You’d think they’d at least employ the girl with psychic powers to at least work in the control tower to prevent crashes or some such. Or maybe make the precog with outstanding reflexes at least an Air Marshall. But no, much better to keep those two serving drinks and handing out tissues (which you don’t need to have Dr. Xavier style powers to do).

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Cute, right?  Haha! Wrong! At least to a good chunk of the online community, anyway.

Cheerios had to close the comments section under this video due to racism. And this week, the little girl at the center of the blended family controversy spoke out…ish.

While young Grace is not an Oreo Oreo (she’s mixed race, not in denial), she’s made of enough cutes to get an honorary mention. Plus, during her interview with NBC, she shows us some great ways to handle the awkwardness that comes when people see that you’re the one thing that’s not like the others.

So the next time you find yourself at the wrong end of an inquiry, remember what Grace would do and try the following:

Wear a jaunty cardigan. No one wants to trouble someone in a delicate sweater. So not only do the long sleeves hide the evidence of your melanin, you get bonus points because the warm fuzzy fabric makes everyone around feel warmer and fuzzier themselves.

Smile and stare in lieu of answering. Making someone ask the same question more than 2 times in a row usually draws attention to the how weird/unnecessary/obvious/rude the question in the first place. So instead of answering, allow yourself a little time delay. You’ll find you won’t have to say very much and maybe not even answer the question at all. If

Look as cute as possible. Delivering a blank stare instead of a canned answer might come across as rude in some circles. But not if you’re super adorbs about it! So rose up those cheeks (yes, guys, you can do this, too), dig in those dimples, shine up that twinkle in your eye and get ready to deflect.

Bring back up. When possible, surround yourself with at least two other people with more patience than you have. It helps if they’re taller and if maybe one of them is white. (What am I saying, Oreos? Haha ‘maybe one of them.’ Obvi, both will be!) You can always use a head-tossing giggle to throw the question to them, ask them to translate or just stand a bit behind them and blend into the background.

Start talking to yourself. When all else fails, just start having a conversation with yourself instead of whoever bugging you. They’ll leave you alone.

Watch the interview here and see these tips in action!

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And it was incredibly ridiculous that I even cared about these things because she was a 15-year-old girl and I was a 31-year-old woman who really should have had my life together.

I did not have my life together and that was why I met Julia in the first place. You see, thanks to a divorce and the recession, I had been demoted from being a normal, respectable human being and was instead living life as a drivers ed instructor.

I do not recommend living life as a drivers ed instructor.

First, you have to wear a uniform. And not a cool uniform like doctors or astronauts get to wear. This uniform is khaki. All khaki. It’s stiff and it’s hot and manages to make every person who wears it, regardless of their gender, size or body type, look like they have man boobs and lady hips.

The second worst thing about being a drivers’ ed instructor is that you’re BEING A DRIVERS’ ED INSTRUCTOR.

Sometimes even us experienced drivers take a wrong turn.

Considering how much was going wrong in my life at the time, I really shouldn’t have cared about Julia’s life. She was just some kid. But she was the kind of kid I had wanted to be was young. And she was living the kind of life I wanted to live now that i was less young.

She was a ballet dancer. And when I was her age, I loved ballet. But when young me told my mom I was interested in ballet, my mother told me in no uncertain terms that I was too fat to be a dancer but that was okay because “black people don’t get skinny anyway” and that maybe I should consider engineering. So not only was Julia a skinny dancer, her mom also liked her.

Julia had a nice new car…several, in fact, the driveway was lousy with cars. At the time, my car had been stolen. Rent controlled apartment – great! Being the only person on said block who wasn’t in the Canoga Park Alabama gang, not great.

Apart from not living in gang terror, Julia was popular. She had a busy social life. She had enough money for groceries. Her house had heat and at the time, I was huddling around my stove at night because that was the utility I could afford to turn on.

And just when I thought I couldn’t dislike her anymore, I made the mistake of asking her what she was going to do for the holidays. I had just made peace with the fact that I would be having Christmas dinner with the wait staff at Jerry’s instead of with family or friends, so I thought I could handle her answer.

“Ugh,” she said with an impressive Valley accent considering her family was from Manhattan. “We’re going to Hawaii. Again.” She said with so more disdain than I thought could possibly fit in her 80-pound body.

“Awww, you know, I’d love to be able to go to Vons without freaking out, much less Hawaii, so why don’t you just shut your ungrateful little face until you at least learn how to drive stick!!!” was what I wanted to say. But you can’t say something like that to kids, so instead, I said:

“Hawaii. That sounds nice. What do you like to do there?”

“Ugh. I’ve been so many times. I don’t even do anything anymore. I hate it”

What I wanted to say was: “Awww, you’re a horrible human being and I wish that I could drive this stupid car right into your community’s stupid gate and run over your stupid face!!!”

Hell on Earth

But you can’t say that to a kid. So instead, I said. “Ugh, sorry about that. What about the new year? Any resolutions?”

“Ugh. I just hope this year is better than last year.”

Now, I knew the girl had broken up with her boyfriend and that she was bummed out about that. But I was going through a divorce. I didn’t care about her stupid breakup that she was going to forget about by next semester. But you can’t say that to a kid, so instead, I said:

“Oh, you mean because of your boyfriend?”

“That,” she said. “And hopefully my back will get better.”

“What’s wrong with your back?”

And then she told me about that one time when she was almost paralyzed. About how her one dream, the one thing she’s wanted to do more than anything else in the world might be taken away from her before her sixteenth birthday.

 Julia had been dancing at an elite level since she was in elementary school. She told me about the hours and hours and hours of rehearsal every day, of top-tier competition and of show after show after show.

She told me about how earlier that year, she started feeling like her arms and legs were on fire. About how there were days when she just couldn’t feel her thighs. About how she danced anyway. About how she started downing ibuprofen like candy and strapped ice packs to herself all day long. And about how this one time after this one show, she laid down to relax and couldn’t get back up again.

It was a stress fracture in two of her vertebrae. And the doctors said that it was only because of chance and luck that she was still walking.

One more show, one more fall, a stumble on some stairs, a jerk from her dogs on the leash during a morning walk, a badly timed sneeze and the break could have been permanent.

“It’s all I want to do,” she whispered.  “I don’t know what else to be.”

And I got that. At that time, I didn’t know what I was going to be either.

When we got home that day, I looked at Julia’s mansion.  As gorgeous as it was, as many lovely, brand name, top shelf things as she had in there, as expensive as they were, they were worthless if they couldn’t give her what she really wanted.

But you shouldn’t say that to a kid. So instead, I told her, honestly, that I hoped she had an amazing vacation.

*******

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When I got to work this week, my hair stretched to the middle of my back and was jet black. Still have the bangs, though.

Some things are rocket science. This is not one of those things.
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Basically, after straightening my hair since I was 8 (so you know, only like 13 years ago), I got tired of the chemical burns, I got tired of the dollops of hot grease dipping from the hot comb and I did what any self-respecting, professional woman would do. I learned to be content with who I was and love me for me. I decided that even though I can’t grow long hair, I can still buy it.

Beautiful silky waves of someone else’s hair have been affixed to my own. No heat. No chemical burns. Just an afternoon in the chair watching Miss Congeniality and The Proposal. I love me some Sandy B. (well, mostly)

It’s understandable that people would be surprised when they saw me. I look quite a bit different. I’m super excited about my hair, so I’m tossing it around like a child and I’m sure everyone in the morning meeting was wondering why I was grinning like I just won my first ballet recital.

Because of the change, there are plenty of perfectly reasonable questions to ask. This, however, is not one of them:

“Did you get extensions?”

That is a dumb question. Because by asking it, you’re assuming one of two things: that you just didn’t ever notice this extra foot of hair on me in the year to 10 years we’ve known each other; or that you live in a world where hair grows 12-13 inches over night all while changing color so the extra hair is just a biological possibility and not clearly the work of a scalp-centric intervention,.

If you didn’t notice me before, you don’t have to start now. And if you live in a world where hair grows that fast, please let me in!! I’ve been trying to get long hair since I was about 8. It’s never happened until now. And if there was a way to do it without also having to watch Think Like a Man (it was her salon, I could only ask for so much Sandy before she pulled rank) please let me know! I’ll move if it means I end up in a hairadise where long locks come easy.

Just in case someone else changes their hair and you want to ask something stupid about it, here are some alternatives to ask instead:

• I was thinking of cutting my hair into a French New Wave blunt boxy thing, too. Can you give me your stylist’s number?
• What does your boyfriend/girlfriend/pet sitter/mistress think of your new look?
• Do you smell that?
• Have you forgiven Sandy for The Blind Side yet? (spoiler alert: only kind of)
• Holy s*it! Did you see GoT last night? (spoiler alert: I’ve never watched GoT)
• Has anyone told you you’re like this office’s Joan Holloway-Harris?
• I know you like your new do, but can you stop twirling around and give us the dates on your production report?
• No really, do you smell that? It smells like burning.
• I was thinking of a more efficient way of running these meetings, can I run it by you?
• What are you reading these days?
• Is After Earth really that bad?
• Guys, I think this isn’t a fire drill, should we go outside?
• Do you know where we turn in time cards?
• How long after the wedding is it still cool for me to get a gift to the happy couple?
• Do you mind not biting your nails so loudly?
• Why wouldn’t I want to see another picture of your cat?
• Seriously? You watched an episode of Splash…not Smash…but Splash?!
• Fine you guys, I’m not taking my chances. Sure it might just be a bagel left in the toaster oven, but this meeting has been totally derailed anyway, am I right?

See, look how many options there are. We’re all adults and can make intelligent conversation without doing some Meisner exercise of stating the obvious.

The only reason you’d need to double check if long hair is extensions is if you’ve all been the survivors of a Lost-style plane crash and you need all the hair you can gather to make a rope to get in and out of the hatch more effectively or a sail so you can take your chances on the open sea. Outside of that situation, just use your best judgment and ask pretty much anything else instead.

What’s the dumbest thing someone has asked you lately? Or have you let a question slip that should have stayed inside your brain? And what was the big deal about GoT this weekend? Let us know in the comments!

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In a piece published yesterday at americanthinker.com, Dr. John C. Drew, an award-winning political scientist debunked the thought that our President is a black dude.

Said Dr. Drew:

TIME has just published pictures from Barack Obama’s prom night in 1979. For me, these photos are more evidence of something I have thought for a long time – young Obama seemed like a white guy.

Four white people walk into a prom.
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Drew wants to make sure that readers understand the weight of this image:

This ruse needs to end. The young Obama I knew was nothing like the young black people I knew at Occidental College. He did not come from an underprivileged background. He did not have any of the hostility to white people that I sometimes saw among blacks at Occidental College. All the reports we have so far indicate that young Obama was dating white women, hanging out with his white roommate — Phil Boerner — at Columbia, and generally living a white lifestyle.

Here, I’ve spent all this time getting my hair as bone straight as possible, learning to tolerate corsets, running away from rap and trying to keep my credit score up when all I really needed to do was not be poor, have 3 white friends and go on a school-sponsored trip with them. Hell, I did that in kindergarten when our teachers somewhat unwisely took us to an historical cemetery to discover what scarlet fever could do to a family.

Have I really been wasting that much time and energy? Does it really take nothing more than one white ex to be white yourself? What’s your favorite part of the “white lifestyle?” Let us know in the comments!

PS: I really don’t mind the corsets.

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Memorial Day Weekend marks the start of the big budget summer blockbuster the kids are out of school, so holy god, do what it takes to get them into a theater movie season. We’re certain to get some exciting films, so let’s check out some trailers, see what people get to do in said trailers, and see how they stack up against the Oreo agenda.

The Bling Ring – Hermoine’s not at Hogwart’s Anymore

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: Party near celebs, pontificate about society, have excellent luck using Google, be the devil on the shoulder, steal a bunch of shit, be naive as parents, have a family, have friends, drink a good amount of Starbucks, walk like a boss, bit into Paris Hilton’s shoes even though she’s a woman and he’s a dude, covet pets, cover the news, fake apologize, care maybe too much about what the young Ms. Lohan thinks.

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie:  n/a

Man of Steel – Superman gets rebooted. Again.

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: Make plans for their kid, have parents–even if he never knew them, go to school, dream of becoming something other than what society had intended, adopt a kid, get new parents, be the key to an eons-long question about humanity, work on a big ship, look like Wolverine in one shot, have a dog, ask leading questions, brood, fly.

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: Um… pay $14 to go see it?

Much Ado About Nothing- Whedon Does Shakespeare

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: Have a weird ass party, enjoy a nice walk in closet, be flippant, be coy, swim with a martini, do shots, collect stuffed animals, get married, have a huge camera, get high, kiss, practice aerial arts, fight, crawl, cuddle.

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: stand behind Lady Beatrice, stand in front of Lord Benedict

This is The End – Actors Use Their Real Names, Get Real

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: throw a party, go to/from the airport, be perturbed, do drugs, my goodness Seth Rogan has lost some weight! panic, panic, steal, panic.

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: be sexually desperate, get their butt slapped, slap back, die first, panic, scream like a beyotch.

(apparently, the end of the world is a pretty solid equalizer)

The Purge – Don’t Open Your Door For that Black Guy

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: Have a family, kiss gently, sharpen machetes, shoot guns, explain things calmly, make ridiculous demands of their parents, lock and load, feel worried, feel safe, have a fancy yet super simple security system, live in a huge house, have doubt, try to save someone, be pretty sociopathic, wear horrible masks, figure out a way inside,

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: Appear in one shot, be desperate, be hunted,

The Internship – Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson screw up at Google

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: listen to Macklemore, wear suits, get each other excited, sell watches, close companies, start over again, be awkward, be funny, be the love interest, get inside jokes, not get inside jokes, be okay with being in a wheel chair,

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: deliver some bad news, nod in agreement, speak in a foreign accent that he never uses on The Daily Show ever.

The East – Rogue Gets Real

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: Work in senior level management, resent senior level management, attend snazzy cocktail parties, speak dramatically from behind a mask, feel bad for birds, jump rope under a bridge, have families, go to the airport, kiss, siphon fluids from your body,

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: appear in one shot

Now You See Me – No one puts magicians in a corner

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: Perform in sexy Vegas magic shows, use the Parisian banking system, fight for the little people, drive speedily, work for the government, attend sexy Vegas magic shows.

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: Explain the plot

After Earth – Is Jayden Smith old enough to wear something that tight?

Things White People Get to Do in This Movie: Wait, what?!

Things Not White People Get to Do in This Movie: Wait, what?! Hmmm. Are we sure this is going to work?

What are you watching this weekend? Let us know in the comments!

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Stop it. Please. Just stop it.

It’s rare enough that I even look at what I put on my body in the morning. Rarer still that I recognize that I’ve had that same pilled sweater since 2004. And you’re more likely to see a unicorn than you are to see me arriving at a store to torture myself go shopping. Why are you heaven-bent on making this process even more difficult for me?

It’s not that I hate my body, I just hate clothes. Why does everything look like it was built for a 4-year-old stripper? When did all tops become clear and cut down to the bellybutton? When did it become impossible to distinguish shirts from dresses? Why does everything come in a legging? Who are these no-waisted, no-thighed, breastless pregnant bone people that all clothes seem to be cut for? What did I ever do to you Urban Outfitters? I live in the urban! I like outfits!  Why do the only clothes that seem to fit me come from Chicos? Why has the fashion industry turned me from a hip, cool, totally with it, savvy woman about town into a dowager?

This is unhelpful

The only thing worse that sobbing in a Forever 21 changing room is sobbing because you have lied to me, vanity sizing. No one likes to be told they’re being lied to while they’re naked and in a small room.

I should be able to pick up a size 8–for that is what I am–and have it be a size 8, not a circus tent. I mean, I could tattoo “millionairess” on my forehead, but the fine folks at the diamond and Bali vacation store will not be happy when it comes time to run my credit card.  You don’t make me feel better when you put me in a size 2, you make me feel exhaustion and rage.

This is not what a ladies’ medium looks like.

I don’t shop at the kinds of stores where skinny attendants wait outside and bring you new sizes whenever you want. If I’m standing in front of that full length mirror and you aren’t the right size, it’ll take me half an hour to schlep across the acre of Burlington between the changing room and the Damas section. So stop screwing with me!

I’m going to get dressed now. I do have this a skirt from 2002 in there that has always been honest with me.

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Yayness.
(source)

We spend a lot of time here talking about the benefits involved in being an Oreo. But what about the benefits involved in having an Oreo?

Oreo released this darling commercial this week. Its’ a cute little animation that imagines a world full of wonderful people doing wonderful, sweet things and living wonderful, pleasant lives because everyone has been given Oreos.

I couldn’t agree with more! People do get happy when they get an Oreo! Whether you find one for yourself or are given one as a gift, there are many benefits to having your own Oreo.

We’re easy to find in a crowd. Don’t you just hate it when you’re at the yacht club or DisneyWorld or a Lipizzaner show and you get separated from your party? Well, with an Oreo, all you have to do is scan the crowd for the one brown face, and bingo! You’re back on track.

We provide hours of entertainment. I personally think my hair is pretty boring. But judging by the number of questions I get and have gotten about it, my hair is apparently fascinating. With an Oreo by your side, you can ask all the annoying questions you want and stay occupied for hours. Stuck in a TKTS line or a tube queue and don’t feel like getting in to something too deep? Just throw out a “soo…why do you always wrap your hair in a New Kids on the Block concert tee before you take a shower” and boom! Time will fly by!*

We can help out your political campaign. Worried that folks can’t distinguish between a photo of your political rally and a klan rally because both contain equal numbers of brown faces? Just bring an Oreo along and place them in a camera ready location. You’ll look hella diverse! Of course, you can do much the same with Photoshop.

We help you feel better about that slang you just dropped. You know how we’re still debating whether or not it’s okay for people to use the n-word willy nilly? Without an Oreo, you have two options. a) ask an RBP if you can say it and watch your face get snapped right off or b) consider empathy, do some research on how and why some terms are offensive and question your motives for wanting to say it so badly in the first place. No Thank You!

With an Oreo, however, you can ask them if you can say it and they’ll probably say something really polite and change the subject, thereby letting you off the hook forevah! (Also, if you need n-sounding options, we’ve got those for you, too!)

So give someone an Oreo today! What will you do with yours?

*For you. Your Oreo might be uncomfortable/annoyed. But at least they won’t be jerks about it like an RBP would be.

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However, like most of the jams that Oreos find themselves in, there are ways to mitigate the damaging proximity to melanin that one must experience during obligatory small talk fests with people who share your genetic code.

It should be noted that Oreos prefer getting stuck in marmalades and not jams.
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I just got back from such a trip and wanted to share with you my tips and tricks for not seeming quite so black when you’re in the company of a whole buncha black folks.

Pack Appropriate Reading Material

Hundreds of people will walk past you on the plane, so make sure you aren’t holding something hella ethnic like Oprah’s magazine or those Beatz headphones. Instead, try a copy of The Harvard Business Review or Epitaph for a Peach. Why relax when you can use journalism to fend of judgement and remind yourself of how poetically you’re not thinking about all that you’re not achieving.

Pass Through Airport Security Without Unloading All Liquids

The airport is a place where it is defs not okay to be brown. One the last three flights I’ve taken, my boyfriend has managed to get through security with razors in his bag while I’ve been accused of having too many toiletries bags and had my hair inspected as though I just got back from a missionary trip in the barrio and they wanted to make sure I didn’t have lice.

But this time was different. Maybe it was because they figure no one on their way to Raleigh Durham would be up to trouble. Maybe it was the fact that it was a red-eye and we were all tired. Or maybe it’s because the fact that I just totally forgot to take a couple of bottles out of my bag looked like such a boss move to them that they couldn’t bring themselves to do anything but let me go.

Stay At A House Where Slaves Used To Work

If you’re gonna go to the South on a trip, you might as well go to The South. Instead of staying in an RBP-tastic place like La Quinta or The Hampton Inn and Suites, I chose a delightful little B&B. That was built in 1847. In the Confederacy. That was owned by a rich legacy family. Which means that once upon a time, it’s very likely that a house girl made the bed that I refused to while I was there. (Well, not the same bed. This bed was too comfortable to be 166 years old.)

I’m in there somewhere. And always will be

Identify Favorite  Patterns

There was another bonus to the ex slave resort. And I’m not talking about the awesome wainscoting or the gladiolas or the awesome sitting room where yes, I claimed that I had the ‘vaypas’ so I could sit in the awesome chair. This place also had the same toile pattern that appears on an ottoman I just bought. It was like the house was calling to me from afar. I wouldn’t have been surprised if at the end of the trip, my vision rack focused on a photo from 1864 where I stood grinning with the rest of the house staff while a voice over reminded that I was a guest and I’d always been a guest…

Spend An Hour Or So Discussing the Pros and Cons of the Artistic Director and Conductor of the Local Philharmonic

In case you were concerned that I didn’t come by my Oreoness honestly, you only need to meet my uncle and aunt. I hadn’t seen these people in a decade. But instead of catching up about ourselves (boring), we threw on a classical hits CD, talked about each movement and shot the shit about who brought out the best in what movements (totally not boring!)

Make Small Talk re: Who Has Better Summers, Scotland or Switzerland

Trick questions. It’s Basque, obvs.

And just as soon as I finish paying off student loans, I hope to always be here.

Stuff Emotions So Deeply That You Feel Full Enough to Refuse the Fried Chicken

RBP are known for their clever comebacks, snappy repartee and their delightful disses and dozens. So when a parent decides for the 10,000th  time to describe not just you looked like at birth, but your afterbirth at birth, many RBP would have something to say that would stop that conversation in its tracks. But where’s the challenge in that. Anyone can walk out of a room, set some boundaries and decide not to engage in inappropriate conversation topics. But it takes real skill to sit and endure. To smile and nod. And to not get all up in someone’s business about it. And that is a skill I’m proud of. In large part because it really does turn your appetite enough that you can honestly say that no thank you, you’re fine with just the roll and you don’t need the okra, greens or pecan pie. … okay, maybe a little pecan pie.

You’re also not going to want to eat ham salad again. Not after that story.
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When was your last trip home? How did it go? Any advice for next time?

New Zealand released an updated list of names that parents may not name their babies. Including, but not limited to the name “Justice.” Don’t even try that shiz, “Justice” has been rejected seven times. I didn’t realize that the N Zed was a place that needed this kind of policing.

All those beautiful views really make you think…about some dumb, dumb things to call your offspring.
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There are 77 monikers on the no-no names list and from the looks of it, you’d think they were talking to people in Southern LA, not the Southern Hemisphere.

Royal titles — such as ”Duke,” “Majesty,” and even the term “Royal” — were also high up on the list. Roman numerals, such as “III,” are also taboo. One baby was almost called “89.” Eight parents wanted to insert backslashes into their children’s first names, while four wanted to put brackets around their middle names. Not to mention the government has already rejected “Lucifer” at least six times.

Read more: http://newsfeed.time.com/2013/05/02/new-zealand-updates-banned-baby-names-list/#ixzz2SAMDLrik

Yes, I’m talking about black people right now, but I’m coming after you next, scientists.
You can’t just call stuff what it is like “horrible too-many-leggies monster on a mission” you have to give them a fancy names like “arachnids.” Snobs.
(source)

Highlights of the list include all names that imply rank, like “Duke,” “Queen” or “Princess,” “4Real,” “Lucifer,” “V8,” and straight up “Anal.” Maybe they meant to name their child after the sad, twirling dervish that is Lana Del Rey and spelled it backwards on accident? Or maybe it was a “Boy Named Sue” thing where they wanted their kid to develop a thick skin by naming them after butt hole. I want to give these people the benefit of the doubt.