How Much They Hate It? Very!

*PINCHED NOTE*: Ya’ll may or may not (more so the latter) have noticed I’ve been a bit absent from this here eCrib. I have a good reason, tho! And it rhymes with Trip Benzy. Basically, I was over here hustling hard on my script game and managed to spit out a feature script (my 4th one in total!) in 30 days! Something I’ve never done before so quickly! So yeah, that had all my attention, Pinchers, but I’m back to give ya’ll some pinch-tention. Trust me, this cutesy “pinch” thing will get old soon. And I’ll STILL do it. Because I’m cornier than a husk.

Could this post feature ANY other picture? No, rhetorical answerer, the answer is no.

Hate.

If John Lennon was alive today (R.I.P. btw), he’d probably have an epic Twitter beef with 21st century “rappers” and “goons” about his infamous song title, “All You Need Is Love.”

Or at least that’s how it would happen in the delusional world called my imagination. Oooh! Imagining! Something else the late John Lennon was a proponent of.

The theory/act of hating (or… “Haterism” as I like to call it) has always intrigued me. Especially nowadays, where “hating” or “having haters” has the ability to trump any talk of love in common conversations. Le shock and horror!

There are a few components of Haterism that particularly… intrigue me for lack of a better word. “Intrigue me” can be loosely substituted with “cause me to make several o_O or -_O or e_O faces”, by the way.

1. Haters = Success. Oh? I totally get that negativity is a form of adrenaline and inspiration toward becoming successful, but I can’t help but think that this adage has gone a tad bit too far. In fact, there is an ACRONYM for the term, “haters.”

H.A.T.E.R.S. – Having Anger Toward Everyone Reaching Success.

And ya’ll KNOW ish has gone too far when there is acronym made from it. I’m kinda uncomfy with some folks’ implication that true success is measured from some douchebag that pisses in your Kool-aid AND it only gives undeserved ninjas carte blanche to use this as a means to confirmation of said success.

Which only brings me to…

2. Hating In Mirror Are Falser Than It Appears. Probably my biggest pet peeve regarding Haterism abuse is this:

FOLKS WHO HAVE LESS THAN ZERO THINGS TO HATE ON CLAIM TO HAVE HATERS.

THEE number one requirement to have haters is to have something to hate on. So, booboo on your 20in rims on a Honda Civic, Sir. Or booboo on your weave made from virgin molerats, Ma’am. Which of course, I have to get on my segway to segue to…

3. Legit Criticism ≠ Hating. Liken it to folks who call EVERY single thing “epic.” The very definition of “epic” loses all of the value because it isn’t distinct anymore. Same concept with hating. Not every single bout of criticism can be deemed as hating. I ain’t sorry bout 2004 nor am I sorry about that. You just gotta face it, sometimes the criticism ain’t coming outta nowhere. There actually is some basis behind it and it may be something to think about. Hell, it may be — gasp — constructive, and said to inspire you to do better because that person knows you can. PERISH the thought. And I’d also include the note to certain celeb stans that anything other than “glowing-gasm 100% positive comments” ain’t hating by default, but that would also require the assumption that they have sense. And I don’t have that assumption ability.  So, I won’t include it.

Even beyond the above ones I’ve mentioned, one of the most interesting and intriguing aspects of Haterism has been the idea that…

4. Hating Was Established On Venus. Meaning that, basically, hating is primarily a “chick thing.”

… JIGGER WHAT?! Allow me to express the feeling I have for that thought in the best way I know how: this.

Oh, because you happen to witness our hateration in this dancery in a more public manner, that means it’s the only proof of existence? Tell that to subtle racism. Anyway.

What I find more interesting is that ANY expression of a man commenting on another man is deemed “gay” (if my eyes rolled any more, they’d also rock), which automatically cancels out any public discourse. Welp, peer pressure! Doesn’t mean it ain’t happening, though. Besides, ain’t Drake slander ya’ll version of “she think she cute?”

Ok, I’m totally being tongue-in-cheek with that comparison. OR AM I???

But yeah, for some reason “women hating other women” is some grandiose issue that we only suffer from. On a whole ‘nother level, I have a feeling men kinda get off on women hating other women. Several months ago, there was some rumor on the internets about Idris Elba possibly dating a white chick. Now, I haven’t actually confirmed this to be true or found any updates… I was too busy living the #shruglife and continuing my leisurely hobby that consists of lusting after his pictures. But, when this rumor broke out, I expected to see TONS of women threatening to leap out of their desk chair to their death, but what I saw most of?

Men HA-ha-ing to all the Black chicks on some Nelson Muntz mess. Like, most of my Twitter timeline was FILLED with men Dougie-ing in celebration that all the Black Womenz were gonna go NUTS and hate on this hypothetical white chick. OR maybe they were glad the Woman-Idol wasn’t checking for them (because yes, dating ONE or even several non-Black chicks means you don’t like Black chicks at all -_-) because these men were always… I don’t know… hating on him? Awwwww, of course not!

Oh, and by the way, since this post is already long enough, I TRULY hope that by saying “men” or “women” is automatically assumed that I don’t mean ALL men or ALL women, because having to specify the exact number of (wo)men (separating them by race, class, height, weight, location, etc.) would take a whole bunch of time and eff up a sister’s word count like a mug. *smize*

Pinchers, what you think about Haterism in general? Has it now evolved to simple B.S. or is there still some validity to it… at all? Speak on it!

Love ya like Tupac hologram jokes love to come back as much as Tupac,

Cheekie

The Drama Of Death

How I look at my Twitter timeline during trying times...

With the most recent and tragic deaths of Don Cornelius and Whitney Houston (R.I.P. to them both and prayers go out to their respective family and loved ones), I’ve noticed how big their impact was on us. And with celebrities, in general. When they pass away, these momentous tragedies truly illustrate the kind of people we are… by how we react to them.

As an active member of social networking, I’ve witnessed the various ways people react to a celebrity’s death and it almost seems like a cycle. A cycle of key aspects that never seem to change. And I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. I mean, there are a lot of remarkable things that I’ve gotten out of social networking, but with the good inevitably comes the bad… or the annoying. I mean, hey, it comes with the territory.

I’ve been meaning to write about this over the years of witnessing the kerfluffle that arises after a celebrity’s death and the frustrations that stem from it and I’ve finally found the day… the inspiration.

I’m always a proponent of larger discussions growing from a tragic event (because sometimes, they are very necessary), but some particular discussions/statements not only distract from the death, they somehow one-up it in a way that doesn’t quite sit right with me. Still, they keep coming up, so I feel they should be addressed.

There are a few major (and common) statements that always seem to pop up that I have quite the beef and confuddlement with (spoken in 2nd person for effect; if you ain’t the “you” in these scenarios, no need to get any undergarments in a bunch)…

“You weren’t even a fan… until they died!” Hmmm, and you’d know this… how? I’d really love to know what constitutes a “fan” in your eyes. Are you ONLY a fan if you express your love for said celebrity everyday on every single social networking site during every second of the day? Because fans can’t possibly express their love in the privacy of their own homes, huh? I guess watching their movies, singing their songs, reading their books, watching their TV shows, hanging their artwork, donating to their charities — among other things — don’t happen until you shout it from the rooftops. Oh.

“Ya’ll don’t even mourn for your own family/regular folks this way!” Oh, really?? Here’s yet another example of ASSuming. Emphasis oh-so very intentional and obvious. The very thing that makes a celebrity a celebrity and a regular person a regular person is the number of people who know them. Or, of them, to be more accurate. Thing is, some folks don’t feel the need to mourn about their personal loved ones with strangers. And, hell, some do. Both are okay, too! But you’re too busy assuming what they didn’t do based on what they’re doing now. Based on a single, solitary event. What makes a celebrity death different is the bonding experience. We can ALL share in the fact that this celebrity has touched and affected our lives in some way. Whether that way be big or small, it was something. So, I have to sincerely ask, what is the harm in joining together in that? In celebrating what they (and their work) meant in our lives? Which brings me to, in summary,…

“The Mourning Olympics” This isn’t a particular statement or quote, but it’s what I like to call the collective war that occurs via the internet and leaves quite the bad taste in my mouth. The “who mourns the best” circus. I’ve always said this and I’ll say it again, “There is no right or wrong way to mourn a death. It just is.” There are a few things that are inherently personal and mourning is one of them. When I head to the internet to express my thoughts, grievances, and honoring after a celebrity passes away, the main component I see is the judgment of how other folks choose to mourn. Which pisses me clean the eff off. I’m sorry, but  — wait, no I’m not — I’m NOT sorry for how I choose to mourn a celebrity that had an impact on my life. And neither should you. Or you. What soothes you in these tragic times is right and appropriate for you. Eff what “rules” people (who are NOT you and will NOT have to sit with YOU and inside YOUR body at the end of the day) bestow on you. Who has the gall to bang a gavel on what is appropriate or not for you and your feelings? No mothereffing one but you, that’s who. So keep doing you, boo. I’ll be over here doing me. And the world will be a less tense place.

Like I said, I’m never one to block larger discussions that stem from death, but what is a discussion that goes nowhere? Is it a discussion at all? Intent means a lot and sometimes I feel folks who like to “call out” others for how they react to death care less about the celebrity they seem to be defending and more about their own superiority complex. Especially when their “defense” has no weight whatsoever.

I’ve always said that a person’s death has a larger effect on the people who are still here living on Earth. Someone’s death is always something that seems to happen to “us”, not so much what happens to them. Because we’re the ones who have to keep living with it. It’s all about perception. Overall, while we hope the person who has passed on rests in peace, we’re still here warring in unrest. Interesting…

Pinchers, what say you? What do you think about the conversation that stirs post-death? In particular, a celebrity’s death?

Love ya like Whitney loved to dance with somebody,

Cheekie

Friday Foolery: Bang The Tambourine (Using No Hands)

When you think of “Waka Flocka”, what is the first thing you think of?

…

I bet “gospel” wasn’t it. In fact, I’d wager that “gospel” would be about 489,723rd on the list.

Waka Flocka’s “No Hands” is probably one of my most favorite ratchet songs. I love to dance to it in the club and I think there’s something special about having that song as your soundtrack whilst bowling.

What I DON’T wanna be doing is giving praise to Jesus using a song about chicks using the law of gravity in order to make their rump move in a fluid motion, causing gentlemen to sprinkle currency with approval.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I completely understand the desire to make gospel music hip for the youngins. Totally valid. But, something don’t curl allaway over about using a song such as this. It’s much too sullied to try to rectify. Basically, ratchet and holy go together like roaches and lights.

Now, I wouldn’t be a strong proponent of the ol’ adage, “I can show you better than I can tell you” if I didn’t, ya know… put on a show:

Waka Flocka – No Hands (Christian Remix)

Praise My Live Commentary:

0:00 – Ah, this is just audio, by the way. Yeah, I wish there was accompanying video, too, but ain’t greed a deadly sin? Mmmhmm, check yoself. Oh, and the folks are apparently called, “WETHEBLESSEDtv.’ Aiight.

0:15 – YES lawd, let’s praise ‘em in advance. This world is over-populated so we need to be pre-ordering our praises, on the real.

0:29 – “All I wanna do is sit back and watch you move and see you manifest.” See, THIS is why this ain’t a good match. I cannot help but associate this song with skrippah moves and… just… *screams*

0:55 – Make it rain and he ain’t talmbout dollas! Yes! Thunderstorm SWAG.

1:02 – Ok, pause for a sec. I know there is no video with this, but I can’t help but look at the picture. Don’t ol’ dude in the middle look like a real life Bobby from “King of the Hill?” ( ._.) Ok, as you were…

1:20 – Definitely just busted out the dougie just now. Because that’s the official “praise dance” of today. I think…

1:48 – Dude said the sky is the limit but asked why he sitting higher. Ok?! You better GET your Buzz Lightyear on. Nothing can stop you! Not even infinity. Which it wouldn’t even try to because it’s too busy being continuous.

1:57 – “Every time I write a verse, paper catch fire.” -_- I’mma pray that he DON’T think that was as dope a line as he delivered it. Like, I could hear it in his voice. His voice is lying to him.

2:17 – Definitely feel like he just hopped out the bed, turned his swag OFF, then spit this verse.

2:31 – So, I gotta ask. Is Dizzle the Paul Wall of gospel?

2:57 – Dude singing now? His name is 300. I REALLY hope he yells out, “THIS IS SPARTA!”

3:02 – Rick Rawse of gospel. While I’m giving out names, I guess the first dude, KAO$ (-______-), is the Flo Rida of gospel. I have no idea why I called him that. Maybe because he kinda looks like him? Pray for me. For my special mind.

3:32 – Debt was paid by the king, indeed! Jesus had that GOOD credit. He went on Free Credit Score Dot Com and that sing-song-talky ninja was like, “Yeah, you approved for everything, woadie!”*

3:42 – I’mma say that to someone one day. Be like, “If you think I ain’t gon’ praise ‘em in advance, man please!” I kinda wanna go to some random place and say it. Like a butcher or something. While I’m ordering my Sara Lee Cajun turkey sammich meat, just bust out and say it.

*bangs tambourine with mighty fervor*

…

*repents after re-reading that mess I wrote up there*

Do me a favor, Pinchers. Sing this on Sunday. And video-tape it. Happy Friday, ya’ll.

Love ya like running brides love Filene’s Basement,

Cheekie

*He may or may not have said, “woadie” at the end, but the rest of it is scientific fact.

Better Late Than Never

This is what "care" looks like.

11:08pm EST. That was the moment Troy Davis’ fate was wrapped inside the state of Georgia’s hands. May he rest in peace.

One of the things I took away from the Troy Davis saga was that this was bigger than him. Even he seemed to know that. He knew of the energy surrounding him… an energy created by people he didn’t even know personally.

Troy Davis was sentenced to death in 1991. That was TWENTY years ago. Back then, I wouldn’t have ever imagined the juggernaut that social media has now become. Today, venues such as Twitter has become the average person’s source for major news… for knowledge.

The Twitter phenomenon surrounding a major event is always intriguing. This particular event was no exception. The vast array of emotions, arguments, misconceptions, ignorance, information… it was a lot. But, there was one major component of these tweets that stuck out to me and not in a good way.

Amongst all of the rallying in support for Mr. Davis, there was one sore thumb that stuck out like an unkempt hitchhiker: “Where were ya’ll 10 years ago? Why are you JUST now caring about this?!”

-________________-

This sentiment has ALWAYS irked me in one way or another. Why? Because it reeks of “I’m better than you” when competition is FAR from appropriate. We’re in competition in how we support now? Instead of… I don’t know… joining together in said support? Guess that’s too productive. SMH…

When I saw those tweets, I immediately had to get this out…

@pinchmycheekie – “Folks bashing others for “just” finding out about Troy shouldve used that fucking energy to spread the word. Ya know, since u care so much.”

And I still stand by that sentiment. Even more so after the turn of events that followed. All of the “late” concern formulated into huge rallies across the country, a sight that I couldn’t be more proud of.

It truly showcased just how powerful “word of mouth” is and by that extension, how powerful Twitter is as its device.

Two major issues I have with the “you cared too late” mentality.

1. You have NO way of knowing when exactly anyone cared about anything. Just because you are just now seeing someone speaking about it via ONE forum doesn’t mean that they “just” started caring. So, there’s that.

2. And even if they DID just started caring or JUST found out… so?! Where were they before? Where were YOU before you found out about something? Where was anyone before they learned a particular fact? We all have to “come across” or learn a fact at one point. Simple as that. It’s not about when they didn’t know, it’s about the fact that they know NOW… closely followed by what they will do with said knowledge.

This whole ordeal has been quite the nightmarish roller coaster. The country erupted with a sigh of relief when Troy’s stay of execution was announced. We all had that feeling that what we did… mattered. And then the Supreme Court denied it and soon after that, he was executed.

The same cynics that I argued against above may have felt a sense of “victory” in terms of their opinion, proving that it was too late. Except it wasn’t. It still mattered. We still mattered… HE still matters. I must repeat my thought at the beginning of this rant. This is bigger than Troy Davis. I know that, Troy Davis knows that… we know that.

The concern should NEVER be about when someone learns of something worth fighting for, the concern should be about the call to action afterwards. My main focus is that now that we know, let’s use this knowledge in a productive manner.

I think Troy Davis said it best in his last official written statement:

“The struggle for justice doesn’t end with me. This struggle is for all the Troy Davises who came before me and all the ones who will come after me. I’m in good spirits and I’m prayerful and at peace. But I will not stop fighting until I’ve taken my last breath.”

And we should not… WILL not stop fighting. In various ways. Hell, given the looming election season, I’d say this “care” is not only not too late, but right on damn time.

And that’s all I gotta say about that…

Love ya like protesters love making a difference,

Cheekie

Friday Foolery: Ridiculous Rumors

Trust me, this is relevant.

As you probably heard, the entire Black community did a collective faint when rumors of Jada Pinkett Smith and Will Smith separating surfaced. Some say it caused the east coast earthquake. Basically, it was major.

Thankfully, Will and Jada released a statement that shut down those rumors and continued their role as the Atlas of Black love.*

All was well with the world. Until. UN-TIL. I was watching E! News Wednesday evening and one of the talking heads mentioned that there were rumors swirling around alleging that Jada was having an affair with newly-divorcing Marc Anthony (also her costar on Hawthorne). o_O

Seriously, click this link right ‘chere. Ish said that Will caught Marc and Jada together in the Smiths’ home and “left crying.”

JIGGA WHOM?!!!

So, I hit up my sister from another mister, L Boogie, and told her of the allegations. The following occurred:

L Boogie: Woo!
me: jada pinkett was in a movie called woo, wasn’t she? random as fuck my bad lmao
L Boogie: LMAO lawd.
me: thats not entirely random
i mean it is… but it’s because theres been a lot of jada pinket news lately because of the rumor and they mentioned that movie lol
now niggas saying she fucked marc anthony
girl bye
L Boogie: Right?! She got Will, nigga!
me: RIGHT. what she look like fucking skeletor’s grandpa
man please
L Boogie: LMFAO
me: and even if they DO have an open marriage (the infidelity rumors would be for naught lol), she wouldn’t pick HIM lmao
L Boogie: eggsactlee
me: hilarity
L Boogie: she’s jada pinkett smith
me: jada motherfucking pinkett smith
L Boogie: Come the entirety of the hell on.
me: NOT the entirety
L Boogie: Lmfao
Cuz Marc Anthony is high on her list
O_-
me: the entire realm of hell doe lmao
RIGHT
out of all the hollywood niggas she knows. marc motherfucking jlo sloppy seconds anthony? oh ok.
…
me: ok like imagine marc even STEPPING to jada… what would he say?
L Boogie: BAILAMOS
wait.
whoops.
me: *hollers*
no, i really hollered. not internet hollered.
L Boogie: um
LET THE RHYTHM TAKE YOU OVER JADA, BAILAMOSSSSS TE QUIERO AMOR MIO
me: !!!!!!!!!!!
And she would give him an epic side-eye
L Boogie: *cackles*
me: like set it off proportions
L Boogie: and be like “oh so you think i like that sh!t?”
me: seriously, marc WAS enrique, the stranger bish version wasn’t he?
L Boogie: *thinks back over the years* yeah, i’d agree
me: they were out the exact same time. marc was like “is there room for me?”
L Boogie: how does D list Marc Anthony get to even be in the same room as A list by marriage Jada Pinkett Smith?
me: RIGHT. in fact, he d-list now because j.lo. welp!
L Boogie: who holds that invite list?
*rimshot*
me: OH!! and while I was researching, there were reports that… brace yourself…
L Boogie: *braces*
me: will WALKED in on the two of them and… LEFT CRYING
L Boogie: no mouf doe
me: IN HIS HOME
L Boogie: WTF
O_O
WHAT ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DID THAT HAPPEN IN
Will MF’in Smith?! leaving his house, crying ?
me: He is motherfucking WILL smith. HE INVENTED raphael de la ghetto
L Boogie: he ain’t cried since 7 Pounds!
me: ok?! I know he’s an epic crier and all that, but not over this melting wax figure!
L Boogie: and Marc Anthony gon be the reason his tear ducts sign a new contract?
eggsacklee.
shoo.
me: Like, he gon’ cry bout that dayum dog SAM before he cry over some former mr j.lo
L Boogie: what lifetime movie are the tabloids tryna write?
me: ok?!
L Boogie: hell, i’m sure he’d cry over a broken fingernail before he cried over marc anthony.
me: bingo
How is Marc gonna overthrow ANYONE who actually survived Gettin Jiggy Wit It? Come on now.
L Boogie: !!!
(na na na na nana na)
me: *does the dance at my computer*
L Boogie: Marc prolly thought Will was down when Will did “Welcome to Miami”
since he said Bienvenidos a Miami in it.
NAWL SON
me: Man you probably right. smh. he reaching like a dayum rubber band, yo
L Boogie: mmhmm.
me: plus, ain’t he Jada’s HEIGHT?!
he look like it
L Boogie: might be shorter.
i think he may wear low heels, tryna steal Prince’s swag.
me: *snort*
And Jada would be like, “Ma’am. You must be this tall to ride*points to cardboard cut-out of Will*”
L Boogie: and then he would try to sing his way onto the ride
 do we even know a Marc Anthony song?
me: Girl, you have no idea HOW hard my brain has been working to think of one
I knew one before but… *blink*
L Boogie: *opens spotify*
*spotify does not recognize artist*
WELP
me: LMAOOOOOO

O_O Lawd, that was so wrong it was right. Did we HAVE to go in on that po’ man like that? Apparently so. Since we ain’t feces (props to That Damn African for this phrase; and NO, TDA, this does not count as influencing a Friday Foolery post).

Pinchers, do the opposite of being a sweet liar and tell me the truth. Do you honestly think a Marc Anthony/Jada Pinkett Smith affair could happen?

Have a weekend full of foolery!!

Love ya like peaches love cream,

Cheekie

*What I mean is that they have the burden of carrying the entire image of Black love on their shoulders. Or more accurately, their union does.

The 5 Senses Of Me

"I see weird people."

I am so damn weird.

I think I’ve illustrated this fact in many ways throughout my eCrib. Today, however, I figured I’d have a little creative fun with how I share the little eccentricities that make up… me.

I got this idea while randomly mentioning a smell I’ve always been bizarrely fond of with the eTwinny, Beez. Then we went on some deep and philosophical diatribe on how smell was the strongest sense of memory and all that jazzy bebop. And by “deep and philosophical diatribe”, I mean “approximately 4-6 lines of Gchatting about boys and cologne.”

Anywho.

It got me thinking of the five senses and I said to myself, “Lady Self*, I wonder if there are other random neurosis I have that are attributed to each of the five senses?” Guess I’ll answer that question right here and now… starting with the sense of inspiration:

1. Smell – What is the smell that has bizarrely captured my deviated septum? Gasoline. And just to be clear (on some crystal ish), I’m not talkin’ Love Liza levels; I don’t walk around getting high off gasoline. I just happen to think the smell is pleasant. And I especially loved it as a kid. I distinctly remember riding to the gas station with one of my adult family members, turning to look at everyone’s scrunched up faces and realized that I was smiling. Because, I enjoyed the smell. I have no idea what I loved about it and it’s not like I’d buy “Eau De Petro” to spray on myself if it existed, I just… did. And hilariously enough, as I got older and interacted with more and more people (especially since becoming enthralled with the internets), I realized this bizarre trait wasn’t as uncommon as I thought it was. Ya’ll some weirdos, for real.

2. Sight – “Why do you notice that stuff? I’m convinced you just attract crazy people!” This is what my big sis always tells me. And… *looks at the fools I interact with during work days*… she may be right about that “attract crazies” part. But, the real reason why I notice the little details that others may not is because I’m very observant. I don’t just see, I view. The little details I notice are a complete oxymoron to my squinty eyes, lemme tell ya. But, I’ve always been that way. As a kid, I had quite the active imagination. Blame the writer in me. I love to people-watch and every seemingly small moment is a potential movie scene to me. I can sit and watch people while constructing little dialogue scenes in my head for hours. I’m a daydream believer and yet I was never Homecoming Queen. What part of the game is that?!

3. Hearing – There was a little something that Miss Patterson wrote over at her spot called, “Flirting 101 At Ava Bar & Lounge” and it stuck out to me. She mentioned not being the greatest at hearing things and would just smile & nod after reaching the “Huh?”-question limit. And I could actually relate. Especially with mumblers, fast-talkers, or those with thick foreign accents.** And I can be a mumbler/fast-talker myself. I guess we all do that when around folks we’re used to. However, I’m so bad that I always choose the subtitle option when I’m watching a movie. Yeah, even when it’s in English. I’m a stan for good dialogue so I never want to miss a good line. So, since I don’t mind “reading my movies” (thus, I luh me some foreign films) and reading the lines usually cements them in my memory for future referencing, this works for me.

4. Taste – As linked above, I have a funny relationship with food. But, there is probably no taste that resonates with me quite like the combination of candy and water. Jigga what?! Jigga yes. I enjoy my candy with ice cold water. ALWAYS. And any type of candy, really. Chocolate or fruity. Though, I favor the latter. Refrigerated Gummi Bears and ice water, for example, gives me more life than blood pumping through my veins. There is something about the sensation I get from gulping down freezing water after chewing up a piece of candy that I can’t quite explain. All I know is that it makes me happy. I remember I bonded with this goofy gay guy in high school MAINLY because he also liked the candy/water combo as well as making goofy comments in class which made us laugh until we cried. Good times. Scratchin’ and survivin’.***

5. Touch – Let’s not even talk about how I can’t keep my hands out of my hair. Well, not yet. Stay tuned. As far as touch goes, in general, I can’t keep my hands off certain textures. Feel good textures like cuddly pillows. And even textures that creep or gross me out. A couple years ago, I inexplicably developed hives (hence why I don’t just refer to my skin as sensitive, it’s emo), leaving me with random bouts of dermatographism (read up on it here, it’s insane as all hell) whenever I scratched at the itchy hives. And even though the inflamed red spots freaked me out in every which way, I couldn’t help but touch them… to feel them (and the craziest part about it was how quickly the spots just vanished, even as offensive as they appeared). It’s how I feel about mosquito bites, errant bumps, or any other weird texture I come across. I MUST investigate it through my hands. What can I say? I’m a toucher. Maybe that explains my love for hugs. I like to cop feels? ( ._.)

Pinchers! Now that I’ve completely turned you off from me shared a bit MORE of what makes me an oddity, it’s your turn. And please have fun with my “5 Senses” structure. Are there things attributed to each sense that makes you… you?

Love ya like Charlotte loves her some terrific, radiant, humble pig, Wilbur,

Cheekie

*Of COURSE my self has been knighted. For one, Keisha Brown calls me “Lady Cheeks” and she’s a (fellow) Leo, thus a queen. Alas, my knighthood is legit.
**And when I say “foreign”, I mean anything outside what is familiar to where I live. Whether that be outta state OR out of country. Because, yes, EVERYone has an accent. Yeah, even you. We just say other people do because they sound different. Because, from another person’s perspective, you have an accent and THEY don’t.
***Do ya’ll, like me, wonder if they’re talkin’ about a crackhead in the “scratchin’ and survivin’” lyric of the Good Times theme song?

A Senseless Scare

No reason to be afraid of this. In fact, it's unintentionally hilarious.

As everyone knows, I am quite the thug. o_O

And yet, even I am afraid of some things. Of course there’s the usual things that most people are afraid of such as bugs, rabid dogs, and Chuck Norris… but when you have as active (and ratchet) of imagination as me, some of your fears can end up making little to no sense. I call them “irrational fears.”

I was Gchatting instead of working with the lovely Keisha Brown about something random (most likely, NOTHING having to do with what it eventually segued to, knowing me), when I told her, “Ya know, I have a lowkey fear of quicksand.”

-__________________-

Backstory swag.

When I was about 10 years old, I went through a phase when I was totally obsessed with Disney’s The Jungle Book (the live action, Rudyard Kipling version) and I watched it a hunnid trillion times a week. Well, there was this one scene where one of the characters (if my geriatric memory serves me right, he was a bad guy) accidentally landed in a huge pool of quicksand. As soon as he realized where he was, he jerked and writhed in an attempt to get out (and everyone who knows about quicksand knows that if you struggle, it only makes you sink faster) and next thing you know, his entire body was submerged in a dark quicksand abyss.

Lemme tell you somethin’. I was SPOOKED. Ever since then, I basically teetered between “having some idea that quicksand is a myth” and “being totally careful when I walked along the beach.” In fact, I still don’t quite know. Well, until I Wikipedia’d it just now. <<~~ Yeah, that Aha! Moment right there? Was LIVE. Exclusive.

So, yeah, quicksand is indeed real, but it is virtually impossible for a human to be totally sucked into it. Whew! Weight. Lifted. Let’s not even talk about how I lived absolutely NOWHERE that had the climate where quicksand usually dwells and I justified this by assuming that quicksand could somehow form at the beach surrounding Lake Michigan. SMH @ my obviously public education.

Hence, said fear was very irrational. Here are a few other irrational fears I have…

– The Thunderstorm. See, this is where my imagination gets the best of me. Blame it on “Youngest Child With Only Child Tendencies” syndrome (which is what you get when your siblings are 14 years older than you). I wasn’t necessarily afraid of the thunderstorm itself (though I did have a slight fear of being struck my lightening every time I walked under a tree, because that’s where it ALWAYS happens o_O), but whenever I’d hear a thunderclap… I always thought we were at war. Like, I thought another country attacked us. I have no idea why this immediately came to mind other than learning about some World War in school at the time, but ever since then, when I heard a huge “boom!”, I thought a missile hit my neighborhood. Because that’s what an enemy country would attack first if the United States pissed them off. The effing Southside of Chicago.

– The Bridge. The drawbridge, to be specific. In downtown Chicago, there are several bridges that cross the Chicago River and some of them rise to let the boats pass through. Well, I’ve always had a fear that the bridge would let up while I was in the middle of walking across it. I have this vivid reoccurring DAYmare where I stroll across the bridge, then I hear a loud beeping and the bridge splits into two parts, causing me to either fall in between the split (like ol’ dude in Titanic… wasn’t that the worst way to perish, evah? Actually, that movie features a ton of “worst way to perish evah” moments, but allow me to digress) or slide down one side at an alarming speed and crash into… Jeebus knows what. Whatever the scenario, it scared the ever-living frick and frack out of me. Despite me never hearing of this ever happening to anyone before. (I sweahfogawd if any of ya’ll link it, I will tell my mama on you). *shudder*

Pinchers, do you have any irrational fears? PLEASE share so that I don’t feel alone in my insanity. Basically, let’s turn my eCrib into an asylum. (._.)

Love ya like telenovelas love slapping,

Cheekie

Somethin’ For Side-Eyes: Let It Marinate

 

His last name is “Johnson”, and he’s getting soaked. What I did there… you see it?

Sometimes you come across a story in the media and the only thing you can muster at the time is:

o_O

Yeah, that’s kinda how I felt when the homie, Keisha Brown decided to share this. <<~~ That is probably not so safe for work.

After a little bit of shock, awe, confuddlement, and questions from the title alone, I decided to read up a little bit more on it. The article discusses the art of “dick-soaking”, which has apparently been practiced within the Mormon faith for quite some time. Hit up the Urban Dictionary definition (#2) here.

Basically, this practice is about men being able to marinate their man-parts on some dick Lawry’s ish so that they can feel the bliss that is the cooch-hug, without actually getting to the happy ending.

This all brings up a couple of points:

– Loosely Defined. Of course, the modernization of many societal aspects (such as technology or media) includes sex in some form. I mean, it makes sense that the main thing that drives our choices (other than money) would be altered in a way to match the changing world we live in. Mormonism, at its purest, is a very strict practice and yet the many young folks that are born into it are expected to adapt to it, despite the fact that the world today is leaning toward… well… not-so-strict. This paradox leads the younger generation toward changing the definition of what constitutes as sex so that they can feel better about possibly going against their strong morals. And the strong morals bring me to…

– Holier Than Thou? Not So Much. Lemme get this 180 degrees straight from the jump. I’m not one to look down on anyone’s faith just because it doesn’t mirror mine. Hell, the way I see it, we have one main thing in common: We have faith. What I cannot stand is the hypocrisy laced within being holier-than-thou.* I mean, being involved in this peen-soaking method pretty much excludes you from standing on a high moral pedestal, in my honest opinion. And this is not to say that everyone who practices this religion (or any other one that doesn’t condone pre-marital sex) are holier-than-thou, because that’s obviously not true. My point is that if do you feel that you can be holier than thou and still partake in this… well, you can’t. I mean, at one point, any penetration meant sex, now it’s only if there’s geyser explosion involved?  So, I guess that means that the TONS of women who believe they haven’t yet experienced an orgasm during penetrated sex are still virgins? Oh.

Ah well, lemme digress ASAPtually. Pinchers, the (heated) floor is yours. What say you? Speak (er… type) on it.

 

Love ya like Ochocinco loves to believe his last name means “eighty-five”… except it doesn’t,

Cheekie

 

P.S. Yeah, so a former Mormon says this entire practice is falseness, but then a commenter on this post says that it is true and has been for years. Whoever to believe, I think the above post is still relevant even if ONE person is doing it…

 

 

 

*This is not dissimilar to Huckabee lambasting Natalie Portman for getting married outta wedlock and “parading” it around, even though no one remembers any similar statements when Bristol Palin, Sarah Palin & Co did the same thing, arguably at a higher rate. Funny, since the main difference between the two girls is that one is GROWN and the other one was a minor. Huh. I mean, if you’re gonna judge, judge all the way around, not only for folks that share your agenda. And for the record, I don’t see anything “wrong” with either case.

Walk It Out

 

If you’re gonna walk, walk like him.

Man, February is over already?

Anyways, doe.

Living and working in the second city, I’ve learned to become a professional walker. When you work downtown especially, having a car is more of a burden than a benefit. Spending a week’s meal on parking is not where it’s at. Anyhow, there is a certain finesse to being a downtown pedestrian in a big city, and unfortunately, not everyone has perfected that. Hell, some have barely touched the surface.

These people have helped create some of my Pedestrian Pet Peeves. Want me to share them with you? You’re welcome:

– The Pause. Picture this. You’re rushing toward the train station, hauling ass, and breathing like oxygen has beef with your lungs. You’re zigging and zagging in between 50-lem people (while cursing that too many effing people live in Chicago) when all of a sudden, the person right in front of you stops. Just stops in the middle of the damn sidewalk. To text Jesus on their smartphone, to acknowledge Hammer Time… who knows what. Point is, they’re in your way and halting your ability to be great.* I cannot deal with folks that ack (yes, ack) like they’re the only ones using the sidewalk. Those who do this? Don’t get mad when you get bumped into due to the fact that my legs don’t have anti-lock breaks during rush hour. And, tourists, I LOVE your doe-eyed innocence in reaction to our city and please don’t think I hate you in general (because anyone will become a tourist if they travel, thus should sympathize), but PLEASE don’t pick the hour right before 9am and/or the hour right after 5pm to stop and take pictures. You’re not gonna get the best impression of the city’s patrons. Trust.

– The Slow-Mo. If you hang around me long enough, you’ll hear me say at least once, “Everything is better in slow-motion.” The over-dramatization, the deep voice… all of it is pure hilarity. The one exception? Walking downtown. Walking behind someone walking much too slowly is probably worse than walking behind the abrupt stopper. Because sometimes, when you try to cut off the slow walker by going around them, they somehow swerve to the same side that you’re trying to go toward, causing this whole mess of cartoony frustration. For those of you that work downtown in a large metropolitan-esque city, you realize you have to learn what I call “The Downtown Strut.” And that’s when you walk faster than normal in order to blend in with everyone else who seems to be in a rush. Even if you’re not in a rush, at least pretend as if you are. Hell, I’ve embraced The Downtown Strut so deeply, I don’t even think I ever walk slowly. It’s that serious.

– The Huddle. I don’t ask for much but I’mma PLEAD for this. Look, I know that being around your friends is lovely and you all love to be together forever. However. I’mma need you not to look like you’re performing the riverdance while walking down the sidewalk. I cannot with a group of folks who MUST stand on the side of each other, blocking the entire sidewalk. The “walk on the right side” rule is there for a reason. So that both sides of “traffic” are able to get through effectively. If you’re in a group of 4 (hell, sometimes 3 depending on how small the sidewalk is), it would be fab if two of you walked behind the other two. I’m sure you’ll live. I mean, more people ultimately will live because you’ll be avoiding a street brawl caused by a simple “Um, move!”

So, those are just a few of my fellow pedestrian pet peeves. Pinchers, what are some of yours? And yeah, us pedestrians aren’t the best in relationship to drivers, so drivers might as well speak their annoyances here, too. I DO admit, some of my pedestrian peers do some STUPID ish such as not allowing something that weighs 10 times as them… win.

 

Love ya like James Franco loves to be as high as a kite in Afghanistan,

Cheekie

 

 

 

*In this instance, “being great” is equivalent to “catching your train on time so that you don’t end up doing the ‘fail face’ as you watch the train leave you.”

With Age Comes… More Time Spent On Earth

This is a learned brotha right here.

There are a lot of universally accepted truths. Such as “two wrongs don’t make a right” or “two terms don’t make a Popular-Vote elected President.” These are things we’ve come to accept due to them being true more often than not. However, there are things called “exceptions.” And not just any ol’ exceptions, ones that occur enough to cause us to take notice.

One of these exceptions is age. There are several connotations associated with it, by default. Which is cool, because like I said above, they’re mostly true. However, I think it’ll benefit us all if we didn’t automatically assume certain things because we’re gonna end up butthurtedly disappointed. Much like life ain’t black or white, I figure we should vet folks on a case-by-case basis.

The following aspects, in particular…

– The Wisdom. Yes, me, you, yo mama, yo cousin and the shady DJ at yo family reunion knows the saying: “With age comes wisdom.” See, sometimes I gotta flash a bit of “o_O” at how widely accepted it is. And if not a side-eye, at least a slight hesitation. While I don’t want to sound like one of those “know-it-all youngins” that elders (rightfully) can’t stand, my stance is this: NO one knows everything.* And how long you’ve been chillin’ on the 3rd rock from the sun has no real influence on how much you do know. My motto has always been and will always be “quality over quantity.” What truly dictates wisdom is experience. And, sure you are more “likely” to have more experience with age, but it’s not always the case. Take for example, a 80-year-old lifelong-hermit and a 30-year-old world traveler. Yes, two extreme examples, but hey, how you know it can’t happen? The latter of the two obviously has more quality life experience. Would you still take on the worldy advice of the older person simply because they’re older? And this is a sincere question that I’d love answered in the comments. I’ll pinch ya for it!

– The Maturity. The simple fact that there are still grown men roaming the streets in zoot suits coming at females incorrect on some, “ayo shawty” ish and grown women wearing coochie dresses to a Justin Bieber concert kinda wins my argument for me. But, allow me to expound a bit. There is something truly unnerving about shaking my head at a person that society tells me to respect, by default. I mean, ain’t these roles supposed to be reversed? Not unlike wisdom, I believe maturity is linked with experience. Certain occurrences in life either force or guide you into maturation. And those experiences may pop up in your 37th year or even your 19th year. It happens. Every damn day. And how close you are to receiving your AARP membership card in the mail has little to nothing to do with it.

– The Love. This one probably confuddles me the most because I don’t exactly know the basis. Maybe it’s my young ignorance? *winksandnudges* A common phrase I’ve heard throughout my life is “You’re too young to be in love, just have fun” or “You’re too young to know what love is.” Oh, so now feelings have an age cap? And if so, what exactly is the universally-designated minimum age that someone can know love? I mean, sure there are certain developmental stages we encounter and surpass as we’re growing, but even those aren’t concrete. Everyone’s experience is different. And as far as the first quote, I truly appreciate the sentiment because sure it is ideal to be “free” and flock the streets as much as you can while you’re young, but when you’re truly in love, do you really wish to be anywhere else? If I’m not mistaken, the “regret” for being in love doesn’t show up until it’s done. If it even shows up at all. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from several of my elders, the best thing to do is to “live in the here and now.” Luther.

I’ve asked more questions than a damn question mark so I’m just gonna refer you to the questions up there, Pinchers. Oh, I do have one more: What other universally accepted aspects of aging do you rebuke or question? Speak your thoughts, your piece, and drop your mic on the way out.

 

Love ya like Lil’ Kim loves Paypal,

Cheekie

 

 

 

*Ok, maybe Stephen Hawking.