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[andmekb]

Instagram and Me: A Breakup Story

Emotionally abusive. That’s the only way I know how to describe my last relationship. It took everything I had in me and never said thank you. Instead, it asked for more. Asked me to give up every little private piece of myself. Asked me to smile when I was broken inside. Asked me to fake it even when I didn’t think I could anymore. But I did it anyway. I did everything it wanted me to because I thought that I had to. I didn’t know if I could leave, and if I could, I definitely didn’t know how. It wasn’t a boyfriend, no. This toxic relationship was with the world’s favorite social media platform: Instagram.

It wasn’t always like this. As with all relationships that eventually go sour, things started out just fine. We were happy together. I downloaded Instagram the week it was birthed into the app-mosphere and never turned back. I was around fourteen at the time, a freshman in high school, experimenting with hair dye and lacking a care about anything substantial. When I first got Instagram, I didn’t think a single bit about the politics of it. I posted what I wanted to, not concerned about the quality of the picture or the quantity of the likes it got. I was just so happy to be there. So happy to have a new lens to view the world through. Everything I saw, I captured and posted, including ridiculous things like glasses of water and my bedroom curtains. Of course, it was totally silly, but I was also totally free.

It was this freedom that fostered my love for Instagram. It fell into the background of my life, a way to capture and advertise staple memories from my high school days. I was active on it without noticing. The app was just something everyone had, and while I wasn’t quite as intense as I had been in the past, I updated it regularly and didn’t think about it as anything more than something I did because it was something I had always done and something everyone else was doing.

After high school, though, I noticed Instagram evolving. Pictures looked more professional and less casual. Comment sections became areas of praise instead of conversations about the picture they were under. I even observed that people weren’t responding to comments left on their pictures; they just left them there like little nuggets of increased self-esteem to refer back to when needed. So, along with navigating a new world with my first semester of college, I stepped up my Instagram. Now, as I evolved as a student, my posts evolved, too. I became more obsessed with the quality of my photos, the comments they received, and the number of likes they got. Instagram was a game and I wanted to win. I wanted to be the best at it, and nothing was going to stop me. 

Competing in this contest became the most important aspect of my life. I found myself caring way too much about the different facets of the app and allowed it to impact me way more than I should have. Captions and hashtags are always difficult to come up with, so my strategy was to devise something clever first, and then I would plan an event or a photo around the idea I already had.

One night towards the middle of my first semester, my college football team played Alabama in an away game. The rivalry between our two teams is pretty serious, and my obsession with football is even more serious, so I knew I would be watching. A few weeks before the game, a hashtag popped into my head: #JamasAndBama. From there, I thought it would be fun to have a group of friends come over to watch the game in pajama pants. I invited a ton of people (only a few showed up) and we took the picture I was dreaming of before the game even started. I was disappointed more people weren’t there because I thought it would hurt the amount of likes I would receive. The people of Instagram needed to think people came out in droves to participate in the #JamasAndBama event. While that wasn’t true, my followers and friends didn’t need to know. They also didn’t need to know that the event didn’t inspire the hashtag, and that instead the hashtag birthed the event.

I crushed that first semester with a 4.0 GPA and a new tight-knit group of friends. At the end of it, I threw a Christmas party at my house that included nearly twenty people. My house was flooded with friends and laughter. With mood lighting in place and a Christmas tree for aesthetic effect, everyone got in place for my obligatory “Look at all these people I know” picture. I made my mom pull out her professional camera for this one -- I knew what the quality needed to be. Every picture she took turned out blurry. I was devastated. Until I realized that some of my friends had also taken some on their phones. I went around the room checking for whose phone captured the photo with the best quality. One of the girls in the room had just gotten the newest iPhone, and since it focused automatically, we ended up with a picture worth posting. Hallelujah! My night wasn’t ruined anymore and we could continue on with our merry festivities.

Then spring semester came and it didn’t look anything like that for me. My classes were harder and my friends were busier. I went from eating at a full table of people to eating alone every day. My new group of companions was still around, but with none of us having classes together or similar schedules, we drifted apart. I entered into a depression that I thought was seasonal. When the semester ended and I still wasn’t any better, I got worried. At the beginning of that summer, I looked into counseling. That June, I went to Disney World. Standing in line for one of my favorite rides, I ended up on the verge of tears for no apparent reason. I didn’t what was going on, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

And the whole time, I became more obsessed with Instagram. As my emotional stability began to decline, my pictures got better and more frequent (but not too frequent, of course). My Disney World pictures got the most likes of all of my pictures, ever. My social media life didn’t reflect my real life at all, yet I needed to be on it all the time. I kept track of the likes and comments my friends got. Noticed who liked which pictures. Paid attention to how many days passed between others’ posts. And then I attempted to emulate what got the best attention rates. Instagram became the scale by which I measured myself. Even though I knew on some deep logical level that if I wasn’t feeling internally what I was posting externally, my friends weren’t either, it didn’t matter. I needed to put up the front because that was the price of existing as a person in my age range on the internet.

My realization came way too late. One night late that summer, I went out to eat with a group of my high school friends. After dinner, we went walking around the cutest part of our town. All of the girls in the group sat on a bench with a fine backdrop and took a photo so we could all remember the fun we had that night. I had a great time out with the people I love most, but I HATED that picture. The lighting was awful, my makeup had come off, and the quality would never hold up. No amount of edits could fix it. And because I didn’t realize it until after the hangout was over, I missed my opportunity. Was it a good picture to remember a fun night with great friends? Absolutely. Was it Instagrammable? Absolutely not.

As the summer started winding down, I got anxious. Was I going to have to force my way through another semester while depressed? Was I going to have to continue pretending? Two weeks before the start of my sophomore semester, I started to examine my life deeply and intently for ways to achieve greater happiness in a short amount of time. I had to wonder if there was anything in my control that I could alter to bring my life and emotions back to where I wanted them. Then, I caught myself doing something ridiculous: opening Instagram literally two seconds after I had closed it.

Did I really need to know what was going on that much? Did I think enough had changed in the time it took me to exit the app to open it back up? The evidence said I did. But why did it matter? It was harmless, right? I was just trying to keep up with my friends. Just using it as a way to stalk cute boys. Just doing it because it was there. Besides, I loved it. I grew up with it. Instagram and I had been together since ninth grade, and nothing bad had ever happened, so everything was fine. Right?

I heard the answer like a whisper in the dark: “Delete it.”

This was not the solution I was looking for. In fact, it was the opposite of what I wanted to do. Deleting Instagram just wasn’t an option. But after much prayer and deliberation, it became clear that the only way to feel like my life was alright was to remove the barrier that made me feel like it wasn’t. I wouldn’t know how well I was or wasn’t doing if I had no scale to check. I ordered a hard drive to save all my pictures and made my farewell post while waiting for it to arrive.

Honestly, I didn’t think anyone but myself would care. Yes, it was a bigger deal to me than it should have been, but I have an obsessive personality which tends to make things like this more dramatic than necessary. The number of “Are you really deleting Instagram?” texts I got was insane. I was honored that some people wanted me to stay, but of course my close friends want me to exist in the same spectrum as they do. They were all extremely understanding that I needed to remove the toxicity from my life -- that the app had become more of a problem than a pleasure, and because of that, it needed to go. We all moved on, and it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Or so I thought. The same day my farewell post went live, a girl I went to high school with - but don’t really talk to anymore -  ran into my parents at lunch in town and mentioned it to them. That’s how I realized that while this mattered way too much to me, it at least mattered enough to other people as well. I knew then that this was a piece of our culture that so many of us thought we had to participate in. No one knew we could leave at any time. We weren’t devising exit strategies because we didn’t think we could use them. But I discovered an out and I had to take it.

So, that was it. I made a difficult decision that shouldn’t have been difficult. I had to completely remove myself from the equation. I sacrificed my favorite way to search people and my clever name handle for a life without likes, comments, captions, and hashtags. The most important thing about doing it is how bad I didn’t want to. If I thought there was any other way to feel better or to use it right, I would have stayed. But nearly a year later, I am still without it. When school started this past fall, I had the best time of my life! I walked in the freedom of no pressure to be perfect for others. I met my best friend, started a new major, and moved forward realizing my life still matters even when other people can’t see it.

I haven’t relapsed since deleting Instagram, but I have come close. There are days when I think, “If I do it right, it won’t be as bad. Now that I know what the problems were, I won’t be susceptible to them.” And then I get a taste of it and remember that’s not true. Most recently, this came in the form of asking a friend to look up a cute boy for me (some things never change, okay?).  Within an instance of being on his profile, we learned that he had recently gotten a new girlfriend. Rest assured, this is not the first time this has happened to me. Nearly my entire Instagram duration was fostered by this same desire to know more than I needed to, seeking it out, and being disappointed with the results. But, the new knowledge changed my interactions with the boy. Had I never looked him up, the information would have found me on a need-to-know basis and I could have dealt with it organically. This little adventure on Instagram was fun and disappointing, but it was enough to show me that I can’t control myself when I have it. It was enough to convince me I am not ready to go back and won’t be anytime soon.

My life without Instagram is fuller and more genuine than it ever was while I had it. My events are planned out of a sheer desire to spend time with people I love and want to fellowship with. I had another Christmas party this past year. This party was more intimate than the last one, but it was filled with people who belong in my life, not because they make pictures look good but because they make life feel good. It was a more fulfilling experience, with games and food and laughter into the wee hours of the night. It was an entirely different tone from the last one. I was happier to be in the presence of other people, listening to stories and making new memories with them. Now when I take pictures, I take them for me. I don’t worry about my hair or my makeup or the backdrop for aesthetic appeal. I go on adventures for the heck of it and can take breaks when I need to because no one is waiting for me to post. Once I realized that I could live my life without an audience, I found the freedom I had been wishing for. If the way to find myself was to do it without anyone watching, then Hasta La Insta, baby.

[andmekb]

Celebrity Crush And Me: Where Are They Now?

Around this time two years ago, I wrote a pair of posts about a man I labeled as my “Celebrity Crush.” (Click HERE for Part One and HERE for Part Two.) In these posts, I outlined the four phases of me learning my Celebrity Crush had a long-term girlfriend. Metaphorically, it was a piece about dreams and about how sometimes the thing we believe will happen isn’t actually what we believe in. They talked about how holding on to certain things may lead to us seeing signs that aren’t really there because we want certain things to happen and we will believe anything that aligns with what we want for ourselves. Literally, it was a piece about the levels of irrationality I can attain and how much of an idiot I can be. Don’t worry, I know that.

This is an update to that pair of posts.

Now, I can’t even pretend that I wasn’t genuinely upset over my discovery of the Celebrity Crush’s girlfriend. The girl I ate lunch with every day probably seriously considered calling an ambulance during at least 2 of my 600 freakouts. You should know that at that time, I was a senior in high school and a lot of things in my life were moving rapidly and in directions I was not used to. A lot of changes were occurring and the constant of the Celebrity Crush, however artificial it may have been, was something I rooted myself to in order to feel like I still had roots. When I lost that, I had to face every facet of my shifting reality all at once and I really DID NOT WANT TO DO THAT. The fake world in which the Crush and I existed together was the last tree in the tornado, and then suddenly, I was not in Kansas anymore. Yes, it was still completely ridiculous. But it was a steady ridiculousness that I wasn’t ready to give up.

The last thing I told you actually regarding that guy was about my downward and toxic spiral into his girlfriend’s Instagram account. I’d like you to know that I maintained my disillusions for a decent amount of time after that post came out. A few months or so. And then, the unthinkable happened. They got engaged at the end of that summer. And as much as I tried to believe that some miracle would happen in my favor (while still wishing them love and happiness because I may be delusional but I am not a jerk), I knew I was sunk. My battle had officially been lost and my dance with this fantasy had taken its final step. They got married a few months later. I took some time away from the situation. I unfollowed her on Instagram. I took off my notification alerts for his Twitter. I left with a sense of gratitude for being able to use them as the backdrop for my imagination. But I walked away. Eventually, I stopped seeking out every little detail about them and realized whatever information I need about them would find me. The most recent information is this: they just had their first child together. And I couldn’t be happier for them!

As for me and the celebrity crush piece, the last thing I voiced was a fear that this plan for my future not working out meant that other plans for my future might not work out. And of course, that was true. Rarely does a plan for the future go exactly as you wanted it to. The goals I had as a senior in high school do not match the ones I have as a sophomore in college. Just like the goals I have now won’t match the ones I have when I graduate. Life changes us. New discoveries are formed, new ideas occur. Things get different. I am more open to that than I used to be, and I am really excited to see where I am in the future when I thought I would be somewhere else.

Letting go of that particular celebrity crush was rather freeing, I suppose. I have done a lot of things since then that I am proud of. And I got to do them as me. Not once did I have to think about how he (or anyone else) might fit into the life I was living. I don’t have to force myself to be a certain type of person or end up in a certain place just to increase our chances of ending up together. I am more confident in both my real and imagined aloneness in a way that I did not use to be. I can only thank God and life experience for that. I have so many places left to go.

As for Celebrity Crushes, I still have them. They are an excuse to cultivate my imagination and come up with funny and unique stories with faces that are already starring in shows and movies we know and love. It’s all a practice at this point. The list of names is endless and interchangeable. Nothing is permanent. Nothing will stick. The same way people get filler jobs while looking for something they actually want to do, I have filler Celebrity Crushes to tide me over until something more real comes along. I don’t necessarily mean a boyfriend either. I’ve noticed recently that the busier I am, the less time I have to think about celebrities or crushes or anything that I’m not actively working on for that matter. My relationships moving forward should have substance and depth. The more I am around other people, the less time I have to think about the people I’m not around. (This could eventually eliminate my need for crushes altogether which would be extremely helpful, to be honest.)

My real life is so much better than one I could imagine. A fabricated world is fun to keep in my pocket and hide in when things get tough or I need a moment away. But staying there all the time is unhealthy and unhelpful. That is what I’ve come to understand in the past two years. We all need to strike a balance between reality and fantasy. It’s the only way to keep a foot on the ground and one in the air. That seems like a pretty good place to be.

- KB

[andmekb]

2017, New Year’s Resolutions, And Me

PRAISE THE LORD HALLELUJAH IT IS 2017! This is the rally cry of those of us who crossed the finish line of the world’s worst race. 2016 was like a triple marathon and the only way to get through was to sacrifice an entire arm and between four and six of your toes. Also, there’s no winner. The only prize is to still be here. And the jury is still out on whether that’s even worth anything.

And yes, before you go all high and mighty on me, I know 2016 was full of good things. I GET IT OKAY. Between mourning the end of the Obama administration and getting ghosted twice in the same year, I promise you I stopped to smell the roses. I did. And then 2016 set the roses on fire again. Good things and bad things are allowed to exist together and I am allowed to be upset and grateful at the same time. I am allowed to complain about things with which I don’t agree while celebrating the things with which I do. That’s kind of how all of life works, you know. (Also, I feel like without complaining, nothing would ever get done. It’s not a lack of gratitude. It’s a fight for better things. We always have room to improve.) The bad things tend to take more out of us than the good things give us. Thanks to our old pal, The Negativity Effect, we weight bad things about twice as much as good things. That means even if the same amount of good and bad things happen, we believe more in the bad. It is exhausting and it is harrowing and the past year did nothing to even it out.

So now, we bury 2016 the way it buried us. We kiss and kick it goodbye and we step into something new and pray to the good Lord above that this trip around the sun is better than the last one. I have hope that it will be. Without that, we have nothing. I know things are looking bleak. I know you’re scared. If you’re not scared, you’re probably one of the things the rest of us are scared of. We all have too much access to each other and the rest of the world and we see things that we can’t control and we feel so useless. But we are not. And we must remember that truth more than anything. My main source of comfort is that even though there is so much bad, and all we have to do is open an app to access it, there is so much good too. People are itching to leave the world a better place than they found it and they are donating their time, their money, their efforts, and their love in ways we have never seen before. When the bad things seem too bad, seek out those places of hope. Hate and love are both two things you are guaranteed to find if you are looking for them, so make sure the one you are looking for is going to benefit you the most.

I kind of went away from my desired topic there. Because what I actually want to talk to you about is New Year’s Resolutions. I have noticed with the start of 2017, that everyone is refusing to use the word “resolutions.” It is pretty hilarious to me because these people are still making changes in an effort to improve their lives, but they are withholding the use of that particular label. I’m not exactly sure what this means, but I think it’s because of what we have turned resolutions into. When we mess up on whatever we have promised for ourselves, we count it as a failure, feel bad about it for a little while, and then tuck it away until the next year rolls around. This is a concept I don’t understand. I don’t know why one mess up tells people they can’t achieve their resolution. I don’t know why we’re so afraid to wake up and resolve again the next day. If you want to eat better and the nachos at Taco Bell just cannot be denied, start over. If you want to write more and this little thing called life gets in the way, write again anyway. Even if it’s not as often or as good as you wanted, do the thing you set out to do. If you want to organize your home but your Saturdays are all booked up, do a little at a time. If you want to read more poetry, HIT ME UP I HAVE LOTS OF GOOD RECOMMENDATIONS.

The point I am attempting to make is that resolutions are not one and done. You don’t get to use one failure after the first week of January as an excuse not to be better at every turn. If there is something you want to do, then 2017 is your chance to do it. Today, tomorrow, next week, next month, December, and every second in between offers an opportunity to be the you that you always set yourself up to be on January 1st. If you’ve already “failed” at your resolution (or lifestyle change or way to improve or whatever you’re calling it this time), this is your blank slate. This is me telling you to screw the new year because this is a new day and a new hour and a new minute and that should be good enough. And if you haven’t, keep going. You’re probably going to mess up (welcome to the human race), but I’ll be damned if that’s gonna be the thing to stop me. A mistake, I can live with. Choosing to let that mistake define the rest of my year and consequently, the rest of my life? Not gonna happen. 2016 left us all feeling a little bit less than perfect. This time, we have to seize every opportunity to be better.

Happy New Year and may God bless your 2017 more than you could have ever hoped for. Go be a better you. I’ll be here waiting to see the magic you’ve made.

- KB

[andmekb]

Barack Obama And Me

The year is 2008. I am 11 years old. I do not know anything about politics. In fact, I don’t even know what the word “politics” means. I vaguely know who the president is and what he does and I have only just learned that there are three branches of government, which I only remember because I need it to pass a sixth-grade social studies class. Apparently, something important is occurring - there is going to be a new president. We have three options at the moment: a cute old man who served in our military proudly, a woman who we don’t like because her husband slept with another woman at some point before I was born, and a black guy who we don’t like because ????  Whatever, we just don’t like him. It doesn’t take me long to realize we are supposed to have sides in this. I’m from Mississippi and we clearly know who we like. One state for the old guy, please! I remember watching my parents watch the results come in. I remember nothing making any sense about it but still being very interested in the hooplah of it all. I remember falling asleep before we knew. I remember waking up the next morning, asking who won, and groaning upon hearing the answer. I remember dark-skinned eleven-year-olds wearing shirts with that black man’s face on them in the cafeteria line. I remember being upset by their happiness. I remember my social studies teacher of the “three branches of government” fame telling us in the spring that he was already screwing up big time. I understood easily that whatever side I thought I was on had lost. Oh well.

The year is 2012. I am a sophomore in high school. The opportunity for a new president is occurring again. Our options: the same black guy who is already there and some rich white guy who looks like the Mayor of Whoville. I still don’t know anything about politics, but I think “I should pay attention to this. Whoever wins this will be the president when I become a technical adult.” I feel bad for everyone who has to participate in this. “They’re both so awful,” actually comes out of my mouth on several occasions. I am fighting an internal battle over my beliefs. I learn about Teddy Roosevelt being a Republican but speaking like a Democrat. “That’s the dream,” I think. I remember local baptist sermons about who we should vote for. I remember the people I admired on the internet telling me something different. I remember the first time I said marriage equality should be legal. I remember the group of straight white boys reminding me about the Bible in a huddle during our break. I remember not really caring which way it went, but struggling to understand why it no longer felt like I believed what everyone else believed. The black guy wins again. That’s fine, I guess.

The year is 2017. I am crying on my couch as President Barack Obama gives his farewell address. That black guy is no longer just the first black guy to ever be the president. He is MY president. Several months ago, I voted in my first election for a WOMAN and was sorely disappointed by the outcome. It has been two years of non-stop arguments. I now understand policy and partisanship. We talk about one a lot more than the other. We stand divided and fractured. But that man who I did not care for. That man who I thought needed my approval. That man who I heard so many people bash on. That man is giving his final goodbye from his position as my president. Even without me understanding what he was doing. Even without me agreeing with what he was doing. That man served me, proudly and respectfully. He put the interests of his country above all else. He put people first. He talks with great admiration about his beautiful family and his wonderful vice president. He speaks of the accomplishes WE made. It’s not about him. It’s not about the party. It’s about us. All of us.

He tells us to work hard and stay strong. He puts a faith in my generation that is in direct contrast with the messages we normally hear about how selfish and entitled we are. He reminds us of the power we have. He reminds us that our story is unfinished. He reminds us that we are always moving forward even when it feels like we have been pulled back. He is still full of class and grace. He has changed me in ways he will never know. He is a man who will never stop making history. He is the president I have grown up with. He is the man who taught me what a president could and should be. He is MY president. He is our president. He is Barack Obama, and he is the President of the United States. And that is something they can never take away.

With all genuine sincerity: Thanks, Obama.

And for the final time: Thank you, Mr. President.

-KB

[andmekb]

The Golden Globes And Me

Hey, white people. We gotta talk. So last night, I was lying in bed with my pajamas on and my liquid cheese waiting to get inside me with my TV turned to the Golden Globes red carpet coverage. For some reason, I got really excited about it this year. I’ve always had a strong affection for awards shows - I love looking at beautiful people all together in one room competing for the most beautiful person award or whatever they call it - but I just knew this year’s award season was going to be something special. With all the buzz about Hidden Figures and Fences and Moonlight, I was certain that 2017 would finally be the year people of color were set on equal footing in Hollywood and consequently, in the rest of America. Also, my new favorite show This Is Us had a few nominations, and I think it is the best show network television has seen in a long time with beautiful storytelling and characters that feel like family. So, I thought, this is the year we step up our game. And boy, was I wrong. So starting with the beginning, I need to tell you all the ways the 2017 Golden Globes were a huge disappointment (and some ways they weren’t because contrary to popular belief, I am an optimist).

Okay Jimmy Fallon, I have always loved you. In fact, you were one of the main reasons I wanted to watch last night. You are charming and funny and always seem to know how to make people feel comfortable. But we are all still a little salty toward you for contributing to the normalization of a white supremacist. You don’t get to come out here and make jokes about the world ending on inauguration day when you LITERALLY TOUSLED THE HAIR OF THE ENEMY ON YOUR SHOW. You don’t get to stand next to Questlove and parade around like an unfaulted ally. And you certainly haven’t earned the right TO DO A CHRIS ROCK IMPRESSION OH MY GOSH JAMES. I’m sorry if you had a bad show. But we weren’t ready to forgive you all the way yet and you bypassed us like we were. You can’t play both sides, which is a lesson you should have learned when you donned blackface all those years ago. I love you man, but you are running out of chances.

Tracee Ellis Ross, you are a goddess and had me in my feels at the very start. "This is for all of the women, women of color, and colorful people. I want you to know: I see you. We see you.” YES YES YES this was beautiful and wonderful and I was thrilled. Thank you for bringing some #BlackGirlMagic to the Globes because I thought there was going to be more and there just was not. So I’m so happy we got you. Godspeed, girl.

Ditto to you, Donald Glover. That Migos shoutout will go down in history and I AM HERE FOR IT. I really want all of Gambino’s dreams to come true. Also, I need to go watch Atlanta.

This is the most important part of this blog post right now y’all pay attention: THERE IS NO MOVIE CALLED HIDDEN FENCES. (*throws major side eye to Jenna Bush Hager and Michael Keaton*) There is one movie called Hidden Figures. There is another movie called Fences. According to audiences across America, they are both fantastic. So, I don’t care if it’s an accident. It’s not funny. It’s a huge slap in the face to people of color everywhere to combine the names of these movies. It’s like you didn’t even take the time to learn them. Movies that are up for major awards -- and you don’t even know their names. It’s the same thing as when bosses call one of their black employees the name of the black employee who works in the office next door. We must stop allowing mistakes like this. We must start correcting them. It’s one thing to mess up, it’s another to never fix it. And it is up to white people to stop letting this happen. Thank goodness for Moonlight's award or y'all would be in some big trouble. I mean #OscarsSoWhite trouble.

While I’m on the same topic, I’m also pissed at whoever spelled John Legend’s name wrong on his place card. For the love of St. Peter, the man was at a White House party living it up with Barry and Michelle until 3 AM this weekend and you can’t spell his freaking name right? From what I can tell, he’s like the only black person in La La Land. He’s nominated for an award for it. (Not to mention he ALREADY has an Oscar.) I feel like maybe, just maybe, he deserves to have his name spelled right. But whatever. (Just kidding it’s not whatever, let’s be active instead of passive in making sure people of color feel included in American culture. Let’s redefine the image that comes to mind when we think of an American. Okay, great.)

(Photo Creds)

Okay let’s talk about more good things:

Viola Davis. There are no words. Also, you maybe invented yellow? Like it is a whole new color for me now. You are just so iconic and fierce. I can’t express how wonderful you are so I really just have to say thank you and move on.

Okay, here we go. Dear La La Land, I am sure you are a great movie. I am sure that if I were to watch you, I would weep tears of joy. But it is in no way surprising that this movie got made. I almost threw something at my TV for all the times everyone talked about how shocked they were that this is doing so well. It is probably the least surprising thing that has ever happened. It has Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone and like, tons of other gorgeous white people. It was never going to fail. It just wasn’t. So, I’m happy for you guys, really I am. But like, come on.

Casey Affleck, no. That’s it. No.

Meryl Streep, thank you for your class and your grace. You gave a wonderful speech that people will be talking about for days to come. But most importantly, you pissed off Tomi Lahren and I can never appropriately show my complete and utter gratitude for that.

All in all though, I was vastly disappointed by the Globes. A room full of iconic people who delivered iconic performances were basically told to sit down and shut up while the musical stylings of the white guy who wrote La La Land were paraded around the room. Evidently we still have a lot further to go in Hollywood and everywhere else before where we live showcases EVERYONE who lives here. We had a duty last night and we failed. We will probably fail again at the Oscars and the Emmys and the Grammys. And then we will breathe a sigh of relief when the Tonys happen because it is the biggest bunch of fresh air that exists in the award show world. Hallelujah.

We will get there, I do believe it. But it would be so nice if we could move just a bit faster. Welcome to 2017. Thanks for reading.

Best wishes,

KB

[andmekb]

Honesty And Me

I wish I could say I’ve always thought that telling the truth was the most important thing to me, but that simply isn’t the case. In fact, I’ve told some pretty blatant lies in the past.

“KB, are you mad at me?” “Nope.” Lie.

“KB, was that tweet about me?” “No, of course not.” Lie.

“KB, did I see you crying in your car to a Disney song earlier?” “Hahaha, good one.” Look, if you don’t get emotional when Ariel says she wants to be part of our world, then it sounds like there is a different issue here, okay.

The point is, in the past, I have stretched the truth (or ignored it completely) in order to spare someone else’s feelings or save myself from embarrassment. I guarantee I am not alone in that. Disappointing people is hard. Confrontation is scary. Putting yourself out there is terrifying. Sometimes, it feels like honesty might not be the best policy.

But, at this point in my life, I feel that it is. If my opinion is asked for - and usually also when it isn’t - I give it. For real. I don’t play games with people anymore. I stopped having a problem with saying exactly what I’m feeling. I stopped letting some people believe I thought one thing while I was practicing another.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t take this to opposite extreme (anymore). I don’t actively try to find something wrong with people and then point it out to them. I don’t look for reasons to tell a harsh truth. I just try to make sure that what I’m saying is always honest. I think and hope it makes me more trustworthy and more likeable. While lying may be more fun and often times, easier, I haven’t found it to be that helpful. In order for me to have real integrity, I have to make sure that what I’m saying is always genuine even when it’s hard. What I’ve learned from that is that people often value my opinion because they know I am not just telling them what they want to hear.

However, there is another struggle I have come across. There is a fantastic quote by Khaled Hosseini from his book, The Kite Runner, that goes “And that's the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.”

I find myself in that position almost everyday. My biggest pet peeve is being lied to. It doesn’t matter how big or how small the untruth is, it is the source of the most anger in my life. Since I have learned to be completely honest with others, I started to expect them to pay me the same courtesy. But so often, it doesn’t happen. While almost everyone I know would rather have people be honest with them, we still don’t do it to others. We either say something we don’t mean or tell little white lies to spare feelings or just refuse to say anything at all. How is that helping anyone? If someone has a problem with you and doesn’t tell you what it is, how will it ever get fixed? If you are never criticized, how will you improve?

Honesty works in positive ways as well. I love giving compliments. It’s one of my favorite things to do. But my compliments are always real. The truth can always be used to build people up, and that makes it that much more important as a tool for communication. The call is not to be mean; the call is to be honest.

I hope that moving forward more people will be braver with their truth. Some days it will be painful. It will take time to work out the best way to say what you mean in a way that isn’t harsh. You will have to learn to strike a balance between giving positive and negative statements that are always authentic. But my best relationships are the ones where neither of us are faking anything. My best moments are when I’m being honest with someone or they are being honest with me. To be always genuine is a quality most people (myself included) don’t have. Hopefully, that will change.

Be brave. Be real. Be honest.

- KB

[andmekb]

My Brother's Best Friend, Black Lives Matter, And Me

My heart is heavy. Last week was the most tragic news week of my entire life. I watched two innocent black men lose their lives for no reason. I read stories of five officers killed by a former member of the military during what was originally a peaceful protest. But I’m not ready to talk about any of that yet. Instead, I want to talk about my brother’s best friend.

For the past few years, my younger brother has been extremely close to another young boy in our neighborhood. They ride the bus together, play video games and football, and go back and forth to each others’ houses to spend time with one another. And that other kid is - you guessed it - black.

He is one of the most respectful teenage boys I have ever met (even more so than my brother tbh). He follows proper southern protocol with “yes ma’ams” and “no sirs.” He is polite. He is kind. He does not leave messes in my house. He is a good friend to my brother. Here’s what I need you to understand though, I am not describing this kid as an exception to a rule white people made up a long time ago. I’m describing him as who he is, and that is a good kid, not a “good black kid” which so many want to see as a rarity. It’s not. It’s just a good person being a good person. That shouldn’t be hard to believe.

Okay, moving on. So, now my problem is that I don’t know how to tell my brother that his friend might not make it. That his friend may not feel the same way about police officers as he does. That his friend isn’t as safe as he is. I don’t have a lot of fears about it in our town where our cops regularly engage with citizens and are always actively involved. But I know that this problem exists. I know that black people are 2.5 times more likely to be shot and killed by police officers than white people are. My parents have never had to talk to my brother about being afraid of cops. They’re never going to. It’s not necessary. He has no reason to fear them. He only knows that he is supposed to trust them to serve and protect because that is their job and as far as he knows, they are good at it.

And they are. This brings me to Dallas. That situation sucks. Five people did not deserve to die while they were just doing their jobs. It was a huge deal, a tragedy for sure. I’m devastated and heartbroken. The fact that a few men operating independently from a group could cause such harm is a problem in itself that needs to be dealt with. It takes a lot to put on that uniform and I can’t imagine how much relief comes with getting home and being able to take it off.

But blackness is not something you can take off. It is not a uniform. It is not a job. It does not pay; there is no reward or incentive for being black. It is not a choice. So when I have to watch a man die for no reason other than the fact that he had a “wide set nose,” I get furious. A man got shot four times while still wearing his seatbelt with his four year old daughter in the backseat. Philando Castile was innocent, a man adored by his community. And now he is dead.

Alton Sterling, same thing. “He had a criminal record.” I don’t care. You’ve never done anything wrong? Did you die because of it? I’m guessing no if you’re reading this. But imagine you aren’t doing anything wrong at all. And then you die anyway. And now your kids don’t have a father anymore. And then people on the internet try to justify you dying by saying you had been wrong before. Sounds like a pretty miserable way to go, right?

All the Black Lives Matter movement is asking for is justice. That’s it. They want police to stop getting away with killing innocent people. One of the shooters in the Dallas incident has already been killed, with several more people in custody. The city of Dallas is hurting, but the people who caused this hurt for them will face consequences. Do the families of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling not deserve that same respect? The last thing I want is for more people to die, but we need a decent system for holding people accountable.

If the bad cops do not represent all cops, then we must also remember that the black criminals do not represent all (or most) black people, nor do they represent all criminals. I’m of the mindset that if you believe the best in people, they will give you their best. We have to remember that most people are good and start treating them like we believe it. To my brave friends in uniform, I appreciate you and I am with you. To my friends who have to fear walking outside every day because of their skin color, I hope that one day everyone else will realize that your life matters just as much as mine and theirs. There are no teams here, both of these groups are important and necessary and deserve to feel love and gratitude. And to those who are scared to demand justice because you don’t feel like you have a dog in this fight, I’m not going to ask you to stand up for what’s right just because it’s the right thing to do. I’m not even going to ask you to do it for me or for people you know or to make yourself feel better. I’m going to ask you to fight for justice because I love my brother and I think he deserves to always have his best friend.

- KB

[andmekb]

Hercules, Character Appreciation, And Me

So I'm spending time at a friend’s house party and one of the guys there starts talking about how Hercules is his favorite all time Disney movie. We start watching it as a group because my friend has an ongoing movie bucket list that she needs to cross items off of. And while I'm watching, I start thinking about what our favorite characters say about who we are as people. If this guy’s favorite is Hercules, then he probably values things like strength and honor, and maybe has a desire to feel like a hero one day. I don't know how psychologically sound this observation is but it didn't take my narcissistic ass long to make it about myself. I have a STRONG obsession with Captain America. A character whose strength comes from his weaknesses. A character who only fights when he has to and only to protect those he loves. A character who is honest, moral, loyal, and patriotic. These aren't necessarily qualities I possess but they are qualities I strongly admire and ones that I aspire to. And the more thought I put into it, the more accurate it seems. Yoda lovers who exemplify wisdom. Tony Stark lovers who put a lot of value in money. The connections could go on and on. Just a thought, but one worth noting: Maybe our favorite characters say more about us than the fact that we like their films.

- KB

[andmekb]

Money And Me

I am so tired of having every aspect of my life and every life around me be controlled by money. Every move I make is a slave to this arbitrary means of living. It’s actually a little bit insane. I cannot make a single decision without first thinking of how it will financially affect me. Teachers can’t teach kids properly because they have to make sure their students make certain scores on certain tests so that the school doesn’t lose money. Then those students can’t choose a decent college because they can’t afford it. Then they have to settle for a job they don’t like to pay off student loan debt for the school at where they did end up. While also figuring out how to make car notes and mortgage payments and grocery bills. And this is just life in the United States, one of the richest countries in the world. These are the financial problems of the wealthy (#firstworldproblems). Meanwhile, there are people starving and homeless and literally struggling to survive. Money doesn’t even have to matter and we let people die because of it. Why? Because we think it will make us happy? Guess what. It won’t. Studies show that being richer won’t really make you any happier. But even if it did, would being a little bit happier be worth someone else’s poverty? Maybe to you, but not me. Humans were never meant to do life alone. We have to start viewing our existence as a collaborative project instead of a competition to the top, wherever that is. I want to be a person who cares about other people, not a person who only cares about something as insignificant as money. I’m not perfect; I’m going to think about money a lot and certainly a lot more than I should. But hopefully one day I will stop letting it control me. Hopefully.

- KB

[andmekb]

Fake Birthday And Me

Earlier this year, I learned a lesson that will carry with me through my entire lifetime: people only believe what they want to believe. I think that on a fundamental level, I knew this already. People go back to ex-lovers because they want to believe they have changed so they do believe it. People want to believe in magic so they go to magic shows knowing that they’re being tricked but submitting to it. But never has this life lesson been presented to me so clearly until I was the center of it. Back in January, my college celebrated the opening of a new sports facility by hosting a free concert inside of it. I went with two of my new college friends and we all decided to dress up for the occasion. I chose to wear a gorgeous blue dress that I had bought for New Year’s Eve. (I needed to get my money’s worth. Clothes aren’t cheap.) I have a favorite red belt that would have gone perfect with the dress, but I couldn’t find it. Not wanting to go without some sort of accessory, I grabbed a tiara from the top of my bookshelf and headed to meet my friends. I had no intention of actually wearing it all night, but when my friends saw me, they made it very clear that the tiara would be a feature of any plans we had. We arrived at the venue super early because we didn’t know how many people would be there and we wanted to make sure we got in. We ended up being practically first in line, but from that moment forward every person I saw asked me if it was my birthday. (Some asked if I was getting married, but that was just not a game I was willing to play.) I politely denied the fact that it was my birthday because I couldn’t bring myself to lie, but my friends kept saying that it was and that I was just shy. So although I was adamant in informing people that it was not my birthday, people were adamant in believing it was. One couple in particular could not have been more excited about it being my birthday. Over the course of the night, the story evolved into it being my 21st birthday and I was going to the concert to celebrate. The couple kept telling me to go buy my first drink, and the man told his brother to kiss me as my birthday present (this did not happen, thank goodness). But no matter what I said, it was my birthday because they wanted to believe it was. At one point, the birthday conversation had finally ceased and I was quite relieved. Then suddenly, I hear the couple start the words to the “Happy Birthday” song. Out of nowhere, dozens of strangers began singing “Happy Birthday” and cheering and clapping. These people didn’t even know my name. But their night was made. They told me stories of what they did when they turned 21. They kept saying how cool it was to go to a concert for your birthday. They talked to my friends about how nice they were for helping me celebrate. It turned into such an ordeal, that it ended up on Facebook and I was still getting “Happy Birthday” messages until noon the next day. So that’s when I truly realized that people only believe what they want to believe. And how I had my best birthday ever six months ahead of my actual birthday.

-KB

[andmekb]

Parking Lots And Me

Most of my favorite moments in life have happened in parking lots. I don’t know why, but that just always seems to be where I end up when something good is happening. Parking lots are my favorite places to have conversations with people. A lot of this is tied to me never wanting to leave when I go to hang out with someone. It takes a lot for me to leave the house; I’m usually busy or tired or have already taken my bra off and refuse to go back in public. So when I do convince myself that my time outside will be better spent than my time alone, I decide to make the most of it. For example, my close girl group consists of five of us. To get five people’s schedules to work is a miracle in itself, so getting to eat dinner with these girls is the best treat ever.  But since I never have anything to do, I’m always down to stay out all night. I have a strong aversion to going home when I’m spending time with people I care about. However, at least one of the four other people usually has to leave earlier than the rest of us. What ends up happening is that I get one or two of those remaining and beg them to sit in my car or let me sit in theirs and we talk all night. It is in these moments I learn the most about the world around me. Understanding the deep thoughts and fears and joys of another person is so beautiful and important and there is something about sitting in a car in a parking lot in the dark that opens people up to sharing intimate details about themselves. I don’t do this because I’m nosy (even though I am) or to make sure that I have deep characters when I actually start writing novels (although I think it will help). But I do it because the people I love mean enough to me that I owe it to them to listen to them talk about what they care about. To make them feel heard and validated and hopefully less alone. At least, that’s what late night parking lot conversations do for me. I hope that’s what they do for all of those other people as well.

- KB

[andmekb]

Family And Me

I am at a place in my life where I’ve really been forced to question the true meaning of “family.” Sure, it’s the people you’re related to by blood or marriage. But is it? Not to me; not anymore. I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m different from most of the people I’m related to. A lot of them grew up thinking a certain way, believing certain things. I tend to differ on a lot of those beliefs. But that shouldn’t make me less lovable or less of a family member, right? I’m talking specifically about the people who are supposed to care about me no matter what. Certain members of my extended family love and care for me in ways that I can never be thankful enough for. But there are other people who I should be able to depend on forever for love and support who seem to want nothing to do with me. And I’m not sure exactly what I’ve done to create this distance. Was it being the first on each side to pursue a college degree? Maybe it’s my lack of a teen pregnancy that makes me more estranged from these people. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. And from this point forward, the people I consider my “family” are the ones who appreciate that about me. (Or just the people who appreciate me in general.)

-KB

[andmekb]

Purple Hair And Me

So, pretty recently I colored my hair purple. Not like an extreme purple but enough for people to be like “your hair looks purple” and for me to be like “well it is.” This is something I have wanted to do for quite a long time. And I have talked about doing it for quite a long time. What I’ve noticed is, when people who know me see me for the first time, they respond less to the look itself and more to me as a person. For instance, instead of saying something like “I like your hair,” they say, “Oh my gosh, you did it.” And I really like this for a few reasons. When people acknowledge my action over my appearance, it humanizes me. I am not an object to them. I am a person who has done a thing. Also, it shows that they pay attention to me, or at least have at some point. They recognize this desire I’ve had for a while has actually come to fruition. And that fact seems to shock a lot of people initially. I am a person who said she was going to do something and then did it. For some reason, that seems like it doesn’t happen enough. Often people say that one day, they will do something and then one day never comes. But I’m not that person in this situation. And that’s awesome. I don’t really know if I like the hair. I honestly don’t think it matters if I do. Because I absolutely love being The Girl with the Purple Hair. The girl who does what she says she’s going to do.

- KB

[andmekb]

The Art of Sending Risky Text Messages And Me

I’m really pretty impeccable at sending texts that can get me in trouble. I like asking big questions or confessing feelings when the person I’m talking to cannot actually see my face. In fact, I’ve gotten so good at it that I have decided to give you the complete list of instructions for mastering the art of sending risky text messages.

Step 1: Meet a really attractive person. Fall in love with way too fast. Highlight every perfect or average or not totally horrendous thing they do. White-out anything that might be a red flag. Make sure your judgement is completely clouded from this point forward.

Step 2: Acquire their phone number. Be sneaky about it. Say you need it in case you miss class one day or to tell you what your boss says about what you drew on the office white board. Get creative. Whatever it takes to get them digits.

Step 3: Find an excuse, any excuse to text them. Something clever so it’s justified but relevant. Send a picture of something that reminded you of them or ask a question only they would know the answer to. Plant that seed, homie.

Step 4: Continue to text them sporadically. Often enough that you get to talk to them but not too often that you scare them away. Everything in moderation. Freak out any time they don’t text you back right away. Denounce their entire gender. Forgive them immediately when they respond. Even if it’s 38 hours later. Maintain your clouded judgement.

Step 5: Work up the courage to tell them how you feel. Type out a paragraph. Be cute and funny, but get your point across. Hit send.

Step 6: Panic.

Step 7: Pick your phone up from wherever you threw it. Ask your friends what is wrong with you. Wonder if this is what it feels like to set yourself on fire.

Step 8: Glance at your phone 6 million times for the rest of the night. Pretend you haven’t checked it. Act like you don’t care. You’re good at acting. You act every day like this person is right for you even when you know they aren’t. Remind yourself that you deserve an Academy Award. Then, check your phone again.

Step 9: Regret everything. Know that you moved too fast. That they aren’t the one. Be pissed that they don’t have the audacity to respond. Be pissed that you don’t let things happen naturally.

Step 10: Stop regretting everything. Remember that you are flawed, but those moments right after you hit send are when you feel most alive. Relish what it is like to feel alive. There is nothing more electrifying than surviving after setting yourself on fire. Realize this is why a phoenix must die in the first place. Rising from your own ashes is empowering enough to risk getting burned.

Step 11: Repeat.

And that’s how you do that. -KB

[andmekb]

Mississippi And Me

Today, with a heavy heart, I would like to announce that I am a woman without a state. I refuse to be from anywhere that would pass a bill as ridiculous as House Bill 1523, the "Protecting Freedom of Conscience from Government Discrimination Act." It claims to protect religious freedoms, but it is nothing more than legal discrimination against Mississippians who belong to the LGBTQ+ community.

So, who exactly is targeted by this ridiculous legal discrimination?

The girl who I spent hours in a high school parking lot talking with about why she was so happy she went to college outside of the south because she could finally be open about who she was? The same girl who was still too afraid to come out to her family? The girl who has since moved back to Mississippi and fallen in love and came out to her parents? Yep.

What about the child of one the greatest teachers I’ve ever had, a child who has no gender identity? A child who was fortunate enough to grow up in a home where their parents let them be whomever they wanted? A child who one day decided they no longer wanted to wear dresses and became no less of a person because of it? Yep.

The person I follow on Twitter with the same name as me who visited a lot during their adolescence while their parents feared for their safety? A person who identifies as genderqueer and uses them/they pronouns? A person who was terrified to hold hands with their ex in public and who had to hide from that person’s family? Yep.

My best friend who got pregnant at seventeen and gave birth out of wedlock to one of the most beautiful babies I have ever seen in my entire life? Yep, her too.

Wait, what? No, I’m not kidding.

The bill states, “The sincerely held religious beliefs or moral convictions protected by this act are the belief or conviction that:

  a)  Marriage is or should be recognized as the union of one man and one woman;   b)  Sexual relations are properly reserved to such a marriage; and   c)  Male (man) or female (woman) refer to an individual's immutable biological sex as objectively determined by anatomy and genetics at time of birth.”

A bill has been signed into law in Mississippi that tells people they can be denied service based on when and with whom they have sexual relations. And a state that would do something like that is not a state that I can call home.

There are a lot of particularly troubling things about this bill, but I think I’m most troubled by the fact that a person can deny someone else service based on “religious beliefs” but only the three listed above. 58.74% of Mississippians are religious and the majority of people who fall into that category identify as some variation of Christian. I am one of those people. But my Christianity doesn’t look anything like that bill. In fact, Jesus himself would be abhorred by this bill. Mark 10:45 says, “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." Jesus’s whole life was about service and service TO MANY. So to put the blame on Him because He isn’t here to stop you seems pretty anti-Christian to me. If you want to live like Jesus, you would never deny service to anyone. Ever.

Have you ever gotten really excited about using a coupon or a promotion only to get to the checkout counter and be told you can’t use it because of something in the fine print? Living in Mississippi is a lot like living in the fine print. Growing up we’re told that we can be anything we want to be, and then eventually we’re old enough to realize that some restrictions may apply. For instance, if you’re gay, black, liberal, or have all your teeth, your coupon will not work here. The state sign should read: “Mississippi: The Hospitality State (Unless we decide we don’t like you.)”

“If you don’t like it, why don’t you just leave?” I, personally, am trying my hardest. I’m here until my college graduation, but I plan on walking straight from the graduation stage to the other side of the state line.  And I’m not even being targeted by this new legislation. But what about those who are? Why aren’t they packing their bags? Over 58,000 people in MS identify as a member of the LGBT community. That isn’t a large percent of the population, but is a lot of individual people to consider. A lot of these people don’t want to leave and many of them probably can’t. And half of them are people of faith. It will now be legal for people to be discriminated against based on “convictions” from their own religions.  

So, I no longer have a state to call home. My love-hate relationship with Mississippi has been existent since I was born. But the fried food and the sweet tea just aren’t good enough for me to happily proclaim it as my own anymore. This state no longer accurately reflects anything I believe in. On the bright side, I think I’m in the majority on this one. From what I can tell, House Bill 1523 does not accurately represent Mississippians, Christians, or anyone else. But that clearly didn’t matter to our governor whose openly gay son will also be targeted by this bill. I can’t support a state like that. So, I may have been born in Mississippi, but until real positive change takes place, I am no longer a Mississippian.

-KB

[andmekb]

My Future Daughter And Me: A Letter to My Unborn

Most anyone who has met me has probably heard me say “I’m never having kids” at some point. And right now, that is a goal I plan to stick with. I don’t want to get into the details of it, but I just don’t think it’s for me. However, if a higher power does think that motherhood is for me, I’d like to be properly prepared for it. The following is a letter to my future daughter to help her do life better. I hope it helps her. In the meantime, I hope it helps someone else. It definitely would have helped me. Here you go:

My great love,

You deserve the entire world and I want to watch you take it. I want to see you rise to the top and help others along the way. But some will not want that for you. They will stand by your side until they realize they can stand in your way. Your cheerleaders will be your greatest enemies. Unfortunately, the world does not want you to win. They will tell you pretty words of encouragement and clap for you when you speak. Then, they will unite against you. They will tell you that you can do it while hoping that you will not. They will tell you to chase your dreams and then ask you to change them. They will hug your neck just to slice your throat. Show them red is not all you bleed. Pour out your compassion and dignity on those who oppress you. You are only as good as your worst self. But you can also be as great as your best self. Always remember the past does not have to be the future, but also remember some truths will last forever. You are smart and beautiful and powerful and none of those things should ever be more important than the others. You are a princess because of the way you rule, not because of the way a crown sparkles on your head. Rule gracefully, my dear.

-Mom (KB)

[andmekb]

The Dumbest Things I’ve Ever Heard And Me, Part 2

I think my most popular post of all time was The Dumbest Things I’ve Ever Heard And Me and finally, over a year, later, I have collected enough stupid things that people in my life have actually said to give you a part two. There is no moral this time, just pure idiocy in its finest. Please enjoy!

News: "There's been a meth lab found in a Walmart in Indiana.

My best friend: "Man, those Indians......"

Friend: *texts boyfriend who lives several hours away* “Listen to 92.1 on the radio

Boyfriend: “Babe, it’s not the same up here.”

Friend: *turns to me* Is it not?

My friend’s relatives came in for the holidays and one night, they tried to order a pizza at my friend’s house. After realizing no one delivers to their house, they called in an order to be picked up in town. They drove to Domino’s to find out their order was never placed. So they drove to Pizza Hut to see if they had accidentally called them instead. There was no order placed there either so my friend told them to check the number she called so they could find out which one it was and know how to proceed. Turns out, the lady was right about calling Domino’s, but it was a Domino’s in a different state.

“You could really see the manipulization.” - A girl in my history class trying to sound smart

“No I mean Edgar Allan Poe, the guy who cut his ear off.” - Overheard while eating lunch one day in my hometown.

“November isn’t fall.” - An actual person who made it to college without believing November is in the fall season

“November is definitely in fall.” - Me trying not to freak out about a person I associate myself with not knowing when seasons are

“Just because it's fall like here in MS doesn't mean it's fall season.” - again a COLLEGE AGED HUMAN BEING who does not know the seasons of the year

I hope you liked being reminded of ridiculous things that happen on this earth. I hope that you weren’t one of these people, but if you were, try not to be next time. Have a great day and stay smart.

-KB