Not Much to Say...Again

I figure it's about time I start using this blog again for its intended purpose. Which is....I don't remember. The disjointed musings of a CT, lower-middle class socialite.

Tonight I sit on my couch writing this, which is basically hemming and hawing before I start working on getting my office nice and decorated. By decorated, I mean hanging a couple pictures up and setting some scented candles up here and there. Obviously this isn't going to be hard work. The hardest part will probably be getting up off this couch and not getting back on it. I set my Cafe World dishes to a nice 2 hour simmer (which would've kept me on the couch an extra 20 minutes had I not), the only thing on television tonight is American Idol, which I loathe, and I already ate dinner so I can't lie to myself and say that I'm hungry once I get started. Yes, this could be, if executed correctly, a very productive evening.

So why am I here, re-kickstarting a blog that I'd long forgotten about? It's not like I'm saying anything particularly fascinating or thought provoking. But I guess that's just the essence of my writing style. It's the stupid things that cross my head throughout the day and somehow make it to the page...or screen...whatever. And for some reason a few people in my life enjoy reading it.

And that's that. I guess there's nothing more to say today. I'm going to fix up my office so I can have a nice, creative space to write in and maybe I'll think of a nice creative shtick that'll make people want to read. Ciao.

He Ain't Heavy...He's My Black, Reality TV Brother

I've noticed that lately people are overusing the phrase "a shame to our race." Ok...I'll just say it, lately we black people are overusing the phrase. I'll admit, I spat it out now and then when Flava Flav first hit the airwaves again on The Surreal Life. But with all the reality television that's out nowadays, a black chairman of the Republican National Committee, a somehow even blacker, half-black president and our own personal glass ceilings to break through, I think we can stop shirking away when we see Keshia Cole's mom polishing her grill on TV.

Of course it's natural to turn a little red when you realize you know the man downtown who asks business men for "a dolla to get back home, cuz I just got outta jail today, y'kna mean. So if you could just gimme 2 dollas, it would help a lot man, cuz I need some Pampers for my baby so yo' three dollas would really help." But as I've grown to realize over the years, his hustle, doomed as it may be, is not my fault. The businessman, if he has any sense, isn't looking at me thinking, "come get your peoples," but rather seeing through the beggar's lie and since this is the northeast, probably feeling guilty for his own white privilege and scooping up change as fast as he can as a mass apology. And even if he was looking at me that way, screw him!

But claiming "shame" on black celebrities is pretty much akin to seeing your parents dance at your sweet 16: there's NOTHING you can do about it. Sure, it's embarrassing, and you feel like you'll never recover after hearing the phrase "ya'll don't know nothin bout this" while they do the bump to "Whoomp! There it Is!" But you go back to school on Monday, your friends clown you, maybe do some impressions of it, and then someone's mom drops them off in rollers and you're off the hook. It doesn't bring "shame" upon the family or the race. That's a little dramatic, especially since you still love them.

Some people try to justify a lack of care for negative black imagery by saying something like, "well, you don't see white people getting embarrassed for The Hills or Larry the Cable Guy, so why should these people embarrass me?" While that's true, I don't think it's the right approach. Because for every Larry the Cable Guy gettin 'er dun, there's 15 positive white images on during the commercial breaks. Not to mention, white people don't necessarily have a history built for unifying as one. Matter of fact, the only times you see white people banding together in their whiteness is usually the last time you see anything.

So when you're watching "I Love Shuckin and Jiving" and Punkin spits in Spanakopita's face, stop wincing and overcompensating by claiming shame and remember what a positive image you yourself are. Maybe you graduated from college with honors, or you don't listen to rap music with offensive lyrics. Maybe you just look both ways before crossing the street. Whatever it is that reminds you that we may be "brothers" but we ain't clones.

Social Networking and the Fake Baller: Together at Last

I've been on Twitter for a little over a year now and there's one thing that never ceases to amaze/annoy me: The Twitter Baller. If you're a member of the site, you may have come across him or her, and if not, don't fret; this person is also a member of facebook and myspace. You may see photos of money fanned out on his or her bed, photos of this person with expensive designer clothing on with a caption that reads "What U kn0 b0Ut Cafoofie Noonie? NuTtin, cuz they don't sell iT in dA UsA! Exclusive!" (the fake baller loves to use the word exclusive.)

Following a fake baller on Twitter is both a joy and a pain for me. As fascinating as it is to see a person hype up their imaginary life, it starts to become frustrating to listen to such obvious lies, like watching a VH1 reality show. Adding one usually happens by accident. Maybe a friend suggested him on a Follow Friday or the person started following me and I reciprocated when they laughed at something I said (it's the polite thing to do after all). Afterwards, I'm told that they're out in the "hottest" spot's VIP "poppin bottles" on a Wednesday night, drinking Nuvo, Patron, Ciroc, whatever the latest drink is that your favorite hip hop artist mentioned in a song. (Surprisingly, there's never a twitpic to back it up.)

I'm not saying this person is lying in every tweet, but if you're having such a great time buying expensive wares, drinking alcohol us peons can't afford and doing stuff we "don't know about", why are you twittering? Don't you have a life of luxury to lead?

Here's the deal. Downing $3 Bud Lights on College Night is not "poppin bottles". It's cute and clever to caption a picture or two with that, but don't go posting it on the internet like it's the truth.

I've followed Miley Cyrus and have gotten more out of it than following a fake baller. Oprah's got a million followers and I have never once heard her tweet about poppin bottles! I seriously doubt anyone else finds you a joy to follow, unless they want to get in your bed/credit-less, empty wallet or of course, they're a fake baller themselves.

Hello, My Name Is...

Well hello and how are you? My name is Tianna, and this is my blog.

I have no subject matter about which to blog. I don't care much about celebrities and I'm not too fond of talking about politics. I know what white people like, but I'm also pretty versed in what black people like as well so I can't really give you much in that area. Some people say I'm clever and to that I say that I do have an interesting thought in my head once in a while.

What you should know about me is that I'm a writer in my mid-20's who enjoys making people laugh and pointing out the things about life that make little sense and should be called to attention. I also enjoy raving about the great things in life that don't get enough praise, like gloves and Snuggies, because I enjoy being warm, and whoever thought of those two things was obviously using the old noggin. Who doesn't enjoy being high-functioning in their warmth?

But enough about Snuggies (unless you'd like to talk about Snuggies, because I could go on for at least another hour. Trust me, that's not the last time you'll hear about them here.) I'm sure I'll have other things to say at a later date. So yeah...that's pretty much all I had to say today. Take care.