Due to the fact that I have absolutely NOTHING to randomly talk about, as my best friend FH did visit me this weekend but alas due to relationship vows moped around my apartment like that cat when we close the screen doors in the morning.
I mean I had the Freak’Em Dress, Shoes and Panties ready for a night of fun.
Damn what anyone says: I like that song.
Although in the video, B’s dresses were more “Hookah’s Point” than “Freak’Em”
She’s really asking for some chick to get that ass tapped in the club by her significant other for coming out in Colored Saran Wrap and heels.
I mean I was so ready to go to the club and probably get tossed out for sexually harassing the cute bouncers/bartenders.
Flash random guys on the streets.
Lewdly comment on men’s body parts while they’re within ear shot.
And of course holler “Well fuck you Bitch, you weren’t that cute anyways!” when our cat calls of “Ay Bay Bay”, “Scoo Scoo”, “Yo Yo Yo” or our imitations of bird calls go ignored.
You know, typical Friday Night Fun when we’re together *lol*
But alas she sobbed in the pillows all weekend, too drained and upset to go out.
I’m serving up Hot Cocoa and rubbing her back and shit.
JBN sliding out the door because he don’t do “tears and shit”.
So basically I didn’t do shit this weekend because every time we went out someone “reminded” her of her guy and lips would start trembling.
Ignore the fact that this could be a dude in a hoody. She’s tearing up like, *sob* *weep* “D wears hoodies!!!!”
*insert eye roll*
Yall know I’m not for all that display of emotions and shit.
See people this is a clear example of “Crack Dick”.
And another reason why I’m content with B- penis.
Please you’ll never catch me, Tenacious, falling the fuck out over an argument JBN and I have had.
Shit we argue all the time. Hell it’s become a game for us.
Granted her guy did some fucked up shit and because she’s my girl I’m not going to air out her laundry—sure I’ll air her ass out—but not her personal stuff.
I do have some sort of conscious.
And besides she read this from time to time *lol*
Girl..You know I love you *LMAO*
But *whine* she fucked up my weekend.
I can’t have my Freak’Em Girl Dress on while she’s rocking straight sweats and some flip flops.
Damn how can we go to the club and she’s ready to cry at every dark skinned dude because his skin reminds her of her boyfriend?!
Scaring off the men and shit.
We did however see The Simpson’s Movie. Ok well I did. She got a phone call from him in the middle of the movie and damn near broke my legs getting out the aisle.
The only time I’ve seen her run that fast was when we were chasing the Ice Cream truck.
Not the one that sold strictly Soft Serve Ice Cream but the Popsicle one.
**Note: In the Chi, we have two kinds of Ice Cream Trucks**
She was gone so long I forgot she even came with my ass.
I told her let me have made it to the parking lot and she didn’t show up, Bitch will be walking back to the crib and shit.
We left and went to Bailey’s where our waiter was more into playing his X-Box 360 while on the clock than serving us our food.
You know I wanted to speak to the manager *lol*
So after a few Margaritas we were ready to go. We had plan of finally going out but we went to sleep watching Inside Man on HBO.
And that was my weekend pretty much.
See? Nothing to write about *lol*
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Airport Adventures....
It’s no secret that I hate to fly.
I hate flying with a passion.
Not because I have a fear that I will end up on the plane where someone, tired of performing routine maintenance checks because it was one of those “I Quit This Bitch” workdays, will shirk on their duties and I end up on the fucked up aircraft that will crash shortly after takeoff.
Or the one that gets in the air and the engines decide to fail. Or the wing fall off or something.
I know pretty morbid and fucked up thoughts but that’s all that I think of when flying. I’m so paranoid that any noise, I mean noise have me pressing the call button and I’m demanding that the flight attendant investigate the noise while I eye the exit row doors and debate that if I claw my way off the plane and use a couple of tied together blankets as a parachute will I make it to the ground with just a few broken bones.
I’m never scared of terrorists, however, because I’ll beat a motherfucker’s ass if he or she thinks I’m going to let you make it to the pilot door and crash the plane into some building.
I’m from the Chi bitch! Don’t play with me. Shit I can work a box cutter too with the best of them.
You see my braiding the hair to the back and smearing carmex on the face *can’t bring gels on the plane now so hell gotta make due* just know it’s time to fight on that bitch.
That or you’ll see me clawing my way to the exit row.
I am not a hero *lol*
But I came to this conclusion upon yet another trip to Chicago and waiting in an obnoxiously long line to get my boarding pass.
I remember the days when I would go to the kiosk because I rarely checked luggage and I’ll be on my merry way.
Now? Shit I pack a bottle of Baby Lotion and my black ass has to brave the line with everyone else. I don’t do that travel size bullshit. These thighs need a full bottle of lotion. And I am not in the business of buying stuff at my destination that I already have at home.
Toothpaste is too expensive to have two full size tubes just chilling at the crib. Then it dries out and looks all crusty and stuff. Who wants to use crusty toothpaste?
Damn United Airlines would open the lines at 5 am….when I have a 6 am flight.
And I would be #60 in the long line of impatient travelers, who like me, was very pissed that we were standing in line for close to an hour waiting for United Airlines lines to open.
I mean, damn you try to follow the “2 Hours Before Departure” procedures *in my case usually an hour or less since I live less than five minutes from DCA* and look what happens.
And then you have the idiots who hog up all the kiosk because they’re afraid the machine is going to charge their credit card and in that case they want to use a different credit card but oh that means they have to dig through their luggage to find that credit card and wouldn’t you know it that bag is overweight so I’m going to spend 20 minutes shifting things around from suitcase to suitcase to avoid paying that “overweight luggage” fee and oh no the fucking stroller won’t fold up for the fucking 8 year old it belongs to and guess what?
NO ONE SPEAKS ONE FUCKING WORD OF ENGLISH!!!!
*deep breathe*
I hate flying.
So after dying six or seven times and being reincarnated to stand in the same line *my personal hell I guess* I finally get to the machine and then drag my bag, after a fucking inquisition on whether or not it’s my bag because yeah I make it a habit of traveling with other people’s shit to a new city, to the security area where I then wait to make sure my bag go through the machine and they don’t have a reason to rip my shit open like when I went to Orlando and they found my “suspicious” flat irons in the bag.
Like I’m going to use a $150 Chi Flat Iron as a bomb.
Nigga is you nuts?!
Of course the run of the mill security check where budget cuts must means I can’t get paper slippers for my bare feet anymore like I want my feet on the nasty ass linoleum.
And of course when you have less than 10 minutes to make it to your gate you have that one person who must have been DEAF as they’ve ignored the constant annoying voice droning on about prohibited items, like that BIG ASS bottle of shampoo is not a liquid.
And then want to debate over why the shampoo should not be tossed away.
Medical reason my ass. Herbal Essence is not medicinal shampoo. And if it was can I know what flight you’re on so I can make sure I’m not next to your lice-ridden ass. I don’t want them fuckers popping up in my damn head!
I already get sick on every single flight, that’s all my ass need is some lice in my relaxed hair. My hair is already super thick I don’t need creatures crawling around in my hair I’m walking around smelling like Vicks and Septum Blue. No thanks.
So finally I get through with no problems. I’ve learned to stop wearing under wire bras when I travel because I’m tired of explaining while my breasts are going off.
In fact I’m tired of being felt up at the airport period. If I was a national security threat I would hope I wouldn’t be so stupid as to strap on the bomb before I made it through security.
Although when I had nipple rings it was another story.
Face all red while I have to whisper why my titties are going off and it’s clear I don’t have on a bra.
And then that one loud guard who wanna put your shit on blast super loud and now people are looking at you like you’re a freak. And maybe that guy who was leering at me in line and I was anxious to get away from him NOW have a reason to go in for the kill and bother me all the way to my gate and lawd don’t let us be on the same flight. I damn near have to get ignant and get tossed off the plane in order to get rid of Creepy McCreepy who’s all like “Sooo…when Ima see these nipples rings? I bet they look as tasty as you…”
*shudder*
Sorry. Bad experience *lol*
I finally make it to my gate with minutes to spare and I’m in the window seat. By the motherfucking engine.
I hate being in the front, wing/engine and the three rows behind the wing/engine.
I’m weird because I like to sit in specific areas on the planes. Not in the back but close to it. There’s a specific row I try to get when I fly and I have the option of picking my seat. Always a window even though I never raise the blinds *lol* and never the direct back of the plane because it rocks too much for my liking.
Sadly I didn’t get to pick my seat and folks act like it kills them to move their damn seat *lol*
I did have an entire row to myself so you know I laid out. I’m so short my toes were in the aisle *lol*
Another thing: I try to stay up as long as possible the night before so I can sleep the entire flight. When I’m sleeping I’m not thinking of the dangers of flying…unless a little turbulence hits and I’m up with the quickness.
Turbulence is one of three things that will knock me out of the deep sleeps I fall into.
First is the smell of food followed by a little oral action *lol*
But not the actual act. *lol* As you know I’ve fallen asleep quite a few times on the “D”.
I woke up when we hit O’Hare. Like the runway literally. Scared the hell out of me. Had to swallow the scream in my throat.
This caused a coughing spell.
Which of course watered my eyes.
So I got off the plane looking like death.
Home Sweet Home my ass.
Left to fend for myself when I made it to Chicago I was straight CTA-ing it.
Ah DC’s Metro has spoiled me. I had forgotten about how bone jarring the El train is. Shit get off the train feeling like you ran 10 miles without stopping. Hard ass seats and fucked up tracks will ache your bones.
But for real I had a great time in Chicago. I didn’t do much, just lounged in front of the house like a bum playing with the many children that have sprung up in the family. Went to the store, each time lugging a different child.
People asking me were they mine and shit.
Negro Please.
You would know if a kid was mine. They’d be with their daddy *lol*
One of my crazy exes popped by. Shit I didn’t run in the house quick enough. Too many fucking babies on the porch.
I debated knocking one or two down to get in the house but that would have been too mean.
We had some words.
He called me “fat”. Talking about “T you weren’t that thick when you was with me”
Me? Eh I laughed.
And told him that because he never hit it like JBN. He hit all those spot to “thicken” me out while him? Tuh I stayed on anorexic mode while with him.
As expected he got mad and left.
He’s one of the easier ones. We trade smart remarks and he go about his business.
The others?
We’re squaring off in the streets.
Dramatic bastards. *lol*
I was a little disappointed though. No drama or usual family antics. Just a chill visit.
I was a little scared yall. I mean we played Bones and no one flipped over the table. No drunken rants. No Baby Daddy/Mama drama.
Nothing.
I didn’t even let people know I was in town until I was leaving. I wasn’t trying to go from the club to O’Hare tipsy and half dressed.
Anymore that is *lol*
Went through some of the same mess at O’Hare as I did at DCA only I did get through the line quicker. I got there super early, and I had a little bit more than an hour to spare when I made it to my gate.
Of course I fell asleep and almost missed my flight. The guy had to damn near shake my ass up in order to ask was I apart of the flight leaving.
You know I was fighting him like I was a kid and he was my mama trying to wake me up for school *lol*
This time I was in the aisle BUT in my section with some guy who was slobbing all on the window. I was going to wake him up to address his situation but I said “fuck it” and went to sleep.
Landed with no problems at DCA. Caught the Metro home and took my ass back to sleep.
Damn kids will drain the shit out of you. I’m not used to 3 am rude awakenings unless it’s the good kind *wink*
I was sad to leave, it was such a short visit but I’ll be back.
Back to the land of the working tomorrow.
I hate flying with a passion.
Not because I have a fear that I will end up on the plane where someone, tired of performing routine maintenance checks because it was one of those “I Quit This Bitch” workdays, will shirk on their duties and I end up on the fucked up aircraft that will crash shortly after takeoff.
Or the one that gets in the air and the engines decide to fail. Or the wing fall off or something.
I know pretty morbid and fucked up thoughts but that’s all that I think of when flying. I’m so paranoid that any noise, I mean noise have me pressing the call button and I’m demanding that the flight attendant investigate the noise while I eye the exit row doors and debate that if I claw my way off the plane and use a couple of tied together blankets as a parachute will I make it to the ground with just a few broken bones.
I’m never scared of terrorists, however, because I’ll beat a motherfucker’s ass if he or she thinks I’m going to let you make it to the pilot door and crash the plane into some building.
I’m from the Chi bitch! Don’t play with me. Shit I can work a box cutter too with the best of them.
You see my braiding the hair to the back and smearing carmex on the face *can’t bring gels on the plane now so hell gotta make due* just know it’s time to fight on that bitch.
That or you’ll see me clawing my way to the exit row.
I am not a hero *lol*
But I came to this conclusion upon yet another trip to Chicago and waiting in an obnoxiously long line to get my boarding pass.
I remember the days when I would go to the kiosk because I rarely checked luggage and I’ll be on my merry way.
Now? Shit I pack a bottle of Baby Lotion and my black ass has to brave the line with everyone else. I don’t do that travel size bullshit. These thighs need a full bottle of lotion. And I am not in the business of buying stuff at my destination that I already have at home.
Toothpaste is too expensive to have two full size tubes just chilling at the crib. Then it dries out and looks all crusty and stuff. Who wants to use crusty toothpaste?
Damn United Airlines would open the lines at 5 am….when I have a 6 am flight.
And I would be #60 in the long line of impatient travelers, who like me, was very pissed that we were standing in line for close to an hour waiting for United Airlines lines to open.
I mean, damn you try to follow the “2 Hours Before Departure” procedures *in my case usually an hour or less since I live less than five minutes from DCA* and look what happens.
And then you have the idiots who hog up all the kiosk because they’re afraid the machine is going to charge their credit card and in that case they want to use a different credit card but oh that means they have to dig through their luggage to find that credit card and wouldn’t you know it that bag is overweight so I’m going to spend 20 minutes shifting things around from suitcase to suitcase to avoid paying that “overweight luggage” fee and oh no the fucking stroller won’t fold up for the fucking 8 year old it belongs to and guess what?
NO ONE SPEAKS ONE FUCKING WORD OF ENGLISH!!!!
*deep breathe*
I hate flying.
So after dying six or seven times and being reincarnated to stand in the same line *my personal hell I guess* I finally get to the machine and then drag my bag, after a fucking inquisition on whether or not it’s my bag because yeah I make it a habit of traveling with other people’s shit to a new city, to the security area where I then wait to make sure my bag go through the machine and they don’t have a reason to rip my shit open like when I went to Orlando and they found my “suspicious” flat irons in the bag.
Like I’m going to use a $150 Chi Flat Iron as a bomb.
Nigga is you nuts?!
Of course the run of the mill security check where budget cuts must means I can’t get paper slippers for my bare feet anymore like I want my feet on the nasty ass linoleum.
And of course when you have less than 10 minutes to make it to your gate you have that one person who must have been DEAF as they’ve ignored the constant annoying voice droning on about prohibited items, like that BIG ASS bottle of shampoo is not a liquid.
And then want to debate over why the shampoo should not be tossed away.
Medical reason my ass. Herbal Essence is not medicinal shampoo. And if it was can I know what flight you’re on so I can make sure I’m not next to your lice-ridden ass. I don’t want them fuckers popping up in my damn head!
I already get sick on every single flight, that’s all my ass need is some lice in my relaxed hair. My hair is already super thick I don’t need creatures crawling around in my hair I’m walking around smelling like Vicks and Septum Blue. No thanks.
So finally I get through with no problems. I’ve learned to stop wearing under wire bras when I travel because I’m tired of explaining while my breasts are going off.
In fact I’m tired of being felt up at the airport period. If I was a national security threat I would hope I wouldn’t be so stupid as to strap on the bomb before I made it through security.
Although when I had nipple rings it was another story.
Face all red while I have to whisper why my titties are going off and it’s clear I don’t have on a bra.
And then that one loud guard who wanna put your shit on blast super loud and now people are looking at you like you’re a freak. And maybe that guy who was leering at me in line and I was anxious to get away from him NOW have a reason to go in for the kill and bother me all the way to my gate and lawd don’t let us be on the same flight. I damn near have to get ignant and get tossed off the plane in order to get rid of Creepy McCreepy who’s all like “Sooo…when Ima see these nipples rings? I bet they look as tasty as you…”
*shudder*
Sorry. Bad experience *lol*
I finally make it to my gate with minutes to spare and I’m in the window seat. By the motherfucking engine.
I hate being in the front, wing/engine and the three rows behind the wing/engine.
I’m weird because I like to sit in specific areas on the planes. Not in the back but close to it. There’s a specific row I try to get when I fly and I have the option of picking my seat. Always a window even though I never raise the blinds *lol* and never the direct back of the plane because it rocks too much for my liking.
Sadly I didn’t get to pick my seat and folks act like it kills them to move their damn seat *lol*
I did have an entire row to myself so you know I laid out. I’m so short my toes were in the aisle *lol*
Another thing: I try to stay up as long as possible the night before so I can sleep the entire flight. When I’m sleeping I’m not thinking of the dangers of flying…unless a little turbulence hits and I’m up with the quickness.
Turbulence is one of three things that will knock me out of the deep sleeps I fall into.
First is the smell of food followed by a little oral action *lol*
But not the actual act. *lol* As you know I’ve fallen asleep quite a few times on the “D”.
I woke up when we hit O’Hare. Like the runway literally. Scared the hell out of me. Had to swallow the scream in my throat.
This caused a coughing spell.
Which of course watered my eyes.
So I got off the plane looking like death.
Home Sweet Home my ass.
Left to fend for myself when I made it to Chicago I was straight CTA-ing it.
Ah DC’s Metro has spoiled me. I had forgotten about how bone jarring the El train is. Shit get off the train feeling like you ran 10 miles without stopping. Hard ass seats and fucked up tracks will ache your bones.
But for real I had a great time in Chicago. I didn’t do much, just lounged in front of the house like a bum playing with the many children that have sprung up in the family. Went to the store, each time lugging a different child.
People asking me were they mine and shit.
Negro Please.
You would know if a kid was mine. They’d be with their daddy *lol*
One of my crazy exes popped by. Shit I didn’t run in the house quick enough. Too many fucking babies on the porch.
I debated knocking one or two down to get in the house but that would have been too mean.
We had some words.
He called me “fat”. Talking about “T you weren’t that thick when you was with me”
Me? Eh I laughed.
And told him that because he never hit it like JBN. He hit all those spot to “thicken” me out while him? Tuh I stayed on anorexic mode while with him.
As expected he got mad and left.
He’s one of the easier ones. We trade smart remarks and he go about his business.
The others?
We’re squaring off in the streets.
Dramatic bastards. *lol*
I was a little disappointed though. No drama or usual family antics. Just a chill visit.
I was a little scared yall. I mean we played Bones and no one flipped over the table. No drunken rants. No Baby Daddy/Mama drama.
Nothing.
I didn’t even let people know I was in town until I was leaving. I wasn’t trying to go from the club to O’Hare tipsy and half dressed.
Anymore that is *lol*
Went through some of the same mess at O’Hare as I did at DCA only I did get through the line quicker. I got there super early, and I had a little bit more than an hour to spare when I made it to my gate.
Of course I fell asleep and almost missed my flight. The guy had to damn near shake my ass up in order to ask was I apart of the flight leaving.
You know I was fighting him like I was a kid and he was my mama trying to wake me up for school *lol*
This time I was in the aisle BUT in my section with some guy who was slobbing all on the window. I was going to wake him up to address his situation but I said “fuck it” and went to sleep.
Landed with no problems at DCA. Caught the Metro home and took my ass back to sleep.
Damn kids will drain the shit out of you. I’m not used to 3 am rude awakenings unless it’s the good kind *wink*
I was sad to leave, it was such a short visit but I’ll be back.
Back to the land of the working tomorrow.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Tagged...
Damn You Slump!!
Rules: 1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts. 2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
8 facts:
1. I have the bad habit of plucking my hair out. But I get upset when I comb my hair and hair falls in the sink.
2. When I am stressed, I clean. You'll catch me up at 3 a.m. dusting and scrubbing the floor Mommy Dearest style.
3. I talk entirely too much. If you're unfortunate enought to let me dominate the conversation, God help you. I will talk your ear off.
4. There's a lot of things that I want to write about but I'm too embarrassed to post them on my blog.
5. I don't have a lot of insecurities but I do wish my breasts were bigger. If I could still stuff my bra and get away with it, I would.
6. The person you see/read about is really me. I am really this silly in person.
7. There once was a time when I was completely camera shy. I would actually cry when someone took my picture.
8. I stand in the mirror sometimes and envision myself pregnant. And then I shudder.
They are:
Angel
Honey
ThicFlair
Curls
T. Cas
Pro
Jess
Missy
Rules: 1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts. 2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
8 facts:
1. I have the bad habit of plucking my hair out. But I get upset when I comb my hair and hair falls in the sink.
2. When I am stressed, I clean. You'll catch me up at 3 a.m. dusting and scrubbing the floor Mommy Dearest style.
3. I talk entirely too much. If you're unfortunate enought to let me dominate the conversation, God help you. I will talk your ear off.
4. There's a lot of things that I want to write about but I'm too embarrassed to post them on my blog.
5. I don't have a lot of insecurities but I do wish my breasts were bigger. If I could still stuff my bra and get away with it, I would.
6. The person you see/read about is really me. I am really this silly in person.
7. There once was a time when I was completely camera shy. I would actually cry when someone took my picture.
8. I stand in the mirror sometimes and envision myself pregnant. And then I shudder.
They are:
Angel
Honey
ThicFlair
Curls
T. Cas
Pro
Jess
Missy
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I'd Starve If I Lived In Philly...
Since JBNs family is much tamer than mine, there are no funny tales about his family reunion. I was going in hoping for at least one flipped table but alas everyone was well behaved.
At least no one is spreading rumors that I pregnant like the last family reunion. And of course every one wanted us to “keep in touch” so they can receive an invite to the wedding.
The wedding that I haven’t even planned.
The wedding where we can’t decide on a date let alone colors.
Hell we’re still hashing out bridesmaids and groomsmen. Shit I’m running out of female friends. Since I’ve gotten engaged I’ve dropped three friends from my friends list on Face Book *lol*
I just can’t keep a friend with breasts *real breasts not Man Boobies* to save my life. I always have to cut the friendship string at some point. I’m pretty sure it’s my doing as far as the reason I can’t keep a female friend, shit I’m too hard on them.
I keep this up and I might have to make my gay best friend G tuck in his nuts and slide on a dress.
If he wasn’t a “homo-thug” that is.
Riiight. I laugh at that shit every times he brings up that oxymoron.
Sometimes I wish he could be the “effeminate” gay so he can do my hair, help me pick out an outfit, teach me a dance step…something. I mean can I have a gay friend with a sashay please?
Not a Timberland rocking, LRG wearing, scowl on his face, more swagger than a lil’ bit man…who just so happens to love the “D”.
And who pulls fine ass men on the regular. I mean is it too much to ask for one of them to point me toward their equally fine heterosexual brother? Is that too much to ask?
JBN might start acting up the closer we get to the wedding date and I may need a rebound boyfriend. *lol*
I tried to put some enthusiasm in my voice when discussing my upcoming nuptials to his family but I can tell they sniffed right through the bullshit.
Quite frankly, while I love this man and want to spend the rest of my life with his and adopt some wonderful babies *lol*, I’m not keen on planning this wedding.
I am not ready to freak the fuck out over every single detail. I watch the brides who come into the hotel and these broads are in tears over a damn lost gift bag. Veins popping out their necks because someone switched place cards at the table. Not to mention stressing over the flower arrangement.
And I know this will be me.
I know I’m going to be the one screaming at the top of my lungs at the bridal shop because someone is stuck in traffic.
I can hear me now:
“WELL BITCH YOU SHOULD’VE LEFT AN HOUR AGO! I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR TRUCK FLIPPING OVER AND YOUR LEGS ARE BROKEN. YOU BETTER HOBBLE THE FUCK TO THIS SHOP I KNOW THAT MUCH!”
*CLICK*
I like order and I like things to go according to plan. I’ll be watching the weather like a hawk for weeks just to make sure it doesn’t rain on my day. And I will make a complete back up plan just in case it does rain, complete with alternate routes to get to the church and reception.
I’m seriously considering hiring a wedding planner but at the same time I know I wouldn’t like anything he/she did. I would go behind them and check their work which would probably bug the shit out of them. And knowing that I will go behind that person, do I really want to shell out $$ for a job that technically I am still doing?
And sad to say I can’t trust my family to do anything major. Let me ask my mother to order the flowers or reserve a space for the reception. I’ll hear “I’ll do it” and either the job is half ass done or I’ll hear, “Oh…I forgot. Sorry.”
And of course everyone wanted to tell me their own “wedding tales”. Oh how they spent $30,000 on the entire wedding *”aren’t you divorced though?” cricket chirp*, how many people showed up, the colors, the people, oh it was in the neighborhood’s “society” pages and all this other shit that I could care less about.
I don’t want a huge wedding. I just want something tasteful. Hell we can grab a few friends and hit Vegas as far as I’m concerned. Go out, get drunk, get married and go right back to the club and finish partying.
Although…could you imagine the pictures *lol*
But I’ll get it together one of these days.
First thing first…My ass need to go on a diet or it’s girdle city for the big day.
Oh yeah, we found a Philly Cheese Steak place not too far from the park and decided to buy one.
That was the nastiest shit I’ve ever eaten in my life.
I spit that shit out right there in the restaurant. What the fuck is on yall bird? *lol*
The parts of Philly that we saw and toured were nice. No “State Property” visits and shit. Philly is a nice town. I didn’t get out to Kings of Prussia mall, I was very upset at that, but Philly was decent. It was hot as fuck out and since I am deathly afraid of pigeons I almost got hit by a tour bus fleeing the flying rats, but it was pretty cool.
And…They have a Walgreen in Philly. I was walking around the store in amazement like it was a Tiffany’s or something.
*lol* Don’t laugh but I miss Walgreens. They have little to none in this area and shit I’m tired of fucking CVS and Rite-Aid!
I’ll have to post up the pics when my lazy ass has a chance.
Now that cheese steak bullshit Philly yall can have that shit. And don’t try to blame the place. It looked equally nasty every place we went.
Now I had a hoagie. That was fye. But *shudder* I still got a bad taste in my mouth from that sandwich.
I’ll just take an Italian Beef dipped and covered in mild sauce thank you very much.
Next week I’m going home to Chicago.
Now that will be interesting.
At least no one is spreading rumors that I pregnant like the last family reunion. And of course every one wanted us to “keep in touch” so they can receive an invite to the wedding.
The wedding that I haven’t even planned.
The wedding where we can’t decide on a date let alone colors.
Hell we’re still hashing out bridesmaids and groomsmen. Shit I’m running out of female friends. Since I’ve gotten engaged I’ve dropped three friends from my friends list on Face Book *lol*
I just can’t keep a friend with breasts *real breasts not Man Boobies* to save my life. I always have to cut the friendship string at some point. I’m pretty sure it’s my doing as far as the reason I can’t keep a female friend, shit I’m too hard on them.
I keep this up and I might have to make my gay best friend G tuck in his nuts and slide on a dress.
If he wasn’t a “homo-thug” that is.
Riiight. I laugh at that shit every times he brings up that oxymoron.
Sometimes I wish he could be the “effeminate” gay so he can do my hair, help me pick out an outfit, teach me a dance step…something. I mean can I have a gay friend with a sashay please?
Not a Timberland rocking, LRG wearing, scowl on his face, more swagger than a lil’ bit man…who just so happens to love the “D”.
And who pulls fine ass men on the regular. I mean is it too much to ask for one of them to point me toward their equally fine heterosexual brother? Is that too much to ask?
JBN might start acting up the closer we get to the wedding date and I may need a rebound boyfriend. *lol*
I tried to put some enthusiasm in my voice when discussing my upcoming nuptials to his family but I can tell they sniffed right through the bullshit.
Quite frankly, while I love this man and want to spend the rest of my life with his and adopt some wonderful babies *lol*, I’m not keen on planning this wedding.
I am not ready to freak the fuck out over every single detail. I watch the brides who come into the hotel and these broads are in tears over a damn lost gift bag. Veins popping out their necks because someone switched place cards at the table. Not to mention stressing over the flower arrangement.
And I know this will be me.
I know I’m going to be the one screaming at the top of my lungs at the bridal shop because someone is stuck in traffic.
I can hear me now:
“WELL BITCH YOU SHOULD’VE LEFT AN HOUR AGO! I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR TRUCK FLIPPING OVER AND YOUR LEGS ARE BROKEN. YOU BETTER HOBBLE THE FUCK TO THIS SHOP I KNOW THAT MUCH!”
*CLICK*
I like order and I like things to go according to plan. I’ll be watching the weather like a hawk for weeks just to make sure it doesn’t rain on my day. And I will make a complete back up plan just in case it does rain, complete with alternate routes to get to the church and reception.
I’m seriously considering hiring a wedding planner but at the same time I know I wouldn’t like anything he/she did. I would go behind them and check their work which would probably bug the shit out of them. And knowing that I will go behind that person, do I really want to shell out $$ for a job that technically I am still doing?
And sad to say I can’t trust my family to do anything major. Let me ask my mother to order the flowers or reserve a space for the reception. I’ll hear “I’ll do it” and either the job is half ass done or I’ll hear, “Oh…I forgot. Sorry.”
And of course everyone wanted to tell me their own “wedding tales”. Oh how they spent $30,000 on the entire wedding *”aren’t you divorced though?” cricket chirp*, how many people showed up, the colors, the people, oh it was in the neighborhood’s “society” pages and all this other shit that I could care less about.
I don’t want a huge wedding. I just want something tasteful. Hell we can grab a few friends and hit Vegas as far as I’m concerned. Go out, get drunk, get married and go right back to the club and finish partying.
Although…could you imagine the pictures *lol*
But I’ll get it together one of these days.
First thing first…My ass need to go on a diet or it’s girdle city for the big day.
Oh yeah, we found a Philly Cheese Steak place not too far from the park and decided to buy one.
That was the nastiest shit I’ve ever eaten in my life.
I spit that shit out right there in the restaurant. What the fuck is on yall bird? *lol*
The parts of Philly that we saw and toured were nice. No “State Property” visits and shit. Philly is a nice town. I didn’t get out to Kings of Prussia mall, I was very upset at that, but Philly was decent. It was hot as fuck out and since I am deathly afraid of pigeons I almost got hit by a tour bus fleeing the flying rats, but it was pretty cool.
And…They have a Walgreen in Philly. I was walking around the store in amazement like it was a Tiffany’s or something.
*lol* Don’t laugh but I miss Walgreens. They have little to none in this area and shit I’m tired of fucking CVS and Rite-Aid!
I’ll have to post up the pics when my lazy ass has a chance.
Now that cheese steak bullshit Philly yall can have that shit. And don’t try to blame the place. It looked equally nasty every place we went.
Now I had a hoagie. That was fye. But *shudder* I still got a bad taste in my mouth from that sandwich.
I’ll just take an Italian Beef dipped and covered in mild sauce thank you very much.
Next week I’m going home to Chicago.
Now that will be interesting.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Summer Is Almost Over....
What’s the big deal about the 4th of July anyway?
I mean people get excited and plan trips to the city and for what? A 5-10 minute display of fireworks? Sure it’s a nice display but…they’re fireworks!
I refuse to get excited about a day that personally I can care less about. I mean it’s not like my people were celebrating our independence. More likely, my people were cleaning up the mess from good ol’ Massa party…I mean if they weren’t fighting in a war that would of course remind that that while they’re helping another’s man war, they would not be free in the least.
Yeah a little bitterness for the 4th. So sue me.
Besides I’m not really into fireworks. I broke my ankle when I was a kid thanks to fireworks, leaving me ass-ed out for the summer, so I’ve always kept my distance from them.
Instead I went to see Transformers and despite its flaws, I enjoyed the movie.
I’m sure the true 80s babies will find a way to tear down every single scene from the movie but considering I haven’t watched Transformers since I was like, what 7, and I don’t collect action figures, trading cards, and other collectibles that true nerds dicks get hard over, it was decent.
Not Oscar-worthy. But my $10, ok JBNs $10, were well spent. Some parts of the movie I didn’t like but eh, over all it was highly entertaining.
Besides I like Shia LaBeouf. I have always thought he was a little cutie. So sue me, I liked the Even Stevens series.
But you know I am waiting for Harry Potter.
This weekend we are driving up to Philly for JBNs family reunion. His family is a lot more…tamer than mine.
You know they get their BBQ catered. No face twisting and “Who made the Potato Salad…Mmmm I don’t fuck with her cooking like that” comments. Everyone seems genuinely happy to see one another. No card tables being flipped over due to losing spades. No fist fights over a game of Bones. Drunken relatives actually go to sleep in the shade instead of picking arguments or doing the drunken “Good Foot” dance. No family secrets put on blast.
You know, like my family reunions usually turn out. *lol*
I told him I don’t care what we do but we are not going to take a tour of the Philly projects. I do not want the “Ghetto Tours”.
Damn that State Property, Paid In Full bullshit, I am not trying to see where Beenie Siegel supposedly beat the block.
Leave me in the downtown/suburban areas please.
I am not one of those tourists who want to see the “real” parts of a city. Fuck that. Leave me in the comforts of my hotel and the surrounding locations. I am not trying to get lost in certain parts of the city.
I mean I like DC but you will never catch me in SE after dark.
Hell you won’t catch me there during the day.
Gas is too expensive and I’ll be damned if I get car jacked after filling up the tank.
The car jacker is going to have to drop me off at the Metro station or something. It’s too damn hot to be standing at the bus stop.
Last summer I had so much fun. This summer? Eh so far it’s been ok. I just realized I was sick for damn near ½ of the summer though. That sucks.
Hopefully in Philly I’ll have a chance to buy a real Philly cheese steak. Just to see what the hype is all about.
Have a great weekend everyone.
I mean people get excited and plan trips to the city and for what? A 5-10 minute display of fireworks? Sure it’s a nice display but…they’re fireworks!
I refuse to get excited about a day that personally I can care less about. I mean it’s not like my people were celebrating our independence. More likely, my people were cleaning up the mess from good ol’ Massa party…I mean if they weren’t fighting in a war that would of course remind that that while they’re helping another’s man war, they would not be free in the least.
Yeah a little bitterness for the 4th. So sue me.
Besides I’m not really into fireworks. I broke my ankle when I was a kid thanks to fireworks, leaving me ass-ed out for the summer, so I’ve always kept my distance from them.
Instead I went to see Transformers and despite its flaws, I enjoyed the movie.
I’m sure the true 80s babies will find a way to tear down every single scene from the movie but considering I haven’t watched Transformers since I was like, what 7, and I don’t collect action figures, trading cards, and other collectibles that true nerds dicks get hard over, it was decent.
Not Oscar-worthy. But my $10, ok JBNs $10, were well spent. Some parts of the movie I didn’t like but eh, over all it was highly entertaining.
Besides I like Shia LaBeouf. I have always thought he was a little cutie. So sue me, I liked the Even Stevens series.
But you know I am waiting for Harry Potter.
This weekend we are driving up to Philly for JBNs family reunion. His family is a lot more…tamer than mine.
You know they get their BBQ catered. No face twisting and “Who made the Potato Salad…Mmmm I don’t fuck with her cooking like that” comments. Everyone seems genuinely happy to see one another. No card tables being flipped over due to losing spades. No fist fights over a game of Bones. Drunken relatives actually go to sleep in the shade instead of picking arguments or doing the drunken “Good Foot” dance. No family secrets put on blast.
You know, like my family reunions usually turn out. *lol*
I told him I don’t care what we do but we are not going to take a tour of the Philly projects. I do not want the “Ghetto Tours”.
Damn that State Property, Paid In Full bullshit, I am not trying to see where Beenie Siegel supposedly beat the block.
Leave me in the downtown/suburban areas please.
I am not one of those tourists who want to see the “real” parts of a city. Fuck that. Leave me in the comforts of my hotel and the surrounding locations. I am not trying to get lost in certain parts of the city.
I mean I like DC but you will never catch me in SE after dark.
Hell you won’t catch me there during the day.
Gas is too expensive and I’ll be damned if I get car jacked after filling up the tank.
The car jacker is going to have to drop me off at the Metro station or something. It’s too damn hot to be standing at the bus stop.
Last summer I had so much fun. This summer? Eh so far it’s been ok. I just realized I was sick for damn near ½ of the summer though. That sucks.
Hopefully in Philly I’ll have a chance to buy a real Philly cheese steak. Just to see what the hype is all about.
Have a great weekend everyone.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Wipe Me Down
That song “Wipe Me Down” by Lil Boosie has got to be the DUMBEST song I’ve heard…this month.
Why did I think they were saying “Bite Me Now” though?
Blame my bad hearing and the fact that I am known to fuck up some lyrics in a heartbeat.
Although I shudder to think of any one nasty enough to put a set of lips on any parts of his body.
He needs to be wiped down all right…with some hot bleach and ammonia.
I mean this “looking dirty” trend is not hot. I’ll take the old fashioned “looking and smelling clean” any day.
No so-called “hustlers” or “gangsters” around my way has ever looked dusty as hell in the pursuit of making that “chop”. Standing on the corner all day meant crisp clothes and fresh kicks to profile in. It meant going in the house to take a shower when that Chi-Town humidity got too much for them in the summer. It also meant lacing the local hoodrat with the finest Baby Phat, Avirex and Davoucci leathers that you can find at Man Alive or The Lark.
I mean it was so not sexy to have your so-called significant other out there looking busted and you're supposed to be a big time hustler.
I mean sure a few were the variety “Pig Pen” assortment but they were nasty before they got into “The Game”. And really, I don’t expect a lot of chicks to come flocking to a bruh who has a big ass MILD sauce stain on the front of his once white but now cream tee.
I mean really, is it necessary to wear that big of a shirt out in public? Knowing damn well you're a smedium rocking a XXXL shirt.
And I'm sorry, white Hanes tees were strictly undershirts in my household. My mama wished you would walk out the house with your "under garments" showing. That was an automatic ear yank and a march right back into the house.
Boy how times have changed. Now what's a little bra strap, panty and thong display among strangers *yours truly in the guilty party as well*
Although...If your panties and/or boxers are on a tad bit dare I say it dingy and holey and the elastic is just through, I'm going to need a prompt investment in new underwear stat!
The elastic in a thong should not be showcased for the world to see. I'm just saying.
And ladies...if the bra is white...can the bra strap match the bra please?
But I will admit the dirtiest rappers have the catchest songs *side eyeing Lil’ Wayne*
When my rap album comes out, I'm going to have a dance called the "Tenacious Bop". I don't know what it will be yet but man that's going to be hot for the streets.
But…*hangs head* I do the lil “Wipe Me Down”, “Walk It Out” and any other lil’ dance number that comes out. Hell “Walk It Out” is an excellent work-out dance. You know shaping up your thighs and stomach. I don't know what I'm walking it out to just yet but I'm getting there.
But these dances are done in the privacy of my own home of course.
In the words of FH: I don’t do them nigga dances out in the streets.
I am too classy for that.
*lol*
Why did I think they were saying “Bite Me Now” though?
Blame my bad hearing and the fact that I am known to fuck up some lyrics in a heartbeat.
Although I shudder to think of any one nasty enough to put a set of lips on any parts of his body.
He needs to be wiped down all right…with some hot bleach and ammonia.
I mean this “looking dirty” trend is not hot. I’ll take the old fashioned “looking and smelling clean” any day.
No so-called “hustlers” or “gangsters” around my way has ever looked dusty as hell in the pursuit of making that “chop”. Standing on the corner all day meant crisp clothes and fresh kicks to profile in. It meant going in the house to take a shower when that Chi-Town humidity got too much for them in the summer. It also meant lacing the local hoodrat with the finest Baby Phat, Avirex and Davoucci leathers that you can find at Man Alive or The Lark.
I mean it was so not sexy to have your so-called significant other out there looking busted and you're supposed to be a big time hustler.
I mean sure a few were the variety “Pig Pen” assortment but they were nasty before they got into “The Game”. And really, I don’t expect a lot of chicks to come flocking to a bruh who has a big ass MILD sauce stain on the front of his once white but now cream tee.
I mean really, is it necessary to wear that big of a shirt out in public? Knowing damn well you're a smedium rocking a XXXL shirt.
And I'm sorry, white Hanes tees were strictly undershirts in my household. My mama wished you would walk out the house with your "under garments" showing. That was an automatic ear yank and a march right back into the house.
Boy how times have changed. Now what's a little bra strap, panty and thong display among strangers *yours truly in the guilty party as well*
Although...If your panties and/or boxers are on a tad bit dare I say it dingy and holey and the elastic is just through, I'm going to need a prompt investment in new underwear stat!
The elastic in a thong should not be showcased for the world to see. I'm just saying.
And ladies...if the bra is white...can the bra strap match the bra please?
But I will admit the dirtiest rappers have the catchest songs *side eyeing Lil’ Wayne*
When my rap album comes out, I'm going to have a dance called the "Tenacious Bop". I don't know what it will be yet but man that's going to be hot for the streets.
But…*hangs head* I do the lil “Wipe Me Down”, “Walk It Out” and any other lil’ dance number that comes out. Hell “Walk It Out” is an excellent work-out dance. You know shaping up your thighs and stomach. I don't know what I'm walking it out to just yet but I'm getting there.
But these dances are done in the privacy of my own home of course.
In the words of FH: I don’t do them nigga dances out in the streets.
I am too classy for that.
*lol*
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