Saturday Night Fever...

Saturday was a hot night in the city.

Ok well technically it wasn’t because it rained off and on during the day but that’s beside the point.

Got a rude awakening early in the morning by my mother fussing at my brother for not taking out the garbage and of course like any Black mother she ranted and raved about it for close to an hour never mind that he got up, took out the garbage and went back to bed, oh no, she’s going to let the entire household know she’s mad about the garbage.

Of course this is nothing I am not used to, usually it was about me and the damn dishes, I mean so what there was one fork in the sink when you came in from work, I mean damn 99% of the dishes were done, so sue me, I went to sleep and your lazy ass son could have rinsed that damn fork out, but the only difference was she would drag me out the bed to wash that damn fork.

I know, crazy right?

So I figured that was time for me to get my black ass out the bed. So it’s like 9 am and a bitch is out the bed before noon, almost unheard of on a weekend, especially when I don’t have to work.

My godson’s mother called me and we made plans to meet up but bitch never called me back, old skank. And watch she try to flip this one on me.

I run a few errands for my mother, upset because it’s drizzling, I don’t have an umbrella and you know Black women and our hair, I was not trying to let not a drop hit my damn hair. And it’s time for a relaxer?! Quit playing! One drop of water and shit is frizzing up like an afro.

And I have dubbed a shirt that I have as an unintentional maternity shirt. I’m mad too because this shirt makes my breasts look humongous, well maybe that’s why its also a maternity shirt, because folks know damn well my breasts are not that big without my push up bras. It’s an empire waist shirt but I guess because of the way it billows out, it gives the illusion of a “baby bump”.

The same “baby bump” I have been trying to get rid of for months. The same “baby bump” aqua “Buddha belly” that I get when I stuff my damn face too much.

And now the same “baby bump” that had everyone giving me a double take. It started with my mother looking at me and shrieking am I pregnant, my brother asking *and getting slapped upside the head* if the only reason we’re getting married is because I’m knocked, my aunt asking me if I was “expecting”, a few dudes on the block asking who is my baby daddy because obviously I’m knocked but don’t worry “it agrees with me” *whatever that means*.

So you know I am fucking pissed by now and my knuckles are raw from knocking on wood. I’m going to have to post a picture of me in this shirt and ask yall opinion, I say hell naw but everyone says “I do” but it’s mainly because the top gives the illusion that I have big breasts, and obviously I must be knocked because they all know that’s a lie *damn no one hurts you like family* and the cut of the shirt gives my “baby bump” a more “maternal” look rather than the “bitch get on a treadmill or do some stomach crunches” the way it usually does.

And not to mention I was eating everything in sight. Hmmm…it might be a trip to the drug store in my immediate future.

I was dragged to a BBQ by my father, unfortunately he found out I was in town and guys of course I was talking about my mother yall know damn well his words don’t hold merit with me *lol*, which wasn’t that bad because it meant food for me. Had to do the family parading around so everyone could see the ring and bombard me with a million and one questions, namely me picking a good church, a good preacher *umm this is a wedding not a church service*, and a good reception hall. Spent some time with my grandmother and got dropped off. He wanted me to attend a stepper’s set but umm three hours out my day is my time limit with him.

At home my mother and I had some words because apparently she’s been promising folks they could be in my wedding. I mean she’s trying to make it a family affair for real. Making cousins bridesmaid and groomsmen, flower girls and ring bearers, ushers, the whole nine. So I’m mad because one, that means some hurt feelings are about to go on because the people she’s talking to are not going to be in my wedding, period. Second, how the hell is she going to pick out my bridesmaids and his groomsmen? Granted FH, TWIN, JAMROCK, my godson’s mother, and JAMROCK’s cousin were included but she added in my two younger cousins and one of her bowling team mates daughter, not to mention her two sons and my nephew as a ring bearer. How many fucking kids does it take to bring down some damn rings? What they’re going to switch off mid aisle or something?

So we’re arguing about this and I have to keep reminding her that this is my shit and if things don’t go my way, aint shit getting kicked off. I’ll elope, Martin and Gina style, keep messing with me. And besides this wedding is not until 2008 so stop acting like it’s around the corner. And stop promising folks shit without my permission. Now I have to be the bad guy and inform folks that they are not in my damn wedding.

The icing on the cake was when she suggested that I should let my cousin, whom I haven’t spoken to in four years because we fell out really bad, be a bridesmaid. Oh it got heated then because the bitch will be lucky if she’s invited let alone pass out a program at my wedding. I told my mother flat out hell no. She can not be a part of my bridal party. She is a vindictive pathological liar and I can’t trust her as far as I can throw her. She lies about the simplest thing and I can’t have someone like that in my party because I’ll have to constantly keep an eye on her among other things. And not to be mean or anything but my bridesmaid dresses are strapless and backless *you know I had to got with the cheap hooker look for my girls* and my cousin does not have the body type for that type of dress. She’s not thick, she’s not curvy/voluptuous, she’s Star Jones before the weight loss. And even then Star looks smaller. She has issues about that, among the other beefs that she has with me, and while I think she looks gorgeous the way she is *she just has a fucked up attitude that makes people veer away from her* I just don’t like the broad. And nothing against “thick” women because 75% of the women in my family are big boned, but that variation screams “hot ass mess” to me. I’m sure no one wants to see that coming down the aisle. At least I don’t. And I am not modifying my damn dresses for no one. I fell in love with the dresses when I first saw it and unless I find something cuter, I am sticking with the one I found. Fuck that. And besides I don’t fuck with her like that anyway. I love her but I don’t like the hoe and I’ll be damn if the bitch is apart of my bridal party. So my mother was a little teed but damn that, this is my shit and I’ll be damn if I’m unhappy on my fucking wedding day to please some family members. Damn that.

So I’m bumming on the block, looking out the window like a typical ghetto heifer trying to see who is on the block when LIGHT BRIGHT calls and asks do I want to go to the movie to see Idlewild, which I did because I have developed a crush on Andre 3000. Sure we have the same body type and his perm looks better than mine but I think something is so sexy about his little eccentric ass.

I thought the movie was really cute, a little predictable, but I enjoyed the movie. It was funny in the right places *ok and so I laughed during a few inappropriate times* and I really enjoyed the songs. Ok there were a few historical flaws and costumes errors that were in the movie that yours truly had to point out, but whatever. Everyone looked really nice and I am now convinced that Terrance Howard is nuts in real life. He just has that glint in his eye like he will fuck you up in a back alley or something. That “beat a bitch’s ass” Ike Turner glint. Or am I the only one who sees that?

Of course there were the typical ghetto ass niggas in the show, no show in Chicago is complete without them, and I was surprised at all the teens in the 11 pm show. I mean it was more people under 15 in the show than adults! Lawd I wish my mama was that lax on curfews back in high school. Shit my ass better had been marching in the house no later than 11 on weekends or that was my ass.

I had changed out of the “maternity” shirt by then but he did get a peek of me in it because he came by earlier than anticipated so he was forced to wait until I took a shower, thus causing us to miss the 10 pm showing, and his eyes bugged out when he saw the shirt. Of course I had to smack him upside his head because he asked me, yet another jackass damn am I getting fat or something, when was I dropping “my seed” and he was hurt that I didn’t tell him I was knocked. Another sign my ass needs to pull away from the cheeseburger and fries combo meal.

Of course a sluttier looking top replaced the one that I had one, one that boosted the breasts but not the damn stomach so he was eyeing me a little too hard the entire night. Even demanded that I put on his jacket because my “headlights” were showing and he claimed guys were looking. Look those things are sensitive, any blast of air hardens them, don’t get it twisted *lol*. And it was cold as hell in the theater, luckily my Hello Kitty footies were still in my purse.

We stopped at the liquor store on our way to the theater and got a 5th of Tang, some juice and some paper cups and smuggled them in the theater, yeah typical “nigga” shit, I know. We sat in the back of the theater and basically finished half of the bottle by the time the movie ended, maybe that’s why we were laughing so much, we were drunk as fuck. Well he was but I wasn’t.

That’s when I found out the nigga has a fucking gun.

We’re stumbling to the car, talking about the movie, when he asks do I want to see something. Thinking he’s talking about “his Johnson” as he likes to call it, I says “hell no” because um yeah, I don’t need to see random penis. He’s like he bought a gun last week and of course like the fool that he is, rather than wait for his permit, oh he’s just going to ride with the shit in the car. And he wonders why so many Black men are locked up on weapons charges. Granted he has the paperwork for it and everything, Chicago police is not trying to hear that. Both of our asses *well his because a bitch had her running shoes on her, they weren’t catching me* would be freezing in the County that night.

I don’t really like guns because they make me nervous and niggas from Chicago are notoriously bad shooters so I don’t like being around one in case it goes off and hit me or something, so I’m upset because he has the shit in the car knowing damn well we could be pulled over and it’s all she wrote for our asses. And he keeps it in the glove compartment?

*sigh*

I don’t want to see the shit and I’m inching away from the car when opens the doors and grabs it out the compartment. I guess it’s a .40 caliber, chrome, in a leather case. He cocks it back to show me there are no bullets in the compartment, they’re in the trunk and hands it over to me. I look at him like he’s crazy. You wont be committing any felonies with my fingerprints on that bitch. And did he not hear me state put that shit away before someone spots him?

I mean I up them thangs *lol yeah right* with the best of them but I’m a lover not a shooter. I have shot a gun before though and it’s pretty sexy, but um yeah I stay away from guns for the very reason that I don’t want to shoot someone’s foot off. Using a towel, I take the gun from him, look at it, it was actually pretty nice looking *lol typical girl…oh what a pretty gun…lol* and place it back in the glove compartment.

So we’re driving on the expressway, listening to R.Kelly/Jay Z Best of Both Worlds cd when this fool spots another Monte Carlo and decided to drag race with the nigga.

Yall know how I feel about the expressway and speeding and when I see him step on the gas, I flip out on his ass because dammit I will not die in the PussyMobile. Deaf ears once again. So they’re weaving in and out of traffic like this is Fast and the Furious 4: Chicago Stunnas or some shit while I’m gripping the seats and checking to make sure my seat belt is tight. I’m also screaming for him to slow down because they’re still doing construction on the Dan Ryan and we’re quickly approaching 95th and I know the lanes are reduced drastically at that point. And more cars are on the expressway that than in the suburbs where they started racing.

So I’m praying to the lord to help me make it through this, I mean I am literally sweating on the verge of having a panic attack, and I’m thinking of busting a cap in his ass when he slows down.

Finally they slow down because there’s a crunch at 87th and at 55th we get off the expressway. As soon as we hit a red light, I get the fuck out the car. This fool is fucking nuts, I’ll take my chances with the crack heads. So I’m walking, he’s trailing me, we’re arguing yelling at each other back and forth because I refuse to get back in the car and I’m walking to the nearest bus stop, a bitch will hop on the bus and go home.

Of course the crack heads starts eyeing me and shit making me nervous because these are 55th crack heads and they are nuts. So to prevent my possible homicide over my damn purse and the $20 that’s in it, I get back in the car and demands he drops me off.

He takes me to IHOP instead. He knows food is the way to getting back in my good graces. I’m still pissed at him but I still stuff my face.

He takes me home and why the hell are folks still up in my household? Folks just sitting up like its 7 pm and not 3 am in the morning. Since he offered to drop me off at the airport and everyone is still up having a good old time at my crib, he comes in and plays a few games of Bid Whist with my peoples while my mother is eyeing me checking to see if the ring is still on my finger, which it was, never left the finger the entire night. I caught him looking a few times but he didn’t say anything.

I grab 30 minutes of sleep and struggle to make it to the airport. I made it with 20 minutes to spare. Got to my gate at final boarding call, I won’t even trip on the long ass tunnel I had to run down to get to the gate, seems like that shit stretched forever. Fucking gate A4B is a pain in the ass.

In another window seat…right by the fucking jet engines! Fucking Air Tran is playing with me right about now. Are you fucking kidding me? First the damn wings now the damn engine? You know I’m eagle hawking the shit out of that engine. And I also had another first…I used the airplane washroom! Yeah we were still docked and had yet to move but I have never used the washroom on a plane. Well I don’t like using pubic toilets anyway unless I just cant hold it in any longer and my ass hovers about 7 inches from the toilet seat and I’m a little OCD when it comes to washing my hands…but whatever.

How the fuck do people fuck in that little ass bathroom? I felt like I was trapped in R. Kelly’s infamous closet or some shit.

I had to go bad thanks to me running behind in security, like I’m really going to be able to strap a bomb in my $3.50 Old Navy flip flops that are on their last legs as I speak.

My flight attendant looked exactly like Tyra Banks, forehead and all, I had to do a quick double take for a hot second. She was really nice though.

A few Final Destination moments did have me inching my way toward the entrance. The light over my seat burned out as soon as I touched it, someone’s hip bumped the seat next to me and the tray fell off, and the power went out and came back on. Little Tyra assured me that shit was all good and to sit my black ass back down. I was eyeing her like if this shit goes down know that I’m punching you in the fucking face before I leap off the plane.

With my bladder empty and my eyelids heavy, I went to sleep as soon as I sat back down. Was snoozing so good I didn’t wake up until we landed in Atlanta. Went back to sleep in the airport, and stayed up long enough to see that I was in yet another window seat by the wing. I woke up when we landed in DC.

Came home to discover my kitchen in shambles. Had to fuss for a hot second, fiancé and attack cat looking guilty as hell.

After cleaning up, I laid right back down and went to sleep for another hour and a half. Got up, cooked chicken quesadillas, chatted on IM, and took my ass to bed only to drag my weak ass to work in the morning, tired as shit like I didn’t sleep half of my Sunday away.

FH finally got around to reading my blog and made a clever deduction that I am flirting with a fellow blogger. *sigh* That wasn’t the purpose of her checking it out, but whatever bitch knows me too well. She is insulted, she feels I should discuss her more in my blog and complains that other folks get more “blog time” than her! How’s that for a damn Gemini? Bitch get your own damn blog! *lol*

Hey MR. FANTASTIC! Told you I would include you one of these days!

*waves*

I had a pretty interesting weekend, I guess. Anything new and exciting happen to any one?