Very Convincing

You know, in all my years here on this great planet we call Earf, I've learned a couple of things. Some good, some bad, a lot of them made up. But this is MY blog so it doesn't matter. Like-to-hear-it-here-it-go:

I'm convinced that if you look up "douche" in the dictionary, there will be picture of Summers Eve and Matthew McConaughey. That guy bothers me so much. "I don't do it because they pay me... I do it because I like it." The eff out of here. Ever since that guy was butt naked banging the bangos, that guy has been on my shit list. He's the only 86 year old man that still takes his shirt off in movies. With his old balls. Gross.

I'm convinced that my scale is broken. Seriously. Just yesterday I stepped on it to see my progress. It gave me a number I was not even a little pleased with. So I says out loud, "LORD, no. Please help me! I'm 'bout to fall out." Stepped on it again and I had lost .6 pounds. Now. I'm all about that faith. You can ask anyone that knows me - I BELIEVE in the Lord and all of his glory. But either my scale is broken... or God knocked off a couple of pounds in a matter of seconds. And if the latter is the case, I'm never leaving my apartment because I'm busy praying until my ass can take my shirt off in public without scaring small children and gay dudes.

I'm convinced that Middle Village, Queens is so full of old white people that after 8pm, if you're not asleep, you're condemned to hell. Today, I tried to go buy a stamp so I could mail off my taxes. Only I couldn't because the post office is only opened from 9-5pm. Because. You know. No one has a job in this neighborhood because they're all OLD AND WHITE. The same goes for the bank. Only open from 9-5. Why do you think I always stop at 7-11 at 2am. It's the only place open. It's either that or year old crackers from my pantry.

I'm convinced that black people are way funnier than white people. Just look at me.
Badoom chic.

I'm convinced that Justin Bieber's real name is Damien and he is the coming of the anti-Christ and he should be sacrificed as soon as possible. Why else would people still buy his bullshit? The only way he could be this popular still is through some voodoo shit. That fool mixed some goats blood and chicken bones somewhere. Shave his head - I get you find that mark of the beast!

I'm convinced that I'm not meant to be a skinny person. Those of you who knew me back from 1999-2002 know that I was pretty skinny... with a big ass head. I looked like a Tootsie Roll Pop. People asked if I was anorexic, no lie. And then I turned 21 and started drinking (because I never did before..... yea.... that's it) and started to gain weight. And basically never stopped. I dropped some lb's every other summer or so but I was never back to "skinny". Which, I mean, when you think about it, is good that don't look like a Tootsie Roll Pop anymore. Now, it's more like a chocolate M&M.
Notice the candy references...

I'm convinced that if the zombie apocalypse happens, there won't be any mexicans left. Seriously, look at The Walking Dead. Ain't no mexicans on that show. Know why?
Because all of our grandma's already warned us about messing with shit like that, that's why! Ask any mexican you know. Abuelita done let a nigga know! When the zombie apocalypse happens, you won't find us out there wandering with Rick and them other fools. We are at the church eating corn and potatoes, saying the Hail Mary and watching y'all from the inside. Think I'm playin'.

And I'm convinced that Kanye West is an alien. That's it.

Until next time...

Get Up Off Of That Thang

The year is 2005 and I am dying.
Ok, not really "dying" physically. But on the inside. Emotionally and mentally, I was a pasty person in a George Romero movie. Life. Just. Sucked. I hated where I was in life, the fact that I had "failed" out of school, that I worked for minimal pay, I hated that I felt alone in a crowd full of people, I hated that I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without thinking I was fatter than Jonah Hill circa 2005... but not 2011... but then again in 2014....
I hated everything about me. In that year, I was looking for something to change me. Something that would give me what I thought I needed. I wanted to get away from the people that I had hung out with for most of my life. I felt like I couldn't be anything other than that one mexican dude in high school that was nominated for homecoming king (name drop). I wasn't going to be anything better than the Hastings employee or that dude that guy that lived in Arlington. I wanted something bigger, something greater. Something so badass, I could look at myself and actually like me. I wanted New York.
The following year, a group of friends and I took the trip. One, to see the sights, and two, so I could check out a recording school and maybe see if I could get in. I was going to take the jump. So. I planned it out. The Thursday we were here, I was going to take a tour of the school and see what it had in store for me. We weren't near the ballas we are today (badoom chic) so we were staying up on 94th street and Broadway - about 5 miles away from the school. I decided to get up Thursday morning and walk the 5 miles to the school. Just so I could check out the town. HOLY MOLY, this nigga fell in love. Walking by the fruit stands, the honking cabs, the random "the fuck was that" smells... I was in heaven.
The school was so cool. I took a tour and got to see the booth with the sound boards and the recording room. Almost cried. I was set - all I had to do was sign up.
And I didn't do it.
I went back to Texas to contemplate my entire life and couldn't do it alone. I hated myself so much that I couldn't stand the thought of being alone with myself all that time. So. I didn't do it. Visited about 4 other times since then and never made the jump.

Fast forward 6 years.

One February Sunday Funday... my life changed. And I accepted myself for who I was and freaked the fuck out. Ha. If you witnessed me that day, I apologize now. Because 1) I was so drunk, I don't remember and 2) I probably left booger marks on your shoulder. Hot. Mess. But it took that drama, that hardcore slap in the face to wake me up. And to say that damnit, I deserve to be happy and stop chasing shit that wouldn't ever be. I accepted me. I was born again. Thirty motherf'ing years, it took. But damnit... I was alive. SCARED OUT OF MY MIND, but alive nonetheless.
Work shit happened and look what happens... "JFK team is looking for another member. You interested?"

Today is February 2, 2015. Close to my 3rd "birthday" and I want to click my damn heels every time I walk out of my New York apartment. Not only did I realize that I didn't New York to change my life, I needed to change my life to get to New York. But I'm here... and I couldn't be happier. Not only am I ok with being by myself, sometimes I PREFER it. On a Saturday night, sometimes I'll sit here and watch SNL instead of drinking myself into an angry texter. And again, I apologize if you've been on the other end of that...

I've also realized how freaking DIFFERENT the people up here are. I call it "rudely nice". Contrary to popular belief, these people aren't mean. They're just to the point. Like, if you don't know what you want in line somewhere, get out of the way. If you ask, "what do you have to drink" at a bar, go ahead and leave right then because as Ms. Sweet Brown told ya, ain't nobody got time for that. And driving?? Holy shit, it's liberating. It's like driving a gocart without the teenager with a whistle telling you to quit bumping people.
Some things do not change, though. I am still good friends with the local bartenders. But in my defense, they are REALLY awesome friendly people. My first friend here, Jess, is still my good friend and she doesn't even serve me drinks anymore. And Pat, my drinking buddy? Even though he moved to Virginia, we still talk at least once a week. Not to mention the numerous FANTASTIC friends that come up from Texas to visit. Hell, Andrew comes here all the time. I almost started charging him rent. I was going to have his mail forwarded as a surprise to him. But... you know white people. That's kind of frowned upon.

I'm not sure if this blog was supposed to be just an update on my life since I haven't posted something in over a year or if it was to prove to you that things happen for a reason. And through the pain and the hurt and the "what the fuck are you thinking" moments, it all leads somewhere. You will be confused as shit. Maybe even pissed. Maybe even so pissed you punch a brick wall. Or so drunk you drop your phone in front of your boss's bosses 4 times. Or cry on your way home from someone's apartment every bloody time JUST to go back over there and do it again the next day.
BUT. Ha. All for a reason. Count. On. That.

Until next time....