"Good Hair"-- Fuck a Drawstring Ponytail-- the shit Chris Rock Forgot to Include

So I know some of you were moved by the fact that sodium hydroxide (hair relaxer) can melt a can of soda.

Some of you probably cringed in your chair, and swore off perms for life.

*snorts*

I watched that scene, shrugged, helped myself to some more popcorn and told myself that as long as this Mizani perm continues to make me feel sexier than Prince, I'mma fuck wit it.

Til my proverbial wheels roll down to the hub caps.

Because in my opinion "Good Hair" is whatever makes you feel and look good.

Your hair should not define who you are as a person.


Now, Chris Rock, one of my best and dearest friends (in my head) left out one important part in this documentary. But never fear. As always, I'mma bring you the forgotten culprit on why some hos out here are running around here bald.



Naw, it ain't no damn alopecia I'm talking about. I'm talking about the

(wait for it...wait for it.....)

The Draw String Ponytail

Mutha FUCK a sodium hydroxide, the draw string ponytail/pin-up bun is one of the worst things you could ever do to your hair and scalp.

Take it from me.

Once upon a time, in what seems like a faraway land (DC metro area!) I put my trust in a drawstring ponytail due partly to the fact that i couldn't find a consistent hairdresser.

The other reason: back then I would rather spend my money on bottles of Patron, Vodka, and Chipotle. Needless to say, there just wasn't much money to stretch on the necessities (hair, juice -yes, I never bought juice, but I'd fill up at friends' houses:)--, groceries, things like that).

I digress.

So let me tell ya'll--- I loved those draw string ponytails!
I'd rock it down low; I'd rock it up high, to the side, in the middle, with a pompadour; you couldn't tell me shit.
It was like miracle hair in a plastic bag for 8 bucks!

Now as with anything in life, the drawstring ponytail had it's pros, and dammit, it had its cons.

Me and the ponytail would always have a problem when it came to sex and alcohol.

After a night of drinking it always ended up in the strangest of places; like behind my computer desk, in the back of someone's car (and I'd have to call the whole crew to ask had they seen my ponytail-- and this is a question that is ALWAYS met by laughter), my drinking glass cabinet, and one time that bitch even made an appearance at work ... in the sleeve of my cardigan.

The drawstring ponytail aint sex-friendly neither. Missionary is not an option- you will end up with a mean headache and cuts in your scalp. Backshots are not an option either- because men get carried away and wanna grab shit and there goes your ponytail along with a good amount of your own hair on the ground, and that's you in the spotlight looking like a baldheaded donkey.
* Enter imaginary donkey*
*Imaginary donkey brays 'heehaw heehaw*

Also, there is nothing sexy about pulling off your hair and quickly trying to put it in your purse while your gentleman friend is off in the bathroom or something. There's no way you can finagle this into something sensual. Plus, its not like you can just place the muthafucka on a nightstand or dresser. Men who aren't your boyfriend get scared by shit like that.

So anyway, after months of rocking this draw string ponytail, my hair started breaking at the roots because two little combs that practically dig into your scalp hold the drawstring ponytail in place. And that my friends, is one of the main reasons I stand before you today rocking my new short and fabulous cut.

My hair now, is good hair. It makes me feel good, and it looks good when it's done.

When it ain't... well, that's a whole nother story. I don't drink anymore (yes, it's true, folks pick up your jaws) or dance like I'm trying out for Save the Last Dance anymore, so the sweat factor isn't really an issue.

Is it relations friendly? Nope. But that's the beauty of not having a boyfriend.
You can schedule dick prior to when you're going to the hair salon.

*Turns 'Single Ladies' on full blast and does a tranny dance*

*Exit stage*

bwwahahaahahahaa!!

Later Gators!

You Cannot Fall From Grace...

Hey Blogbabies!!

I finally got around to reading my October issue of Ebony with Whitney.

And dammit if I don't love her all the more!

Sidebar- Ebony outdoes Essence any day. I subscribe to both, but article-wise, Ebony writers are just on a whole nother skill set, son!

Anywho, I have always loved Whitney. From the time my dad got the first album where she had no damn hair

(wasn't no compact disc back then, lol)

til now.

Messiness and all. And strangely enough, the messier she became the more I (and many of ya'll too) adored her. Why? It showed that she is human.

The part that caught me the most in the article was a statement she made:

"...I thank him for chastening my heart, for never letting go. What I did sometimes... I went off and did my thing, but He never let me go"

Amen, Whitney.

She goes on to talk about her process of praying and asking God to correct what was wrong with her," to lift her so she could see her light again."

*Monie tears up*

I won't lie-- watching her on Being Bobby Brown was pure hilarity. I wasn't at all surprised that she could behave like that. First of all, she is a Leo. And!

Look at who she used to date.

Eddie Murphy

(crazy ass)

Darryl Strawberry

(cokehead ass)... cmon!

Ebony said that Whitney "fell from grace"

*Monie casts her infamous 'ho please' look*

First of all, cain't nobody fall from GOD's grace, which is the only grace that matters, ya dig? If you're a Christian you know that it is a free gift through Jesus Christ. The very fact that you can rise back after being so down bottom shows that it is impossible to be stripped of God's grace and his love.

This story affects me so much because it parallels my own.

C'mon let me show you the dark side of Monie. :)

I was diagnosed with Agoraphobia in 2007. Go'n and click that there if you don't know what it is.

It is the reason I had to move back home from the urrea. A combination of shit was going on in my life starting from like, May of that year.

Every month I seemed to sink deeper and deeper into depression. I had never been so unhappy in my life.

I stayed drinking. Like my entire purpose of drinking was to drink until I became so drunk that I could not feel anything and could not care about anything.
I stayed in the clubs like my name was on the damn lease.

And I never missed church on a Sunday through it all, lol.

Looking back, I think I always knew that even at my messiest I understood God sees it all and knows it all. I think it was also my way of trying to assure myself that if I did go, God wouldn't forget about me, despite my behavior.


So there I was I hanging out with T's hoodbooga ass, on the road to becoming a hoodbooga my damn self... and shit was just spiraling out of control.
But for some crazy reason I kept trying to convince myself that I was happy because I SHOULD be happy.

The week before my 25th birthday I felt like i had enough. I came home from work with the intention of committing suicide. With a Cheap bottle of Moet that was just sitting in my freezer and a huge bottle of Ibuprofen. I turned off my cellphone and plugged out my landline, ready to go!

Obviously, a bitch is still here, and I am so glad I didn't go through with it.

I won't go into all the detail, but in the middle of thinking about what it is that I was actually about to do... I knew it wasn't right. I knew it was not the way that I was supposed to go out. I remember just calling on Jesus over and over again until I was strong enough to pour the Moet down the sink. When I turned my phone back on my Mom was actually calling, and said she sensed something was wrong with me. Scary, huh?

So after that happened, one would've thought I'd start making changes. However, I was not in the right state of mind. Clearly. The one good thing I did was start my masters, but I continued with my usual madness. Drinking, partying. And I thought it was alright cause I was still going to church. I'd be at the alter every Sunday. Even started going to Bible Study. And hitting the club afterwards.

*Monie turns up the Temptations' "Ball of Confusion" on her radio*

Towards the end of September the panic attacks started.

Now, I 've dealt with panic attacks off and on for the past 9 years, but this time it was just turrbull!

And they'd happen in the strangest of places. The first time I remember getting one, I was drunk in the drive thru of Mc Donalds on Georgia Ave. After that, I'd get them on the metro. Even though I was only on metro for all of 4 stops, it felt like an eternity. I tried taking the bus, but then I started getting attacks on the bus. I got scared of being alone, and I swore everyone was looking at me crazy.

I felt like I always needed someone close to me, like,i stopped trusting myself to take care of myself. and that is one of the worst feelings you can ever have, let me tell you.

Thank God for Nikks who always used to come rescue me since I basically gave her loan of my car to the point it was like it was hers anyway :) And no matter what, she'd always come and get me. There is nothing like knowing you have a friend that is always there for you when you're in a situation like that.
One day I was basically stranded at work because I started becoming afraid of having the panic attacks. That's when I knew something had to give. I didn't want to keep having to depend on people, so I packed my things into storage, took Dinka cat, and moved on back home to NY by October.

I remember the last time I went to church in Maryland, I stood at the alter, just wanting God to work a miracle right then and there. But sometimes miracles are slow. However, there was an affirmation. After the prayer the Pastor turned to the whole congregation and told them God had something big in store for my life. And mind you, I was not the only one up there.

But ... things with me got worse before they got better.

The panic was becoming even more severe. I wasn't even be able to sit in a car to go around the corner. I would have to lay down on the floor in the back seat just to get anywhere. I was even afraid of being home by myself. I knew I had to go to therapy, so I went. That's when I was diagnosed with the Agoraphobia. It got to the point where I was housebound because I was so afraid, and because I was unable to do anything that made me even more depressed.

It took me 7 months, therapy, 2 Iyanla Vanzant books, and God to settle my behind down and realize I was in fact battling some shit under the surface.

First of all, I was damn angry. And I would spazz on my mom and my sister for the dumbest things at the drop of a pin.

But I realized why I was so angry:

In my eyes I felt like a coward for not being strong enough to stick it out, and that made me angry. I was angry at my parents for all the things they did and did not do. I was angry at some of my friends because I felt taken advantage of. However, what made me the most angry was that I never spoke up about any of it. I'd just repress it. I just started confronting my anger this year. Therapy has taught me that it's ok to be angry; that it will not drive you crazy, it's how you express it.

And worse,I realized that I did not love myself. I thought that I did, but I really didn't. People, understand that you cannot love yourself if you don't realize your self worth and don't speak up when someone is doing you foul. And you cannot claim to love someone else if you don't love yourself. How are you trying to go out of your way to please and love someone when you can't do it for you? The shit is impossible.

Now, when I came home, I had stopped going to church because 1, I didn't want to panic at church,and 2, I started thinking that God wasn't listening to me, didn't care about me anymore, and the situation was to be my fate.

*Enter imaginary donkey*
*Donkey brays: he haw he haw, ho*
*Exit donkey*

LOL

I mean, here it was I was getting worse. Eventually I started praying again. I even found it in my heart to talk to my dad after not speaking to him for 3 years. Then my mom talked me into going to church again last January.

Mannn... every Sunday I would cry at church. I mean EVERY SUNDAY. There always seemed to be something in the message that was speaking to me. But hell, I was crying like every other day back then anyway, lol.

Then around March I found a book that I had brought a lonnnggg time ago. Like, 7 years ago by Iyanla Vanzant, called One Day My Soul Just Opened Up.

I don't know why I hadn't read it before then, but I guess God knew I would need it eventually. It helped me so much. I learned so much about myself and confronted so many things that I didn't want to. Go'n and click that last sentence. Buy it, I guarantee you will see a change.

In May, I went on up to the alter at church, crying of course, and got saved.

*Monie, you sure don't act like you saved!*

Oh,but I am!

Being saved is recognizing Jesus is your savior. I have battled with myself long enough about how I behave and things that I do. I'm more into knowing and loving God and Jesus than abiding by religious rules and regulations. I have gotten the side eye plenty of time for wearing makeup, and exposing cleavage at church. I don't care what anyone has to say, God knows I think I'm sexy. Lol. God knows everything about me. We have a good relationship. He knows I'm silly. He knows my hormones rage. He also knows that I have a good heart and I try my best to be a good person to and help my fellow brethren/sisteren. He knows when I'm being good, and he most definitely knows when I'm being bad. He knows all that, and He loves me. Regardless.

These days I am so at peace. If you have ever not been at peace, then you know how much it means to have it. I understand that I am where I am meant to be at this point of my life. I can travel places on my own, and panic doesn't run my life anymore. I still feel anxious from time to time, but I know it will pass. Still working on my driving, but I know I'm gonna get there. And if I feel like panic is going to be so unbearable I embrace it, love it like an annoying little brother, pray, and worst case scenario, pop a Klonopin. :)

I have learned to love myself, both the good parts and the bad parts.

I know my self worth. And I don't hesitate to check folks anymore.

Fall from grace?

*Monie laughs heartily; startling Dinka causing him to run into a wall*

hehehehe

I never fell from grace. How could I ever?
How can any of us ever??? I am God's child. Me falling from grace is impossible. Whitney falling from grace...impossible! You falling from grace.... say it loud...IMPOSSIBLE!

He worked the best miracle that I could ever receive. He allowed me to know Him. It took 2 panic-ridden, stress-filled years to do so, but I wouldn't change a thing. Why?

It had to happen the way it did. I am stubborn. That's my nature. And had I not been brought to the lowest of my low, God could not have penetrated my mind and my spirit the way he had.

I'd still be one confused, drunken little child doing the Walk it Out in the clubhouse. LOL!

(Granted, I still drink, but I am a whole lot more sober these days. And as of August, I've stuck with the one drink minimum. Go me!)

I'm saying though... it's a process.

So even if I never go on to become world famous or do something iconic, that's alright.

You just read it...God has already done so much for me.

I've been delivered.

Just like Whitney Houston.

"We've got somethin' in common!"

LOL

*Monie reaches for her Kleenex*

And that's all for today.

Be blessed Blog Babies!

xoxomonie!

Conspiracies and shit...

As tired as I am, I feel the need to express myself. Bam, no intro; just read it raw with no vaseline.


Take dat, take dat, bad boys. :/

The following fucked up randoms and conspiricies have crossed my mind lately:

1. The Dream looks like Hamburglar.




2. Flava Flav is Gucci Mane's father. You can't say shit to convince me otherwise.


3. Nuvo aint nothing but Ripple 2009. Lmao @ all ya'll hoodboogas posing drinking it up in the clubhouse.



Designed to destroy all ya'll. Cause I don't drink that shit.

4. An ugly nigga is never worth your time. Or your vagina. You will live to regret it.

5. Neither is one who doesn't take trips to the dentist. You know the type. Teeth look like Reptar from Rugrats.

If he can't take care of his teeth, he can't take care of you.

6. Mario better have some health-related reason as to why he's running around with his head looking like that.


7. Univ. of MD was created to wreck my social life and leave me lonely. Fuck ya'll. I haven't been able to hold a decent conversation with anyone since the beginning of this year.

8. I'm falling asleep ya'll. But the fucked up part is as soon as I hit the bed and turn the lights out, Imma be wide awake like a Bronx crackhead at 5:17 in the morning.


9. Mc Donald's and BET have been conspiring with each other on how they can bring us down as a people.


As a future marketer, I hope I never have to add to the fuckery.
But if I were a total idiot I'd do the following.
Picture it:
*in my Ad exec voice*

Juice Man, Gucci Mane ...dancing! ....I'm thinking jingle... something like....

"Quarter Pounder with cheese/Pickles, onions hey!/ One Dollar Sweet Tea/Apple Pie/Yay!"

Then I'd watch sales go through the roof :(

10. I am going to bed. Because clearly all this work and lack of sleep is making me crazy.

Later All!!
monie ♥

Blog Abandonment & Monie versus Alcohol

I know... I've been superneglectful. The summer semester is coming to an end and I've got work to do. Gotta get these A's and thangs! Plus everybody I knows birthday was last week and this week. It's been a tailspin of Patron, Grey Goose, Hennessy, and Wray & Nephew Brandy.

*in my chrisette michele voice*

and then it comes to me...like an epiphany...

I present to you:

Monie Versus Alcohol- The Untold Story

(this is the argument I ALWAYS have with myself the morning after a night of dranks)

I know some of ya’ll be wondering. It aint no secret. Everyone is privy to the drunken status updates from 2 am and on most weekends. It’s nothing nice, but I wanna share my story.

Cause it’s cleansing and whatnot. :/

This morning after a night of Grey Goose and partying I re-evaluated my life—for the third time in 2 weeks. Much like I always do after I’ve had too much to drank. It usually goes something like this:

-Me laying in bed with face buried in the pillow, feeling the after effects of whatever liquor swirling around in my belly, threatening to attack me with chronic diarrhea

- lots of heavy breathing in hopes to calm my stomach and my nerves

Now here comes my thoughts:
-I’m not drinking anymore. This is it. I need to start partying with a mafuckin O'douls in my hand.

-I’m gonna stop. For real this time. It fucks with my anxiety.

-I’m gonna stop going to the club. Only when I’m on vacations I’ll go.I promise! Oh, and on special occasions.

And then after 2 Advil and a cold shower, I’ve forgotten everything me and myself talked about. And probably hours later, I promise you, my partner in crime K. is texting me telling me that there’s a bbq, club, event, whatever going on that night, and
"we’re going!" and my text reply is almost always “Aowwwww!” depending on the amount of school work I've finished.

Cause I’m a mess. And I love this party and bullshit lifestyle that I lead on weekends. Just being honest.


The adrenaline rush I get from putting on make-up, doing my hair, putting on dresses , high heels, and cutesy costume jewelry is borderline scary. Even now as I’m writing this thinking about it all, my mouth is watering and Beyonce’ yelling “All da singuh lay-dies!” is sounding off in my head. (It’s always either that or “Diva”)

I digress—

so …I always go out with intentions of having no drinks.

The battle between Me and Myself goes something like this:

-I ain’t drinking nothing tonight. Nothing!

By the time we get half way to Manhattan:

-Ok, no more than two drinks, that’s it. Cause you really can’t afford it.

-Stop lying to yourself. Financial Aid got you covered. Why you think they gave you all that money anyway? It's a conspiracy! They know school is stressful and you gonna need a lil something; vacations, liquor, therapy,etc. And it’s cheaper and more fun than a spa day. They won’t play Gucci Mane and Vybz Kartel at the spa, and don’t front. You love that shit

When my fiend ass gets inside the club, it’s a whole ‘nother story. First I scope out the scene, and usually the following thoughts occur:

-Yooo, what the fuck is going on up in here! Is she really wearing her church shoes w/ her club dress? These bitches shoe game is tired.

-What the fuck is he wearing? Dancing hard as a muthafucka.

-Ooh. He’s on the down-low. Definitely a bottom. Definitely.

-My gaydar is the shit!

-Where is that bitch’s girdle??

-I wish I could get away with kicking him and not starting no shit. He dancing mad hard and there’s like, no space.

-What. The. Fuck?

-I can’t... I can’t take this shit sober.

-Go on, have 2 shots of Patron. You deserve it, mama.

*please excuse language and grammar… my thoughts are laced w/a tinge of hoodbooga. Sorry.

Before I know it, 2 becomes a maximum of 5. And don’t let K. be on her bottle poppin’ shit, because 1 G&C (Grey Goose and Cranberry juice) may turn into 8 or so. And then after that, I get to facebookin’ and or texting in between shaking a tail feather, eyeballing the room, and sipping the drinks.

And then you get random shit like the following coming up on my page:

“uh oh”
“fugged”
“#191- big bitches, put on your girdle”
“hoaifhri[oahg iroagrjioaghrioea vgioaej grio WHY??” ( <- - that’s when you know I’m really knackered) …and things of that nature Do I have a problem? Nah, I don’t think so. Nor will I sit up here and justify why I don’t think I have a problem. It’s just that I associate certain things with each other. For example:
Alcohol::Clubhouse




Barbecue::Cigarettes










Drunkenness:: Mc Donald’s


Public Pool:: Urination


White liquids:: Semen

I COULD NOT BRING MYSELF TO PUT UP SUCH NASTINESS!

Jermaine Jackson:: Ampro Gel



Tiny:: Cooler from Pound Puppies





You get my drift?

Hell, that’s just me. Hate it or love it.
*Gives self an imaginary hug*
Do I plan to change? As soon as I see any wrinkles or facial lines (if Olay Regenerist or Botox doesn't help) :D

And besides....MY BIRTHDAY IS NEXT SATURDAY!!! Woohooo! 25 for the third time around!

To all my new followers, THANK YOU! Ya'll make my heart smile. I have to subscribe to you guys, read and play catch up and leave comments.

Be blessed kiddies!

xoxomOnie!

Groupie Sex Tale: MAVADO & the Two Hundred Dollar Ho

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Hoodboogas and Seafood, Hennessy and Muffins. Oh, and Church Antics,

This weekend was interesting to say the least. It was the first time I've ever been around so many low-class people. Yup... I said that. And I mean it.

Like I told ya'll during the last post, Sissy Dear and our friend from church went up to Rhode Island for a seafood fest, then to Mohegan Sun afterwards. The trip itself was ok, but the hoodboogas on there were NOT. I wasn't expecting hoodboogas as this trip was put together by one of Sissy Dear's co-workers, but now I question the types of people that she works with. I feel scared for the poor gal. I pray she finds another job posthaste!

And so...

We get there at 8 am, expecting breakfast as these people advertised. Now, something told me to run to the Asian Bodega (lol) across the street for some Pringles because whenever the 'folk tell you you're going to get breakfast on a trip, its usually some kind of fuckery. And I am glad I did.

My intuition (aka God) don't make no mistakes.


First of all, when we got on the bus I didn't see or smell anything that looked like breakfast. All i saw was a big ass dingy white cooler. I'm wondering what the hell is in there. My guess was bagels and cream cheese, but my guess was waaay off.

About twenty minutes into the trip, these mafuckas come talkin' 'bout breakfast is served.

I'm all excited, thinking I'm about to eat a bagel, something I have no business eating.

I can almost taste the cream cheese and feel it latching on to the other million pounds of fat that is my stomach.

Then, BAM! Reality slapped me on both sides of my face and then headbutted me.

Scroll down, lemme show you what they busted out of that dingy ass white cooler for breakfast:

Have you had your break today?? Probably not.

All foods were served in:*



*Monie slams her imaginary door and closes all the blinds*

What in the ziplock continental breakfast???


But what I wanna know is WHEN did it become acceptable to drink Hennessy and eat muffins at 10:09 in the AM? And as we all know, it is NEVER ok to drink cheap ass 5 dollar Andre shitpagne(click that there).

You can't make no damn Mimosa with that off brand shit! Not that these hoodboogas were even making Mimosas. They were sipping the shit straight from their plastic cups and then topping it off with that Hennessy.

Needless to say that by the time we got to the Nordic Lodge, niggerocity was on full blast.

Scuse me one minute... I need to get comfortable for this shit right'chea.

*Monie un-buttons her skinny jeans, props her legs up on her imaginary coffee table, scratches her left titty, then lights a cigarette*

*exhale*

As one of them ugly Pretty Ricky boys would say in that Hotline song--

Pictcha dis:

(lmbao, what in blue hell is going on in this pic? that's another story, for another day)

I digress.


So about 100 of BK & BX's finest Niggeratti (yeah, oxymoronic, I know) come out to eat seafood and show the world their entire ass. There were about 5 normal people on this trip (me and my girls included).

I guess the sugar rush from the muffins and Hennessy finally hit folks, because it was just UN-COUTH! There was one table that was just LOUD as all get out, singing songs from the Color Purple. Folks cracking the crab legs and lobster shell with their TEETH! And the outfits... I can't even go there with ya'll today. I need to buy a digi-cam so I can share these things w/ ya'll. Yes, I know, I'm long overdue, but I'm not really into capturing the moment on film.

Anywho, after all that, we all pile back on the bus for Mohegan Sun. They get to serving more Hennessy and Andre shitpagne, watching movies and all that. I just turned up the volume extra loud on my Zen and prayed that my eardrums didn't bust out after the trip.

We get to Mohegan Sun, and it was alright. Nothing too exciting for me, probably cause I'm not really into gambling. I had the best time in Brookstone's testing out massagers :D

Also saw Drunken Munchkin's baby brother. Lol, small world, huh?

After we gambled out our little $10 (my sister won $20,lol) we just chilled, walked around, and took pics. Nothing exciting. We got back home to Long Island at about 1:30 am.

*blank stare*

As Forrest Gump says--

..."and that's all I got to say bout that"

Sunday I got up for church, which was quite interesting. My mother yelled at the organ player to shutup right there in the sanctuary. Very embarassing, but someone needed to tell his ass to stop. I don't remember if I ever wrote about the organ player from church.

Grab your Hennessy (lol);

time for a quick story

Ron's his name. He's "hip hop royalty" (Rakim's) older brother. Has/had a bit of a drug problem. Has about 8 teeth in his mouth, all are caked up with plaque.

(Hold your luch down)

Stays soliciting money from around the neighborhood. Our church pays him to play on Sundays. He doesn't know the words to ANY songs, and puts the following lines in everything he sings:

'mazin' grace, how sweet da sound! once was lost but nowww i'm found
*smacks away microphone with his mouth*

For two months straight during offering collection he put his own spin on that song that was the theme from Amen:

Turn on da light from heaven lawwd
Shinnnnnnne on meeeee
Turn on the light from heaven lawwd
Shine on me! Shine. it. on. me.
Talkin' bout da roaddddd, from heaven lawd
(repeat)

Every Sunday I swore I was gonna die from laughter, cracking up hiding behind the pew in front of me.

Clawdhammercy; they better not ask me to do his eulogy!

Needless to say, he's quite EXTRA, and an aggravation. I guess my mama couldn't take it no more ya'll. She's gangsta. Lol.

And that was this weekend's excitement. I should have more for ya'll this week.

Later Bubbies!!
♥ Monie

Yeah, I Got It In, but...

So Friday night, I did not end up at Prime. Ya'll know what that means, right?

Yup! Trollopfication.

*sigh*

K. didn't have a babysitter (as usual-- which is always the reason plans get left abandoned), so I was set to stay in. Earlier in the day D/m had text me, and left things open, so I wasn't really looking to see him:

Him: Hey Miss *Enter My Last Name*

Me: Hey Mr. *Enter His last name

Him: Whats going on miss?

Me: I should be asking you...

Him: Y u say that

Me: Aint you supposed to service my parts?

Him: You are up for inspection, aren't you?

Me: Indeed. I hope I pass..it's been a while

I don't hear shit from him til eight hours later. As we all know, I don't deal with the fisher price-romper room type of games when it comes to getting my shit off.

So I text him at 9-something:

Me: So...

Him: Just awoke from my afternoon nap

Me: What a long nap. You was drankin??

Him: Now y would i be doing that? Are you in for the night?

Me: Well, so far I am. u?

Him: I am if you tryna see me

Me: I told u i was tryna see u from last week. Stop playing hard to get and shit :)p

Him: Cool, u dressed?

Me: I will be in 15 minutes

(I had already started my shower/shave/scrub procedure from when I first hit him with the text around 9. Talk about being sure of yourself, smh)

Him: ok

Me (about 10 minutes later): Ready when you are

Him: Ok, be there in like 10

So a whole half hour passes (damn, I hate CP time), and he texts me that he's outside. I head out, get in the car, and we head over to his place which is not far. We get in there, of course he's talk, talk, talking away. We talked for an hour and half (yes, I kept my eye on the clock) about basically nothing. So I start getting restless, and ask him if he has anything to drank. He's got rum and coke, I tell him to go get that shit and commence to taking off my pants.

So I can be comfortable while having my drink.

*blank stare*

Also, from past experience I know that if I don't take off my pants, more incessant talking is sure to come.

So he gets back, pours the drinks, I get on the bed, kill my drink and tell him lets get it in.

We won't get into all the lovely details, but I will say being on the receiving end of head for two 45 minute-plus sessions is fantastic.

What is not fantastic is when the condom breaks. :(

After he gets up off me and goes to the bathroom I check myself and see that Pocahontas felt extra wet... so I knew what was up.

We ended up getting into an arguement that went like this:

Me: Did the condom break?

Him: Yeah. It ripped on the side.

This simple Simon mafucka comes back to me holding up the ripped condom.

Me: Shit! Go get me a rag and a towel. Quick! I don't want no fuckin' kids. This is all your fault. You know your dick is too big to be trying to use some Durex condoms.

Him: What?!

Me: Yes, you heard me. Did you get them joints for free or something? Don't you usually have Magnums? I know its a recession and all but damn. I ain't trying to catch no diseases or have nobody's kids.

Him: Me neither. It's not apart of my 3-year plan.

He gives me the rag and towel

Me (inspecting it): Is this clean?

Him: Why would I give you some dirty shit?

I didn't answer him that becuase niggas are trife like that sometimes, and also, I had to get to the important matter at hand: scrubbing Pochahontas with the antibacterial soap and warm water and then peeing.

(As I am typing this I am still pissed. I knew I should've kept my black ass home, I knew it!)

It's a good thing I'm going to Planned Parenthood for my checkup on Wednesday.

Anywho, I go back to his room, and we're in the bed having the whole "disease/pregnancy" convo in more detail. I won't go in. After that I decided that I should dig up old shit and ask him about the time he dissed me when we were kids, and that I still felt salty about it after all these years. He said he didn't think it was a big deal because I never actually told him I liked him, and he just thought we were like best friends, and that he was hearing rumours that I was messing w/ this other kid, in which I had to let him know that it wasn't until after he pulled that stunt. He still disagrees, and is shocked to know this was the reason I didn't talk to him for so many years.

Whatever.


[If I had 20 bucks for the times I've crossed that friendship line with my male friends... I'd be about $60 dollars richer (lol) because they always hit me with that "I didn't know you like me" bullshit. ]

Naw, nigga, I'm just fucking you/kissing on you (etc) because we're such close and good friends.

*Monie kicks all three boo-not-nots from her past in their hind parts*

Smh.

Anywho, I demanded that he apologize to me, and he did. Verbally and... otherwise. Hehehehehe

Needless to say, we ended up exhausted and falling asleep til about 5: 15am.

Waking up, I realized there is indeed a negative side to Daylights Savings time.

During the winter months, one is able to carry on trollopcy til about 6:30 am because it's still a bit dark. Not when Spring rolls around! You better be headed home in the four o' clock hour else you might be spotted. And if your house is set up how mine is, where your bedroom is next to your moms, it sucks.

Because my hair looked like the Rocky Horror Show.

And it just so happened that she was awake because someone tried to break into the house and the police came because the alarm went off. I'm not sure if she saw my shitastrophic hair while I sprinted to my bedroom, but she didnt say anything.

*shrug*

Anywho, because of the damn Durex breakage, I can't even revel on the greatness that was sexual relations that night because I am a hypochondriac. I should have listened to that voice of reasoning when I went to target and waltzed past the condoms.

There were a whole slew of Mags just there for the taking. But because he always used Magnums before (and we ALWAYS use condoms) I just assumed that he was brand loyal.

Apparently not. Now I'm the donkey in the spotlight hee-hawing. Ugh!

Dear God,
Please let me be STI free and not pregnant.

*Sigh*

Later Muffins! I'm going to get a nap in before I start my lil partime hustle.

xoxoxmonie!

D- Day... Maybe, maybe not?

*Monie dances around to Betty Wright's "Tonight is the Night" in her unmatching bra and panties; using Feminine Deoderant Spray as a microphone, she sangs as loudly as she can*

Tonight is the ni-iight/ that you/ make me a womannn...

*Pull the needle back on the record!*

So after deliberating with myself (and K) I'm leaning towards not smashing the drunken munchkin (D/m) for the following reasons:

• he be drunk-- but he shares his liquor w/ me, so i be drunk too; thus negating this reasoning
• he probably still has a girlfriend
• he talks too much
• i need fresh meat (no pun intended) in my stable
• and as per K, "no! no! NO!!"
  

Now as for reasons why i should smash D/m:

• he's a filthy trollop that does all types of nasty shit... shit that i need at this juncture of my life
• it's G.G.D. ; which is quite hard to come by
• Boyfriend #4 is off doing his thing-- my intuition is screaming that he is, not to mention he's not answering the phone as per our routine
• i'm horny as fuck
• this is the week before i get my hair permed, so if he messes it up (which he will), i really don't care

Ah... decisions, decisions...

Boyfriend #5 maybe?

I could always scout out the talent in this dude I went to school w/ who's diggin' me. However, our communication has been relegated to facebook notes only. We've exchanged numbers, and he told me
to call. I don't call men though. Or anyone really for that matter.

*shrug*

I just sent him a text. nice and simple:

You've been scarce on the Facebook. How ya been? ;)

This should be enough.

ooh! i guess it was. he text back. i won't type it all, but a date is in the making. ah, the thrill of a potential in my stable.

You thought DC Metro Area Had Bammas-- Go to Brooklyn

K and I hit this sports bar/ club spot last night...all i can say is, what a waste of a freakum dress, and pain in my left foot from my Jessica Simpson 5 inch heels. Ugh!

Bamma ass hos
Bamma ass niggas
One midget grabbing chicks and winding and pumping on them.

Like, no disrespect to the midgets, but how you gonna try to pump on someone's booty and you barely reach behind their knees?

i aint never been turned on by someone pumping their dick on the back of my knees. Actually, I dont' think its ever been done to me. And I'm quite sure I am not missing out on the "thrill".

• Men who hesitate to tell me their names, and then admit its because they "don't like to give out their government"-- you're wack, and probably married. step off.
• And bottle service brought to you in a chicken bucket... is never good.
  
  Tonight we're supposed to be going to Prime, which is in Manhattan. If I don't go; ya'll know what went down ;)
  
  later gators!
  moniexoxo
  
  

shorty be babblin'- Grad school, etc..

Grad school is harder than folks let on. How some of my friends have managed to get their Masters degrees whilst just living in the DC area I will never know. Everyday I marvel at how having to move back home to Borningsville, USA for a little while was a blessing in disguise. In. Deed.

I know I would have never gotten any work done while I was down there.

Well, I dunno maybe.

Because I for damn sure would not be doing as many online classes.

Being in a classroom setting is great because its filled with people that have logorrhea (yup; just what it sounds like, verbal diarrhea-- and many of them really do be talking shit, literally) and by the time all the incessant talking is done, the teacher forgets to even assign homework. At best, I had 2 papers in one class for the whole semester.

On second though... maybe the online is better.

If you follow me or know me, you know how I feel about babbling bastards who have nothing to say. In a nutshell, they should all be put on an island alone.

When I first started going to grad school there was this Ethiopian man who had an arguement for everything the teacher or anyone else had to say. He made me contemplate committing suicide every Monday nights from 7-10 pm. And for some strange reason, he took a liking to me. He used to offer to drive me home, but as tempting as it was; I never accepted. Because even though I had to wait on busses and/or trains to get home to Silver Spring-- meaning by the time I waltzed into my apartment it was quarter to 12---I would rather ride metro in silence and sometimes violence (ya'll know that Green line is dangerous).

If I had to evaluate my life again, I would so attribute many of the panic attacks to my commute and that Ethiopian man alone.

I digress.

These online classes be trying to break a bitch. Every other week there is a paper. I guess they're out to prove something. And I'm cool with that. I'm out to prove something all the time... but I don't try to kill mafuckas in the process.

Conspiracy? I dunno... I thnk it might be another one in my long list!

And while I do enjoy writing; I only like to write about mainly crazy/silly shit, hot dick and music. Oh, and liquor. Very limited, yes. Does that make me ignorant... I'm still undecided. :) Kidding.

School does in fact appeal to my intellectual side. I actually take pleasure in learning new things, and displaying my best work in order to get those A's that I do. PIus I am in love with marketing, branding, copywriting, and the whole bit.

2 more semesters, ya'll... this summer, and fall, and that's it.

The biggest celebration will commence after it's all said and done.

I shall either rent a party bus or tables at whatever club is popping down in DC at that time. I want strippers, alcohol, midgets, the whole nine. I deserve it. All of you in the DC metro area that read this are welcome to come along.

I was supposed to be using this hour for a break from writing my literary review, but instead I used it to write. How backwards is that?

I've been working all morning anyway. I think I'll treat myself to a Bali Hai clove and a hood novel. I don't know why I'd read, when I've been reading all day all night the past few weeks. I need new hobbies. :(

-xoxomoniexox0