You Betta Fight For Your Right to Pot-tay

(Every African American either has... or knows someone who has one of the above pics in their bathroom.... think about it. Exactly, just as I thought. LOL!!)

Most New Yorkers know that if you are going to be out for a while in the city, use the restroom before you leave the house. You’d have a better shot at a lasting music career at Bad Boy than finding a public restroom.

I went to the movies with my friend Stacy the other day. Before the movie started I took a trip to the restroom. While in the stall I looked down to see a 2 in a half year old boy staring up at me from the next stall over…. awkward. His mother was changing him on the ground… she had his coat on the floor and laid him on top of it.

Me “That is just nasty! I want to call child services!”

Stacy “That is horrible, why didn’t she use the changing table instead of laying her kid by the toilet?”

Me “And had the nerve to lay the coat down… and then put the coat on him so he could go outside. If it was that serious she needed to go find a changing table.”
(Now that I think about it.... there probably was not a changing table b/c YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BRING A BABY TO THE MOVIES!)

Truth is… that is hard to do in this city. When I first moved here I was walking in midtown and needed to use the restroom… so I did what any normal person would do…. I went to Mc Donald’s. As I was walking towards the back I was stopped by a big burley bouncer.

Bouncer “Receipt please”

Me “Oh no see… I’m not trying to buy the restroom, I just want to use it.” (didn’t realize the bathroom was like an exclusive club and your receipt the VIP pass)

Bouncer “You can’t use the bathroom unless you purchase something.”

Me “Are you serious? I have to buy a Happy Meal in order to use the bathroom… how about you just act like I showed you a receipt.”

Bouncer “I would, but my boss is over there looking.”

I understand there is an issue with homeless people…. But dang! Access denied at Mickey D’s? What makes it worse is Manhattan Mc Donald’s do not have dollar menus… so to go to the bathroom you’d have to pay around $5.

Most places practice this closed restroom policy. So if you are ever in the city and have to go…. do what I do. Go to either a department store like Macy’s or to a large hotel like The Hilton or Marriot. Using the restroom is a right and you should never have to pay for it.

She's Just Not the Into You

(above pic from left to right. Random, My girl MJ, Me)

Ladies! Has the above Kodak moment ever happened to you? You are in the club with your girls, and a random dude jumps in the picture in attempt to get close. You flash him some serious “get away from us” side-eye… but he just does not seem to get it.

Last weekend my friend was throwing a house party/ game night. In walked some random crashers. As I was walking past one of them he grabbed my arm.

Random “Aye Ma, Let me take you to dinner.” (was he asking or stating?)

Me (as I remove his grip) “Ummm….. what’s your name?”

He said something like T-Rocka. I myself prefer government names.

Me “I have a boyfriend.” (translation: I’m so not interested that I am making up a fake man)

As I was walking away he says the classic line woman hear all the time after we signal not interested.

Random “You aint all that anyway.” (just cause you salty boo… don’t hate on my flyness… after all, you tried to get at me. Not the other way around)

I went and stood next to my home boy Laurent… my designated “man”.

Laurent “What just happened?”

Me “The guy over there with the gold teeth rockin the Puff Daddy and the Family era bubble coat drenched in Old Spice just asked me to dinner…. by grabbing my arm. He didn’t even introduce himself.”

Laurent (laughing) “And you turned it down??!! This is a recession and you are broke. You better take that free meal!” (A real friend is quick to remind you of your circumstance) “Aye she changed her mind!”

Laurent proceeds to act like he is going to pull me back over to Mr. T-Rocka.

Me “You better not!”

Fast forward to Monday. I was in Borders when I walked into a large crowd of middle aged black women. They seemed very excited to see someone.


“Hmmmm either Zhane, Tyler Perry, or Hill Harper must be doing a book signing,” I thought to myself.

Well… I was close. In walks Steve Harvey to promote his new book “Act Like A Lady Think Like a Man”.

Last time I saw him in person was in Chicago at his All Cream (cause white parties are over done) Grown and Sexy Bash (like that’s original). He had hair then (or a man lacefront…I forget what the man wig is called). I did not stay at the party long… I was the youngest person there…. Killin them in the Cupid Shuffle (someone remind me to blog about that another time) But ANYWAY back to my point.


Why do women insist on buying these how to guides? A few years ago I recall women flocking to the store to buy “If You Want Closure in Your Life Start with Your Legs: A Guide to Understand Men.” And let’s not forget the ever so popular book (although this one is funny) “He’s Just Not that Into You”.

Understanding the opposite sex is easy. It is simple and plain and there is no need to waste $19.99 for the information. If he’s not calling… he either does not like you, he is with his wife, or he and his boys were having a contest to see who could obtain the most numbers in the club that night. If she is not calling… she found someone else to talk to.

Ladies, we have to stop giving “the man” our money for these books and reading articles like “20 signs he has a crush on you”. And fellas… yall can’t press a girl all extra hard in the club and then yell at her when she is not interested. There is someone out there for you. So stop grabbing arms and jumping in pictures... and realize She's just not the into you!

Stay optimistic, reevaluate your type, and keep an open mind. There you go… relationship advice both sexes can use for free 99. But trust, the dude with the gold fronts will never get love here.

Sweat Yo Perm Out

I’m the classic big sister. I used to make my brother give me all of his dimes… and I would give him nickels…. telling him they were worth more because they were bigger. I’d give him pennies for his quarters because pennies were “better” … they were a different color… making them “rare”. I bossed him around then… still do today. But in the end he is my biggest fan and I consider him to be my heart. The only person I would ever take a bullet for.

My brother is totally trusting of me… perhaps too much. He once told my mom he did not need to work hard in school because he knew I was going to make it big and he would share in my millions. You gotta love him!

2 weeks before he was about to graduate from high school I came home from college for the weekend. He was in the process of growing out his hair. It was the nappiest of a mess I’d ever seen! My mom was begging him to get a haircut, but you could not tell him his hair was not fly. Mom asked me to talk to him about it because she knew he would listen to me.

Me “You look grimey… and that’s not a compliment”

Brother “Your face is grimey… and that’s not a compliment” (if you have younger siblings… you know the comebacks are nothing but a repeat of what you said first)

Me “How about you let me twist your hair… now that would look off the chain!”

Brother “What are twists?”

Me “It would look like baby locks”

Brother “Okay, I’ll let you do it”

I ran upstairs and grabbed a small comb and some gel, but his hair was just too napp-a-fied and would not twist up.

Me “Let’s run to the beauty supply store and get some products to soften your hair so I can work my magic.”

We went all the way across town to the beauty supply store. In Iowa, the black hair care aisle in the drugstores only carries these items: do rag, blue magic, motions, oil sheen and “Just For Me” perm kit. It’s pathetic! So we had to go across town (it’s only a 17 min drive… but to us that’s across town) to get what I would need. We bought some S-curl stuff, bees wax, and some gel.

Once home I mixed all the stuff together in my hands and worked it into his hair.

Me “Okay, It’s getting more manageable all ready! Just tie it down tonight with your wave cap and it should be soft in the morning.”

My brother did as I said. The next morning I woke up to screams from my mom and my brother.

Mom “JESSICA!!!!!!!!! GET IN HERE! NOW!” (she was NOT happy)

Me “What did I do?”

Mom “Do you know what this S-Curl stuff is that you put in your brother’s hair?!!?!”

Me “Yeah, texturizer… like cream stuff to make it curly” (I said this all calm)

Mom “TEXTURIZER IS PERM! YOU LET YOUR BROTHER GO TO BED WITH PERM SITTING ON HIS HEAD ALL NIGHT!!!!!!!!!”

Me (starting to panic) “I did not know it was perm mom HONEST! I thought it was like Duke or Pink Oil Moisturizer!”

I myself can’t let perm sit on my head longer than 15 min without it burning. The fact that my brother SLEPT with it on his head all night…. Was AMAZING!

My mom then runs in the bathroom as my brother is in the shower. She starts dumping neutralizing shampoo on his head as he is yelling at her to get out of the bathroom.

Mom “Justin, make sure you get it all out! Is your scalp burning? Are you okay?”

Brother “I’m fine mom! I’M FINE! CAN I PLEASE JUST TAKE A SHOWER!”

Somehow, by me mixing the perm with the bees wax and gel cancelled out the burning. My parents and I waited in the kitchen for my brother to come down. When he finally did… let’s just say he was a HOTT MESS!

Dad (laughing so hard he is gasping for air) “YOU LOOK LIKE DON KING!”

Me (doing Don King impression) “ONLY IN AMERCIA!” (I often feel sorry that my brother and my mom were always subjected to the goofiness that is me and my dad)

After seeing that my brother’s health was not in jeopardy, my mom began to crack up too. Justin’s hair was afro in some parts, straight and silky in others… and some was missing in the back.

Mom “If you two were younger this would be one thing! But being 18 and 20 you all are too grown and know better than to be mixing chemicals! And Justin, you sat up there and let her do it! I guess you will always be the “know it all big sister” and you will be the “follower little brother”

Dad “I can’t believe you let Jessica play chemist in your hair!”

Brother (ignoring what was just said) “YOU DID THIS TO ME ON PURPOSE!” (Boy was he mad at me!)

Me (Dying with laughter) “You know, I didn’t. I honestly did not know that was perm. I’m not that evil! I am SOOOOO sorry!” (this was hard for him to believe since I was laughing… HARD)

With that my brother stormed out the house and went to get a haircut. He came back faded up… just the way my mom wanted her son to look on his graduation day.

The Girl Who Cried Penis

Today I got a facebook friend request from this girl Megan. In middle school she tried to clown me for having a “big butt” and “fat lips”. I got on her hard for having a “Pinocchio”… (her nose was on the large side). Thing is now, those features she used to poke fun of me for… women spend thousands of dollars to get and men find attractive. I wonder how much play that nose is getting her?

The things kids should have made fun of me for… were considered cool. My headgear and glow in the dark braces were a hit at all the slumber parties. My hairclips crafted of shoelaces... all the girls loved. But for some reason it was my butt, legs, and lips that attracted the jokes. Kids insisted on calling me GBG (ghetto booty girl) and when I would be standing in the hall (I’m bow legged) the boys would come up behind me and hit me in the back of my legs…. causing me to fall and drop all of my books. I’m by far guilty of my share of clowning too. After all, when you dish it you have to be able to take it!

The year was 1996…. 6th grade. Our class was watching “the film” … you know the one that talks about puberty and all the changes and feelings your body is having. The last thing I remember seeing on the screen was an erected penis.

Me “Where am I?”

School Nurse “The nurses office… you threw up and passed out during the film”

Me “Really? Well… I feel okay… can I go back to class?

School Nurse “I think you are dehydrated… did you run the mile today in P.E.?”

Me “Yes, fastest time I’ve ever had!” (I was SO proud)

School Nurse “How about you eat some of these crackers and drink some juice. Sit here and let me watch you for a little bit. There is only 30 min left in the school day anyway. I’ll send you back to class to get your books.”

The nurse was right. When I walked back in the room the janitor had covered my “accident” with the oatmeal (remember that disinfectant stuff they used to put down that signaled someone threw up).

Female Classmate “Are you okay?… they showed the male private and you just threw up and fainted!”

Me “I don’t remember even doing that… I was probably just sick from beating you in the mile” (I had to make sure she knew no matter what… I was still one of the best athletes in school)


My classmates had a field day with my barfing! For the rest of the week my new nickname was “PENIS GIRL”.

2 years later I tossed my cookies yet again in front of my classmates while in advanced biology (I was a science nerd). We were watching the childbirth video… and my stomach and eyes couldn’t take it. I’m sorry, but watching childbirth was gross then… and it still is today. I did not get made fun of for throwing up this time… only because everyone else found that video to be utterly disgusting as well. But it did signal that whenever the human body was on the tube… don’t sit by me.

Junior year of college I was sitting in a lecture of about 300 students when the girl next to me passed me a note. It read: "How are you PENIS GIRL?" I scanned the rows of the class looking for who sent it. 5 rows down there they were… 2 boys from my 6th grade class hi-fiving and laughing historically. I started laughing too and kindly flashed them my middle finger. It was almost a decade later and I STILL had not lived that down.

I could become the next Oprah or the Diddy of media. Might someday be the president of NBC or write the next Cosby Show. But to the alum of Westridge Elementary I will always me known as….. the girl who couldn’t handle the penis.

"Harpo, Who is this woman?"

I have to admit. 08 was a stressful year and let's just say… Oprah wasn't the only one eating her feelings. I have a membership to Ballys, but the closest one is in midtown… and I’m just too lazy to get on the train to go workout. New York Sports Club is right on the corner from my apartment. My roommate has a membership there and has been kind enough to assist me in my weight loss efforts by letting me use her card.

I’m a plain Jane when it comes to my work out routine. Just put me on a treadmill. As I was getting off the mill to call it a day one of the clubs trainers approached me.

Trainer “That’s it? That’s all you are going to do?

Me “Hey, I did a lot for someone just getting back on the wagon. 2 miles… I’m done!”

Trainer “How about you give me 10 min to work you out.”

Me “I’m telling you upfront I cannot afford you.”

Trainer “How do you know you can’t afford me? We have not even talked about all that.”

Me “Unless you are free… I cannot afford you. Perhaps you are unaware but this is a recession. I'd rather be thick and have shelter than to be toned and homeless.”

Trainer “Come on now girl, I just want to hip you to game about working out. Show you some stuff. I'm not going to press you. All the stuff I show you you can do on your own. But that pathetic cardio routine of yours is not going to cut it.”

By this point it was getting obvious he was flirting with me and I just wanted to go. I hate talking to people at the gym. Just standing there in a pool of sweat. Besides… there was nothing new he had to show me. I played sports throughout high school and have had personal training before… but because he was cute… I went with it.

Me “10 min and I’m leaving”

Trainer “So what’s your name?”

Remembering that my roommates name is on the club pass I just used her name.

Me “Charreah”

10 min turned into 30. Being out of shape… that was the longest 30 min of my life and I was mad at myself for doing it. All those squats and planks had me winded.

Trainer “NOW YOU’RE WORKING IT! PUSH IT! PUSH IT!…. GIVE ME 10 MORE!”

This cutie just got all Harvey from Celebrity Fit Club on me… it was time to go.

Me (struggling to get off the floor) “Okay… I’m done with this now. Thanks for your time!”

Trainer "I'm not done with you!"

Me "Well, I'm done with you... and there is some birthday cake flavored ice cream at home with my name on it!"

Trainer looks at me like you better not.

Me "Okay I'll eat some sugar free jell-o. But for real... I'm leaving".

Trainer “Oh no you don’t! Come over here to the computer so I can set you up for some personal training.”

Me “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

Trainer “Don’t worry about it.”

He logs into a computer and proceeds to type in C-h-a-r-r-e-a-h.

Up pops a giant picture of my roommate on the screen! I was just busted for sneaking into the club! We look NOTHING ALIKE! PLAYED MYSELF! Hmmmm...

Trainer (extra confused) Who is she?

Me “uh… uh… uh… that is my stepsister. Her job has a discount here... my membership is under her name… she is Charreah. My name is Jennifer. (I was SOOO lying, but I was trying to make the situation better)

Trainer “Okay…. Jennifer…. What is your last name……?”

Me “Got to go by!”

I took off oh so fast down the stairs to the locker room. Grabbed my coat and bag and ran out of the gym. Having worked at the YMCA back in the day I know how they like to do people who cheat the system. I was not getting put on blast by a club manager.

Well so much for me working out. I’m too scary to go back there incase my pic is hanging on the wall marked WANTED FOR TRESPASSING!

Want a job? Got a Headshot?

I am going to state the obvious. This economy is terrible. And in NY.... things are expensive for no reason. Apples are 2.99 per lb...one of those single serving containers of yogurt.... $1.05. Hell! RAMEN is like $2 a pack. I have become my worst nightmare… a coupon cutting fool! With these prices I have been forced to eat whatever is on sale at the grocery store for the week. This weeks special.... Campbells Soup and Motts Apple sauce. Now that's MMM MMM GOOD!

I need to boost the side hustles. A few months back I had an interview at American Apparel. For those of you who don't know... they sell spandex, tights, tees and leotards. Now I've had some crazy interviews in my day, but this BY FAR topped them all. The woman interviewing me looked like she would be the type to worship Marilyn Manson while picking her scabs and eating them. She spoke in this weird monotone voice… much like MTV cartoon character Daria. She led me to the dungeon of their flagship store where designers were creating t-shirts. We sat on a cement bench in the corner as I was trying to hear her over the sound of sewing machines.

Interview chick “Resume?"

Because I could see she wasn't going to... I extended her a handshake..... "Pleasure to meet you” I said.

I did not think I was going to need a resume to sell over priced dance gear... but I did happen to have one on me (only because one day I am hoping to run into Jay-Z).

Interview chick "write your name on this sheet of paper in big letters."

I did as I was told and wrote my name going horizontal in big letters across the sheet of paper

Interview chick "Now hold it up... and smile...or don’t… I don’t care what you do. I am going to take your picture."

me "Sort of like a mug shot?"

Interview chick "you can say that"

I know I looked extra confused in that picture.... why was she taking it?

Interview chick "Thanks for coming in have a nice day"

me "That's it?"

Interview chick "Yes. That is it."

me "sooooooooo when can I expect to hear back?"

Interview chick "If we want to extend an offer we will call in a week."

She then sort of waved me off like Meryl Streep’s character did everyone in the movie Devil Wears Prada.

Me “well… I look forward to hearing from you”.

That was the most superficial (and strangest) thing! I was not there trying to model for them. This was not an open casting call. I was there because I have retail and fashion experience (let's not forget my BA degree) and frankly I am more than qualified for a sales associate position with their store whether they feel that I fit into their standard of beauty or not! What happened to equal opportunity employment? Oh… and how dare they not extend me an offer! I KNOW I’M FLY! Shoot….

She was a Devil With the Blue Dress On!

New York City subway system provides me with great entertainment. From the little kids break dancing for change… to the homeless man who sings “Lean on Me” (oh the irony) on the 3 train… I never have a terribly boring ride.

Last night I was on my way to Times Square to see “Notorious” when this hoodlum looking young man sat across from me. As I clinched my purse tighter (hey, he fit the profile… don’t judge me!) he did something unexpected. He pulled out a blow pop and got to sucking. I tried not to snicker and look the other way… but I could not help it.

Dude “Yo, is there a problem shawty?”

Me “No, no problem.” (I knew my outbursts would get me into trouble one day… I was just hoping he was not going to kill me for it.)

Dude “A man can’t have some candy?”

Me “You can have whatever you like” (oh lawd…I did not mean for that to sound like the TI song)

Dude “For real though…. Why you laughing?” (Since he was pressing me so hard… I decided to keep it real)

Me “There are just some foods that grown men look funny eating.”

Dude “Like…” (was he really taking it this far?)

Me “Like Blow Pops, corn dogs…. pretty much anything on a stick. My homeboy and I also confirmed that guys should not eat anything with pink frosting… like cupcakes. Yea…You don’t look very manly eating a cupcake with pink frosting…. Not a good look”

Dude then tried to look at me like he was all mad.

Me “come on… if I was sitting here suckin on something you would be all up in my mouth. Trust me… I’ve been eating those Flintstone Push ups and have had dudes all up in my grill saying inappropriate stuff. I did not mean to laugh at you. You got another one?”

Dude (extra salty) “ No”

I began to think of the time my friends and I were at Tick-Tock Diner over on 34th and 8th talking about the weird stuff we have witnessed on trains.

Alex “I’ve seen a couple having sex on the train yo! Some people watched… some moved cars.”

Tony “I’ve seen a dude light up a crack pipe and smoke it”

Flex “I’ve seen a man masturbate to a girl. She had her back turned to him reading a book. She did not even know”

Everyone “THAT’S GROSS!”

My roommate once told me about her co-worker who had a purse on her arm and when she got off… the strap was still around her shoulder… but the purse was gone!

It would be months later until I experienced a guy standing up holding onto the pole with one hand and his “manhood” with the other. Just whipped it out for all to see as he took a leak in front of me and 3 other people in the car.


But the weirdest thing that I’ve seen did not happen to me on the train…. It happened around 11:45pm as I was walking to the train station on 145th and St. Nick one Friday night.

As I was turning the corner leaving my friends house a woman wearing a blue dress (one of those blue church dresses…. like she was on the deaconess board) walked towards me. She looked fresh from church…. except for her hair …which resembled the puffy shape of Fredrick Douglass. She was more like the devil in the blue dress! Anyway, she stopped about 4 feet in front of me. She had a wild look in her eye. I was alone and got kind of scared. I froze in place.

She turned her back towards me… squatted down low… lifted up her dress to expose a pair of dirty granny panties… and (as my grandfather would say) “broke wind.” While she was still squatted she looked over her shoulder to peep my reaction. However, I did not have one… I thought I was seeing things. The woman then got up and just walked past me as if she did not fart at me.

I tried to block it out my mind. The next day I called my friend and told her the story.

Me “It was like a drive by farting!”

Friend “Are you sure she didn’t moon you?”

Me “No… you bend over to moon…. You squat when you need to relieve something. Plus, I heard it. I feel so violated.”

Friend “Maybe she resented you.”

Me “What do you mean?”

Friend “Well… with the gentrification of Harlem.”

Me “But, I’m black….”

Friend “Yea, but you are not from here. Perhaps she’s just upset that things are changing.”

I don’t know what her reason for feeling like she needed to pass gas at me was. But, NO ONE… no matter race, creed or class deserves to get farted at!

Don't Save Her... She Don't Wanna Be Saved!

One of the hardest parts about living on my block is the Popeyes Chicken down the street. I have to walk past it every day. As soon as I step out my apartment the smell of hot butter biscuits hits my nose and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to get 2 legs, 3 biscuits, a side of corn and an apple pie.

On this particular evening I could not resist. I was going in. The line (as usual) was very long. What I like about this Popeyes is that they always mess up the order… but in a good way. You leave with more food than what you pay for!

While in line a woman who looked very down on her luck walked in. She appeared to be homeless. She walked from person to person asking for money to feed her children. I stood there and watched as people ignored her and looked at her like she was a disgrace to the world. I’ll occasionally give a dollar when I see a homeless person. Perhaps it was Marvin Sapp’s gospel hit “Never Would Have Made It” that I was listening to in my headphones that had me feeling extra Christian… but I had a huge desire to help the woman.

Woman “I am trying to feed my children. Would you mind helping me out?”

Me “Stand beside me and when it is my turn to order… I will get you a family bucket.”

I figured I could cut my order and fix some sides at home… and eat a PB&J for lunch the next day. After all, sometimes you have to ask yourself WWJD.

Woman “ Psssh! I don’t want no chicken! (she said this like I offered her a bag of my bowels) I’m trying to get some Chinese Food!” (Oh no she didn’t!)

Okay see… I was trying to refrain from thinking this woman was a crack head but, that had to be the most crack headed statement EVER. I’m offering her a FREE FAMILY BUCKET of chicken and she got the nerve to turn it down and request an order of Chinese food! I figured I’d give her one more chance to redeem herself.

Me “I’m offering to buy you a family pack of chicken and biscuits…. Not any cash… and not any Chinese food”.

Woman “Well, I WANT some Chinese food. My kids want Chinese!”

If she wanted Chinese food so damn bad… why was she in POPEYES begging and not next door at the Chinese spot? This only makes me think that she wants the money for “other things”… but even then… TAKE THE DAMN CHICKEN ANYWAY! This type of ungratefulness makes me not want to help people and just stick to myself… but you can’t be like that.

Me “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

By this time 2 guys behind me were laughing historically at the foolishness of this situation. They gave the woman some money so she would leave me alone and told her to go get some “Chinese food”.

I have not been to Popeyes since… and that is probably best for my waistline.

Ghetto Awards Part 2

(Scroll down for part one)

I opened the email and began reading the tip sheet. The woman in my research boss’s office was right. It was The Ghetto Film School 4th Annual Benefit Dinner and Awards. I began to feel better as I Googled the school and learned that they’ve produced for many film festivals and media outlets such as CNN. The money raised at this benefit was towards funding a documentary the students would be shooting in Africa. Why would such a great group want to be connected with a word (“ghetto”) which… depending on who you are… could bring up negative connotations?

At the event I was to land interviews with The Beastie Boys and Hip-Hop Entrepreneur Damon Dash. While getting to the third name it clinked as to why the magazine wanted to attend the event…. Designer ZAC POSEN was expected. The benefit was being held at a swanky Chelsea restaurant. Chelsea is an area of Manhattan that is not in the least bit ghetto. Chelsea is very posh and it often referred to as the gay area of town.

Upon my arrival that evening I was annoyed. Very wealthy people donned in their diamonds, Gucci, and whatever else signals “rich” to you came through the door. They would say in their very proper boarding school voices “Excuse me.. Is this the Ghetto Awards?” as if they were saying “Pardon me…. Do you have any Grey Poupon?” I was not sure how much abuse of the word ghetto (by people who did not seem to even know what one was) I could bare to listen to.

That’s when I spotted 2 members of the legendary hip-hop group The Beastie Boys.

As I approached them they read who I was representing off the press pass around my neck.

Beastie Boys “We don’t do fashion” one said jokingly

Me “ Well…Fashion is a statement and hip-hop is one of the biggest statements to ever hit the world. But, what’s important tonight is THIS benefit… as we are gathered to celebrate our youth doing powerful things through the art of film. Would you mind talking to me about The Ghetto Film School and why organizations such as this are important?” (don’t hate me cause I’m good)

With that they began talking and I got a wonderful interview. One down… 2 celebs to go. I went searching for fashion designer Zac Posen…. Who never came, but I am sure he gave a very generous donation.

We were all asked to take our seats so they could begin the program and be served dinner.

MC “Thank you all for coming to The Ghetto Film School’s 4th Annual Benefit and Awards.”

The next thing to come out of his mouth left me more confused than ever.

MC “A Ghetto is a specific area of a community where people who share like circumstances congregate. People are often outcasts. Film is Ghetto. We are sharing in the experience of Film. There is no medium like it… making us an outcast” (crowd claps)

Umm… FALSE! Am I the only person who thinks Film = Ghetto… is a HUGE stretch?

About 20 min into the program walked in Damon Dash. I’m not going to accuse him of hitting the blunt or being drunk… I’ll just say he seemed to be feeling life. He was seated right next to me. 20 min late and causing a disturbance… he took out his i-phone and passed it around the table.

Damon (to the table… as the program was going on) “This is my new baby girl. She is 2 weeks old!”

Me (holding the phone) “She is beautiful, looks just like Rachel.”

Damon (looking at me like I was the biggest stalker ever) “Who are you?”

Me (laugh) “I’m J, entertainment and red carpet reporter”

Damon “I hear an accent… you from Chicago?”

Me “I’ve spent a great deal of time there… but I’m from Iowa”

Damon “POTATOES!!!!!!”

Me “It’s corn” (I already knew what the next question was going to be)

Damon “They have black people in Iowa?” (If I had a penny for every time I was asked that)

Me “Actually, my family and I integrated the whole state!”

Damon “Oh?”

Me “Not so much”

I turned back around to listen to whatever it was the speaker was talking about. I turned to take a bite of my appetizer when I noticed my plate was licked clean. I looked over at Damon.

Damon “You wasn’t going to eat that were you?” (as he finishes off his plate)

I just smiled and rolled my eyes. Damon then begins talking to his publicist.

Damon “Am I supposed to speak?”

PR “No”

Me “I don’t mean to butt in… but you are supposed to speak”

Damon “How do you know?”

Me (Holding program) “Because this says so”. (He needs to fire his people and get at me… how do you come to an event and not know you are the keynote speaker?).

Just as I pointed out that he was speaking the MC announces him to the stage. Mouth all full and everything.

Damon (under breath) “Oh shit”

He walked slow to the podium. I have to give it to him. For someone who did not plan on speaking and was not in a sober state of being… he did a good job.

Damon “This is a very important cause to me and I am going to tell you why. I feel like I’m a dude that’s survived a pretty extreme circumstance. I’ve been lucky enough to be in a position to be able to visually show all these things that defines me as a man. The swagger in the hood… you see this in front of you? This is the hood. And it’s the coolest place on the planet. But, when I try to make movies about it I always have to hand it over to someone who doesn’t understand that experience. They know nothing about that swagger. So get me someone that is from the Bronx! And get me some directors and some DP’s and all that so they can understand and I’ll split it up I’ll break bread… I’ll share it with you all! (He went on for a little while longer talking about the film projects he had done.”

After he was done he walked back to our table. I signaled to him to bend down so I could whisper in his ear.

Me “you are supposed to present the scholarship award to the winner”

He winked at me as a thank you and ran back on stage.

As the ceremony broke for dinner a woman sitting on my other side asked me about my Iowa to New York transition. I told her all about how I moved to NY to work in entertainment media and was living in a woman’s hostile as I was trying to save money for an apartment. We talked for a while about my goals, education, internships,…. She seemed impressed.

By this time a round of calamari was sent to the table. Mmm my fav!

Damon “Are you aware of what that stuff is?”

Me “Yes, fried squid”

Damon “And you are just going to eat it?”

Me “Yes…”

Damon “You eat things that breath under the water?”

Me “I never thought of it like that… but I guess I do.” (What was the point of this conversation?)

Damon “I don’t eat anything that breaths underwater or flies. Would you eat a seagull?”

Me “I’ve never been offered any… so I cannot tell you the answer to that. But, I can tell you that I do not eat red meat……..”

I then pull my recorder out of my bag.

Me “Enough about me, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Damon “On or off record?”

Me “ummm… on?” (I wonder if he thought I was going to ask him about some Jay-Z stuff)

I held my recorder towards his mouth.

Me (very serious) “So (a take a pause)… When did you fall in love with hip-hop?”

Damon “HAHAHA ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

Me “I’m just playin! I’ve always wanted to say that!”

Damon “Girl, you are funny!”

Me “Ha, Can’t a girl have Brown Sugar Dreams? But really… I have a few questions my editor wants me to ask for future articles.”

Damon “okay”

Me “What ringtone/tones do you have?”

Damon “I’m a grown ass man, I don’t do ringtones.”

Me “You are a grown ass man… dually noted. As the country is “going green” what are you doing to help preserve the environment?”

Boy was that the wrong question! He went into like a 20 min rant about some eco friendly car he was producing. My eyes were too glazed over when he was done. Right as he finished the question… the woman whom I had my life conversation with came up to me all extra drunk, with some old dude on her arm.

Drunk woman “J, this is my Husband. He works for CNN.”

(CHA-CHIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was TOO HAPPY inside!)

Me “Nice to meet you sir.”

Drunk woman “I bet you have never met anyone from CNN before, small town girl such as yourself.” (her tone did not set well with me… and she does not know who I know)

Me “Actually, I was CNN Anchor Don Lemon’s intern when he was at WMAQ NBC-5 in Chicago. And while I was there summer 2006, Roland Martin was the head of a prominent Chicago publication… The Chicago Defender… he used to come to NBC to give interviews all the time. I would talk to him before he went on air. He too is at CNN now. I keep in touch with both of them and see them every year at the National Association of Black Journalist Convention”.

I was extremely polite when I said this. I just had to put it out there that I have been exposed to “people of importance” … don’t get it twisted… nothing about me is “small town”. And most important don’t underestimate the people coming out of my state! “I PUT ON FOR MY CITY, ON ON FOR MY CITY!”

Drunk woman (turns to husband) “Honey, isn’t that impressive. This one is good. And So articulate!”

My skin began to crawl and my body got hot. I knew I was there representing my magazine so I had to maintain all professionalism… but this lady was pushing it. I spoke with her husband for a min and exchanged information. (At the end of the day… he was not that big time at CNN… at least not on Don and Roland level!) Her husband walked away.

Drunk woman “Look J, I want to help you out. I know publishing does not pay well. I enjoy helping others. I live in a big loft on the upper eastside with my 3 kids. We have a spare bedroom. Wouldn’t you like to live with us? I travel a great deal so it would just be you and my husband most of the time. My kids are great! You would just have to watch after them. Again… this could be a wonderful opportunity for you!”

WHAT IN THE AUNT JEMIMA HELL WAS THIS WOMAN TALKING ABOUT???!!! Leaving me at home with her husband? Watching her kids? Just trying to help? HAS SHE HAS LOST HER MIND!?!?!?!?

Me “That all sounds wonderful…..”

Drunk Woman “Judy… my name is Judy”

Me “Judy, but I am afraid that I did not come all the way out here to pursue the dream of being your mammy.”

I flashed her a smile and gracefully excused myself from the conversation. What a hott mess of a woman!

The time was now 11:30pm and I still had to get home and transcribe all these interviews and write a story to be turned in by 7am. I found Damon Dash and told him how much I enjoyed his company and left. I was not going to get turned into anyone’s house negro. Especially not at any event called The Ghetto Awards!

Ghetto Awards

I was sitting at my desk when I received a call from one of my editors. She wanted me to cover an event and she was very excited about it.

Editor “Hi Jessica! I have a great event I would like for you to cover tomorrow night! Are you available?!”

Me “But of Course! What is it?”

Editor “The Ghetto Awards!” (What you talking bout Willis?)

Me “ummm…. Did you say the Ghetto Awards?”

Editor “That’s right the Annual Ghetto Awards! I will send you an email tomorrow morning detailing the Ghetto event along with a tip sheet of the celebs I want you to interview. Thanks Jess! The Ghetto Awards should be great!” (was it me… or did she get a kick out of saying the word “ghetto” to me?)

I hung up the phone and just sat there. I felt violated, upset and confused. Why was there an event called the Ghetto Awards? Who was going to be at this event that we would actual use for the magazine or the website? But… most important... why do I…. The BLACK GIRL have to cover such a thing? I was offended!

My desk was in the area of the office known as the reporters cave. The room was 5 black female research reporters and one white. She was form the suburbs of the Chi (I shared a Midwest connection with her). They could see something was on my mind.

Co worker “Jess, what’s going on?”

Me “I was asked to cover an event tomorrow night….”

Co Worker “That’s great! What are you covering?”


Me “The Annual Ghetto Awards”

My response was met by a bunch of lip smacks, sucking of the teeth, and a chorus of “OH HEEEEEEEEEEELL NAWs”

Co Worker “You are just being funny… right?”

Me “Unfortunately, I’m not. And I agreed to cover it before she told me what the event was… It would be unprofessional for me to back out. I mean the name alone sounds like I’m going to a modern day coon show! I can see it now. I will be in a room with Flavor Flav, T-Pain, Soulja Boy and a slew of reject BET UNCUT video hoes. The award will be in the shape of a golden hand that is throwin up the “Westside” sign. It will given out by weavalicious chicks wearing light up stripper shoes and cut up shirts that read: “I’m dat Bitch”

Co Worker (laughing) “You’re stupid! Well, did your editor provide any information?”

Me “She said I would get the info in the morning… but she mentioned this is an annual event… I’m going to Google it now.”

I could not find any information on the Ghetto Awards. But, what was really bothering me was why I was chosen to cover this event. Why did a black person have to do it… like to be ghetto meant you had to be black. Plus, there were 2 other black girls the same age as me that reported. Why was I the black girl chosen? The 3 of us are all about the same completion… so I could not pull the “It’s because I’m dark skinned” card. And one of the girls rocked a fro… which often times some people (draw your own conclusion as to whom) stereotype as being more “militant”, “down” or dare I say “ghetto”.

I turned to suburb Chi-town chick and asked her opinion as to why I was chosen for this particular story. Perhaps she could give me the white prospective of the situation which would help me to understand my editor.

Chi-town “Well, Jess… This might sound bad… but if I was an editor and that came across my desk… I would turn to my black reporters.”

Me “Why? If there was a Gay Pride event I would not turn to my gay reporters. Or if there was a martial arts contest… I would not turn to my Asian reporters. Why when you hear the word ghetto would you assume that means black? There was a time in American History where ghetto was used to describe a section of town where Jewish people lived. Contrary to popular belief there are people of all races who live in the ghetto. I don’t get why it is a “black thing”.”

Chi-town “ This is true, but not everyone thinks like that and you know as well as I do that most people are going to correlate ghetto with being black… she probably thought that just because you are black… you know about the ghetto.”

Me “Okay, so out of the 3 black reporters, why was I selected… ?”

Chi-town (nervous laugh) “Because out of the 3… you act the most ghetto…”

I looked at her like she just called me the “N” word. But, I did ask her… she was just being honest.

Me “Would you please explain how I am more ghetto?” (This was one of those situations she would have been screwed no matter what she said. I felt bad for putting her on the spot, but I just wanted to know.)

Chi-town “ Come on Jess! The other two are the most white acting black girls I have ever met! Not that I’m saying you are ghetto… but you maintain an awareness that you are black. Do you think the other two sit at their desk and read theybf , bossip, and media take out every morning… NO. They are on Perez Hilton. If we were to go ask them about what was going on in black pop culture… THEY WOULD HAVE NO CLUE. They probably don’t even know what BET stands for.” (when keeping it real goes wrong… but I got what she was saying)

Me “You are inaccurate… I do read Perez Hilton… It’ just not at the top of my blog chain! But, you do bring up a good point… and I can see from a white prospective as to why I was selected to cover this event. Now, give me some dap and let’s go get some chicken!”

Everyone in the room begins to laugh… but even then I was still upset about the situation. I grabbed my phone and went to 3 way my parents.

Dad “Ghetto Awards? They have those? ”

Mom “Are you getting overtime for this?”

Me “Yes….”

Dad “Well, I suggest you do it and go make some money because your rent is 1,000 a month!”

Me “Dad! I am offended on behalf of all black journalist who have been fighting to be treated and seen as equals in this industry. Oh I’ll do the story… so that perhaps one day some black girl like me will not have to cover the Ghetto Awards!”

Dad (in his best color purple voice) “ALL MY LIFE I’VE HAD TO FIGHT!”

Me “ Father…..I am not amused! But, I’ll call yall back when I get off work.”

I get back to my desk and my research boss (who is black) calls me into her office. She was in there with another black employee.

Me “I’m covering an event tomorrow!” (I just wanted to see what some seasoned professionals response was going to be to this.)

Research boss “Great! Where are you going!”

Me “The Ghetto Awards! (I then break out in a little version of the chicken noodle soap dance)

Black employee “I thought the BET awards were in LA?” (she was serious with that)

Me “I’m not talking about the BET awards… This is an event called Ghetto Awards… here in New York!”


Both black women “What the hell? Why are we even covering that!”

Black employee “I hope you mean you are covering an event for the Ghetto Film School. It’s a program that provides grants and scholarships to students who are passionate about creating short films and documentaries. They’re out of the Bronx and hold an awards ceremony every year around this time... sometimes they get a celebrity to speak.”

Me “All I was told was that I was covering the Ghetto Awards and I was the token chosen to go.”

Black employee “Yea, when your editor gives you your tip sheet in the morning… make sure it is Ghetto Film School and not Ghetto Awards…. Cause if you really are covering something called the Ghetto Awards… I have a problem with that.” (insert three snaps and a neck roll)

The next day in the reporters cave

Chi-town “Morning, Interesting choice to wear to the ghetto awards.”

Me “Were you expecting me to look like I was going to the Flav of Love casting call? Sorry girl, My blue jean Baby Phat cat suit is dirty.”

We both start laughing. I was wearing a kaki high wasted pencil skirt and white BCBG racer back tank that had some gold and silver jewels on it. I made sure there was a little bling on the shirt so I could relate to the people.

By this time I was at my desk and was about to open an email in my inbox subject line: “Ghetto information” (–sigh- my editor is a trip).



To be continued………


Stay tuned for more about the actual event, my interview with the Beastie Boys and Hip-hop Mogul Damon Dash, and the drunk woman who wanted to turn me into her house negro.

I went on a Date... in my OWN Kitchen...

I had a 6pm flight scheduled to leave NY LaGuardia for Des Moines International Airport.

At 4:30pm I left my building to catch a gypsy cab (yellow cabs are rare in my neighborhood) to the airport. I don’t know if it is the recession or what… but the cabbies wanted to charge me $50 for a $30 ride. I finally found one for $35 and off I was.
.
While waiting to board I was on the phone with my friend LaToyia. I was telling her about a conversation that took place between my mother and I a few days prior.

Mom “ Don’t you want to move back to Des Moines?”

Me “No”

Mom “I got you a job here”

I’m thinking it is at a TV station or writing for the newspaper.

Mom “It’s evaluating flood damage in people’s basements” (insert the chirping of crickets here)

Me “I think I am going to pass on that one mom” (that had to be the most random job ever)

Mom “Well just think about it. Also, there is a really nice young man… new to Des Moines. I figured you two would hit it off. I have invited him over for pizza the day after you come home.”

Me “By the simple fact that you referred to him as a “nice young man” means he is lame and extra dorky. And how are you going to set me up on a date in my OWN HOUSE!!!??? What’s wrong with him mom? And who past the 6th grade has boys over for pizza?”

Mom “Be nice Jessica. There is nothing wrong with this young man. He is from Chicago moved here to work for the state. Just ask your father, he met him too. He came over to the house a few weeks ago with Ms. Brown (she is a family friend)… he is a really nice gentlemen.”

Me “He’s met dad? And dad is okay with this?”

(Usually my dad and I are on the same team… WHAT HAPPENED!)

LaToyia ( busts out laughing at this ordeal). “Do you and your mom have the same taste?”

Me “Not at all.” I’m sure this guy has 0 personality. Can’t dress… probably really short… he’ll be really smart…. But lack social skills. idunno Toyia I’m expecting the worst. And he’s been to the house before… So he has seen pics…my parents probably talked about me and what I do. All I know about him is he is a “nice young man from Chicago.” But hey… I’ll call you back I’m bout to board.”

I stepped onto the smallest plane I have ever been on in my life. I’m 5ft 7 and had to duck while getting on. The plane sat two on one side and one across the aisle… if you can call it an aisle. We sat there for about 25 min when the pilot comes out to address us.

Pilot “Welp ladies and gentlemen I have 2 pieces of news. 1. Because of the high winds we will need to stop in Ohio to refuel. This should take no more than 30 min.” (I’ve never had to stop for gas on a plane… but whatever). “2. But, we won’t be going anywhere because we can’t find the co pilot.”

WTF????!!???!!????

Pilot “When we track down his whereabouts you will be informed immediately.”

20 min later the pilot comes back.

Pilot “Welp… we’ve found the co pilot. He thought we were flying out of JFK. It’s rush hour so he should be here in about 2 hours. In the mean time we are going to have to have you take all your personal belongings and go sit in the terminal.”

I swear this kind of foolishness only happens to me.
As soon as I get off the plane I decide to go talk to someone at the counter. If the co pilot can’t find his way to the correct airport… how is he going to guide us in the air?

The woman gave me this long speech about how our bags were already loaded and that they would not be able to get to my things and that they were working to get a different co pilot who was already in our airport. Feeling a little ticked I took my seat in the terminal. That’s when the girl sitting across from me let out a scream.”

There was a rat running loose. I propped up my feet and got back on my phone. About an hour later they found a co pilot and we were off.

There was an ice storm in Des Moines that night… and on that little plane… I felt every bump and chip of ice that hit. Have you ever been in a situation where you are not sure if you are going to make it…. So you start praying and promising to God all the stuff you are going to do if he just delivers you out of the situation.

Me “OH LAWD… IM GOING TO CHANGE FAHTER GOD I’VE GOT A LOT MORE LIVING TO DO. FORGIVE ME FOR EVERY EVIL THOUGHT I’VE EVER HAD AND FOR WANTING TO CUT THE CO PILOT.”

But real talk God was on our side. We were the last flight for the next couple days to fly into Des Moines. That truly was a blessing.
My dad picked me up… in my car that I left behind. For some reason the passenger door does not open very well… and the radio/cd player no longer works.

Me “dad, what’s wrong with my car?”

Dad (chuckles) “This car is barely making it.” (why black people can’t return stuff like they found it?)

Me “Soooooo who is this wack boy ma has coming over for pizza tomorrow?”

Dad “He’s actually pretty cool… I don’t think you will think he is all that wack.”

Me (shaking my head in a disappointed tone) “you’ve done changed dad… you’ve done changed.”

The next day at 6pm

Mom (shouts out from the garage door) “JESSICA, WE ARE LEAVING! We’ll bring the pizza back around 8. He is coming over at 7.”

Me “YOU ARE LEAVING ME HERE WITH A STRANGER!”

Mom “You’ll be okay.”

Me “How irresponsible… what if he is a crazy molester!”

Mom “Whatever.”

She then looks me up and down

Mom “you are wearing that?”

I had on a plaid shirt and some jeans… not so much date night gear… but what does one wear to go on a date at their own kitchen table?

Me “I sure am! Am I over dressed? I was about to put on my old cheerleading hoodie I found in my closet.”

With that my parents left.

An hour passes… and this negro is not here. I know he did not stand me up at my house! Then my mom calls.

Mom “He just called me… he is dropping off his last kid and then he will be on his way.”

Me “Dropping off his last kid! HOW MANY DIFFERENT BABY MAMMAS DOES HE HAVE!”

Mom “Oh Jessica STOP IT! He works with delinquent kids and after their programs he takes a few of them home.”

Me “Oh… well can you come with my pizza please… I’m hungry.”

Another hour goes by… no dude… no food. I call my mom again and a few min later my parents come home with a pizza. My dad and I KILT that pizza! Leaving dude like 3 pieces. I then went to my room… shoot…. After all that pizza I had itis.

My doorbell rings. My mom then comes in my room talking about how she knows I don’t have the nerve to be sleeping. “He had the nerve to be like 2 hours late,” I said.

I opened the door. Hmm okay from the outside…. He’s not all that nerdy. I had to look at his shoes. Shoes tell me a lot. He had on black dress shoes… so he just came from work so I gave him a pass.

My dad comes upstairs.

Dad “What’s up Dre how you doin man!” dad then gives him what I call “the black man embrace.” You know…. The slap combo handshake that is followed by a lean in like it’s a hug… but it’s not a hug…… yall know what I’m talking about.

Okay so clearly he was cool with my dad. My mom comes down and gives dude a hug. This was getting awkward. How is this strange dude cool with my family?

When my parents left Dre and I started talking. Come to find out we knew some of the same people in Chicago and we lived near each other when I lived there (small world) . we like the same music and the same night spots. He also possessed a go getter mentality where he was willing to relocate to get ahead for his career (same with me) and he knew what he wanted out of life and had a plan to get there. Dre is pretty smart. Okay, Okay he was coo. Moms did okay. He asked if I played pool and I told him yea.

Dre “So you want to go play pool”

Me “okay sure, I don’t know where a pool hall is…. But they have tables at the bowling alley….”

Dre “Well are you good at bowling… let’s do that.”

Me “Im okay. I bowl about twice a year.”

We went to the bowling alley….. and he paid for it. (plus) But that’s not all. When he was telling the woman our names to input on the screen she wrote my name as “Jessie” Before I could even correct her… he did. “It’s Jessica.” Which made me wonder who tipped him off to the fact that I HATE being called Jessie. Most people would not have corrected it… I appreciated that he did.

The first four frames he smoked me. I had bowled all gutter balls. Then the voice of Ricky Bobby from Talladega Nights whispered to me “If you’re not first you’re last.” I’m very competitive and I just could not go out like that. For pretty much the rest of the game I had spares and strikes. The end score was like 72 to 110… I WON!!!!!!!

Usually I would have started doing the running man and shouted out in my Dave Chappelle voice “I BEAT CHA CHUMP! BOW DOWN!” but, I’m trying to be mellower.

Me “Good Game” (man that took a lot for me to say)

Dre “I guess… I just got smoked.”

Me “Don’t worry about it… It was just luck that I won. Usually I’m a terrible bowler” (I lied)

That night I was talking to one of my homeboys on the phone and he had this to say about my win.

Home Boy “You know fam aint gonna call you… he salty that he got beat on the first date.”

Me “Well if he’s gonna be like that about it… then I don’t need him to call me…. (in true Jessica form I started singing Alicia Keys) “I Am, A SUPERWOMAN… YES I AM…. YES SHE IS…..!”

Home Boy “Typical you. Why couldn’t you just let fam win! You had to bowl all over his manhood”

Me “ Are you still toasty about the fact that I beat you bowling… and in pool?”

Home Boy “Whatever G”

Well… the next day he DID call (please, I’m J Wils.. and if you don’t know now you know!) He was going out of town… he text when he got back (I hate technology) but by that time I started having all these back problems and did not get the chance to get back up with him.

Moral of the story. Give your parents a little more credit. You might just have fun. Oh and always stay true to yourself. I could have blown the bowling game… but if a guy can’t handle a boss… then he just is not the guy for me. “I love her cause she got her own she don’t need mine she say leave mine alone” –She got her Own Ne-yo Feat. Jamie Foxx

My Prom Date stole some Henn.. Now he is in the PEN

Isn't it funny how in 2 days I have managed to come across just about every guy I have ever dated or talked to? Let me explain.

The only boyfriend I still keep in touch with is a club dj. We didn't work out, but we send "What it do" texts to each other from time to time. He text me that he would add me and as many of my friends as I wanted to his VIP list. I went... after all who can turn down a free night.

Since our break up he has had 3 girlfriends (one in which he moved to New Mexico to live with). Does it bother me? Honestly, not really. I am a firm believer that your exes are your exes for a reason and frankly we just are not equally yoked. I walked in and coincidentally he was in the corner talking to the cousin of another ex boyfriend of mine. I walked over and said hello. My exboyfriend gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. "You want your drink... a sex on the beach...right? I was driving so I told him to get me a Sprite. .... I was left with the cousin of my last ex boyfriend whom I broke up with in the middle of my sophomore year of college and have not had a serious boyfriend since.... I lost my ability to ever want the girlfriend title.

Cousin "Wow, JAWS???!!! How are you doin shawty???" (umm are we in Texas now?) "It's been a while!"

JAWS is my initials (Jessica Ashley Wilson Superstar) / childhood nickname/ the name I used when I was radio personality before leaving for college. It will always be a part of me... but now that I'm older the name sounds like something you would call some hood rat chick that loves to "work her jaws" if you get my drift.

Me " I'm fine Mo, how are you?" (Mo stands for "money" none in which this negro has)

Cousin "I see yo fine baby gurl... it amazes me how my cuz let a piece like you go."

That was funny... I asked myself that for years before realizing that his cousin had did me the biggest favor in life!

Me "Yea well, shit happens"

Cousin "What are you doing in town? You move back?"

I'm getting really tired of people asking me why I'm in Iowa... as if I am not from here and my parents don't live here.... is it a crime to visit my mamma?

Me "Im just here for the holidays"

Cousin "You plan on hittin up yo ex A.C. while you here? I know he would like to see you"

Me "I hadn't planned on it..... is he still making those five dollar footlongs at Subway?" (after we broke up he got fired from his job at the YMCA and took a job working at Subway... you know as an ex I am obligated to take a cheap shot)

Cousin "EAT FRESH!" cousin then busts out laughing at his joke. "But really, when is the last time you talked to him?"

me "He called me about 2 years ago from an AA retreat" (Im not making this up)

Cousin "Yea, that nigga is whiled...wreckless... but was actuallly tryin to do some shit when you was around"

By this time Dj ex comes back with the beverages.

Cousin "Aiight Jabba JAWS. If I don't see you before you out you know yous always welcome to swing by my moms. We all still livin in her apartment. She still cookin on Sundays." (dude is like 29 still sleeping in a bunk bed)

Why was I not surprised.

Dj ex just starts staring at me

me " take a pic it will last longer! haha! why are you looking at me like that"

Dj "You was the one I let go"

me "boy BYE! You cheated on me with the town hoe... and then you" (I was interrupted)

Dj "Why you got to even go there. Im sayin... you are a good girl. Smarter than any female I know... funny as hell... well liked... and your business is not all out on the streets. You aren't out there like alot of these girls."

me "sounds like someone just wants a free trip out to NY... I am not the one."

Dj "I mean hey... that sounds like fun, but you know I'm not on that. You really are the one I let go! Anyway, i got to get back and take my turn on these tables... if you out before my sets over.... the least you can do is say bye first."

He walked away. I stood there and watched as he put his signature silver headphones on over his ears and faded into the next song. I was thinking about how we used to co dj events together back in the day. How I was so desperate to master the turn tables that i would sneak in his strip club gigs every Thursday when i was in HS so he could teach me to scratch as he played the music the strippers worked the pole to(this sounds oh so hood now that I reflect). That's when my reminiscing was interrupted by a pat on my shoulder.

Marcus "what's up Ms Lady!"

Marcus was a dude i talked to the summer before my Jr year in college. He too was a DJ and worked in the sales department of KISS FM (the Radio Station I did part time promotions for).

me "hey you... whats going on?"

Marcus "not much pimp, how many dudes you got out there in the rotten apple?"

me "whatever Marcus. how are things?"

Marcus "Welp, me and Jill are about to get married. I'm engaged!" (I could tell he could not wait to tell me that... truth is I was alerted in my minni feeds of this about 3 weeks ago)

I only know one sista named Jill and her last name is Scott.... I knew this chick was white. I'm not one to get all upset when I see black guys with white girls... honestly 90% of the brothas that date white girls... I'm not interested in them in the first place. But, seeing that Marcus and I dated... that puts him in that 10% I would date... which meant I was irritated.

me "well, isn't that magicalllllll!"

Marcus "still a smart ass I see"

Me "I can be... you mad quick to wife her up, but yet you strung me along for quite some time"

Marcus "you were in school and I did not want to deal with the whole long distance thing... you know that hon"

Me "I WENT TO SCHOOL 1 hour and 45 MIN AWAY! THAT IS NOT LONG DISTANCE YOU ASS WHOLE! But I'm sure that Becky... Im sorry Jill... would have dropped out for you and went to community college. All while letting you live with her rent free and drive her car."

Marcus (busts out laughing) "You're a trip! (funny he does not deny the whole rent and car thing) So you want to catch a movie... grab a bite... how long are you here?"

Me "You real bootleg and ultra trifling for asking me out just now. (I'm laughing at this point) Congrats Marcus! I'm going to go ahead and get out of here."

Marcus (shouts after me) "Hit me up JAWS!"

I really wish these dudes would stop shoutin JAWS all loud in the middle of the club. This night was starting to overwhelm me and I just wanted to get out of there, but I had to get up to the Dj booth to thank my ex for the pass and say goodbye.

I get up to the Dj booth and wave cause I know he can't hear me. He singles that he is going to call me and I turn around to leave. Then the most embarrassing thing happened. He gets on the mic!

Dj "bye Jessica!" (he then puts on my fav song in high school.... Snoop Dogg and Pharell "Beautiful") "I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW YOUS MY FAVORITE GIRL!"

Dude was drunk and singing the song to me over the mic. I ran out of there so fast.

The next evening was New Years Eve. As I was walking into a new club my eyes met with my first HS boyfriend. He had his hair all slick fakin like he was Puerto Rican.

He smiled. I flashed a fake grin and kept on walking. He looked different to me now then he did when I was 16. Then he was a star football player, total meat head... but fine. Carmel complected (half black/white) tatted up, gorgeous smile, dark eyes, muscular build, with oh so much swagger. He was18 but looked 23... truth is.... he probably was 23 (he was held back a few times). Now... he just looked raggety.

(quick back story)

We went to different high schools. We met in summer school. I was there to get ahead... he was there because he flunked two classes during the regular school year. He asked me to be his girl at this fast food joint called Arbys... I told him I wanted some good curly fries.

One day after school 2 girls (1 of them pregnant) wanted to beat me up... claiming their home girl was his girlfriend. I was alone and quite frankly could not whoop on pregnant girls (isn't that attempted murder?). Right as they where about to attack the city bus came by. I had no clue where the bus was going... but I jumped on it and ended up at the public library. Once there I called a friend to give me a ride back to the school parking lot where my car was parked. Of course when I called him that night... he had no clue who the girls were... and denyed having another chick. The next day I was ready with my crew... but the girls did not show.

Weeks later he was expelled from school. A few months earlier he had stole all the babies from the child development class, he also took a trophy out of the school's case... and the final straw was him fighting a girl in the school hallway. You see, his mother had passed a few years earlier and she gave him a chain that he donned around his neck in remembrance of her. This girl tried to snatch his chain off. So... he whooped her ass. Thing was... she was in a gang (yes Iowa has bootleg gangs) and some of her fellow hoodlum friends went to my school. So the next day (you guessed it) they were waiting at my locker to take their revenge out on me.... who at the time had NO idea he layed hands on ole girl. The thug bitches didn't touch me.... just talked a whole lot of mess.

2 weeks later me and dude stopped talking. I found out he got a chick pregnant. Yea, I dealt with alot of male BS at an early age... that's why I don't tolerate it now.

(end of back story)

We never talked in the club that night. Every time I turned around he was right behind me. The girl he was with looked like T.I's baby mamma Tiny from Escape. He kept making it a point to bump into me.. but then would never say anything. I just would look at him... flash a smile and walk away.

Then I ran into my prom date's brother.

prom dates brother "JAWS! Ive been looking for you forever girl! You still doing the music thing? I'm trying to get signed!"

me "aren't we all trying to get signed (I was being slick)... nah man. how are you?"

Dates Bro "Maintainin. But I've been looking for you!"

Me "you already said that"

Date's bro "But fo real tho"

Me "How's your brother????!!!!!"

Date's bro "Man, He is in Fort Dodge now"

Me "When did he move up there... all that's in Fort Dodge is the prison"

Date's bro "That's where he is at... in jail."

WAS HE SERIOUS??????????? I COULD NOT TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me "Man! WHAAAAAAAAT??? For real. You better not be lying right now... I'll hit you in your throat!"

Date's bro "Naw he got himself into some shit. He was living with me and the cops came and took him away for probation violation. He was in trouble for theft. He stole some Hennessy from the grocery store.... that was the first offence... then he made stealing a habit."

Me "let me get this straight.... My sweet innocent prom date.... stole some Hen and is now in the PEN?"

Date's bro "yea man. He's been there since July... he gets out in March sometime."

I then got a vision of some sweaty dude named Big Tyrone turning my guy into his bitch. Bench pressing him for his morning work out and then making him give him a message when it was all over.

Me "Well, thanks for the update... Im going to go let that marinate."


I walked away. That was the most bizarre 2 days ever! I realized that I need to do a much better job in picking out the guys that I associate with. Seriously. I must break this pattern. Expect big changes in my 09 dating life!

My Neck My Back

I like to do it big. So I kicked off my New Year in the emergency room. I’ve suffered with chronic back pain for a great majority of my life to the point where I’ve just learned to deal with it. I have scoliosis and my vertebrae are twisted off track which has caused my bones to rub away the cartilage… in other words the bones in my spine rub together when I move. Don’t feel bad… that’s part of the reason I have this famous “why in the hell do you walk like that” strut of mine.

January 2nd my parents wanted me to go pick out new glasses for them. They pretty much get a kick out of telling people “my daughter picked these out… she does fashion in New York.” My mom came into my room around 5:00pm and told me to get out of bed so I could get my Tim Gunn on for them. I hopped in the shower and as I was getting out the worst pain I have EVER experienced shot from my back down my legs. I fell to the ground and somehow managed to pull myself up on the toilet. 10 min later I got up and kind of walked out the pain. I went to the lens place and picked out some fly glasses for the parents and came home.

Around 10:45pm while lying in bed watching Sex and The City the pain shot down my back to my legs again. This time it was 10 times worse and I began to scream, but my mom was knocked out for the count and my dad was in the basement. I tried to get up and walk… but I couldn’t. Not being able to walk is one of the scariest things ever. It was like I had forgotten how. Then I started trying to diagnose myself “Oh NO!!!!!” I thought “I’m HAVING A STROKE!” I was trying to take this like a G…. but all I could do was cry.

I called the house phone from my cell and my mom heard the pain in my voice and came running into my room. She yelled out for my dad and the two of them put me back into bed. My dad went to get ready to take me to the emergency room as my mom managed to work a pair of sweat pants on over my basketball shorts.

Remember how the infamous character Handy Man from In Living Color walked? Imagine that with a touch of OJ Simpson walk… I was a hot mess and ugly faced like a mug from all the pain as I struggled to make it to the car.

I was too glad to be at the hospital.


Dad “ I’m going to go get you a wheelchair”

Me “ I’m too fly for that. I’ll just walk.” Even in the mist of my pain… I have PRIDE!

As I got to the ER desk to check in the nurse took one look at me and figured I was having back pain. I told her she was right. By this time my dad was standing next to me… it was a shame that he had parked and walked inside just as I made it to the counter.

Next thing I know the police are escorting in a boy who had just been in a fight

Boy “I have a broken jaw… I just got jumped!”

I turned to my dad “That’s his fault! Where were his friends! He’s not getting in front of me I’m in pain!”

The boy then turned to me. “Say something,” I said. (Sorry, but a dude who just got jumped really is not all that intimidating)

My dad and I stood there and starred down dude who was clearly in an Eastside/ trailer park bar fight.

That’s when we turned around and saw the emergency waiting room was PACKED with people escorted in by cops from fighting. It looked very Iowa State Fair in there. I think my dad and I were the only people not rockin WWE RAW professional wrestling jackets.

My back was getting worse from sitting in the chairs. Finally my name was called and I wobbled into a room.

Nurse “oh what pretty nail polish”

I was irritated. Usually I would milk a compliment… but now was not the time. I grunted out “thank you” and asked her politely to just keep it moving.

She tried to take my blood pressure with some machine… but it was broke. She tried about 4 times and I had had enough of her.

“WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST TAKE IT MANUALLY! YOU COULD HAVE HAD IT BY NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

She stumbled around and found the blood pressure thingy and assured me she understood I was in pain and that they were working fast to get me a room.

Me “you mean to tell me that you saw me struggle to walk myself back here… all to take my blood pressure? YOU COULD HAVE DID THAT IN THE LOBBY!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

You could tell she was feeling really dumb… I would have if I were her. She offered to wheel me to my seat…. At this point… I had to set the wheelchair pride aside and take the ride.

While sitting next to my dad a lady looking like Brittnay Spears (K Fed-version when she was eating Cheetos and walking in gas station restrooms without her shoes) came walking in with 3 kids in their pj’s. They were wearing some monster/ Shrek slippers that made growling noises as they walked. When you are in pain… the last thing you want to hear is that noise as the kids are tearing through the lobby.

My dad and I sat there giving the lady the “WTF please get your kids” stare.

Lady “is there a problem with my kids”

Me “as a matter of fact will you tell their house shoes to Shut the Fu…”

My dad interrupted me with his laughter b/c he already knew I was about to go in hard on this lady. After all, apples don’t fall to hard from the tree. He told me to calm down and went to see how much longer the wait was going to be.

Lady (trying to get smart) “This is an emergency and I just told them to put on some shoes”

Me “funny they thought shoes meant house shoes… classy.”

Lady (starts talking all under her breath)

Me “My President is Black” (this had nothing to do with anything… I just felt the need to pull rank)

Lady then grabs her kids and moves.

More and more Eastside fighters where being escorted in by the police. Now I know you probably are asking me how I knew there were Eastsiders. The missing teeth is usually a give away, but a couple of them had on (and I’m not lying) shirts that said “PROUD EASTSIDER.”

Anyway, I was seen around 1 am.

My dad came back with me. I explained to the Dr. my situation.

Dr. “is there a chance you may be pregnant”

Me “no”

Dr. “are you sure”

Me “yes, I’m sure”

Dr. “Are you sexually active?”

Me “I’m NOT pregnant. I’m 1,000 % sure and stop trying to blast me in front of my dad!”

Dr “Do you smoke”

Me “no”

Dr “Drink”

Me “occasionally”

Dr. “What does that mean?”

Me “When there is an occasion to drink… such as if it is free I do so.”

(I could tell the Dr wanted to laugh at that)

Dr.“Street drugs?”

Me “Never”

Dr. “Pain level from 1-10”

Me “9.9”

He gives me a funny look

Me “I believe things could always be worse”


I was released at 3am. I had to get 3 shots in my booty (OUCH) an X-ray and was drugged up on vicodin. I’m still in a lot of pain. My stomach does not handle meds too well… so I was very sick this morning. My mom took me back to the DR who prescribed some stuff for people with cerebral palsy. He said my back is having severe spasms and should be cleared up in a couple days, but I have to get an MRI done to make sure that is it. I have had so many MRI’s done on my back and have been fighting surgery forever. But for now, I have been sentenced to my bed.

Back still hurts, nothing is on TV, so I just decided to pull out my laptop and write this note to kill some time while bumpin Kia “My Neck My Back”