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Black History Facts Plus Random Thoughts

Hey y’all! It’s been a minute, now I’m back with the jumpoff.

I saw this on our dear friend Brash’s Facebook and thought it would be important to keep up with the important Black History facts she’s sharing here on the blog.

Feb. 2nd – Meet Alexander Miles. He is credited with an important evolutionary upgrade to the elevator. You know how the doors close automatically so you can ignore that coworker you don’t like or avoid the serial killer who’s after you? And also how you don’t have to close them when you get off the elevator? Thank Mr. Miles. He also improved the closing of the elevator shaft when the elevator isn’t on a floor.

Alexander-Miles

 


 

Now some cobbled together thoughts…

Empire is still the greatest.  I’m going to get up some more detailed thoughts this week.  (Finally!)

RuPaul’s Drag Race is FINALLY back!!! Best believe I’ll be here recapping it with you all.

The Super Bowl was a good game.  Missy Elliott is the queen of everything. Let’s enjoy a retrospective of some of her greatest hits.

I listened to Work It so so so so many times.  One of the greatest songs of the early 2000’s.  The amount of practice to get the backwards lyrics is why I didn’t do well in Pre-Calculus.

One Minute Man with Trina PLUS The Get Ur Freak On Remix with Nelly Furtado has me about to flip a table.

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Stone. Cold.  Classic.  If you don’t know this song by heart, rectify this immediately.  This is music video history.

 

That’s all for now.

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Guest Post: Instagram’s Explore Page

Editorial Note: Welcome Sass back into the fray for another hilarious post about how you’re fucking up on a daily basis. -Team Trash

The Instagram Explore Page…where the shitty taste of my friends gathers and kills my soul.

Earlier this year…or maybe late last year…or maybe earlier last year? Fuck it, I don’t know, sometime before today, Instagram updated their Popular page to become the Explore page. Before, the Popular page was a place where the most liked pictures on Instagram were showcased. There you could see Kim Kardashian’s newest selfie (even though you don’t follow her, but 10 million other people do) or the latest vegetable that Oprah picked from her garden (because, Queen). Even if you don’t follow them, you were able to see what was popular at the time.

And then that changed.

Now, the Explore page displays a mix of pictures popular in your country, pictures your friends have liked and people similar to the people that you follow. It’s more a platform to discover, or explore (see what they did there?) the world outside of themselves and their immediate circle. Sometimes, there are some good finds there; for example, Mankofit with her killer workout tips, DanaChanel and her inspirational messages, and Oprah with her vegetable garden (because, Queen). But other times…Lord Jesus, bless it. The ratchetry of some of my friends is out, about, and pushed to the forefront of my feed.

Here are the top 5 terrible things I can ALWAYS count on seeing on the Explore page:

1.)  Instagram Models and Boutiques – I probably brought this on myself, honestly, because I follow Draya, but there are A LOT of Instagram models and boutiques featured here. There’s a lot of mesh, a ton of weave, breast, butt and lip augmentation and flesh that I don’t need. Usually, these “fashions” can be purchased on the low – bandage, cut out dresses made of mesh can be purchased for $15.99, which includes shipping, handling, tax, service fees, production costs and materials. These “models” have booking information for club appearances and fully styled “I woke up like this” pictures. Yeah, okay.

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2.)  The Half-Naked Boys – Some of these half naked boys are models of either the Instagram or legitimate variety. Others of them are regular people, stunting for their thirsty Instagram followers, whit their pants halfway removed, giving us pubic hair and six-packs, while they brush their teeth with the caption, “Morning.” Boy, stop.I don’t know how these end up on my page, but my eyes are dead set on people I follow (lowers glasses and glares at Trash). Sometimes you get shirtless, sometimes you get pantsless, and sometimes you get an ass clap/twerk video with the caption, “Bored.” I’m never ready for those videos.

(Editor’s Note: I don’t know what Sass is talking about.  I keep it sophisticated and elegant at all times.  Maybe she should check Class)

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3.)  Philosophical Posts from the Ignorant and Highly Uninformed – Everyone is not bright. We know this. The second I find out which of my friends likes posts like the one below, they’re unfollowed. Dead ass. Ebola can be treated and cured, just like you can HIV? Okay, boss. Catch both, and tell me which one clears up first. Honest to God, one of the comments said that they won’t tell you that drinking Lysol cures HIV and they’re keeping that information from us, too. You’re right, medical professionals just won’t tell us that. How rude of them.

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4.)  Memes – The first go ‘round of memes are usually funny. And then they’re not. Let Olivia from The Cosby Show, Kermit and the tea, the “this could be us, but…,” and all the other dead memes go to their much deserved eternal slumber. They don’t need their own accounts and they most certainly don’t need new life every single day. Are some funny? Certainly? Are most? NOPE! Be mindful of your meme usage, ladies and gents. Send Terrio to school, draw on LeBron’s hairline, cure that awkward looking Black girl of her perpetual confusion, and give that struggle ponytail a weave. However, Kim’s cry face and the Martin Baker on the phone memes will never get old to me. Also, any Rihanna face usually makes for a good time. Just be accurate in the captions.

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5.)  Food posts – Honestly, I don’t have an issue with these, I just needed a fifth and Trash didn’t answer his phone when I needed another suggestion (I set myself up with five, I should have gone for three). I even think that CookinForBae is amazing. This bitch be hungry. Keep sharing those, I need them.

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(Editorial Note: Trash can in fact confirm that this did not happen.  However, I did just see a large man in a taupe sleeveless top with a cowl neck on my Explore page, so carry on.)

The Legend of Ratchetbelle

Shakespeare  once said, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Aretha Franklin once said, “A rose is still a rose…Baby Girl, you’re still a flower.”

I bring you these wise words, not only to demonstrate how overused roses and floral imagery are in literary and artistic works, but to set  myself up for the story of how I love my friends, Class and Trash.

Sass here, reporting  for duty.

A little over a week ago, I returned from a much needed trip to see my boys. My favorite duo, Class and Trash. Well, really I went to see Trash, but Class can’t turn down a good time, and just happened to be in the area at the same time, accompanied by my newest boo thang Dash. We spent an entire weekend laughing, laughing until we cried, eating, cackling, guffawing and just fellowshipping in a way that most people will never experience in a lifetime. At a stressful and transitional time in all of our lives, I have to admit that this was well needed and much deserved.

The weekend began when I was picked up by a car of black men, one wearing a du-rag, as if I were some kind of Instagram honey, getting flown out to be tip drilled by the squad. You don’t know me well, but I don’t do those things anymore. This was hours after my plane was originally scheduled to arrive, so I arrived under the guise of night, with plans to turn alllllllllll the way up firmly implanted in my brain. Just as an FYI, we went to Trash’s beautiful apartment where an unfortunate bottle of Fireball dared to challenge us. Don’t worry – we handled that within a number of minutes.

We went to a bar, which didn’t give two shits or a damn about my vagina, if you catch my drift. The bartender there, though, God bless him. I’m positive that he hasn’t yet met a liver that he hasn’t destroyed, with his $3 drinks that were composed of 95% alcohol with a splash of mixer. This is not an exaggeration.  I have a healthy appetite for alcohol, and even I had to ask the bartender for an extra cup of the mixer so that my liver wouldn’t commit suicide on the first night. If there’s one thing that I know, it’s that a weekend with Class and Trash will have your liver praying to King Jesus to bring it home. I needed to pace myself so as to not lose on night one. No one likes that person.

I took my first praise break of the weekend during a 1:30 trip to Zaxby’s. If you’ve never been to Zaxby’s, you have 99 problems, and that is most definitely one.

On Saturday, we prospered and flourished, while sitting on the couch watching Orange is the New Black until about 5 PM. I mean, Class went for a run, because he’s the only one who is apparently serious about his position during the upcoming cuffing season. The rest of us got Chik-Fil-A. Agree or disagree with their policies, but that chicken is scrumptious. “When Jesus says ‘YES,’ nobody can say ‘NO'”

yas

That night, two groups went out. Me and my new lifelong best friend Asian Sensation went to a club where Trey Songz was “performing,” while Class, Trash and Dash went to another bar. I’m not one to gossip, so you didn’t hear this from me, but only four people went back to Trash’s house that evening *sips tea and lowers spectacles.*

Bloop

Since there were only a few of us going back to the apartment, we got CookOut and I had my second praise break of the weekend. Again, if you’ve never had CookOut, please call a friend because you’re not living right.

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So remember how I said only four people returned to Trash’s casa on Saturday night? Let me tell you how said person sauntered into the house on Sunday morning just as chipper as can be. The rest of us didn’t let said person CUM into the house without us all coming for their NECK. We made sure to GET IN THAT ASS with all the jokes that a good HAND JOB could muster (okay, that one was a stretch, but I heard said person needed to stretch after their night out, too). There’s nothing to do after an amazingly fun night out besides go to brunch. And continue to drink. Excessively. For hours. It would have been rude not to. We spent the rest of the day clowning at the pool, because drunk swimming is awesome. Another friend, ATRIPP, took us out around her hood, and we had a blast at a private party, like Trash didn’t need to be at work bright and early at 8 AM.

Now let’s come back full circle, friends. Remember how I gave you those inspiring and riveting quotes about roses at the beginning? And the title is, “The Legend of Ratchetbelle?” Let’s go back there, shall we?

I live across the country from ALL of my friends. Where I live, I have friends, but it is the East Coast that knows me, loves me and allows me to be unapologetically me. When I come back to this side of the world, my friends show up, show out and get down. Which has somehow earned me a nickname…they call me Ratchetbelle. Similar to Tinkerbelle, I fly in, sprinkle you with Ratchet Dust and everyone seems to fly high and leave their manners, good sense and panties at home.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am the victim of a slander campaign. Don’t let Class, Trash, Dash, Asian Sensation or ATRIPP fool you into thinking that any of the good times mentioned this weekend are because of me. Whether you call me a rose, Sass or Ratchetbelle, I can’t take credit for the gut busting that laughter caused this weekend. These good times are because of US. A group of friends who wholeheartedly love each other, and enjoy the good things that each person bring to our lives. I could have visited these people in South Africa during Apartheid, and we probably would have made each other laugh, love and live as freely as we did.

The value of a genuine friend is something that everyone should know. I am honored to have spent my time with these people, and I truly cannot wait until all of our paths cross again. With or without my Ratchet Dust.

So to Class, Trash, Dash, Asian Sensation, ATRIPP and everyone else I saw that didn’t get a shout out because this entry is too long already: Thank you for being a friend. Traveled round the world and back again. Your heart is true; you’re a pal and a confidant. *DUN DUN DUNNNNN* And if you threw a party…invited everyone you knew….you would see the biggest gift would be from me, and the card attached would say (all together now) THANK YOU FOR BEING A FRIEND.

xxoo, Sass.

My Favorite Real Housewives Tunes

We here at Class and Trash love terrible music, especially the songs of the Real Housewives.  So we got together with our friend over at Overactive Blogger to rank our top 3 favorite housewife singles.  There are bound to be some repeats (Trash purposely left off Chic, C’est La Vie) because you can’t dispute quality.  Let’s get started!

Overactive Blogger

1) Chic, C’est La Vie – Countess Luann (RHONY)

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2) On Display – Melissa Gorga (RHONJ)

 

3) Tardy For the Party – Kim Zolciak (RHOA)

Class

1) Tardy For the Party – Kim Zolciak (RHOA)

 

2) Money Can’t Buy You Class – Countess Luann (RHONY)

 

3) Who Gone Check Me Boo? – Sheree Whitfield (RHOA)

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Trash

1) Money Can’t Buy You Class – Countess Luann (RHONY)

 

2) Gone With The Wind Fabulous – Kenya Moore (RHOA)

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3) Bump It – Michelle Salahi (RHODC) 

 

So what are your favorites?  I’m super disappointed that we left out Google Me and Close To You. Let us know in the comments!

 

 

Guest Post: The One

Coming to you for the 99 and the 2000, we’re happy to have another Guest Post from Brash.  You may remember her from Trash traveling to The Read Live in New York.  Show her some love! -Team Trash

Hey y’all! This is B to the Rash – capuhtul B means I’m bout dat life. Or…just Brash. Hi. Class and Trash have graciously allowed me to contribute to this hilarious blog. I haven’t really had a strong, formulated opinion about anything lately, but recently I’m beginning to think I’m being trolled by social media.

It seems like everybody is finding ‘the one’ these days. At least according to my Facebook feed filled with incessant engagement announcements, wedding albums, and links to blog posts about married life.  Personally, I do happen to believe there is someone special out there for everyone. And I don’t believe this just because I’m another one of Disney’s Happily Ever After victims. I truly feel that there is someone out there who will tolerate my surliness, my propensity to nap for hours upon end, my extreme reluctance to ever leave my bed, my love affair with anything fried, and perhaps my complete lack of interest in doing anything physical that doesn’t involve a happy ending for me. But enough about my issues that I refuse to take any steps to resolve. How are people knowing if they have found ‘the one’, particularly at the tender age of 20 something?!?

A lot (not all mind you but A LOT) of these couples have dated a couple of years fresh out of college, gotten into the rhythm of having decent sex, pooping in front of each other, sharing an Amazon prime account, etc., then decide they allegedly want to spend the rest of their lives together.

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Full disclosure: I am a single woman with a slight (read: major) aversion to marriage. The thought of being legally bound to someone for the rest of my life sends me into a full blown panic attack. However, I think I’m raising a valid question whether you’re single, in a relationship, or married. How do you know, from just dating this person for 2 or 3 years, and you are only a 25 year old with next to zero life experience, that THIS is the person you want to wake up to everyday for the next 50 or 60 years? I mean. There’s stuff in my freezer that have lasted longer than some of my relationships that I’m still iffy about. And with the casual way that people marry and divorce…

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…I’m just a little hesitant when people feel the need to flood my timeline about every activity that they do with ‘the one’ but can’t define their singular hopes and dreams outside of their relationship. I remember asking a classmate, who had been telling me about this guy she’d been seeing for several months, in a half-serious way if the guy was the one. This girl looked me dead in the eye and breathed out ‘I think so.’

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What is the point to this post, one might ask? Are these just the bitter ramblings of a single woman? Nah. Y’all can keep your love where you have to share things like a bathroom and wake up to morning breath. For now Netflix and Adam & Eve are doing their job quite nicely. My point, however, is with the way that people sashay into our lives on a constant basis for a season or two, shouldn’t we use a little more precaution when bestowing upon someone such a heavy title? Maybe go through a life experience or two before we assign that label? I just think ‘the one’ has been watered down and overused to something unrecognizable. That being said, I’ll let y’all in on a little secret: I’ve already found my ‘the one.’ They’re actually 4 ‘the ones.’ They’re my best friends and my soulmates. And now that I have officially ripped off a Carrie Bradshaw quote and at the risk of rambling like one of those Cosmopolitan magazine articles, I’m out.

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Guest Post: Random Musings

Welcome back our diva, Sass!  Here to hit you with another guest post.  Let’s get into it!

In a month that has seen so much good for other people (Trash’s new job, Class’ upcoming play, Kim & Kanye getting the Vogue cover, Chris Brown goes to jail…wait, what?), it’s been a pretty bad one for me.

Full disclosure: I work a job I hate. Like, hate. HATE. HATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATE. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE.

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Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful that I have a job, because Sallie Mae doesn’t care either way; those payments are still due. As are rent, utilities, car insurance, and other bills. All due, and they don’t care about anything besides a receiving payment on the correct date. So I’m glad that I can make those payments and be an upstanding member of society, but I wish I was able to do that with a job that didn’t make me physically sick each day. I often come home nauseous with headaches, sleepless nights dreading the next day, etc. It’s a mess.

Over the past nine months or so, I’ve been applying for other jobs to no avail. I end up getting interviews that go nowhere. So what made this month particularly vomit-inducing? Over the past two weeks, I’ve received roughly 15, “Thanks, but no thanks” emails and phone calls in response to my interviews and resume submissions. That much rejection isn’t good for a person! It messes with your mind…just ask Kenya Moore!

The rejection, coupled with the overall disgusting-ness of my job, have put quite a damper on my mood this month. I also don’t have a lot of friends where I live, so I’ve lacked an outlet to blow off steam. It’s a little much right now, and I have to admit that I’m not myself. The feelings of defeat and failure almost choke me every day, leading me to wallow in a pit of despair. Again, I’m not normally like this. I’m the happy, bubbly girl, always up for a good laugh, who is always there to cheer up her friends. Meanwhile, many of my friends don’t care to, or don’t know how to, cheer me up. I haven’t shared my issues with a lot of people, because, like I said, I’m always the happy one. People act like they don’t know how to receive my pain, which causes them to almost dismiss my feelings. And that makes me angry. Very angry.

Here’s the thing: to have a friend, you need to be a friend. If you can come to me, crying about everything from a hang nail to death, then I would like the same. As I’m sitting around crying about feeling defeated, don’t tell me that it’s just because Aunt Flow is approaching and I’ll be fine when my hormones pass. If Aunt Flow was on the way, I would have beat the shit out of someone for saying that, and then peed on them , to literally add insult to injury. Wow, that was aggressive…someone get that girl some medication!

What makes it even worse (in my book anyway), is that it was a woman who said this to me. To belittle a woman’s feelings based on the fact that they’re hormonal is what sexist assholes do to women all the time. I’m not a huge feminist, but I don’t appreciate being belittled or insulted because my genitals resemble a taco more than they do the 14″ long, thick and perfectly shaped Italian sausage that I’m pretty sure I would have if I were a boy

*cue Beyonce. Always cue Beyonce.*

All in all, I’m just writing this just to point out that no matter the reason, gender, race, scale, or nature of your feelings, fears, dreams, aspirations, or doubts they are VALID. They matter. You are entitled to them and they are yours. Never let anyone project to you that anything that you feel is less than important. Don’t drown in your sadness, but don’t let anyone tell you that the reason for your sadness is wrong. Expressing your emotions is always better than internalizing them, so phone a friend. A good one. An understanding one. One that has no problem letting you cry on their left, while pouring shots with their right.

Wait, what?

Guest Post – Relationships Are Garbage

(Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce Sass, our first guest poster!  We know you’re going to love her.  Now on to the post!)

Not all the time, obviously. There are the good times – dates (that lead to doing it), long conversations (that lead to dirty talk and sexting, which leads to doing it), vacations (doing it away from home), making up after arguing (which inevitably leads to doing it), cuddling (doing it), and enjoying each other’s company (which is either foreplay, doing it or afterglow, depending on the moment). But in the end, relationships are comprised of an individual attempting to share his/her space and life with another person, all while maintaining his/her sense of self, reaching personal and professional goals and attempting not to drown in the sea of baggage that every person brings with them. *cue Queen Erykah Badu “Bag Lady”* Not everyone has 10 kids, 14 baby mama’s, a police record and a latent drug habit, but adapting your life to involve another will always be work. And I’m not sure I’m here for it.

Although I have a history of miserable relationships, I never grew up around bad relationships. My parents were married after college, a year or so before the birth of my older brother, their first child. Thirty-plus years later, they still enjoy each other and are slightly obsessed with one another. They talk to each other all day, have date night and are partners through everything. However, their example doesn’t, and hasn’t, shielded me from the bevy of damaged individuals muddying the dating pool. I’ve dated liars, cheaters, verbal abusers, men with money who needed control, men with no job or ambition who needed a mother figure, whores, psychos and complete weirdos. Actually, this was all one person, but it was a long relationship and he was a mess throughout the whole thing.

So what’s the common denominator? Obviously, it’s me, but what is the seemingly insurmountable wall that prevents a successful relationship? Many factors could be considered, but in my case, I think it’s two-fold. On one hand, you have to sacrifice a lot of yourself to make your intricate puzzle fit properly with someone else. I’m a middle child: I had to fend for myself a lot growing up because my parents were too busy allowing the oldest to spread his wings, and babying the baby. It was a rough life, I promise you. Anyway, I say that to illustrate that I don’t sacrifice much of myself. Ever. The other side of this highly unfortunate relationship coin is the ability (or lack thereof) to admit defeat and throw in the towel on a relationship when it’s kind of dead, as opposed to waiting until it’s on life support in a medically induced coma hoping for a brain and a heart (like the Scarecrow and Tin Man, respectively). I can never seem to quit. I tend go for the long haul at full throttle, without realizing all four tires are flat.

A short story to back up my second point: My roommate (let’s call her BigBootyWhiteGirl), has been dating a guy (let’s call him Unsuccessful-Drug-Dealer-With-No-Car-or-Job-who-Lives-With-His-Mother, UDD for short) since June or July of last year. BigBootyWhiteGirl drives the 30-minutes to UDD’s house, takes him to get food, and brings him over. It’s always the same: the enjoy each other’s company (see explanation above) for the first 8 hours, argue, she threatens to call the cops and kicks him out of the house. UDD then stands on the sidewalk soliciting rides from people until someone comes to pick him up. BigBootyWhiteGirl opens her window and berates him, he shouts death threats at her, his ride comes and he leaves, usually leaning out the window shouting at her so that he can have the last word. She deletes his number, fuming, until her next day off approaches. She then breaks into his Facebook, finds his number, they reconcile via phone until the next time that she picks him up and the cycle continues.

Me?

I sit in my room, open a bottle of wine, pick a trashy show on Hulu or Netflix, and toast my single and drama-free life.

Yeah, relationships are garbage. I’ll pass.