Sunday, April 24, 2011

True Life: Taking the Greyhound to see a man is stupid...

So I am currently on the greyhound bus traveling from DC back to NYC and I decided to tell the story about my first trip to NYC ever in life.

I guess it was my first year of college and I was dating this older loser by the name of Prince (this is his REAL nickname, fuck that nigga...). Prince managed to trick me up because I was 18 at the time and he was almost 30 but told me he was 21 when I met him. Dude didn't look anyone's 21 but I was stupid. Prince is the reason for my disdain toward most Geminis. Anyway, Prince was from Queens and was as trifling as they come. But I was impressed by his fast talking and the way he kissed. Silly young girl chasing after a grown ass man. Stupid.

One Friday I was chilling with my homegirl Rasheida. Now I was in love with her. She was 20 and so cute and "in the know" about things. She was like the big sister I never had and I appreciated her trying to protect me from drama although her and I got caught up in the WORST situations ever in life. However, she saved my life one night so I am forever grateful for knowing her. Anyway, Prince calls from NY and says he's having a party and wants us to attend. This party is in NYC, and we are in Baltimore. Rasheida was from Queens and didn't mind taking that trip back home. I, on the other hand, had never been to NY and was worried about how this would work out. Prince was beyond unreliable and very selfish. He offered to pay for the bus but I wasn't with it. I resisted hard but less than an hour later, Ra and I found ourselves in the car with one of her friends going to NYC.

We get there around 9-ish and call Prince to let him know. We planned on taking showers at her house and then going to the club. We ask him where was the party and he replied that he was "unsure" but he'd call us right back and send a car for us. FAIL #1.

But we waited and waited. We walked to the corner store and got a couple of Mad Dog 20/20s and continued to wait, dressed in animal print pants and low cut black shirts. Around midnight we realized he wasn't calling us back and he wasnt going to answer our calls. We were pissed. He was even suppose to pay for our way back home on the bus. I didn't have ANY money to make this trip. I was pissed.  FAIL #2

Fast forward to the next day, one of Ra's friends does us a solid and gives us the money for the bus. While at the station, Ra comes up with the brilliant idea to check Prince's cell phone and to change his voicemail to our voices. We tried various combinations until I realized it was his daughter's birthday. BINGO. We listen to his messages, which were full of various girls professing their love for him and asking him when would they see him again. I was pissed once again. FAIL #3. So in the middle of Port Authority, we changed his outgoing message to our voices, sounding as sexy as we could talking about how our "daddy Prince" was tied up and used every curse word we could. Terrible.

We hopped on the bus and when I got home, my room phone was full of messages from Prince. He wanted us to change the voicemail back. We had changed the password too and his dumb ass was too dumb to call the phone company and get it fixed. We listened to his messages and his daughter's mom was crying all over the phone. That is the day I learned that I was NOT his girlfriend...just some hoe in MD.

And to this day, everytime I see the Greyhound bus I get pissed.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Why I got the Malcolm X tattoo...

A few days ago I posted a picture of my "new" Malcolm X tattoo on twitter. Despite the fact that I got this tattoo over a month ago, it got quite the response. (Perhaps it was the bra?!? Victoria Secret, demi cup, leopard and lace). I am now constantly being asked "What made you do that?" and I don't mind the question, but twitter is not enough room to explain so I'll just do a brief answer here. I can never fully explain to anyone my decisions because they are mine alone and no one will ever feel what I feel...but I will try my best. Bear with me.

So in Jan I was thinking of getting a new tattoo. I want a sleeve, but I had no ideas. The one thing Slim (my tattoo artist) constantly says is you have to have your own  ideas about what you want. I didn't know what I wanted so I gave up on that idea. Then the Egyptian revolution popped off and I was engulfed in that whole movement. It was amazing to me to see people fight back for their freedom. I am of the idea that freedom in American is a farce. Regardless of race, Americans are not "free" and the American *negro* is even less free than their white counterparts. In respect to the whole world, our lives are wonderful however...it is all an illusion. But a great one at least.

Anyway...no politics just facts. In support of my Egyptian family I tweeted love/support/quotes. Most of my quotes came from Brother Malcolm. I love this man. I then decided that one of his quotes on freedom would be an excellent choice. However, the quote was quite long. While looking at Malcolm X tattoos on google, I came across the infamous picture of Brother Malcolm at the window with the gun. I had an epiphany.

I ran to Slim. Slim looked hesitant and then said fuck it. A week later, he blessed me. I loved it. I LOVE IT. And will be adding "By Any Means Necessary" later.

It's as simple (or maybe as complex) as that.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

True Life: What does Taco Bell and sex have in common?

True Life: New series dedicated to the many comedic experiences in my life. I have keep a journal of my wild and crazy life because I can't make this shit up. So I present to you the story of Taco Bell....

When I was a sophomore in college, I was dating this guy named Marco*. Marco was fine as hell with long pretty curly hair that I use to braid once a week. Well one summer day he comes over to my house in Ellicott City MD to get his hair hooked up. Now at my old house I had the whole basement to myself. It had sliding glass doors so people would come and go as they choose in my room. It was a dream for a sneaky teenager. Anyway somehow I get the idea that taking naked pictures of Marco on my couch would be awesome. I take the pictures, get them developed and hide them in my bathroom drawer along with some other random pictures, condoms, etc. No one uses my room so I think I'm good.

Wrong!!!

My stepdad uses my bathroom one day and decides to look for some reading material. What does he find? The pictures. He tells my mom and I get in trouble for taking pictures of some "naked nigga sitting on our furniture". The situation, while hilarious now, was embarrassing then. I warn Marco about the situation and he claims he will never come chill with me and my parents again.

Lies!!!

Two weeks later he's at my house getting his hair braided. But now we are in the living room. My stepdad comes downstairs and states he's going to Taco Bell, would we like anything.

Me: "ooh yeah! Get me 2 taco surpremes and a Pepsi"
Stepdad: "Cool. What kind of tacos...oh let me guess. YOU LIKE EM HARD!!!!"

And proceeds to bust out laughing. My mom spits her drink everywhere. Marco covers his face and my mouth drops. They laugh their happy asses out the door. I finish Marco's hair and he runs home stating he can never come by again.

From that point on...he only visited me in my dorm room.

Now anytime when someone wants hard tacos, I think of my stepdad (who was 34 at the time).

This can't be life.

*names changed to protect the innocent or something