I want me a vampire

One of my co-workers put me onto a new show called "True Blood". It's a vampire series, but not your typical garlic and crucifix set up. These are vampires--with rights n' shit. They drive, they have cell phones, they can even purchase synthetic blood to curb their appetites. They even have a club called "Fangtasia" which is pretty ghetto if you ask me.

I have to wonder though...what would it be like to date a vampire? I mean SERIOUSLY date a vampire. First of all, you'd only be invited to his house at night time because of the whole sun-light makes me spontaneously combust thing. That would definitely fuck around with my work schedule seeing how i can barely get out of bed when I go to sleep the night before by as early as 9:00pm. Secondly, y'all couldn't even go out and have a meal in public. For one, vampires don't eat solid foods or drink anything else other than blood, and the only place that would be open would be either taco bell or Kennedy's. I'm sure you guys would get sick of that quickly. Thirdly, the sex would probably be off the CHAIN! With his vampire endowments and all, I'm assuming his deeyock probably has fangs too (which would make for an interesting stimulus) BUT you could never spend the night at his house because he has to sleep in the floor or some shit so no sunlight could get through. Dude couldn't even stay at your place for the same reason. You two would be doing the walk of shame like almost every night.

Oh! and you can just forget about a vampire proposing to your ass. He couldn't even hold a ring in his hand considering they're allergic to silver n' shit. If he proposed, he'd probably give you a wooden ring with a smiley face painted on it. The smiley face would have fangs.....Trick or treatin' ass mothafugga-

You couldn't even argue with a vampire. He'd glamour your ass and make you say "yes sire...anything for you. Now suck my neck daddy." Argument over. He would brainwash you so much, you probably would loose sight of who you were. You would become so dependent on pleasing him and ensuring you never crossed certain lines because at a moment's notice--vampire will turn on your ass and suck you diggity dog dry.

Well damn.
Now that I think about it--half of the men I've dated must have been vampires. Most of them fit the description. Only seeing me at night time. Vanishing off before dawn or poking me to get the fuck up before sunlight hits. Men who take me out to eat at night because by default, its gonna be somewhere cheep and fast. Men who won't take the leap of love because they're afraid. Men who buy me cheap shit. Men who are so good-looking that when they hurt me, I'm blind to it when i stare too long into their eyes. Men who suck the life out of me by relying on my body as the crutch for the relationship.

Maybe I don't want me a vampire. Not because I'm scared of them, but because I probably have already dated one. I want someone to love me because I'm their type....not because I'm Type O.



But ladies one good thing about dating a vampire is that you can at least look forward to getting your period.....IF you know what i mean--

Who gives a F&*%?

My girlfriend Talisha is the inspiration for my newest entry. We were talking today about the lame ducks who are addicted to facebook. You know who they are, and if you are one of them, you know who you are too.

I remember back in the day when facebook made its debut. (1) You had to type "thefacebook.com" into your browser, (2) you had to be enrolled in some type of school (a real one with a ".edu" address) and (3) People didn't have to worry about their lives being put on blast. Facebook used to have a real wall, where people could graffiti text, delete stuff and add stuff. Then suddenly, one day without any warning, facebook got a face-lift (pun intended, actually) and decided to rid itself of discretion. I used to check facebook and get excited to see that tiny little envelope pop up to show that I had a message waiting. A message from an actual person. Not from a fraternity or a sorority or an on campus org or an event. Someone actually saying 'hi, i think we should chill.'
Facebook suddenly became an outlet for advertisement and drove itself into a vat of SPAM mail that annoyed the shit out everyone; especially because some of the events going on were just incredibly whack. We could see who was invited and who was going and who was not going and who was on the fence and who had been to the venue, and who was sort of kinda thinking about going but couldn't make up their mind until they got the right outfit etc. THEN with the onset of pictures and albums being added to facebook, people became glued to their computers. Not necessarily enthralled by other people's pictures, but concerned as to how a picture of them half naked on a bar got thrown up on the internet. Mothafuggas was gettin' TAGGED. And TAGGED HARD. And Facebook decided to leave no doubt as to who it was in the picture, because your name would pop up (compliments to the no-life-having mofos who take the time to list every single person in a picture). Even after all of this, I was still okay with facebook. I still missed the original set up, but I was willing to accept that people just started to become more interested in one another.

But then out of the blue....without much warning or understanding---the fucking mini-feed was introduced.

Kristan is currently in a relationship. 3:00pm
Kristan has listed herself as single. 3:01pm
Kristan wrote on Phil's wall. 3:02pm
Kristan took a shit. 3:03pm

WTF.

Honestly, I could care less about what ANYONE else is doing, and I don't appreciate facebook putting my entire life on boom blast. I like to share my thoughts and dreams and opinions, but if I wanna say hello to a friend on their wall real fast, not errbody and they mama (who now can actually join facebook too) should have to know. But what I have realized is that anyone who continues to update their profiles or their status or their pictures or anything else actually don't mind if people have an intimate look into their lives. But this is yet another aspect which destroys how people get to know each other. John Doe could see Jane Doe drunk as a skunk on facebook, with her eyes low and with her crotch posing like Paris Hilton's crotch. If he sees her in class one day or on the street--who's to say that the only reason he won't speak to her is based off of what he previously saw. The mystery behind human beings is gone. We actually start to build false relationships with people because we have seen their parents, friends, cousins, rooms, wardrobe etc. ALL ON FACEBOOK

I am still a current member of Facebook, just in case someone from my past is looking for me. In between I dabble in changing my status, my profile picture, and writing on my friends' walls. But I am beginning to think that people who have a frigging suckling complex with facebook need to get off the nipple for a while and go meet an actual person to sit down with in front of a fireplace and tell life stories. Lets stop uploading pictures of our lives for strange ass people to look at and gawk at. You don't know who's jerking off to your picture. Or who's hating on your ugly ass family. Or who's trying to figure out where in Brooklyn your house is located. And don't condone that honesty box shit because if it were really an honesty box--then the shit wouldn't be anonymous.

I'm-
justbeinghonest.

Thanks for having everything in common with me...okaynowbye!

One of the single most confusing phenomenon is when you vibe with someone on so many different levels for the first time, but they make no attempt to keep the vibe going.

Shorty swing my way is one of my favorite songs. Here we have a girl who went out to a club on a friday night, looking for a man that would do her right. I wasn't necessarily looking for a man to "do it" with, but I just wanted to have some good ol' fashioned clean ghettorific fun. My girlfriend and I got all dolled up and went downtown for a few drinks and some kickbacks. Upon arrival, I spotted this I'm-bald-on-purpose dude that was pretty attractive. He wasn't really my type (i like em' dark like a kitchen stove and skinny like kermit the frog). He was beige with facial hair and a little stocky. We made an immediate connection by making fun of the loony bin that was trying to talk to my girlfriend. He was even further impressed by my knowledge of football and how I called the penalty before the referee confirmed my accuracy. I made him laugh a lot. Having a guy laugh at my jokes is a major turn on for me because that means he gets me, and it also means that he's got a killer sense of humor.

Finally after a few rounds of girlie drinks, we advanced downstairs to the dance floor. I danced with dude for a straight hour. Song after song after song. Genre after genre. I went from dropping it like it was mothafuggin hot, to gyrating on some reggaeton tip, to willie bouncing on his deeyock. To me, dancing with someone for a long period of time means a connection is made. Last time i danced with someone for more than 45 minutes, i ended up topless on their washing machine. So with that anecdote in mind, I prepared myself for at least a number exchange when the bartender did her last call.

As the lights gradually interrupted the intamacy of the club, I looked around for my dancing boo who had slipped away to use the restroom. I spotted my friend--pleasantly drunk--dancing with a guy from her church. Finally my boo comes back. He sashays over to me in his dark denim jeans, and he leans into me. I can feel his five o clock shadow gently exfoliate my neck as he kisses my cheek. He takes his big strong hands and wraps them around my thighs. Here it comes I say to myself. He's going to invite me back to his place. He leans in further and whispers in my ear....

"You're mad cool. I'll see you around."



You mothafluckin BITCH!

I stood there in awe. Uhm wtf just REALLY happened? How you hit it off with someone like that and they just tell you YOU'RE AWESOME DUDE and just walk the eff out of the club like ya'll wasn't gonna tell ya'll grandkids how gram and gramps met each other by dry humping to Usher's Trading Places. I stood there, like a lady should, and waved goodbye to him as he walked off. What could I say? "Hey there wait a minute. Here's my number you whack ass game-less loser?" no i could not do that. All I could do was stand there and watch my girlfriend collect a phone number from her church homeboy.

So I guess the moral of the story is--don't expect a man to acquire your contact information even though you're great. Men are about the destination and women are about the journey. If they can't figure you out in 5 minutes, they damn sure ain't gonna take 5 days or 5 weeks.

Next dude I dance with, better be wearing a Rosary.

Come on White Folks...Be a Sport.

After all, you guys are partly to blame for this whole First Black President thing. When the official numbers came in that faithful Tuesday night, I was overcome with emotion. I was not as emotional as my mother however, who stripped naked, ran around the house, cried hysterically, then threw up in the kitchen. BUT my heart was so filled with pride and joy I almost combusted. Going to work that Wednesday morning was eerily quiet though. I sat at my desk for about 10 minutes trying to mush my cheeks together because i could not wipe my crazy both-rows-of-teeth-showing smile off of my face. I am not sure if its because i am the only person of color in my office, but i definitely felt a lull in the atmosphere. When I walked outside, I saw black people greeting each other with congratulations and noticed the young black men walking a little bit more upright. But one disturbing scene took place across the street where 3 police officers on bicycles arrested 3 young black men and had them handcuffed and on display on a sidewalk bench. I thought to myself, ehh they were probably up to no good, but damn. Why the whole public shabang? I retreated to my office and finished out my day with coffee and pleasant customer service.

But today...
a bitch coulda gotten bloshed the fuck up.

So this bitch, who shall remain nameless because she doesn't need any more fame than what she has in the office, stepped over the line today. She talks loud for no reason. She has no concept of an indoor voice and when she whispers you would think she just said some shit RIGHT to you. Anyways, I see her stand up from her desk and walk into one of the attorney's office. She says,
"HEY PHIL, I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU VOTED FOR BUT TAKE A LOOK AT THIS TEXT MESSAGE."
All of a sudden I hear the theme song to none other than "Sanford and Son". Sanford and Son, in case I have to spell it out, was a show in the 1970's about a black, grumpy man who collected a whole lot of crap and was pretty country. So, I can only imagine what that text must have looked like. Was it Barack and Michelle and dem' in a big red pick up truck moving into the white house? Who knows. I heard her and the attorney laugh a big laugh. While she was walking back to her desk I kindly asked her, "What kind of text message was that?" She replied, "a funny one." Then sat her beach blond ass down.

I was steaming.

I got up, went to the bathroom and came back just in time to see a crowd of people around her desk laughing it up to the same haunting Sanford and Son theme song. As i walked towards them--the laughter came to a screeching halt and everyone dispersed like roaches and went to their desks. I immediately went to see my supervisor (who is def cool) who then emailed the bigot bitch and told her to come into the office for a meeting (minus me of course). Later on when I asked my supervisor what happened, she informed me that Bitch refused to show her the text message. hmmm i fucking wonder why.

Look, white people. I have always been really big fans of you guys. I'm not color blind, rather I am color conscience and I am always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. But when you work at a company for hundreds of years and you think you can get away with any type of shit you want, there might be a rude awakening. white folks, you should be proud too. You should be rejoiciing with us minorities and consider this as a favor to yourselves for electing such a fine-ass, intelligent man. Forget him being black. And for you white folks who voted for Obama "in the closet" persay...thank you too. But don't front like you're all mad now because Blackie won. This was a small step for man, but a giant step (in some new Jordans that just dropped) for mankind.

Black president

I expected haters from different races, but not from black men.

I was talking with my friend who claims that this presidential election was not a victory for black people because Obama technically is not black. He believes that if Obama were apart of the Black-American heritage as it pertains to slavery, segregation etc., then that would qualify him as being black. He continued to point out that Obama's upbringing was that of no black man due to the race of his mother and grandparents.

You know what I say to that shit?

PIPE THE FUCK DOWN.

Listen, just because Barack is kinda gray lookin' and has a bryant gumble accent, does not mean his ass ain't black. (he's way blacker than bryant gumble by the way). Obama was raised by a white woman and white grandparents--yes--but his father (god bless his soul) was not an active member in his daily life. Sounds to me like the quintecential story of every black dude I know. And come on. What black person WASN'T releived when we saw what Michelle Obama looked like? A black woman. She isn't ambiguously black....she is blizzack. Obama let us all know that he played for our team and knew how to pick them too.

My friend also tried to down Obama because of his Harvard education. Excuse the fuck outta me, but I thought Black people were allowed to attend the same ivy league schools as white folks. Brown vs. Board of Education was the court ruling that allowed it in high schools...mkay there buddy? My cousin Marlon went to Harvard undergrad, and Yale law school. Even though he's yellow like me and doesn't need an S-curl system, he married a woman who is (congratulations) blizzack!

What qualifies someone as black? It pissed me off that my friend tried to exclude Obama from the Black community because of his.... credentials? Tiger Wood's ass is whiter than a mothafugga, but put his ass in a time machine and he'd either be on a damn plantation or in a railroad concentration camp.

Blacks and whites alike need to redefine what it means to be apart of a culture. Just because Barack Obama doesn't sport a perm (cough al sharpton cough)or talks like a babbling idiot (cough Jessie jackson cough) doesn't mean he ain't black. Behind closed doors, Barack probably whoops his kids, and eats his chicken wings with the insert-entire-wing-in-mouth-and-pull-out-bone-method that us folk are pros at. Barack Obama is that MUCH blacker because he went to Harvard Law and that much blacker because he changed the face of politics forever without selling out. So black men...if you ain't working, don't have an ivy league education, and/or choose NOT to code switch--don't be mad that ur ass ain't president of the United States.

Can a Thug get a hug?

Ever feel like a lonely son of a bitch?
Well I surely do.
Someone with as much potential energy as I, who lives in the burbs, is destined to be bored with life. I sit and write. I sit and read. I stand and cook. Then i flipping sit and eat. Across the table from me sits no one. While I'm cooking, no big, brawny, 8 mile-lookin bwoy comes up behind me and whisks me away to a slumber of love making and adult swim. I religiously wake up, go to work, sit there, come home, sit some more, sleep, then wake up in my bed...sitting.
I'm tired of sitting all damn day, and I know that it is up to me to find things to do with my life. Its hard though when you're broke, and you live a considerable distance away from the epicenter of your town. A club is like a pilgrimage every weekend which comes down hard on gas and impedes on my drinking desires. Social life in Rochester is also kind of wizzack. I don't mind seeing the same faces, but when those same faces are wearing the same clothes they wore in high school--eh--thats a bit of a problem.
So i grumpily become the heavy load amongst my friends as my forced smile is tainted with my actual disgust and my dance moves turn into an R. Kelly two step that ages me about 15 years.
Have people really forgotten how to have fun? Our going out habits have even become routine . Get wasted, risk life getting to club, drink more, dance, risk life going back home, wake up, drink Gatorade and ginger ale, eat ramen, and do it again. I basically just described every weekend of my college career. But now, at the ripe old age of 22, I'm looking for a different type of fun. Intimate fun. That corny, disgustingly cute kind of fun. Someone to pop popcorn with--to sit and watch an over-rated movie that we can pick apart and criticize. Someone to work out with or just flippin chiiiil. But nooooooo. We can't have that kind of fun anymore, because all of our friends are in relationships so they have no time for us. Or, any dudes or gals we might fancy--are too busy fancying someone else.
I fit into the category of someone who is generally afraid of love (or lough for that matter) only because I have invested so much time into something that obviously has not rendered any meaning to me yet. So, people like us are really just looking for a friend of the opposite sex who can hug us in a way that our same gender could not fulfill...but not necessarily someone to shag. I don't think what i'm looking for is a friend because I already know that males and females can't be close friends unless distance keeps them apart, but what i am looking for is a companion who i can chill with and who doesn't feel the need to drop to one knee and propose--


but who can drop to both knees and make it rain.
j/k...sort of.

synapses

A series of serious cerebellum-breaks surreptitiously bestow me so I'm forever in debt to my conscience.
No Katrillion dollar bail out in phallic amounts feather down on me like a pimp raining on hoes.
Buxom bosom of blossoming blemishes from hurts past,
Done in by my little red corvette that was definitely much too fast.
My ficus fights for dear life on a ledge of dusty granite. Grasping rays of sunlight. Battling obstructions of its justice.
Perfumed neck, and jaundiced skin.
Lotioned back and rotting teeth.
Dancing by myself--
I fall between the cracks of my seat.

Ugly Peoples

Trying to score? Go out with your ugly friends. I'm a 5 foot 2 semi-cute, thick, yellow skinned girl who really cannot compete with my friend Stacey who happens to look like a cross between Gabrielle Union and Kelly Rowland. Love her to death, but the girl is a giant cock block. While walking in her shadows as a circus freak, I am overwhelmed by the number of responses she receives from men by merely "doing her thing". Doing her thing includes wearing the newest styles (fitting into them is also a plus) having her hair did at all times, flawless make-up, and a good dance game. I on the other hand, dress semi-cornball, my hair is decent to say the least, my makeup is aight when i try, and my dance game is not what it used to be my freshmen year of college. Nonetheless, I throw myself into the club scene looking like my friend's personal assistant rather than her partner in crime.

All of my friends are actually really pretty, attractive young women.
I can't really say that I have an ugly friend. So this leads me to believe that I am actually the friend that is ugly. It was easier for me to avoid this conclusion however because my group of friends were so diverse in college. We looked like the muses from Disney's rendition of Hercules: all beautiful but distinctively different. There was Janelle: the stlyish-conversationalist that g-ed the hell out of any dude she spotted. Interesting touches roused her ensemble, her hair, or makeup. There was Yamel: Who resembles beyonce in the face (minus the lace-front). She's a Dominican girl with simple elegance, who's blatant personal standards kept men drooling, but afraid. There was Talisha: the girl i call the chocolate bunny because her skin is flawless. Her skin is like a brown, silk sheet--smooth, soft, and radiant. She's got a nice rack and a baby face to die for. Then there's Amy: the pseudo-Christina Milian looking lady with the small frame and the commercial face. She was the one with the bubbly personality who was easy on the eyes.

And then there was my ass.
Your average chic with a short coif who knew her fashion potential but clung onto it by a string because of financial hardship. I was the one who only danced her ass off when drunk like a skunk; otherwise i was a grumpy mess. I usually danced afloat in the midst of my temporarily wifed up friends as they danced with their temporary boos for the rest of the night.
Then suddenly without warning, i would feel someone come up behind me and start dancing. OHHH i got INTO it. Then i'd turn around and it would be fucking Cleofus Jones n' shit... tryna cop a feel.

Life ain't fair.
My friends would always say, "Kristan, the man of your dreams is not going to be someone you meet in a club." I thought about this notion and decided that there might be some truth to that indeed. But I know that I am the woman of SOMEONEs dreams--so maybe I should stop going out all together. Or perhaps I should find some ugly friends. Or maybe I should begin to see myself as others see me. Do people think i'm cute? Or pretty? Or gorgeous? Its all relative. My friend Stacey seems to be the prototype for what is attractive, but is a prototype necessarily everyone's type?

Who knows. Until then, I'll play my position as the wingman, but soon--very soon---I'll be taking flight.