Your anaconda don’t.

That’s right. Another article about Nicki Minaj’s video “Anaconda”.

I’ll be honest, I hadn’t even heard the song in it’s entirety when I started hearing about how ‘nasty’ and ‘slutty’ the video was. Naturally, I had to watch. And I fucking loved it. Sure, the dancing was risque and Minaj and her dancers were scantily clad, but welcome to show biz folks. Plus, in reference to the dancing, spend a weekend evening in any club, you’ll get the same show. I’m losing my focus here. Anyway, these are small things when you watch the video prepared. I was prepared, prepared to be disgusted, to experience some serious female degradation. By the end though, I was nothing but impressed. Allow me to explain.

Let’s start with the lyrics. THE LYRICS. The entire song is about various men she has conquered, reduced to a lusty mess because of her amazing posterior; about all the things she got from them because they were mesmerized by her body. The lyrics are quite empowering; throughout the song SHE is in control of her sexuality. “He love my sex appeal”, she’s acknowledging her own sexual attractiveness, is proud of it and the power it gives her. There are actually very few lines from “Baby Got Back” featured in the chorus of this song, one of which being “oh my gosh, look at her butt”; I feel that’s a middle finger to the male gaze; because that’s the only thing you’ll be doing to Ms. Minaj’s butt, my friends… looking.


Moving on to the video. Firstly, I love that she and her dancers are dressed the same way, and dancing together. She’s not above them or better than them; she’s with them, their buns are equally as powerful. I don’t understand the people saying this video is demeaning. If you can look passed the shaking booties for five bloody seconds you might see the point. Anyone who can’t is one of the many this video is meant to call out. For example, the fruit scene. Minaj is meant to be making a smoothie or something, whipped cream ends up on her chest (to distract the mouth breathing male viewer), then she holds a banana suggestively near her mouth… and cuts it into pieces.



… Okay, I couldn’t resist.



The message this scene is meant to convey is your “anaconda don’t” have any relevancy here, buddy. Anaconda, though named for Baby Got Back is not only doing a 180 on the meaning of the classic, but is also completely shattering the male gaze. Sir Mix a Lot informs us that he only likes women with big bums, Minaj let’s everyone know that big bums are fantastic, that she’s used hers to lure unsuspecting men into traps etc; but hers is not here for you or your ‘anaconda’.



Then Drake walks in. This scene was THE best. He barely moves the entire time, she is twerking and dancing like mad all over him, the floor, what have you. She is in control of the situation, of her sexuality, of what happens next. And what happens next is that after all the ‘suggestive’ dancing, he tries to touch her and gets his hand slapped away. Because… and I’m gonna write this in caps for reasons. HER OUTFIT AND/OR DANCING DOESN’T MEAN YOU ARE ENTITLED TO ANYTHING, HUN. Her desirability does not equal availability; nor is it up for comment. It belongs to her and she’ll do with it what she pleases; so sit small, hun. Pun intended.



I Don’t Want a Pity Party. I Want My Mummy.

I want my Mummy.ebf26e008a5d02556faff01082a24418

If I had one wish, that would be it. I don’t want a million dollars or even world peace. I just want my Mummy. I don’t care that I’m a grown woman who is more than capable of taking care of herself and I even have a child of my own who depends on me, I still just want my Mummy. I am much better at expressing myself through written words and even photos rather than verbally speaking about something that is on my mind, especially when it is something that I am afraid to talk about for fear of having a complete breakdown. I suppose (and from what I have been told by people around me) that when I change my facebook status to something about my mother, or even when I post a quote or some other post on Instagram that draws light to the fact that I miss my mother or am thinking of her, some may take it as me “looking for attention” or (my personal favourite) “wanting a pity party”, but no, that is definitely not it. It’s quite simple actually. My mother died, my life completely turned upside down when she did and I miss her so much that it literally hurts, it is painful.

It’s been months now since she passed and I actually still have moments where I think to myself, “I can’t wait to tell Mummy this”, and then it hits me all over again like a ton of bricks every time.    Last week one day 6c196343094388ec683952efbc3c27dfwhile out on my lunch break, I decided to run into the Hallmark store to purchase a birthday card for someone. When I walked into the store, I was suddenly bitch-slapped in the face. There were Mother’s Day cards, banners, balloons, books, teddy bears, bouquets, Mother’s Day everything – everywhere. I was suddenly reminded, not that I needed reminding, that my mother is no longer here with me. It was a big blow. I literally grabbed the first birthday card that came to my hands and quickly left the store.

After my mother died, many people told me that holidays and birthdays would be hard for me from now on, but for some reason I never thought about Mother’s Day until now. And I think more than any other holiday or special day, Mother’s Day will possibly always be the toughest one for me to get through. It’s kinda like when people say that Valentine’s Day should instead be referred to as Singles Awareness Day…for me, Mother’s Day will always be that one day where this ever present fact will be clearer than it is on any other day, my mother is gone.

Now that she is gone, of course I miss her tremendously and I appreciate all that she was to me even more now. No one could ever take her place in my life or even come close. I have very close friends and relatives who are there for me, but there is absolutely nothing like having her hf760423a0586662bf624c8dfeffe9121ere and nothing can ever fill that void in my life.  I think one of the best ways I have seen that void described is [by Karen, who also lost her mother] “You have to learn how to be a mother for yourself. You have to become that person who says, ‘Don’t worry, you’re doing fine. You’re doing the best you can.’ Sure, you can call friends who’ll say that to you. And maybe you can call other relatives you’re close to, and they’ll say it, too. But hearing it from the person who taped up all your scraped knees, and consoled you through all the C’s you brought home from school, and helped you with your first lemonade stand, that person who watched you take every step and really knows you, or at least the one you perceive as really knowing you, that’s the one you count on. That’s the one you keep looking for.” The sad reality is that although you keep looking for that, you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s gone and memories will have to suffice.

She kept all of my secrets (she literally took them to the grave with her). She gave me advice on love, friendships, fashion and just life in general. Whenever I was faced with any problem, no matter how big or small, she was the first person I called and she would help me figure it out. She always knew exactly what to do, even when I didn’t want to do exactly what I should do. She knew all of my friends and she knew which of those friends were true and she never hesitated to remind me. She got my jokes. She made me laugh. She was the person I called to vent to…about anything and everything. And she always listened, even if she had to call me back when The Steve Harvey Show was over. She would tell me that I was too nice and needed to learn to start saying “no”. She would tell me what to say or6705983399adf23f5e7deed93282e8ea not to say when I wasn’t sure. She would tell me when my pants were too tight or my skirt was too short and she would keep telling me until I changed. She called me when I was out late to ask if I was okay and what time I would be home. She told me over and over that I was beautiful. She made me confident. She consoled me when I cried. She helped me fix my heart every time it was broken. She showed me how to love. She cared about me more than she cared about herself. She loved my daughter, her only grandchild, even more than she loved me.  She was my first friend. She was the best friend I ever had. For thirty years she was that one person who was always on my side, in my corner cheering me on, no matter what, through every single moment of my life and suddenly one day she wasn’t there anymore. I can’t ‘get over it’ and I don’t really want to.  The memories that I have of her are what get me through everyday.  Going to bed at night and dreaming of her can make me so happy sometimes, but that happiness quickly fades when I wake up and realize every morning that she is gone.  Hope Edelman, author of ‘Motherless Daughters’ said “I also now know that the pain is worth it if it helps me to remember her.  The pain is a reminder that I once had an extraordinary mother who loved me a lot.  That’s something I want to remember.”  The only thing greater than her presence in my life, is her absence and her presence influenced who I was, and now her absence influences who I am.  When I say that I miss her and I want my Mummy, it’s not because I want someone to feel sorry for me. It’s because of all that she was to me and I know that I will never have that in my life again and it can never be replaced.

So please forgive me but, I just want my Mummy.









“There is an empc36257d75c7a79a0497d352083fb1bf4tiness inside of me – a void that will never be filled. No one in your life will ever love you as your mother does. There is no love as pure, unconditional and strong as a mother’s love. And I will never be loved that way again.” – Hope Edelman


6 Things My Mother’s Death Taught Me about Life…

This post is already a week late so rather than waste anymore time, let me get right into it…

1.  Your entire life as you know it could be completely turned upside down in a matter of seconds.  One second my mother and I were sitting in the emergency room of the hospital talking about the rest of our plans for the day and a few seconds later she was having a heart attack right in front of my face.  Just like that, my life as I knew it was over and I never saw it coming.  We tend to take so many things in our lives and just our lives in general for granted, we do not realize how easily it can all change and how little control we have over life.  That is the first thing that my mother’s death taught me…that in one simple moment your life can completely change.  Be grateful for every single second of it.


2.  When the funeral ends, everything else is just beginning.  Usually when someone dies, everyone knows that obviously a funeral or memorial of some sort will be held in honour of the person’s life.  This is pretty standard.    Right after my mother died and just up until the funeral, my house was filled with friends, visitors and family every single day.  The day after the funeral it was as if none of it ever happened.  It is my grief and I have to deal with it alone, but actually being alone and feeling alone is a big slap in the face, especially after so many people were surrounding you and promising to “always be there”.

3.  NOBODY in the world will ever love you like your parents do.  This is one of the biggest lessons I learned from my mother’s death.  She was my angel, my right hand, my cheerleader, my motivator, my counselor, the love of my life, my EVERYTHING.  And when she died, I realized that I had no one left in my corner.  It sounds harsh but thats life, very harsh.  When they say that a mother’s love is unconditional, it is the absolute truth.  No one in life could have and probably will ever love me the way she did.  And her love was unwavering.  I will never experience love like that again, except from me to my own child.  I am just so grateful that I learned how to from the best possible teacher I could have ever had.


4. Nobody can hurt you and screw you over better than your own family can.  This number will leave many people upset I’m sure, and many corns mashed, as Bahamians say, but I’m being honest here.  Some of the biggest hurts and deepest pains I have experienced since my mother died have been due to my family.  Like I said previously, feeling alone is probably the worst feeling in the world.  But feeling alone when everyone who knows you believes that you aren’t alone because they are so sure that your family has your back and is there for you, when that really isn’t the case is also not a good feeling.  After my mother died, the phone calls, messages, e-mails and everything else stopped.  I have had family ask me if I expect a pity party.  I actually don’t expect one but having someone care enough to throw one for me would be kinda nice I guess.  What I’ve learned is that most people who say they care about you actually don’t.  What they do care about is the image that is portrayed to outsiders looking in and of course everyone likes the idea of having a big happy family….right?


5.  I have the best friends in the entire world.  I always knew that I had awesome friends but my mother’s death taught me that my friends are truly irreplaceable and they are my true family.  They say friends are the family that God allowed you to pick for yourself.  After my mother’s death I gained about 6 sisters and even a few brothers.  Before my mother died I was an only child.  My friends have been there with me since the second my mother got admitted to the hospital and they have stood by me every step of this journey which is my life now.  They have seen me at my lowest and have made sure that I reached my highest.  They let me vent, cry, bitch, rant and bitch some more, and they constantly remind me that when I am ready to bitch again they will be there….with wine.  They have kept me sane throughout everything and I know that there is no way in the world that I will ever be able to repay any of them for that.

6.  I am one strong woman.  I would always say it but I don’t think I ever really believed it.  Whenever I would think about the day that I would have to experience life without my mom, I would think of myself about 20-30 years from now, with a husband to lean on and probably a few more kids.  I never thought that I would have to go through it alone.  And if someone told me that I would, I probably would have been so sure that I would not come out alive.  But I did.  I made it.  I am still standing.  I am beaten, broken and bruised but I am here.  I must admit that I have even surprised myself with how well I have been able to handle my mother’s passing, but I know that it is because of the strength that I learned from her and she was probably the strongest woman I have ever known and she obviously passed that on to me.  Not to mention the fact that I have the most beautiful daughter whose face is all the inspiration I need to get up everyday and make the most of life, if only for her.  And finally, it is because I serve an awesome God and I know that even in my darkest hour, He will never leave me.