The statement, "Oh I didn't even notice you were black. I don't see color," has been said to me on countless occasions. It’s patronizing and insulting.
Justin burst on to the stage singing “Like I Love You” with a guitar strapped around his body. This was the first time in my life I wished I was an instrument.
“How can you justify watching a show about a glorified mistress? You’re supposed to be a feminist. How can you support a show about one woman destroying another woman’s home?” I was asked.
You may be one of the many people who vowed to get fit in the New Year, reneged on that commitment and now subsequently you’re losing money as gym contracts are notoriously difficult to get out of. I know because I tried it once.
I made a new potential friend recently. She shared my love of cake, Beyoncé and sub-moronic reality TV, which seems like a decent enough foundation to build any relationship.
Perhaps it’s 2012 fatigue (I’m so over this year and all its accompanying madness), but I couldn't muster the will to be outraged about Instagram's proposed (then scrapped) policy change. Believe me I tried.