Skinny Bits: Say Nothing At All

One of my new hobbies: considering the ridiculousness of blog headlines. Based on what gets clicks, no one likes themselves and thinks “transformation” or a “best self” is one clothing item, app, skin product, routine, or diet away. I wonder what headlines would look like for a society that doesn’t run on keeping people as insecure as possible. This is why I don’t believe in “progressive brands.” These are salespeople. They only get paid by convincing us we have a problem their product can solve. Some just dress it up with the “right” message to make us feel better about it.

I cut back on news consumption after Justice Kennedy’s retirement announcement. While I’m staying abreast of major events, I cannot complain about the state of the world anymore. When I get that “WTF” feeling, I have to donate to something or write a letter or find some ACTIONABLE step that doesn’t include screaming into the ether on social media.

Listened to Everything Is Love. I don’t enjoy trap music–even when my all-time favorite rapper and one of the greatest performers on the planet makes it. I won’t revisit it.

It’s taken about six months to digest, but I’m into Skyzoo’s In Celebration of Us. If I had to compare it to other Skyzoo albums, it’s on par with his 2015 release Music for My Friends. I’m overdue for a “this is what I’m listening to” #SkinnyBlackJams post. Should probably get on that.

I’m not speaking to my mother. She revealed a secret about my childhood that she kept for twenty years and I’m pissed. Yes, I have to forgive her, but it’s been less than two weeks. After twenty years of lies, I will take as long as I need to process this shit. Every time I think of speaking to her, I want to scream how inconsiderate and dishonest she is.

If you’ve got nothing nice to say, say nothing at all. Ain’t that how it goes?

You ever realize no matter how you try, you can’t be friends with someone because their fantasy of you blinds them to who you really are? That’s…not fun.

In good friend news, one of my three best friends had a recent birthday. I made her a super dope gift: a mini-magazine composed of her flyest Instagram photos. Putting it together took me back to the days of running an online magazine. I need to flex that creative muscle more often.

I’ll admit: I was tickled when I read The Cut’s “Big Dick Energy” article. Who doesn’t sit among girlfriends (or guy friends, if that’s your thing) discussing who has “the hammer.” But it’s hit the end of the “That was fun” to “Everyone’s doing too much. Please shut the fuck up” social media cycle. There’s also something off about ascribing “big dick energy” to women (i.e. Rihanna) as if a big dick is the height of allure. DON’T GET ME WRONG. I’m a card-carrying member of the Big Dick Fan Club. But as the Earth’s creators, the female species can do better than “big dick energy” when describing our magic.*

Basically, BDE is more entertaining when we’re talking about actual penises and not philosophizing what “BDE” means and who does/doesn’t have it.

And that’s it for this round of Skinny Bits. Until next time…


[*] Though, I must concede: I will continue to reference my imaginary phallus when angry because I haven’t found a female equivalent term that resonates as much as “suck my dick.”


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