to like him. Fuck your agenda. You do nice things because you want to not because you want a damn fresh baked cookie or some shit in the end. Be yourself and show interest. She don’t like it? Move on. What you shouldn’t do is go on her Facebook and try to blame her for your lack of mostly likely, not being able to read signs, you nice asshole.


BEST POSTS OF 2013 #16: Supermodel Naomi Campbell channels her inner First Lady in this diplomacy-inspired photoshoot shot in Ghana’s capital, Accra.

Ghanaian-born British fashion stylist and style director of W Magazine Edward Enninful described the feature as a “tribute to a modern day First Lady on a state trip, evoking the kind of timeless style that could have existed in the 1940’s, 60’s, or even today.”

What I love most about the spread is that unlike many typical Vogue shoots shot in non-Western countries, no locals were used as background props to further dehumanize them and render them agent-less, and you can tell that the person responsible for scouting the locations made a conscious effort to diversify the backdrops used here.



Juana Briones (1802-1889)

Art by Hey Lady Wanderlust (tumblr)

A native Californian, Juana was born to a Mexican family in Santa Cruz which at that time was part of the fringes of the Spanish empire.  As a young girl, she moved with her family to the San Francisco Presidio.  Juana married at age 18 and bore eleven children, eight of whom survived into adulthood.  She also adopted an orphaned Native American girl who she raised as her own.

Juana’s husband was abusive and in 1840 Juana obtained a legal separation from him, incredibly unusual for the time.  Juana ran a dairy farm in what is today the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco and a cattle ranch in Palo Alto.  Many Latinos lost their land due to insufficiently documented ownership when California became a state in 1850, but Juana managed to document her landownership and retain her property despite being illiterate.  Juana was also locally known as a healer who incorporated Native American traditions.   

There are numerous memorials to Juana in the Bay Area.  Plaques commemorating Juana can be found in San Francisco on the Lyon Street steps and on a bench in Washington Square Park.  A park and an elementary school in Palo Alto are named in her honor.

San Franciscans!  The California Historical Society is hosting an exhibit on Juana Briones from January 26 through June 6.

Hat tip to Tofu’s Art for pointing out the exhibit.

The first thing I saw when I walked in the door [of the National Great Blacks in Wax Museum in Baltimore] was a 500lb bale of cotton and it was taller than me, thicker than me, wider than me, and I was just met with the loftiness of Patsey. One of the most shocking things I learned was that it was common to make accessories out of the skin of slaves that died. There were wallets and bags, and they were prized possessions. It doesn’t get more horrific than that. I was stunned that I hadn’t even heard the name Solomon Northup. In school we learned about slavery but we spent more time learning about the Holocaust.

Lupita Nyong’o, from her cover story in Dujour magazine about the horrifying things she learned while studying for her breakout role as Patsey in 12 Years a Slave.
(via thechanelmuse)

I’ve always wondered if schools in Africa discussed the American slave trade. Now reading this quote just fucking hurts.

(via ctron164)

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