nablopomo: my drink and my stripper pole

i am not a club person. truth be told i have never been to a club, it's never been my scene. i don't even have ambitions to go to a house party. i think that's why people think i'm very stuck up, and 'artsy fartsy', i'd rather go to a lounge, poetry slam, jazz festival than drag my ass to a club anyday....and from the pictures i see, and the stories i hear, i must say i'm not too impressed.

dutty ass girls dutty whining on a dutty floor littered with empty bottles. guys who don't know the meaning of the word 'no'. chicks who insist on assaulting the world with their mirrorless fashions. dj's interrupting every friggin song with 'all the sexy ladies..blah blah blah'. chicks who insist they are not there to get chopped but to chill with their girls. bullshit. hot breaths. danced off deoderants. corn worthy shoes (which their ass can't walk in). bathrooms that smell like home on the range. and expensive flavored juice costing me $10. wtf?!

and no matter how 'classy' the club is that you go to, there are always fall downs who ruin the night for you.
but as i get older i find myself wanting to take my stripper dancing ass to a club, of course it has to be high end club though, none of this ghetto ass bullshit. i think i would be an amazing clubber, and i must be honest after seeing this video i think to myself "if i could find a club atmosphere like the concert in this vid, i would be so there" soo if i do go to a club, i will share my failures and successes with you guys.

so, check out the vid and also this email i rummaged up from a disgruntled club goer.

.kisses.

********

Reasons Why Clubs Are Just Absolutely Horrible.

Reason 1: The Line Up.
The line is filled with girls glittered up and guys wearing leather jackets. Why does every guy look exactly the same? Thankfully, I am set apart with my doughy face and detailed eyebrows. The Line Up is key because nobody believes they belong in it. If you wait in line, you’re not cool. To who? I’m not sure. Probably to the other people who are waiting in line who you think are not cool. We must impress them. So then we begin to suddenly know somebody who can get us in. Chatter, as follows: “Ask the bouncer if Mikey’s working, he’ll get us in.” “Tell them you’re with Sarah +10” “This is Joey’s place man, he’s the head promoter, he’ll get us in.”


Truth is, Mikey was fired, Sarah’s passed out on a toilet at home, and there is no Joey. You just made that up.
Wait in line.


Reason 2: The Girls Who Never Have To Wait In Line.
There’s this faction of women in this world that anchor their pride in this one fundamental belief:
I never wait in line at clubs.
When you meet them, they will immediately inform you of this fact. Wait in line? Me? Fuck that. Do you know who I am? The answer to that question is really just their name. Look. They even do it at job interviews:

"Well, Sarah, thank you for applying to become the Chief Budget Analyst at Royal Bank, let’s get started, shall we?"

"Okay, fun!"

"Let’s start with what you think your key strengths are, Sarah."

"Okay, you know at Lot? I know the owner so me and my girls literally walk in. Mink? I dated the head bouncer, so they don’t even check. I can totally get you in, just text me and I’ll text him, kay? Circa is nothing, they know us. We’re in like thirteen of their promo pictures on their website. They kind of owe me but my friend Tony, he told—"

"I think I lost you. You applied to be the Chief Budget Analyst right?"

"You know what I’m craving right now? Like one of those fun peach bellinis! Wanna go for one?"

"It’s 820am, Sarah."

The new Chief Budget Analyst at Royal Bank.

Reason 3: You’re Really Not That Hot.

At clubs, many young ladies believe they magically turn into Victoria Secret models. This is due to young men who magically develop cataracts. I blame the entire system. Guys walk into a club with one core mission: make out with anything that has an attached uterus. This makes it easy for women who wouldn’t normally get attention at say, 10 am waiting for a streetcar on King street to transform into Jessica Alba at 230am when everyone’s heavily intoxicated. And it’s not like the women are walking away winners here. The guys they’re making out with? Train wrecks. If you don’t believe me ladies, take a look at your friends list right now and tell me how many of your male friends with a name that doesn’t rhyme with Leepak Bethi you would actually make out with sober.
Exactly.


Reason 4: Can’t We All Just Pee?
Going to the bathroom is an event at a club. Hundreds of people seem to need to pee at the exact same time I want to. Also, I am privy to the most inane conversation in the history of the universe.
“Dude, Sarah actually looks hot tonight. Did you see that ass? Mikey, you should deal that.”
“Dude I’ve dealt it like nine times already.”
“Fuck you, no way. When? You lie.”
“No man seriously. It’s true. She totally wants me.”
Then several young men deconstruct Mikey’s claim as to how he ‘dealt Sarah’ until Mikey finally exhausts all of his weak supporting arguments and runs away from the bathroom crying, flailing his arms wildly in the air. Then, while washing my hands, I get to see several young men try to fix their eleven hairs on their head, each spiked up individually. When they have completed, they look exactly the same.
Gel doesn’t fix ugly.


Reason 5: You’re just too old.
If you’re thirty-five and you go to clubs every night, I think that’s cool. Nothing is more appealing than someone who knows what’s hot on a Tuesday night. And also, we enjoy when you tell us what the club was called in 1989 when you first went. It’s like a fun history lesson!


Reason 6: Eating shit food after the club.
Actually, I have nothing against this. Have you seen me? I weigh a staggering one hundred and seventy-five pounds and at several points in my life, I have teetered on the brink of obesity. This is absolutely tremendous.


Reason 7: People who can actually dance.

<------She probably waited in line.

Many of you know I can’t really dance. You’re nice enough not to tell me. Wait. You know what? No you’re not. Many of you have told me many times, shattering me emotionally. How dare you. But it’s true. Much like my poor swimming ability, I can’t really dance. I bop my head up and down to the beat of Biggie sometimes and throw one or perhaps both of my hands up in the air, creating the fascinating facade of me actually dancing. But this is all an illusion. It kind of works until some dude named Hugo comes along and salsas it up with everyone while I unravel on the inside. Who names a kid Hugo anyway? Ass.

PS. There’s no way in hell Mikey dealt Sarah.

********

cassidy ft swizz beatz - My Drink N My 2 Step [new]

by Lvick

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nablopomo: repost: love of my life

                                       

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nablopomo: t.i.'s promise

i have never been the type of chick to be a gold digger. i'm not one to esteem material things above happiness or do they equate in my life. i've been known to leave one man who has 'everything' for a man who has nothing. i don't know, that's just how i've always been, money is not that important to me, never has been, and it never will be.

this song however speaks to the hip hop materialistic chick that could potentially be me. i
imagine having a man, who will give me anything, everything materially i could ever want, i would never be in lack of anything, including late night sex so wet and so tight... but i wonder...would i get that which i desire most?

his heart.
and would i be happy?

.kisses.

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nablopomo: screaming loud daddy is you with it?

baggy jeans, a wife beater and sneaks, with a fitted.
that is my weakness.
shit.
*sigh*...tatts.

when i see a man like that, my legs get weak and my pussy get's wet... real fast.
a thug.

now don't get me wrong. i love the good men, the men that every women wants, a nice clean cut brotha, who smells like cologne and not like the streets.

but a thug.
i tell myself that i passed that stage of my life a long time ago. when i was with prince a, who had guns, smoked weed like he breathed air, ran with the crips, and beat up my pussy on a reg. and i do mean beat up. i passed that stage. i didn't want bad boys anymore. he broke my heart.

but there are days when i wake up, longing for a thug beside me smelling like sex, alcohol and a hard life. wanting him to roll up behind me and wrap me in his tatted up arms, sweat beginning to form on his tatted up chest as he whispers into my thighs, with that sexy growl thugs seem to have ' i want to fuck you '

as eve says

i only take em thugged out/slighty bugged out/fuck with his tongue out/know the job ain't gettin done/till the body's gettin drug out/hot boy/keep me right/play your part/i'll keep it tight/where else you gonna be in the middle of night/but up in the sheets with me iight/gangsta/ true to your gang/street master/you the one i need when there's beef street blaster/aint afraid to stop a cat/plus pop a cat/soldier. cash. money. rule your world/what's topping that/ s-430 keep me on my toes/get a tingle in my spine/my spot only he knows.... (that was completely from memory).

when those moments of intense longing for a rough arm creep up on me, i play this song, smile at the next thug i see, contemplate giving him my number, and i sashay away, because i remember i passed that stage in my life a long time ago.

.kisses.



Missy Elliot feat. Nas & Eve - Hot boys
by dinidin

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nablopomo: i just want to be successful

a young boy sits on his stoop which overlooks the crowded street. not only crowded with people, and cars but it's crowded with dreams, egos, and faded memories.

images of silver and gold dances in his mind controlled by the buttons he pushes everyday at 5pm... i BET he sees cars, and flashy lights, sneaks fresh and clean bought with money he doesn't know how to work for, and women, beautiful as the day they were born as hoes, dancing along to the music which causes the chains to swing around necks below mouths spitting poisonous philosophies of greed.

that beautiful little boy thinks to himself. i want it all. what all is. he doesn't know, he can barely read or write, but he can jerk his ass of.

and jerk he does, jerks to the beats which fill his head and steals his mind. jerks his arms to take, incapable though of giving back. jerks his mamas heart as his focus goes from the power within to the power in man.

the whole time thinking. i want it all.

the first time i heard this song, i saw that little boy and it made me sad. don't get me wrong i love this song, it gets me hella emotional, and when it comes on the radio i turn it up, but it reminds me to look at my own definitions of success and it encourages me to teach the future what it means to be truly successful.

.kisses.

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nablopomo: my virgin ass never stood a chance.

i was 15. he was 18.
tall nigerian light skinned brother, beautiful african slanted eyes.

my virgin ass never stood a chance.

he wooed me that day he walked into my high school, chopped me in the stairwell, it was lust at first sight. he took me back to his friends basement apartment that day (yup i skipped school). my best friend at the time, telling me to go with him. and i couldn't even pronounce his name.

my virgin ass never stood a chance.

he picked me up from school every friday after we met. i thought i was the shit, walking out of school to see my man prince a. weak chicks looking at me swinging my hips into his car.

my virgin ass never stood a chance.

he tried to put it in one day, a few months after we met. i was small and tight. we had 'technical difficulties'. i said no. but he didn't care. he wanted to take me. and secretly i wanted him to.
i let him try again the next friday. he dug the hell out of me, i tore, i bled and i loved it.
i never said no anymore. i became his sex toy. he turned me into a sex freak, i owe who i am to him.

my virgin ass never stood a chance.

this was what i lost my virginity to.

.kisses.

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" so, i think your gorgeous "

it's funny how life and dare i say fate, turns on you. flips you the bird and laughs at you.

on wednesday i found out that i had been laid off from my job at a well known Insurance Co. OMG.... i sat on my bed in disbelief as my manager told me i was being terminated effective today.... and then i cried. not tears of pain, and anger, because i was expecting it, but tears of sadness because i would miss the few people i enjoyed working with. in the midst of my tears, i thought ' this is the worst time ever right now ', as i was just starting to go back to school, and planning on moving out next year. i was just starting to find myself. at 26 i am starting to find myself.

just a few hours after a wicked night of music and poetry, in which i shared a part of my soul, and got amazing feedback, i was told that i was being terminated. i must confess my first reaction was to curl up my butterfly wings and force myself back into my coccoon, but than i remembered what a very nice guy said to me as he waited (not so patiently) to talk to me during intermission..." so, i think your gorgeous ".

and then i cried tears of joy. amd i thank KW for terminating me, because now i can really find myself. at 26 i can really find myself. i can go after what i want, and do what i want. i am gorgeous, not only physically, but my light shines brightly from the inside and that's what is important to me.

that same night, E! told me i reminded him of a butterfly.... and like the butterfly, i will fly through the pollution, i will not conform, but i will adapt. this is survival of the fittest, and i have been working out my wings. i will fly around the middle fingers of life, and turn laughs into ohh's and awe's. and even in the darkness my bright ass colors will shine through. because i am 26, gorgeous and finding myself.





i am a butterfly, no longer having caterpillar dreams, but flexing my wings... la.moi to the world.

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