When I saw an online ad that said, “Seeking Elves For Seasonal Position,” I admit, I was pretty excited. Not only did I fill out the application and provide a full resume, I also attached a cover letter with reasons why I would make the perfect elf:
“With over six years of experience working with children, I have full confidence in my ability to be an asset to your elf team!”
In my defense, even as a freshman in college, I was still a big kid inside. I was envisioning my elf experience to be like a scene out of an iconic Christmas movie. I would hand out candy canes to smiling kiddies, hoist little boys and girls onto Santa’s lap, listen to bubbly recitations of toy-filled Christmas wish lists, and push gleeful children down a slide into a sea of puffy, cotton clouds. As a Christmas elf, I would have the power to make so many childhood wishes come true. I would be part of the spirit of Christmas!
I showed up to the first day of training at Macy’s flagship New York City store. Getting in character, I practically skipped all the way there. When I entered through the huge golden doors of the mega-retailer, I was bombarded by sales people wearing Santa hats trying to sell me luxury bags I couldn’t afford, and the overwhelming scent of perfume.
“Where do I go for training for SantaLand?” I asked a sleepy looking security guard.
“You have to go through the employee entrance around the back,” he explained. Keep reading »
I am a black woman and my best friend is a gay man. He came out to me the summer between our senior year of high school and our freshman year of college.
“I really need to tell you something,” he began, while driving us home from our summer job at the local pool. I didn’t know what to expect — an admission of love, maybe? That would be awkward.
He pulled the car over, then stared deeply into my eyes and said, “I’m gay.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Oh, that’s cool with me,” I replied.
He was excited that we would remain friends and was especially happy to have someone to go out and “meet boys” with. Together we frequented New York City’s gay clubs and bars, more often than the straight ones. Splash, Therapy or Barracuda, but The Ritz was a mutual favorite. It was a two-floor bar with a huge dance floor, usually jam packed with sweaty, shirtless men by 1 a.m. The environment offered us both freedoms: I could be as black as I wanted: dance to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies,” twerk it, shake it and break it (while being applauded), and he could be as gay as he wanted. Keep reading »
I have been a symbol of sex my entire life. As a black woman from a poor, single-parent household, I know the script that is written for me far too well. Black women are always more appealing as strippers or “hoes.” Before I even hit puberty, this script was shoved in my face and I was forced to memorize it.
When I was 11, I lived in a predominantly underprivileged, black neighborhood in Houston, Texas. Everyone knew each other. My mom worked nights at the local hospital, so often I was home alone with my brother, sister and an older cousin. My mom thought the high fences that surrounded our complex kept us safe from what was on the outside. Little did she know, what was on the inside tormented me daily. Keep reading »
In a recent Yahoo! Shine article, a young, white, California entrepreneur, Mindy Budgor, was deemed a “warrior princess” after ditching her posh, luxury-filled life to become the first female warrior of the African Maasai tribe. Armed with Underarmor, pearl earrings and Chanel dragon red nail polish — which made her feel “fierce”– this nice Jewish girl from Santa Barbara, who loved “manis and pedis and warm croissants,” was heralded for singlehandedly empowering the Massai women. She even wrote a memoir about her experience. As a 23-year-old black college student, similar to Ms. Budgor, I set out on my own “spiritual quest” that landed me on the Big Island of Hawaii — miles away from my New Jersey home. But my experience was far less empowering for everyone involved. Keep reading »
A new website, MissTravel.com, is offering beautiful, broke ladies access to “wealthy” dudes who are willing to pay for travel to exciting destinations. Upon signing up for the site, “beautiful” members (users decided between a “generous” or “beautiful” membership type) must provide photos for approval, which ultimately decide whether the ladies can or cannot have a profile. With an approved membership, women have access to thousands of eligible bankers, athletes, lawyers, executives and other uncategorized rich dudes who are willing to fork over travel cash in exchange for a wonderful and of course, most importantly, attractive female travel companion. Keep reading »
G-spot, in my open letter to you, I warned that if you decided to pop up, you’d better be staying for good. And here you go showing up again, trying to steal all of the attention as always, without making any real commitment to hang around.
Some dude researcher, Dr. Adam Ostrzenski, claims to have conclusively discovered your whereabouts. He dissected an 83-year-old dead lady and found what is described as a “blue, grape-like structure buried deep in the front wall of the vagina.”
That sounds … appealing. Keep reading »