Archives for : January2014

Rihanna Shades The Grammys

We all know Rih-Rih IS NOT SCARED to speak her mind on these social media streets.  And she’s done it again.  Check out her “Throwback Thursday” picture on Instagram.

2014-01-31 08.50.23

YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, Robin! I’m here for this shade!

Rihanna’s “Unapologetic” won a Grammy for Best Urban Contemporary Album, but (obviously) she wasn’t there is accept it.  This was one of the categories that wasn’t televised.  As I’ve said before, I believe hip-hop/urban artists should not support the Grammys anymore.  If you’re good enough to perform for ratings, then you’re good enough to have you accepting your award on stage aired.

Twitter: @TashaSaysdotcom

I Don’t See Nothin’ Wrong… (Livin’ For Jesus Christ)

I want to take the time out to wish you all a good morning.  And I just wanted to drop this off.  Sip on your coffee whilst listening to this original piece by this hard sangin’ brotha.

You’re welcome.

What Happens When You Miss A Few Steps In A Pageant?

This.  This is what happens when you miss a few steps…


The depths of my soul from which I am laughing cannot be explained.

Ma’am STOP. It’s over.

Toni Braxton Buys Multi-million Dollar Home

I’m here for Toni Braxton.  She has put out some hits (I STILL listen to “Toni Braxton” from beginning to end), and I am rooting for her and Babyface’s new project to do well.

However, I just don’t understand this.  Toni filed for bankruptcy…twice.  Is this really a good move?  I just hope she’s learned her lesson and has made better choices.

TMZ reports:

Reality TV can pull you out of bankruptcy and get you a $3 million house next to Justin Bieber … all in 6 MONTHS … and Toni Braxton’s living proof.

Real estate sources tell TMZ, Toni — whose reality show “Braxton Family Values” is already on its third season — just purchased a mansion for close to $3 million in Calabasas’ exclusive gated community The Oaks … just a few houses down from Justin.

The house is 4 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, and measures 5,323 sq. ft.

Technically, it’s the smallest house in the neighborhood … but still, not too bad for someone who was dead ass broke less than a year ago.

Toni’s real estate purchase has to sting for her old creditors — as we reported, when Braxton filed for bankruptcy in 2010 (for the second time) she claimed debts as high as $50,000,000 … and only ended up repaying a tiny fraction of that before the debts were cleared entirely.

Only in America …

Debts cleared entirely.  WELP!

It Happened To Me – Yoga and TRASH

So I just read this article.  It’s about an overweight black woman in her yoga class. And her sympathy for her.  Because CLEARLY the black woman was envious of her “skinny white girl body.” And of course the black woman must be aggressive and hostile. Look.  Just read it for yourself.

If you want the link —- > HERE.


“I was completely unable to focus on my practice, instead feeling hyper-aware of my skinny white girl body.

January is always a funny month in yoga studios: they are inevitably flooded with last year’s repentant exercise sinners who have sworn to turn over a new leaf, a new year, and a new workout regime. A lot of January patrons are atypical to the studio’s regular crowd and, for the most part, stop attending classes before February rolls around.

A few weeks ago, as I settled into an exceptionally crowded midday class, a young, fairly heavy black woman put her mat down directly behind mine. It appeared she had never set foot in a yoga studio—she was glancing around anxiously, adjusting her clothes, looking wide-eyed and nervous. Within the first few minutes of gentle warm-up stretches, I saw the fear in her eyes snowball, turning into panic and then despair. Before we made it into our first downward dog, she had crouched down on her elbows and knees, head lowered close to the ground, trapped and vulnerable. She stayed there, staring, for the rest of the class.

Because I was directly in front of her, I had no choice but to look straight at her every time my head was upside down (roughly once a minute). I’ve seen people freeze or give up in yoga classes many times, and it’s a sad thing, but as a student there’s nothing you can do about it. At that moment, though, I found it impossible to stop thinking about this woman. Even when I wasn’t positioned to stare directly at her, I knew she was still staring directly at me. Over the course of the next hour, I watched as her despair turned into resentment and then contempt. I felt it all directed toward me and my body.

I was completely unable to focus on my practice, instead feeling hyper-aware of my high-waisted bike shorts, my tastefully tacky sports bra, my well-versedness in these poses that I have been in hundreds of times. My skinny white girl body. Surely this woman was noticing all of these things and judging me for them, stereotyping me, resenting me—or so I imagined.

I thought about how even though yoga comes from thousands of years of south Asian tradition, it’s been shamelessly co-opted by Western culture as a sport for skinny, rich white women. I thought about my beloved donation-based studio that I’ve visited for years, in which classes are very big and often very crowded and no one will try to put a scented eye pillow on your face during savasana. They preach the gospel of yogic egalitarianism, that their style of vinyasa is approachable for people of all ages, experience levels, socioeconomic statuses, genders, and races; that it is non-judgmental and receptive. As such, the studio is populated largely by students, artists, and broke hipsters; there is a much higher ratio of men to women than at many other studios, and you never see the freshly-highlighted, Evian-toting, Upper-West-Side yoga stereotype.

I realized with horror that despite the all-inclusivity preached by the studio, despite the purported blindness to socioeconomic status, despite the sizeable population of regular Asian students, black students were few and far between. And in the large and constantly rotating roster of instructors, I could only ever remember two being black.

I thought about how that must feel: to be a heavyset black woman entering for the first time a system that by all accounts seems unable to accommodate her body. What could I do to help her? If I were her, I thought, I would want as little attention to be drawn to my despair as possible—I would not want anyone to look at me or notice me. And so I tried to very deliberately avoid looking in her direction each time I was in downward dog, but I could feel her hostility just the same. Trying to ignore it only made it worse. I thought about what the instructor could or should have done to help her. Would a simple “Are you okay?” whisper have helped, or would it embarrass her? Should I tell her after class how awful I was at yoga for the first few months of my practicing and encourage her to stick with it, or would that come off as massively condescending? If I asked her to articulate her experience to me so I could just listen, would she be at all interested in telling me about it? Perhaps more importantly, what could the system do to make itself more accessible to a broader range of bodies? Is having more racially diverse instructors enough, or would it require a serious restructuring of studio’s ethos?

I got home from that class and promptly broke down crying. Yoga, a beloved safe space that has helped me through many dark moments in over six years of practice, suddenly felt deeply suspect. Knowing fully well that one hour of perhaps self-importantly believing myself to be the deserving target of a racially charged anger is nothing, is largely my own psychological projection, is a drop in the bucket, is the tip of the iceberg in American race relations, I was shaken by it all the same.

The question is, of course, so much bigger than yoga—it’s a question of enormous systemic failure. But just the same, I want to know—how can we practice yoga in good conscience, when mere mindfulness is not enough? How do we create a space that is accessible not just to everybody, but to every body? And while I recognize that there is an element of spectatorship to my experience in this instance, it is precisely this feeling of not being able to engage, not knowing how to engage, that mitigates the hope for change.”




First of all, I need to point out that this is trash.  And not your regular trash, but the trash that get stuck at the bottom of the big garbage can.  The trash that is at the bottom of the pile in a hoarder’s house.  A hoarder of trash and cats.

I am convinced that this young lady just had an itch to write something about a black person.  It makes NO sense.  What was the point?  Why did she even have to mention that the woman was black?  And … she just KNEW that the woman was in “despair” and was getting “hostile” because she was “stereotyping” and “judging” you? Does this simple peon not realize that that’s EXACTLY what she’s doing in this “article?”  Stereotyping and judging?  Suddenly you could “feel her hostility?”

“Over the course of the next hour, I watched as her despair turned into resentment and then contempt. I felt it all directed toward me and my body.” <— So you read minds now?  As you’re looking at her ONLY while being upside down in downward dog?  And you went home and cried?

The poor poor helpless white girl crying tears for the hostile overweight black woman because it’s just soooooo sad that there aren’t MORE black women in your yoga class which you are realizing has the stereotype of being only for rich white women and now you’re hyper aware of your skinny white girl body and that’s such a tragedy cause if only there were MORE black women in your class this wouldn’t be an issue and you wouldn’t have to feel so bad and now yoru realizing that your’s suddenly uncomfortable with it cause of the big black woman who is full on contempt wasn’t able to do the yoga poses and you noticed this while in downward dog?

Does that cover it?

“The question is, of course, so much bigger than yoga—it’s a question of enormous systemic failure.” <— Well.  She got this part right. But she has NO idea that SHE is a reflection of this.


Bye, Sis.