Beauty and The Lion King

It finally happened. A few weeks ago an ex told me what I have been waiting 5 long years to hear.

Ex: “Jess, I was stupid. We were a good pair and I should have never let you go. I’m so sorry for the way I treated you. I was wrong. I fell hard for you then pushed you away. And honestly, you had so much going for yourself I didn’t want to hold you back. You were too good for me.”

I expected trumpets to sound, krump dancers to appear, skittles to rain from the sky, Tyler Perry to quote this in his next film, and perhaps Whitney Houston to ride by on a float belting “I’m Every Woman”. But I felt nothing. And as I thought of something profound to say back along the lines of “I RISE” or “It takes playing with rocks to learn to treasure a diamond” all I could say was… “It’s all good. I’m better because of it.” Wow. Talk about too little too late… I really did not care.

3 weeks ago I jumped back onto the dating scene after taking a brief leave of absence. Quite honestly it is exhausting dealing with weirdos.

I met Mufasa “out” a few weeks ago. (details on the exact way we met is an long story that I promise to share soon.) As an ex college basketball player he stands 6 foot seven, lean, nice smile, caramel… 10 years older than me…..

I have been putting in some overtime at work so every time he asked me out… I declined. Then one Sunday he called me up and said:

Mufasa “I don’t care what you have goin on… you are mine today!” (imagine this in a Bronx accent… it sounds cute in theory, but the way he said it… it came off more like a threat)

Me “Is it still raining?”

Mufasa “NO Beauty, now what do you want to do?”

Me “You’re asking me out… why do I have to come up with something to do?”

Mufasa “Okay, okay. Well, we can go play pool, grab a bite, you can help me wash my car….”

Me “I aint washing shit!” (was this dude serious? Yes… he was)

Mufasa “You really don’t want to help wash the ride?”

Me “How about you come up with a game plan… and then call me back once you have one.”

10 min later I got a text that read “I’m in Times Square near my job. Want to meet up around here? I’m on 45th and 8th”

Me “Perfect. Let’s meet at Latitude.”

I threw on a leather jacket, a hot pink scarf, jeans… and some flats. I don’t believe I even put makeup on. 2 signs that I already wasn’t into dude. On the subway I recalled Mufasa saying that he worked in education, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of a school in Times Square… something in the milk aint clean.

Once at Latitude I spotted Mufasa at the bar. He was grubbing on some mac n cheese and drinking a mojito.

Me “Really? Usually when a guy asks someone out… they wait so we can eat TOGETHER!” (this was strike one)

Mufasa (picks up his plate and moves over to a booth) “We have all night Beauty. I’ll eat again! Now order yourself something. Whatcha drinking?”

Everyone knows my signature drink is a sex on the beach, but when I’m out with guys for the first time I don’t order it. Something about the words “sex” and “beach” make for a night of inappropriate comments.

Me “Can I get a cosmo and an order of calamari please”

I then got a good look at Mufasa. This dude was dressed like he was fresh off the basketball court!

Me “May I ask why you have that sweat band around your head?”

Mufasa “It helps to keep my glasses on. See, when I take it off my glasses slide off my face.”

Me “Why don’t you just get your glasses fitted?”

Mufasa “You feisty Beauty!”

Me “Nah, you just look like Horace Grant right now… when you really don’t have to.”

Mufasa (cracking up) “JOKES! What do you know about Grant?”

We spent the next 10 min making small talk when I asked…

Me “So… where do you teach?”

Mufasa “Teach? I don’t teach…”

Me “Oh… well you said you worked in education I assumed you taught… do you coach?”

Mufasa “Nah…”
Me “Counselor……”

Mufasa (looking uncomfortable) “Nah…. I work for a musical.”

Me (confused… not “working in education”) “Oh… I love the theater… which musical?”

Mufasa “Name some….”

Me “You’re being really shady right now…..”

Mufasa “Just name some musicals and when you guess I’ll tell you.”

Me “Shrek, Mary Poppins, Fela, Hair, Phantom, Little Mermaid, Lion King…..”

Mufasa (extra excited) “A Kuna Ma Tata BABY! That’s me!”

Me (with the “WTF” face on) “So you work for the Lion King… I’ve seen that… you aren’t in it… you work production?”

Mufasa “It depends on the night….”

Me “I’m tired of this game…”

Mufasa “Well, some nights I hand out programs… other nights I seat people… sometimes I work the front…”

Me “You are an usher?”

Mufasa “Yes, I am an usher”

First let me say I’m not knocking anyone’s hustle. Own up to what you do! If you are an usher that does not mean you work for the show… you work for the theater the show happens to be playing at. And Mufasa is 35 years old! The reason I went out with a guy 10 years older than me is because I’m tired of feeling like I have to carry the other person. I’m not about to have the same issues with a 35 year old man that I do with guys my own age! I’ve made piece with the fact that I’m a lot to deal with… and I have to be honest… The Lion King… that just won’t cut it. (strike 2)

Mufasa then showed me a picture on his blackberry.

Mufasa “This is me back when I played ball”

Me “How long ago was that?”

Mufasa “About 12 years ago…..” (yea dude… it’s time to get over it)

All of a sudden this cute Latino guy comes to our table

Mufasa “Yo! Latin Sensation… What’s good Bruh!?” (he really called him Latin Sensation)

Latin Sensation “What’s good Son! My bad you on a date?”

Mufasa “Yea man, but sit for a sec. Beauty here is cool… she won’t mind”

I stuck my hand out to shake Latin Sensation and he kissed it. I tried really hard not to smile… he was kind of cute… okay more than kind of. He sat on the other side of me.

The three of us got to talking and laughing. I was glad Latin Sensation showed up. He was hysterical! Then we started talking about TV.

Latin Sensation “Do you watch that show called The Game?”

Me “OMG! That is my FAVORITE SHOW EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Latin Sensation “Man, I really want Jason and Kelly to get back together!”

Me “Me too, but I don’t know… Jason got with Stacy Dash… it’s going to be hard for her to get back in there…”

We talked about every show on TV. And then Mufasa says:

Mufasa “I don’t watch TV… If it’s not sports… I think it’ dumb.”

Latin Sensation (turns to me) “So where do you work miss lady?”

Me “I work for a Television Network”

Mufasa’s face hit the ground. All he knew was I worked in entertainment. Talk about putting your foot in your mouth!

Latin Sensation “Really?”

Me “Yea… got a degree in it and everything!”

Mufasa “Well since the two of you are having such a good time I’m going to leave you alone for a little bit” with that he got up and went to the bar.

Latin Sensation and I continued talking for about 15 min. He got up when Mufasa came back. Mufasa was a pussy cat for that move… how do you leave another man with someone your out with?

Latin Sensation “Yall going to be out much longer?”

Me “Nah, I have to get home to watch Kendra”

Latin Sensation “Girl, me too!”

Mufasa (extra salty)“Me too! I don’t know who Kendra is, but I’m going to watch her too!”

By this time I’m on my 5th cosmo.

Somehow Mufasa and I got into a conversation about what each other’s “type” is.

Mufasa “I don’t find a girl over 150 lbs attractive”

Me “Good to know. You don’t find me attractive…. Then why am I even here?”

Mufasa “You aren’t more than 150!”

Me “ummm… yes I am.”

Mufasa “Well, not more than 155 at least you don’t look it.”

Me “I’m well over 155. People carry weight differently. At 150 I was a size 4… and it was not a good look. I looked skeletal. That’s a messed up requirement to even have! Some people are just solid. You can’t put a number on it.” (strike 3)

Mufasa “Well….15 of that is in your booty and about 5 in those lips” (this dude needs to learn to SHUT UP!)

Me “Well, you are the type of guy who after their wife gives birth you would be calling her names and constantly telling her how unattractive she is post carrying your baby for 9 months!”

Mufasa “No, I would work out with her…”

Me “I’m over this. Kendra is about to come on. Thanks for the evening. I’m going to take a cab home.”

Mufasa “So what do you want to do on our next date?”

Me “You think there is going to be another one?”

There was only one way this dude could slightly redeem himself. After my dates I put them to a test. My chivalry test. I’ll make you go through a series of doors to see if you open them for me… see if you walk on the outside closest to the street. If I stop to get a pack of gum… do you buy it? I need to be around a man who has me. (yes, I know this is similar to the “chili” test in the movie Deliver us from Eva)

Once outside I spotted Chipotle.

Me “Hey, I don’t have any food at the house. I’m going to grab some chips and salsa for later.”

Once at the door of Chipotle I stopped.

Mufasa “Why aren’t you going in?”

Me “I don’t open doors when in the presence of a man” (my boy Adam taught me this)

Mufasa opened the door. At 35 him asking why I paused... shows me he’s not used to women of my caliber. I ordered my chips. The total was 2 dollars. I looked over at Mufasa who was looking to the sky. I reached in my bag and pulled out two crisp bills.

Back outside I haled my own cab… clearly he did not pass the test. I would never entertain him again.

Mufasa “So maybe the next time I can come scoop you up?”

In New York finding someone with a vehicle is like striking gold. Part of me just wanted to say yes… after all, a girl has been trying to get out to Wal-Mart for 2 years now!

Me “Have a good night.”

A few days later Mufasa called 10 min after I got the “You were the one I let go” call from the ex. The old me… would have led him on to think there was still a chance. But the grown me… had to keep it real. After all, eagles don’t soar among pigeons and diamonds are meant to be treasured.

So Sue Me!

I’ve been dealing with roommates since the age of 18. TCU freshman year my roomie would leave her used maxi pads exposed on her bed… I changed roommates at semester. Sophomore year at U of Iowa one of my three roommates accused me of pulling a gun on her… I’ve yet to see this alleged firearm. Senior year of college one of my roommates returned from summer as a completely different person… I’ve not talked to her since the day we moved out. And my last roommate… she took me to court last week… I now live alone!

Lois moved into my apartment last August. I met her through a friend. I didn’t know too much about her, but she was better than getting a complete stranger off Craigs List. Lois didn’t have a fulltime job. Having been laid off once I was very understanding and collected rent and bills around the time I knew she would be getting her unemployment check. After living with her for about 3 weeks… I realized this arrangement was not working.

Living with Louis I felt like I was in a relationship.

“Can you take the trash out?” “Can you buy toilet paper?” “Can you straighten your shoes by the door?” “Can you move your flat iron?” “Can you call the super to change the light bulb?” “Can you fix the toilet?” “Can I give you the money for the cable next week?” “Speaking of cable, can we get HBO?”… all of this would be said within 2 min of me walking into MY apartment after working a 12 hour day! And the nerve to want to pay extra for HBO… when in that same sentence she asked if her portion of the bill could be late!

Things hit the fan when she sent me an email while I was work and attached a picture of 1 blue cup that was left in the sink. “Can you not leave dishes in the sink. I am tired of cleaning up after you.” I went SMOOTH off! Did she really feel the need to interrupt my day over 1 cup! You would think I cooked a spaghetti dinner and made some Rice Krispi Treats, leaving 20 crusty dishes in the sink!

Not to mention she was cheap. This girl had the nerve to take my Bath & Body Works shower gel to refill the dish soap dispenser! WHO DOES THAT? Take yourself to the corner store and buy some… it’s $1. I had to bring my own toilet paper into the bathroom for fear I would get a yeast infection from that 20 cent construction paper she was wiping with.

Lois would come home at 5am after a night out… every night… and be loud for no reason! Cooking, and banging on household items trying to “fix” them with a hammer. IT WAS TIME FOR HER TO GO!

I never put Lois on the lease… didn’t make her sign a sublease contract with me. She was on her honor month to month to pay her rent… and was free to leave anytime.

Christmas come early on Nov 2nd when I received an email where Lois stated she would be moving out Dec 1st and would give me rent and utilities for the month of December. She had already paid me for Nov rent. (keep this in mind as you continue reading)

December 1st finally came! Lois gave me a check for $800 and turned over the keys. I quickly locked the door behind her. “Free at last, Free at last!”

While out for my birthday on December 8th, I received a message from Lois on my Black Berry. “Happy Birthday Jessica! I hope you are having a good one! I just realized I gave you money for December rent. Since I did not live at your place during the month of December, I would like for you to write me a check for the amount of $800 this week. Sorry for the inconvenience. Have a great day!”

She done lost her mind!

1. That was not your typical “birthday” message. 2. She sent it on December 8th! Sorry boo, but rent is due on the 1st “wake up, wake up, wake up!”

I shot her back a quick response. “I don’t have your money. I used it on the rent. I don’t have $800 just sitting around. I will not be writing you a check.

We went back and forth for 2 days.

Early January I received a subpoena to report to small claims court. I was being sued for “failure to return a security deposit.” This was crazy...she never gave me a security deposit. I only charged her first months rent. I was furious!

Court day finally rolled around. Not only was I annoyed that I was there, but she took me to court in Harlem. Don’t get me wrong I LOVE my people… but a courthouse full of us and my Latin brothers and sisters… FOOLERY! And this wasn’t just any court… Lois took me to night court!

In small claims court you have the option for your case to be tried in front of a judge or a mediator. If you go in front of the mediator all decisions are final. If you pick the judge, you have the option to appeal the verdict. Being that Lois was suing me, she got to choose who we saw. She picked the judge.

There is no place to go while you wait to see the judge… so everyone stays in the courtroom while trials are going on. I couldn’t believe that half of Harlem was about to see my act as my own attorney. After 4.5 hours of hearing about domestic disputes, food poisoning at restaurants, and slumlords… the bailiff called me and Lois outside.

Bailiff “The judge won’t be able to hear your case tonight. You will have to come back”

Me “Are you serious… I’ve been here since 5:30! It is now 10pm!”

Bailiff “We are open every Thursday. You two must agree on a day to come back.”

Lois “I can come back in 2 weeks”

Me (throwing on my snobby voice) “Well, I can’t come until next month.” (Honestly, I was not letting her pick the date… she was the one wasting my time… after all… I am the one with the job and I’m not letting anyone run me.)

March 5th I met Lois for round two. This time we went to trial.

The judge asked Lois to state her side of the case. I felt really bad. Since the last time we were in court… her mother had passed away. She could barely articulate her points and had a “moral support” person whispering in her ear what to say.

Lois “Your honor I lived with Jessica from August 2009-December 1st. I forgot that I wrote her a check for August rent. I only intended on paying for the months that I stayed. It was an oversight on my behalf. When I realized what I had done, I asked her for December rent back and she would not give it to me. This is why we are here.”

Judge “So you paid August, September, October, November, and December. Totaling 5 months of rent…. But you only lived there for 4 months? Why did you pay December if you did not live there?

Louis “I was in a rush and didn’t realize what I was doing. I was rushing to be with my sick mother who recently passed so I just wrote the rent check out of habit.”

Judge “Ms. Wilson. Do you have anything to say to that?”

Me “Yes, your honor.” (I was about to get my Gabrielle Union in “Daddy’s Little Girls” on) Lois claims that she left my residence in a rush and wrote a check out of habit? I have an email from her dated Nov 2nd where she informed me that she would be leaving December 1st and would give me rent and utilities for that month.”

Judge “This was after she paid you November rent?”

Me “Correct your honor. This is after she paid November rent”

Judge “Was she on your lease?”

Me “No, she was not on the lease. I am the only person on the lease. I had a roommate move out in August and I decided to stay and took over the lease. This is when Lois moved in. She was on an honor system to pay rent each month which she did. I only charged her rent and half of the utilities… which are cable/internet and electric. I never asked for a security deposit which is what she is suing me for.”

Lois “That is the best way to put it….”

Me “She premeditated writing that check your honor. I would like to submit her email as evidence. How does one put in writing a month prior that they are going to do something? She paid me. Then asked for the money back claiming that it was an accident. She knew she paid me in August… how else would rent have gotten paid? This was not an oversight.

Judge “Do you recognize this email Ms. Wilson is holding?”

Lois “Yes, I have a copy of it right here.”

Judge “Ms. Wilson, please read the email out loud. Will the court note this is as evidence A.”

Me “Gladly! This is dated Nov 2nd 2009. “Hi Jessica. This is notice that I will be moving out Dec. 1st and will give you December rent and utilities for December prior to moving out. Thank you”

Judge “Why did you not move out before December 1st?”

Lois “My new place was not ready until the 1st”

It was interesting the judge asked that. In doing my research for court I read that if you stay for even one day of the next month… you owe for that entire month.

Judge “So, you want December rent refunded to you…. even though you wrote that you would pay it?”

Lois “It was a mistake.”

Me (getting a little crunk) “And why should I pay for your mistake? Your honor, as a grown woman it is my responsibility to keep track of my bank account. I have the check I wrote to the landlord on December 2nd that has the same date marked on the deposit slip. The money was used on the rent.”

Judge (looks at Lois) “Do you have anything else to say?”

Lois “I have a written statement from my current roommate say that I did move in with her on December 1st”

(What that had to do with anything… who knows. We both agreed she move out on the 1st)

Judge “Ms. Wilson, do you have anymore questions for Ms. Counts?”

Me “No…not other than why am I here” (I had to get one smart comment in)

The judge asked Lois a few more questions and then turned to both of us and said:

Judge “You will receive my verdict in the mail”

WHAT??????? When has Mathis, Judy, or Joe Brown ever said that on TV?

I thanked the judge and turned to Lois. I wanted to say something about her mother… this was one of the first times in my life I didn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t look at me. I walked out.

A week later I received my verdict in the mail. There was no explanation. All it said was: “Judgment in favor of Defendant, dismissing claim. No monetary award.”

Where is Black Barbie?

(The above was taken with my BB around 4:30pm today)

A couple weeks ago worldstarhiphop.com posted a segment of The Tyra Show called “I hate my face”. Tyra spoke with 9-year-old girls and their mothers about body image and how it affects self-esteem. The prettiest little brown girl was center stage. What she said probably should have shocked me. Unfortunately it didn’t.

Tyra had the little girl circle what she hated about her face. The little girl drew around her nose and lips, but what she focused on was her skin saying that it was too dark. She said she preferred to play with white dolls because they were prettier than the black ones. She said a little black boy in her class told her she would be prettier if she was light skinned with lighter eyes like one of her classmates. It was apparent this little girl wished she were white. My eyes focused in on her mother. She sat there crying… feeling hopeless and telling Tyra as a mother she doesn’t know what to do. “I tell her everyday that she is beautiful. I never thought that my child would be going through what I went through all these years later.”

A day later I went to a friend’s house party where a young gentleman sat beside me. We had a brief conversation and then he said this:

Guy “You’re pretty. What nationality are you?”

Thrown off by the question I responded proudly “I’m black”

Guy “I see that… I mean where are you from?”

Me “America. That would make me African American.”

Guy (sounding disappointed) “Oh, well… I thought you were Dominican.”

With that he got up and walked away. Did that REALLY just happen? When did it become uncool to be an African American girl?

I’m sure by now everyone has seen the ABC segment on 42% of black women will never marry. I’m sure by now we’ve all read or have seen Steve Harvey on the talk show circuit in all his clown suit glory… shoving his “how to get a black man” book down our throats. I’m sure by now the media has worked its way in to the mind of the black woman telling you that all your men are in jail, not parenting, and are with the white woman.

Being from the #2 state of interracial marriages (Iowa, Minnesota is #1 according to an article I read in EBONY a few years ago) I’m used to seeing mixed couples. Since moving away I don’t see it as often. In Iowa most of my black male friends date white women, but in NY ALL of my black male friends date black women. All of these are good guys who are college educated with promising careers and many of whom attend church on regular bases. I have to give credit where it is due. It is important to know that there are good black men out there… who want to be in relationships with black women. Don’t believe the hype that there are not.

Last night I hopped a train to Jersey to attend the party of an old friend. The party was packed and pretty well mixed. I couldn’t help but notice the herds of white women going after the black men. They were on a mission! What quickly happened was most of the black men were entertaining the white girls…. leaving the black girls to entertain ourselves. Mission accomplished!

Even though I was slightly perturbed about the situation I swept it under the rug. After all, you can’t always be the most popular.

Around 4:30pm today I returned to NY and ran in Kmart. As I was passing the toy isle I stopped cold in my tracks. There in the Barbie section was a Blonde Barbie shelved right next to the Black Ken. I walked over and began looking at the dolls behind them to see if perhaps the two in front were placed side by side… by mistake? No. The Blonde Barbie and Black Ken were purposely placed next to each other. I quickly searched the section for Black Barbie. Perhaps she was shelved next to some fine Italian Ken. No. She wasn’t even on the shelf. I rang the buzzer for retail assistance.

Me “Excuse me… is the brown skinned Barbie doll sold out?” (that is the only acceptable reason as to why she was not on the shelf)

Associate “I don’t believe so. They must not make one in this surfing collection.”

Me “Why? Contrary to popular belief… black girls swim.”

Associate “Ummmmm”

By this time a young black mother and a Hispanic mother were in the isle with their little girls.

Me “All I’m saying is there is Blonde Barbie, Brunette Barbie, the one over here appears to be Spanish Barbie, and here we have Black Ken… but his counterpart seems to be missing. I understand you have nothing to do with this, but I just don’t see myself. Where is my doll?

By this time the two mothers are behind me cosigning.

Associate “See yourself?”

Me “I’m tired of being ignored and being made to feel that no one wants Black Barbie! Where is she? I want to buy her… in the surfing collection!”

At this point my frustration of the Black Ken being next to Blonde Barbie grew to the fact that he didn’t even have Black Barbie as an option. I had been taken out of the equation. I suddenly became my inner 9- year-old. The one who was teased for having big lips and a big butt. Who was told that she would never be on TV because there was only room for one dark skinned woman and Oprah had that on lock. Who sat in all white classrooms and felt like she wasn’t as pretty as her classmates. Then my 25-year-old-self kicked in and remembered what it was like to be ignored at that party last night. Whose seeing Kim Kardashian being praised for her backside when all my homegirls have bigger ones. Whose being fed all of these statistics that she’d have better luck if she dated outside of her race. The one who just saw a brown skinned girl tell Tyra “I hate my face”.

Me “I just want little black girls to see how beautiful Black Barbie is and have the option to play with her. And I just want Black Ken to stand proudly at her side. If I was walking down this isle with my kids… that is the image I would want them to see.”

That poor associate slowly walked away. Being blonde she would never know how I felt in that moment. She will never know what it’s like to be a 25-year-old black professional woman at the bottom of the food chain. Because she is a 25-year-old Kmart employee at the top of it.

At this point the black mother gave me a hug.

Mother “Do you have a little girl?”

Me “No, but I know what it’s like to be one.”

Mother “You will make an excellent mom one day”

Fighting back tears I gave her a wink and got back on the subway. I starting crying around 72nd street. By the time we’d reached 135th the tears were flowing hard, but not for sadness. I just want little girls everywhere not to judge themselves off the photo shopped images, that rude little boy in class, or by what they do or do not have.

I love being a black woman. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in this world.

My Style
My Swag
My Walk
My Talk
My Courage
My Strength
My Witt
My Pride
My Laugh
My Love

My Resourcefulness… this is all effortless.

I deserve to be on the shelf for everyone to see and despite what the media has you thinking is beautiful… I know there’s a black Ken doll for me.

"Can I Screw Your Nut?"

Back in October my dear friend Shaena’s boyfriend hit me up on Facebook. They are in a semi long distance relationship (he lives upstate) and he wanted to throw her a surprise birthday party in NYC. I love the girl to death so I was game for whatever he wanted me to do.

After weeks of planning the big day had arrived. Shaena’s bf had the place all laid out! VIP at a posh downtown night club, Grey Goose was flowing, red velvet cupcakes were….velvety, shrimps (yes shrimps) were jumbo, and all of Shaena’s closest friends were in attendance. There was just one thing…no guys. I guess that’s what happens when you get in a serious relationship… friends of the opposite sex seem to disappear.

As I was conversing with a friend…a tapped me on the shoulder.

Woman: I could not help but notice all the pretty girls in this area. I am having a singles event downstairs and we have a rather large group of guys and no ladies… would you and your friends like to come?

OMG. My prayers had been answered! It’s not everyday 30 eligible, educated, employed, black, bachelors are just sitting around waiting to mingle. I didn’t want to appear thirsty, but I had to dip my cup in that! Most of the other girls were either in relationships or were too shy to go downstairs, but me and my wing woman put on our baddest walks and went to strut downstairs!! “HOW YOUUUU DOIN?”

Once there the event coordinator told us we would be playing a game.

Coordinator : I have a bag of bolts and a bag screws. Ladies, you will pick a screw out of this bag, gents, you will pick a bolt out of this one. (she began passing the bags) . Okay, now ladies… you are going to go up to each guy and say “Can I screw you nut?” After you say this, you will see if the bolt and screws match and that will be your partner for a small date.

Me (to my wing woman): Did she just say we have to walk up to these guys and say “Can I screw your nut?????????”

Wing Woman: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA She Sure Did!

Me: (shaking my head): This is soooo inappropriate!

All of a sudden I got really shy. These were some good looking guys… I didn’t want to say that! After all, I’m a Fuc&%$* lady!

My wing woman had met the love her life earlier in the year… it’s changed the dynamic of our pimping...But hey, more for me! I went to the first guy.

Me: So umm…. Can I screw your nut?
Guy 1: I need you to screw me!!! (this game was going to be interesting…)

Our bolt and screw did not match. I went to the next guy.

Me: Can I screw your nut?

Guy 2: We can do whatever you like!

We were not a match.

I looked over at my wing woman whose screw was fitting EVERYONE’s bolt!

Me: ARE YOU SERIOUS! You have 5 matches…. I don’t even have one! AND you have a man! YOU ARE A LOOSE SCREW! JUST LOOSE!

Wing woman: (cracking up) I don’t know why… I guess I’m just a perfect fit for everyone!

Me: Not fair! I CAN’T GET A NUT!

Wing woman (realizing I was taking this personally): Jess, you have a lot going for yourself… trust me… plenty of guys want to screw you!

I know you’re not supposed to hate the player… so I was definitely hating on this game! After several attempts my screw was not fitting anyone. Several guys tried to make it work, but when their true match came along they were ripped away from me and forced on their minnie date. At the end of the game… I stood alone.

Me: This is some BS!

Wing Woman (cracking up): It’s just a game!

Me: Well it mirrors my real life! Not even when the odds are in my favor do I have a man!

That’s when I got a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a tall, dark, built, guy with an awesome smile standing before me.

Eddie: My name’s Eddie, I know my nut didn’t fit but….

Me (cracking up): what an awkward intro!

We talked for a quick min. The Cavs game was on so our convo was mostly about Lebron. I found out Eddie was a producer/actor (like everyone in NY). That’s when I noticed he was wearing a Phat Farm sweater….EWW. I realized… I was doing it again. I need to stop picking brothers apart… one of the reasons 42% of black woman are not married. The other reason being the white woman… LOL (just playing… but not really).

He was cute… and seemed smart. I gave the signal to my wing woman and she worked on his friend and invited them back to Shaena’s birthday party. While the wing woman did her thing I fled the scene… after all… have to make them want more.
15 min later Eddie came up to VIP.

Eddie: So what are you doing tomorrow?

Me: working

Eddie: Not going to the Yankee World Series Win Parade?

Me: Yea… I’m going…. (I really wasn’t but if that was going to ensure a call the next day… I could act like I was going)

As Eddie and I were conversing Shaena’s boyfriend came over and started talking to me. THIS WAS NOT HAPPENING!

I shot the BF an evil look!

BF: My bad, I didn’t mean to block!

Me: See! You have a girl! Why does everyone do this to me!

Shaena’s boyfriend started laughing and made his exit stage right.

Me: Sorry about that, what were you saying?

Eddie: Do you have a card? I’ll give you a call in the morning. If you want to come, we are about to hit up another spot tonight….

I gave Eddie my card, but declined to go to the next spot… I aint no holla back girl.

The next day Eddie hit me up asking where I was in the parade line… geeze… I had lied already… this was an end to something before it even started! We talked 2 or 3 times… and that was it. Oh wells.

So in 2010 I want to fall madly in-like… I won’t say “love” because I would never want to rush that. Now, I know what you all are thinking… I can’t control when or if that happens. Well…. why can’t I?

My entire life I’ve achieved whatever goal I have set for myself. Wanted to be Student Body President… did it. I wanted to work in magazines… I’ve worked for 3. I wanted to be a published writer… done. I wanted to do PR for a major TV network… currently do. Told myself I wanted to build a closer relationship with Christ and my fellow man (friends) I strongly believe this has happened too.

I’ve never been the “I need a man” type and I’m not saying that I have started now. But, I am at a stage in my life where I am open to the possibility of finding something real and it all starts with being in like.

So now you’re probably wondering if I have any prospects. I don’t kiss and tell, but I will say something like a prototype took me to PF Changs back in November and he’s been on my mind ever since. MUAH ;-) We’ll see what 2010 brings.

Happy New Year Everyone!

Got Me a BALLA!

In 6th grade Mrs. Albee made us write a letter addressed to our future self. In this letter we had to jot down our dreams and aspirations. Senior year of high school my fellow elementary peers and I were invited back for a reunion and handed our letters. I wrote that I wanted to be a big time entertainment journalist or lawyer married to a NBA or NFL player, live in a mansion, have 3 kids, and drive…. a Jeep Cherokee. Clearly I was not up on my car game!

Let’s fast forward to 2007. I had just graduated college with a major in Mass Communications minor in Journalism. One day while sitting at my desk at Ebony Magazine in Chicago my phone rang. It was my friend Jenn.

Jenn: What are you doing tonight? Want to double date?

Me: I don’t do blind dates…. Why can’t you go alone?

Jenn: I figured you would say that…but it’s with these pro ball players I met the other night.

Me: Clearly I strike as a jersey chaser….

Jenn: NO! I just need someone fly for the other person

Me: Well you called the flyest… can I get some more info?

Jenn: They are good people… that’s really all I have to say. Meet me at my apartment after work.

Me: I took the train in today and don’t have clothes with me….

Jenn: YOU WORK ON MICHIGAN AVE! BUY SOMETHING!!!

Me: I’m mad you really getting loud right now! Fine. Can I at least ask what sport…..

Jenn: basketball

That meant one thing… Chicago Bulls. I took a 2 hour lunch break and went to Macy’s for a dress, Bakers for some shoes, and TJ Maxx for jewelry and a bag. This was costing me…. but who knows, this could be my potential soul mate! BAAALLLIIIN!

That night, Jenn and I got geared up trophy wife style. Around 8pm the door bell rang. At the door stood two very tall people dressed to the nine. I started from the bottom up. Fresh Tims, fitted jeans, grey cashmere sweater and…… BOOBS! I quickly pulled Jenn aside.

Me: WE ARE GOING OUT WITH FEMALES!!!!!!! I THOUGHT YOU SAID THESE WERE BALL PLAYERS!!!!!

Jenn: They are…… WNBA….Before you get mad at me you DO know that I am bi….

Me: Yes, BUT I AM NOT! HOW COULD YOU! You don’t have any gay friends?

Jenn: Well…I figured it would be fun. And I really like her but was too shy to go out alone.

You have no idea how heated I was. I just dropped mad dough on an outfit to wear for another chick. I was bamboozled!

Jenn: Jess, please don’t be mad at me and you have to come. You look judgmental if you don’t!

Me: I think the term you want to use is misinformed! YOU PIMPED ME OUT TO A GIRL!

Jenn: Stop it! You are soooo dramatic. Take one for the team!

Clearly Jenn wanted me to play for the other team. I went to the bathroom to cool off for a sec and gather my thoughts. I’m all for “doing what you do”. I love gay people, bi people, straight people, Black, White, Hispanic, Asian… it’s all good and I’ve always pride myself off of being able to get along with people on all different levels, backgrounds…and whatever else. It’s not this WNBA player’s fault that Jenn was an ass… and I had to be nice.

At dinner Jenn was sitting across from me and (I’ll call her Alexis). She was extra booed up having a gay ole time! I was forced to make conversation.

Alexis: So, where you from?

Me: Iowa… and yes we have black people. (kind of snarky)

Alexis: I see you get asked that a lot…. You ever play ball?

Me: 1st thru 11th grade… then I quit and became a cheerleader.

Alexis: WOW! How does that work?

Me: My best friend talked me into trying out with her… and she didn’t make the squad. I don’t like to quit so I just stuck it out for a year.

Alexis: So you’re a writer….

Me: Something like that (I was getting annoyed with the questions… I was just really uncomfortable and wanted to go home.)

Alexis: So what’s your deal cutie? (begins to rub my leg… AHHHHHH I was being fondled!)

Me: (moving leg out of the way) What do you mean?

Alexis: I don’t know you just seem….

Me: Hungry. I’m really hungry and don’t like to talk while I eat…. I suck at multitasking.

Alexis: We can work on that!

Did she just say “WE”? It freaks me out when guys do that…. it was time to go.

Me: So Jenn, I’m really tired. Are we leaving soon?

Jenn’s Date: Tired?!? GURL, we just getting started. We are taking yall to a party at the W HOTEL!

I don’t know who these ladies mistook me for…. But I was not going to anyone’s HO-TEL!

Me: I’m afraid I can’t do that…. Don’t let the dress fool you…. I go to church on the regular…. I’m a church girl. Been all my life. Very Plane Jane actually…. Prude. No fun at all…..

Jenn: (cracking up) RELAX “Church Girl” it will be fun!


It is not in my nature to be a follower… but I had no ride. Jenn and I were “supposed” to be cool. I would not leave her with two dudes… and these girls were big like dudes….. so I stayed.



The check came and the ballers reached out to pay.

Me: Actually, I’ll be paying for my own meal. I handed the waiter my card.

Jenn: Why?

Me: Because we are just friends hanging out.

After dinner I climbed back into the Hummer. Once in the car Jenn’s chick turned on the radio and began to sing along “FEEEEELS LIKE YOU’RE REAAADDDYYYYY” …. I hate that damn R. Kelly. Alexis tried to sing that ish in my ear. I shot that down real quick.

The W downtown Chicago is my spot! Best rooftop parties EVER! Only this time… the party was a little different.

Me: Really Jenn? There is not a dude in here. I’m leaving!

Jenn: Why?

Me: BECAUSE I LIKE DUDES JENN!

Jenn: But we are having fun!

Me: No, you’re having fun… I’m miserable. You aint right, YOU AINT RIGHT! You know I have no problem with bi or gay. (I felt like a white person saying this "I'm not racist... I have black friends!")Hell, I go to the gay club! But it is just wrong for you to set me up on a date knowing that I am straight! That’s not right for me…. or her!

With that I went downstairs to make a call. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone this situation… even my best friends don’t know about this until now. There was only one person I could have save me…. my boy Adam. Thing is… he’s a male whore… hopefully he was taking the night off.

Adam: Hello?

Me: Hey!

Adam: What’s good baby girl?

Me: I need your help….

Adam: What’s wrong?

Me: I need you to pick me up and take me home…

Adam: Where you at?

Me: (sheepishly) The W Hotel Downtown…

Adam: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING AT A HOTEL??!!!???!!!??? You don’t even strike me as the type!

Adam and I met the summer before when I was interning at NBC and he was at Judge Mathis. We hung out a lot but never dated nor did he conquer “the goodies”. When you meet a guy that thinks he has a chance at it… keep him around…. he’ll do anything for you.

Me: Are you going to come get me or not? I’ll tell you the situation when I see you. PU-LEEEEAAASSSEEEE!

Adam: I love it when you beg for it!

Me: You are soooo immature.

Adam: I lent my brother my whip. You can take a cab here. Spend the night and I’ll take you out to that random suburb you live in in the morning.

Me: I’m not slee….

Adam: WOMAN I KNOW! You can have my bed and I’ll take the couch.

Me: Promise to change your sheets? (Who knows what goes down in that bed)

Adam: Do you want my help or not?

Me: Yes, Thank you!

Adam: One condition… you call me King for the rest of the night. Yea… KING… that sounds real nice!

Me: I won’t

Adam: Or daddy your choice.

Me: Whatever. One problem. A cab ride to your place would be about 25-30 bucks… I don’t have any cash on me (actually… I really did just didn’t want to spend it…. Okkkaaayyyy!)

Adam: I don’t know what to tell you!

Me: C’mon! I’m in a hotel in a messed up situation and need some help!

Adam: Fine. I’ll pay the driver once you get here.

30 min later I arrived at Adam’s. He was sitting outside. As I stepped out the car…

Adam: You have some explaining! Why were you at a HOTEL in your FREAKUM DRESS????!!!!????!!!!??? FAST ASS!

Once inside I told Adam the entire story. When I got to the R Kelly “FEELS LIKE YOUR READAYYYY” part, this dude was on the floor!

Adam: “OH SHIT I CAN’T BREATH!”

Me: Ha-ha-ha! Just get it ALL out ADAM!

Adam: That would be KING Adam to you. Jess, that girl played the SHIT out of you!

Me: I know!

Adam: did you and Alexis exchange numbers… cause we need to get this party poppin in here tonight!

I was getting tired of his jokes. For the next 30 min I was a prisoner to every lesbian joke in the book.

Adam: Seriously. Question.

Me: What’s up?

Adam: IF you were gay… would you go for more of the Queen Lateefa chick… or like the Gabrielle Union kind.

Me: I’m done with you!

Adam: I think Queen La… you like big guys. I tell you Jess, the craziest stuff happens to you and I just don’t get it. I mean…. You’re wifey!

Me: Huh?

Adam: You heard me. Like when I’m ready to settle at around 25,26,27… I’ma wife you up.

Me: You’ll still be whorin.

Adam: Girl, sewing my oats, sewing my oats.

Me: I’m going to bed. Thanks again homie!

Adam: You just use me and abuse me. But one thing. You’ve been going to quite a bit of those “baller” parties. This was God telling you to cut that mess out!

Me: NO I HAVE NOT!

Adam: Weren’t you at the D Wade and Shaq party a few weeks ago over on the North side? If I recall…. You were on stage doing the Soulja Boy with Shaq!!!

Me: First of all, you were at that party too… and it was not just me doing the Soulja Boy with Shaq. TONS of other people were on stage too.

Adam: But yo ass was right next to him…. Just making it Yuuuuulllleeee

Me: (laughing) You right. I have been going out a lot. But hey, I’m 22! You’re only young once!

Adam: I aint mad at you! Do you! Just know that in a few years you gonna slow that down! Dinner needs to be on the table by 6!

Me: Keep dreaming.

That night Adam and I played video games until the wee hours of the morn. We eventually passed out on the floor… on opposite sides of the room.

As for Jenn we no longer talk… and she is no longer bi-sexual. As for me…. I’ve cut out the jersey chasing ways and have focused on men with qualities that really matter in life. As for Adam… like clock work he called me on my 25th birthday.

Junkie Scratching

I promise you. The Good Lord places me in the strangest situations because he wants me to make a movie. What I am about to write… You won’t believe happened, BUT IT IS TRUE. Prepare yourself for the FOOLERY!

About 4pm Wednesday I started itching really bad around my stomach. The itching crept up to my neck and down my back. By the time I left work I was scratching like Dave C. doing his “Just sprinkle some crack” sketch.

That was the longest subway ride of my life. Everyone on the 3 train looked at me in a puzzling way like “she looks to put together to be a junkie????”

By the time I hit my apartment door my clothes were already half off. I could not take it! I quickly jumped in the shower. I was feeling relieved. This lasted only about 1 min. As soon as I dried off the itching struck back! I heard my roommate put the key in the door and I yelled to her.

Me “I can’t stop itching”

Roommate “What happened!”

Me “I don’t know, I’m itching all over!”

Roommate “Are you hot?”

Me “No, I’m itchy”

It was only 3 weeks ago when I got taken from work in an ambulance and my roommate and a co-worker sat in Roosevelt hospital with me for half the day… so I knew roommate was not in the mood to fool around with me this evening (that’s another blog). I called my friend Richelle who lives in Motown.

Richelle “What’s up?”

Me “I have the heebee gee bees!”

Richelle “What!”

Me “I can’t stop itching. I took a shower, I rubbed cream all over my body, popped two Benadryl and now I am sitting in front of the fan.”

Richelle “Try rubbing ice on your body to sooth it. What did you eat today?”

Me “Chicken noodle soup…”

Richelle “With a soda on the side?”

Me “No, I don’t drink pop. Ummm Cool Ranch Doritos, 4 pieces of salt water taffy, the orange peanut butter crackers, and 2 bowls of Special K. Nothing out of the usual.”

That’s when I went to the bathroom to get more cream… when I looked in the mirror…I saw I was breaking out on my face.

Me “OMG I’m breaking out!”

Richelle “you are having a reaction to something!”

My roommate came in to confirm that I was breaking out. I wasn’t going crazy. I then lifted the beater I was wearing to find that I was breaking out all over my chest. Lumpy breasts are NEVER A GOOD LOOK!

Me “Richelle, I got to go. I’m going to the hospital!”

I grabbed my insurance card and my wallet and ran outside to catch a cab.

Me to the cab driver “Get me to the emergency room FAST!”

There are no yellow cabs in the area I live… just hustle- man cab drivers that use their personal cars for cabs. When I arrived at the hospital this man charged me 12 bucks.

Me “we are on 168th …. You picked me up from 148th! This is not a 12 dolla ride!”

Cab Driver “It’s 6 dollars per 10 blocks.”

Me “Whatever Son. Just give me my change!” (by this time I’ve scratched parts of my body raw and am in pain)

On the way inside I caught my reflection in the door. I resembled Will Smith after he ate that shell fish in the movie “Hitch”.

You have never witnessed ghetto until you take a trip to a hospital in Harlem. HOTT MESS. The waiting room was flooded with Blacks, Puerto Ricans, Haitians…. and the police. It was about 30 degrees in the waiting room. Everyone (included the nurses) were rockin hospital blankets trying to keep warm. The line to get checked in was long and people were complaining.

Man “I’ve been here for 4 Motha F&*ckn Hours! When am I going to see a GOT DAMNED DOCTOR!”

Woman “This Hospital is a piece of Shit! Yall don’t give a damn about NOBODY”

(50 more people joined in. There was a lot of neck rollin and finger snapping going on)

I don’t think I’ve seen such an angry mob in my life. I was feeling so miserable I knew I had to think smart and fast so that I could see a Dr. right away! I turned on my white girl swag.

Me (EXTRA POLITE) “Excuse me sir. How long will it be until I am able to see a doctor? I am having an allegoric reaction and need urgent care. I have insurance!”

(by the looks of the people in the waiting room… I knew they did not have insurance.)

Dude Nurse “You have insurance? Well, come on back. I can see in your face that you are having an allergic reaction.”

PRAISE THE LORD I DID NOT HAVE TO SIT IN THE FREEZING COLD WAITING ROOM WITH THE MOB!

I have never seen a hospital set up like this. No one had a personal room. It was set up like the armory in the military movies where beds are lined up side by side. I was led into a room that was already being occupied by 2 older black gentlemen who were taking some sort of asthma treatment which looked like they were smoking on weed. I sat in a corner. One looked like he worked construction; the other was dressed like an old school Harlem pimp.

Pimp “What’s with all the scratching mamma, you on that stuff?”

(I was kind of scared. I didn’t answer)

Construction “Don’t worry. We won’t hurt you. This is asthma treatment, we aint smoking nothing illegal in here. What’s the matter, your man give you something you can’t get rid of?”

Me “No, If you must know, I am having an allegoric reaction!”

Construction “Well, you’ve come to the wrong place. I’ve been coming to this damned hospital for 36 years and they will have you sitting there all night. They don’t care about you here. The time is now 9:30pm and I’ve been here since 5 and I still have not received the pills they are supposed to give me after an attack.”

Pimp “I just come up here to get my treatment. They take so long I go in the backs and takes me a shower.”

By this time a hood rat chick (Kool-Aid red hair, arm tats, Baby Phat…. You get the point) gets wheeled into our room. Blood flowing down her leg like a river.

Pimp “DAMN! What the F*&K happened to you??!!!!”

Rat “Mane, (code for “Man”). This bitch stabbed me 2 days ago. Twice in my back and once in my knee.”

Pimp “Where were you?”

Rat “Walking into my apartment over on 129th. All this blood is coming through the stitches!”

I turned to look the other direction. This ish right here was NASTY!

Pimp “That’s nothing. Harlem in the 80’s… I’ve been shot UP!, stabbed UP!, and locked UP!”

That’s when the nurse came in

Nurse (to the Rat in the wheelchair) “I’m going to need that wheelchair. We are short and you are not of high priority.”

Me, Pimp, and Construction “DAAAAAAAAMMMNNNN”

Construction “They is cold blooded in this hospital!”

Me (trying not to laugh) “How are they just going to come and take your wheelchair like that?”

Rat had to prop her bloody self up in a folding chair. I had enough. I walked up to the check in/ nurse station and found a dude in a white coat and began telling him my symptoms. He did not know my name, have my chart, nothing! But I could not wait around on this foolishness any longer!

DR (after going through the list of what I ate and what soaps I use) “Well, since it not any of that, sometimes these things can be caused by stress. Are you stressed.”

Me “a little bit.”

DR “I’m going to have the nurse come give you a shot that is going to stop the itching and make the swelling in your face go away. Then you will get two pills. I need you to stay around for a while so we can monitor you.”

I went back to the room. And the nurse came in with the shot.

Rat “DAMN, that’s a big needle”

I looked the other way as the nurse pierced into my shoulder.

Construction “At least someone getting some Motha F*&^ck service in here. Wish I had a reaction so I could get some service!”

(real talk, the nurses were at their stations on myspace)

I was sitting in the folding chair fighting going to sleep…. For fear that I would get gang raped in the hospital.

That’s when this crazy looking Aunt Jemima looking woman stumbled into the room and sat down moaning and groaning. We all just starred at her.

Pimp “Hell, I might as well go take this shower and charge my phone.” (he then pulls out the 1995 Nokia phone… remember the phone where you could change the face plates?)

Me “Okay, later.” (I mean… like I cared)

Next thing I know the police come chasing a bum around the hospital who had just wondered in off the streets.

Next a Puerto Rican woman (who I shall call Taxi) with a crooked face enters our room.

Construction “What’s wrong with your face? O’le scratchy (talking about me) and her reaction looks better than you.”

Taxi “I was on my way to the corner store and got hit by a cab.”

That’s when the nurse came in to talk to Aunt Jemima… but she was not speaking back.

Taxi “She doesn’t speak English”

Nurse “Well, I don’t speak Spanish….”

Taxi “I’ll translate”

OMG! The woman who got hit by a cab, is now translating for the nurse. WOW. Pimp enters the room.

Pimp “I’m just in time. Looks like the hospital is serving dinner.”

I turned to see the nurses passing out HAM AND CHEESE sandwiches. Now, I am no Dr, BUT……. Why would you serve ham (pork… that is not good for you) to a bunch of sick people in the hospital?

Pimp (to me) “Mamma, you aint gonna eat that?”

Me “Naw mack daddy, I’m good.”

Rat “WOULD SOMEONE FUCKIN COME CLEAN MY BLOOD UP OFF THE FLOOR! I DON’T CARE BOUT NO GOT DAMN SANDWICH! I pray to God something is severely wrong so I can sue the shit out of this place!

Pimp then goes to the corner… and begins rollin a blunt.

Pimp “I see reffa is goin to have to be my medication…. since they aint prescribing non up in here….”

Was this dude really rollin in the hospital???????????

We sat in silence for about 10 min.

Pimp “Well, my lady should be getting off in about 20 min. Let me go round this corner and meet her at the 1 train real quick so she can make this 400 off me.”

Rat “Make $400 dollas off you????”

Pimp “yea, you see…. Panties drop, I throws the money up in the air… and whatever hits the ground she can keep!”

Me “I’m done”

By this time the nurse walks in and looks at Pimp as he is packing up his belongings.

Nurse “Are you a patient?”

Pimp “That is my cue to leave good people.” With that, Pimp exited stage right and was gone. (wow, pimp wasn’t even a patient. Just liked the hospital drama.)

Construction (yelling) “36 years of this damn hospital and yall never change!” (by this time he was coughing badly …still, no Doctor. Also, Taxi is now stretched out on the ground and Rat is cursing up a storm in-between bites of her ham.”

I went back to the counter and found my release papers buried in a pile. I found the Dr, asked him to sign them, and he wrote me out two prescriptions. Since I had spent so much time with them… I went back to see Rat and Construction and tell them goodbye.

Construction “Your face is back to normal. You are so pretty I’m going to have another asthma attack!”

On that note… I bounced. But first I went to find a doctor and told him to go see about Construction.

I was home by Midnight. Spent $20 in cab fares and was subjected to ignorance. I was at work by 8:30am.

My face and chest are back to normal and I am no longer itching. I had an extremely tough week at work and once again I got hit with a reminder that everyone who claims to be your friend… is not your friend after some BS I’ve been experiencing in the past few weeks. Like this guy I went out with a few times in college used to say “Jessica, it’s about turning your circle into an oval”. I’ll leave that up to yalls interpretation.

I really just want to be by myself. This weekend I am locking myself in the apartment. I’m at that point where if someone just looks at me wrong I am going to whip their ass. I am going to church in the morning. Satin I rebuke thee!

To all my NY people…. pay attention. If something is to ever happen to me… take me to a hospital out in Jersey! Messing around in Harlem I would die in the waiting room.

You gotta Fight for your right to PARTY!

Growing up with a last name staring with a “W” I was called last for everything. I was the last in line for bathroom break, the last to receive snack, sat in the last row in the classroom… and was called last to graduate. I wonder if there is some physiological study on how that affects people into adulthood. I was always in trouble for cutting the line, but you would too if you really had to tinkle and had to wait as 20 something kids fooled around at the sink.

Last night I was watching “Mean Girls” on TBS when I received a text from my girls to meet them at a club on 114th and Broadway. In NY all the dope parties pop off during the week…..so weekends are my chill time, but I had already promised I would go.

As I was stepping out of the cab I heard a couple of deep voices yell out “J WILS!” I searched the crowd to see two of my boys (Laurent and D) standing in some unorganized ciaos in front of the club. I joined them.

Me “What kind of mess is this?!”

D “On my life son! I’m leaving. This is ghetto and I’m tired of waiting”

I called my friend Charanna who was already inside. I could see her through the window… which signaled to me that it was not packed and poppin inside.

Me (on the phone with Charanna) “I’m leaving. I don’t do lines. This isn’t even moving.”

Charanna “Hold on. Zenitra is in here and she knows the promoter. We’ll get you in.”

She texts me that it will be about 5 min.

Me (to the guys) “I could hear her loud and clear over the phone…..”

Laurent “Yea, this is mad wack son. We are leaving. You coming?”

The bouncer comes out and announces there is a guest list. Thus, another reason I don’t like going out on weekends. NY has this thing with having secret codes and passwords to get into every party. IT IS NOT THAT SERIOUS! I text Charanna and ask her for the code. She texts back “BIV”.

Me (to the guys) “The passcode is “BIV”.

D “YO SON WE OUT!” Laurent and D left.

I waited 5 more min… and the line had not moved. Then the bouncers let in a group of dudes. All these females in line, and they are letting guys in???? NOT A GOOD LOOK! I called Charanna.

Me “I’m out.”

Charanna “The promoter said 5 min!”

Me “He said that 15 min ago, and it is starting to drizzle… My hair does not do rain.”

As I was walking to the corner to catch a cab back home Laurent calls and tells me to meet up with them at this bar down the block. I went. Once inside 3 of our other friends were in there… who had just left the party I was trying to get into. (NY is such a small place when you take out the tourists)

Lindsay “It was wack son! The DJ wasn’t even there. That’s why we left.”

We were too happy to be at this new spot. 4 dolla margaritas! This NEVER happens in NY and we took full advantage of the situation. Hell, Cran and Vodka will run you $17…. And that’s with Absolute… not even Goose!

D “So, Laurent and I have this new song we want to produce called “Thicka than a Snicka”.

They both start singing some hilarious hook.

Laurent “It’s going to be a parody of all those stupid sing song dance/ soulja boy joints that are out now”

Me “Can I be the video girl! I’m “Thicka than a Snicka!”

D and Laurent “You are in!”

Me “YAY!”

That’s when all of us drunkards started creating dance moves for this video… that probably will never be.

Brian “Are you guys ready to go back to that party?”

Brian, Lindsay and their friend all pull out these business card VIP passes.

Brian “Since we were already in the party they gave us cards so we would not have to wait in line if we came back”

Me “So what are me, D and Laurent supposed to do?”

Brian “Don’t worry, we’ll all get in.”

Me “I’ll just say I’m in the chick in the “Thicka in a Snicka” video.”

We head back to the party to find the line still long.

Brian “Everyone with a pass… rip it in half so we all get a piece.”

That was a great idea.

We turned our swagga up and walked passed the people in line and flashed our piece of the golden ticket. We had made it inside when all of a sudden a bouncer came behind me yelling and pointing at me.

Bouncer “AYE! YO SON! SHE ONLY GOT A HALF A RIPPED TICKET! SHE GOTTA GO SON! SHE GOTTA GO! GET HER OUT OF HERE!”

Was this dude really blowing up my spot? Even though I was in the wrong… I had to snap back and fight for my right to party.

Me (neck rolling, yelling, and snapping for the kids) “I don’t know why you are tripping. It’s free to get in anyway so it’s not like you are losing money letting me in. I don’t want to be in your funky party anyway. My friends are already in here. I’m industry! I don’t need this” BLAH BLAH BLAH (I snapped all the way out the door).

I then had to walk past all the people I cut to get in. PLAYED MYSELF. I stood at the curb… waiting for at least one person to come out. But my “FRIENDS” stayed inside. I was HEATED. Next thing I know… D was being escorted out. He had the “Get off me son!” face on.

D “I can’t believe I got kicked out. I actually had a full card, but I passed it to Laurent! On my life son! That’s not cool. I’M OUT!”

By this time I was standing there ROLLING. Thing is… D and I ended up looking like that person who is soooo desperate to get into the party. Which is not how we are in real life at all. We get invited to dope events all the time… we really did not care about this random party. And everyone knows I’m always down to just chill and be low key.

D then gets a text from Laurent that reads: “LMAO!”

D “This nigga thinks this shit is funny!”

Me (ROLLIN) “It actually is. We are grown as hell and just got kicked out the club”

I hate bouncers. They are some of the most thick neckded power trip brutes you ever interact with. Thinking they are hott stuff… when in reality they are nothing but burly ex college football players who did not get drafted or dudes who are too simple minded and fat to get into the police academy. Only they would get a rush out of kicking a girl out with half a VIP pass.

Cutting. It would get your name written on the board then… and it will get you kicked out the club now. Like I said earlier, being a “W” and always being treated “last” turned me into a life of crime. I blame my teachers for this incident!