Reminiscence from May 8, 2009.

Karaoke with my dad. He had told me he’d give me forty bucks and pay for Quane and I to eat and all that good stuff, and then, when he goes to give me the money, he gave Quane 20 if it! WTH!?!? Lol. But I know I must really love my SD Bestie, because I wasn’t mad, I was happy, kuz that makes her my sister, if I gotta share my moolah, and that means, next time my dad calls me talking dumb, Ima give him her number…see how much U EARN my dad money. lol.

on the other hand, the tortilla soup was bomb, and we did a BOMB rendition of “Bills,Bills, Bills” and at the end she got really ANGRY and was like, shouting “Kan YOU pay MY BILLS” and telling me, over the mic, that she wishes a certain freeloader was there to hear her. WOW! and she said she doesnt sing….lol. I also helped a guy do “Baby Got Back” because he was up there BUTCHERING it…and then he asked me if my boyfriend was outside, I said yes, and asked him to kindly remove his hands from my waist and he says “he’d kick my ass, huh?” Yes. Yes my imaginary boyfriend would.

So Quane and I go to Decos. Super fun…I must admit. Even tho we paid a pricey cover, which was a bit alarming, since we, well, NEVER pay a cover out here….or at Decos!
First, may I point out that the fact that it is 18 and up is kinda silly, because they stop letting in the young’uns at like 11, and then it’s all the thirsty, eager ones who are there, because the chill ones about to be 21 cant get in, kuz they show up when the club gets crackin’ five minutes after the 21 and up only time.
These kids look RIDICULOUS.
I thank the good Lord, because I KNOW when we weren’t 21, we didn’t play that.

Now. Moving on….dancing can be really dangerous, because then you get stalked….and i mean Ted Bundy-looking in your window-if you dance with someone else he’s watching- Quane has to grab me around the neck and dance with me so he’ll back up- poking me with your winkie type stalking.
I love Quane, because she saves me. And I saved her too!
If I had a dollar for everytime I had to say something like “You’re about to get got!” or “Incoming!” I would be a VERY rich woman.

I am hella irritated at the fact that I found a tall, semi- Lebron James looking person in the crowd, and somehow managed to lose him…and Quane tried to help me find him again, but I don’t know why I always continue to go through this charade knowing that I wouldn’t have gone up to him and said anything. Pssh. So….it’s up to the ones who don’t just try to have eye sex with me from across the dance floor….like the semi- King James!

And what is it, with EVERYONE poking you with their winky when they dance with you? The boy in the argyle sweater, the boy I coulda swore I knew from somewhere, the boy who told me I couldnt handle the boy in the argyle sweater, the boy who has a stalking problem, and the boy who I didn’t look back at to begin with. And Quane says that she had the same problem all nite.
I refer to them as boys, seeing as they have no penile control. And I mean, I get it, I’m all grinding on you, and I move pretty nicely, as does Quane. But don’t be pullin’ us all close to get your fix…that’s not cute.
……and then the stalker comes back around, and the homeboys are with us, so Chris helps me out, and dances with me, so my stalker will be put off. Amen.

So when Quane sees some dude with dreads she reaches out and touches his hair, and I’m lookin’ at his friend…and then outta nowhere his friend GRABS me, and is over here just dancing with me, and then we go to the bar a few minutes later, and they are there, and he’s asking me 21 questions like
“do you drink?” “do you smoke?” “wheres your man at?” [but i will let him slide, kuz he didn’t poke me with his winky.]
also….Quane and I have this habit of attracting shady characters, because both of these dudes, are wearing Armani shoes, and ordering Evian and Wine at the bar. Hmmm.
Sidenote: I am SO tired of being asked where my man is, when I’m AT THE CLUB. If i had a man, I would NOT be dancing with you, the way i am. Actually, I’d be a private dancer in my own home.Duh. Ruude.

Night ends with a really kute guy tryna talk to me in the middle of the crosswalk, which was cool until he tried to have some of my Arizona tall can of raspberry iced tea….um, NO! One, Swine flu, boy! Two? I do NOT know where your mouth has been, and you’re cute, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have modern-day “kooties.”
Oh no. Not I. I ain’t messin wit you. Pssh.

And then Chris’ friend is all like, “Yeah Mama our event is on the needa be there”….and Chris says “Ima text ya’ll, and let ya’ll know where to meet me so you can get in free.” and ol boy says “Mmmhmm, Ima get your number from him and text you,” and I was tryna be nice, so I just smiled, kuz they had put us in a cab and been nice, so I didn’t tell him that Chris meant he was going to text Quane, because he doesn’t have my number, he just knows Quane is always with me, lol.
Ahhhh. Niiiiice.

and not to mention, when we’re on the sidewalk talking to all of them, our dudes from the bar drive by in a Mercedes, and talk about they’re gonna call us….even tho we are surrounded by five other dudes. STILL GOT IT!
I know they’re drug dealers.I just KNOW it.

and then, the 22 dollar cab ride home.
that was prolly the worst part of my nite.
Aside from the winky poking. Not cool, dude.

This Goes Out to Jordan Brown the Jerkface.


May 8, 2009. Went to the club with Quane and Brittney. The night was fun, although a bit odd, seeing as the 18+ spot we went to was a hot mess. But you know, that’s why I love my girls…we always make the best of a situation, even if we are laughing the whole night, and pretty much only stuck around because the photographer kept taking our pictures, which showed up on the wall after he takes them…sooooo cool!

Anyways. Back to the point. So, around midnight, maybe even later than that, I take my phone out of my ADORABLE pink clutch [thanks NaeNae!] and see I have a new text from a Mr. Jordan Brown of Riverside, CA. I’d post his myspace link, but you’re not missing anything, don’t trip. Now, some background on my affiliation with Mr. Brown….I know him because he found me on my sister Trina’s myspace page, and also learned he was friends with my boy Aaron from high school. No biggie. I guess he was feelin me or whatever, and being the attention whore that
I am, I entertained by being courteous and responding to text messages and such. I should point out that I made it ALARMINGLY CLEAR that it pretty much wasn’t going anywhere. I made no mistake it telling him that I quite simply DO NOT DO relationships. But alas, that is the problem with boys. They think that everything a woman says is simply negotiable. No sir. I say what I mean, and mean what I say. Therefore, when I said you would never be my boyfriend, nor change my mind on the subject, I meant it. Meant it when I said I wasn’t really feeling you, too. Pssh.

So. He texts me asking what I am doing. I actually deleted his number back in like, December…so it took me a minute to realize who he was…I only knew because he does that stupid stuff with his spelling…everything l00k$ liik3 thii$.
ick. Convo went something like this[I edited them, simply because when I started going off on him, the texts were like 3 messages long, minimum.]:
Me: “Who is this? Oh wait. I know. I’m Downtown with my girls.”
Him: “I know you want to see me. I’m with two of my boys. Are you with any females?”
Me: [stupid freakin….I JUST said….] “Yeah. Two of the besties.”
Him: “Are they freaks?”
Me: “Ugh. Don’t be disrespectful. What do you want?”
Him: “Well, if we come see you, do ya’ll got gas money for the homie?”
Me: [Showing Q and B and getting even more angry, because I HATE stupid. omg.] “Are you for real right now? Three of ya’ll, and you don’t have gas money? Wow. No. We don’t mess with broke niggas lookin for “freaks.”
Him: “Wow. You’re being a gypsy right now.”

I continued to go hard on him, because I could not BELIEVE the audacity of this fool. From jump, he was all stupid questions…and then to top it off, he’s making up words?!? Get real. How are you gonna call me a freaking gypsy?!?! What does that even MEAN, for crying out loud? I wear a peasant skirt and hundreds of bangles? What? Enlighten me, because I see NO relevance between my reaction to the situation and gypsies. And I mean, I typically can make a correlation between any two off the wall components. But him? He was just doing the most!
And you know, I asked him to lose my number, because I don’t see why he bothers to keep texting me when every time, without fail, I have to ask him to identify himself, and once again tell him it’s NEVER GONNA HAPPEN.


On the up side, Candace and I now have an inside joke…I told her the story, and she always laughs and tells me she has been throwing around “You’re such a gypsy!” and “Don’t be a gypsy” just for fun, because she is so tickled by the whole thing. I can’t say I blame her, because it is pretty freaking ridiculous on a real level. Moving on….

Jordan Brown…I am CALLING YOU OUT.
Because you are just so ridiculously oblivious to the fact that the things you do and say are not appealing in the least. I hope that maybe by shedding some light on where and why exactly you went wrong, maybe you will make some kind of attempt to get your act together. Maybe then, you’ll have better luck.
But please, still delete my number if you haven’t already done so. I forgive, but I won’t be forgetting THAT. Hence, why you are still a topic at all.

That’s all folks….have a good one.
And please, don’t be a gypsy….lol.

Ooooh, I don’t LIKE you.

Hee Hee. Hoo Hoo.

Welp, that didn’t work. So it’s time for me to unload my burdens on my wonderful internet friends, because well, face it: i like telling you things, you like reading things, and I value all of your input!

Here’s the thing.
I absolutely DETEST, DESPISE, REBUKE, CANT STAND, and even HATE when dudes talk to me stupid. Now, my version of stupid in this note deals with the following:

“Oh girl, you’re a big sexy thing!”
Ahem. I am NOT a girl (not yet a woman, I see you Jess!lol). I am extremely disgruntled at the fact that you feel it necessary to point out painfully obvious things like, oh idk, my SIZE! Yes, you like big. But if you like me because I’m big, I can’t mess with you. There are some strange, and frankly very ALARMING stigmas attached to big girls, and I’ll have no part of that. No sir. Not I. I guess I can see how “I love me some big girls” SHOULD flatter me, but I guess there’s a problem with my acceptance switch. And then, when you get mad at me for not falling all over you, I’m a fat bitch. Interesting.
Reminds me of the time Rhonda’s friend said “You’re pretty for a big girl! And you don’t smell like bacon!”
Whoooo boy. I wont EVER forget that one, yo.

‘You’re really pretty for a big girl” or “You don’t look like most big girls!”
OMG! Well THANKS! I’m so glad that I broke through the barriers of your arrogant and biased mind! YAY FOR ME! I bet next, you’re gonna tell me that I’m short for a tall girl, or dumb for a smart person. I bet your IQ amounts to less than my age. I just know it.
You’re really nice for an ASSHOLE.

“Ooh, you’re light skinned and got that good hair!”
WTF?!?!?! Are you SERIOUS right now? Are those your two major requirements? If so, you’re in for a lifetime of ridiculous, because Heaven forbid your standards reach for something like, oh, BRAINS or WIT, or even CHARM?!?!?! WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YA’LL? You think your Daddy married your Momma kuz she was light skinned with good hair? Kuz if so, there are two problems here: Light skinned boys never say that. And two, obviously that retarded thinking is genetic. I’m waiting for a response from Dr. Phil on that.

” With your Big Sexy Ass!”
Awww, come on now! You aren’t referring to my actual ass, and that just makes this STUPID! Retard.Now, if you were talking about my cakes, I’d probably LOVE you. But NOOOOO. You’re going back to the big girl stigma again. Forget about it honey. I am a PRUDE, and proud of it. Ain’t no big jiggly freak over here. I’ve been celibate for almost 15 months. I am liable to give you blue balls. And not because I tease you, all sexy-like. But, in fact, because acting like that, I’m gonna have to kick you in them. Ugh. I think I really just have a problem with chubby chasers. I understand, you like what you like (shout out to Bandace after our superb discussion about “just liking what you like”). but if those aesthetic factors are your only qualifications, then there is a serious problem. Do you have any IDEA how many b-words I have made mad by walking down the street with some of the FINEST dudes I’ve ever seen? It’s not because I’m nasty, or they’re feeling sorry for me, or kuz im a “BIG FREAK.” It’s because, well, quite honestly, they like ME. Crazy, spastic, sometimes eloquent and opinionated ME. All you other dudes with your stupid mess kan KICK ROCKS! and please, kick them far away from me towards someone with a lack of self esteem. I just can’t cushion your ego, no matter how large i ever have been, or will be. (Ooooh! I used to wear a SIZE 24 in middle school and 9th grade! And I kicked that to the kurb before I moved to the Dino in 03….but Miss Jo just purchased some size 18’s! Eff what you heard!!! WOOOOO!)

” I can just imagine, baby, skin slapping all over the place, pullin that pretty hair….(sigh)…”
Yes. This was said to me. By a random dude on the trolley, to boot!
And you know what?! THAT! That right there? That’s what makes it easy to be celibate, because frankly, I am embarassed for anyone whose skin actually slaps really loud during sex. I just feel that is so unnecessary. And kinda creepy. and just plain disturbing, that you get these mental images in your head, and on top of that, feel the need to SHARE them with me. I know ya’ll have seen those rdiculous text and myspace forwards of the ladies with a million rolls flapping all over the place, and um even on my WORST day, even in my SIZE 24 days, that would NOT have been me. OMG. RETARDS! I heard they’re collecting your kind….be strong, and bring your crayons honey.
Oh….and pulling my hair? um, HELL NO. You gotta be out of your LAST cotton picking, brain cell missing, stupefied mind if you think that is gonna work. That mess hurts!! WTH!?!?! The only people who are allowed to be any kind of rough with my hair are the ones I PAY to get it lookin rite….you better quit.
Disclaimer: some people like that….I am just really not a fan. Do you. Maybe if i was really in love….but i just dont know….

“I can just imagine what you can do with those lips, girl!”
I’m glad. Imagination…..key element for most bedridden hospital patients. Kuz the only thing I’m finna do after you say some dumb krap like that? Part my lips to kuss you OUT! If I even feel that’s necessary. Because in my imagination? I’m KICKING your BUTT. I’d do it in real life, but after being pulled over Friday night, and being relieved that I don’t have current warrants, I kinda like the free, non-potential to be arrested kind of life. So, I’ma just keep all that in my imagination, and pray these think before i speak exercises pay off. May the Lord bless you with enough sense not to even go here though….

Ima stop now. it’s just that I received another STUPID message along these lines, although, not as creative, I admit. The random dudes hold the award for most insulting, degrading, and retarded lines ever. But i figure, I’ll share these with you, and give you a late night laugh. And i HOPE he sees that I posted this, and comes to read it. I almost sent it to his inbox, but alas, I’m not sure he can read big words.

Love you all!
Nighty Nite!