Friday, December 30, 2005

Hit On Me

Just because you put a ring on my finger
Just because you put some clothes on my back.
Just because you gave me money for December
Doesn't mean that I have to pay you back.

You were my husband
You were supposed to do the things you chose to do
I loved you 'til the end
And I'd rather die before I let my kids see.
The way you hit on me
The way you hit on me
Every night I'd cry hopin' that they'd never see
The way you hit on me
The way you hit on me
The way you hit on me
How come you hit on me?
-- Syleena Johnson

I'm going to need everyone to keep their damn hands to themselves in 2006.

I'm going to need all feet to stay on the fuckin' ground in 2006.

I'm going to need people to stop choke slammin' and clotheslinin' each other in 2006.

Shit's gotta stop in 2006.

It literally sounded like "boompity, boompity, boom" out in the hallway.

What the fuck?

I looked out the peephole to see him dragging his woman down the stairs by her foot, and I'm like what now? What the fuck did she say to set your unstable ass off TO-DAY?

Nicest people on the earth, on the surface.

But honey...inside of their crib? It was Gatti v. Ward 1, 2 or 3 err'y night up in that camp.

Shit, I got tired of callin' P.G.'s finest on them. She would jet up out of their with their daughters, cuz if the cops got one look at her Rican profile, they were gon' see his bitch-slap print, and hubby was not going to pass Go, was not going to collect $200, but would go straight to jail.

Couple of hours later, she would come back, and I'd hear them in there, merrily clanging pans together.

I guess they was hungry after all that fighting.

Now I'm not usually one to be all up in nobody's business, but the next time he tried to strike up small talk in the parking lot, I asked him how his wife was.

Then gave him the .


He just gave me that "Nigga what" laugh, and said he'd holla.

The irony of that wasn't lost on me.

I'll holla.

If God is a just God, you sure will.

To bypass all of that, I'ma just need muthafuckas to "Just Say No" to the domestic violence in 2006. Don't hit, and don't be hit.

Chicks, stop playing the hit game. That shit ain't cute. As a matter of fact, who told you that shit was cute? Now that's the muthafucka you oughta hit!

Niggas, that wrasslin' game ya'll like to play with us? That shit ain't cute either. Reminds me too much of what you do right before you start hitting. Back your ass up offa me. If you'on wanna wrassle my 6'5", 320 lb. cousin Boo, then fuckyoulooklike wrasslin' me?

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: I'on wrassle. I'on hit. Cuz see, I'm not that ha-ha, hee-hee type person that is gonna take it light. And you're probably not gonna realize that until I heat up some cornmeal and throw it at you. See...then I'ma be a crazy bitch, and you knew I was crazy, and so on and so forth...

Some people don't want to believe fat meat is greasy.


So I've got bronchitis. Suppose my lungs look a little like this:

I had a sharp pain under my left breast on Tuesday, and I 'clare for God, I thought I was up OUTTA here.

The next morning, I went straight to the doctor, only to have him tell me that I had bronchitis.

Sigh of relief, right? Wrong.

Can't breathe!

My current obsession is the Discovery Channel's Going Tribal series, hosted by Bruce Parry.

Besides the fact that this series reeks of latent paternalism, I found it quite interesting that this Brit man takes what...6 or 7 weeks out of his life to go hang out with the natives in various parts of the world.

The episode that sold me? The one where he spent over a month with the Suri people of Ethiopia.

The women are known to wear clay plates in their bottom lips, with their bottom 4 teeth knocked out so food can slide down the plate into their mouths. How practical!

The men have elongated earlobes and walk around with their manhood swinging merrily in the breeze.

Not a eensy-peensy dick amongst them.

And I scanned the whole crowd, ya heard?


Blue Boy Blue, go and blow your horn!
You gon' break your neck tryna blow your horn...
-- New Birth

I'm talking about some dicks to write home about.

Now they were uncircumcized and err'thang, lookin' like mutant, chocolate-covered corn dogs...but good gravy, Lord save me.


To the window!
To the wall!
To the sweat pours down my balls...
-- Ying Yang Twins

Amazing how even though their dicks looked like they hadn't seen any water since the placenta, they still looked goot. Not good. GOOT.

Big dicks just look good. In whatever condition they are in.

I wonder if the clay plates in the women's bottom lip is so that they might serve the dick up properly.

Just cuz we live in the jungle don't mean we'on know how to set a proper table!

I wonder if their husbands' big ole dicks knocked out their bottom teeth.

If you're not annoyed merely at the fact that I'm jive fantasizing about unwashed, Ethiopian tribal dick, then perhaps you're a bit disturbed at how mouth-watering I made them sound. Maybe?

Happy New Year, bitches!

Tuesday, December 27, 2005


Everybody in my party is VIP
We gon’ sip champagne for free
Your night of ecstacy’s on me
Definitely believe
Cuz everybody in my party is VIP
We gon’ shot Patron for free
Your night of ecstacy’s on me
-- Jamie Foxx

I was lovin' this buck-tooth nigga's CDs music, back when me, his momma, and he bought his first album. All 3 of us. So I'm not one of these latent dingleberries hanging out of the crack of his ass NOW cuz mainstream is finally ready for him.

I still think he's jive country, but I like that about him.

Not to mention...that nigrasario has.the.biggest.and.juiciest.fingers.

You know how I feel about big.juicy.fingers.

Please don't get me started.

You...are my life
Everybody knows
How I feel about you
Lovin' your smile and your soft caress
My love for you shines brightly
I must confess that you
Are my life
I want us to be like a dream that's come true
I want our love to grow in special ways, yeah
Our hopes and our visions, yeah
To be the same
I love you
Just for you...
-- George Duke

I was reading Danyel's Naked Cartwheels today, and she reminded me of the hundreds of songs that I've rotated over the years in my mind that would be "played at my wedding." I think Just For You would be a hot wedding song. Guests probably would be standing around like What the fuck?, but it would be hot nonetheless.

Other non-traditional picks would be:

1. So Easy - 101 North
2. I'll Write A Song For You - Earth, Wind & Fire
3. 10 Million Strong - Mint Condition
4. Yes Indeed - Teena Marie
5. Beautiful - Tweet

I've got hundreds of others, but you know how I am about my shit.


I look like doo doo on a broke stick today and I'm still getting complimented out the azz.

Does that mean I'm too hard on myself?

Naw...these folks are just blind in one eye and can't see out the other. I look like some SHIT.

And since I'm normally fly as fuck, I'on mind telling you so.

My tummich hurts though. Somebody is having a champagne toast inside my innards and didn't invite me.

That coffee didn't help. Neither did that piece of chocolate cake.

I have one more day's worth of leftovers. I'mma eat 'em tonight...bubbly guts and all.

Fuck it.

I'ma rope my life off and you won't be able to get in without a pass.

You remind me of something
I just can't think of what it is...
-- R. Kelly

Eh. Likely story.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Can't Nobody

Trying to let you know what it's all about
I know you wanna leave
So many little games silly people play
Don't act foolishly
I'm so real, so soft to touch
My love, my kiss so sweet, glorious
The look on your face
Anyone can see
No one does it like me...
-- Kelly Rowland

I've been known to say that to many a man.

Not one of them has retorted, Uh...I don't want her to do it like you. Stupid.

Cuz that would be arrogance-kryptonite.

I be on dat Kryptonite
Straight up on dat Kryptonite
I be on dat, straight up on dat
I be on dat Kryptonite
-- Big Boi

Whatever happened to Solé? I liked her.

Married Ginuwine, and relegated herself to wifedom in P.G. County.


Don't look so sad
I know it's over
But life goes on
And this world
Keeps on turning, yeah
Let's just be glad
We have this time
To spend together
There is need to watch the bridges
That are burning...
-- Al Green

I really need for people to get better at goodbye.

Stop picking the scab off of the cut and just let it heal and fade away. IT will fade away, but you gotta stop picking with it.

That means stop calling me and reminiscing on something that's not going to be.

You're with someone else, right? talking about the good times. That shit ain't working for me.

It's too fresh right now. Just quit trying to figure out if I still care about you.

Yeah, I do. For whatever it's worth. But that wasn't enough to make us right.

Don't let them
Get the best
Of your heart
Leave the rest up to love
And you'll be taken care of...
-- Rufus featuring Chaka Khan

I think shorty has a crush on me. Ain't he the sweetest?

Little tiny self. I'm not much on tiny men, but he's so cute. Every time he walks by, I want to beckon him to sit on my lap.

He called me "precious" this morning. Now if that wasn't just the cutest damn thing. I jive giggled.

My grown ass, blushing. I'm flattered.

Not intrigued though.

It's endearing.

I want you to know me better than I know me
Cuz baby I can see the future
You know we should be together
I'm not gonna play with you, so dont you play with me
Let's put this thing together baby
I'll leave these other girls alone...
-- Bobby Valentino

If I had a year to spare though, I might have given him some play

I'm really into thoughtful people right now.

I'on care about things that I usually care about. I want somebody that's just gonna be into me. Like majoring in Nina. A student of my every move.


Too bad I'on have that kind of time.

Girl give me your number
Forget it, here go my number
Forget it, you don't need my number
Cuz we gonna get hot tonight...
-- New Edition

When I used to be a clubhead, I never took numbers. Just gave mine out. With one directive.

Me: You can have my number, under one condition.
Him: What's that?
Me: Call tomorrow, or don't call at all.
Him: *bewildered look*
Me: *coy look*

Shit worked like clockwork. And I'm not just saying that because it's my gimmick. Shit REALLY worked.

I think they called out of curiousity. Or maybe it was the apprehension to finding out what would happen if they tried to call me a week later.

My intent was simple: I didn't want to have to remember a whole bunch of niggas names. Call me tomorrow, and let's get this weeding-out process cracking! If they didn't call, that was cool...his name went into the trashcan of my memory.

I met this one dude named Ryan at the club. He was little as fuck. (I did tell you that little men love me, right?)

But this Lilliputian was sexy as fuck. Sexy as he wanted to be, ya heard?

Could dance. Dressed nice. Smelled nice.

I'll never forget we were slow-draggin' to Prince's "Adore", and this fool kissed me dead in my mouth. Naw...he ain't put his tongue in my mouth.

But it wasn't for lack of trying.

I was gon' seriously consider fuckin' with him until I did something wack as hell.

I called him on his job, and I thought he was avoiding taking my call, so I left this hella "fatal" message on his answering machine. Yeah, yeah, I can admit the shit now...I wasn't really tryna sound psycho.

But that shit was jive psycho.

Naw, I'on remember what I exactly said, but it was some rambling, confusing tomfoolery and I got exactly what I deserved as a result of it.

I got some major silence.

Mu'fucka ain't never, ever, never call again.

Fuck that lazy-eyed muthafucka. And he had a sick child. Like chronically sick child.

I'on usually fuck with men with children. Why? Cuz I'on have any children, and um...I'm not dealing with yourn if I don't have any.

But in the RARE case that I do find an exceptional father, who is stepping up and handling his business where his child is concerned, and that shit isn't negatively interfering with what we got going on...then yeah. But that little muthafucka better damnsight be healthy.

I know...that's selfish, Nina!

But shit...somebody will love you with your little TB-ridden, asthmatic, club foot baby. Just not gon' be me.