She must have bumped her head!!

The funny thing aobut my job is the immense amount of hate I get just for being me. I guess it is that whole being young and smart thing. I often don't speak unless I know what I am talking avout and when i do, well it is often wrapped in a nice little package so I get my fair share of haters. Today I met (again) with the Queen Bee of the Hate Hive, and well I had to smoke her out.

Here is the history on her. She is crazy. History lesson over. Really, in all seriousness, she is a mess. All she does is prey on the fact that if she is difficult enough to deal with people will stop talking to her and just let her slip on all her responsiilities. Uh SIKE!!! Not me, you get paid to do a job, so guess what? I am headed over index cards in hand to get a status on what? You doing your job. BOOM!!

It all started yesterday when I got wind that she had told people in her Bureau that I was 'unpolished'. Of course once I got the news I had to inquire, and this is what transpired with two of her minions:

• me: uhmm, what is up with your girl?

• minion 1: she did not mean anything by it... (notice i did not have to even say to what i was speaking)

• me: did not mean anything by calling me unpolished?

• minion 2: she is jus that way?

• me: what way is that?

• minion 1&2: shrug shoulders

• me: i am not going to fret over her today, see you all tomorrow

Now tomorrow is here, it is...well today, and today I get an email this morning from Queen Bee adding all this shit to my agenda. Let me restate this, 'she' added 'shit' to my 'agenda', and then at the end said this 'I hope this does not mess up your well rehearsed delivery'...My thoughts were as follows... OH.(pause) HELL.(pause) NO.(pause) -- this bitch has definitely bumped her head.

Two things:

#1 - Don't hate me because I get my shit D.O.N.E.

#2 - You are not worth rehearsing, I have a gift. You better recognize!

Enter 1515 EST, Queen Bee's Makeshift Office: In attendance 3 important people, 1 really important person, Queen Bee, and me

• me: here is my assessment of the information we recieved from you since the last update
• Queen Bee: i will look at it later, what I want to talk about is (interrupted)

Sidebar: This is MY meeting, MY bi-weekly meeting with this bag of mess, so she does not get to dictate anything, but apparently no one had informed her that I was hip to her fiasco

• me: unless what you want to talk about is this update, we will need to table it today
• Queen Bee: (a little off-guard) well I just thought it would be beneficial to (interrupted again)

Sidebar: The key to knocking a raggedy bitch down is mastering the art of polite interruption.

• me: let me stress this, you are behind on this project so unless what you want to talk about, which is apparently outside of these (*i hold up the agenda) agenda items, is about this project; which is what this (*cue me holding up agenda again) agenda is all about, we will need to table it

Sidebar: It took a shorter amount of time than I had thought to get to the 'witching hour' with her...'withcing hour' the time at which the true witch comes out. I felt I did not have anything to lose and well the other people in the room were eatin it up. Oh, and did I mention she has a penchant for eye/neck rolling and pointing, uh not just no. but HELL NO. She breaks.

• Queen Bee: i am not behind.... in fact if we are behind it is your fault, you have not kept us abreast of deadlines... (interrupted)

• me: my fault? first, when i interited this now 10 year old project you, the project manager, had no project schedule, second, you had no idea of resource burn rate or what people were working on, lastly you told me that your only concern was that you were not made to look bad. Enter me; i procured you a staff, executive support, and everything you need; and trust me you are all the better for it.

• Queen Bee: that is not what i meant (rather defiant)

• me: well then, what did you mean? In fact don't answer that... let's move on ...

The next 35 minutes fly by with her talking about how she cannot get this or that done because of that or this, all the while the important people and very important person in the room are just eating up the excuses and taking them in. I finally had had enough. I had to slam the book on the table and wake up the room.

• me: so are you telling me that you cannot get this done, or that you are unwilling to get this done?

• Queen Bee: (again disheveled) what I am saying is these are the obstacles to getting this done (interrupted)

• me: are the obstacles new? are they different than when we first met, or when this started 10 years ago?
  

• Queen Bee: no.

• me: so what is the issue, there is one constant here, and that is 'you' not your team, not funding, but 'you'; so if there is an issue you must be very close to it, because, well, you have been here so long

Sidebar: When beating someone across the brow with your words you have to master the verbal filler in this case the 'well'

• Queen Bee: (mad as hell) you, are not being respectful...(interrupted)

• me: (with a slight smile) ma'am you are not in a position to give me advice on respect, you have continually mislead me on the progress of this project, when if fact this has gone no where, even while I have gotten you everything you requested.

• Queen Bee: well what you don't understand is that when I request of you and your staff too....(interrupted)

• me: excuse me, but what you don't understand is while this may be your office, and this may be your staff (*pointing around to her peeps)(interrupted)

• Queen Bee: wait a minute you... (pointing at me)
  

Sidebar: She puts the nail in her coffin at this point, she points at me, those of you who know me know that you DO NOT point at me.

• me: (interrupting her) I am not sure what you are about to say but it cannot be important enough that it allows you to point at me. furthermore, let's get something understood I don't take direction from you, in fact this relationship is quite the opposite, you are obliged to do what you are told to do, told by me. so I would suggest our next meeting be much more productive; in fact I would just be okay with it being productive.

I casually get up, say 'goodbye' and walk out, OH only after Queen Bee is forced to apologize for wasting my time... HELLO!

Piss Test... and the Snatch Up

Piss..and the Snatch Up....


There comes a time in everyone’s career when you are subject to some kind of drug testing, mostly in the form of pee. So today was my day to go pee in a cup. I got off early and hopped on the interwebs to see what time the places were open until. Bam I found one 2 miles away open until 3:30PM, I thought “excellent I will leave here at 3PM. So indeed I left the house at 3PM and arrive at the piss station at 3:15.

This is what unfolded next:

Scene One: The Window

at the window:
me: ‘hello I am here for occupational drug testing’

lab worker: looks up acknowledges me, looks at the clock and looks back at her work.

me: ‘um, ma’am I am here for occupational drug testing’

lab worker: this time with a LITTLE too much sass in her mouth. ‘sir, we stop performing drug tests at 3:30PM...’

*note: this probably would not have bothered me as much if this heifer was older than 20, but nah she was like 19 sitting there texting and chatting

me: ‘oh, for real?!? that’s great because it is 3:15PM’

lab worker: very dramatically ‘fill out this form have a seat and your name will be called’

me: ‘will do’ (at this point I am working hard to shine light on this girl because she was about to lose her teeth)


Scene Two: The Lobby

in the lobby: I am the LONE customer in this place, the ONLY one. So I am like I will be in and out RIGHT? well here we go...

me:after 10 minutes of sitting ‘ma’am do you know how long it will be?’

lab worker: ‘sir, you will be called when they are ready for you’

me:at this point I am done dealing with this Lil Mama look alike ‘that’s great but that is not what I asked you, what I asked you was do you know when.... (she interrupts me)

lab worker: ‘no. i don’t’

me: I had to take a pause here (read old blogs if you do not know what a pause is) ‘oh (pause), ok (pause) I got you. (pause) when they are ready they will call me, ok i got you.

*note: when agitated or angry, you do not want me to repeat what you just said, and you REALLY don’t want me to couple it with a pause. So I was ready for this one, but I still needed to piss in the cup, and I am not trying to have them taint my piss.

Scene Three: The Piss

lab door opens and the technician yells...

lab tech: ‘mr. ward?!?’

me: i look around because I am on the person in the waiting room, i get up and i go to the door

lab tech: ‘are you mr. ward?’

me: ‘yes, yes I am’

*note: anyone who has had to have a piss test knows that uncomfy thing they do when they tell you to take everything out of your pockets, no phones, blah blah blah.. so after the instructions I get to bidness ... DONE .. right around 90 ML.

lab tech: ‘put it right there’ (with no point or anything)

me: ‘uh where is right there?’


lab tech: ‘right there where it says ‘place urine here’’

*note: this is where the wheels come off because I think of it like this, you, well you are in the business of piss collection, not high on the career ladder, and you want to shine on me? uh no... so I had to speak words without speaking words to get my message across

me: ‘uh, excuse me?’ but it was all about how I said it. I was looking dead in that bitches eyes and she knew what I was really saying was “Bitch what you just say to me?”

lab tech: ‘oh I am sorry, I mean can you put it on the counter?’

me: ‘gladly.’

lab tech: ‘thank you mr. ward, please sign out at the desk’

*note: this is what happens when you hit a bitch in the throat with your words, you get respect.

Scene Four: The Front Desk

it is now 3:46PM and Lil’ Mama is still texting an chatting when I go to sign out. i am elated to see that my piss has been inserted in that box that they cannot open so now I can run this bitch down.

me: ‘excuse me ma’am where is the sign out sheet’

lab worker: ‘right there’

me: ‘oh (pause) for real? (pause) see i don’t know ‘right there’ so I am going to ask you again, where is the sign out sheet’

lab worker: slides it to me sheepishly

me: now this part of the conversation we will call the ‘snatch-up’ you know how when kids misbehave you snatch them up by their collar, well here is my verbal snatch up....

‘uh young lady let me explain something to you and your friends here. you deal in piss. that is what you do, people come in they pee in cups and they hand it to you, or well one of your friends (.... she interrupts me ...)

lab worker: ‘i don’t do that’

me: ‘oh, you so cool,huh? you get to open the door for people to piss in a cup. wow, you real cool how you get that job? oh, and have a good weekend, and on monday don’t forget to open that door.’


*snatch up complete*

All hemmed up….

Acronyms and names have been changed to protect the innocent…but there are no innocent

So yesterday 12:45PM EST came and went. I allowed for the meeting to be rescheduled to today and well it was a doozie, it went off, and well I went 'off'.

Noun

• S: (n) employee (a worker who is hired to perform a job)
  

Noun

• S: (n) contractor (someone (a person or firm) who contracts to perform a job)
  

Concept

• S: (n) GS Pay Scale ((General Schedule)pay scale for government employees)
  
  • Government employees are commonly referred to GS-xx (xx being their scale)
    

Picking up where we left off…

Employee: "i would like to apologize for yesterday"

Me: "for what?"

Employee: "yesterday, and not making sure the deliverable was in order"

Me: "oh you mean that 'mock-up'"

Employee: "yes, sir"

Me: "don't call me sir you are older than me. besides yesterday was yesterday and today, well today is today. So moving on, is <contractor> ready to meet."

Employee: "yes. i will go get him."

--- enter <employee>, <contractor>, and <contractor's boss (cb)>---

CB: "let me begin by apologizing for the confusion yesterday…." (interrupted by me)

Me: "what confusion?"

CB: "well there was a mixup on what the delivery schedule was"

Me: "oh? who was mixed up?" "me?"

CB: "i think all parties were a bit mixed up"

Note: I don't work with CB often so he does not understand how I work, so when he said this, it was almost like the street cleared before a gunfight in the Old West, I mean both <employee> and <contractor> looked at each other as though to say "OH SHIT, he don't know…"

Me: looking over my glasses at a man at least 20 years my senior… "i'm sorry?"

CB: "well it's okay…" (me Interrupting)

Me: "no, no I was not apologizing, I was clarifying, well, at least for myself, whether you were talking to me or not"

CB: "oh.." (me interrupting, again)

Me: "CB, it is CB, right?" "Let me tell you some real good stuff…there was no confusion, I was not confused, <employee> was not confused, <contractor> was not confused, and well according to this (I pull out a stack of meeting minutes and emails) you were not confused either; I mean this is you right? (I point to an email verifying the delivery schedule in which he signed off, and I point to his name(which I had already highlighted)) That is your name and your email, CB, right? Okay so you were saying…"

CB: "well what I was saying is what we have for you today is the deliverable and I think it is in perfect order for next week"

Me: "thanks, I will review with <employee> and <contractor>:

CB: "let me know if you have any questions" (hands me his card)

Me: "no need to confuse the situation I will talk to <contractor> with my questions, and oh I have your contact information, see here (I point again to his email and name), thanks"

----I wore jeans to work today, quite the stir apparently..they are well form fitting and these random people keep buzzing about my office trying not to be obvious in their staring---

Contractor: "so is all ok with the work?"

Me: "yes, it looks good, I think the (really important political official) will like what he sees"

Contractor: "shall I deliver it to print?"

Me: "yes."

Contractor: "i will drop off a copy at the (really important political official)'s office"

Me: "no you won't"

Contractor: "it will be no bother"

Me: "i don't care if it is, i will deliver it"

Contractor: "but you are in jeans and …" (interrupted by me)

Me: "and you, a tired suit, so let's err on the side of looks, I will take it, besides GS-14 doesn't like you"

Contractor: "she doesn't?"

Me: "oh you hadn't heard?"

---- <contractor> runs document off to print and comes back----

Me: "have a seat"

---- <contractor> and <employee> sit down ----

Me: "don't ever get me hemmed up in some mess like that"

Contractor: "well it was unintentional."

Me: "unintentional?"

Contractor: "well you know I did not mean to"

Me: "wait, you did not mean to not do your work, do i look that crazy to you?" "i am not sure what you are used to, but it is not this (I hold up my index finger and sorta point in a circle around my office), i don't work like that, ask around."

Contractor: ---- MORE than a bit angry and upset ---- "well ok i apologize"

Me: "ok"

Contractor: "well, i said I apologize"

Me: "listen, i said ok, and that is just about the best your are going to get; I am not accepting an apology because in my eyes apologies are for actions that result in an unintended outcome, you, well you did not do your work, and you think i will accept that? you are used to a different crowd"

Contractor: "well I understood and it was communicated to me" (interrupted by me)

Me: "communicated by who?, <employee> ? Why are you listening to him, he can barely get to work on time, you are going to get enough of that GS schedule bullshit, i am telling you now; i come to work to work, if you come to me for any other reason, it better be real compelling"

Contractor: "well let's just agree, there was some confusion on the deliverable"

Me: "look, <contractor> i am not sure who "let's" is but in this scenario it does not include me, and you know it does not include you, so do not try to get me hemmed up in that mess." "Have a good holiday" (I turn to my computer and therein lies the signal to retreat)

Contractor: "i guess I should leave"

Me: "there is no confusion there."

And that has been my day… I hope all is well…

- Him with the Asthma

At least he has a place to go…

My daily exploits with the homeless border harassment but I try to be nice until they "take me there" so to speak. Here are two recent highlights…

Scene #1: A few weeks ago…

---- Coming up the McPherson Square Metro Escalator and grabbing the free newsra, and fiddling with my umbrella ----

Homeless Lady: Well sir you look nice today.

Me: Thanks.

Note: Never look the homeless in the eye nor have an extended conversation; they will steal your soul.

Homeless Lady: Are your going to read that paper?

Me: That is why I got it.

Homeless Lady: Can you spare 83 cents?

Me: 83 cents? No.

Note: everyone knows I have a 'homeless allowance', but contained therein is a variance for bullshit requests and anything too specific (e.g. 83 cents) is a bullshit request.

Homeless Lady: Oh, you think you are better than everyone else!!!

Me: No, just better than you because you are homeless.

Homeless Lady: Fuck You!!

Me: As good as story as that would be to tell, I'll pass.

Finally I got my umbrella up and walked away, amidst a random passerby who heard the exchange saying "Damn!"

Scene #2:

--- A flock of birds violently fly out of the groundcover and startle me to the point that I jump, but at least I refrain from screaming ----

Homeless Man: Ha ha, you scared of birds.

Me: Yes, they scared me.

Homeless Man: That is funny!

Note: This is where you have to be skilled in homelessness, or at least know how to fight. The homeless are crazy so you have to pick your poison, which you never know may include something communicable. This guy had a walking stick and was about 50 ft away, so I was good.

Me: Birds are nasty, filthy creatures…

Homeless Man: You just don't like birds…

Me: No, birds are fine. But I don't like you, and at least those birds have a nest to go to; you don't, because you are homeless.

Homeless Man: <silence>

Yeah, you are about as real as that bag you’re carrying…

I mean really, what is the de-ga-ga with this mess? I cannot get over this mess I saw on the train this morning. I mean who does this shit? I mean you get on at Ft. Totten and you step on with all this fanfare and shit, then I see it, that fake ass Louis Vuitton bag, coupled with your M Street Stunner Shades. I have one thing to say to you; STOP IT!! Just stop, stop breathing, choke on your pride, poke your eyes out with those fake ass eye lashes you have.

Look, folks I am of the homosex, but suffice it to say I don't like most gay people. Just too much of too much. Exemplified by this scorching hot shitty mess on the train, who wears this shit? I could not get a quality photo, but what I could get at least tells part of the story. This gay, hmmm let's call him "Shay" got on the train stepped in, looked right, looked left, tossed his head back and stepped to the middle of the car. Well you know I took notice. I was like who is "Shay" think he is? Then it all started, I had to dissect a bitch , I went from the floor up and took note that he was 'tore-up'.

Here is the outfit: (Imagine this)

• HOUSE OF DEREON jeans (that is right, they don't make those for men)
  


• 
  
  Old school British Knights High Tops
  
  
  
  
  
  • Note: I had every color of British Knights, I even had the Black and Gold Hammer Edition, but you would not catch me dead in a casket with some on in 2009
    


• A dingy(albeit white) button down colored dress shirt
  


• A vest that looked like he got from his baby cousin, "Too Sweet"
  


• Fake ass Stunna Shades
  


• 
  
  As if all that was not enough, a fake ass Louis Vuitton Backpack
  
  
  
  
  
  • Note: This bag was so fake I wanted to change cars for fear the vinyl would give ME a rash
    

So, as the train car filled up, Shay became more and more dramatic, a loud "SIGH" here, a cursed look there, but just when I thought I had seen (and heard it all) it started. Ms. Shay turned on "she" iPod Touch and it was OVER, and when I say over I mean OVER BITCHES!!! This bitch started playing Beyonce, and not just playing it, but BLARING it. I mean I could hear it through my headphones and over my Aretha. Children, that alone was not enough; "she" decided she was not only going to 'sing', but also 'dance'; it was too much to handle and the train was too crowded for it. Then it happened, we met eyes and the judgment I was passing was evident on my face and this bitch was not having it. It was like we were having a gay "Beat It" battle scene.. (you know the one where Michael Jackson locks wrists with that other guy and the bounce around before they set it off?) But I was not having it, so I looked away in a rather dramatic fashion, because I was not going to sully my spirit with that bullshit; so I stepped off the train and gave him that over the sunglasses look that told him in no uncertain terms. "uh you ain't shit!"

Work...

Noun

• S: (n) employee (a worker who is hired to perform a job)

Noun

• S: (n) contractor (someone (a person or firm) who contracts to perform a job)

So I have not had much to say for a few months, but today is a good day so I thought I would write a bit about the bullshit that is going on. So today I was expecting a rather large scale deliverable from some contractors that was to be presented by some (govt) employees. Guess what? That shit did not happen. This is how it went down (the names have been changed to protect the guilty):

There are 3 characters in this charade:

· Me

o I know I am hard to work for, I KNOW it. I was told after this debacle that my new name in the Office is "The Devil Wears Burberry"

· Contractor

o This POS idiot that claims to be some financial expert but so far all I have seen are spreadsheets I can do in my sleep

· Employee

o This spineless piece of mess does not do much other than exacerbate any anger or annoyance I feel about the work (or lack thereof ) that is being done by the contractor that he is supposed to direct.

Via Txt:

Me: "where are you?"

Employee: "still on train?"

Me: "why? And where?"

Employee: "there was a major delay, after my traffic jam coming in, Union Station Red Line"

Me: "if it is that bad, get out and walk, why am I here before you?"

Employee: "ok."

Me: "where are my deliverables for today?"

Employee: "<no answer>"

Me: "again, where are my deliverables for today?"

Employee: "<no answer>"

Of course my natural assumption is that EMPLOYEE had gone underground, even though I know our phones work underground, I assumed his shit was busted, my like mine. Let me say this too; I am not much for government work, government employees by and large (career ones at least) are not the most efficient people. Granted, I work hard, probably a little too hard. I am often at work before the coffee is brewed and leave after the cleaning crew is done, but I never, NEVER, NEVER miss deadlines or meetings. So I knew something was up when I got no response, twice. Now comes the second part of the madness.

Me: "lets take a look at what you have"

Contractor: "well, I have a mock up"

Me: "explain to me what that is, a mock up. I am not sure I follow"

Contractor: "well it is a detailed simulation of…" (I interrupt)

Me: "So it is not done?"

Contractor: "well, the mock up is complete"

Me: "what is this mock up you keep speaking of? no one directed you to make a mock up, you are charged with making a finish product, I don't do drafts, that is someone else's job."

At this point I pull out my note cards. People who have seen me work know that my life is ruled by an overly complex system of color coded 4x6 note cards, upon which I write almost everything I hear. Then I pull them out and review them, almost daily as though I am taking it all in again. If it were not me I would think it crazy, but I already know I am crazy. I have a rather snappy memory, so I try not to be too asshole-ish when I tell people that is not what I said.

Me: "see it says here that completed presentation delivery July 1 (today)"

Contractor: "I think that is wrong"

Me: "I KNOW you are wrong"

Contractor: "I think you had it mixed up"

Me: "listen; you are wrong, you knew you had to deliver something to me today, which is why you are in my office, in your best suit. You came here out of necessity not because you wanted to see my face – we both are far too busy for that, you came here to give me what you get paid for; finished product. furthermore, the idea that I do mock ups or drafts is simply ridiculous. who told you that?

Contractor: "<employee>."

Me: "oh for real? i need to fix that today?

At which point Contractor left my office and people came in snooping as to what was going on, I typically don't talk to people I don't like, so I look up acknowledge they said something and keep working, this has happened a lot today. Then Employee arrived….over 2 hours late.

Employee: "good morning, Ward"

Me: (completely disregarding the salutation) "let's talk about this mock up"

Employee: "let me get situated"

Me: "no, come on in just have a seat this won't take long"

Note: With me that is the kiss of death "this won't take long"…

Me: "who gave Contractor permission to miss a deadline?"

Employee: "well, the Department wanted talking points on a POC (Proof of Concept) today so I thought…" ( I jump in)

Me: "so you did? you gave permission to miss a deadline?"

Employee: "well, it is just a POC today"

Me: "for them yes, for me no; i don't have time to bullshit around with this madness, i have about 15 other things to work on. And if I have 15 then you have 30 so you should know that my deadline as set for you or ANYONE else is just that a DEADLINE."

Employee: <silence>

Me: "unless being quiet is going to get this done by 1:30PM EST, I suggest you go find someone to talk to who can get this done. now, you can go get situated."

Employee: "but, I was told by someone at the Department …" (I jump in)

Me: "that is where you messed up, you don't work for the Department you work here; that person there is GS-"who gives a damn", you, well you are just mediocre and working your way up. Let's meet at 12:45"

And that is how my day has been. Hope you all are well

- Him With the Asthma

Ugly....Part One

The longer I live the more I realize I just don’t like people. Or maybe it is that I like people too much, either way the human existence just wears me down sometimes. I sometimes wish I was ugly because ugly people don’t have much to complain about, I mean when you are ugly there is not much you can do to change it, outside of call Dr. 90210 but then when you come home you will have the struggle of finding good looking friends. Agh the pressure!

The Uptown 3

The Uptown 3

Two things in life that I love (not the only 2 but 2) are the NYC Subway and the feeling you get after you open up a fresh can of whoop ass on someone. So, why not combine them both? I mean you would think that would just make my damn day, right? Well, maybe.

I left a clients office today at precisely 4:30PM and I (rather than taking the car service) hopped on the Uptown 3 Express train at the Wall Street Station. Folks, I hate the Wall Street Station; the platform is skinny and small I always feel like I can fall off into the rat laden abyss that is the NYC Subway rail.

I get on the first train and it is packed like the Bush’s belongings at the White house. I had to squeeze in and be careful not to harm “the shoe”. As you all know I believe a shoe is the quickest way to measure a man, so I take pains to remind myself that “it is all about the shoe”.

That said I tried to commandeer enough space to protect the Billy Reid’s, but as we moved along the line the train got more and more packed I lost my faith in keeping the boy’s unscuffed. Anyway, the reason people take an express train is, well to get ‘there’ fast; it is also a way to avoid the riff raff, so I thought.

As we zoomed through the tunnel I was rocked in the pure bliss of the silver bullet that is the Uptown 3. Then we got to the 14th Street station and it all went to shit. All I heard was “EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! Someone needs to give up their seat so the handicapped person behind me can sit down.” The message came from an obviously mentally disturbed and likely homeless person who, as it were, was talking about his ‘imaginary’ friend “Jimmy”, he again said “One of you muthafuckahs needs to get up because Jimmy needs to sit down!” No one moved. He continues to blab and blab finishing with “New Yorkers ain’t shit, no one will give up their chair, Jimmy is going to get mad” at that point I looked up at him. As our eyes met, he says to me “You look like a politician, are you a politician?”, I smiled. He then sticks his hand out for me to give him a ‘hand bump’...now I don’t really like touching people I know let alone a homeless man on a NYC Subway train....so I never raised my hand and rather just looked him in his eye and said “I’m good..” Well who knew that would set off a powder keg.

Jimmy (as we will call him now) immediately flips out. The following dialogue happened on the Uptown 3 between me and Jimmy:

Jimmy: “You too good to touch me?”

Scooter: (no response)

Jimmy: “You heard me, nigguh (Strike 1), you too good to touch me”

Now, this is where we enter the ‘STRIKE ZONE’, the zone at which you have 3 times to strike this match before the starts to burn. Let me also state that as I have gotten older the use of the ‘n’ word has bothered me less and less, because at the end of the day, I know they are not talking about me; because you OBVIOUSLY don’t know me if you are calling me that, because you will get scrubbed.

Scooter: (no response)

Jimmy: “You aint shit, look at you in your fancy clothes, you a house nigguh (Strike 2), just like Barack Obama a house nigguh (strike 3)”

Scooter: ‘You cannot talk to me like that’
Jimmy: “What you gonna do?”

Scooter: (In my most calm and deliberate voice) “ I will fuck you up”

At this point the gentleman next to me who had already (pre-JImmy’s entrance) mentioned he was a cop in Boston, looked me dead in the face.

Jimmy: “You aint shit, and you aint gonna do shit”

Scooter: (Looking square in the eye) ‘Believe what you like’

Jimmy: “Why you looking at me like that?”

At this point Jimmy steps toward me (as much as he can), and I look him from head to toe in the slowest ‘I am not scared of your punk ass’ sort of way

Scooter: ‘Oh, I am just looking’

Jimmy: “I will kick your ass right here in this train”

Now people are getting more uncomfortable. Women clutching purses, moving children, etc.

Scooter: ‘No, we are not fighting on the train, but you van meet me outside the station’

Jimmy: “You scared to fight me, see you aint shit you a house nigguh (Strike 3 PLUS)”

Scooter: ‘Look..I got it. You think I am a house nigguh, like Barack Obama, I got it; and you think you can whoop my ass, I got it. But you will not get to do shit on this train for two reasons. #1 - I don’t want to beat your ass in your house and #2 it is crowded in here and I don’t want to scuff my shoes.”

At this point the train all but erupts into laughter and ‘Jimmy’ looks incredibly deflated.

Jimmy: “You know what? Fuck you. I will kick your ass.”

Scooter: ‘You just might, but you wont do it on the Uptown 3, I am not losing my train privileges over your bullshit. I need to “Get my way with MTA”.

Those of you who have not lived in NYC do not know that used to be the tag line for the NYC Subway and Bus System, again there is laughter on the train.

Jimmy: (no response)

Scooter: ‘I am getting off at 42nd street. I can meet you outside the station’

Well, 42nd Street came and I got off and Jimmy, well, Jimmy kept his punk ass on the train. Which goes to prove my theory “big talk = small walk” -- the more shit you talk the less you can do. Don’t fear the loud mouth, fear the quiet man in the corner.

Now had he gotten off, I would have beat his ass. Trust me. I am an environmental fighter. I will hit you with whatever is close or use whatever is close to give you a beat down. Just saying.

Memory Monday... Continuation of the Roommate Story ... Originally Aired 30-October 2001 ...Part 2 of 3... The Car

The Car:

Now if you all were thinking that that was all I had to say about this guy no, no, no, no. Two more things the car and the man.

First, the car. You all know that I love my great piece of German engineering that I call my car. Even though it has crossed my mind to get rid of it since I live in a city where I do not need it, the “silver bullet” still appeals to all my senses. It’s soft leather, its great pick up, and its sexy looks all the reasons I bought the damn thing. Well you all know that I will let anyone drive my car I really don’t care that much, after all when it all is said and done it is just a car. Take heed though, I will LET anyone drive it. Which means if I do not say you can, you cannot. Reasonable I would think. I was walking home the other day from being out and I noticed my car had been moved. I was just thinking well maybe I parked there last night and did not remember. So I did not think anything of it. So then again I notice that my car is in a different spot, but same general location a few days later. So I got to Jim, “Jim, did you move my car?”, “No, why?” …by this time I knew it was Ali and I was already pissed so I said, “why, what the hell you mean why, because the muthafucka has been moved that is why, would I asked you if you moved my car if it was in the same damn spot?” So Jim, quickly assessed that I was pissed at the fact the fact the car had been moved and even moreso that is was by Ali. Granted I do not even know if Yasser (Ali’s nickname) has a green card let alone a driver’s license so I am just waiting for him to get in the door. Jim, who is trying to be the mediator keeps saying to me, “now you have to give him due process you have to evaluate why he used your car, and first assess whether or not he did.” I said, “all I am going to do is evaluate how I am gonna break my foot in his ass and then assess why he used my car.” Jim then went on to say, “well you are not sure he even did it” Now you all know how when you are mad the last thing you want is for someone to try and reason with you, so I told Jim this “if you did not drive it, and I did not drive it, then he drove it… unless the damn rats around here know how to drive or something.” Jim nodded in agreement and we sat and waited.

As soon as the door swung open and Ali arrived in the living room I lit into him, first in a rather subtle way, I said “hey uh Ali let me talk to you (waving him over to me with my index and middle fingers), have you uh moved my car or anything like that?” Thinking that he would say ‘no’, it took me by surprise when he said, ‘Oh yeah I forgot to tell you that I used it a FEW times to go to the store and run some errands.” I was taken by surprise, so much so that I could not say anything at first. I just stood there. All I can remember is seeing Jim running down the stairs like Shug Avery in the Color Purple to keep Cealie from killing Mister, and he packed up all the things in the room that could be used as weapons, the hammer, the spoon, the matches. Then he just sat down to watch, like a damn school kid. Then for what seemed like minutes but was only a few seconds I thought, ‘I know this summamabitch did not just tell me that he not only used my shit, but used my shit a FEW times.’ It was so funny to me I had to ask him again and again he answered in the affirmative with the word ‘few’. So I said, “Why?”, he said “I told you, to GO TO THE STORE AND TO RUN SOME ERRANDS” with emphasis just like that. I was pissed, so I said it again, “no, muthafucka why?, as in why in the hell did you go get my key, start my car, and drive like you own the shit” he again answers as though he has done nothing wrong, saying “I had things to do” I said, “you know what, you’s a crazy summamabitch, driving a black man’s car without permission, that is like cussing out my momma.” As I looked into his brown eyes I realized I should have been looking out of a window. He flippantly said “I am sorry, never thought it would be a big deal” I was like, “shit yeah it is a big deal you stupid bastard, this aint no damn horse and carriage like you have in Iran this is a car, with an engine and shit. The best advice I can give you to keep me from kicking your ass, is to never even look at my shit again, or I will fuck you up” He kinda waved his hand in my face and I went Jerry Springer on his ass catching his hand mid air, and kinda leaning my head to the side and raising my eyebrows in that mother kinda way, and said “I wish you would drive my car again, I invite your ass too, in fact I am going to leave my keys right here everyday, but you better have your arrangements set because I will call the police before your ass even gets home to tell them there will be a murder at 1741.” Jim then got up and played lawyer and I told him he could kiss my ass too. Well needless to say I have not opened any letters I get at the house for fear his ass is going to plant some anthrax or hemmoraghic fever spores in there.

Memory Monday ... Blast from the Past ... originally aired Friday Sept 21,2001

The Retarded Cousin & Bad Ass Kids -

I will finish with a kind report from my babysitting activities on Thursday September 21. I volunteered to help with the babysitting ministry at the church I belong to here in DC (Mount Pleasant Baptist -- now you know if it has Mount in the name it is a down home, shouting and dancing church -- YOU RIGHT -- and I just laugh and "breathe" my way through service). So anyway I get there yesterday and I am told that I will have 9 kids from ages 2-8 to take care of --- no bigee I think. The church has veggie tales and other videos so I should be set. SHI'D !!!(say it like you mean it) I was dead wrong. My first task is to go pick up Jamal, with the head Deacon, Deacon Barksdale. This man is old; I do not know how old, but he has seen a lot and seems very cool. So as he is telling me about when King came to town with all the people (Martin Luther King for those of you who need help), he pauses and goes "Jamal, oh yeah, Jamal is ignorant." I go "oh ok, no problem." I personally am thinking ignorant in the sense that the boy is hard headed, a bad seed, or whatever, so I am like ok no big deal, not knowing ignorant is code for "you a damn fool for volunteering for this one". Then I see Jamal. Jamal would be more aptly described as SLOW, retarded if you will. Now I do not want to offend anyone as I believe we all have the retarded cousin of friend that we know, but this is just funny to me (I mean judging by the size of my head I should not talk about anyone’s faults but I do, but I love everyone) so if you don’t like it I will send you an invitation to kiss my ass. Anyway, Jamal walks out the house with yellow soccer shorts, a Tupac t-shirt, A (A as in ONE) church sock, sandals, and a Redskin’s hat. So what do I do, I "breathe" I "breathe" so damn hard I start coughing. I look at the Deacon, then Jamal, The Deacon, then Jamal, the Deacon, and then... you get it. Until I realize that the Deacon sees no problem in this boy’s attire and all I can do is shake my head. So we pack up Jamal and we get back to church. Jamal is silent the whole trip, all I notice is that he is looking at me in the rear view and he does not blink much.

At the church I meet my other crew -- between 2-5 all of them (except for Jamal) actually the breakdown is four 2 year olds, three 3 year olds, and three and one 4 and 5 year old respectively, and Jamal 8. So I get into the room see my kids and I am ecstatic b/c they are napping. Great!!! Then the volunteer coordinator comes in accesses the situation sees that all is well and says she will check back in an hour or TWO (operative part or TWO). I did not see that heffa until I had to go. Now my group is a unique all black and one Asian (we will call her little Van) her parents run the store next to the church (go figure), Amy is her name. She is five. Sorry, I digress again. About 10 minutes after the coordinator leaves and Deacon Barksdale is gone all hell breaks loose. As I am reading and Jamal (I wanted to put a mirror under his nose to make sure he was breathing) is just standing there mute, one of the 2 year olds (shit boxes I shall call them) wakes up and come over to me and goes PEE PEE. I Go, OK!! Thinking at first it is an alphabet game and then I quickly realize that the foul odor means change me. In the course of the next 35 minutes I change 4 shitty diapers and get pissed on 2 times, clean shit off the floor, and one kid takes off his diaper and just hands it to me WET . "No problem", I think.

I can do this. Then it dawns on me why Jamal is in this room --- He shits himself. I think to myself. "I am a grown ass man, there is no way I am helping this boy clean himself", but I am in church what do you do. I will tell you what I did. I line those little bastards up and marched them down to the restroom and I help Jamal get clean, literally. No need to go there, except to say this. Jamal, at least by my own estimation, was up until this point, what Granny used to call DEEF and Dumb (she said it just like that), but oh was I in for a surprise. Just as we get him all clean and redressed Jamal begins to BEEP, not just ‘beep’ but beep like those damn red things on Sesame Street. I begin to freak out, the kids start crying, and so I begin to stop his beeping by beeping too (I mimic children's behavior when they begin to irritate me to get them to stop, it usually works), it does not work. So I stop beeping and step back, thinking "I am in church I cannot cuss this boy out, throw him at a wall, I cannot do shit to get him to stop beeping, my hands are tied", then he stops for no apparent damn reason as quickly as he started, he stopped. I move as swiftly as a fox to get these banshees back to classroom. We get there and we begin to play duck duck goose. No one really gets it but the 4 and 5 year olds but whatever; I think that it will keep them busy. SHIIIID I was wrong.

These little rats sit in the circle dodging one another so as not to be the goose; Jamal sits there mute (getting the shit smacked out of him every time someone calls him duck). I try really hard not to laugh, but I cannot hold it in, so I practically choke trying "breathe" and laugh. Then Amy does it, she gooses Jamal. As in she picks him to give chase. Nothing happens, she says "Goose!!" as she slaps him across his head again, he just sits there. I am chuckling, and just when I say new game, she kicks his mute ass and YELLS -- "GOOSE!!!" I quickly come to his rescue although I did want to see what would happen if I did not have to stop the violence. Then they begin to run, like roaches in the light, they scatter. At this point I have no idea what to do... I needed help like Whitney Houston needs rehab. SO, after I could not get the TV/VCR to work I turn on the radio, what is on you ask? "Family Affair", by Mary j Blige. Although I know it wrong for church I had to hear my song. So I turn it up a little, then Amy (like a thief in the night) steals the show. Think of this if you can a 5 year old Vietnamese girl, dancing and singing Mary J Blige, going "that's my song" in a room full of black kids (who are now back up dancers) and an astonished volunteer. I could have sold tickets, when I say she knew every word to the song and the every dance move in the video, SHE DID, and so did her backup. Well I am floored, laughing my ass off every time she sings a line in her little Asian accent, whew that was funny. So the Deacon and the volunteer lady return shortly after "the show", and just as I was about to kick them in their asses, I told them to give me a call the next time they needed some help with the older groups.

Well that is enough for now -- I have plenty more to write about and I will, next week sometime.

Peace out, God Bless, and Have a Good Weekend. What is up with you all?

T ... is for Television

I sat down last night and watched two shows ‘Project Runway’ and ‘Top Design’. Quite honestly they were both just full of opportunities for ’prayer’, so I wanted to take a moment and talk about them both. Now I am not one to usually talk about people, well I take that back, it is just about a full time job for me, but I think it will be easiest to go through character by character...

Mess on the Runway

Jerrell

Who is he? Is he the black fairy from black fairy land? I mean every @me I watch he is all dressed up like Peter Pan, Tinkerbelle, or some other Sprite. Where does he find that shit? He looks like he would be a backup dancer in a video of a Celtic Remix of a Missy Elliot song. His designs, ooh wee his designs, this looks like a thrift store remix. He puts a ‘this’ with a ‘that’ and a ‘that’ with a ‘this’, couple all that with his bad skin and messed up facial hair and you have what? An opportunity for prayer. He is a grown ass man that wears sequins, I mean in every episode he has on some Liza Minnelli wardrobe castoff and a damn ghetto Robin Hood hat. See Jerrell is what I like to call a delusional gay; he thinks he is the cat’s meow, when in actuality he is closer to Meow Mix.

One last thing about Jerrell (well 2) can someone send him a Safeway Club card? The boy needs to eat. He looks like one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Then he always wants to show that damn birdcage of a chest, I mean REALLY. That shit looks like a BIRDCAGE, I can see his damn internal organs on display in there. Every time I see that chest I want to send a check to the World Wildlife Fund, he needs to free the endangered Egret living in his chest.

Kenley

Damn it feels good to be a gangster... That is all I have to say about this bitch. She has not done shit wrong since she was born. She thought she was wrong once, but guess what? She was right. I am not sure what the hell she was making. I was sure it was the suit Darryl Hannah wore in Splash, but alas I was wrong. Now, the assignment as to make a gown, she comes out and tells Heidi she did not want it to be glamorous.

As a side note: Why were Heidi's just play peek-a-boo the who runway portion of the show?? I mean this is not Victoria's Secret...and if it was you were not keeping the secret well.

Well what the hell did you want? Some bullshit, because that is what you got. And a word to Kenley, leave Korto alone. There is a reason that sister’s name is pronounced CUT-to. Need I say more? You will mess around and be thrown off that tugboat you were raised on. Oh yeah, and that broke down, fake ass Niecy Nash hairclip you are sporting; you need to toss that too.

LeAnn

LeAnn is on “that stuff”, she seems high every episode. Just cannot string a subject and a verb together if she had to. Honestly, I think she makes those folds in her clothes because it looks like a “joint”. Who knows...

Korto

That is my girl. THAT IS MY GIRL. Korto has more ass than a pack of mules. She may not win, but she is like Miss Celie, “She made it”. She just needs to be sure she gets some better hair for the runway show, because that synthetic shit is fraying. As for her dress, she was just off, but through it all that make up HELD UP. That bitch was crying like an old black woman during Roots, but never did that make up run. That is some good shit, probably MAC.

Top Design

Truthfully I just have one thing to say about this show. What the hell is Wizit? I thought it was a Harry Potter character. Is he just a man that sings soprano? A Geisha? Emelda Marcos? A smartly accessorize Chinese socialite? I mean I am confused. Every time he talks I want to hit him in his shaved down Adam’s Apple with a bottle of testosterone. But oh well...

Wisdom Wednesday 10.01

So I have to say this to all the people who are holding on to hope against hope. It is not going to happen. Not even in your wildest dreams. No, I am not talking about Cher retiring, or Michael Jackson having a comeback. I am not even talking about OJ being acquitted again, I am talking about that whispy shit on your dome. I am talking about your hair, that shit is not going to grow back. Let it go. Do like the Beatles, and let it be.

Trust me I know this is a sensitive subject for many people, even people who are close to me. I have to let you know I understand the sensitivity, but please understand this, we are sensitive, too. Sensitive to the foolish charade you are orchestrating, this craziness that you are putting yourself through, it is a shame. We are sensitive to this mess of tumbleweed that you call a head of hair, and frankly we are sensitive to the fact that you are selfish. You are just a selfish bastard; you have no consideration for those who have to put up with your bullshit foolishness in public. You need to salute us all for overlooking your comb over, staring past your widow’s peak, or wearing sunglasses to avoid the glare; you need to salute us. You need to help us help you. You -- the boss with the sweepup; you -- the friend with the faux hawk that ends in a bald spot; you -- with the George Jefferson . . . you owe us all.

I cannot trust a person who is losing his hair and does not cut it. It is like you are trying to fool me right to my face, and I am not easily fooled. To walk around with a combover, I mean to put a person through that is a shame, a pitiful shame. You need your ass kicked. Then you do the nasty, most horrible thing you can do. You TOUCH it and fiddle with it right in front us like you are running your fingers through some shit when you are just touching your frontal lobe like you have some shit going on up there. Apparently not enough because if you did you would not have that bullshit still on your head that you think is hair.

So friends tell your friends, children tell your parents, wives tell your husbands, and girlfriends dump that balding bastard (if he cared about you, his head would be right), tell them to cut that shit off. Now I am know you all may call me shallow, but all I have to say is, every one looks good bald. I started losing my hair when I was 20, and I never went looking for it, unlike these fools. People who try to hide their baldness probably cheated at hide and go seek, just stood there on the other side of the tree still. Dumb fools.

Cut your damn hair.

Good Day...

Telegram Tuesday 09.30 - Calling Card

Telegram Tuesday 09.30

Well good day, it is great to be here to answer your dilemma’s yet again. I am going to dive right into it, because I am not feeling pleasantries today, here goes.

Dear Ms. Dragatha,

I love my man; he is good to me in every way, even in the bedroom. He gives me money for my needs and he has a wonderful head on his shoulders with a good job. Lately though, he has been acting strange, we get phone calls at the house (he moved in with me 2 months ago) and when I answer the person just hangs up, but when he answers he carries on a conversation in a low whisper and then says “I will call you later”. Now, I never thought anything of it until I looked through his cell phone and his cell bill and saw all these calls to the same number and some texts to a female coworker. I don’t think he is cheating on me, but how do I find out, I have met this girl and she was really cool with me and knows this is my man.

What do I do?

Lil’ Shorty

Dear Lil’,

Let me begin by saying thank you for the respect, “Ms. Dragatha” yes ma’am.

See you don’t think your man is doing what everyone knows he is doing. Let me save you a trip to NY so you don’t have to go on Maury to take a polygraph. You need to set a precedent, if not for him, for that brazen ho he works with. See I am going to tell you to go about this in a Hood Way. You need to put some fear in both of them. I think you should do this in a few easy stages.

Stage One:

You need a calling card. Not like an AT&T WorldConnect kinda shit you need to have your own signature you put on your deeds. Let me suggest one for you: a step stool. Since you call yourself Lil’ Shorty I will assume you are just a bit challenged in the height department. I think a step stool would be great for you.

Stage Two:

Leave that calling card in conspicuous places. Wait until your man goes to sleep and put it next to his side of the bed. Then when he wakes up and trips over it, and says “What is this?” you say “just a sign.” Now he may walk off thinking you are crazy, but at least you have planted a seed.

Stage Three:

Sow the seed. Girl, you need to go up to his job and perform a stakeout. You need to sit out and see what the two of them do when they leave the office. You will not need Cheaters for this, just sit and watch. When you see what car she drives you come back and what? Leave a step stool next to her driver’s side door.

At this point connections will begin to be made and you can exploit it all the way. If he is smart he will stop the foolishness and you will not need to catch a case, but if not you need to go move on to the next two stages.

Stage Four:

Feed the seed. Now I am sure you cook for your man. So the next time you cook for him you need to pull up a stool to the stove and stand on it while you are cooking. He should get that message loud and clear. If not the heavy metal poisoning will give him a signal.

Now here is a note to all you men out there:

- If you value your life you will not keep cheating on these women and eating the food they cook for you. Because if it was the Lady D I would Dixie Chick your ass and say “Goodbye Earl”. When you are ‘stepping out’ on your woman and you come home and she is cooking (in this case on a step stool) for you with a big ass smile, you had better suggest going out to eat, I mean I am just saying.

Now, if all the soft signals and the calling card fail, you need to just take it straight to some on-the-job training.

Stage Five:

Harvest the crop. You need to go pluck what has grown from your seed. You need to go up to the workplace and wait (stool in hand) and camp out on a bitch. When she pulls up you need to walk up put your stool on the ground, and when she says “hey girl what you doing?” you don’t answer you just step up on that stool. Now that you will be a good 5-6 inches taller than her you take your left hand, stretch it to the right across your body, and raise it above your head. Now this is the tricky part you have to make your arm stretch across your body far enough that when you raise your right hand you can pull that left hand even further up. Then you slap down on that bitch so hard you knock her earrings off. Then you calmly step down, pick up your stool, and go home. I bet you the calls stop, and I bet you she quits too.

Well I hope that helps.

Stay blessed and don’t forget to write in with more questions, I am here to help.

- Dragatha

SoYouThinkIamMean@gmail.com

Sneaky Bitches vol.2 (The Shoe and Pizza)

Ok, so let me begin by apologizing for being away so long. I have had plenty to write about, I just hath not the time to write it I guess. But, as I am on plane not (and not asleep (SURPRISE)) I thought it necessary to write a bit. I know it is Memory Monday and I might get to that a little later, right now I need to talk about pain.

What pain, Scooter?

I am writhing with pain right now. Can I tell you this will be crass and nasty, but my bowels are a MESS!!! I blame the shit on this drink called ‘Alive’ that I drank while at my cousins house this morning. He instructed me to only mix about a table spoon with my orange juice as it is “full of vitamins”, I tell you what I put about 4 table sppons in there, and my bowels will not be full of anything by the time I land.

I tried to evacuate (that is what old people call it) at the airport, but I could barely make it happen as my extensive toilet preparation (toilet paper on the bowl, covered by one sani-guard, covered by toilet paper, covered by another sani-guard, covered by more toilet paper)and the deed itself were going to take up too much time, but alas I was able to at least assume the position. The Rule #17 was broken. Not by me but by some fools in the stalls down the row. I am “bladder (and apparently bowel) shy” so as I sat in my stall, in the position, Rule #17 was broken and I locked up like a set of cheap brakes on a Kia, I mean nothing was happening.

What is Rule #17?

Rule #17 (dont ask me the other 16) is the rule that just should not have to be discussed. It is don’t talk to people in the bathroom stalls. End of Subject.

You would that is easy enough, but not to these fools. Two West Texans (I could tell by the accent) were taking a trip to Schittsville but were chatting, rather loudly betwixt the stall to one another. I cannot really get you to visualize this so I am going to write it out as I heard it.

“Hey Dan, when you going to Mineral Wells?” (followed by loud flatulence)

“I dunno, then need to send me those numbers so I can get out there and place these caps (oil talk)” (followed by toilets flushing and more flatulence)

All the while I am sitting in my stall trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar also know as my bowels. As soon I they start talking i am done. Nothing happens. Nothing. It is like an Ass Midget has taken a key and locked up my asshole. The same ass midget who know is trying to open the flood gates. But I refused to defile a Southwest Airlines restroom in that way, it would (I am sure) get me put on a “Do not Fly” list or some shit.

Thanks for your understanding, and pray for me and well my bowels.

Memory Monday 9.29 -- Sneaky Bitches 2.0 (The Shoe and Pizza)

I have spent the last 10 days in Texas, The Lone Star State, a little slice of Heaven if you will. In my travels here I was with a group of 70 folks for a retreat at Barton Creek Resort and Spa. I wined, I dined, I sang, I danced, I golfed, and I was forced to go to a University of Texas football game in full UT regalia.

It’s all about the shoe

None of this matches what happened on our 3rd night in Austin. When we left 6th Street to head back to the resort I had explained to everyone, he let’s leave early so there is no Taxi drama. No one listened to the only person (out of about 35) who had been to Austin. So, I of course feel responsible for these people and I do not want anyone getting left behind so of course when we do not leave early I explain we need to walk away from the strip and only allow the women to hail cabs. So my theory works and people get into cabs and our group dwindles down to 6. Just enough for a packed van taxi. So we keep walking and I hear sweet music to my ears, a girl fight. You bitches know I will stop anything to see a good fight. I can be on my way to the emergency room and I will stop and watch a fight, I could be in a funeral procession and stop that shit just to watch a fight, so needless to say I walked over to be close, but just close enough.

In my on sight investigation I notice these women are like street walkers fighting over something. So I stand and I watch my last crew hail and taxi right as the fight breaks up. So of course I begin to walk towards the cab, as I do one of the women in the fight darts past me, I was “ooh bitch this shit is moving to a new venue”... so I thought. Next thing I know a shoe hits me in the back of my head.

Now, let me clear some shit up. This was not a FLIP FLOP this shoe had a real heel on it. Besides I told you all it was a street walker fight, any self-respecting ho is not wearing a flip flop while try to make trade. So the long and the short of it, this bitch took off her nice black chunky heel and was throwing at the other ho, but my big ass head, well it got in the way. Now, I have never been known to hit a bitch, but I tore after that bitch like I was Pac-Man Jones, if not for one of the group tackling my ass I would be writing you a manifesto from the Ausitn Jail.

Note to the ladies: Always classy never trashy.

Throwing your shoe at a bitch is some tired ass syndicated talk show bullshit, and last I checked 6th Street is not Maury Povich and the DNA test had not come back.

What did I do with the shoe? I picked that shit up and threw it into the street where it was run over continuously.

A Gay mouth set straight...

As I always do I made my usual trip to Dallas, as I do whenever I am in Texas and as I always do, I made a trip to “the strip” to see the boys and to have a funky good time. It is common knowledge that I don’t have much to say until I am about 2 -3 drinks down and my motor is lubed. Now, on the other hand, there are those in the group who need little if anything to provoke some sort of mess. So it all really started when this blow-fart, who I later learn was named, Harley, Hunter, Gatherer, or some sort of mess, start some shit with KC’s roommate Kevin (of course after Kevin threw some drink on him). The sneaky bitch (refer to previous Sneaky Bitch blog for reference) Hunter (I think) came over and did what a Sneaky Bitch will do (break out a pen and paper)

he surveyed the group to see who he could “likely” intimidate

he started off with “let’s not let that happen again”, to which we retorted “what?”

Again, back with the surveying and figuring out he should only talk to one person in the group, so he continued with Kevin

he moved on to a “you know what..”

Note: Sneaky bitches love a pronoun, they will “you” you and “lets” you until the cows come home, but the bitches are not about shit.

Note: Let it be noted that the bitch did not say anything to me because I looked at him like I was ready to send him home. Hurt.

So that all passes and we continue to drink, and then drink some more, and witness some whoring, and drink some more. Once we shut the bar down we decided we wanted pizza, so we went to the pizza place across the street “Zini’s”. When we approach the line to Zini’s I hear again the sweet music of a raised voice and what seems to be seedlings of a fight tree. We all in unison realize it is Hunter (Gatherer or whatever the fuck his name is) but this time is has caught a case of the fool he is getting “into it” with an african american lesbian. He might as well be staring down a double barrel shotgun because this bitch is going to lose.

With a bit of instigation Sneaky Bitch hauls off and calls this girl a bitch. Now up until this point she was pretty damn composed, much more composed than I would have been. But before he even got to the “-itch” she had her finger on his face which in blesbian (black lesbian) means, “look I don’t want to fuck you up in here in front of these people”. Well you would have thought Hunter (Gatherer) had gotten clocked by Ali, this bitch flailed all over the window to the restaurant in a very Alexis vs. Crystal Carrington sorta drama, except this bitch was Linda Gray and blesbian was Shirley from What’s Happening.

When Hunter(Gatherer) came to he jumped up at ‘ol girl’. When I say she damn near snatched his ass out the sky, she did it. She put him in a headlock and was punching his punk ass in the face like she was straight up in the UFC. What people do not realize is you do not fuck with a lesbian who has a man’s haircut. That is to say that you do not mess with a manlian, that is just a lesbian that goes to the barber. Let me be real and state, there are plenty of straight sistahs that get a barber cut, I am not talking about you. I am talking about that bitch who is a mechanic, or a plumber, the female electricians of it all. That is who I am talking about.

Throughout the pummeling he took, he never hit her back. Instead when he broke lose he went after the gay who was trying to break it up. Again, showing his sneaky bitch colors. A sneaky bitch knows when they cannot win a fight so they progress to a new fight that they think they can win. Well, the fight got to be a mess, when the gay he was fighting went and tried to run this bitch over. I mean in his 1997 Lexus trying to Goodyear a bitch, that, my friends is a mess. But I still got in line, got my pizza, was harassed by an evacuee, then went on with my night.

As an aside, let me make one point. I am not a punk. I will say what I need to say to you, in your face and I will likely respect you more when you do the same. So don’t try to punk me out, or I might write you a prescription for some ‘ass whoop’ I hear it cures ‘skin conditions’.

Holla.