My Sticky Mess

Well I'm a bad butt cowgirl living in the wild midwest, wicka wicka scratch, yo yo bang bang. Me and Artemis Clyde Frogg gonna save Salma Hayek from the big bad spider. Enjoy!

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

A Lesson in Three Parts… Part One

Not Listening!

I have a bad habit. It’s not necessarily that it’s bad for me, as much as it is bad to me, but that’s really for you to decide.

You see, I have this automatic thing I do when speaking with people who annoy me. When they say something, I give an encouraging, “mm hmm” and a little head nod that allows them to believe that they can continue, and that I like what they have to say. But I don’t.

So I’m eternally stuck in a mode where I have to listen to people I don’t like, talk about things that I don’t care about. And it would be one thing if I just listened, but sometimes –most times- I include my own personal commentary, and I have no idea why.

What makes me this way? When did I find this acceptable? Is it my incessant need for people to listen to me brought to life by the belief that if I listen to them they will do the same?

Yeah, that’s probably it, but it never works that way. For I listen, and I converse, yet when I talk I get cut off or ignored. So why don’t I become a raging psycho and never listen to anyone ever again?

Cause while I hate my habit, it makes for some darn good story telling, of whose benefits you reap.

At least that’s the idea. The following are examples, not of these conversations, but of how it is when I am heard, and for extended lengths of time...

A Lesson in Three Parts… Part Two

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Pretty Fly For a White Guy

He: You know what’s sad? Is that no matter how cool I am, I will never be cool, because there’s no such thing as a cool white guy.

Me: But you’re one of the coolest white guys I know.

He: Yeah, but only in comparison to other white guys. Like, you could take the nerdiest black guy in the world, and he would still be cooler than me, just by default.

Me: That’s true.

He: I know, like I couldn’t go around dressed like a clown and get away with it, and be cool, because I’m white!

Me: But that’s an attitude thing, I think the misconception is that since black guys do that, white America thinks that all black people like it, so it must be cool. The truth is we really think it’s wack too, but we have to be down with our people. Like Andre’ Benjamin.

He: That’s funny, because I wasn’t talking about a clown, like a fool. I was talking about a literal clown, Like Homey D.

Me: Oh! Well that too.

He: Like, because of all the fucked up shit that white people have done, I can’t dress up like a clown, and still be cool.

Me: That’s definitely true.

He: Not that I want to dress like a clown, I just don’t like not having the option.

Me: But what you lose in clown culture, you make up in global domination.

He: Yeah, there’s that, but it’s not clownin’. Clowns help people.

Me: Or scare them.

He: Kind of like white guys.

Me: You speak only the truth.

A Lesson in Three Parts… Part Three

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Learning to Speak My Mind

I very rarely say the words as they appear in my mind, and to illustrate that I present to you the following conversation. My thoughts will be presented in Italics. My words will remain normal. Enjoy!

SK: Well she’s gorgeous, so she can do what she wants.

Douglass: She’s only gorgeous by American standards of beauty, I personally don’t find her attractive.

SK: Oh, you don’t have to do that here.

Douglass: Do what?

SK: That thing you just did. That hipster “we are the world” thing where we expose the truths. That thing where we are the exception to the rule because the rule must be broken. That “I’m not a part of America” thing. Because you are, and even if you don’t subscribe to its values, it doesn’t matter, because you’re not in control.

Douglass: I don’t understand.

SK: What I mean is that, like, you can say what you want, because I’ll always get what you mean. On the surface anyway. You don’t have to be politically correct when it’s just us, because I get it, and if I don’t, I’ll ask. (What I’m trying to say is that he doesn’t have to say “most” because I know when he says “all” he doesn’t mean “all” he means “most”. He doesn’t have to convince me that he’s not generalizing, or stereotyping even when he is, because I know he’s not).

Douglass (smiling a little): All I said was that I didn’t find her attractive.

SK: MmmHmm. No, what you said was you didn’t find her attractive in contrast to American standards of beauty by which she would be attractive. This means that you know something that America doesn’t in regards to these rules, which is true and false at the same time. Because you finding someone unattractive that America finds attractive doesn’t make you cool or special. Especially if you don’t really feel that way.

Douglass: Please explain further, I think this is the beginning of a very interesting conversation.

(This is when I started to loosen up a little. I’m always a bit uncomfortable around Douglass because I’m insanely in love with him, but that comes later.)

SK: There was this guy that worked here a couple of years ago that I was totally in love with (I was totally talking about Douglass). He was soo smart and funny and tall. (Douglass got my Night At the Roxbury mention and laughed a little. I loved that he knew that.) He was also dead gorgeous, and I love nothing more than gorgeous boys so I had to become friends with him (Douglass gives me this, “oh you!” head shake, but listens intently). So I was telling my friend Jerrod about this guy-

Douglass: What was his name?

SK: Jacob (sorry J, I was reading your blog when this all happened).

Douglass: And did you become friends with him?

SK: Of course I did, but it was harder than I initially thought. You see the weird thing is that I’m not at all uncomfortable around gorgeous guys. (and I’m not), because in the realm of things, they have but one thing going for them. The fact that they’re gorgeous. And they know that they’re beautiful so they don’t really try to learn anything else because they know their beauty, for the most part, will see them through. So it really puts a cap on where I think a relationship could go, and since there’s no relationship, there’s no awkwardness. Usually they’re not that interested in me like that anyway-

Douglass: I find that hard to believe (I die a little inside of sheer joy. I will remember him saying that and play it over and over again in my head). You’re pretty great, I don’t know why they wouldn’t want to be with you…

SK: Because I’m black and fat and in Lincoln, Ne. Because for every girl like me, there’s a girl that will put out, or give them money, or let them get wasted and act a hot mess in front of them. In my hotel we see this a lot, so many girls apologizing for their boyfriends behaviors, and like, I’m not your mom, either learn how to hold your liquor and not be a complete jerk, or don’t drink, but don’t expect me to apologize for you. It’s not that these girls don’t have standards, it’s just a different set of standards.

Douglass: This is the only place I’ve known where being black is a sole hindrance. (Douglass is from Atlanta originally, then he moved to San Diego, Kansas City for a while, then New Orleans, and now here for school.) Usually you have to be black and lazy, or black and clueless. Being black has always been a hindrance, but it’s usually an additional hindrance. Everywhere I go I hear things like, “He’s the biggest thief, and it doesn’t help that he’s black.”, or “He has the most terrible grammar, and he’s black too.” Well not those exact phrases, but variations. They hate you because you’re black and because of what you don’t have. This place, they hate you because your black and that’s it. It’s different. (In the moment this was a perfectly valid inclusion. It doesn’t seem to work here on the page, but it has to do with flow. He knew what I was talking about, and responded to that, and not just what I said.)

SK: I think you just summed up my life, for the most part.

Douglass (gives a little chuckle): That’s funny. Anyhow, I didn’t mean to interrupt, please continue.

SK: Oh, uhh, where was I? (I must admit it was a little test, because I kind of knew where I was, I just wanted to see if he did. Every now and again I like to know people are listening.)

Douglass: There was a boy you liked, and you were explaining about how you’re never intimidated around handsome men. I’m very interested to see how this ties into our first conversation.

SK: Well it mostly does, but you’ll see. So anyhow, this guy was gorgeous. He was tall, about your height and beautiful and on top of all of that he had a great voice. And I’m a sucker for a great voice, it’s the reason I love Bob Costas.

Douglass (cracking up at me): Bob Costas?!

SK: Yes, Bobby C! Because he looks a little like Ferris Bueller, but he has this great smooth voice. The first time I ever saw him was on the 1996 Olympics on NBC. He was commentating but I had the mute on for some reason. I thought he would sound like Ferris, but when I depressed the mute button there was this man-voice being thrown at me. It was awesome, and I’ve loved him ever since, solely for that reason.

Douglass: Okay, Bob Costas, wow.

SK: Don’t hate. So as I was saying, since I don’t think about gorgeous boys as being potential mates, I try to be cool with them. Because just because we probably won’t get together, doesn’t mean we can't be friends, (or that I can’t crush on them, or have dirty sordid fantasies about them, but that’s something I didn’t feel needed to be said). So with gorgeous boys it’s always easy to befriend them because really all you have to do is make them laugh. Just say a bunch of black things and make them chuckle and it’s lovely. You ask them questions about themselves and they answer and the next time you say something that included their previous answer so they know you were listening, and you’re in.

Douglass: So you and this Jacob (sorry J) became friends because he was gorgeous?

SK: Not exactly. First of all, the gorgeous thing only applies if you’re not a fake jerk. Even real jerks and I get along because at least they’re being who they are. Fake jerks annoy me. But I couldn’t apply these gorgeous rules to Jacob (who we all know now was really Douglass).

Douglass: Why not?

SK: Because Jacob was gorgeous, and he was incredibly smart. Like super genius. And he was the biggest nerd, but it was a nerdiness that worked for him.

Douglass: Oh, so he wasn’t cool enough for you!?

SK: Oh no, the opposite actually, because he was too uncool for me. I can’t handle that. When people are truly uncool, it like circles back around to them being awesome again. They talk about things that I understand, but I don’t get. (Meaning, they talk about Schodinger, and I understand because I know who that is, but like, I only know from school. I don’t know from reading additional works. So all I know is about his bells or cats or something, and that’s it. I can’t pull from any other sources and therefore can’t join the conversation the way I want to.) They make jokes about certain comics that I enjoyed but can no longer remember. They have fond remembrances of Magic: The Gathering, and Myst and Riven, and like I was there, you know? But because I was black, I had no one to talk to about those things for years, so I’ve fallen out of touch with that side of myself.

So I struggle for things to talk about. Then there’s the realization that this guy is a nerd, and he’s absolutely gorgeous, so I just freak right out, because he’s just uncool enough to want to be with me. Because I’m the sort of woman who would truly love him. Which means that there is a relationship possibility which again freaks me right out.

Douglass: That’s nuts [Sticky Keys]! I mean look at me. I’m totally into sci-fi and punk rock, and I’m a biochemical engineering major. I make jokes about chemical reactions! (He does, and they're hilairous. I'm biased of course) I’m the biggest nerd in the world and you’re not in love with me.

SK: Please, I’ve been in love with you since day one. No really, I’ve been in love with you since day one.

Douglas: Ha ha. Yeah, so did you become friends with this “Jake”?

SK: Who? Oh yeah… Not “Jake”, Jacob, or sometimes J, but not Jake. It rhymes with steak.

Douglass (smiling): Is that why?

SK: I don’t know exactly, I never asked. I don’t even know if that was his rule or mine, I just knew it was true. (Which was true, I believe, of the Jacob I was talking about, since I had to envision him in my head to keep up with my farce.)

Douglass: I’m that way. I can’t stand Doug. I want people to call me by my full name. (I make a mental note of that.)

SK: So I was telling my friend Jerrod about that, and at the end I said, “Yeah, so he’s this big ol nerd, and he’s black!”.

Douglass: Oh, he was black? (Douglass is black by the way)

SK: Yeah, now remember your reaction to that news. So I tell Jerrod that Jacob was black and he’s all, “wow, you better get that girl!” and Jerrod is extremely uncouth, like totally inappropriate. (When I really told Jerrod about Douglass being black, he said, “Was he a black nigger?” and began to laugh uncontrollably. Jerrod’s black, I should mention, and I called him a black nigger once, completely in jest. I was like, “Jerrod Alexander! You come back here you black nigger!” There’s context around that, but it’s not important. What’s important is that no one black had ever called Jerrod a black nigger before. Sure he’d been called nigga by his boys, and nigger by white people, but just to hear me say it in my Nebraskan accent (of which I never knew I had, nor that one even existed) was the funniest, most country, bama thing he’d ever heard. He became so excited that he called his dad and told him about it, and then tried to make me repeat it several times. I only obliged a few.) so I hang up with Jerrod and I run into a friend of mine who’s out having ice cream with her boyfriend. I can’t stand her boyfriend and this is why, and it’s also how it ties in to our original conversation.

Douglass: Okay, I’m all ears.

SK: I go through the whole Jacob story (again. I notice that I always retell stories because I know so many people who are completely different and will never cross paths, so I have to tell it 5 different times and five different ways, that’s why I like email.), and I say, yeah, “and he’s black”.

My friend laughs and is like, “that’s hilarious girl!” but her stinkin’ boyfriend is all,

“So what if he’s black? What, black people can’t be smart and be nerds? I know plenty of black people that-“ and that’s where I cut him off.

“Ooo no, don’t go there. That’s not the point of me telling you this, and that’s not an argument that I want to have today.”
“What do you mean you don’t want to argue about it? You made a gross stereotype and-"
“It wasn’t a gross stereotype! And we’re not going to talk about it! Not today. Maybe later in the week we can rehash this whole thing and really sit down and get into it, but not right now because this isn’t about generalizations about black people, it’s about this gorgeous guy I met that I’m in love with!” My friend notices that I’m really upset that her boyfriend’s trying to play the race card to steal my boy thunder so she politely tries to swing the convo back around,
“So what’s his name?”
“Jacob (Douglass)” I look at her and try to get things back on track, but her boyfriend ain’t havin’ it!
“Naw, see [Sticky] you do this shit all the fuckin’ time!”
“You better watch your mouth boy!”
“Boy?!”
I look around, “Are there any white folk around here? At all? Who are you trying to defend?! Because when I make a generalization about black people, about MY people, I know what I’m doing. When I say all black folk, you KNOW that I don’t mean ALL black folk, but since I’m talking to black folk who know this, I should be able to speak freely without worrying if we come off bad, because we’re talking to EACH OTHER! Do you understand what I’m saying?” He shakes his head at me,
“No, because you have a responsibility to dispel the myths about black people-“
“TO BLACK PEOPLE?!”
“so that we don’t look trifling and lazy!”
“but we ARE trifling and LAZY!” and I’m yelling now, both at boyfriend and at Douglass, because I’m really upset, “but we got a right to be! After 400 years of captivity we need a BREAK!” My friend and Douglass laughs because she knows that even when I’m upset, I always see the potential for humor. The kindest thing you can do for me when I’m in a mood is make me laugh or leave me alone. This makes me laugh and I think we’re okay,

“What I’m saying is that you’re preaching to the choir when you say things like that, because I already know. I take those things into an internal account when I’m talking to you, so you don’t have to rehash them, because I already get it.”

Douglass: So basically, the way this ties in is that I don’t have to pussyfoot around issues with you.

SK: Exactly. Normally I wouldn’t have gone down that long unnecessary route, but for some reason I thought you would enjoy that. (I say this to Douglass, and to you, my patient readers.)
Douglass: I did enjoy that. I always enjoy talking to you. (Then he looks at me with those beautiful black eyes. They’re so piercing but warm at the same time.)

SK: And you as well sir. You know… (and I was going to put this next part in Italics, but I actually said it, and I still can’t believe it) we should talk more, like outside of work.

Douglass: Yeah, I would like that. Philosophizing over what not. We could be unique. Be black and go to The Ross (indy film theater) and then to a coffeehouse-

SK: Not Starbucks.

Douglass: No, definitely not Starbucks, but a hole in the wall coffeehouse with an open mike. And we can order drinks and snacks-

SK: And snap whenever someone reads bad poetry-

Douglass: Especially when they read bad poetry.

SK: Let’s do it.

Douglass: Okay, is Thursday good for you?


And that’s how I learned to start speaking my mind. I’ll let y’all know how it goes.

Monday, June 27, 2005

Psychotic Episodes...

In last week's QAF recap, (have you watched 506 yet? This won't spoil you if you haven't) Deb did something that I found to be impossibly annoying and I made the comment that if she would have did that to me I would have drop kicked her.

Now, I would never actually drop kick someone, but I got a rather nasty note saying that I hated the show and Deb was just being funny and I take the show too seriously.

Of course I posted it on the site.

My question is, how much do you have to know someone to assume that they're NOT a homicidal maniac?

If I make the comment that I will drop someone, or "take someone out", how many conversations must we have for you to know that "normal" people don't do these things, and I am in fact one of the normal people?

That's not really a question, as much as it is something I was thinking about today, and all last night.

On The Surface...

I'm talking about on people.

I'm reading some writings of the guy I'm stalking, and I'm realizing that we have absolutely nothing in common...

and yet, we are the same person.

We have soo many differences...

I'm Black, He's White
I'm Straight, He's Gay
I'm northern, He's southern
I'm an intellectual fraud, He's a literal genius

And when you look at these things, on the surface, they are in direct conflict with eath other. I took a quiz that said there was no chance of a relationship if your favorite movies would avoid each other at a party, but that's just it.

Because we both have tons of favorite movies. Some would ignore each other, some would make out on the couch, some would dance drunkenly totally freaking out to whatever was on, some would discuss the latest episode of whatever show was on, some would squee about someone's level of hottness, some would gossip and then tell everyone else what they heard, some would scheme on each other, some would take the closest chair and slam it over the other's head, some would hook up in the room of their host's little brother, some would get high and philosophize, some would get all political, some would call the other something racially insensitive, etc.
And we would sit there -I think- him and I, watching this, and making commentary about it. And that commentary would be in total agreement with each other, even if we disagreed because above all of this, we are the same person.

So what makes a person your identical match and your polar opposite?

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Just when I thought nothing else could go wrong...

Man what a day!


First I'm late to work, then there's a huge fight at work that results in a guest telling me that she's not impressed with the way our hotel is controlling our other guests yet has no suggestions when asked what we should do differently.  Then we have to discount multiple rooms because of the fight, and once again, I get to clean puke up.


On top of all of this, I oversleep this morning because I'm freakin' exhausted, and the recap is late!  Not only is the recap late, but blogger's actin' all wonky and doesn't want to format correctly unless I publish each page 6 frickin' times!


The only highlight of my day was a short conversation with the totally awesome avrilsmaleslut, and lpatrice from Moldy's Boards confirming that we'll get together to watch QAF. 


So I'm having a great meal and beginning to feel better and I open the door to the fridge and watch as the delicious iced tea I just made goes pouring out onto the floor.  I get just fed up and after I clean up the mess I notice something on the counter.


I asked my mom what it was and she said it was for kids so she knew I'd like it.  After much sarcastic back and forth I look and find this:



 




 


You cannot get the smile off of my face!

Friday, June 17, 2005

Juneteenth!

In honor of Juneteenth I would like to share my best "talking about slavery around white folk" story!

My nephews and nieces are biracial and it's been an uphill battle trying to get their mother to admit to such.

There's more on that struggle here.

Anyhow, my nephew was doing a family tree and he asked me what Juneteenth was. I told him it was the celebration of the Emancipation Proclamation that freed the slaves. He asked me if any of our family had been slaves and I told him that in fact our last name was a slave name.

Sorry, it just slipped out! So my biracial nephew goes to his white mother and says,

"MOM! Did you know that our last name was a SLAVE NAME! Our family was held as SLAVES!"

Ha! Now my SIL doesn't like me talking about race anyway (no really, read the link), so I was on the other end of the phone going, "oh my sweet Jesus."

SIL just said, "Oh, oh really, how interesting." She never said anything to me about it, but later my oldest niece (my brother's daughter from a previous relationship) called me and was like, "What is wrong with you?!" I couldn't do anything but laugh. I mean, on the real, the children have to be taught!

Won't somebody please think of the CHILDREN!

More on a Juneteenth

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

An Open Letter To All Black People That Talk Black...

To Whom It May Concern...

Let me start by saying that when I'm around white people in a "professional" setting, I don't talk black. It takes a lot for me to talk black in general. In order to understand that, you have to understand something about the Heartland in general. Not to be confused with the Midwest, the Heartland is it's own entity. Where the Midwest is a bubble, the Heartland is a vacuum, and it sucks the soul out of everything that it can.

That said, when Southern blacks migrate to the Heartland, they do so in hopes of clean streets, decent education, and low crime, and the Heartland does offer such things, but it also makes sure that you give up certain aspects of your culture for you to properly take advantage of these benefits. You lose your accent, your hair becomes more tame, your mannerisms less loud, you settle into the quiet life, a more acceptable representation of your true self. You do this with the knowledge that just maybe you can get a decent job, and maybe your children will be able to have a little more access, and their's a little more.

Some prescribe to these changes, and others don't, but for the ones who do, there are two specific reasons. One, to assimilate. Why bite the hand that feeds you? Two, to overtake. Because the hand that feeds us has malnourished us for far too long.

I'm of the 2nd set you see, I'm an observer of people, and I will follow the rules until the opportunity arises to use those rules against the general system. I'm a complainer you see, I do the same thing, day in and day out without ever advancing, and this would be completely my fault if it wasn't for the general lack of expectations from my supervisor. So I complain that I don't get any training, but I don't actively seek training, because it should come standard. I complain that I'm the only person who doesn't work at the front desk, but when front desk positions open, I don't apply because it's in my job description, I should already be doing it.

All of this is a very long and drawn out way to introduce the following situation.

I was at the front desk (I finally got promoted to a night audit position which puts me at the front desk from the hours of 11pm-7am, basically drunk/bootycall patrol) and I was there with some girls from the night shift who were going home, as well as my coworkers from my shift. A black family comes in and I always love seeing black people at our hotel. It's a fairly expensive hotel so I enjoy seeing our people able to afford it. I went to my pod and greeted them,

"Good evening! Welcome to [hotel brand], are you checking in?" The mother looked at me oddly and finally said yes. I asked her last name and when she gave it to me, I recognized it as a reservation I made.

"Oh, Mrs. [last name]! I made your reservation, I'm glad you got here safely!"

"You made my reservation?" I nod, and suddenly everything went very badly.

"Yes I did. I spoke with you on the phone." I point to my nametag, "My name is [Sticky]."

"Really? Dang you sounded like a white girl on the phone, I thought you was white!"

Le Sigh.

Okay, it doesn't seem like a big deal, but let me re-set the atmosphere for you. There was the black family. There were 5 of my co-workers including my immediate supervisor. Then there was me. Did I mention I'm the only person of color in the front office? Did I mention that there have been exactly 2 other people of color at the front office in the past 5 years? So when the question of "Black" comes up at work, I am the answer.

The problem with them saying that is that it puts me on the wrong half of the changes spectrum. I instantly lose all of the cool I built up because it seems to my coworkers that my struggle for blackness is lacking. Here I am, being told I'm not black, by people who are blacker than me. Instead of being of the 2nd sect as explained above, I get lumped into the first sect. The white people stop seeing me as a hindrance, and start seeing me as an ally.

Because then to them, I become that black person. The one that they invite to every party, and expect me to show up, because I'm the kind of person that would go to those parties and drink my glass of beer and maybe mingle. But I'm not there as a guest, I'm there as color, as an accent to prove that they have black friends. They train me for promotions, but they make sure I know that the only way I'll get the promotion is if the quota filler they already have quits. So I make them look multicultural, and they make it look like their looking out for my best interests.

I think the main thing that happens is that putting me in the first sect makes me seem like I like white people, and understand them, but I don't, and I won't. You see, I hate white people just as much as the black family in front of me hated white people. And I must stress that I mean that in the most general of senses. I don't hate people because they are white, I hate the definition of what being white has become. It means better than, greater but not equal to. That's what I hate. There are several cool white folk, and Lord knows living in Lincoln, they are hard to find, but they're there. They use their white priviledge to change the world. They look out for the interests of "people" and not just themselves. Which, when put in a position of power, is what you should do. So really, I'm just happy that they're doing their jobs.

So what did I do? There were several options, but I had to choose one that would remain professional, for these were guests, and would allow me to regain my status. So I smiled, gave a little wink and said,

"Oh I just did that to welcome you to Nebraska. I didn't want you to think you were in the wrong place or anything!" Then I gave my best comic view laugh and the woman laughed and her family laughed, and I looked at my co-workers who looked confused and I knew I had done my job. Because where we were two separate entities, now we were one force.

So in conclusion, it may seem small black people, it may seem non-important, but please don't bust out your brothers and sisters in front of white people. It will cause way too much extra work on their behalf. If they sound white, they are doing it for a reason, just go with it, and let them know you're on their side.

One Love,

StickyKeys

Monday, June 13, 2005

I'm sooo Smort!

I've decided to tell people that I've read books that I haven't, and then give a description so believable that the person thinks that maybe they didn't read it.


"I just got done reading The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway and it was so riveting. The way the characters came together was splendid. The book was filled with love and conflict that really spoke throughout it's pages. I've never seen black characters written in a way that humanized their attributes the way this book did. And the scenery! I could feel the Italian breezes drift over me as I read the descriptions in the book. I also loved how when the seasons in the book changed, the climate of the story telling changed as well. When it was winter the narrator spoke in quick short sentences filled with chilling sarcasm, and in the summer the narrator spoke in long, frilly odes. So wonderful!"

"Wait, what book did you read?"

"The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway."

"That doesn't sound right... I thought The Old Man and the Sea was about-"

"Well I just read it! I think I know what it's about, you're probably thinking about something else."

"Uhh, maybe I am, but I could have sworn-"

"Something else!"

and I've decided to do this... just because.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

testing post 123

"There's got to be somethin' 'bout the way you lookin' t'night homey!"

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Re: Testing Post



Stacey <sgoodlett1981@yahoo.com> wrote:
There's a man that I love that loves me back and you would think it's Jesus, and it is!

Sunday, June 05, 2005

My Mom is So Mean Y'all!

"Get me another piece of meat while you're over there!"

"I didn't hear you say, please."

"You'll hear it in a minute..."

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

He + Me = We

He: Man, I'm straight and I'd play Gay Chicken, and I'd win! I'd play Gay Chicken against a gay guy!

Me: Then it wouldn't be Gay Chicken, as much as it would be you makin' out.

He: I'd still win.

Gold Fronts

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Have you ever seen one of those Heartland rappers, that whenever they defend themselves, they do it through song?

I'm not talking about Midwest rappers, from Chi-town, or St. Loius, I'm talkin Iowa, Nebraska, South Dakota spitters. They try so desperately hard to be hard in a place where you're only as hard as the guy down the street, who ain't that hard to begin with.

So since they are regionally, yet unintentionally wack, they are constantly on the defense. But to see them defend themselves is a true experience.

"Yo nigga! Why you so wack?"

"F*ck you nigga! You mighta seen me in the streets but nigga, you don't know me When you holla when you speak, remember you don't know me Save all the hatin' and the poppin', nigga you don't know me Quit tellin' niggaz you my partna, nigga you don't know me!"

And you can't be mad at them, because in it's own way, it was art. You just witnessed art. So what do you do? Clap? Snap? Give a tip? Naw, you sit there, you appreciate, and then you move on.

That's what I do anyway.