What It Is

This weekend was pretty good albeit unmemorable. I gave Glueman a project for his namesake, watched one of the hottest scenes in cinema featuring Teri Hatcher, and flexed my pimp skills (yea right). What was most interesting what another racial observation; this one a lot more positive. I'm going to describe it the form of a poem because that is just the way it felt.

What It Is

What the deal is, bruh?

I feel you

you got that beat bangin' in your dome

the hi-hat and bass drum in unison from one earhole to the other

BOOM-bip-bip-boom. boom-BIP

you point your chin in the direction of the beat

as if teaching a class of audio-sensory deprived students how to feel dat(n'yamean?)

but peep this, bruh

you aint got no music, man.

there aint no boombox

no radio

no I-Pod

just you in the back of a pick-up truck

your clothes a testament to your daily labor

city traffic surrounds you

the waste of automotive emissions fills your nostrils

and all the while you are oblivious

because you have

BOOM-bip-bip-boom. boom-BIP

It's all to the good, baby

what it is is what it is

'cause I got it too

you like me, me like you.

Now I'm Scaring White People In General!

In the last post I scared the crap outta a little kid at the airport. Today I scared a white man. Now, I'm used to scaring white women; they have a weird reaction when they see me. Either they walk on the far side of the sidewalk or the other side of the street, or they clutch their purses on elevator. Fact of life. Been like that since I was about 19.
But scaring white men is different. I say that because we as men (most of us at least) are taught that it is weak to show fear to or of another man. Period. Regardless of size, age, whatever. So when another man gets edgy around me, instinctively I exploit it. Not just because I'm an asshole, but because he should know better than to cower in front of me even though I am no where near you nor have I said a word to you. I decided not to exploit it this morning because it was so pitiful. Here's what happened:
I had to drop off a book that was WAY over due. I pull into the back of the library which is where the drop off slot is. I'm not the only one there. A man in his early 50's, late 40's is in his car about to get out to drop off a book as well. As soon as he looks in his rearview mirror and sees me, his door begins to close back and he coincidentally gets a phone call. I proceed to the drop box and drop off my book. When I get back into my car, then he gets out and gives me a fake or "thanks for not beating the shit outta me and taking my car" smile and does his thing. Now the fear was obvious, but 2 things come into question: 1) what the fuck was the cell phone about? Was he gearing to call the popo just in case I did step to him 2.) what thug goes to the library to jump somebody? "Yeah, son. Imma head over to the library and jack somebody's ass. The library son...that's what's poppin'". How that sound? Gimmie a break.

Damn that was long-winded AGAIN! Sorry, Mama.

Scaring The Little White Children

I'm back y'all and all was well. Atlanta to me is just a big, small town with a lot of gay men. What I mean by a big small town is that as big as ATL is, the people seemed pocketed in their little areas. Like when me and Glueman went to eat in the food court of the mall, the first day people were staring at us like martians. Then again, who knows why they were staring. It could have been because we were strangers, they thought we were gay, or both. You talking about self-conscious! We never stood close to each other and no physical contact. What was funny was how the waitress at the one bistro sat us next to eat other instead of across from each other. The only thing that seemed to work was bringing Glueman's female co-worker with us.
The flight down there was a little rough, but tolerable. I will confess too...then brother was broke. I had to give a family member an emergency loan but Glueman spotted me down there. When I got off of the plane, I ran over few people to get to a restroom bigger than a 3x3 coffin. I headed to baggage claim. I waited. And waited. And waited....In the course of all that waiting I observed a dad and his son having a dispute. Poor guy. It was obvious that he was a divorced dad who only sees his son periodically and was trying to enforce some disipline. Damn was he failing. Josh (age 9ish) wasn't having it. He didn't give him the finger or anything, but he was truly dissing his pops. I thought the man was gonna cry. Of course, Brother Kojak had to intervene. While I was on the phone with Glueman giving his my status, he mentioned food. My response "Oh hell yeah I'm ready to eat. Man, I could eat just about anything right now and put it on the barbeque. YOU know how they do down here! As a matter of fact, I might just eat this little kid standing next to me." Me and Glueman thought it was funny, but I think Josh pissed on himself. I think dad overheard, and graciously told Josh to come on dragging him somewhere across the Baggage Claim. Soon after I realized that I was at the wrong carousel in the first damn place. Retard.
At the rather plush hotel I met up with Glueman, his sexy co-worker AuNatural, and this drunk auditor named Mike. I ordered the Big Ass Nachos and went to town saying little, eating a lot. The next day I rocked a dark brown with blue pinstripped suit to politck with the decision-makers. It went fairly well. Its hard to tell when you impress some people and when you don't, especially this crowd who always have someone under suspicion. The only way that I may have made a favorable impression was by folks remembering my name. I made out prety well with that.
A few thoughts about the ATL: not my kind of city. I don't like big, small towns (except for Austin) and I'm pretty homophobic. Worst of all, I hate seeing so many homeless people. Not because they scare me or I'm intimidated by them, its because in my teens I used to do a lot of volunteer work for the homeless. Also given the facts that 1.) Atlanta is probably the wealthiest city in the South 2.) they are trying to propose an anti-panhandling law that would arrest a beggar the 3rd time he/she is caught by the police. Ok, instead of having the police search out panhandlers instead of real criminals why don't they propose to get these people some place to fucken live???
My trip ended with a bang literally as I was disembarking the plane. My bag accidently swung backwards and knocked the shit out of this little old lady. I apologized, but when I turned around she had this look on her face like she was gonna whoop my ass. I got gully on her ass and said "I SAID I was sorry! Damn!"
Alright...there's more, but I've gotten a complaint here and there about my lengthy entries. Hey, don't y'all know y'all are cheap therapy for me?

Blah Weekend

I am SOOO disappointed in myself. Mostly for some major reasons I won't say here, but for the blog I'm disappointed in myself because I missed the Eric Roberson concert. I'm the kind of man who likes to go to unsigned and barely known artist concerts. He fits the bill perfectly; even the place where he was playing. But I was in one of my rare non-hermit attitudes and didn't want to go by myself. I could have gone with the Castellian, but something told me not to. Maybe there is just too much stuff going on in my head. Seems like my life is in this weird controlled tailspin. When I say control I know what I need to do to adjust it, I'm just not doing it for some reason. I think I'm more afraid of change than I lead up to be.

I have no idea why I'm blogging. I have a business trip to get ready for. My hair is all banged up and way to long for the stoggies I'll be hanging with in the big fat ATL. It's going to be a great opportunity to meet some powerful folks and network. Not that anybody is reading (my last week's stats were just that....weak), but I won't be blogging for those 3 days. If anything jumps off though, I'll have something for y'all on Wednesday.

You know, you women are a trip. I read a large variety of blogs on Blogger. A few months ago haterade was reining supreme. This one particular blogger was using her blog as you would expect; to express her feelings. In the comments section, another blogger shot her in the face with a comment to the degree of "why are you getting upset? You are a grown woman acting like a 18 year. Grow up." Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeow! Cold blooded, son. Cold Blooded.
The point I'm getting to is that this same woman who was hatin', is almost the carbon copy of the critizied blogger. The only difference between the two lifestyles are that one has a child and they live in different cities. That's kind of the lesson I am teaching myself this weekend; when you step in shit, check your ass because it might be your OWN shit you steppin' in.

White Flip Flops

I am one to talk about androgeny given the longer than shoulder length hair, however, there comes a point of going too far. Yesterday, I saw a seemingly hetero brotha walking out of a building with some white flip flops on. White. Flip flops. Now, first of all I think men shouldn't wear flip flops anywhere but the beach and I know that most people strongly disagree with that. Fine. But how about some canvas or black ones? White? WHITE?? C'mon. That's soft as baby balls.


I'm a little short on material today so, uh....I'll be back.

4:31 p.m.
Ok, I'm back, but I STILL don't have any material. Well, this one guy farted on the elevator. I also owe my Hindi readers an apology for the thoughts that went thru my mind during the 15 to 20 minutes that followed. I was carrying a computer and as soon I got off and the doors started closing, he let out this "ugh." sigh. 1st thought: "damn, that ni**a farted." I came back a few minutes later, and there were still aromatic traces of the beans and curry from the crack of his ass. Bitter about that.

I'm also bitter that I missed the business office by 5 freakin' minutes and they wouldn't give me my damn check. WTF? I can't even blame it on The White Man....everybody that works back there is black! Wait....but they are all BLACK WOMEN! A HA!! The new conspirocy, Jack, the black woman trying to hold the black man back! Stuck on "Imma KEEP my foot in his ass! Fuck his overdrawn ass! That's what he get actin' like he all that....STAY broke, you nappy headed basta'd..."
The pain, oh the pain. Sister, why dost thou forsake thy broketh brethren? For be he but a man of simple pleasures and needs. Art thou not thine brother's keeper?

**patting my emptying pockets and sniffling** Damn, y'all ain't shit.....

Night of Boxing???

Not really. My cousin (Glueman) and I hit the Jillian's of Arundel Mills. The plan was to hit a spot where we could sit and relax while watching the fight. Hmmm....the manager there was smarter than that. They marketed the fight so well that the place was made up more of people standing than sitting. Evidently they moved all of the games to a storage room to make more room for people. The cost was $10 at the door. From what I was told by a bar owner, the cost for a commercial establishment to purchase a boxing match is $1200. Jillian's easily made that in the first hour.

I was a little bitter that there was no place to sit, but my cousin assured me that it wasn't going to be that bad. And he was right. What really became the nusance was the presence of so many women. That's right, women. Women to see a boxing match. And you ask "damn, Brother Kojak, why can't women go to watch a boxing match and enjoy it?" Sure they can. I know a lot of women who genuinely enjoy a good boxing match. And for the early part of the fight, their presence was known. However, in the latter rounds, here come the posers. The women who had absolutely no interest in seeing the match but more about seeing the men seeing the match. They came in around Round 9 and later wearing heels, low-cut shirts, tight jeans, tight skirts, belly shirts, any type of casual to club gear; they were rocking it. I had to admit, as testosterone driven as the night was, I was definitely distracted. I was pissed off. You can't go NO WHERE without women wanting to be around. It was the same thing they used to do for high school baseball, sitting in the bleachers watching the game as if they were interested. Man....not even close! Scoping. Heteros love having women around most of the time. Fight night, I don't think so. Do you see us going to wedding or baby showers? hanging out around the shoe store? Hell naw. And for those guys that run behind their wives or gf's to go to a damn baby shower or something feminine like that, make sure the 2 of you wear the same skirt size.

Its Sunday. It's 92 degrees outside at 100% humidity. No one in their right MIND would be outside on a Sunday unless they really had to be. Raise your hand if you are that dumb....
***3 hands reluctantly go up**
Yeah, man...me, Glueman and DoomAndGloom went running Sunday. We were supposed to hit the weights, but we couldn't get past the security guard at Glueman's job. So, me looking at my appalling physique and Glueman always being up for a challenge, we hit the track. Luckily, I had plenty of Gatorade so we all shared. DoomAndGloom walked 2 miles while me amd Glueman did sprints on the straightways. I'm trying to run the 1/4 mile in a min. or less. (Damn I got a long way to go!). He and I did that for about a mile a 3/4 worth. I fucked up though. The Gatorade was to quench my thirst DURING my weight/endurance workout. I ended up trying to sip it occassionally during my run. And of course, the last lap ended in a cramp. Ugh. To be so outta shape is trife. And to make matters worse, I ended the night with a pounding headache.

Notable event of the day: On the way to the gym, we were stopped at a red light when we noticed an older woman sitting on a bench. I was the first to notice "Hey. She got a thing of Gold Bond Foot Killa!"
All looked towards the bench.
Looked back at the car, hesitated, but then began to take of her shoes.
"No she isn't"said DoomAndGloom
"Yes she is!" giggled Glueman.
Now, I didn't look because I knew if I did I wouldn't have been able to stop laughing. But by Glueman's reaction, she definitely put that shit on her crusty ass feet in broad daylight. wow.

And tonight??? The ironies of all ironies. When I was put out, there was this girl I was chatting with....INSTANT crush. She was smooth, ambitious, smart, exotic. I tried to put the isms on her, but I couldn't get her to bite. 6 or so months later, she's chatting with me now telling me about the new bliss in her life with her man and new job. That's great because when I was chatting with her it was kinda rough for her. In what capacity I don't know because she never gotta truly specific. That was a weird feeling initially, but I'm happy for her. What kinda bothers me is that I've seen pics of her bf....ma fucka looks like a sickly Jermaine Dupree. Damn love is blind! LOL!


I be out.

Just Like Old Times

Man, I have to make this quick, I have an appointment at 10.

One thing I forgot to tell you all about was the weird mishap at the Home Depot on Saturday. I have a machete I purchased from the flea market years ago and it's about that time to get it sharpened. Someone told me that Home Depot does that kind of thing. Hmmmm....ok. So I take my machete over to Home Depot all happy-go-lucky
La-la-LA
La-la-LA
(machete in sheath dangling around my belt)
La-la-LA
La-la-La
(white man looks at me, goes around 4 cars to keep some distance)
La-la-LA
La-la-LA
(latino woman whispers something to her chubby son and picks up the pace to her car)
La-la-LA
La....la.....hold up.

Shit. I forgot I was black.

So I SLOWLY take the machete sheath off of my belt and ask the men at working in the tool rental area "Excuse me, do y'all sharpen blades."
"Uh....RICK! We sharpen these, man?" he shouted down the aisle.
"Uh....damn! Naw man," changing the bass and tone in his voice. "We don't mess with those. You gonna have to take that someplace else."
"Hmm. Alright y'all. Thanks." and walked out.

So what's just like old times? Hanging out with WhatAboutMe. Uh oh.....time to go....I'll tell y'all what happened soon as I get back. Don't hold your breath, it ain't that juicy.


9:53 a.m.

Ok, I'm back. I was looking my 1st describing WhatAboutMe, but I can't find it. Basically its an inside joke that you can tell her some serious problem that's going on, and somehow the subject gets back to her. Like "My dog has fleas and now they are infesting the entire house."
She would say something like "Oh. Did I tell you I got a promotion 2 months ago?"

Hehhehe... cracks me up. So she and I are IM'ing each other back and forth last night and decided to meet at one of the last havens for the REAL U St. Anyone familiar with DC knows that this area used to be a stronghold for cool black folks. Then it became a spot for cool people. Then some developers got the idea to convert some of the old buildings into condos, Starbucks, Thai restaurants, a RACK of Ethiopian restaurants, and how can you leave out the tanning salon? That's right...a tanning salon in the heart of U ST!!! The area where go-go took a back street to hip hop. **sigh**

So she and I sat there and ate and drank. No, not at the soft-ass Thai spot, but we walked from one U St relic to another. A place where we call the Spot. Funny too, because we used to go there all the time and for like a year or so we didn't even know the name of the place. But it was fun; I got that old feeling of being somewhere I indubitably fit in. Not too yuppy, no too thuggish, not too soft. The tiny place is amazing. You go there and at one table (and this is how it is typically) you have your D.C. yuppies who are for some reason or another not even close to being shaken about hanging in the hood, another table you have some Ethiopian businessmen (well, frontin' like they're business men most of the time), me and WhatAboutMe, a kat that's from the neighborhood and ain't moving out for a damn reason, and the Howard U alumni that are usually grouped in 3's or 4's...


12:05 p.m.
Ok, now I can finish up this entry.
So, thats the Spot. And she and I talked about our respective lives and relationships. The usual. The only difference was that the environment that we had grown so found of was morphing before our very eyes. new signs going up, old signs going down. Boxes for shops that sold value-priced shoes packed for re-location. Next door, a man cleans the renovation dust off of the windows of a brand new French cafe housed with a high steel engraved bar with matching chairs and facade. There is a view to the grill as is typical of modern day cafes.
Evolution. And for a split second, I knew how the Native Americans felt.

Nite Out At Appleby's

One thing we all remember about the Smurfs was how much they loved hanging out together. The same holds true for the Ghetto Smurfs. They get together and drink 40's, smoke dat herb, play dominoes, and every now and then they hit a restaurant. Tonight, they are hitting Appleby's. But first, let's introduce CockDieselSmurf; a smurf who is cut too the gut due to a short stint in the fed.
Also let's introduce BumpySmurf. This mutha fucka STAYS bitter. He has something to bitch about all the time.
Now; let go eat good in the mutha fuckin' neighborhood....

Ghetto Smurfs enter.

BoricuaSmurf: Oh!! Dis place is faan-cy an' shit! Check it out!

PapaSmurf: Whateva, bitch. You don't know shit. Calm your mango-eating ass down.

BoricuaSmurf: **rolling eyes**

CookySmurf: Yeah, this place ain't shit. I bet they ain't got no pig feet up in here.

Hostess: HI! Welcome to Appleby's! How many in your party?

Papa Smurf: Bitch, can't you count?

CockDieselSmurf: Raise up PapaSmurf! She just doin' her job...With fine ass self.... (grabbing his jank) ha-ha-HAA!

Hostess: **blushing** uh..I..uh...thanks?

CockDieselSmurf: **sticking tongue out** Sho you right! hehehehe....its 6 of us, sho-tay.

Hostess: Follow me please.

PapaSmurf: **behind her**Hmph...she DO gotta phat ass. If she wasn't so goofy, I'd put her ass to work.

TrickSmurf: Papa!! Come on! Behave!

BumpySmurf: Man, FUCK behavin'!

**All are seated and the waitress approaches**

Waitress: Hi my name is Shelly and I'll be your server this evening. Can I get any of you something to drink?

BoricuaSmurf: PapiSmurf, I want a sangria. Plee-ase???

PapaSmurf: aight. Get her one of those and I want a Bud. What the rest of y'all want?

TrickSmurf: I want a Strawbury Daquiri

CookySmurf: Gimmie a Bud.

CockDieselSmurf: Me too.

Waitress: **to BumpySmurf** What about you, sir?

BumpySmurf: FUCK YOU!!

Waitress: Excuse me???

BumpySmurf: You heard me, FUCK YOU!!

TrickSmurf: Shut up, boy. Don't pay him no mind, girl. He A.D.D. or some shit. Or just plain stupid.

BumpySmurf: FUCK YOU TOO!!

PapaSmurf: Just bring him a beer too. Thanks.

Waitress stomps off. Returns later with a basket of bread and drinks.

CookySmurf: **chewing greedily** Damn! These rolls is alright! Hey BoricuaSmurf, gimmie your bag so I can take a few of these home.

BoricuaSmurf: Sorry, papi. I beat ju to de punch. I'm takin' deez shits wif me!

CookySmurf: **rolling eyes**

PapaSmurf: Cooky, can't you just make some yourself, man?

CookySmurf: Yeah, but shit! I can take these and sell dem at mushroom. At no cost man! No overhead, n'yamean?

**in unison** OOOH! AHHHH!

CookySmurf: See? SEE? **pointing at head** I be knowing shit, man! I drops that knowledge, son!

CockDieselSmurf: I feel you, dawg! **bumping fists** Here come the waitress. I'm ready to get my grub on.

Waitress enters getting in squatting position.

Waitress: You guys ready to order?

PapaSmurf: Yeah, we ready. What you ladies want?

BoricuaSmurf: Ok, do ju have bacalao?

Waitress: huh?

BoricuaSmurf: Bacalao. Ju know, de fish wif de tomatoes, wif de sazon....

Waitress: Uh, no ma'am.

BoricuaSmurf: **sucking teeth** Ok, what abou' arroz con pollo?

Waitress: I don't know what that is.

BoricuaSmurf: **SIGH!!** Daamn! J'all don't got shit!

TrickSmurf: Bitch, this aint no Spanish restaurant! Look at the damn menu.

BoricuaSmurf: Fine. Ju got chick-kon fingas, right?

Waitress: **sighing in relief** Yes. We have that.

BoricuaSmurf: Ok. I take dat.

Waitress: You ma'am?

TrickSmurf: Just gimme dat dish wit the skremps.

Waitress: Huh? Skremps?

TrickSmurf: Yeah. You know, skremps.

BumpySmurf: I HATE skremps!!

CookySmurf: Bitch the word is "shrimp". Damn!

TrickSmurf: whateva. **rolling eyes and sucking teeth** That's....what...I want.

Waitress: **too PapaSmurf** And you sir?

PapaSmurf: Gimmie dat grilled fish, with some rice and veg-a-tables.

Waitress: Great! And....

PapaSmurf: Wait. You ain't ask me what I wanted for desert?

Waitress: Well, sir, you haven't eaten your meal yet?

PapaSmurf: That's alright. I know what I want.

Waitress: Oh, ok. **fumbling with notepad.** What would you like?

PapaSmurf: You and that FINE ass or yours. Mmmm mmm MMM!

Waitress: **blushing** Uh, thanks.

PapaSmurf: **grabbing her arm, gently** Uh huh. Don't thank me until PapaSmurf show you what's REALLY good. And Imma tell you this here....

**BoricuaSmurf and TrickSmurf look at each other and roll eyes**

PapaSmurf: What's gonna happen is, you gonna give Papa that good number, and he gonna call you and then take you out and show you how a REAL smrf can Smurf. Ya feel me?

Waitress: yeah....I...I think I do.

PapaSmurf: Now go'on and do your thing. Papa gonna come get cha when he ready. **wink**

Waitress: **smiling** OK

CockDieselSmurf: Ehhh...Hmmm.

Waitress: Yes?

CockDieselSmurf: Lemmie get that Atkin's Favorite with the chicken.

Waitress: Got it.

CockDieselSmurf: Yeah, I'm trying to keep the guns, tight. **flexing bicep**

Waitress: **looking at CockDieselSmurf then PapaSmurf** That's nice. I'll be back with your orders. **walking off**

BumpySmurf: HEY!!! What about me and shit??

Waitress: Oh? How about "FUCK YOU!! I HATE taking your order!" **walks off**

BumpySmurf: **mouth wide open. All Smurfs bust out laughing**

TrickSmurf: Wait. Y'all here that?

**all listen**

CockDieselSmurf: Oh no.....oh shit....

**sound of a long car horn to the tune of "La Cucaracha**

**All together** IT'S ESE-SMURF!!!!

CookySmurf: **looking out the window** DAMN! AND he got TP with him!

PapaSmurf: Shit. I'm out. Imma go get my swerve on before they embarass my ass. **leaves the table.**

Enter Ese-Smurf. Along with him is TrailerParkSmurf.

Ese-Smurf: What's up, Homes? What you guys doing?

CookySmurf: We 'bout to eat. What da fuck you want?

TrailerParkSmurf: Now, now, Cooky. We was JUUUST in the neighbor, and we saw the smurf-mobile. And we figured we could drop by and say hi.

Ese-Smurf: Yeah. We just came from doing some bzness. We got some good deals on some hubcaps, Homes. You interested?

BumpySmurf: Fuck hubcaps!

Ese-Smurf: Damn, vato! You gots to chill, homes!

BumpySmurf: Fuck dat!

**Waitress enters** Here you guys go. Oh, more guests?

TrailerParkSmurf: Yeah! We were just about to set a spell! **takes a set**

**all sigh**

TrailerParkSmurf: Oh, I'd LOVE a beer, darlin'. Can you get that for me?

Waitress: Sure. And you sir?

Ese-Smurf: Yeah, chica. Gimmie a Corona and shit, man.

Waitress: ok **walks off**

TrickSmurf: You know, TP, its rude to have a hat on at a table with ladies. Why don't you take that shit off and pretend to be a gentleman.

TrailerParkSmurf: You right, you RIGHT! I'll just put it right here on the table.....

**before he can place it on the table, its obvious that the hat should remain on TP's head due to the once-white now dark brown brim. Also noted are the grease and oil stains all over the hat and its now weird smell**

TrickSmurf: UH UH! Put it back on. **clutching her stomach** Put..it..back...ON!!

TrailerParkSmurf: Uh...al-right.

**Ese-Smurf approaches BoricuaSmurf** OH! Pollo de dedos. **putting thumb on one of them** Did you want that, chica?

BoricuaSmurf: Oh hell no! Ju DID NOT just put ju hands in my fuckin' food! Oh fuck DAT, man! **begins taking off her earrings** Ju don' be doin' dat shit to ME! Imma fuck ju up as sooon as I take dees e'rrinks off! Fuck sat shet!

CockDeiselSmurf: **standing between the 2 of them** Easy, easy,mami! See what you did, jackass? She bout ta light yo ass up!

Ese-Smurf: **talking with mouth full and laughing** Sorry, Homes. I was hung-gree.

CockDeiselSmurf: You know what? Why don't y'all 2 just raise the fuck up outta here before I light BOTH y'all asses up my damn self.

TrailerParkSmurf: Al-right, al-right. We'll leave. C'mon, Es-saySmurf. We need to push these here hubcaps anyways. **both getting up**

CookySmurf: Uh....wait one minute, mutha fuckas. Where your money for that beer?

TrailerParkSmurf: Oh! I fig-gered one of you kind smurfs can smurf me a beer.

CookySmurf: SHIIIIIIIIIIITTTT! I ain't smurfing you shit! You better pay for that mutha fucken shit!

TrailerParkSmurf: Well, there's a problem, buddy. Since we ain't unloaded them hubcaps, I sadly do not have any currency at this moment in time. But I'd glad trade you the hula-hoop that's around ma pro-pane tank on the trailer. **putting his hand on Cooky's shoulder.**

BumpySmurf: I HATE hula-hoops!

CookySmurf: Get the fuck up off me, man! **standing up** I'm 'bout to wear your ass OUT!

TrickSmurf: Wait a minute y'all. Wait a minute. Y'all 2 just go, please. CD, you KNOW you on parole and Cooky you don't need no more drama. Fuck it.

**exuent TrailerParkSmurf and Ese-Smurf**

CockDeiselSmurf: Yeah, betta had left. Wait til I catch they ass back at the Village.

CookySmurf: Mmm mmm.

BumpySmurf: YEAH!

**enter PapaSmurf, folding a sheet a paper**

PapaSmurf: I'm back, they gone? If they were here while I was here I know there would be some shit.

CookySmurf: Yeah. You missed them and there was some shit anyway. Shit....what did WE miss?

PapaSmurf: HehehehheHHE! You know how I do.

CookSmurf: Got that number, huh?

PapaSmurf: No doubt. I'll have her tricked out in 'bout a week. Let's eat, mutha fuckas.

Weekend Synopsis- July

Friday: I was on full Daddy Duty. Me and MiniMe sat and watched the O's get their asses kicked by the Red Sox while we ate a mix of Honey Cheerios, cashews, and plain M&M's. These are the nights you adore fatherhood.

Sat.: The big day. Went to the Sugarwater Tour featuring Jill Scott, Floetry, Erykah Badu, and Queen Latifah. Off...the hook. My 2 complaints were 1) the show was in Columbia, MD; a Baltimore suburb. Why did they keep shoutin' out DC? Bitter about that. 2) Short show given the magnitude of talent. Floetry was on stage a whopping 30 minutes. Damn! That bothered me a bit because Marsha can SANG. Yea, I spelled that right because there is a difference between someone who can "sing" and someone who can "sang". Kelly Clarkson...no, let me not go there. Let me pick someone black....Ashanti can sing. But the big girl in the choir at church who whenever she approaches the mic, the old ladies in the front giggle with delight and lean over to whisper to each other. SHE...can probably SANG.
But as usual, I digress. Everyone else in the festival averaged about 45. I think Queen Latifah went a few minutes over her limit but it was all to the good because she rocked the spot with some jazz AND hip hop. Jill...was Jill. I really can't describe it because she gives an amazing performance. I've seen her twice and both times I was in total awe. For me she is a hard show to watch because the "Who Is Jill Scott?" album just brings back so many memories for me. (Yes, NONE that I will share with you all. Sorry.) Erykah was tight too. She commands the entire venue with just the expressions of her eyes and arms. Amazing.
Other observations? Fellas, there were a LOT of single women there. Don't sleep on these kinds of venues. Although a good portion of the single women were lesbians, hey, you can still look, right? I think the lesbian draw was Floetry, who are a working gay couple. I didnt know that until last night.
I hung out all day with Wisdom and had a ball. We talked a lot and I found out more about her which was great. We ended the night at the Baltimore-famous Double T Diner over pancakes. Hehhehe. So funny its actually cool.

Sunday: Slept thru most of the day. When I awakened, I was asked to cook on the grill. MiniMe made a new friend today. An assoc. of my mom brought him over and they had an instant clicking. Both are the same age and same energy level.
It looks like me and the fellas WON'T be going to Chicago for the boxing match. If I made about 30K more a year, definitely. The price of a decent seat at this event would be $150. That's right. About 30 rows back for $150. Sad to be po', man.

Ghetto Smurfs update: Damn, sun! This is taking so much longer than I anticipated. Almost done, but not quite. Again, I will warn those of you who are somewhat loyal readers that this is going to be one of the most offensive blog entries....to e'rybody. E'rybody gets it in this one. No race is left out.

**Yawn** Ok, I'm up

I have to applaud all of those who manage to blog every or every other day during the summer. I can't do it. Not that I am having such an exciting summer that I can't blog, but it is definitely harder with the sun out and the heat on. My kind of weather for sure. So to the my 3 loyal readers, I apolgize. To all of those waiting for the next episode of Ghetto Smurfs, gimmie until Friday; story is halfway done.

What have I gotten into all summer so far? Nothing exciting that I can think about. I haven't been offered a full-time job at the U of B as of yet. We shall see in the next couple weeks. There are trips to be planned, and I am growing in my acceptance of men who choose men. I told my wife the other night that I actually let a GAY man retwist my hair at the shop! I'm growing up and what not!

Friday we went bowling. Duckpins. Wife was pissed off at the man in the next lane who decided to take his son bowling. Well, he only did this as a way to let the bowling alley babysit his son because
1.) the kid was running halfway down the lane to throw the ball 2.) the kid got bored and started throwing the balls in the gutter on purpose. All this while the Dad of The Year sat there, watched, didn't say shit, and talked on the cell phone (obviously to his otherwoamn because he was grinning WAY too much). The manager had to tell him twice to stop the kids from running down the lane for fear of hiim busting his ass on the slippery hardwood. He'd say "hold on" then say "Offspring, don't do that.......Ok, I'm back." Then as I said before the kid got a tad bored and would just drop the balls in the gutter. So much so that an attendant had to go into the lane and push the balls down the gutter. Trife. We men can be so shitty like that sometimes. Been there, done that, but at the same time you don't allow your kid to be put in some form of harm while you getting your swerve on.

Sunday I went to a cookout at my co-worker, D-Money's house. She lives in a very exclusive area of a DC suburb. She's cool, but it definitely showed with the house. High ceilings and about 10 powder rooms. D-Money has an interesting circle of friends and an odd living arrangement. She lives with a man, but according to her, they aren't an item. Just friends. Hmmm... Here is are the list of folks I met:

• a 20 yr old who already has written a book, gets paid for public speaking, is extremely politically active, and represented UNC in the collegiate Jeopardy Tournament.
• his girlfriend who was just as sharp but not as ambitious.
• his mom who had a mustache almost as thick as mine. Whoa.
• an employee of BET who sounded like Ertha Kitt when she said certain sentences. She also preferred Merlot. Now THAT; is a whole other convo in of itself.
• a mother of 5....count 'em, 5 chil'rens. If she went on a 10 week aerobics program, she'd be a top 10 MILF hands down.
• Vee. The shit talking-est, all-nite-spade-playin-est one at the party. Amazing that she works for one of the world's largest non-profits.

It was a good cookout. Me and D-Money went toe to toe jonin' on each other. I think she had me in the end though. Oh well, I'll get her next time. It was odd being the youngest TRUE adult there because they were entertained by just kickin' my ass in spades. After the whoppin', I was ready to do something else. The good thing for me was that when I left I could almost walk home.

Sexuality is something else, man. The way women are supposed to act in our society and the way men are allowed to act is so constricting. It seems that the only way a woman can get to express herself sexually is by writing a book or going to Mardi Gras and flashing where 10,000 other women are flashing. Over the years I've heard some interesting scenarios from women who carry themselves like nuns to the ones who have their sexuality on their sleeves. Even talking about sex in a certain way from a woman can cause one to be typecast as loose or slutty. That's too bad. It's got to be extremely frustrating to be limited in how you expressed yourself or brainwashed into thinking that a certain type of expression. Why am I typing all of this? I think because I'm fascinated by the dichotomy of perception and being in the American or Americanized woman.

Besides that, I likes to hear the freaky stories, MAN!