Resolutions!

I don't usually do resolutions. I usually fail at living up to them, but when they're things like "Get with so-and-so" like I did at around age 12, then what did I expect?

I like the idea behind it, though, and I decided to have three, and only three, resolutions for 2011.

3.) Choose Happiness

This has, admittedly, been a very difficult year for me. With the high of graduation came the nadir of unemployment and uncertainty and disappointment. With the new year, I want to accomplish my goals, but I really want to choose joy, contentment, and happiness over the sadness that has utterly assaulted me the latter part of the year. That means more to me than any job or career.

2.) Fall in love

This is less of a resolution and more of a hope. I haven't felt deep feelings for someone since high school, and I miss that. Most of all, I miss the great poetry that came from it (ha ha). In all honesty, I feel like I'm finally in a good emotional place to both give and receive love. So, it'd be nice to fall in love again.

1.) Get a Snuggle Buddy

If I accomplish no other goal this year, the goal is to get a snuggle buddy. I'm lonely, and I'd like to snuggle with someone. That person would hopefully be a nice, hot, intelligent guy, and he doesn't have to be my man. He can just be a nice, hot, intelligent guy who's my friend and would like to hold me and spoon as we watch movies or go to sleep. For now, I have Cheer Bear, and Cheer Bear has been the best snuggle buddy so far.

Me and Cheer Bear; we're very close.

But I'd like a human snuggle buddy. For reals.

And if you'd like to be my snuggle buddy, leave me a message in the comments section!

And have a happy, and safe, new year!

You're Homophobic and Heterosexist. Yes, You.

I'm back!

I've actually been meaning to write this blog post for a minute, but I postponed it until I could accurately articulate all that I wanted to say. Then, a tweef (Twitter Beef) erupted between Chris Brown and Raz-B yesterday, and I found it largely appropriate.

If you don't know, Raz-B, formerly of B2K, tweeted some creeptastic love tweets to Rihanna, with no reply, and then posted a snide comment to Chris Brown about how he couldn't understand how anyone could attack Rihanna blah blahness. Chris went all crazy and started calling Raz-B all kinds of stuff, saying things about the state of his anus and about how he's gay--honey, it was nuts!

Then a couple minutes ago, I got on Twitter and saw a link to this article on TMZ about how Chris Brown is apologizing and saying that he's not homophobic.

|Insert straight human face resembling this ---> o_o|

Chris, you's a damn lie.

You don't get to make fun of someone using references to stereotypical or actual gay behavior and then be like "I love gay people!" and think you get a pass. Negro, PLEASE.

You are homophobic. Wanna know how I know? Because I'm homophobic. My momma's homophobic. My pastor's homophobic. My friends are homophobic. Everyone I know is homophobic.

I know you might be confused since I've posted a couple blogs demonizing and drawing attention to homophobia. But it's true. I can't help it. I'm homophobic too. And heterosexist.

I've been raised in a society where being gay was (and is) seen as something "other," something weird, something disgusting, something abominable. Unfortunately, it something that stays with me since I've internalized it and subscribed to it for many years.

I work hard to eradicate my homophobia and my heterosexism just as others work to work through their racism and sexism (and I do that too). I constantly cast down and check my homophobic thoughts. I remind myself daily about the necessary love I must have for the LGBT community. I incessantly force myself to have views about the LGBT community that work for justice.

And you do it too, either outright or inside. As much as you try to deny it, you're homophobic deep down in your core. You believe stereotypes. You use the word "gay" as a slur or epithet. You laugh at "feminine" men. You don't believe in gay "marriage" simply based on the traditional definition of "marriage" as if language is locked and definitions never change over time and across cultures...

But I digress.

We all are homophobic and heterosexist. And it's okay as long as it doesn't stay that way, as long as you fight through it in order to promote love and justice, as long as you are casting down every hateful thought, as long as you realize that legislation should never be used to oppress others and deny them of their natural right to love and happiness.

It pains me every single day. I hate that I'm homophobic and heterosexist, absolutely despise that part of myself. But I constantly educate myself and try to show love, understanding, sympathy, and, when I can, empathy.

I also check my language and try not to publicly make fun of a person by utilizing gay slurs and pretend it's okay!

So, Chris, gon head and slap yourself because you are homophobic.

Most of us, if not all of us, are.

Christmas Isn't the Same.

In a lot of ways, Christmas is for children. From the commercials on television, to the Sears and Toys R Us toybook catalogues, to the wrapped presents and whatnot. And it should be. Christmas is full of gift-giving, decorations, and love--the shit children consume and sit on. We Christians throw some Jesus in the mix, and it makes it all even better.

However, as I recognize that tomorrow is Christmas, I also recognize that it doesn't feel that way. We didn't decorate this year but I felt the same way when we did decorate last year. Christmas, for me, just isn't the same.

I don't feel a light anymore; I don't feel excitement anymore. I look back at old pictures and home videos where my brothers, cousins, and I were so giddy and happy. I think about leaving out cookies and milk for Santa. I think about how we would wake each other up Christmas morning so we can open presents as early as possible. I remember spending time with loved ones and having fun.

Christmas 2010 doesn't have any of that. Instead of being with loved family members, I'm praying that someone doesn't come over so I don't have to deal with bullshit. Instead of being excited over presents, I feel like an asshole because I can't financially give or contribute to anything when at this point I feel like I should be able to.

Instead of being the "most wonderful time of the year," it feels like just another damn day.

I guess I'm disillusioned by adulthood. You look forward to Christmas as a child because you think about all you can get and how it would make you happy. Instead, I realize that any gift I could be given wouldn't make me happy because I have more monstrous things to contend with.

And a part of me--hell, all of me--wishes I had those childish eyes again.

Don't Get Used To This.

I've been neglecting the blog recently. Not because I have nothing to write about but simply because I don't want to write about some of the ideas I have because they're a bit personal, and I don't like touching on those things that get a bit too close to my psyche. I don't want to use my blog as therapy.

Alas, I came across this article which poses the question, "Can Fathers Walk Away From Their Children?" Reading the article was cool but for some reason, I got choked up reading the comments of the article.

Maybe it was the annoying shit I dealt with over Thanksgiving with my Dad. Maybe it was the fact that I've spent more days crying about that than I would like to since it happened. Maybe it was the statement my mom told me soon after that was nagging at my head: "Your father's leaving and staying gone was a shot at me. You guys just got caught in the middle."

I don't like to be that woman with "Daddy Issues," yet I can't pretend that I wasn't affected by my father's absence. I don't trip too much over his emotional disconnect. Yes, my dad doesn't know me as a person and clearly doesn't care to, but I, if anything, am more upset at his refusal to support his children when they needed him the most like helping to pay for college expenses, paying the mortgage, paying the gas bill so we don't have to take cold showers, buying us food when my mother was nursing broken ribs so that we can eat since she couldn't work, things like that. Even more, I resent that all of these things have happened but he can pop up on my birthday or Thanksgiving and pretend like none of this happened and everything's okay.

Maybe it's just the fact that instead of the "giving up the fight" talked about in the article, it's the knowledge that my dad never, ever one day in my life fought for me.

Wow.

Usher, You Need to Stop RIGHT NOW.

I've been meaning to write this blog for a long time now. I've been completely annoyed by Usher for years, but I just believed that if I ignored him, he and his whack music would go away.

Then, I watched the American Music Awards (which warrants a blog post in and of itself) where clearly tone-deaf, lyrics-ignoring people picked this man to win awards supposedly based off of his contribution to music. Excuse me?!

I couldn't take this anymore. I need to confront Usher with his whackness because he damn sure doesn't deserve to win anything but a boot in the ass.

Let's examine the evidence, shall we?

Usher, after a lackluster debut at around age fourteen or so, reinvented himself and came hard with this gem right here:

Whoa, this dude has a nice voice and puts a great spin on a relationship dilemma. The production is great; the writing is fantastic. Not only that, but the video is original and shows his dancing abilities. This song was on the lips of people for months. Hell, it still is.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was the My Way era. This sent Usher down the fast track to success, and rightfully so, especially due to songs like "My Way," and this joint that used to get every guy laid in the late 90s:

And if you thought Usher was going to come out with a sophomore (or junior, depending on how you view it) slump, boy, you were wrong! He released his highly-anticipated LP 8701 that spawned multiple hits. The album went four times platinum! But why shouldn't it have with great jams like "U Remind Me," "U Got It Bad," "Can U Help Me," (sidenote: what's up with all the U's?) and my personal favorite:

I mean, seriously? This song gets it going in the club, in your car, or in your bed where I was getting it in as I was doing my research for this piece (8]). I even still remember the whole dance from the video! Honestly, 8701 was another iconic era in his career. Solid videos, solid vocals, and solid songs!

Then it all went wrong. Downhill. To hell. With Usher's follow-up Confessions, I noticed a complete dip in artistic competence and ability. Of course the debut single "Yeah" was a clubbanger that I rocked endlessly, but I was surprised to find out along with a friend of mine during a listening session that he was actually trying to tell a story! A story that was stupid at that.

It doesn't stop there.

I can't even pinpoint what exactly I hate about this song. Maybe it's the dumb chorus. Maybe it's his trite way of looking at and relaying this situation. Maybe it's just a worthless song with no depth. And don't get me started on that piece of doo-doo, ca-ca song with Alicia Keys "My Boo," where these two low-talent fools talk about love in the most shallow way ever. Ugh.

Looking back, however, Confessions Usher was golden compared to what's been going on the past couple years. This is where Usher really starts to go downhill, and I want you to truly listen and be honest with yourself at what you're hearing in your ears and your soul.

Let's continue with Usher's Here I Stand Era and his first single "Love in This Club," which is filled with some of the worst lyrics and production ever.

One, most clubs are dirty and disgusting, with dried puke and crabs available for anyone who wants it. Two, why would you make love in a club? I come to have a good time, and you're sexing some slut in front of everybody's eyes? Sickness. Three, y'all not making love. At all. Four, if "Ayyy!" was a person, I'd choke the whoa out of him. Everything about this song is off-putting and disgusting. I don't understand why people like it. The beat isn't even good. Eyeroll and let's continue.

"Moving Mountains" was another single from that era, and I don't even know what's said in the song because Usher's vocals are so God-awful they make me want to jump off some mountains. The problem with this era in his career is that he's supposed to be more mature, creating a more grown-up sound as he evolves into a different, supposedly better man, especially since he was stepping into new roles as a husband and father. This is not done at all in this era. You're an adult, trying to step into responsibility with a song about fucking in a club. Really? Stop.

But then with Raymond Vs. Raymond, created during and after the divorce from his wife, Usher grew as a man, truly. He took his life experiences and the lessons he learned, and he poured them into his music. And you can feel that especially with songs like this one:

Blank stare. o_o

One, there's no reason for a 32-year-old man to EVER say "OMG" or "Oh My Gosh" unless it's in jest, and even that is hardly acceptable. Two, how many times are you going to fall in love at the club?! Stop going to the club because it's clearly not working out for you and all the comes from it is bad music. Three, I'm starting to think that everything Will.I.Am touches turns to shit. Four, there is no reason EVER for a 32-year-old man, especially one who is supposed to be bring maturity to his artistry, should EVER, EVER say the words, "Honey got a booty like pow, pow, pow. Honey got some boobies like wow, oh, wow." If you heard this song and didn't object to these lyrics, you need a lobotomy. The writing to this song is so horrible, it induces anger in me before even pressing the play button on the video. I seriously want to know how he looked at the song and was like, "Dude, this is hot! I want this for my album." Are you serious?! The maturity was where Usher? You're too old for this shit. Danny Glover. (#Aubreylyrics)

Let's also briefly talk about "Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home)" which unfortunately has a feature from Plies. I have a problem with a.) women who refer to their significant other as their fathers and b.) men who refer to themselves as their woman's father. That's creepy, and you both need to see a damn shrink for your daddy issues. Also, why you would feature Plies on a ballad makes absolutely no sense, at all. His voice is aggravating and doesn't fit in with the song. Come on Ursh, think for just a minute!

I also won't talk about how anyone could think it a great idea to write a song with the name of an alcoholic beverage that is usually used for fighting the flu and cold or helping you go to sleep, and then have the nerve to spell it wrong. I also won't go into another superficial love song/club banger where you fall in love, yet again, at a club. Can you go to a bookstore or to the park and fall in love? Can you switch it up? Can you stop being so trite and repetitive? Ugh.

Last but not least, is this ridiculous song:

First, what is a ménagé?! Why would I ask that, Usher? Because the word doesn't exist! It's ménage. And even then that one word does not connote or denote what you think it does (members of a household). Learn the language, and use the whole phrase, idiot. Two, I hate when people romanticize and eroticize homosexuality and bisexuality. I feel (and you can disagree and say why in the comments) as if it's demeaning to treat bisexual and homosexual people as simple sexual objects for your pleasure or to engage in behavior that warrants scorn from so many in this country and not deal with the ridicule, scorn, and hate that comes with it. It's completely superficial. Homosexual and bisexual people are PEOPLE outside of your "Lil Freak" desires. Lastly, this song is just totally ew. Again, it doesn't convey the maturity that he claims is where he's trying to go in his career. And how DARE you take Stevie Wonder's sociopolitical gem "Living For the City" and turn it into this garbage?! That's as bad as Rich Boy sampling Switch's beautiful ballad "I Call Your Name" for his hot crap "Throw Some D's". It's just wrong. It's unacceptable.

Usher has gone the Mariah Carey route in his career. He's neglected true growth, substance, and artistry for radio-friendly hits and no-brain-required pop-dance music. He's contributing to the mindless, drone-like, everything-sounds-the-same music we hear on the radio or watch on television. What's sad is that he's capable of more; he's already done more! If he wanted to, he could crank out some good, honest-to-God, straight-up dope R&B songs and albums, but he's in it for the profit. He's so desperate to both make money and stay relevant that he has forsaken his musical soul so that these teens and twenty-somethings will still buy his music. However, at one point do you honestly, and seriously grow up?

People deserve better. Evolve with your music and force your listeners to evolve with you. A dope thing about Kanye is that he takes the Hip Hop genre and puts his own spin on it while staying true to the culture and staying true to himself as an artist. He takes risks, and he's taking Hip Hop into a new era that leaves wide open a world of possibilities. While Usher is claiming "R&B forever," he has not shown that he's still making and interested in making R&B records. Even "There Goes My Baby" has a hardened drum beat at the bottom, so does "Hey Daddy...". He's not reinventing the genre, simply mashing it up with Pop and Hip Hop (and doing it badly). At this point, he shouldn't even call himself an R&B artist anymore because it's clear that he's a Pop artist.

Usher Raymond was an artist with immense talent, and he still has talent. It is evident that he has a certain aura that people are drawn to and that he can move a crowd and sell records. However, it comes at a price, the neglect of artistry and depth for superficial music and record sales. Recycled themes and surface-level writing with barely-tolerable production can only get you so far, and it shouldn't be rewarded with undeserved accolades and trophies. "Yeah," you'll sell records, and you'll win at awards shows, but you'll stay a simple singer instead of an incredible artist.

Usher, do better.

For Colored Girls Who Considered Comedy When Tyler Perry Wasn't Enough (Spoiler Alert!)

This morning, my mom and I finally went to see Tyler Perry's new film, For Colored Girls. Admittedly, I was cautious due to the reviews I'd seen and the criticism I'd heard. Although Oscar rumors swirled, those hopes were seemingly dashed when many people came out denouncing the film, asserting that it was just another Perry melodrama, devoid of nuance and subtlety, full of stereotypes, and incapable of doing the source material justice.

And all of these thoughts are justifiable. Perry has a habit of dealing with surface-level issues without giving sensible models, solutions, or an in-depth look at motives and actions. Especially after watching Why Did I Get Married 2, it is obvious that Perry has problems telling consistent stories that make sense, using over-the-top acting and drama that appeal to the viewers' emotions and empathy and sympathy in order to bring them into the movie and convince them that said film is worth the viewing. Unfortunately, too many viewers "Stan" for Tyler to the point where criticism isn't valued and a serious, in-depth look at the works in question fails to be done.

Considering all these things, I was actually impressed with the film--albeit to an extent. Visually, the film is stunning. You're met with many colors throughout the film that complements the other aspects of the film. The beginning has Anika Noni Rose's character performing a solo ballet performance, which not only showcases her immense talent but gives the film a different visual feel.

The visuals are only second to the acting. Anika Noni Rose is amazing in every aspect; I can't sing her praises enough. The rest of the cast, men included, take Ntozake Shange's words and make them sound mellifluous and beautiful. They do an amazing job with making you feel their pain, enjoy their happiness, and journey to find their inner strength. Effortlessly, you become an active viewer and participator in the film.

However, the writing is where the problems come in. You can tell where Tyler's words end and Shange's words begin. These two very different writing styles aren't helped by the fact that although I've yet to complete reading the source material, I can tell that Perry has picked and chosen certain parts of the text to force into the different situations he's put the characters into. The writing is disjointed and seems that way throughout the entire film. There needed to be synthesis and sense, and that was absent from the film.

Again, the writing lacked depth, and it also lacked closure, which is seemingly requisite for a Tyler Perry Film. Honestly, Perry wouldn't know closure if a door slammed in his face. And his definition of closure is ridiculous as well. All these ladies go through heartbreaking circumstances that have broken them, one of them being Rose's character's rape. Her closure? Slapping the dead body of her rapist and sleeping with a butcher knife next to her bed. Thandie Newton's character has had to deal with childhood molestation/rape and incest that has caused her to cope by seeking out unattached sexual relationships with men. Her closure? Done through an argument and fight with her mother and Phylicia Rashad's character. Newcomer Tessa Thompson plays a teenager who becomes pregnant and gets a backdoor abortion that nearly kills her, followed by separation from her mother. Her closure? She goes away to college and has a party thrown in her honor! YAY!

Not.

What's really annoying is that all these stories get the Rapidfire Tyler Perry Solution Treatment (RTPST), in which everything is solved within the last five minutes of the film. Believe me, no matter what a character endures in the film, his or her issues from HIV to a cheating spouse to the murder of her children will all be rectified by the end à la "Fix it! Fix it!" from Why Did I Get Married 2. In all honesty, there is no closure. Although Kimberly Elise's character wraps things up by saying that she ultimately found God in herself, the line is delivered with distress and loss instead of the triumph that the book purports. We don't really get to see these women on their way to triumph, just them still working through their issues with no sign of deliverance. And then the movie ends, in the typical Tyler Perry fashion.

That's sad. These actors and actresses give amazing performances, yet are unfortunately working with subpar writing. They definitely make the best of it, but there's only so much you can do as an actor.

I feel like somewhere along the ride, Tyler Perry lost his way. Clearly, his style of writing wasn't a good fit with the moving poetry of Shange. And he ultimately lost the purpose of the original work. Perry admitted that he added Hill Harper's character so that the audience could see that black men weren't all bad, which any intelligent person already knows. The problem is that he used this addition for his own ego, making the story partially about the men instead of focusing on the women, their trials, their tribulations, and their attempts to overcome them. Perry, instead of trying to tell good stories, made it too much about him.

And that's part of where the problem comes in. Many people wondered whether or not Tyler was capable of successfully and convincingly telling the stories of black women, if he could write these women in ways that speak to their inner strength in the face of extreme hardship. Perry was able to do so to an extent, but this movie, aptly titled For Colored Girls, probably should have stayed that way.

We Must Mobilize

There is a disease that is destroying our population, making the lives of people all over the world a living hell. This disorder is virtually unbearable, informing what a person does on a daily basis, sometimes making the little things unreasonably difficult.

No, I'm not talking about heart disease or cancer or HIV. Not today.

I'm talking about that gruesome sonuvabitch called Lactose Intolerance.

I, like many other people around the world, suffer from this evil disease. I can't even drink a cup of milk without fear that I'm going to be on the toilet within hours praying to God to cease my suffering through Pepto Bismol or death.

And it seems like no one cares! People are just like, "Have some soy milk. Get some lactose-free milk." One, soy milk is not like my red-top, Vitamin D milk. And milk that comes out of a bean isn't real milk to me. It's a disgrace. Two, I'd be cool with buying lactose-free milk if it didn't cost four, five dollars more than normal milk. The same goes for lactose-free ice cream. How can you overcharge me for my genetic illness?! Why can't all dairy products just be free of lactose since countless people, mostly minorities, have to deal with this injustice!? (Dietary racism anyone?!!?)

What headway has there been made in Lactose Intolerance research? None that I know of. What therapy is available? None that I know of. What kind of lactose-digesting enzyme shot can I take so I can eat ice cream without two Lactaid pills and a prayer to Jesus?! NONE THAT I KNOW OF.

If you can cure smallpox, Tetanus, the Bubonic Plague, Leprosy, and Polio, you can cure the demonic Lactose Intolerance. I want stuff done! People are suffering out here! People are afraid to eat cheese!!

So I urge the scientists out there to do something more. Yes, study HIV, heart disease, and Necrotizing Fasciitis. But get a committee together to study Lactose Intolerance. My bum-bum and my tum-tum need this!!

Open Letter to Jamiroquai

Dear Jamiroquai,

Hey. What's up, y'all? I'm really excited about Rock Dust Light Star. Congratulations on the new album!

You know, I remember being a eight-year-old child and seeing the video for "Virtual Insanity." I was instantly enthralled. Although, of course, I couldn't fully understand and wrap my mind around the images and artistry involved in the video, I could totally tell that this was some good music and that your band is full of quality.

Imagine my surprise that after a considerable absence, it was announced Jamiroquai were reuniting for another album! I was stoked. Then when "White Knuckle Ride" came out, I was hooked. I was ready. Release date in November? I'm counting quarters, baby. I'm there.

On Monday, I found out the album was released. I immediately went to iTunes to get the album. However, it wasn't there. What? So I go on Amazon. Only three copies of the album were there; they were physical copies; they were $30; and it was an imported version. What in the space cowboy is going on in here?!

So, Jay Kay, I'm freaking out at this point. I'm going on Wikipedia, Google, Yahoo, everywhere to find out why this album that was supposedly released is nonexistent everywhere I go.

I found the answer. I can't find the album because IT'S NOT RELEASED IN THE UNITED STATES, ONLY IN THE UK.

This, Jay Kay, is some Maxwell-type bullshit. This isn't cool. I have my $15 ready, and I can't even support you, and I KNOW you want my money.

And there's no excuse for this. None. In this day and age with all this technology, there's no excuse for your album to not be able to be mass-marketed, mass-produced, and mass-consumed.

This is not fair. I have to wait til 2011 to get your album!? While every one in the UK get to get their Jamiroquai on?! Do you think this is acceptable?! I, and the rest of your US fans, deserve an explanation!

You know, I'm sure I could download the crap out your album. But I'll wait. I'll still support you because I know how crazy it is for artists out here.

But I won't, and I don't, like it!

Sincerely yours,

Kimberly

P.S. I should smack you, but I'll refrain.

Fat Fashion Fun! Take Two

I was supposed to post this yesterday, but I was feeling kinda lazy and tired. Plus, there was an SVU marathon on, so you know I had to be on that!

Anyway, since I don't go nowhere but church, here is another outfit post, showing what I wore to church yesterday. I wore a pretty normal, basic outfit, but I jazzed it up with accessories. The key to any outfit, no matter your size, is how you accessorize it. A fly dress can look like crap based on what jewelry, scarves, or anything else you decide to complement it with.

So do something different; accessorize!

Red hooded peacoat from Sears.

Double-breasted. Oh yeah!

The outfit is very basic. Your simple black long-sleeve tee from Old Navy with dark-washed skinny jeans from Torrid. It's actually one of my favorite combinations, inspired by Sidney from Brown Sugar.

I love hoops and the bigger the better! They're different, too, in that they aren't completely closed. They, along with the three cross necklace, are from Claire's. I also wore my class ring, but you can't purchase that, lol. Oh, and my glasses are from America's Best if you care at all.

Last, but not least, these are the shoes I wore. Simple flats with three decorative buckles across the top from Payless.

Now that I think about it, I probably should've dolled up my wrist....

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Eight

Oh, this one is going to shock the whoa out of you.

This gem, yes, this gem is indeed in my iTunes playlist and has been for years.

"Let's Do The Time Warp Again"

I know. It's surprising. Kim actually likes The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Kim does the Time Warp?! You probably feel as if you don't even know me anymore.

However, I actually love this movie, and Tim Curry is undeniably fantastic in it. It's actually on my Amazon Wish list (so you can purchase it for me if you'd like 8]).

Anywho, the song is so fun and so weird. Every thing about this movie is weird, and as a person who hates musicals, actually loving this movie says a lot.

I also have the song "Sweet Transvestite," but that doesn't have a sweet dance to it.

|locks my knees, pelvic thrusts|

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Seven

I love this music series, so I'm going to keep it going! Plus, I want to make a playlist with this, and you can't do that with solely seven songs.

Here's the song!

"Electric Lady" by Tesla Boy

I know, you're probably like, "WTF, Kim?! You're listening to this?!"

And I'll respond with, "Yes. Yes."

This song gets easily stuck in my head. It's great to sing to and to dance to. It's so hypnotic, and so 80s. Makes me want to put on some spandex, grab some scrunchies and legwarmers, and look stupid in more ways than one. Who knew good shit like this could come out of Russia of all places?!

Believe me, this song takes you there. Judge me if you will. I'm gonna jam.

I also love this song by Tesla Boy too! Just as hypnotic and danceable!

"Thinking of You" by Tesla Boy

I am not ashamed.

Fat Fashion Fun!

I was thinking earlier today about this episode of How Do I Look, a show on the Style Network, that I saw earlier in the week. In it, the woman who would eventually be made over commented that she wore only men's clothes because no designer made anything cute, sexy, and stylish, in her size.

I was appalled! Where was this woman looking?!

Granted, it is harder as a bigger woman to find something figure-flattering that makes you feel good/sexy/lustworthy, what-have-you, and at an affordable price. However, the resources are totally out there.

I personally like to shop at Dots, Torrid, Old Navy, and Ashley Stewart for right now, but believe me, I have many bookmarks of places I've looked at and loved and places I look forward to exploring once I have a little change. The point is, there are plenty of places to go as a bigger woman to shop and not wear a burlap sack. Trust, you can be fat and fashionable/sexy/stylish.

Inspired by one of my new favorite blogs, Gabi's Young, Fat, and Fabulous, I decided to do my own outfit posts every once in a while. Now, I don't have a good camera, and I'm using my computer's camera, so things are not as clear and fresh as I'd like. Also, excuse my room. I have a lot of stuff. So here's what I wore to church today!

The white undershirt comes from Ashley Stewart. The blouse/tunic from Torrid.

Black leggings from Torrid as well.

The earrings are from Claire's. The bracelet was from Ashley Stewart.

Shoes are from Payless (And, no, I'm not ashamed!).

And one more for the road! (Sorry for the glare...)

I also had a white headband, but I accidentally broke it while I was at church. 8\

Comment below! Do you think this is a nice change of pace? What do you think of the outfit? My bigger ladies, where do you shop?

Men, You Are Not as Strong as You Think You Are

Men think they're better than women in a myriad of ways. One of these ways is through physical strength: some men think that just because they can open a stuck lid of a jar of applesauce or carry a television up three flights of stairs that it justifies patriarchy or chauvinism. Their physical might clearly make them the stronger sex, right?

Wrong.

You know what one of the saddest sights in the world is? A sick man. Although men like to pretend as if they're so great and so much better than women, a sick man is weaker and more pathetic than anything I've ever seen.

Case in point: When I came back from Grand Rapids the other week, I was talking to my brothers. One of my brothers mentioned to me that my mom might want me to drive to Sam's Club the next day. I said, "Cool." Then he said to me, "I'd do it, but I have a cold."

Cue my straight face. ---> o_o

It also reminds me of a time when this guy who went to my high school and eventually became valedictorian got a scrapey little boo-boo and started crying. CRYING. Over a CUT! A little one!

It's just crazy to me. I bleed from my vagina for a week and a half every month and LIVE. Not only that, but I EXPECT to live. My stomach turns inside out; it feels like I'm getting kicked in the back, and one time it even felt life someone shoved a knife in my ass, turning it every twenty minutes or so. We ladies go through this every month, usually without complaint. We take a Pamprin or Midol or Tylenol, drink some water, eat some chocolate, and do what we have to do. Time and business don't stop for us.

We give birth. We get endometriosis. We get ovarian cysts and suffer through ectopic pregnancies. We go through episiotomies. Our bodies rebel against us once a month. We endure unspeakable amounts of physical pain for one reason or another for most of our lives. Yet, we're still able to do what we have to do. We remain the glue that holds family together.

But you can't drive to Sam's Club because you HAVE A COLD.

Man, please.

Look at Your Mom. Now Back to Me. Now Back at Your Mom. Now BACK to ME!

Last week, I went back to my alma mater for Unlearn Week, a week about antiracism and race awareness sponsored by a group I used to lead called the Multicultural Student Advisory Board (MSAB). Although I originally went to help my friend with the weeklong event, I eventually was recruited to speak on a panel about Race and Beauty for women only.

It was an amazing event. It was standing room only, women were packed by the door, sitting on the floor, and it was an amazing conversation with White, Black, Asian, Latina and other women about beauty and the standards of beauty we are forced to deal with. Although I was specifically asked to talk about going natural, I touched on things such as skin tone (which I WISH we could have talked about further) and weight.

One thing that consistently came up in the conversation is the role our mothers played in our own self-awareness and self-image. One girl mentioned how her mother put pressure on her to always leave the house looking presentable, but her mother's idea of presentable seemed too much: make-up done, hair done, etc. all the time. As college students, it's just not a viable option, and it helps me understand why some of my friends always put on their make-up and get dolled up simply to go to class no matter how long they've stayed up or how early they have to wake up in order to make it happen. The common thread in many parts of the conversation is that our mothers have unfairly put so much pressure on us to be feminine, thin, always on point, what-have-you in ways that are unhealthy.

One thing I brought up after noticing this was that we have to honestly and intentionally rethink the values our mothers have raised us with. As young women in this world, it's necessary. My maternal grandmother was and is, excuse my language, a fucked-up person, who raised more fucked-up people, one of which gave birth to an admittedly fucked-up person---me. At some point, we have to be willing to stop this generational curse. We owe it to our children, nieces, nephews, cousins, Godchildren, students, and more to be a model of truly loving yourself and having a healthy-self image. At the same time, we have to be completely conscious about how we're raising our children, especially our daughters, making sure we're building them up and making them secure as much as possible. The contradictory views, the music, the movies, the celebrities, and pretty much everything else around them is screaming at them to be different, to change themselves, to hate themselves, and as young adults, it's imperative that we get on our journey towards self-love and a healthy self-image as soon as possible, preferably before we bring any kids into this world. Real talk, we don't need any more fucked-up children continuing this cycle.

I love my mother dearly, and I love my grandmother dearly, and I love my aunts and cousins with all of my heart. But I have to be honest and say that there are some unhealthy self-images that they had and still have that was ultimately forced upon me at a young age, and trying to fulfill that made me miserable. It put me in a deep hole that took me years to climb out of. I look at them and know that I sincerely don't want to be like that, ever. I think of the daughter I'll eventually raise and am even now committed to raising a young woman who is as least fucked-up as possible. I owe that to her. I owe that to my adolescent self.

So look at your mother, and all the other older women in your life who may have negatively influenced who you are. Make a conscious, consistent commitment to be better than that, to be a woman that wholly accepts who you are and wholly loves who you are. We have no room for self-hate and self-loathing. We can't afford it.

I can't speak to any of the fellas about your own issues, but y'all may want to look at your fathers and make the same conscious decision. Our future posterity deserves it.

Okay, This is NOT COOL!

I had to take out the time to do this right now!!

I'm finishing up my Teach for America stuff and took a break because uploading all this information is giving me major brain spasms. I go on Twitter to see what people are talking about, and I see this HOT GARBAGE!

Yes, a Trending Topic on Twitter is #stopthatthatsgay or "Stop that. That's Gay."

In light of the recent suicides of gay teenagers, how can anyone in their right mind start this topic?

Even more, why should gay people stop anything they're doing? If anything, we need to stop the homophobia and oppressive natures that run rampant in our society.

When we malign the LGBT community for being simply who they are, we get people who suffer internally as well as people who look like assholes.

I'm just in shock and awe at how cruel and disgusting this society can be, especially in light of the recent suicides of LGBT youth.

I'm going to start a topic right now, #stopthatyoureanasshole.

You Might As Well Say "Fuck Yo Fat Ass"

I suck; let's move on.

I went to church today. Every once in a blue moon, I find myself sitting in the pew, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the pulpit, biting my tongue as my chest heaves. Why?

Because my pastor said something completely ignorant.

Believe me people, Waka Flock, Lindsay Lohan, and T.I. aren't the only people suffering from perpetual brain farts.

Usually, the aspiring mayor annoys me with his oppressive views of the LGBT community and marriage. Today was different.

The message was supposed to be an inspiring one, one of hope and persistence. It was supposed to be a focus on working toward goals and whatnot, of taking a step in the right direction so that God will take two.

Then he said, "To all my overweight people, why stay overweight until you die?", referring to a scripture from 2 Kings. "Why stay single and unattractive, living with the wrong notion that bigger is better?"

He might as well have said "Fuck yo fat ass." I would at least respect him more for that.

Notions like these are dangerous though, and I sat throughout the rest of the service picking apart the dumb-ass things he said. So here are my numerous problems with this ideology.

1.) I will not let anyone tell me what to do with my life or who should I be.

2.) I will not let anyone tell me what my value is as a person or that this value is contingent upon how much a scale tells me I weigh.

3.) I will not let anyone tell me that I am not worthy of being loved because I carry more weight than the average woman.

4.) It's not like he is Reggie Bush built or anything. Don't be the pot taunting the kettle.

5.) What message does this send? Basically that you as you are is not enough. It assumes that love is completely conditional, that you have to be something other than who you are to be romantically and sexually appealing to someone.

6.) Telling me I'm basically a fat bitch is no motivator for losing weight.

7.) This is why girls are sticking their fingers down their throat and have Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Girls have self-esteem issues and anorexia because of shit like this.

8.) I will not let any man tell me who I should be as a woman. Ever. EVER.

9.) It assumes that one's romantic life will fall into place after losing weight, as if there is no other romantic problems that will come into a relationship or that the other person won't have any baggage.

10.) So is it safe to assume that if I gain weight after having three kids and have a little trouble shedding those extra pounds, my husband will fall out of love with me and get with some smaller female?

11.) What, we can't call people to act like Jesus and love unconditionally, despite size?

12.) I'm pretty sure there are plenty of men out there who'd be wiling to love my fat ass.

My biggest problem, though, is number five. I can't believe a person who believes and espouses a message of unconditional love can make it completely conditional. I also can't believe the message of self-hate that comes along with it. It's totally dangerous and not helpful.

I, personally, have dealt with way too much bullshit to allow anyone to tell me that my physical appearance makes me unworthy of love. I can't; I won't.

I love myself unconditionally. I look in the mirror and feel satisfied, proud, lustful (Ha ha). Comments like that don't hurt me anymore, but I wonder how many children, teens, and insecure adults heard that message and left church with their feelings hurt instead of feeling positive, hopeful, and filled with the beauty of God, especially from a public figure and spiritual leader who is supposed to inspire them and lift them up.

We all are in different places in our lives. In mine, I'm content and in love with who I am.

And I am confident that I will find someone who's good with that.

Oh, and kiss my fat ass. 8]

Shower Epiphanies Are Greatness

Last week, I was watching a video about what Republicans said they would do should they gain control of Congress in the fall/winter. Part of it including blocking Universal Health Care, the end of Don't Ask Don't Tell, extending tax cuts, and creating morally bankrupt immigration laws. It sickened and scared me. I closed the tab, and tried to move on with my life.

The next day, I got in the shower, yet couldn't shake the video out of my head. For some reason, the shower for me is another person's toilet. I come of with my best ideas there; I think more clearly. Thoughts and epiphanies come and go regularly.

That happened that morning. I was thinking about the GOP's blocking of the Democrats ending DADT and banning LGBT marriage in particular. While in that video, the Republican representatives were denouncing "Big Government" and saying how annoyed they were about the government being involved in the affairs and business of the individual, I found a gross hypocrisy inherent in what they were saying.

Shower epiphanies, y'all.

Republicans don't want to be told whether or not they can own guns. They don't want to be told what should be done with their money. They don't think the government has a right to do any of these things and more, yet many Republicans think that it's the government's right to interfere in the lives of individuals when it comes to sexual orientation. You can't tell them what to do with their money, but we can't let the LGBT community get married. They can't even openly serve in the military.

Where is there a bigger example of the so-called "Big Government" they're fighting against?

I'm not trying to paint all Republicans with the same brushstroke at all. But I can't help how many of those Republicans who want to "save America" by forcing the government to back off of their rights want to legislate discrimination and infringe on the rights of the individual, something they claim to be so against.

I should install a shower in my bedroom.

SMH.

On Thursday, my moms wasn't feeling well. I ended up taking her to the hospital to get some bloodwork and a CAT scan (she's just fine, by the way). While waiting for our turn, I decided to pull out my reading material to bide my time.

I started reading my newest Ebony magazine with the succulent El DeBarge on the cover. I turned the pages, reading the various articles, when I stumbled across this ad in the magazine. I took a picture with my Mac camera so it's mirrored, but take a look at the product being sold.

Yes, that is indeed SKIN BLEACHING CREAM.

Now, the product says that this cream is simply for lightening dark spots and restoring your normal skin tone. I find that hard to believe when it's called SKIN BLEACHING CREAM.

Now, believe me, I know all about having hyper-pigmentation. I have it on my neck, chest, around my lips, and my elbows (although I noticed yesterday that my elbows are looking better. I think it's the baby oil...). And I have to admit that my junior year of college, I hid from everyone my purchase of an Ambi product promising the same things as the above advertisement because of the insecurity I had about these blemishes.

Needless to say, the couple weeks I used the cream didn't really show any improvement an actually irritated my skin. Plus, it smelled like cow tongue. The plus side, though, is that they didn't tell you straight up that it was SKIN BLEACHING CREAM. They at least tried to camouflage that shit.

For dark skinned people, this is the crux of a major internalized inferiority complex. In places like India and Jamaica, skin bleaching creams are as common as chapstick, and all in the attempt to look white to attract mates or employment. But although I just wanted to lighten up areas of my body that were considerably darker than the rest, people use it to lighten up their whole bodies, even doing it to their infants.

Say it with me: This is some bullshit!!

If anything it's more horrifying than anything. And despite intent, I would question of anyone using cream like this. Make-up is a wonderful thing; just do that if you're insecure. These creams are incredibly dangerous and while it only irritated my skin after a few weeks of usage, these people who've used it for years are risking SKIN CANCER. That's freaking scary.

What's crazy, though, is how a magazine catering to African American women and women of the African diaspora can market a product like that. I guess they think their heart is in the right place, for they'd be "helping" insecure ladies, but bleaching cream, I believe, goes to far. Yeah, my skin's lighter, but I'm going to chemo. The ends truly justify the means!

Whachu talkin' bout Willis?

After my own dipping into the cream, I just didn't want to do it. I realized how crazy it was. I was tired of being insecure about the hyper-pigmentation. I had to get to a point of acceptance, and that's where I am right now. And the peace and solace that comes through acceptance is a wonderful thing. Besides, I'm still fly as hell.

I don't know. That ad just rubbed me the wrong way (pun not intended).

What do you think? Comment below!

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Six

Coheed and Cambria, "Welcome Home"

This performance is where I first discovered and fell in love with the song.

This version you can rock out to.

Coheed and Cambria -Welcome Home
Uploaded by bigheadche. - Watch feature films and entire TV shows.

Yes, it may be hard to believe, but I actually like to rock out. Sometimes, I miss having my long hair so that I can get up and headbang, feeling my hair hit my face numerous times in some weird form of a clap. I can get down with some heavy metal! And this song, my friend, goes hard.

You wanna know how I survived the hell we all have come to know as "high school"? This song. Right here. If it had not been for this song to channel my aggression and unrequited adoration through, who knows what jail cell I'd be sitting in and for what crime?

Even more, this song features song crazy impressive guitar riffs. The drummer, especially in the live performance (look for it on youtube) just gets it in. Lyrically and vocally, too, the song is amazing. There's some serious artistic commitment here.

Plus, the lead singer's hair is out of this world. I love it!

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Five

Jason Mraz, "I'm Yours"

This song is so unlike my usual musical interests, I feel. The only word I can use to describe this song is "whimsical." It makes me so happy! It's like that version of "Something Over the Rainbow." You know which one I'm talking about. The one that makes you want to dance in a setting island sun before cooling on a sandy beach sipping umbrella drinks with the one you love.

Anyway, the song is so cute, so full of glee. It makes me happy. WHIMSICAL!

WHAT'S in Your iTunes Library?! Day Four

When I saw the video for this song, I knew this was an absolute gem and classic. What can I say? I have a soft heart for pop....and half-naked men. |lifts eyebrows sleazily|

Plus, this is just totally danceable, and I love songs I can get my groove on to. And what an amazing and original way to pay homage to Barry White with a sample of "It's Ecstasy When You Lay Down Next to Me"?

The Day I Cut My Hair

I'm sorry I've been skimping on the posts! I've been busy hanging with friends and trying to stop being a failure so that I can get a job and do something positive with my life. My internet is also being a pain in the ass (Yeah, you, COMCAST!) You can only read blogs and play Facebook games for so long before things get boring and monotonous.

I've been thinking lately, though, about the day I cut my hair. I don't know why. Maybe it was my working with my hair, being amazed by its length after nine months. It was a very special day in my life, and I want to share that.

The last time I got a perm was on Halloween 2009. I looked kind of like this (pic is from 8/20/10):

I had been flirting with the idea of going natural for a while. My homie Lindsey had made the decision a few years before, and my wallet was quickly turning against me. But I wasn't sure. I had been getting perms for as long as I could remember; by this point, it was protocol, ritual. Besides, I had shoulder-length hair. I could NEVER cut that; I'd feel naked. And what about men? They like long, straight, flowing hair. Nah, I couldn't do it.

But the thought stayed in my mind. My hair was very unhealthy, and I wasn't taking care of it like I used to because Senior year of college is always a beast. And putting perms on my credit card every couple months was simply outrageous. I was conflicted.

Then I went to my aunt and uncle's house at Thanksgiving where my cousin debuted her new short 'do. I liked it. I asked her how it felt, and she absolutely loved it. I thought to myself that if she could do it, then I could too.

Then I posted this status on Facebook (I hope you can read it). Although I asked the question, I had already made the conclusion...

I was cutting my hair.

What was supposed to be a touch-up appointment was going to be the date of the Big Chop (BC). I was tired of all the bullshit that came with having a perm. I was going natural damn it.

In preparation for the big moment, I read two books about hair in the black community; I also watched Chris Rock's Good Hair. The shit blew my mind and made me more committed. I thought it was going to be easy after I read about the crazy shit our grandmothers, and even grandfathers, did to make their hair straight.

Then January 9, 2009 rolled around. I was all ready! I took pictures the night before in preparation for a photo montage of this new journey on Facebook. I woke up to an empty apartment. I only told a handful of people that I was doing this: my homie Lindsey and my roommate Lori. I didn't even tell my own mother for fear that she'd try to stop me!

Mari, my other rommate, was in Italy, and Lori was at work. I fooled around on the computer, growing excited about everything but also growing considerably nervous. As the time came closer to needing to leave and catch my bus, my nerves took hold. And when I get extremely apprehensive, I feel the need to go to the bathroom for #2.

I tried to convince myself not to do this. Obviously, the way my body was reacting to this decision was a clear sign that cutting my hair was absolutely a horrible idea.

But I thought about how I wanted to teach my daughter about her own natural beauty. I wanted to be true to myself. I wanted to know what the hair that grew out of my hair felt like in its God-given state. I thought about my damaged hair. And I also thought about how I simply couldn't afford to keep going to the shop in the attempt to do what? Look a certain way to appeal men? To have "manageability" by taking four hours every two weeks to wash, blowdry, flat-iron, moisturize, and wrap my hair and oil my scalp? Shit was ridiculous.

I got on my bus and arrived early. So early that the stores weren't open and the only people around were the old ladies who walk around the mall for their exercise. I pulled out my library-borrowed copy of Alice Walker's The Color Purple after sitting in a comfortable sofa and turned on my iPod shuffle to calm my nerves until it was time for my appointment.

It was all kind of a blur from there. I walked over to the JC Penney salon for my appointment with Dexter. I sat for a little bit in the chair in the waiting room, right leg shaking, but kept reading to take my mind off it all.

Soon, it was my turn to go to the Dexter's chair. I told him that instead of a perm, I wanted to cut my hair off. He jumped right into it, not missing a beat after making sure that I was absolutely sure about what I wanted to do. He grabbed his electric razor after putting on my smock and in no time I began to see my hair fall to the floor. I hadn't realized how long my hair was until I saw it on the black and white linoleum.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I had done it. I was now natural. I now had short hair, and contrary to what I had thought previously, I looked great with it. Other ladies in the salon even complimented me on my new hairstyle as well as the gumption it took to do it.

After my appointment, I went to Claire's. It was time to buy some new earrings to complement my hair! I tried to buy some headbands too, but my hair was so short that I just looked dumb as hell with a headband on.

What stands out to me though are the subsequent pictures and looks in the mirror. I loved my new hairstyle. I loved what I had done though I had been literally scared shitless just hours before. I felt empowered, brand-new. This was a new leaf that I had turned. My hair, for me, was an exclamation of, "This is me. Take it or leave it!" I was uncompromising, steadfast. I was rebelling against the oppressive system that I was forced into, because, honestly, my mom didn't give me the choice when I was a kid of whether or not I wanted to get perms.

A lot of people don't think it's that big of a deal. "You cut your hair; you went natural; so what?"

But it is a big deal, considering the history of Black men and women and their hair. When you see people perming their three-year-old's hair or putting a sew-in into a toddler beauty queen, it's a very big deal. There is something radical and rebellious about going natural, no matter why you decided to do it.

And as I play with my mini-fro, twirling my curls with my fingers, I think about that momentous day in my life, a day I'll share with my children, a day I'll always remember.

So I say all this to say that that day was freaking sweet!!!

And I have never looked back. 8]

For Real.

Let me set up the premise for this post.

Yesterday was Labor Day, the celebration of the end of summer when family and greedy friends come over to eat your barbeque, shoot the breeze, catch up, and hang out. You take off work (or your blog 8]). You get your glutton on. You stay up late; I actually had to race the sun so I could beat it to bed.

Before I went to slumber, though, I spent a couple hours talking to a particular person whose identity will be withheld (and when you see where I'm going with this, you'll see why). We talked about a variety of subjects, which we always do. This particular conversation, took a strange turn for the worst...or for the bullshit.

This person brought up a situation with his former roommate who tried to force himself on a girl and didn't realize it was sexual assault. The person and the ex-roomie's mutual friend didn't see this particular incident as a problem (which is shitty in and of itself). The person told the mutual friend that the girl was awake and cognizant of the situation, and they both agreed that the situation that ex-roomie put the girl in was absolutely not cool.

Great, right?

Wrong.

The person then followed the anecdote with the words, "If she had been passed out, I would understand. Even I would have probably copped a feel..."

My mind stopped functioning. I was confused, shocked, damn-near dumbfounded. I must have heard this person wrong. Hell, I imagined this whole thing. Oh, how Barney has made my mind full of freaky, imaginative thoughts and possibilities. Whew!

No. The person said that. And meant it.

So, I couldn't let that ride. Nope; can't do it. As a woman and a human being, I had to set the person straight.

"You know that's sexual assault, right?" I said.

"No it's not."

Blank stare. "Yes it is. You're touching someone inappropriately without her knowledge and without her consent."

"But how would she know?"

A great big "OH HAAAAYELLLL NAAAAAW!!!!" with a full on dramatic turn and neckroll fully occurred in my head. Had I been standing, I probably would have made it happen.

I struggled to control myself; this person is logical, so that's the kind of appeal I'll have to make, tacking on the pathos. "It doesn't matter whether she knows it or not; it's morally and legally reprehensible."

"Well, I see where you're saying, and I see the other side of the equation, but I can't say that it's completely wrong. I mean, she put herself in that situation..."

At this point, I was damn done. It was four thirty in the morning, and I needed to go to sleep, which would keep me from grabbing the floor lamp and clubbing the person to death.

What's even worse is that when I asked the person if it would be cool if I were passed out from drinking (which would never happen) and some pervert fondled my breasts, the person couldn't even unwaveringly, flatfootedly say no. That's some shit.

This whole anecdote serves as a frame. It shows a despicable part of patriarchy, where there exists an overwhelming assumption by many men that they can do pretty much whatever they want to women if they can get away with it simply because they have a penis.

How can anyone think they have the right to touch a woman sexually without her permission? It doesn't matter how she's dressed or whether she's awake or not. I don't care if she drank an entire bottle of Grey Goose and injected herself with ten tequila shots, a man has no right to touch a woman's breasts or genitals under any circumstances without consent. Bottom line.

And for anyone who thinks it's not sexual assault, let's approach the definition. According to Wikipedia, the United Kingdom's Sexual Offences Act 2003 makes this definition of sexual assault: A person (A)

1.) intentionally touches another person (B),

2.) the touching is sexual,

3.) B does not consent to the touching, and

4.) A does not reasonably believe that B consents

For the United States, it is stated that the definition varies on a case-by-case basis, but sexual assault is defined by The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network as "unwanted sexual contact that stops short of rape and attempted rape. This includes sexual touching and fondling."

So no matter how much ol' dude tries to justify it, breasts are also part of this category. You cannot touch a woman's breasts without her consent just because you have the opportunity to do so without being caught. It's wrong. It's disrespectful. It's disgusting. It's vile.

This person is college-educated, is for environmental justice and racial justice, and has studied philosophy and business. Too bad academic learning can't make up for morality, compassion, and common sense.

Sexual assault is not funny, and it must be taken seriously, especially by men. Men cannot believe that they have the right to touch any woman sexually without her approval, especially if she's passed out. That shit is fucking sick to me.

I'd issue a slap, but I wouldn't want my hand touching a perverted deviant's face.

Check out a related post at Naked With Socks On.

And props to The Cynical Ones, where I am sure I got the pics from.