I wish 2017 a swift death—as in fuck dropping the New Year’s ball, but rather drop a gotdamn guillotine on that shit. Like throw the whole year away and all its fuckery, too. I mean, I could spit a fully cited listicle of trash shit that needs to be funeralized, eulogized, and buried, but it would read like a dissertation and there are collards to cook, chitlins to clean, and black-eyed peas to soak. So I’ll make it short and sweet and to the point by laying out the Top 10 bullshit things that won’t count for the 2018:

• First of all, veganism is not equivalent to elitism. Yucking people’s yum don’t make you great. It makes you hotep—on the food tip. Those leafy greens you’ve been consuming should make you smart enough to know meat-eater’s don’t give a damn about you concocting imaginary meals. And stop trying to convince me that black bean burgers are as insatiable as my mama’s sirloin lamb burgers. Stop acting like spaghetti squash is the absolute shit, when it ain’t. Don’t nobody want a rhododendron posing as fried chicken. We want jerk chicken. Real jerk chicken. So miss us with the culinary theatrics and the fake food. Have a pork chop and chill. 

• Quit body-shaming and thirst-trapping people with your beautifully sculpted abs and ass that you purchased from Santo Domingo. Everybody ain’t got seven stacks to spend on getting right. Impress us beyond the scalpel. Shame us with your dedication to fitness. Let us see that gym work, that crossfit, those squats and leg presses.

• That pose: the one leg slightly bent at the knee–make it go away. That stance got women out here looking like human kickstands. Cease and desist. 

• That other pose: two middle fingers—retire that. Instead of giving the virtual world your two fucks, try giving some real fucks in real life. Love on yourself. Love on somebody that loves you. My dude, just be love. Quit with the shits. 

And, if you must put-on for the camera, but lack originality and maturity, peep Jamel Shabazz’ instagram for the picture perfect poise. Otherwise, cut the clown show.

• Stop using social media for your passive-aggressive appeals. Show tact. Dial phone numbers. Don’t be a coward. If you got something to say, say that shit witcho chest. Poke it out or shut-the-fuck up. Don’t use memes and gifs to do your thuggin. Be the G that you think you are. If that’s too difficult, prepare yourself for an unexpected and well deserved clapback. Then go somewhere and sit down, witcho punkass.

• Sis, chill with calling other women Sis, especially if you ain’t out here sissing. If she can’t chastise your kids when they’re outta pocket, cry on your shoulder ’bout a fucker who did her dirty, look to you for five on it when she’s short on the rent, or go in your fridge without asking permission, then don’t call her Sis.

Sis, chill with calling other women Sis, especially if you ain’t out here sissing. Click To Tweet

If you’re passing judgement on her life, or you got jokes behind her back and all smiles in her presence, or you find overwhelming pleasure in her pain, then you ain’t shit and should definitely stop calling her fam, friend, friend adjacent, homie, homegirl, day one, pud, bestie and more importantly, Sis. Matter-of-fact, don’t even call her. Call on Jesus to cover you in the blood and to save your wretched soul from the hellfire. Don’t even say “Sis” no more. Better yet, use steel wool to scrub that word from your lexicon and off your scurvy tongue. Let’s be clear: it is not a term of endearment if your ass ain’t endearing. It is a slur and YOU are slime, SIS

• Bodak Yellow because it was wavy—operative term here is was wavy. While it is okay to ride the wave when it’s waving, at some point you gotta get off ’cause waves crash. It had its run. It’s over. Don’t sink with the ship. Stay afloat.

• Baby hairs. Because baby hairs.

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Art #BrownGelNBabyHair #ProfessionalBlackGirl

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• Fuck boys. Because fuck boys.

• Human toxicity. Because the world would be that much better without it. Get right with life.  

Cheers to 2018,

Word to Muva.

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Ida Harris

Ida Harris is a proud Ba'beez mama and columnist at MyBrownBaby.com. A cultural critic, she writes about art, feminism, Blackness, and motherhood. When she is not wielding the pen, she is birthing beautiful brown art dolls.

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