Got My Grown On

 

Deuces.

I blame Toys R Us. With their catchy commercial songs about not wanting to grow up due to being a Toys R Us kid. And their backward R’s.

Blame them for what, you may ask?

Well, even if you may not ask, I’ll tell you. I’m giving in that way. For those who know me (or even a teensy bit about me), you know that I’m sort of a big kid. And I think that all started when I started seeing those commercials. I took that ish to heart.

However, at some point, I decided to throw up the trigger and the middle finger to Never-Neverland. While I ‘ll never fully disengage from my playful identity I did realize at one point that it was time to get to bidness.

There comes a point in your life when you truly feel that you’ve crossed the threshold from child to adult. And it ain’t really when you’ve hit your 18th birfday and are no longer attractive to Kels. It ain’t even when you hit your 21st and are legally able to drink. I think it’s more of a moment rather than a birthdate.

I probably first felt like a true adult when I moved out of La Crib de Mama Cheeks. Beyond that, there are several other aspects in my life that continue to make me feel like what I said I wanted to be when I grew up…

– Run This Town, Tonight. And by “town”, I mean “crib.” And by “run”, I mean, “own.” And by “own”, I mean, “own a small percentage along wif a giant monster bank.” Yup, my first real crib (outside of college) is a condo. And I have the woman that birthed me to thank for that. She let me stay at her joint for a couple of years while I saved up (and of course, helped her along the way… don’t get it twisted on some Twizzlers ish… no free lunch!) because she was very firm on me buying a place. I mean, we both figured that since it was a buyer’s market and I could spend just as much as rent for a similar sized place, yet get something out of it… why not? Especially considering that Uncle Sam hates single/childless kneegrows such as myself. It was a long, difficult road to closing, but I made it. I even cried when I walked out with my keys. *sniff*

– As Certain As Taxes. While we’re on the taxes front, there is probably little else that makes my shoulders feel broader than finishing my own taxes. I distinctly remember finishing that young 1040-EZ, thinking I done did somethin’. And I did! But, then all of a sudden I had real deductions like my student loan interest, property taxes, mortgage interest, etc. and saw that tax refund increase on some “CHING CHING!” ish. I was hood rich! I mean, it wasn’t about feeling American (which equates to feeling “screwed in the ass”), it was about finally reaching that milestone that you watched your parents tackle and thought, “Wow, I never wanna have to do all of that. Being a grown-up must be hard!” Yeah, welcome to the real world. Where people stop being polite. And start getting real… ly effed by Uncle Sam.

– I Feel Like Chicken Tonight, Like Chicken Tonight! I don’t know about you, but every time I make a dish… I mean, a REAL dish (not Ramen/Roman/Oodles Of noodles), I have to stop and stare at it proudly like… wow. I even pretty the plate up as if I’m serving it professionally. And I eat at the table with a real knife and fork, chuckling to myself like an adult.* And, sure, most of my dishes consist of chicken and/or rice, but the point is… I’m COOKING it. I’ve learned to feed myself beyond microwaved dinners that include a brownie (that tastes like sulfates and disgrace) for dessert. YAY ME! *brushes childish dirt off shoulder*

Alright Pinchers, yo turn! What moments make you feel like your most grown-up? Do share… we all grown here, right?

 

Love ya like Jerry Springer guests love Jerry beads,

Cheekie

 

 

 

*Or a crazy person. Whichever.

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.

Forever Young

 

Geriatric hoshit. WIN.

Getting older is something we all think about. Especially when we’re, you know… actually getting older. We think about things such as our looks, our level of success, possible children (or grandchildren), etc. In regards to looks in particular, I can’t say that I’m the type to worry about that thanks to the baby face. I’ll never be that lady that claims “29″ forever because I’mma probably look 22 then, anyway. Hell, I better accept my future reality as a cougar now. You mad (in advance)?

I have high hopes about the other aforementioned things, so I can’t say I’m agonizing about those, either. There are some things, however, that I’ve noticed about old folks that make me think, “Lawd, I hope I never get THAT old.” Not in the way that sounds. Hell, I wanna live as long as the homie, Methuselah if we wanna be real. I want a long, exquisite life. Anyway, when I say that, I mean that I don’t want to get “old-minded.”

Don’t worry, I won’t be the old lady in the club, it’s just a few things I hope I never embrace when I get on my AARP swag. Here are a few:

– The Obnoxious Decorating. Every time I look through a catalogue like Brylane Home and the like, there are always several pages dedicated to THEE most fugliest bedding in the entire universe. In the history of The Big Bang Theory. Ya’ll should see my face when I see a huge BALD EAGLE splattered across a comforter. Or a rooster-themed kitchen. o______O Then the store has some nerve to ask money for it. I wouldn’t have any of that in my home if you paid ME. I imagine only the elderly and Tea Party members (sometimes one and the same) find this delightful.

– The Jeans Of Mothers. Ok, first off, I know they’re called “mom jeans”, but don’t be associating MY mama with that. She has some sense not to wear jeans that make you look like you’re shaped like dishwasher. And I’m sure there are plenty more fab moms out there that are the same. But, I guess a lot of mothers do find these jeans practical and comfortable. But… yeah… see… no. Sweatpants/jogging pants are comfy too. And I bet I’d look better in those than some jeans with a waistband that comes all the way up to my (hopefully still ample by then) bosom. Excluding those from around the 80s and early 90s of course, because those were just…

– The Veteran Question. All you have to do is either go to at least one family reunion or simply be around an older person when some old school music plays in the background and you’ll hear it: Whatchoo know bout dat there, youngin’? That question has always made me side-eye and eyeroll simultaneously. Yes, what could I possibly know about old artists — especially legendary ones — because, of course music is only available for those who were alive when it was first released. Look, my creamed-corn enthusiast, I may not have a Hoveround, but I’m pretty sure I can access music from way back when. And even — GASP — love it. Ain’t that about a blip?!

– The Obsessively Nostalgic Mentality. We all know that the days were good. And old. The Bunkers expressed their love for the olden days in their opening theme song. However, I cannot be that old fogey that goes on and on lamenting on how things ain’t the same. I mean, it’s one thing to say ish like, “Any generation that allows Wacka Flocka Flame into the music industry is doomed” in passing, but to ceremoniously Debbie Downer all over the young folks at every given moment? Not cute. Let’s take this straight, no chaser: Everyone was young once. And yes, YOUR music and libations were considered insane by the previous generation. So you should know how it feels! The only mofo who had ultimate pop culture respect was effing Adam, who repped the Garden of Eden. And even then, I bet God was like, “Ya know, I miss the good ol’ days when it was nuthin but light.” So, I suggest to my future self and everyone else’s that we should just let the young bucks have their time. Besides, I wanna be the cool grandma attempting to do the year-2061 version of The Dougie.

Pinchers, what say you? Do you ever think of quirky stuff like the above when it comes to getting older? We all mortal and shit. Let’s bond over that. Speak on it!

*looks up at post with chagrin* -_- I PROMISE I respect my elders, yo.

 

Love ya like the 2011 season premiere of The Game LOVES doing the absolute most,

Cheekie

Back In The Days When I Was Young I’m Not A Kid Anymore

When I was wee one, folks always used to say I resembled her.

Ya know, I wish I could say that foolery up and hit me at a certain point in my life, but I just can’t. I think some sort of foolishness has always been a part of my life. Even as a mini Cheekie, I was a plum fool. Not a ripe one, though. Because I was just a kid.

Anyhoot. I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic lately so I decided to take an e-stroll down memory lane. And to force invite ya’ll along for the ride!

Five Random Facts About Cheekie The Child.

1. The Early Fix. I’ve mentioned this amongst the internets, but due to losing my paternal grandma and father to lung cancer, I took a vow never to smoke cigarettes. And I never have. Never had a desire to. But, on top of that I always joke that I don’t smoke because I’ve already had my tobacco fix in my first years of life. *as your face looks like this* Naw, I wasn’t huffing and puffing… I used to actually eat cigarettes as a baby. o___________O I remember when my mama first told me this as a kid, I fell flat out. Then I had to tell everyone I knew.* She said I used to take both her and my dad’s cigarettes and the chew the hell outta them. They’d be looking all over the Bermuda Triangle for their squares and they’d find a soggy pile of ‘em by me as I looked up at them all innocently with tobacco all over my lips. WHO. DOES. THAT?! Man, if I woulda pulled that ish in today’s times when cigarettes can cost seven bucks a pack? Woo, chile.

2. The Superhero. Pinchers, if I told ya’ll I used to be obsessed with Tim Burton’s Batman films (yeah, all two ‘em) as a youngster, that would be the understatement of the century. I distinctly remember my big sis, Chyna taking me to a drive-in movie theater** to see the first film of the series. Lawd, I was so engrossed in the dopeness that was Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson. So, after I saw the film, I used to bug EVERYONE by reenacting a certain line in the film. Especially one of Chyna’s best friends at the time. Like so:

Cheekie: Ask me who I am, ask me who I am!!
Chyna’s Friend: o_O Who are you?
Cheekie: I’m Batman.

BWAHAHAHA! To this day, her friend still tells me that is her fondest memory of me. And I kept asking her (and any other willing victim around me) over and over. Man, when I stan, I stan like a true ninja. I stanned before Eminem wrote a dope angry rap about it. But, speaking of Chyna’s friends…

3. The Scare. Those who interact with me around the innanets can probably tell I’m very close with my big sis, even though we’re so far apart in age. That’s because as long as I could walk, I was right by her side. She always had me with her, even when she hung around her friends. Which, I thought was sweet. Don’t be callin’ her no lame or nuffin, she was sweet! Anyway, her male friends (including my older cousin) used to love to tease me when I was maybe about 3 or 4. They’d make these scary faces and noises and chase me around the room. I’d run down the hallway screaming “No, no no no!!” with my arms flailing. See? Even then, I was dramatic dinna mug. The reason why this is my favorite story ever — and why I always tell Chyna to retell it — is because how she reacted to their teasing. She straight up almost straight mollywhopped all of them for messing with her little sis. She used to get seriously upset, cussing them out and carrying on. Did I just say “carrying on?” Clearly, I’m typing this from a nursing home. But, aw, this story, though. I feel so loved.

4. The Carbs Craving. I loves me some carbs. I even have a t-shirt that says so. It’s cute. You mad. I guess I always loved them. Mama says when I was a toddler, I used to get the entire loaf of bread, tear open the package, then eat all of the inside of each slice while leaving the crust. Just like any self-respecting kid. Kids don’t effs with crust. Little do they know that the crust gives bread character. My parents would find me surrounded by like 20 different bread crusts. Like, I’d straight up put them in a circle around me. Sitting smack dab in the middle of my crime. Listening to these types of stories confirms that no one should’ve left me alone for too long (I was on that creative kick) and that I probably cost my parents a lot of money. Youngest child ish.

5. The Miracles. Naw, I didn’t turn water into Moscato or anything like that. I mean, as in “Smokey Robinson and the…” Well, actually this involves Smokey in his solo days. My favorite aunt says her fondest memory of me was when we used to listen to Smokey records together. Lawd, when we talk about stans, she was a Smokey STAN. She lusted after that man so. Honestly, when I first heard him, I thought he was a chick. But, that’s neither here nor there, because he is dopeness. He laid down that true falsetto. I’m lookin’ at you, The Nightmare. Unfortunately. Anyway, she and I would dance around her apartment singing his late 80s hit “What’s Too Much”. Just straight jammin’. On the one. Even at three years old, I knew what was up. I could barely talk, and I was screaming out, “WHAT’S TOO MUCH!!” I knew good music when I heard it.

Well, that about wraps up my memory lane e-stroll. My feets fangers is tiiid. What are your fondest memories as chirruns, Pinchers? I know you got some funny ones in you! And be honest, do you think I should tell my cigarette story to the people behind those Truth ads?*** Speak on it.

 

Love ya like Hollyweird loves to breakup longlasting marriages,

Cheekie

 

 

 

 

 

*Obviously, I still have that desire now.
**The HELL them at now?!
***That one is my favorite ad of theirs, by the way. UNCOUTH!

Respect For Elders: In Memoriam

Why can’t real-life teenagers be more like this?

While on my way to see Toy Story 3, I witnessed the usual happenings that occur on public transportation. The errant bum that usually rides the whole way and back. The lone 2520 that rides a mostly all-Black-folk route. The six year old kid in a stroller. You know, everyday ish.

Well, one thing that usually stands out is: Obnoxious Teenagers. Is that a redundant statement? Hell, seems like it most days. But my niece is currently a teenager and she’s an angel so I’mma retract that redundancy for now. It’s still pending…

On this fine Friday morning, I witnessed a teen girl cussing out an old lady. You read that right. To give that statement full effect, I’m gonna try to rehash the events to the best of my ability. It went a little somethin’ like this:

*Public Transportation Employee (PTE) steps on the bus and bombards through the line of people*

PTE: PLEASE move to the back! Move to the back, please!!

*the people shuffle forward until there’s no more shuffling possible*

PTE: FORWARD! Move all the way to the back!!

Out-of-Pocket Teen Girl (OOPTG): Man, we can’t move back no fuckin’ mo! Ain’t no where to move back to!!

Teen Girl Friend (TGF): Haha, girl calm down!

OOPTG: I’m just sayin’ this nigga better shut the hell up talmbout, “Go to the back!!”

Elderly Lady (EL): Hmm *shakes her head* Mmm-MMMM-mmm.

OOPTG: *looks down at lady* *explodes with irrational anger*

OOPTG: Bitch, you betta shut the hell up with that “Mmmm” shit. You don’t know me!!

EL: O_O

TGF: Girl, shutup!

OOPTG: I’m sayin’, though!! I can say whatevah the fuck I want!! She over here makin’ these little com-ments…

EL: Look, young lady, you better learn how to respect your elders…

OOPTG: Respect my ass. You gotta EARN my respect*! You ain’t nobody.

The Entire Bus: Oh my God, this chick…

That was the gist of the convo, but even after that (when the bus became less crowded), the girl proceeds to sit down next to the poor woman to further go back and forth and tit-for-tat. A woman who was 50-lem times her age. As if she were her peer. HER PEER.

And get this. I’m for real, please… get this.

After about 10 minutes of the back-and-forth and bus patrons simultaneously chastizing her, her MOTHER comes from outta nowhere (aka all the way up front) and only then decides to let her know about herself. The frack?! Where you been??! *sigh*

And amongst all this fragglenackle bull, I motion for an elderly man to sit down in the empty seat in front of me, and this random chick (who looked be about 12) zooms her twiggy arse toward the seat and sits down, looking STRAIGHT at the man. Who had a limp, by the way. I am a writer, but I cannot make this shit up. I glared at her, about to set her straight, but the man looks at me, shakes his head and says, “That’s ok”, motioning toward another nearby seat that just opened. *heavy sigh*

I Leyomi-dropped in my head with disdain for today’s youth. Just as chivalry allegedly died way back when, elderly respect has already been decomposed.

So, pinchers I rehash the above hot mess of a story to ask this. When, in your estimation, did kids become so fearless to disrespect elders? And why is this starting to happen en masse? Does it have to do with 29-year-old grandmothers actually existing? Is Soulja Boy to blame somehow? Tell me now. I rhymed by the way, in those last two sentences. You mad?

Love ya like Mother Nature loves knocking down trees on some “Move Bitch, Get Out The Way” ish during a thunderstorm,

Cheekie

*I LOVE how she says this as she proceeds to earn the DISrespect of everyone across the universe.

Excuse Me, Sir. You Dropped Your Pants.

Oh, I see what you did there. The pants are there to toot up your booty properly. You better work!

As I sit here rubbing BenGay on my ankles and cursing my bad back while watching Matlock on Blu-Ray, I often wonder what behooves the youngins to do the things they do. I already discussed their penchant for typing like they’re deformed robots.

Wait. Scratch the record.

This ain’t just a youngin’ phenomenon is it? The old-bucks are doing it, too. Eff everything.

Anyhow, what I’m talkin’ about is sagging jeans. There are four major things that I don’t get about sagging jeans and it goes a little somethin’ like this (2nd person used for role-model-like-effectiveness):

1. Ya’ll Know What It Means, Right? I think everyone and their eighth cousin third removed knows what sagging your jeans means in prison. It means you’re “available”. To be entered. Pulling your pants below the bum is known to give “easy access”. For all the homophobia that runs rampant in the hip-hop community, you’d think that dudes would not only not embrace this trend, but ban it entirely. Men in the hip-hop community (and in the Black community, specifically) are so obsessed with appearing “masculine” that it doesn’t make any logical sense whatsoever to embrace a trend that means the opposite of masculine (in their opinion) in prison. To me — other than the blatant and lame hatred aspect — it completely cancels out any argument dudes have against homosexuality. Pointblankperiod.

2. Give That Belt to Someone Who Needs It. You know how when you were a kid and you had so many clothes, people mistook your bedroom for Nordstrom Rack? No? Apologies. Imagine the rich kid you hated, then. You know how their mama told them to clean out their wardrobe and get rid of those clothes they never wore because it could go to a po’ kid who truly needed it? Imagine me asking that of the pant-saggers, only with belts. The way I see it, a belt’s primary purpose is to hold pants up. UP being the operative word (and an awesome Pixar movie). So, what furrows my brow is seeing a pant-sagger with a belt. Yes, I’m aware that without it, the pants would completely fall down to their feet, but still. The belt isn’t being used to its full potential. And that makes me said. No belt left behind.

3. If It Walks Like a Duck. Wearing pants at your knees probably effs up your walking pattern a little bit don’t it? You can not tell me that walking with your pants hanging on for dear life is comfortable. You can’t. You won’t. Plus, you’re waddling. Your walk looks like your mouth is filled with black goo and your name is Oswald Cobblepot. Look, I don’t wish bad things on folks because that’s a tad uncouth. But. Let’s say for sake of argument that you’re walking past a dimepiece and you’re tryin’ out your swagger strut. You bat your eyelashes at her and proceed to trip over your own pants. And land in dog poop. And the dog that pooped somehow got to the bucket of chitlins on the counter prior to said poopage. You’ll be thinking of this post and wish you chose your own adventure wisely.

4. Sagging Tight Pants Seems to be Breaking the Laws of Gravity Somehow. And this may be the worse of them all. Someone out there please tell me the purpose of sagging skinny jeans. I seriously thought the emo heads and the hip-hop heads were at opposite ends of the spectrum, but at one point, they merged. And in the worst ways possible. Sagging skinny jeans is an oxymoron. Kinda like “Microsoft Works” (uMad?). Like, you look like a weird real-life funhouse gag with your skin-tight jeans hugging your legs yet falling down at the same time. Somewhere in nostalgic Saturday morning programming, Bill Nye the Science Guy is frowning right now.

Hmm.

The neurotic in me wants there to be a number 5, but I can’t think of one… plus my fingers are screaming at me to stop typing. So, pinchers, I’m gonna make this post interactive (read: I’m lazy) and let you add a number 5. What’s another way in which sagging jeans confuse you? Do they confuse you at all? Are you a sagging jeans stan and are now fuming with a disagreement right now? Sharing is caring.

Love ya like President Obama loves kicking ass,

Cheekie

Not My Type

You think he playin’? Try not paying your taxes.

I’m self-aware enough to admit that I don’t understand a lot of things. Why Flava Flav’s braids will forever only reach the middle of his head no matter how much Do-Gro he uses. What 2520s find physically attractive. Sarah Palin’s existence. Those are just a few things that I’ll never get. One thing in particular I’ll never get is:

People who tYp3 LyK3 Th!S*.

First off, who invented this? Tell me now so I can inform them to play in traffic during rush hour.

Second, why is this popular to teens? Also known as the “Must have everything faster than the speed of light with an addiction to Amphetamine.” It seems like it takes forever to type. Typing lowercase and uppercase several times for one word? Substituting numbers for letters? Makes my left brain cry. Or is there some sort of e-platform I’m missing that allows you to type like that very quickly?

And third, while I may not always speak (or type) properly**, is it really necessary to completely piss all over the English language as we know it? And I don’t mean slang (I love me some slang), I mean typing in a way that is completely unreadable to the point where you want to change what your eyes do for a living.

I mean, on the serious tip, I can’t read the word “tYp3″ as “type.” I read it as “Tiepeethree.” Because that’s what it says. And you know it.

Please stop typing like that. It is not contributing anything to society but headaches. And no one likes headaches but Tylenol. Better yourselves. This is my public service announcement. Happy Monday. Happy June as well. National Donut Day is Friday, June 4th, 2010.

Love ya like Indonesian babies allegedly love smoking cigarettes,

Cheekie

*Typing this simple 3-worded statement made my spell-check implode with sadness. Scientific fact.

** I’m allowed to do this. When you know the rules, you can break them. It is law. I have a feeling the people who type like the above referenced don’t know the rules or even that said rules exist.