Dear woman who was talking on her cell phone 8 inches from my head on the 7 train yesterday morning,
The country you're going to next week for work is called Tan-za-nee-ah, not Tan-zany-ah. You mispronounced it several times and although I kept wanting to turn around and correct you so that you didn't make a fool of yourself in Dar-es-Salaam, I wouldn't have been able to do so politely and ultimately decided that there was no point in making you feel stupid.
When the revolution comes, anyone who can't pronounce their destinations will have to stay home while I get to go in their place.
Also? Calling every black person you know to tell that that you're "going to meet their brothers in the motherland" is still appallingly tasteless, even if you are Latina. Just because you're not a white girl from the suburbs doesn't mean that you can go around saying stupid shit like that without me making fun of you.
Hugs and Kisses,
Keep an eye on the news next week, kiddies. This gal is an international incident waiting to happen.