Is That Right...?

Could this be true? Am I dreaming?

My husband is coming into town on the 25th. Why am I on those tickets like a fiend? On sale tomorrow morning? I’m up at the crack of dawn, patiently waiting for the computer screen to refresh.

The boyfriend? Oh he’s wincing already. One he doesn’t want to go, *you know he doesn’t want to lose his street cred and all*, and two he knows once he’s there, his existence is, well, nonexistent, until after HE leaves the stage and after I’m arrested for attacking him as he ducks out the back. In fact, it’ll start when I start slapping the white b*tches to get to him.

Bail money is a plus that night.

Yes, everyone, JUSTIN is coming to town on the 25th. That email I received woke me the f*ck up and had me blinking my eyes for about 10 seconds? Are you f*cking serious?

Damn that. I’m postponing my trip to Chicago for a day. On the 25th, this b*tch is sitting front row to see her favorite White Boy husband strut across the stage. I’m packing extra panties and I’m going to have to have some hot tea with honey as well because my voice will be gone.

So I let the family already know the business. Oh yes I’m still coming home to raise holy hell but after the concert and you better pray that my white boy husband still has my head in the clouds. I still can’t believe that fucking girl is pregnant—again! I can’t be mad at the family but damn I’m mad that no one even wanted to tell me. Like I don’t go home at least once a month and like I wouldn’t see her big ass belly eventually. Like I’m just going to think she’s just getting fat or something. I know the difference between a b*tch that’s just fat and a pregnant woman…now. I mean I’ve made a few slips in the past but sh*t you shouldn’t be wearing maternity shirts if you’re “just fat”. There is a Lane Bryant, Avenue and **insert big department store** in this place without you having to hit a maternity store. I won’t lie though, some of their tops are kinda cute. At least I know sweatpants and a big shirt is no longer in my future when and if I decide to let a baby slide out my ass.

**insert boyfriend’s less than enthused face**

You know I called him at work, right? By the tone and the sigh I received, he’s not thrilled at my discovery. Sure the only cd I can truly drive to is Justin *right now, I’m expanding my driving range*. Sure he slouches really low in his seat when we’re riding through SE **notice I said ride through…that’s the only option when in SE DC** blasting Like I Love You because he don’t want anyone to see him. And sure he know his guys are going to clown him *again* because of my Justin fascination. But he has no choice. If he was coming to Chicago, then I would just drag one of my girls but since he’s not…Nigga you going. Suck that sh*t up. And I know he doesn’t want my poor, defenseless ass out in that part of town late at night or sh*t in the back of Justin’s limo **if I’m lucky lol* so he’s going to come along by default.

I am so excited. I will die if I don’t get tickets.

R.I.P Tenacious May 10, 1983—August 11, 2006

Hopefully no one will throw themselves on my casket and act a complete fool at the funeral and I’ll have to throw a lightening bolt on their asses. Who am I kidding? That role is already taken by one of my great aunts who falls out at every funeral. Never mind the fact she hasn’t seen the person in about 20 years, she is earning her Best Actress award that day. Of course enter my inappropriate laughing and I end up banned to the limo until after the service is over.

I have yet to call back my godson’s mother. I am such a bad godmother. His birthday is coming up and she wants to know will I be able to make it. Of course I’m not as his birthday is next Friday but I’ll have a nice gift for him when I come home…Next Saturday.

My other girl, I’ll call her JAMROCK called as well to tell me some “bad” news. Her father died not too long ago and I know she’s still mourning about that so I called her back thinking like, “Oh No I hope nothing else has gone wrong in the family” because every one took her father’s death really hard, especially her youngest brother, who’s only 11.

This b*tch *lol affectionate tone here* called to tell me another b*tch *bad tone lol* I don’t f*ck with, haven’t spoken to since 2003 is sick. And you’re calling me because…

I don’t f*ck with the hoe so why should this be in my concern?

I can see **well I can’t see actually, once you’re out my book, you’re out my book** if the hoe had cancer or something. Needed a kidney transplant. No, this hoe contracted herpes.

That’s right…I should feel sorry for the hoe because she has herpes. An STD. An STD that she’s contracted through sex. Voluntary sex. Voluntary unprotected sex. Voluntary….sh*t yall get the point. B*tch got herpes due her trifling f*cking ways.

So you know me…I don’t give a f*ck about her or her herpes. I’m like, “Well what do you want me to do…Send her a card with a prescription for Valtrex or something? Some Carmex for the cold sores…I mean I’m confused on what you want me to do, in fact, I’m confused on why you’re telling me this.”

JAMROCK’s like she wants me to call her.

For…What?

Let me get this straight: she wanted me to call a b*tch who I stopped fucking with over three years ago, because of well her “activities” and some other sh*t, sh*t that I will admit is petty as f*ck now but sh*t that line has been crossed so two tears in a bucket f*ck it, and give her comforting words?

I’m more likely to laugh in the b*tch’s face than offer comforting words.

So I told her, “Thanks but no thanks…I’ll pass on this note.” I got kind of mad because she felt that I was obligated to call her since “we was cool and she always listened to me”.

Did she listen to me when I told her it was not a good idea to go upstairs with six niggas? Did she listen when I told her why it’s bad for six guys to run a train on you? Hmmm did she even listen when I told her flat out she’s a f*cking hoe? Didn’t she have the nerve to hop up in my f*cking face and told me to stay the f*ck out of her business and I’m just mad because she’s cuter than me? And didn’t she have the nerve to tell me that what I’m mad about is because she f*cked KAPPA **shudder** and I’m just mad because she can f*ck better than me?

Whoa…Yeah aiight b*tch.

Rather than slap her f*cking down that night, well I was being held back, I just scratched her off my book…for good. Haven’t looked in her direction since then. Petty because we were both drunk but whatever. And besides our friendship could never go back to the way it was before. Too much sh*t has been said and I don’t know about her but I meant every single word that came out of my mouth. I was done being “Captain Save A Hoe”.

If that b*tch knew how much sh*t I’d gotten into over her she would be bowing down to kiss my muthaf*cking feet. As many times I’d came to blows with some cat who wanted to say slick sh*t **true slick sh*t but still, don’t talk about her when she’s not around to defend herself esp. since you’re not going to say it to her face** out the side of their mouth about her, or the females who wanted to jump her for so-called sleeping with “her” man **to my knowledge the slut never slept with anyone’s man, I guess I can give her that but sh*t who knows what she did when she wasn’t around me** and as many times as I had to prevent a possible sexual assault from happening. Do you know how frustrating that is to baby sit someone all night? You can’t really enjoy yourself and get drunk *lol* because you’re constantly wrenching around to see where the f*ck she’s at and making sure she don’t dip off somewhere. I was the ultimate cockblocker.

I mean you’re just not going to do that sh*t when you’re around me. I do have a conscious. I’m not going to just let an intoxicated friend walk off with anyone. I don’t give a f*ck how long you’ve known the person, we come in together, we leave together. Sh*t it was times my friends wouldn’t even let me leave with my boyfriend when I was intoxicated and they knew him. It caused a little uproar but he understood where they were coming from. We ain’t white girls who just let their friends wander off with any and every body, we leave with the same amount of people we came in with. Now after we drop you off, if you still want to be a jump-off by all means do you. We just want to know how you’re going to get to your destination without a wallet, car keys, and house keys, and sometimes the cell phone? If you’re that set on getting it without all of those, no sweat. I did my f*cking job.

The last time I saw the b*tch was shortly after the death of my two friends. I’m still upset, I mean that time was the most any one saw me cry—period. I cried at least three times a day, I would just start sobbing in class and had to excuse myself. I was just looking like a zombie. No makeup, hair wrapped up, ratty PJs to class, I wasn’t eating or sleeping. I was just a mess. I retreated into myself a lot. I wouldn’t talk to anyone, my boyfriend would come over and I wouldn’t come to the door and he would peek into my sliding glass door **I lived on the first floor** and I would just be sitting on the floor, no lights on, thinking. I think that scared a lot of people because I’m the “hard ass”, the “cold hearted” one, the “strong” one and my reaction was so “unlike” me, people saw the vulnerable side and just freaked. That is not the Tenacious they hate.

And this b*tch…Had the f*cking nerve to come to their memorial service with a short ass skirt on…No f*cking panties. Now at the time, I didn’t know because I cried the entire memorial. But later on at the get together, JAMROCK came up to me and was like me and her should bury the hatchet because you know life is too short and all. And I seriously considered it. Until I glanced over at the b*tch. She’s smoking a clove on the balcony, sitting on it, actually, legs cocked the f*ck open. And I’m blind as a f*cking bat and even I could see she didn’t have panties on and I was at least 6 feet away from her. Of course there’s hella people on the porch and of course they’re looking at her and just shaking their head, smirking because of course she’s up to her old tricks. Granted she could have “forgotten” she didn’t have on undies but b*tch you have on a skirt! Didn’t your mama teach you not to open your legs when you have on a skirt? You cross them b*tches! And seeing that…I WENT RED!

If it wasn’t a nice drop from the balcony to the ground, I would have slapped her off the f*cking balcony. So serious. I yanked her off the balcony and asked her have she lost the right side of her mind and how dare she desecrate my dead friends’ memory by acting like a f*cking slut at their memorial. Have you no f*cking shame? The only niggas in the world who would defend your hoe activities and you basically spit in their f*cking faces. I was so heated, I burst into tears. Angry tears because it was about to be a fight. I had the earrings off, I was tying the hair back, and had kicked off a shoe before JAMROCK, her sister, and my boyfriend came to drag me away. I came back and slapped the f*cking cigarette out her f*cking mouth. Left her looking crazy with a split lip.

Never again. Never again.

Told JAMROCK thanks…But no thanks. The b*tch is written off my book permanently. And JAMROCK should know the deal. She knows how it is with me and friendships. Once I deem you as not worthy of being a friend, that’s it. I don’t want anything else to do with you. No sympathies on my part. The most that will fall out my mouth is, “Damn that’s messed up…Oh well back to such and such”. Why should I give a damn? We’re not friends. I expect the same sh*t. If I’m laid up in the hospital, the last f*cking person I expect to see is a person that I’m not cool with because I know my time has come. The Angel of Death is surely with me. I would die of shock. Sure by gones can be by gones but it shouldn’t be due to an injury or illness. Like “Ummm I’m sorry you have herpes…Let’s be friends again….SO what have you been into since the 3 years since we’ve last spoken?” It’s a difference between “losing touch” with someone and just plain “falling out”. And too many things have been said and done for us to ever go down that road again.

I’m sympathetic…to a point. Yes that’s f*cked she has herpes. That sh*t stays with you your entire life. Might mess up her ability to have children. Now that’s messed up. But I’m not going to cry a river because then again, it’s herpes. It’s not like a simple cold sore or something. Blessed that I am, I’ve never had a cold sore, hell a canker sore, or any other thing near or in my mouth. And I know a cold sore means you have a certain strain of herpes but not the kind that you can contract through sexual intercourse. Even though both means you better not taken not a sip off anything I’m drinking or that’s an ass whooping.

But genital herpes? Unless dude was munching in the love below with a cold sore of some sh*t, you got it through sex. And who advertises that they have herpes? JAMROCK ain’t a lesbian! She’s not a potential partner! So why advertise it to people? Keep that sh*t to yourself. And there are too many products on the market to prevent that, so cry me a river on that sh*t. Take that violin solo elsewhere.

JAMROCK knew what my answer would be but still she went and called me “cold hearted” anyway. Said I was wrong and I should stop holding petty grudges and bury the hatchet. Even went as far as to twist her mouth to say the little skank has been wanted to call me to apologize but folks have been guarding my number like the President’s cell because they don’t want to get that angry phone call from me for giving out my number. Even called my boyfriend **WHAT?!** and even he refused to give it out. I told JAMROCK if the heifer gets my number and call me, that’s her ass. And funny enough my number has been the same for the past three years. We fell out shortly after I had to get a new number because I switched services and this was before I could take my number with me. Well we did erase each other numbers out the phone but honestly it’s not that hard to get my number. I won’t tell her that though. I just know the b*tch better not ring my damn phone.

See the b*tch has me heated. Let me go back to my Justin induced trance and eye the clock…Only 22 more hours until sale time.