December 4, 2001
Phlegm Balls, Genital Warts and The Jetson Era
Whudat bitter bitch hollerin at ya’ll mad late? Yup, it’s me, finally here to throw su’thin at ya’ll even though I’m bout 2 weeks late bringin the shit to you. Shhhhhhh! Maybe Chris won’t notice I’m late, let me put this hat on and these shades, fully incog-negro for the moment. I’m still recoverin from last night, the club was off tha hook. The only thing I know is that I drank a lil too much, cuz I was bobbin and weavin, and dippin and divin through the crowd, to tha bathroom to piss every 5 minutes.
It was just one of them nights. From what I can remember and from what my homegirls tell me, it was mad fun. I guess I was getting kinda tipsy and ackin a fool, dancing my ass off and freakin on the dancefloor, I wasn’t tryin to hear that I was drunk; I was buzzin but definitely not drunk, never that. While you out dancing you aint feelin the shit, it’s when you stop movin that it kicks in. The room moves and you laughin your ass off when nothing remotely funny is even goin on. You know you might be drunk when half the men in the joint are looking as good as Allen Iverson, you don’t mind some dude dancing so close behind you that he’s poking you in the ass, and you find yaself actually giggling at the corny ass lines and weak game some of these men be runnin. He did look like Allen Iverson though.. mmm, mmm mmmm. I digress… Hit the deck while I throw this bitter shit at you right quick while Chris aint looking.
Speakin of tha club
There should be a new dance called the head shake, cuz that’s all I can do when I see some of these people at the club.. when I aint too tipsy to notice. I could go on and on about the different types of people who I see in the clubs, but I’m a lazy bitch, so I’ma only do a few here. Try to figure out which one I am, It might be hard cuz ya’ll aint geniuses like me. Then try to figure out which one you are...stop lyin to yaself.
- Tha Ho (hoe) - A chick who frequents the club every Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, she arrives when the club opens and is usually the last one to bounce. Her main objective is to go home with at least one man, not really caring that she don’t know him or that this same dude jus slipped su’thin into her drink. Clothing of choice is anything that exposes at least 70% of her body. The only parts covered will be the nipples and coochie area; most often the percentage of skin shown rises dramatically through the night after adding alcohol into the equation. This is the chick that dances with anything with 3 legs in a 10 foot radius, let’s them cop a free feel, and convinces herself they really feelin her so sleeps with them the same night, falling for every single one of their corny played out lines. She usually ends up back at the same club the next weekend searchin out a new man for the night, but this time with a fresh tube of prescription cream in her pocket for the genital warts she’s picked up along the way.
- Tha Loser (loo-zer) - This can apply to a male or female that often frequents the club just to end up standing alone near the bar all night. Their sole reason for paying the cover to get in is to stand, watch, but never join the action. The clothing of choice is usually whatever they pick out the closet that night. These people usually end up the same way they came…alone. Save yaself the cover charge and the embarrassment; grab a six pack and make it a blockbuster night.
- Tha "Playa" (play-ah) - This can also be a male or female but applies to the male species far more than female (sorry ladies.) This is the man who stands around scooping out potential ho’s (see section A for more details) then proceeds to dance with numerous women, trying all his lines out as he makes his way through the crowd to tha “perfect” ho who buys the lines, buys him a drink, lets him cop a feel, then goes home with him that night. The playa’s main goal is to either take a chick home or get more phone numbers than his homeboys get. The fact that ¾ of the numbers are fake don’t matter. His clothing of choice is usually whatever is hot right now, all tha tight gear, half of it he borrowed from his brother’s closet and the other half of the outfit still has the tags on it for prompt return to tha store on Sunday afternoon. Tha playa usually ends up waking up at some strange ho’s house, discovering the condom broke and visiting the doctor for yet another tube of cream for his genital warts.. right after he returns his gear.
- Tha Monogamous Club-Goer (almost married, taken, spoken for) - Again this applies to more males than females, but it’s almost equal. For examples sake, we’ll go with a female *wink* This is the chick that’s in a long term relationship but spends more time at the club than with her significant other. Clothing of choice is usually casual and sexy, no matter what the wear they end up looking cute instead of nasty. These are the chicks that get money from their man to go to the club, drink their asses off, got mad men hollerin at em, get freaky on tha dance floor with tha finest men up in tha joint, give out fake phone numbers, and on their return home when their man asks, “What you do tonight?” The monogamous club chick laughs and replies “Oh, nothin.” These chicks usually end up happy and very satisfied; they get their time away from their man, have some fun and tease the men. It’s all good, as long as they keep it on the down low.
The men in this category usually end up with more drama than they came with. They forget to toss the numbers, run their mouf bout the chicks they meet at the club, and basically aint slick enough to keep it on the DL, which ends with them losing their girl, but gaining a new club ho and a fresh case of tha warts.
- Tha Fatties (fat-eez) - I aint gonna hate on no one’s size, but hear me out before you start trippin. This applies to just females…strictly chicks. These are the females who weigh between 200 and 300 pounds yet dress nasty and shake they ass like they a buck twenty. If your weight falls in this range but you dress and act right, you are not, I repeat, are not a fatty. Clothing of choice is anything that is not in their size, or even in the vicinity of their size. Anything from coochie cutters, to tank tops and halter tops, jus as long as they are at least 10 sizes below the one they should be wearing. Tha main factor in their method of dressing is to make sure multiple rolls of fat are visible to the naked eye at any given moment; they think any show of skin is good. The fatties are the chicks in the middle of tha dance floor thinking they the shit; dancing their asses off and hopefully sweatin off some pounds too. Very rarely are they dancing with anyone of the opposite sex, usually just their fellow fatties. The fatties usually end up alone and sweaty, very sweaty. Just a tip: Pick up a copy of sweatin to the oldies and shake that thing at home, when ya done, then come back and see us.
Now these, of course, are just a few. You may or may not fall into one of these categories, but knowin ya’ll it’s highly unlikely that you don’t associate yaself with one or more of these types. Don’t hurt ya neck doin the head shake, and make sure your Medicaid is up to date when you need another dose of antibiotics.
Let the Phlegm Flow
Otay so the real reason I was takin forever and a day to write this edition of the bitter truth is cuz I was sick; hell, I’m still sick. This is the longest cold I done ever had in my life. The never-ending flow of phlegm, the chills, the iron lung cough. You know how it go, someone comes over ya house to chill sayin they jus got allergies or su’thin, they start hackin they lungs up all over yo shit without coverin their dirty moufs, and bang, all a sudden your nose is drippin worse than the leaky faucet in the bathroom and you fightin your man over the Nyquil.
..Wait a minute.. That bitch drank it all, I seen him do it. He can deny it all he wants. "Word Up, I’ma scratch yo eyes out if I find out you did; dirty, stankin bitch."
So you sittin there with the chills and cold as fuck, even though you got every blanket in a 10-mile radius wrapped up around your whole body, but you forever wiping sweat off your forehead. You aint had no sleep in days cuz your nights been spent coughin your ass off and watchin late night tv. You start to feel evil, comin up with a plan on how you’ll fuck with your man for drinkin that Nyquil. You feel mighty vengeful sittin in the dark at 3am, coughin up phlegm balls, stuffin tissues up yo nostrils, and countin the bags under your eyes while that infomercial for the George Foreman grill is on every channel for the hundredth time.
But somewhere along the way, you cave in and take that generic Tussin; watered down and a bargain for yo po ass at $2.00 a bottle. This shit prolly won’t work, but you P-Noid that you bout to cough so hard that one of your lungs is literally going to fly out your mouth. The first dose aint working. Try some more, and more. Soon you downin the tussin like you doin shots at the club.
One of Yo homegirls calls and the first thing out her mouth is “ewwww you sound like shit” Thanks bitch, I did not know that. She goes on to tell you what she does when she gets sick, and what her momma do, her man, his grandma, and errybody else she can think of that has some ole off the wall home remedy. When you sick everybody and they grandma got some bullshit remedy for you. I heard everything from rubbing wet tea bags on my cheeks, to wrappin my neck in a warm towel. Where the fuck do ya’ll people come up with this shit? Is there a crackhead book of home remedies? Fuck that, let me just refresh the tissue in my nose, and leave me the hell alone.
*Lights Out*
Day 10 of my cold and still feel like shit. Still gnawing on the cough drops and perfecting the insertion of tissue into my nostrils to stop the post nasal drip, the phlegm is still flowin out of every orifice, but the deliriousness has subsided. Shit is still a lil thick and I’m feelin a tad evil... yup, everything is getting back to normal.
More Tech, More Drama?
Ya’ll remember back when we all thought that the year 2000 would bring forth massive technological advances that would have us in flying cars and machines that would make our food and shit? That Jetson type shit? We thought we were on the verge of some next level shit. I guess you could say we’ve done well, we’re half way there. But it’s like the whole mo money mo problems thang, with all this technology comes more headaches, more hassles and less moolah in our pockets.
Didn’t anyone think about how the hell we were gonna pay for all this shit? Did anyone think that this shit might have a flip side to it? It aint even all this techie type shit either, everything has changed, microwaves, ovens, radios, phones, tv’s...
Take the phone, most of us been using cordless for a minute, the difference is that now they don’t have those long ass antennas smacking you in the face.
They come in mad styles and colors, and the phone service comes with call waiting, caller ID, *69, voice mail, call forwarding and on and on. We got it where people can tell it’s your ass on the line before they even hear the first ring. If you hang up on someone or get a wrong number, you’ll get a return phone call within 2 minutes. You thinking.. "Who dat?" Got dayum that *69.
Now you got this person all in yo bu’ness askin who you are, why you call them, and why the fuck you hung up on them. A whole lotta drama, unnecessary drama. If I ever meet the “genius” who came up with *69, I’ll do like Bernie Mac and bust their heads till the white meat show.
I also enjoy the call waiting beeps. They always seem to come while *BEEP* you having a *BEEP* deep ass *BEEP* conversation.
Voice mail is great, when it aint having the usual technical difficulties, like, deleting all your messages.. which has been known to happen from time to time. Again, causing unnecessary drama, getting your man upsetted, askin, “Why you aint call me back?"
None of these so called technological advancements are perfect, nor do we even like all of them. Yet everyday some next level shit hits the market: digital cable, satellite radio, internet ready cell phones, high definition tv’s.. the list goes on and on, always goin up one more notch.
Yeah, it’s just lovely like that in the 21st century. We’ve advanced technology so much, so that these can exist, but how many of us actually got all this shit, want all this shit, and can afford it?
Everything nowadays is digitally enhanced, wireless, hands free, and cost way too much money.
Half of us still drivin around in our rusty 1991 Honda Civics, working our asses off for minimum wage, adjusting the aluminum foil on our 19 inch tv’s just to peep Steve Harvey, and using our friends computers to download mp3’s; making them bootleg cd’s cuz we can’t afford the real one.
I aint sayin it’s a bad thing that we’ve advanced technologically, seriously, who woulda thought we’d get to where we are?
My point is that for all the technology we have, we also have unnecessary complications and personal drama to go along with it. I got enough problems and drama in my life for the time being; I don’t have to pay for it to get it.
Half the shit we could do without, but we’ve gotten so used to it that we’d be lost without it.
If I can’t hop on the Internet for at least an hour each day, I’m not a happy camper.
If I call someone and get a busy signal, you’ll find me trippin, "This bitch aint got call waiting? What the fuck is this shit?” *sigh*
Now let me go check my e-mail while I rub these tea bags on my cheeks, wrap a towel around my head, and dance in a circle, doing the Indian "heal me now" dance.. muthafuckin home remedies.
Until next time keep it bitter and talk much shit.
Smoochies!
- Shortycake aka That Bitter Chick aka Trish
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