The holidays are stressful. But those awkward family gatherings can be easily diffused with some pre-scripted Oreotastic responses at the ready.
What are your favorite stories from family gatherings? Let us know in the comments!
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…when it’s around 60 degrees in Los Angeles, gyms are crowded full of people trying to earn their upcoming holiday dinner, credit cards are getting maxed out and families everywhere are coming up with coping tactics for awkward, yet obligatory meals.
Ahhh, Christmas.
Time to plan that caroling party to sing some old favorites…or learn new ones (Like this one!)
What are your favorite holiday songs and traditions? Let us know in the comments!
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There are a few things that will cause me to bolt out of bed in the morning: My recurring nightmare where I’m swimming through a swamp full of snakes, the momentary
And yes, my bed always has pristinely white sheets and drinks with twigs in them. Doesn't yours?
belief that I’ve missed my alarm and I’m two hours late for work, the sound of one of my cats yakking up her lungs onto the floor I just cleaned for the umpteenth time this week, the realization that this isn’t my bed and maybe I shouldn’t have had so much to drink at that networking event/conference/family reunion or a surprise email from a super wonderful character actor who happens to have been on one of my most favorite shows evereverevah!
This morning, I escaped #s 1-4 and was beyond delighted to get to experience #5. It was amazing. He spelled my name right, didn’t say I was stupid for emailing and while he didn’t offer to fly me to the country where he’s located, he did say that if for some reason I turned up there, we could meet in person.
Here’s my response to him. Actual text is in blue; What I felt like saying is slanty.
Hey there! Holy.Shit!!!
Thanks for writing back, it was great to hear from you! I literally just shit the bed. My roommates are wondering why I’m screaming and I’m so excited that I’ve barely noticed that my cats have thrown up right on my face. I’m so overstimulated in fact, that I’m not positive I’m not having a stroke.
Congrats on the new project. Sounds like a lot of fun! Look, I hope this isn’t presumptive of me, but how do you feel about winter weddings?
I’ll definitely let you know if I’m on your side of the pond. I can in no way afford to up and head to the UK right now, but I will sell my blood, these cats and maybe my roommates’ blood and cats if that’s what it takes to end up in your amazing amazing arms.
Best, I love you more than words, paintings or angels could possibly express.
And it doesn’t stop there! My soul must have an awesome 6-pack from the effort I spend muscling the crazy back inside where it belongs. Here’s a rundown of a typical day and the reason I’m always so exhausted by 7 p.m.
Yes. We be crazy.
6:45 a.m. (my bedroom)
Cats: Meow
Me: Hi Bobbie, Hi Marilyn. Look, I’m really really sorry that I don’t spend $20 a bag on good food, but c’mon, you eat your own throw up and the other day when I cut my foot and bled all over the floor, you ate that, too so you can’t be that picky!! But maybe the fact that this bag of food that feeds you for a month only cost $4 is the reason you have that bump on your belly ohmygodI’msosososorry!!!!
Cats: Meow
Me: Yes, I’ll feed you in a minute, babies. After I get done castigating myself in the shower for being such a terrible mother! *sobs…internally*
9:15 a.m. (office)
Boss: What are you working on today?
Me: I’m gonna update these schedules this morning and am in meetings all afternoon. But I will lick your office clean if that will ensure that you don’t regret hiring me.
12:30 p.m. (my office)
Friend: Wanna go to lunch?
Me: Sure! I’m your ninth choice for lunch company and you’re only doing this because you pity me, right?
4:23 p.m. (my office)
Coworker: Do you know what room the task force meeting is in?
Me: 552. I’m smelly, aren’t I?
7:00 p.m. (Trader Joes)
Cashier: Did you find everything you needed?
Me: Yup! Please love me.
9:56 p.m. (bed)
Cats: Meow.
Me: Fie! Take thy claws from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!
Cats: Nevermore…Meow.
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Surely I’m not the only one riding this close to the tipping point of reason. What goes on in your head that should definitely stay there? Let it out and tell us about it in the comments!
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Why does Halloween get to corner the market on gratuitous holiday sex appeal?
What are you most looking forward to putting in your mouth this Thanksgiving? Let us know in the comments!
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Pretty much every year, a group of college students decides it’ll be a swell idea to host a party where people dress up like minorities by, among other things, donning some good ol’ fashioned blackface and sometimes a grill or two.
Just a reminder that these people were all making active choices.
Just today, we learned that sorority sisters at The University of Southern Mississippi were put on probation after they decided to dress up like the Huxtables. (Argyle and wigs were not enough, natch, they had to go whole hog).
Earlier this year, students at Université de Montréal donned blackface for a presentation in their business class.
C’est manifique, messieurs!
Last year, students at the University of California, San Diego hosted a “Compton Cookout.” The invitation to that party went a little something like this:
“February marks a very important month in American society. No, i’m not referring to Valentines day or Presidents day. I’m talking about Black History month. As a time to celebrate and in hopes of showing respect, the Regents community cordially invites you to its very first Compton Cookout.
For guys: I expect all males to be rockin Jersey’s, stuntin’ up in ya White T (XXXL smallest size acceptable), anything FUBU, Ecko, Rockawear, High/low top Jordans or Dunks, Chains, Jorts, stunner shades, 59 50 hats, Tats, etc.
For girls: For those of you who are unfamiliar with ghetto chicks-Ghetto chicks usually have gold teeth, start fights and drama, and wear cheap clothes – they consider Baby Phat to be high class and expensive couture. They also have short, nappy hair, and usually wear cheap weave, usually in bad colors, such as purple or bright red. They look and act similar to Shenaynay, and speak very loudly, while rolling their neck, and waving their finger in your face. Ghetto chicks have a very limited vocabulary, and attempt to make up for it, by forming new words, such as “constipulated”, or simply cursing persistently, or using other types of vulgarities, and making noises, such as “hmmg!”, or smacking their lips, and making other angry noises,grunts, and faces. The objective is for all you lovely ladies to look, act, and essentially take on these “respectable” qualities throughout the day.
A few years ago, word got out that students at Tarleton State University, University of Connecticut School of Law, Clemson University and the University of Arizona all threw ghetto parties on Martin Luther King Day.
Happy MLK Day, everyone!
It seems that like prostitution and casual drug use, these peccadilloes are here to stay. So instead of trying to legislate morality into students, maybe we should take a cue from the Libertarians and give everyone some guidelines on how to party like it’s 1849 without risk of disciplinary action. It’s like learning how to have safe sex…assuming that by “sex,” we mean “really terrible party ideas that the future leaders of our country maybe shouldn’t be coming up with.”
So here are some Dos and Don’ts for your next ghettotastic shindig.
Happy Partying!!!
What other tips do have for getting away with pretty offensive behavior? What do you think of these parties? Have you ever been? When’s your next one? Can I come? Let us know in the comments!
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So my video Why I Don’t Date Black Guys hit 100K views this week. And if you haven’t taken a tour around youtube comments in a while, you totally should. The youtube comment section is a very special place.
In honor of my 100K Day, I present this follow-up video….
…and these follow-up posts:
What ladies are doing instead of putting a ring on it.
What happened when I tried to chat pleasantly about race and relationships on national television.
What do you think? Do people who share genetic traits have an obligation to reproduce with each other? Let us know in the comments! And thanks for watching and reading and helping us get to 100K!
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I was at the Magic Castle again yesterday. And per my Oreo habit, I was the only one of me enjoying mesmerizing mentalists, slippery sleights of hand and men displaying brilliant top hats, spats and patter. While I normally just delight in my singularity, I’ve spent a lot of time lately trying to puzzle out why this is the case.
Last Thursday at swing dancing, this weekend at Chinese Foot Massage and the other week at CalTech’s screening of “American Rocketeer,” I thought the same thing. At each event, there may have been one or two other Oreos…not at Chinese Foot Massage, though. I’ve never seen a black person there. And judging by how the Mandarin in the room gets louder and noticeably more full of laughs when they get around to kneading my amply ethnic bum, neither have they.
Even with pretty strict adherence to the Oreo Codes (If you’ve forgotten the rules, you can read there here), there should be some spill over. So why do I not run into more POC at my events? Maybe it’s because:
My life isn’t nearly made of as much awesome as I think it is….
Likelihood: NOT likely! There’s a move in lindy called “The Bandit.” Who doesn’t want to do something called The Bandit! And c’mon, have you seen a horse? They’re amazeballs! Who wouldn’t want to kiss their faces and ride around on them as they prance through something called The Equidome—the EQUIDOME!!
Look at that punim!!! You know you want to squish it.
Or maybe it’s because…
Black people, like ghosts, or…um… vampires or maybe highlanders, are unable to be seen with the naked eye in normal light environments.
Likelihood: Hmmm, more likely. I mean, I like all this stuff and I show up at these events. Self-image issues aside, I am not that special that I’ve figured out something that so many other of colors haven’t.
To be honest, I don't really get the Highlander business. If there can be only one, how do they reproduce?
Mayhaps it is due to the fact that…
We are actually living in a parallel jim crow universe, but I still get let in to cool events because my Oreo efforts have paid off and my assimilation is truly complete.
Likelihood: Maaaaaaybe, I am very very smoove. And I did have a dream that I went into space last night. Maybe it wasn’t a dream at all.
What's that? I'm in the wrong line? Oh, well, you don't mind letting me in anyway, do you? I'll save a spot for you at the yaaa-aacht. club.
Or perchance, we’ll find that…
Due to a complex system of geography, socio-economics, politics, an overly stressed education system and the media, people are still subtly encouraged to or discouraged from doing certain activities based on any number of superficial characteristics including ethnicity, income level, race or creed….
Likelihood: zzzzzz— huh? What? Woah, that one was really boring. I don’t have time to think in layers like that. Plus to be honest, I’m not sure what “creed” is exactly.
What do you think? Do you do things that more people, whatever they look like, should enjoy? Tell us about it in the comments! And the send us an invitation.
For more adventures at The Magic Castle, click here.
For an adventure at a totally different castle, click here.
For an adventure at a place that was guarded with a gate like a castle, click here.
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It’s Halloween! And if you’re a girl, you better figure out how to put your primary sexual characteristics on display post-haste!! But what do you do when you want to be sexy and poignant? Check out this video for a great costume suggestion!
PS…The sexy costumes are really getting out of hand. I saw Sexy Watermelon the other day.
This isn't even a dress! It looks like a towel that's been through the dryer one too many times.
What are you dressing up as this Halloween? Let us know in the comments!!
For more lessons from The Help, click here for a White People to the Rescue movie primer!
Here are some tips on how to dress as an Oreo on the regular.
And in honor of Halloween, here’s a video about ghosts!
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For the last couple of months dozens and dozens of columnists, bloggers and sociologists have been reacting to the horrible, shocking news that black women are making it into their 30s WITHOUT BEING MARRIED!!!
These people have spent hundreds of column inches and hour and hours of readers’ time wondering how this travesty of gendering could possibly have happened. While it’s true that “people” aren’t getting married as much as “people” used to, it is especially upsetting that black ladies aren’t engaging in an institution that only has a 50% success rate.
When asked why this is the case, people have suggested that it boils down to one very inconvenient intersection of facts. Black women are unable to get married, they say because:
The pundits have questioned what we can do about this crisis. And yes, they’ve called being single in your 30s crisis.” The same word that they use to describe the country’s unemployment situation, AIDS in Africa and Lindsay Lohan. In fact, that’s why I was made fun of for not dating a stranger and then ignored on television by a beloved celebrity asked to appear on a daytime talk show. (Read more about that here).
It stands to reason that people are very concerned about this. After all, we all know that marriage is the absolute best thing that can happen to a woman, so we must find out why women are avoiding such a blissful state of being. I mean, they could just settle after all. But the fact that they’re not implies that they’re acting on their own agency.
Soon they're gonna want jobs and birth control. Ugh!
Here is a list of 10 tons of dumb things women are actually enjoying doing instead of racing to the altar. If you see a woman doing any of the below, for the love of all that is holy, stop her immediately and put a ring on it!
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What other bullshit things are women doing instead of getting married. Let us know in the comments!
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I somehow understand this now.
*Per a bunch of legal blahblahs, the name of the show is being withheld until said show airs.
You will have your own dressing room. There will be 27 bottles of water in the fridge. Sunchips, granola bars and Flaming Hot Cheetos will be piled up on an end table. The lamp on that table will not light up. At first, this room will feel warm and inviting. A wrangler will put you in the room and tell you someone will be with you “soon.” Half an hour later when no one has come for you, this room will feel more like a cozy little jail cell. You will hear doors opening and closing in the hallway and you will worry that at some point on the show your first love or long lost relative will show up, or that you’re being set up for an Intervention. You will freak out about this and will take no comfort in the knowledge that you do not have a substance abuse problem.
There will be a knock on your door and wardrobe will come in and bring you clothes that are fancier than what you normally buy at Forever 21. They’ll use fancy jargon like “pencil skirt,” “color blocking” and “stop crying, everyone has to wear Spanx.”
Next, the makeup department will break your heart by making you look more beautiful than you ever have. In fact, you pretty much look like a different person…a person who you have begun to envy for her grace, poise and ability to understand eye shadow. You wonder if there’s a place you can go out to that night to take advantage of the fact that you look like a dream. You imagine meeting a wonderful and handsome stranger. You will have a lovely bottle of wine with this stranger and then you will tell him that you can never see him again because you are an angel or a ghost or are scheduled to be executed at dawn—anything to keep him from trying to contact you and finding out that in real life you look like a hobo.
I'm sorry, I'm only on earth a short while.
You will wonder if the term hobo is offensive.
You will think you will be able to replicate this look when you get home. You will not. You will start thinking of ways to steal the Spanx, because, gosh darnit, you really do look a lot better with them on.
If you step out of your room cell without a handler, someone will admonish you to return to your room. This will not ease the feeling that someone is going to haul you off to rehab for an as yet undiagnosed addiction.
Wardrobe will ask you if you have any jewelry, then will bring you a bracelet, earrings and a necklace that all match and you will marvel at their ability to make you look like a girl. You will then realize how highly constructed the beauty standard is wonder if it’s bad that you feel so fucking pretty right now.
You will listen to show tunes to simultaneously calm yourself down and “ramp up your energy!!!” as the show runners have asked you to do. You will wonder if the big smiles they’ve been giving you are fake or if they actually like you. Their continued enthusiasm will not abate the still-gnawing concern that someone’s going to a produce a heroin pipe with your fingerprints inexplicably on it.
Don't worry, Officer, it's just cocain-- I mean baking soda. BAKING SODA!!
You suddenly remember that your mother said she was taking a totally random trip to “North Carolina” this week. You wonder if she’s going to show up on set and tell you that she’s really your father.
You will really wish that the room was bigger or that there was one other living thing inside of it.
Someone will come in and say that they’re turning on the TV in the room so that you can see a live feed of the show you’re about to be on. The TV will at first be set to the wrong channel so Jerry Springer will come on and you will shit your Spanx a little bit.
Soon, you will be taken out of your holding cell and for half an hour, you will stand in line in your platform shoes that are sexy as all hell, but half a size too small.
The show will break for commercial and a person who’s presumably the charmingest person in the crew will awkwardly talk to the audience and pump them for anecdotes that will definitely not be used at any time during the rest of the show.
A handler will walk you out on stage where four other guests have been chatting for a while. You will remember that the clips of the show you did see seemed a bit more Springer-esque than you were hoping for, but you feel confident that you will be able to have a great conversation with the Celebrity Host. After all, you spent a week talking to producers, telling them who you are and sharing your POV with them. Surely they couldn’t have been lying to you when they said they loved what you had to say.
The Celebrity Host will announce your presence and then roll footage that you prepared for them. However, they will re-edit the footage so that you appear to be a mean, deluded villain. The audience will boo. You will roll your eyes, but you will remain composed. You will then tell the audience that while your work is mostly satire and sarcasm, there are a few truths you’d like to talk about. You will tell two jokes and the whole room will laugh and you will feel good because you did not allow the villain tag to stick.
Not me.
The Celebrity Host will not like this.
A guy in the audience will support your sentiment and begin to add his own thoughtful commentary.
The Celebrity Host will ignore what the guy is saying and instead ask you if you want to go out with that guy on a date. That night.
You will say no because that person is a stranger and considering all you really know about him is that he agreed to be in the audience of a daytime talk show, it might be best to have him vetted just a bit.
The Celebrity Host will get another man on stage to join him in demanding that you go out with the stranger. That night. You will hold your ground and say no. The two men will get a little louder and encourage the audience to pressure you into letting this stranger spend the evening with you as well. The audience will comply and you will unfairly compare yourself to a victim in the Coliseum or a character in The Hunger Games. And because you have finally found the boundaries that have eluded you your entire life, you will say no a final time.
The Celebrity Host will say you are too hard to please and that this is why you will never be able to put a ring on it.
It is at this point that you realize that they did not want you to come on the show because you were bright and had interesting things to say. You will remain poised, but will mentally check out while the other four people on stage conform to race and gender stereotypes. You will feel sad. But you will applaud at the right times as indicated by the tired looking woman who is standing by Camera B.
While you wonder exactly how much longer you can keep your legs crossed so tightly so that the front row doesn’t see right up your Spanx, you will be super glad that your friend happened to get a gig on set that day. Because you can tell by the way he smiles at you from behind the audience that he knows what you’re thinking. And that he empathizes.
The show will end and the Celebrity Host will not look you in the eye when they shake your hand. They will, however, laugh it up with the women who spent the whole show acting like they had just stepped out of a Tyler Perry movie and were on their way to a Stephnfetchit: The Musical audition. Other members of the crew will ask those ladies to stick around for further interviews. You will be excused.
As you walk by them, those ladies will drop their sassy ghetto accents, and in voices that sound exactly like yours admit that they were just playing. They will not understand the shock in your eyes as you mull over the fact that their little games for a few minutes of media attention ultimately make life harder for all three of you.
You will return to your cell and change out of your show clothes and back into your regular hobo gear. You will be paid for your time and humiliation in cash. It will feel dirty.
You will be half way back to work before you realize how upset you are that two grown ass men made fun of you for no reason and wasted quite a bit of time just to make you look bad because you value actual conversation. You will begin crying and all your pretty mascara will run away down your cheeks. You will be happy to that the first meeting you have to attend upon getting back to your office is in a dark room.
After the meeting your boss will look at you like he wants to ask what’s up. But he’s very polite, so he will not. You will eat a hot dog because you deserve some comfort food and you will hope that no one notices that your eyes are wet for the rest of the day.
You will wonder why someone the nation touts as an expert person who cares about people could be such a shithead. You wonder if the home audience is really incapable of having a conversation about race, class and feminism that doesn’t descend into name-calling, head-popping and people ranting about their baby mamas. You will remember that you thought that bullying ended in high school and you will feel extra depressed that the nation will see you dismissed as a valid human because you had the gall to be a layered human.
You will wonder if maybe because you lost the attention of the Celebrity Host and the viewing audience if you indeed have lost value. Celebrity Host is the expert, after all. You will wonder if maybe you should just be less fucking uptight about the representation of people in the media. If maybe you should just throw boundaries to the wind and agree to maybe get date raped for a television network’s profit margin. You wonder if you do not loosen up, will it mean that you will not make it in this industry and thus the last third of your life a naive waste.
Then your boss will finally come around and ask you what’s wrong. And when you say you’re not ready to talk about it, he will look at you with empathy and say that you did good work that day. Your friend will tell you over facebook chat to just blow it off. And when you explain to him that you are truly hurting over this, he will continue to listen and be nice to you and check in with you to see if you’re okay. Your friend from the set will text you and tell you that you did a good job and that while you didn’t get to say much, your composure spoke volumes. Your therapist will tell you that your anger is justified and that you may have an issue with impulse control, so maybe don’t go drink tonight. Your roommate will let you rant and rave and she will understand why you are so hurt. You will appreciate all of it immensely and you will wish you weren’t so phobic about hugs.
First stop, hug. Next stop, cuddle party.
You will eat two Lemongrass Chicken Stix and find them to be too pungent. You will remove the lingering taste with 6 mini s’mores from Trader Joes. You will have a glass of wine. Yes, just the one. And you will curl up with your cats and do some writing before you go to bed.
You will think about two things that make you feel better. The first thing is that the rest of your afternoon was full of more value and love than 15 minutes in front of a camera will ever bring and so if all you have for the rest of your career are afternoons like this one, that will be just fine. You will want to tell those ladies that but you didn’t get their numbers and you don’t know their names.
You will also feel better knowing that while you did give the sexy sexy platform shoes back to wardrobe, you totally stole their fucking Spanx.
The Oreo Experience 