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Where I'll be talking about life (and nightlife) one shot at a time.
2 months ago
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| Photo by UggBoy via Flickr |
I went out alone last week for a pre-Labor Day drink. It
was cool; I had fun. All was well except for one thing: getting macked on from
a person riding—not parked—inside of a car. Yep, moving. Utilizing gasoline. En
Route. And, twice in one night at that.
Y’all guys still doing that? Is that still hot in the streets?
My bad; I didn’t know. I guess Sunday night was my rude slap back into
reality from the dreamland that I was living in where men walk up to you and
say something simple, friendly and non-threatening like, “Hey,” or “I saw you
so I figured I’d come say ‘Hi.’” That was my last night living it up in
dreamland because I was snapped back into Southwestern reality like the adjustment
on a high school kid’s designed-to-be-retro ball cap.
Clearly those men don’t understand how unsettling it was to
be walking in the dark and have a car outfitted in all black everything roll up
on you at five miles per hour. I borderline considered fight or flight. The
first thing through my mind was that I always thought people got snatched by
‘kidnapping vans’ with sliding doors and two black squares for windows on the
rear, not by slick-looking Dodge Chargers and Chrysler 300s with rims that
shine in the moonlight like Batman’s calling card! Like my friend noted: that
approach is frightening on our side, and shows laziness on your part. (Not to
mention it reeks of the remnants of street harassment.)
A word to the fellas: I’m grown, and you are too. Next time you try to ‘holla’ at
me from the passenger side of your best friend’s ride, I hope God allows the
unlocked door to swing open and you fall out onto the concrete.
That is all.
It's been a while. I need to get back to the mayhem. Now that I will be partially working for the man and partially working for myself, hopefully my mood will improve. I know, I know, I KNOW! If I was a "real" writer, my inclination to produce powerful prose (check, that alliteration, s0n) would not tie itself into my emotions. But, it does. I guess that makes me a fake writer, and strangely, I'm okay with that.
Have a nice day! :D
Have a nice day! :D
...and I'm sensitive about my shhhhiiiiiizzzz...
Yes, I took this.
I know.
It's so overwhelmingly striking that it resembles a poster.
I'm about to host my own showing at an art gallery.
Then, I can act all-too-important and proud about my mediocre "works."
First, I need to step my swag up. I'm looking very Plane Jane. The look is too studious; I'm slipping. I'm in dire need of a neck tattoo, clear chunky heels and plastic multicolored bangles if I want to get noticed by a baller this weekend.
Second, I've got to get with the program. I've been studying every picture of Nicki Minaj I can get my hands on for outfit ideas. It's a must to perfect the lines, "What kinda car you drivin'?" "Your striped polo is the shit!" and "Uhun, I ain't basic, I'm a five-star bitch!!" while cracking my Bubblicious. And, I have to make sure I harass the bartenders to replace my adult beverages and then confidently not tip.
Last, the hangers-on, fringe homies are going to be my target entry point to bagging a baller. Along with bodyguards, bouncers and barbacks. The more I act like I need a glass of tap water (cus it's free and it looks like a vodka tonic if you put a lime in it, ho!), the more ounces of Ace of Spades that is going to flow from a VIP bottle into my mouth to quench my thirst.
If all else fails and I can't get into the super exclusive lounge areas, I'll just hawk the entrance, pacing back and forth in my discount platform heels until I get noticed and asked to fufill someone's pseudo-publicist "request" via the "How Low Can You Go" method. Or get told to beat it.
Yep, that's pretty much how it's gonna go down.
One great sense of humor. Check
Two degrees. Check.
Three Piece suit and impeccable taste. Check.
Four vehicles: two cars, a motorcycle and a boat. Check.
Five star restaurants and vacation spots. Check.
Over six feet tall. Check.
And, he was fine. Not no ordinary fine. Like a, not surpassed, but lapped Boris, Morris, and Micheal Jordan in '93 type of fine.
One catch, though. Just one.
And, before you jump to conclusions, yes he had a high FICO score. But back to the catch. And it came in the form of minor, teeny, small detail. He slipped up. He uttered the word "divo" in reference and reverence to Dwight Eubanks from RHOA.
Yep. You guessed it: HE'S GAY!
There went my dreams of a huge, Kimora Lee-style walk in closet. My visions of perfectly coiffed children with creative-chic names like Falcon and Sparrow. My chance at what could have been my Barack. My ticket out of Oklahoma. My future husband that would be okay with me keeping my last name. Poof. Gone. Gone into the depths of the tunnel of darkness that is anal play.
That's what I get for having respectable standards. If I'd had hoodrat expectations, I'd have a straight man. Someone who's always home, because he's mooching off me. I wanna get married in nine yrs, I gotta start getting serious. And because of his affinity for peepees and not vajayjays, I have to start from scratch. I give up. He needs a beard, and I'll be that stoic partner that stands by his side when he gets caught in public restrooms with a barely legal boy toy and a pocket full of meth.
So, yeah. I'll marry a gay! We can have a life of wonderful dinners, imperially decorated homes, designer duds, great conversation, cuddle to watch Sex & the City on DVD together...as long as I get first dibs on that barely legal boy toy.
I skimmed through the cutest DIY book called PhotoJojo: Insanely Great Photo Projects and DIY Ideas by Amit Gupta & Kelly Jensen. I've decided that I'm going to try to take a picture everyday for a month. There, I said it. Now, I have to stick to it!
Thinking I might use Tumblr for this...hmmm. Oh, and you can get PhotoJojo's newsletter here.
I pretend like the greasiness from my hair is 'shine.' When I reach over to pick something up, the scent of stale deodorant wafts into my nostrils. I feel the wind breeze through my boyish-length leg hairs when I walk around the house in shorts. That's IF I get out of bed and out of my sweats before 3 p.m. I need an intervention. Where are my friends and loved ones sitting around me, tearfully choking on their words as they read heartfelt letters expressing concern for the cleanliness of my coochie? Where are Ken, Jeff and Candy? Where is my gift?
It's okay. I can kick this habit on my own. I'll do better; I promise.
Tsk, tsk, tsk at the Food Network for showing content not suitable for minors. What's up with the culinary porn? Yeah, I said it. And, I'm talking to you, Giada.
Oooohhhhh, yyeeaaaahhhh
Anyone who's watched Giada De Laurentiis on her show Everyday Italian knows what I'm getting at. The soft, seductive vocals; sultry background muzak; unrealisticly full mounds, neat bushels, and sizeable carrots; and of course: the money shot.
Take a quick look below. The good stuff's at the :20 mark. Music at 1:50.
If you've watched the news this past week, there were reports the toy hamsters contained chemicals that could harm children. There was a media frenzy about how scary and hateful these toys were, until the FDA and the manufacturer stepped in. Though it was found the toys DO contain the chemical Antimony, it's not enough to make kids sick.
UMMMMMM......
Why would you KNOWINGLY want your kid playing with a toy that has poison in it? No parent should be stupid enough to buy this for their kid. Unless they've got some evil Christmas wishes of their own...
Go watch me speak on the joys of unemployment and other "Why has Thou forsaken meeeee?" moments: Krish1922's Channel
DJ Shad & B. Hardy - SHUTUUUP! the Mixtape
Download here: http://tinyurl.com/shutuptape
It's pretty great; kinda like like Tony the Tiger. Especially when y'all know I'm a harsh critic of rappers' vocabularies.
Download here: http://tinyurl.com/shutuptape
It's pretty great; kinda like like Tony the Tiger. Especially when y'all know I'm a harsh critic of rappers' vocabularies.
"A revolutionary woman can't have no reactionary man. If he's not about liberation, if he's not about struggle, if he ain't about building a strong Black family, if he ain't about building a strong Black nation, then he ain't about nothing." -- Assata Shakur
Y'all know this is my song! If only I could get this put on the Cobalt! Bless Rubb Bubb & Lil' Sis' hearts.
Dead @ 1:36 mark & beyond.
AND they ran the stopsign...I'm done.
Dead @ 1:36 mark & beyond.
AND they ran the stopsign...I'm done.
Jockin' my fresh -- jockin', jockin' my FRESH.My take on the pseudo, watered-down Afro Punk movement among teens I affectionately call "Colorful Fashions."
I always get compliments on my creative adventures as they pertain to beauty and fashion.
On what do people compliment you most?
I posted this as my Facebook status yesterday and I will post it again here. Because I want to be CLEAR:
"From Sept to Sept, I've been burdened, scared, devastated, dead, unstable, angry, disappointed, confused. I confronted the devil & won, yet still learning to trust God again. I've felt a lonliness you can't imagine, yet have never been so proud & full of promise. I've failed; crashed and burned. But I will tell you this: from these ashes, a phoenix will rise. A being more graceful, more powerful than my former self."
"From Sept to Sept, I've been burdened, scared, devastated, dead, unstable, angry, disappointed, confused. I confronted the devil & won, yet still learning to trust God again. I've felt a lonliness you can't imagine, yet have never been so proud & full of promise. I've failed; crashed and burned. But I will tell you this: from these ashes, a phoenix will rise. A being more graceful, more powerful than my former self."
THANK YOU AND GOOD MORNING...
I'm finding myself back in retail...after I said I'd never go back. Not that I've gone back out of love, but out of necessity. However, that is neither here nor there...and my retail woes aren't the point of this post. Well, I take that back; they are the point of this post. Here are my TOP FOUR joys of retail services as they pertain to meeting & greeting; "hi, how are you" if you will:- Answering without looking at me, because I really enjoy guestimating how many inches your highlights have grown out from the crown of your head and at how ill-fitting your pants are from the backside.
- ESL people (including ESL look-a-likes) who, when asked a question, cover their mouths, giggle and say "No English!" You know that I know that you know English as a Second Language because I heard you on the phone talmbout how you were "sooo drunk last night" at the bar with your American homegirl.
- Responding the wrong way when I ask you what you're looking for in the store. Nodding and saying "thank you" is NOT the correct answer! But, hey, that shows me you're really listening.
- And when you do respond to me, you're too important to acknowledge my presence, breeze past with a quick and crisp "Nope!" before I can greet you. Then, three minutes later, you're asking me "Where, how much, what other colors and sizes, etc." So, I politely ignore you, cus NOPE, you don't need any help!
Grandmas throwing shade in Ann Taylor just gives me some kind of rush! I almost can't wait til Christmas season!
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