Ok. Listen up I'm only going to say this ONE more time...

Can I just pose this to everyone:

No one needs to educate me to not say spic or wet back, I KNOW IT'S WRONG
No one has to educated me to not say chinc, I KNOW IT'S WRONG
No one has to educate me not to say cracker, howlie, gringo, red neck, honkey, etc, I KNOW IT'S WRONG
No one has to educate me not to say fag, I KNOW IT'S WRONG
No one had to educate me not to say: nigger, nappy headed, uncle tom, congo bunny, spook, etc. I KNOW IT'S WRONG.
No one had to educate me not to say F.O.B I KNOW IT'S WRONG

No one, especially in this day and age has to educate me on not saying racial slurs and racial slang BECAUSE IT IS WRONG and I KNOW IT'S WRONG.
It doesn't matter who says it, who "gets" to say it, who shouldn't say it, who refers to whom as those things within a race or outside of that race... BECAUSE IT IS WRONG.

If I say it, IT'S WRONG
If you say it, IT'S WRONG


So why is it that there is a focus on who needs to be educated on when to say something that WE all know is wrong?

Why is it so hard to not KNOW what is and isn't wrong?


Please don't assume that all black people are upset when other races say it and not when their own say it.


I dare say that What you see in the media, is NOT how it is worldwide. Of course the media isn't going to show the black people who HATE that term and discourage other blacks AS WELL as other races from saying it. To even assume such things is as asinine as me taking my Queues about white people from the likes of M&M and Uncle Cracker or even Jeff Foxworthy. or the movie "Deliverance" for that matter.


I am SICK of people accusing me of that very thing. I don't care who you are, black, white, green, yellow, red, purple, sky blue plaid. Those words....( all derogatory words of a racial nature) are offensive, PERIOD. And for anyone to justify another's use of it, in my book is WRONG.


I think "Racist" is an over used word. There's a world of difference in being an ass and using racial slurs on tv, radio, for ratings, comedy, music etc then there is in being racist. Not everyone who uses racial slurs are racist. I will say everyone who uses them are ignorant.

Imus is a jackass. Is he racist? Who knows? Seriously who amongst us knows? I surely don't. But I do know this:
HE IS A JACKASS! *thanks E.S*

ANOTHER THING:

Jessie Jackson and Al Sharpton are SELF APPOINTED. I didn't elect either one of them to think for me, act for me or speak for me. I'm sick of people feeling obligated to give me their opinion of them. I DO NOT CARE what you think of them. I really do not care. Nor do I feel I need to obligate you with my opinion of them. Other people make my life hell each time they open their mouths. I care when it is assumed they speak for all black people of America just because they appointed themselves to do so.



Do I make myself clear?


Don't make me have to come back here and repeat myself.

My daughter.... she cracks me up!

Seriously she does! She was supposed to write a paper today with a "Utah Flavor" to it.
It's so "Utard" you have to laugh. Anyway, I thought I'd share it....

Carrots In My Jell-O

You really shouldn’t ever try to pick the carrots out of your dad’s famous “Jell-o Salad”. You especially shouldn’t try to do this at your annual Pioneer Day family reunion.
My name is Sarah Young, and this is my story.
I awoke the morning of the reunion and started dreading the day. This was the Pioneer Day in which I would have to sit at the adult table. The table where I would have to answer questions about past prom dates, college majors, and BYU admissions. The table where I would eventually have to partake of my dad’s grody Jell-o salad.
Now, this was no ordinary salad. Sure, he starts with the regular mix but then he adds marshmallows, peaches, prune juice, and carrots. I don’t see what so wrong with just eating regular Jell-o but my dad, he’s a dreamer. You see, he imagines that everyone loves his flippin’ salad so he keeps making it. The dog, Moroni, wont even eat it, but its tradition that everyone at the adult table has some.
So I got out of bed, found my cap sleeve t-shirt and put on some knee length shorts. As I came down the stairs into the kitchen, I saw all of my dad’s ingredients laid out on the countertop.
“Look Sarah,” he said, “I’m making a double batch!”
“Great….” I mumbled under my breath. My mom came down the stairs then, asking me to take the minivan and pick my grandparents up from their rest home. I grabbed my flip-flop sandals and ran out the door. I started to drive to the rest home, and all of a sudden a ball hit my side mirror.
“What the fetch?!” I asked as I got out of the car. I soon saw my cousins (who were also my neighbors) running around in their front yard.
“Sorry Sar! Oh my heck! Is that a dent?!” My 8 year old cousin Matthew hollered.
“Ooo, Im telling uncle Carl that you did it, Matthew!” His little sister Megan taunted.
Walking into my grandparents apartment at the home, I heard my grandmother first. “Tom, what in the world is taking you so long? Sarah has been waiting forever!”
“I’m comin’ Berva, just help me find that celery phone thingie.” When we got back to my house Mom, aunt Cheryl, and Grandma took over the kitchen. Dad, Grandpa, uncle Dave, and uncle Pete took over the grill.
The women were making the side dishes and desserts; Funeral potatoes, chocolate chip cookies, something with cornflakes on top of it, pound cake, and macaroni and cheese. “Sar, grab the celery from the fridge for the Mac.” When I opened up the fridge, there it was. If it had eyes, I would say it was staring at me. But there it was, just chilling in the fridge on the top shelf. Dad’s famous “Jell-o Salad”, haunting me. Gagging, I quickly grabbed the celery and shut the door.
“Eatin’ time!” Dad called. All of my starving siblings and cousins rushed outside followed by the mothers, to greet the men of the family. “Sar, grab the Jell-o, will you?”
So there it was, just me and the Jell-o. I was left alone in the house with the salad…. I could drop it and claim an accident. I could say I couldn’t find it. Thinking better of those scenarios, I grabbed my dreaded fate out of the fridge and trudged to the backyard. Putting the bowl on the table seemed to seal my doom.
“Matthew, will you please say the prayer and don’t forget to give thanks for this wonderful food.” Grandma asked. After Matt’s prayer, the children all got their food. Like me, they had learned to bypass the carrot Jell-o. When it became my turn for the food table, the Jell-o had still been untouched. Trying to scoop my spoon around the carrots and marshmallows, I managed to get a small portion of Jell-o and peaches on my plate. All of a sudden there was a big plop of the Jell-o-ed mess on my plate. “Don’t be shy Sar, take as much as you want!” My grandma practically hollered. Feeling defeated and irritated, I walked to the adult table and plopped down in my chair. I took my napkin and placed it in my lap, trying to hide the carrot bits I was putting into it. I guess I wasn’t slick enough.
“Sarah Elisabeth Young, what the heck do you think you’re doing?” My mother yelled from across the table. She then proceeded to grab me out of my chair and march me to the kitchen with my plate and napkin of carrots. She then threw the carrots back into my Jell-o and yelled as she walked back outside, “You will not eat outside with us until you have finished everything on your plate. It is offensive to pick at the food someone else has made for you.”
Because I had been staring down at my plate, I never realized that grandpa was sitting right across from me. In fact, I didn’t remember even seeing him out at the table. “Grandpa, what are you doing in here. Everyone’s outside.”
“Eight years ago, I decided to pick out the carrots…”

BATTER UP!

Who knew hitting would give you such a rush! Went to the batting cages on Saturday and smacked the devil outta some softballs. MAN! It felt sooooooo gooood. I seriously could have been there a couple of hours. Out of 150 pitches, I think I missed only9. Not bad for not having picked up a bat in about 3 years. I think I found a new way to relieve some stress . The inside of my right hand is absolutely black and blue from hitting fast pitches with a slow pitch bat. By mid day you could see the bruising on my hands and thumb. My thumb was twice it's size. I had it on ice most of the day Saturday and some of the day yesterday. It's bruised on the front AND back of my hand but it works so all is good. Guess this week I'll be hunting for a couple of bats and hitting gloves.
I suggest the batting cages if you have any stress tension or anger to get out of your system. It's such a great release! It looks like the softball team I'm supposed to be on at work might fall through. Not enough women want to play for a woman's league or a Co-ed league down here in Utah county. My Midvale leagues doesn't look like its going co-ed either. Sigh! Will my softball experience for this summer be limited to the glory of the batting cages each Saturday morning? I can life with that if I can find someone to play catch with a couple hours a week!

Anyway...

....... BATTER UP!