Twelve years ago, I tried ending my life. I was in a deep, dark place. No one could talk me out of it because no one knew. I didn’t look for help because I didn’t want it. I had been dating BFam less than a year and was almost positive this would send him over the edge. I wouldn’t drink because my father was an alcoholic and I saw what it did to him, but I smoked until I couldn’t feel my lungs anymore. Anything to destroy myself made me …

For a recession-filled holiday, I’d say my girls did pretty well this season. Unfortunately, buying gifts amid troubling financial times is not breaking new ground in the cycle of poorness. It was just announced to the world we were officially in a recession. That’s old news here.
The economy is affecting everyone. But for my house, that only means poor people are getting poorer. Christmas time is the one time I miss most about being a kid. You’re oblivious to all this recession and bad economy talk. Being an adult means …

Hot on the coat tails of the post regarding my little Christmas spirit problem (or lack thereof) comes the story of one of the only reasons I still let my children believe - Dear Santa letters to the post office. And the one past time that gives true meaning to giving and kindness - that I’m sure would be extended year ’round if people were able - is tainted.
Seems someone got the feeling of holiday cheer in an inappropriate place when reading letters from some of the smaller Dear Santa …

Some years ago there was a movie called Fear of A Black Hat. The premise was something like this:
A mockumentary chronicling the rise and fall of a not particularly talented–or particularly bright but always controversial–1990s hip-hop group, NWH (Niggaz with Hats).
Written and directed by a Black person, the movie played on the stereotypes of the race in terms of pop-culture - most especially Hip-Hop. I didn’t particularly care for the movie, but my husband loved it. He has weird humor so it’s expected.
Watching these types of movies (there’s lots of …