How the Grinch Stole Thanksgiving

I'm not gonna lie, this Thanksgiving, I'm a straight up Grinch. I will wear that title proudly. On a holiday where people all over the nation are giving thanks and acknowledging everything they are thankful for, all I can think about is the fucked up situation I'm in. The best way to try and explain it is by giving an example. Ain't it funny how you never truly realize how dark it is until somebody turns on a light? That's how I feel. As I dined with the devil in silence, I listened in to the conversations around me. The families were so happy. Their conversations were the light that shone into my darkness. Damn if this room ain't dark!

Now that I'm back in my room, it feels like I'm shrinking more and more into myself by the minute. This is what I feared would happen. Like a wild animal senses a natural disaster, I sensed the worse was coming and I tried to get out. I moved up my "Atlanta or Bust!" date by 4 months. I even tried waiting out the rest of the week in a hotel room just so I could get my head together and just breathe. From the looks of it, the storm came and I'm now struggling to keep my head above water.

I feel trapped.

Although my entrapment may feel like hell now, I know it's a good thing. The more trapped an animal feels, the more they will fight to get free. Animals have this raw and uncut survivor instinct. I'm a survivor and have no choice but to survive. Failure is not an option. Right now I'm pinned in that corner, and this trapped feeling only angers and scares me enough to fight even harder to get free.

10 Rules For Thanksgiving At Jaz's House

I stole this from somebody's MySpace Bulletin...Hilarious but I Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself
Happy Turkey Day!!!!

1. Don't get in line asking questions about the food. "Who made the potato salad? Is there egg in it? Are the greens fresh? Is the meat in the greens turkey or pork? Who made the macaroni and cheese? What kind of pie is that? Who made it? Ask one more question and I will punch you in your mouth, knocking out all your fronts so you won't be able to eat anything.

2. If you can't walk or are missing any limbs, sit your ass down until someone makes your plate for you. Dinner time is not the time for you to be independent. Nibble on them damn pecans and walnuts to hold you over until someone makes you a plate.

3. If you have kids under the age of twelve, I will escort their little asses to the basement and bring their food down to them. They are not going to tear my damn house up this year. Tell them that they are not allowed upstairs until it's time for Uncle Butchie to start telling family stories about their mommas and papas.

If they come upstairs for any reason except for that they are bleeding to death, I will break a foot off in their asses!

4. There is going to be one prayer for Thanksgiving dinner! JUST ONE! We do not care that you are thankful that your 13 year old daughter gave birth to a healthy baby or your nephew just got out of jail. Save that talk for somebody who gives a damn. The time limit for the prayer is one minute. If you are still talking after that one minute is up, you will feel something hard come across your lips and they will be swollen for approximately 20 minutes.

5. Finish everything on your plate before you go up for seconds! If you don't, you will be cursed out and asked to stay your greedy ass home next year!

6. BRING YOUR OWN TUPPERWARE!! Don't let me catch you fixing yourself a plate in my good Tupperware knowing damn well that I will never see it again! Furthermore, if you didn't bring anything over, don't let me catch you making a plate period or it will be a
misunderstanding.

7. What you came with is what you should leave with!! Do not leave my house with anything that doesn't belong to you.

EVERYBODY WILL BE SUBJECTED TO A BODY SEARCH COMING AND GOING OUT OF MY DOMAIN!!!

8. Do not leave your kids so you can go hopping from house to house. This is not a DAYCARECENTER! There will be a kid-parent roll call every ten minutes. Any parent that is not present at the time of roll call, your child will be put outside until you come and get him or her.

After 24 hours, I will call DHS on your ignorant ass!!

9. BOOK YOUR HOTEL ROOM BEFORE YOU COME INTO TOWN!! There will be no sleeping over at my house! You are to come and eat dinner and take your ass home or to your hotel room. EVERYBODY GETS KICKED THE HELL OUT AT 11:00 pm. You will get a 15 minute warning bell ring.

10. Last but not least! ONE PLATE PER PERSON!! This is not a soup kitchen. I am not trying to feed your family until Christmas dinner! You will be supervised when you fix your plate. Anything over the appropriate amount will be charged to you before you leave. There will be a cash register at the door. Thanks to Cousin Alfred and his greedy ass family, we now have a credit card machine! So VISA and MASTERCARD are now being accepted.

NO FOOD STAMPS OR ACCESS CARDS YET

Dear My Beloved Hater

I hate writing about such traditional themes such as love, heartbreak, and haters...but hell...I gotta make an exception for you. First I want to let you know that I love you. You are what motivates me more than I could ever motivate myself. Call it vain, but there's something about the vision of my success as you only move horizontally through life that gives me a kick. You are the foot up my ass that I need to keep me moving vertically. One of you succeeded in getting me fired. I saw the joy on your face. I laughed, because I knew I was moving onto bigger and better things...and I did. Now I make more money than you! Funny how that all worked out.

Oh yea, we can't forget that time I allowed you to live with me and you robbed me blind. Yea, I get pissed off when I slow down my thoughts enough to remember that you also stole the shoes my best friend got me right before he died (RIP DeMarco). In spite of that, I pity you more than anything. If it brings you joy to wear my (now out of date) clothing & shoes, use my gadgets that you can now only buy exclusively refurbished from the online Apple Store, and hold onto other miscellaneous nick knacks...by all means, go ahead! You clearly loved my style enough to jock it. I am flattered. Also, I'm proud that you take time to think about me each and every day as you tell mutual friends that I lost my house. Child, that's nothin' new and as of 11/26/08..it's not even true. Check my blog (which you may be doing anyway), I've already said I was facing foreclosure in Dear Mr. Bill Collector. Look it up on KCMO.org and type in my name...the property is still mine. Your stupidity makes me laugh. Have a virtual hug...I appreciate when someone can put a smile on my face no matter the circumstances.

I'm racking my brain to think of other hater moves I need to thank you for, but I can't think of any I haven't already randomly addressed or alluded to in other posts. I hate repeating myself. I guess, you're just not as significant to me as I am to you. I think that's how the whole "Hater-Successful" relationship is supposed to work so I'm not worried.

It feels like this year, you've gone and gotten your buddies. 2008 has truly been a trip. You've been multiplying like crazy! I'm loving every minute of it. That means I must be doing something right. I haven't had time to count how many beloved haters I have, nor do I care, but if all goes right...I forecast that this number should be doubled by next year this time. By then I'll truly be doing it big! The cycle is simple: I strive for excellence, you hate, I get encouraged and reach even further, you hate more, yada yada ya. My Success is inversely related to your Hate. According to my calculations, the more you hate, the more I succeed. Damn, if the odds aren't in my favor!

My Beloved Hater, I simply love you. Like Kel loved orange soda: "I do, I do, I dooo"

Iight I gotta go now. Can't go dedicating all my time to you. If I did, you would have nothing to hate on! Then I wouldn't be upholding my part of the contract. So to you, I'll throw the deuces and flash a smile. See ya after a little while!

The Object of Your Envy,
-Jaz

I Live Through Pain

That drawing is an initial sketch of my next tattoo. I was told that pain lets you know you aren't dead yet. It's no secret that I've had a lot of physical pain in my life, but it's the emotional pain that has formed me into the person I have grown to become. Those "Dear" letters you read are examples of my most effective way of understanding my emotions, my pain, and growing from it. I use physical pain to fully move on from it. I used to do it in a very unhealthy way...self-mutilation. Please, nobody go that route. Luckily, I reached out for help before it got extremely serious (love you Lamarr & Emily Kemp)

I marked the place in my skin where I attempted to make my final cut with a tattoo of "Faith" written in Arabic. Having faith that God would bring me through he situations I was faced with at the time saved my life. Because of faith, I never saw the darkness in the tunnel...only the light at the end. Note: The tat on my back has no deep meaning, I really just got it for the hell of it

I have an ear of death. every time someone close to me dies, I add another hole. My other ear (with the scaffold) came about because I was hurting bad inside. You can't say "ouch" to emotions, but you can say "ouch" to physical pain. I took all that emotional pain and channeled it to that ear.

After each piercing or tat, I feel a sense of relief and accomplishment. It's like having a good cry. I suck at crying a significant amount of tears, but tats and piercings get the job done. In my world, pain doesn't mean I'm dying. Pain is life. If you can still hurt emotionally or physically, you are still alive.

Dear Sister Paterson pt.2

You must hate yourself.
Trying to make me feel lower than dirt must make you feel great.

I held back in the first letter. The truth is, I wasn't able to come to grips with how I truly feel about you. In the first letter I focused on what you've done to me. Every bone in my body wanted to call you out of your name and say I hated you, but I resisted. How could you hate someone that always kept a roof over your head, food in your belly, and clothes on your back? The real question should have been, how could you not hate someone for putting me through everything I have endured on account of you. The fact is, I hate you. I hate everything you stand for. I hate your thoughts. Your voice makes my skin crawl. Your footsteps make my fist want to put a hole in the wall to match the one I made back in high school.

Ending up in the hospital was one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. I was kept away from you and I finally had proof I wasn't crazy like you would like people to believe. You never physically abused me, but I learned that there's a such thing as mental abuse. Somehow it was clear to the doctors that I was a victim.

All that glitters isn't gold. You did just enough for me so the state would never take me away. I'll go ahead and say it. You are an unfit parent. You should have never been allowed to give birth. You treat me like you scraped up enough money for an abortion, got to the clinic, and the doctor told you it was to late. My mentor actually asked me if I was an "Oops Baby."

At times I actually sit and try to figure it out. I wonder what I did to you. I wonder what I did to make you hate me. Then I realize, it's not me...it's you. If it was me then everyone around me would also treat me like shit. No one would love me. No one would find me beautiful or smart. No one would want me as a daughter. The fact of the matter is, I'm loved by everyone but you. Countless parents have "adopted" me. Countless wise and highly respected adults have seen something in me that they have fallen in love with. That's how I know the love you give me isn't love at all. It's not healthy, and you don't have the heart of a parent.

For once, I'm going to be honest with myself. I envy my friend who is a child of the state. I know he's had it rough, but he made it through and doesn't have to have contact with his mother if he doesn't want to. I wish that were me. I finally realized that it can be me. Enjoy these last days of putting me through hell. I'm done. I don't want you in my life, and for the first time in my life, I'm realizing that you don't have to be there. Let me outline this for you:

• I don't have to give you my address.
• I don't have to give you my phone number.
• I can block your email address or label it as spam.
• I can make it so the only way you'll even know I'm still alive is if you were to search for me on myspace.
  
• I can delete you from my life.
  

I'm enduring these last days with you. When you belittle me, I laugh. You should see yourself. You look so dumb with all your corporate parenting n shit. This isn't a business meeting, I'm your daughter in case you forgot. It's like you sense the end is near so you are trying to milk this situation for every drop of satisfaction you get. At the beginning of this letter I was crying. Now I'm smiling. I'm that crazy competitor that gets beaten shitless but still manages to talk shit as you walk away. That's a sign of a person who is just crazy enough to be a survivor. I'm a fuckin survivor. Thanks for making me stronger.

Get Well Faith

Last night I found my dog, Faith, curled up in the bathroom shaking/shivering. I picked her up and she yelped out in pain. I carried her to my bed and put a sweater on her then put her under the covers and prayed for her. It was the scariest night of my life.

In the morning I took her to the vet and found out she had a slipped disc in her back and she was running a fever. She received shots and the doc sent me home with some meds. I'm so thankful that he only charged me 1/2 the price.

This is the first time in my life I've felt totally helpless and emotional for someone/something other than myself. Faith is my best friend and my love. She's my daughter. For the first time I understand how my mother felt when she saw me in the hospital totally unable to walk or even stand up. I feel helpless. I should be able to protect Faith and I don't want her to ever hurt. I don't know what to do. She won't eat, she walks slow, her personality has even lost its zing. This really hurts me.

Mixed in with my emotions for my dog is a bit of anger. When I was unable to stand after I mysteriously collapsed, my mother put me on a flight back to Atlanta that very same morning. I was hurt and angry she would make such a poor decision, but now those emotions are intensified. I couldn't imagine leaving Faith's side even for a moment. It hurt me to even go to the grocery store so I could cook her some ground turkey. I refuse to let her our of my sight.

I've posted a video of Faith playing with her favorite toy when she was a puppy (almost 1yrs old), now she's just about 3. This is Faith in all her playful and feisty glory. If I never see this Faith again, I'll be sad, but I'll love her just the same. She's my special love. My hope, my joy, my everything. She's always been there for me in my darkest days. Nobody can lick a forehead or sleep on your hair like she can! (lol)

Get Well Soon
Miss. Faith Nicole Taylor

Thug'N Love

There's something magical about the love a down female shares for her "thug." It's that unspoken bond that lets each partner know that what they share is completely special and secret. It's a bond not to be understood by the outside world. That's love in its purest form...at least that's what I believe.

To the untrained and unknowing eye, it makes no sense - especially when everything comes crashing down. Why would any desirable woman hold still hold it down for her man when he gets caught up. Why wouldn't she just leave him alone and move on? Why dedicate your time and emotional energies to someone you'd be lucky to touch twice a year? Most just don't understand. At the basis of any meaningful "Thug'N Love" relationship is a friendship. The question I ask you is, "Would you turn your back on a friend?"

Ayo Technology

For over a year I've been putting up with this Cingular 3125 that Nielsen Media Research provided free phone service for as a thank you for participating in one of their panels. The panel ended and it's time for Her Royal Flyyness to get back on her ding! Thanks to my BFF, I was able to get the new T-Mobile G1. So far: I love it.

Yea it's ugly, bulky, and heavy. The Android software fully makes up for it. Besides its appearance, flat keys, and quickness to time out when you are on a call, it's a hit!

I'm not sure what I love most about it. Maybe it's the touch screen that makes me curious as to how I ever lived without it. Perhaps it's the loud speaker system that blasts the streaming radio, my songs, and my ring tones. I must say, this phone has knock. I'm not sure if it's the wonderfully clear camera, the free applications, or the incorporation of Google. Whatever it is, I'm in love.

This phone will not only come in handy during times of boredom where I can play games, watch youtube videos, IM, listen to music, or just surf the net. This phone is also going to save me time. The biggest advantage is the fact that I can use google maps and get directions. If my phone ever gets lost/stolen I can use the GPS to locate it. Best of all, I can finally find my car in a parking lot after a day of shopping!

I anticipate big things from the G1. The Android operating system is a true game changer. I put this in the category of the Sidekick Color. This is a great start that I fully expect T-mobile to improve upon in years coming. I'm looking forward to seeing the applications that developers are going to add to the Marketplace.

My iPod Touch comes in the mail next week so I'll be able to compare the two seeing as the iPod Touch and iPhone are very similar. I already know the iPhone is slimmer, sexier, and the touch screen does more. We'll see what the other differences are. I have the strange feeling that it's going to be like comparing apples to oranges. I also don't know how good of a comparison it will be seing as I am fully in love with Apple products. Only time will tell..

Real Vs. Fake

It's been a while, but I don't like writing publicly without carefully gathering my thoughts. What I'm about to talk about is a principle that we've been discussing since I was in middle school. The issue of fakeness. Back then we called it "2-faced." Speaking badly about a person behind their back then acting like everything was fine and dandy when you are in their face. Therefore creating 2 faces. Now that I'm in my adulthood, I never thought I would still be dealing with this.

I cringed everyday at work from being a fly on the wall and listening to all the fakeness that surrounded me. Girls did all but declare war against each other but then smiled, spoke as if they were the best of friends, and even went as far as to offer to share cheesecake. All I'm saying is, if you don't like a person, why are you offering them expensive chocolate cheesecake?

Fakeness got me fired.

One woman who is over a decade older than me decide to rudely confront me while on the floor but when I went to clear up whatever drama she had going on and was accusing me of, she wouln't own up to hers. That's not being a woman. That's not being real about yours. Passing yourself off as a woman who is strong enough to accuse but can't handle it when it comes back to you is superficial and weak. I pity her not just because she's weak, but also because she's putting up a front. Her eloquence is often mistaken for intelligence. I haven't been in the habit of putting people on blast in a blog for years now, but I'm going to make an exception just to demonstrate to all of you what fakeness is. Her are the stats:

• 34 years of age
• Feels that earning an associates degree from a community college in Buisness Management will get her somewhere
• No Kids
• Makes a little over $10.50/hr
• Can't hold a job and was fired from a recent job after complaints of her lack of leadership in her position
• Is eloquent, but it is a well known fact, she doesn't know a damn thang
• Will speak badly about people (even management), but won't own up to it when it gets back to the person
• Actually got in her feelings about what she THOUGHT a person 12 years younger than her had to say about her. (just for some perspective, that's like me caring about what a 10 yr old has to say...)
  

Again, I'm not trying to put this pitiful excuse of a woman on blast. Her stats do that for me. I'm just trying to illustrate a point. Being fake may get you somewhere temporarily (i.e. her recent promotion), but it's only temporary. Soon your world will crumble around you. The real always land on their feet. Less than 3 hours after I was escorted out of the building, I landed an interview with another company paying significantly higher than my last position.

Real recognizes Real
Real spots Fake
Fake doesn't see Real

"How Can I Appear Real Through Fake Eyes"
-Paul Washington

A Black Woman & Her Hair

This weekend I fully intended on posting up some deep or insightful shit. I mean we have a Black President-Elect....It's only right. Unfortunately, all I can focus on is my throbbing head. I'm convinced that nothing awakes the spirit like a fresh hairstyle and an eyebrow wax. While I wasn't feelin' the $15 for my wax, I did get my locks tightened and styled. Whew honey! My head hurts like nobody's business.

Last night as I debated whether to deal with the pain of these braids or just say fuck it and take the chance on getting in contact with my loctician to have her redo them...I thought, I must be stupid. A white woman would never endure such pain for a hairstyle. But then again, I'm not white.

While feeling the wrinkles in my scalp caused by a determined stylist, I thought about what Black women go through for our hair. Here's a list of nutty things we do:

• We get burned and singed by pressing combs
• Every Black women who has ever used a curling iron has sported the forehead burn complete with swooped bang to cover
  
• That sensational burning feeling only a relaxer can give
  
• Trying to comb out your hair after braids is no fun & quite painful
• Braids...I need not say more
• Ponytails so tight our eyes turn chinky
• Those metal clips used when re twisting locks provide a less than desirable feeling
• Pretty Sleeping
  
• Avoid rain like cats and run from it like roaches
• Plastic grocery sacks under swim caps for extra protection
• Tight sew-ins, yanking to get that needle through the braid
• Cricks/Knots in our necks from holding them at angels as we get styled

If you can't identify with at least 5 things in this list, then honey, you just don't have the stuff Ethnic hair is made of! We go through all this pain and struggle just for a flyy hairstyle that others marvel at. Our hair is as much of a work of art as any painting by Picasso. There's nothing like the satisfaction of hearing another woman say, "Your stylist got down on your hair girl!" or having a White woman marvel at the genius that is Ethnic Hair.

So yea, my shit is throbbing. So far I've had 4 Tylenols, 2 Asprins, and countless spritzes of Braid Spray. You gotta do what you gotta do to maintain a certain level of flyyness. I'm willing to pay my dues just like the Black Women before me did. I know that when I walk through that door at work tommorow all eyes will be on me. Haters eat your hearts out!!!...(that post is coming very soon)

Barack Obama Ya'll

I'm emotionally frozen. My President of the United States of America is Black. I really don't know what to say, but we made it. After being brought over to a country against our will. Being strategically separated by language. Enduring over 300 years of slavery. Living through racist Jim Crow. Being seen as the lowest version of humans...we weren't even seen as actual people. For years we were just property or allowed to be counted as half a person. Now, one of our own...a Black American....holds the highest office in the country. I don't know what else to say, but we made it.

As I see the tears of our Black leaders and Black journalists in broadcast media, I know why they are crying. White Obama supporters may be happy, but Black Americans are emotional. We have been through so much and all I can say is we made it. This event is so historic that even John McCain was forced to recognize it in his speech. True enough the true highlight of my evening was the announcement that Obama had won, but there was another. When the camera panned over to McCain's headquarters, after the announcement had been made, McCain supporters were totally oblivious. They were low in spirits, but not yet made aware that they had lost. I loved every minute of watching their complete oblivion. Furthermore, they panned the crowd and I saw not one Black face. How can you lead America if your supporters don't even look like America? Perhaps Spongebob & Patrick Star said it best in the Spongebob Movie: IN YOUR FACE!

The reason I am frozen is because this is a moment I never imagined in my wildest dreams I'd ever see. I never dreamed of seeing a Black Presidential candidate. I never dreamed I'd see a Black Presidential candidate's name on the ballot. I never dreamed I'd see a Black Presidential elect give a victory speech. I never dreamed a Black President would be inaugurated. I never dreamed a Black President would live in the white house. This isn't a dream come true, because I never dared to dream that big. Anything is possible. All dreams are possible.

Everything our ancestors went through in this country were worth it. Through their struggles, blood, tears, sweat, etc.... they turned us into survivors. They gave us the strength to endure. They taught us to never give up hope.

WE MADE IT!

Ps: Black people, this is NOT a national holiday. Take your ass to work tomorrow!

Flyyness Has No Occasion

Flyyness is as simple as black & white
Either you're flyy or you aren't
-Her Royal Flyyness

I finally have rock solid proof that I simply don't fit in up here. People think I want to fit in, but they are dead wrong. I grabbed this picture off of a facebook album from UMKC's Sigma Week. It was taken on Tuesday, October 25, 2008. As you can see, I was totally unaware the picture was being taken. In case you are blind, I'm the one in the front row in black & white. Even a kindergardner would be able to pick out the person that doesn't belong.

It's not about being the most colorful or having the most accessories. I have on a simple black and white outfit with a red belt. You can't get more simple than that. I was actually playing homage to the old school newspaper that day. My legs are crossed at the ankle (right over left) and not at the knee.

I'm not posting this picture to brag or to talk bad about these other young adults. I simply want to make a point. Flyyness truly has no occasion. If you only get flyy when you are going out to the club, you aren't really flyy at all. They call me Her Royal Flyyness because I stay dipped everyday (even on weeknights) no matter the occasion. Maybe that's the Atlanta coming out in me....

I Baracked the Vote

I am Miss Black America. Today I voted for my first Black president. I'm not really the type to get emotional over stuff you are actually supposed to get emotional over, but this was different.

The whole process took 2.5 hours, and honestly it didn't feel too historic at first. I waited for hours next to an elderly woman who smelled like pee and had no regard for personal space. By the time I made it into the polling room, I was just relieved to get the hell away from her.

I got emotional once I saw Barack's name on the little electronic machine. There it was in black and white. Barack Obama/Joe Biden - DEM. When history books write about the first African American presidential candidate, I can say I was there to vote for him. I took it upon myself to find early voting. I stood in line for hours to vote. I voted for the first Black President. I served my duty as an American and a citizen of Black America. I couldn't help but feel emotional at this very historic moment.

After voting, I couldn't help but think about the responsibility Obama will carry if he wins. He will not only have to be 20x greater than Bill Clinton just to be viewed as equal. He will be under close scrutiny. Barack will also carry with him an unspoken burden to be the Messiah for Black America. Only the most radical among us expect him to enact reparations for slavery, but we do expect something. We expect him to somehow right some of the wrongs that are seen in CNN Presents: Black in America. We expect him to not only run the free world, but act as a Black leader. We expect him to encourage us, to somehow make things better, to fund projects that will uplift our torn communities. Barack Obama holds the fragile ecosystem that is Black America in his hands.

God forbid, Obama looses. Black America will be crushed. It may be decades until we see another one of our citizens in that position. Morale in Black America will be lower than ever. I'll be shocked if I don't see riots. Fuck the reasons Republicans state for why Obama is unqualified. We know the truth. If Obama looses it is because he is Black.

While standing in line with the elderly church women, it became even more clear to me that loosing is not an option. They quoted Bible verses that clearly had nothing to do with this 2008 election. The verse said something about, "Those on top will go to the bottom." Hell, if they like it - I love it. Black Americans view Obama as the man who holds the key to freedom. He is the gatekeeper to the America, White America has been enjoying for centuries. Once he is elected, Black America will slowly be able to fade and blend into one America. He represents all minorities. People are clinging to every ounce of hope or sign that victory is ours.

For the first time in decades, Black America is coming together. Like the instinct birds are born with that tells them to fly south for the winter, Black Americans sense it's time to focus and fight for our freedom. The hoards of people waiting to vote in that community center gymnasium, all knew they had to be there. This election voting is not a choice just as breathing is not a choice. It is something that must be done to survive.

If you haven't voted yet, vote on November 1st. If early voting is not an option vote on November 2nd with everyone else. If the lines are long, don't leave. Bring your state identification, bring your voter card, bring whatever you need to prove your identity. Leave your Obama paraphernalia at home. Emotions are running high so do whatever it takes to stay peaceful. Don't give them any reason to turn you away. Know that your right to vote was made sacred by your ancestors who fought for it. You are creating history. You represent Black America.

I am Miss Black America.