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This Square Peg.

Happily Not Fitting In Since 1978.

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lupita nyong’o

The Chocolate Meeting.

What would happen, perchance to dream:

Scene: after a premiere that I’ve somehow been invited to, during a meet-and-greet. 

Lupita: Hello, [Government Name]. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for your support.

Me: Your elegance, talent, and grace are inspiriring, Ms. Nyong’o.

Lupita: Oh, please call me Lupita. And thank you so much!

The End.

Now: what would actually happen in real life:

Lupita: Hello, [Government Name]. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for your supp–oh, dear. Someone call a paramedic. The poor woman has fainted.

The Real End.

Happy Monday, dear reader. Onwards and upwards…

(*Photo courtesy of Instagram*)

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How Queens Attend Galas.

By now, I’m sure you’ve seen photos of Queen Lupita at the 2016 Met Gala.

Oh, you haven’t?

Why not?

No, we won’t go there. I’m here to help.

"Manus x Machina: Fashion In An Age Of Technology" Costume Institute Gala - Arrivals
Photo by Rabbani and Solimene Photography/Getty Images

Right? Are you still breathing? Let’s look at one more, shall we?

QueenL
Photo courtesy of Vulture.com

If you look to the left of Lupita, that’s actor Nate Parker in the background, to the left, quite humorously and openly caught up in the rapture of the Queen.

Absolutely loving the glamour and grandeur and chocolateness and beauty and class and elegance of our lady. And that hair! I won’t discuss the foolishness of Vogue magazine crediting Lupita’s hairstyle to Audrey Hepburn and completely diminishing the distinctly African influences behind the style. Not worth my typing time. But trust and believe that our Lupita responded in her usual classy and direct way.

Happy Queen Monday, everyone…

would you like a magazine?

When I was a teenager, the answer to that question would have been yes, yes, a thousand times, yes. Back then, I was a connoisseur of all things glossy reading materials: the goal was to spend every bit of my pocket money (the African parent’s version of allowance) on any magazine I could feast my eyes on. From the fashion bibles (Vogue, Elle, Bazaar, etc.) to the women’s magazines brimming with articles that I totally didn’t identify with but read anyway (looking at you, Cosmopolitan), to my beloved teen mags (Sassy, Seventeen, Teen, YM, etc.), to the entertainment magazines that I loved so (Vanity Fair, Entertainment Weeklyetc.)–the addiction was so, so real.

collage
Image courtesy of Fanpop.

In hindsight, I think the magazines represented a version of life that seemed so glamorous and glitzy; hardly anything like my boring teen life in Somewheres, VA. These days, you can hardly bribe me to spend money on a magazine. Funny, how something that was once a crutch becomes unnecessary when you 1) grow up; 2) realize that “glamour” is utterly relative and fleeting; 3) would rather spend money on dinner and a play than a glossy read about something that won’t matter the next day. My sharp-eyed readers will read that last two statements and wonder about all the magazines that bear the lovely chocolate face of my Lupita, muttering to themselves that they know I’ve purchased those. No, my dear ones. I read the articles online and gaze at my queen through a computer screen. Welcome to the dawn of a new generation. The few mags I’ve actually flipped through have come to me via my mother’s subscriptions. I will admit this, though: the best thing about that airport life is flipping through those silly gossip rags. The best thing, as well, is recycling them once I get back to reality. (Do you view the airport like I do? An Oz where things like carbs and healthy eating don’t matter, where pretzels can be chewed with abandon while you chuckle over the latest antics of yet another starlet unable to make good life choices?)

I digress, as usual. The point of this post isn’t to look back in anger or regret. Here’s to that 15 year-old eagerly taking in the words and images crowding the pages of yet another shiny magazine. Because a few good things came out of the obsession. For one, I didn’t just stick with fashion and teen journals. I also devoured TimeLife, Newsweek: all of which fed my hunger for stories about real people and real life, certainly a boon for my fiction. Another thing: I accumulated enough facts to join any trivia team and win it for the team. Use my brain. I don’t mind. Lastly, it was fun! I have awesome memories of afternoons spent on my unmade bed, going through magazine after magazine, smiling at the sights I saw, reading until it was time for dinner. It really did make Boring Teen Life slightly less ordinary.

Are you a magazine lover?

She Twirls.

  
15 seconds of Queen Lupita twirling during her InStyle magazine shoot, as posted by her highness on her Instagram page. Take in all that African Girl Wonder. Breathe it in. And then find an empty office somewhere and do your own Friday twirl. Slow motion would even be better.

Bon weekend, dear readers. 

Level: I’m Not Ready. (And Neither Are You.)

LupitaRhapsody

That’s where the fangirl level has landed. I’m neither ready nor can I handle this.

(Awesome pictorial courtesy of Tumblr and Rhapsody Magazine)

La Femme Lupita.

She once again graces the cover of Vogue. I may or may not wait in line to purchase my copy. Just saying. vogue4

Image/cover courtesy of Vogue magazine.

How Queens Fly.

lupitaairport

She manages to give me Jackie O and simply Lupita all at once. Le sigh.

The Influenza Monster.

First, hi. Second, yep, it’s been several weeks. Third, yep, we’re in an entirely different year than we were in my last post. Hope you’re loving 2015 so far. Me? I’m trying to make it through the day without passing out within inches of my co-workers.

During the past week, I was felled by a vicious attack of the Influenza Monster (IM). Perhaps this was the IM’s revenge for the several years I refused to allow a portion of it to be injected into my bloodstream? I don’t know. Perhaps it heard me talking to friend after friend about how powerful it supposedly was this winter and decided to force me to speak from experience?

Not nearly as cute when I was holed up under a blanket.
Not nearly as cute when I was holed up under a blanket.

Don’t know. Punishment for my devil-may-care lifestyle where I don’t wash my hands 100 times a day and/or pour Purel all over myself and still hug my friends? Who knows. The point is that it was hardcore, you people. It was hardcore. My entire body ached. Even my eyeballs hurt. I learned what a cougheeze™ is, which is when your body produces a violent cough and a violent sneeze all at the same time. Unrelenting and painful. (Shout out to my mom for her enduring patience and taking care of This Square Peg.) The IM basically stole my essence. Now, as I sit before this computer, I have the energy of an orange. Not the healthy part of an orange, but let’s say an orange had to go to the grocery store and go shopping. Well, that would be me: just completely unable. I have little to no energy. Yesterday while waiting for the train to take me home, I nearly fell to the ground voluntarily, just to get off my feet. Sigh. Hoping to be back to the “100 percent” of my former self, which is still an orange, but perhaps an orange who isn’t walking through the hallways at the OK Corral as if she’s 75 years old.

May 2015 find you IM free, wherever you are. I also hope that all your dreams come true and you get to meet Lupita Nyong’o. Oh, wait. That’s me.

no surprise here…

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