Friday, November 18, 2011

Well... It Did Start Off Like A Regular Blog Post

This morning, as I held the door for the person leaving McDonald's behind me (Why? Because I'm not a douchebag is why. Seriously, don't be a dick, hold the door for the person behind you... It makes the world a better place), I noticed how ashy my hands were. Well, not really my whole hand, just the web of skin between my thumb and forefinger and the one between my ring and pinky finger. And it made me think of THIS SONG because this is the DEFINITION of "not pimpin". And I know what you're probably saying...

So what? You're saying you didn't know you were walking around looking like the second coming of Ashy Larry? Yea, right! I bet your ashy ass looks like that all of the days.

Well, to that I say three things. First, what the hell is "All of the days?" Who talks like that?

Second, since when did my italic interrogator become such an a-hole? Jeez... That was borderline mean. And cmon son! Ashy Larry? I was not that bad... not completely anyway.

And third, I did NOT know that! Thus the whole writing about it now in dismay thing. It was shocking. Ok, maybe shocking is a little bit of overstatement, but it was definitely a little eyebrow-raising... I'm talking half-raised eyebrows here, at the least. I mean I put lotion on those two areas in copious amounts specifically to avoid such an ashy blunder, and yet... This still happens to me ALL the time. What. The. Fuck. 

And it's not like I missed my hands. They're practically the only thing I put lotion ON. It goes something like *squirt squirt* lotion hands up to elbows then face, and then I'm done. And to any ladies that might happen across this post, the answer is yes. That is fucking it. I have no idea how (or why)you guys use more lotion than that. And yet here I am walking into work with ashy ass knuckles.

I don't know what all this surprise is about, I'm not really a person you know. You write everything I say.

See that's what I'm talking about there you go again flapping your smart ass mouth.

Whatever man, all I know is you just spent an entire post talking about your stupid ashy ring fingers... This blog is ridiculous.

You're ridiculous!


Says the man having an argument with the imaginary friend he made up a few paragraphs ago?

Wait, did you just sigh? You do not sigh. I sigh... Me. And there will be no sighing from you... Got that? And we are not friends. 

Fine by me. 

*Judgmental exhale* 


I hate you.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Things I'm Not Good At... Vol. 1

I am not a shopper.

I say that because although I've engaged in shop-ping on many, many occasions... I have never done it in a smart way. And when I say never, I mean for it to have an "ever" right after it. I have very limited use for sales or limited time offers, seeing as I hardly ever utilize them. My shopping methods are so much more than unsophisticated, in fact, they're practically prehistoric.

This is something like what a trip to the mall feels like for me:

*Starts to walk in the store cautiously*

"Hi, Mr. Et Cetera! Thank you for visiting our store today. Looking for anything in particular?"

"Uhhh... Me like... sweaters?"

And that's when it happens, the sales reps somehow sense that I'm a lonely confused shopper (I have no idea how), and swoop in for the kill. Before I know it, I'm walking around with an embarrassing pile of argyle socks, basketball shorts, and neckties... Which is crazy, because I swear I was at Best Buy.

That's why I like to go to the store with a specific item in mind. That my friends, is when the joy comes in. That is how I have successful shopping adventures. My last one went something like this...

What do I need? An extension cord? Awesome. I know what I want, and I know where to get it. As I fly down the aisles - I imagine the soundtrack to the "Sound of Music" playing while I do Allen Iverson crossovers on sales reps, shooting majestic middle fingers at them as I glide by in slow motion whispering a most triumphant, "Fuuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!!"


Before I know it, I'm swiping my debit card, heading home, opening my front door, plugging in my new extension cord, and turning on my TV...

And turning on my TV...

Turning on my...



*Deep depressing sigh of inner sadness*

I forgot to get batteries.

Fucking Best Buy.

Friday, November 4, 2011

She Don't Drink tho

I think I have a crush. And while you read this, maybe you think so too.

Rather, I know I have a crush. I know this because Troo told me I did as he made fun of me. Yes, he laughed in my face and I couldn't do anything but come up with the most clever comeback...


Not my highest moment, but it was a high moment...but alas, I do in fact have a crush.

And a real crush too. It's so real, she doesn't even know I'm crushing on her and if I can have my way, she'll never know. That's right dopes and dopettes, I'm taking it back to high school on ya'll asses.

So I met this wonderful girl (of course, who will rename nameless for OBVIOUS reasons) about a month ago while I was hanging out with Troo somewhere in some place. I wasn't expecting much from the night, just to chill and then...there she was....the girl of my dreams.

Well, my day dreams...actually, I never dreamt of this woman before in my life. But, when I saw her, I wish I did. And I wish it would have been one of those dreams where I'm lucid enough to control the dream. Then I could do whatever I want. Like be with her beautiful caramel complected, dark and lovely, freshly relaxed hair, honey lips...damn, I'm day dreaming again.

Either way, we were all drinking and laughing and chilling until I realized something.

Shorty didn't drink.

Now this wouldn't be a big deal to most, but to me, the fact that she didn't partake in the Jesus Juice said something about her.

It says:

She likes to keep her body clean, and not destroyed by what people call a good time.
She probably drives and takes drunk driving very seriously, maybe she lost a friend.
She works out and we all know that alcohol ain't good for you.

But whatever the reason, I came to the realization that we can never be together, in real life at least.

You see, I have not been able to find the need to be with a woman who drinks. Maybe I assume that if you don't drink, you don't want someone who does. Plus, no one wants to feel like the town drunk when you're the only one at the table drinking.

I know Mr. EtCetera would probably drink at a table alone. In fact, he would drink at the table alone, in the living room alone and on that one occasion he'll drink alone in the bathroom.

I've actually seen this.
I'd like to think Mr. EtCetera looks up to this man.

But NOT me. And so, we could never be.

Am I wrong in my thought process?

HELL YEAH I'm wrong in my thought process. I knew I was wrong when I began thinking these things. But I'm OK with that and hopefully you are too.

If I ever do see this lady again, I'm going to go into full teenage Tevin Campbell at Ashley birthday party and sing a song to her.

But before that, I'm going to learn how to sing. Or pick a song that I can sing very the talking part on a Boyz II Men track....throw in some smooth Jodeci ad libs and BAM...she's mine.

And if this plan doesn't work, wouldn't be the first time I've been rejected...and it damn sure won't be the last.

But I think I'll crush from afar, because it's fun having those butterflies in your stomach, sweat in your palm and pubescent hormonal rages, ain't it.

Nope, I'ma say something.

But probably not.