I’mma Need You To Fade Out

 

What The Little Girl Is Thinking: "I can't stand n'an one of these hos."

I love movies. Bangs loves movies. Only difference between the two of us is that I dabble in writing movies while he dabbles in singing in horrible falsetto (read: nawlsetto) about movies. Just a slight difference.

However, as much as I love watching movies, the entire experience isn’t exactly… perfect. I’m the type of person that loves the movie experience so much, I am perfectly content with watching one alone. Yes, I’m the person who can go to the movie theater* all by my lonesome. For the record, I make this totally okay and not sad by make-believing that I’m a film critic and my gig is to review whatever movie I happen to see alone. ( ._.)

All that said, there is a special gratification I get from watching movies with others. It’s akin to watching something foolish on TV and being able to share that “WTF?” reaction with someone in real time.** But, — and this is a big BUT (which cannot lie) — I can only share this gratification with certain folks. Not everyone is a great fellow movie-watcher.

So, in the spirit of airing out my pet peeves, here are a few of my “movie companion” pet peeves:

– The Extra. This is the person who says every line WITH the characters of the film SO much, that they might as well be an extra. Hence the name. See how brilliant that was? -_- Right. Ok. Lemme get this admission all outta the way. I do this, too. I know the ENTIRE SCRIPT (adlibs, asides, gestures, song lyrics, etc.) of The Lion King. I was that obnoxious little kid that did this to all the Disney films and I’m still that obnoxious kid today (with Disney films AND the opposite of Disney films). Here’s where I have a right to complain: I do NOT do this when I’m watching with someone who is seeing the movie for the first time in the history of film reels. That would make me a Summer’s Eve style douche. Children, lend me your eyes. Read this: Part of the movie experience is being able to experience it anew. Fresh. If I’ve been amped to see a movie and you invite me over to watch it with you, I’mma need you to know that I realize that your name is NOT in the credits. So, don’t act like they are. Don’t worry, we can perform the movie together after I’ve seen it a bajillion times, too. Deal, Howie Mandel? Deal. Let’s shake on it. *shimmies*

– The Commentator. Obviously, I have an issue with watching movies with folks who’ve already seen the movie and I haven’t. Well, not so much that as I am with obnoxious folks who don’t value the true movie experience and want to piss all over it. Kels. This is the person who feels the need to tell you what’s going on throughout the movie as you’re watching it. Excuse me. Miss. I know I was born only a little over two decades ago, but I coulda SWORNT that it’s the movie’s job to tell me what’s going on. Ya know, visually? If I wanted audience commentary, I woulda pressed your nose like I would a button on a DVD menu. And on the flip-side, there’s…

– The Questioner. So, this one is more of on an equal playing-field because this one usually (and strangely) happens when both viewers haven’t seen the movie in question. This is the person that asks you about plot details while the movie is playing. On some, “WHY he go through that door? What happened to her mother?! Is he the killer?!” ish. Boo, I don’t know! I’m watching in real-time just like you! I have no inside info with the director. I have no script from Tyler Perry!*** I’m in the dark just as much as you! How bout we just simply watch the movie. Is that too hard to ask? Apparently, yes.

Anyway, Pinchers, the red carpet is yours. I got the popcorn, I know what else you like. But what do you hate? What are your movie viewer pet peeves? Speak on it! But, shhhhhh, not while the movie’s playin’!

 

Love ya like Charlie Sheen loves winning,

Cheekie

 

 

 

*It’s called “the show” for my fellow Chi-lites.
**Shout-out to L Boogie!
***Yup, STILL trippin’ at how this ish blew up the way it did. Shaking my apple-shaped head right nah…

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.”

No Reason To Hate

 

Pedigree pimpin'.

Since my po’ and downtrodden Bears decided to effing hibernate and lose their chance at the effing Super Bowl, I’ve been in a slightly angry mood. Just slightly.

*flings a slice of Chicago deep dish pizza into the Chicago River*

Ahem.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of how freely we use the word “hate.” Even though it’s argued that the word “love” is used too freely as well, I have to say with ultimate assurance that it’s generally easier to throw around the word “hate.” Even unfairly so.

I’ve noticed that there are a lot of things that I hate for no real reason. Like, my life would probably be more fruitful if I just did a kanye-shrug and called it a day instead of spending any energy hating them. I call it “irrational hate.” These are things that grind my gears, but when you think about it, all the grinding is for naught. Nasty.

Here are a few of them:

– Awesome. Yup, the word itself. Which, is funny because I actually use it myself sometimes. I guess when I say I hate it, I mean I hate the overuse of it. I’m sorry to pull a “there is no Santa Claus”* on ya, but everything is not awesome. In fact, using it so much actually lessens its value, thus whatever you’re talking about ain’t even all that awesome. Your 360 degree bike flip ain’t truly awesome because the fact that you found matching socks in the pile this morning was also awesome. Also, I hate when folks use extreme inflection when pronouncing it. Like, “AWWWE-SUMMMM.” Use that extra oxygen you’re sucking in for other purposes. Like breathing.

– Über. Now this word I don’t use. It just makes me twitch. I know this is a word often used by folks I know and even folks I like having around, but I just don’t eff with this word. For starters, anyone who says it is likened to Augustus Gloop in my head. In my nonsensical opinion, only people who look like him should say that word.

– People Who Can’t Close Their Mouths All The Way. Think Napoleon Dynamite. So, don’t think that it’s just because you have huge teef.** Napoleon’s teef aren’t abnormally large a la Steve Harvey or Julia Roberts so there is no excuse for his upper/lower lips not being able to get to know each other every now and then. I mean, your jaws ain’t tired or nuffin’? Leaving your mouth open like that makes me believe you have something else to say or that you’re just leaving it open so next time you say something, it won’t require as much work. Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Without the “maybe.”

– Bluetooths. I don’t even really hate these in theory. In theory, they are quite useful when you want both hands free while driving. I don’t necessarily think they’re safer as your attention is still not completely on the road regardless of how free your hands are, but that’s another discussion for an Oprah episode or something. And I know they are totally important if you’re actually on-call like a real estate agent or a cable person. Why I hate them, though? Because nine times outta ten, the people who constantly have them glued to their ear are not important, but wear them in an effort to appear so. And you can totally tell. Ol’ dude has on his glittery bluetooth with his equally glittery (gold-plated) jewelry and wraps the whole package up with douche-esque glittery back pocket detail on his jeans. Take that bluetooth out yo ear, homie. You work at Taco Bell.

So, that’s just a few. I’m sure I have more in me and may just share them with you in the future so I can further show ya’ll just how bizarre I am. Seriously, why do I think of things such as this?

Anywho, please let me know I’m not alone. Pinchers, you have anything you irrationally hate? Do you even think it’s irrational? Hell, you may think it’s totally justified. Speak on it.

Love ya like Green Bay and Pittsburgh love to feel themselves right about nah,

Cheekie

*SPOILER ALERT! Oh wait, I did this wrong…
**Don’t worry, I’m just hatin’ because I have baby teef and I’m not fully developed in that area. My teefs are slow learners.

Fashion Nonsense: The Trilogy

Yeah, I’m as confused as his facial expression.

Back in the day (WAY back, back into TIME, even)  when I was still a Blogger* bum, I started a little series called Fashion Nonsense. Click that link I just made back there to check ‘em out, by the way.

It’s been a long time. I shouldn’t have left you, my precious series. But, now I’m back in the habit on some Whoopi ish!

So here we go, five more fashionable (or not so much) items that I just don’t get:

1. Flip-Flops. Now hear me out. I’m not hating on flip-flops, in general — they can be comfy in certain situations — just particular aspects. Those el cheapo Old Navy flip-flops can go die somewhere. They look like plastic mistakes and they are not nice on your toes. I’ve probably scratched or somehow irritated my toes in one way or another by wearing those. Secondly, why are flip-flops the go-to shoe for EVERYWHERE for some folks? Like I said, they are comfy, but in certain situations. Flip-flops are not — lemme echo this one mo’ ‘gain — flip flops are NOT walking shoes. I often see people walking long distances in their flip flop joints and I say a little prayer (and a couple Hail Marys just in case) for their poor feets. Also, for some reason these shoes seem to be the most common offender of “Oh, I didn’t know it was 30 degrees outside” type folks who REFUSE to believe that summer is over.

2. Holiday Sweaters. Christmas, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, all’at. Christmas sweaters are the worst because there are actual events surrounding them. Like, you know something’s bad when someone creates an entire bar crawl in honor of mocking folks that actually think it’s cool. Look, I get it. You like a particular holiday. But how about — at the very most — rocking the color schemes to celebrate? Why you gotta get a sweater that is probably shapeless and can only be worn for a few days? I ADORE Christmas. It’s my fave. But I’ll be DAMNED (on some eternal damnation ish) if you ever catch me wearing a sweater with some holly and snowflakes bedazzled on it. Unless, I’m doing a fug Christmas sweater bar crawl. Which, hell, I’m hesitant about doing those but if the right person invites me and there are dranks involved, well…

3. Fingerless Gloves. You know the type that the stereotypical cartoony bum (who can surprisingly afford clown makeup) wears to show you how downtrodden he is? Those. This is that “seasonal oxymoron” ish I just cannot deal with. So, your hands are cold, but your fingers — a mere inch away, if that — ain’t? Sure, it makes it easier to type or lollygag on your smartphone, but don’t they have those touch gloves now? Which supposedly come in handy for the touch-phones? Or those mittens with the top that pops off so you can do yo thang for a hot second and then cover them back up. Which, still doesn’t make sense because if I’m cold, I mean… REALLY cold? I’m tryna rush into a warm building ASAP and avoid doing anything that will stall me from doing so, including texting some nicca. They can wait.

4. Leggings As Pants. Lawdhamercyonme, this is a FREQUENT offender. And where does this happen most? On ladies who have legs that look like walking ham hocks. I am all #TeamThickThighs (meaning my thighs rub together when I walk) so I know I have no bidness looking like I’m auditioning for a Shakespeare play. And don’t think the skinty bishes can get away with it. Lindsay Lohan STAYED wearing leggings as pants and the hilarious ladies at Go Fug Yourself roasted her for days, and rightfully so. Lookin’ like Peter Pan’s shameful cousin that he don’t claim. Leggings are an accessory, not a main clothing item. They are best worn with tunics, dresses, or any other item that is long enough to actually cover your rump and at least grace your thighs. Camel Toe should stay on the Sahara, ladies. K? Grazie.

5. Bling Overload. My mama yo mama (live across the street) and everybody’s mama always said, “Money can’t buy you class.” And lawwwwd, is this ever true when it comes to jewelry. It seems that as soon as someone comes across a nice amount of dough (be that lottery, fame, or plain ol’ hood rich tax refund check), they feel the need to display their entire bank account on their body via bling. I CANNOT with oversized gold chains, young men. Especially if you are NOT a caricature a la Mister T. I don’t see you pitying any fools. Sit alla’way down. And ladies? Why you gotta wear every single ring in your jewelry box at the same time? A ring on every single finger? Even if it’s just one hand, that’s too much. Give one (or two; one is best, frankly) ring its shine, damn!

Pinchers, strut yo fashion sense! What do you think about the ones I listed above? Am I being too hard on ‘em or not hard enough? And feel free to list any more that I haven’t covered and I’ll probably jack yo style — er, I mean, thankfully use one of your suggestions.

 

Love ya like Hoarders love to keep everything… ever… in the history of saving,

Cheekie

 

 

 

*Blogger is the blogosphere’s Everest College. *takes a shot… of Patron*

Too Legit To Quit?

HAPPY 20-LEVEN, BISHES!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem.

“Real recognize real.”* I’m sure you’ve heard that phrase from either your Aunt Pookie or Shequishobama, the lady that makes sure your hair is did for First Fridays. Whoever vocalizes it, that’s some “truer words were never spoken” ish right there.

Never has that applied more in my life than it does recently. Since I don’t have the luxury of Tivo, I sometimes humor myself by watching commercials while I await my program to return. And there have been two commercials in particular that have truly captured my attention, causing me to actually “recognize real”, so to speak.

And lawdhamercy, let’s just say that when it comes to the following commercials, I don’t only NOT recognize their version of real, they’re practically stranger bishes.

Exhibit A:

 

Royal piece of crapola.

Okay, first thing’s first. Since we’re talkin’ ’bout being real? The legit version of the above the ring? The one that Kate Middleton is sportin’ on her left hand? IS. THEE. SHIT. That ring is effing gaw-juss (sound it out). Big ups to Prince William for saving this ring in his mother’s (the lovely Lady Di, R.I.P.) honor to present to his future bride. I think that is fabulous.

What’s not so fabulous? The fact that these folks decided to — in their own words — “[celebrate] this historic event” by making some K-Mart quarter machine jewelry and selling it to the masses on some “limited edition” ish. And selling it for $19.90 at that. But, oh, my bad, they are doing us a favor. Because it is actually valued at $119. Um, ok. WHO exactly are the appraisers for this type of mess? Laughable. Ah, but at least it comes in a velveteen box. o_O Gee, thanks. Only thing I know of that is velveteen that I associate with glee is a rabbit in a storybook from back in the day.

Exhibit B:

I can't WAIT to use this at Family Dollar!

I remember when I was a kid, Mama Cheekie had a 2 dollar bill saved in her jewelry box because they were rare. In fact, I realized that several people had done the same thing in those days. Which was cool, I could see doing that for fun since the U.S. Mint didn’t really print them much, making them a rare commodity and whatnot.

What I CAN’T see? Is falling for this fraggle nackle bull. Did I see that right? Did they just fix their mouths to tell me that I can buy a “limited edition” 2 dollar bill for 10 bucks? Because it’s all colorful and splattered with our fine country’s national park? And right as I scoff, the man on the commercial says that as a bonus, I can get yet ANOTHER 2 dollar bill with the Grand Canyon on it. And in color as well! So, for those of you without a Calculator app on your smartphone, that means I’d be buying FOUR BUCKS for TEN BUCKS. What a deal! And get this, the money is crisp and uncirculated. Well, shut the front door and call me Susan. o_________O

What these two exhibits have in common brings me back to the realness. For those genuine folks that love to stop being polite and start getting real, both of the above products offer the equivalent of the Rock of Gibraltar: A Certificate of Authenticity. THIS, my friends, is what makes it all worth it. Right? RIGHT?!

Couple questions, doe. What exactly are the guidelines that makes it authentic? Who decides that it’s official? Oh, and one more question: Why do I feel like this supposed “certificate” is written in “lorem ipsum?” (-_-)

King Hammer, formerly known as MC Hammer was once too legit to quit. I’m thinking this certificate of authenticity is legit as a 3 dollar bill, interestingly enough. Thus, quitting is due. I cannot with Certificates of Authenticity being used as a selling point because, frankly, they don’t mean squat. Now if the product came equipped with a Certificate of IdrisElba, then we could talk…

Pinchers, what say you? What’s your verdict on certificates of authenticity? Are you going to buy any of the above products for your loved ones on their birthday? Speak yo piece. And welcome to the new year! *pinch*

 

Love ya like the Basketball Wives love a messy and contrived confrontation,

Cheekie

*Lowkey, this saying gets on my damn nerve.

Friday Foolery: Now Why You Gotta Disrespect Your Feet Like That?

Every now and then, I manage to come across foolery in the most innocent way possible. That’s probably the best foolery. When I’m just minding my own business (in this case, “minding my business” was “browsing the internets with no intention of finding foolery fodder*”) and all of a sudden, some foolery just up and presents itself. No one had to send it to me, I didn’t see it re-tweeted on Twitter… none of that. It was destiny.

Basically, I found a Yahoo! article on ugly shoes. It was one of the “Featured” articles on its homepage. Please check it out here: The Ugliest Shoes, Well, Ever.

I cannot begin to tell ya’ll how loudly I cackled as I clicked on the picture of each shoe. As ya’ll know, I love sharing, so naturally I’m going to share my reaction to each pair of shoes.

Seriously, these shoes are fug. You know how throwing a shoe is considered the highest form of insult in the Arab world? Well, let’s just say I’d majorly cut a bish if any of the following shoes were thrown at me…

1. I cannot picture anything but you galloping across the fields if you wear these shoes. Why would any self-respecting person want shoes that make their feet look like they slaughtered Tina from Napoleon Dynamite in the name of fashion?

2.  So, basically, someone sat up and thought, “You know what? Wouldn’t it be cool to create a dramatization of how it would be like if you could see through people’s shoes?” It’s even more silly when I think of someone who is NOT the color of those feet wearing these.

3. Oh lawd, did the Snuggle Bearhave to perish in order to make these pink tragedies you call shoes? And why do they look so happy? These fug shoes are a terrible place to spend the afterlife.

4. You know how when we were kids we wished and fantasized that we could defy gravity? I’m assuming this is fashion’s answer to said fantasy. This is what I’d imagine the levitating David Blaine would wear if he were a catwalk model.

5. I not-so-lovingly refer to them as FUggs. I briefly talked about them way back when. I think the Yahoo! article said it best, “Uggs are like the cockroaches of ugly shoes, they just will not die.” SPEAK LAWD. SPEAK TO ME.

6. As if FUggs weren’t bad enough, Jimmy Choo decided to add some “flavor” to ‘em. This shoe is like the glow-in-the-dark ceiling of a teenager’s bedroom. It looks like bootleg Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper art. Not something I want on my shoes.

7. Huh?! This is what a Power Ranger boot would look like if someone decided to put it through a rotini pasta cutter.

8. NO ONE should like Gameboy this much. Can you pull out the gameboy from the shoe? If you’re a Gameboy fan and you’re considering purchasing these shoes for game-geek convenience/fashion purposes, hit yourself over the head with said Gameboy.

9. Oh, here we go with the oxymoronic clothing. Do you roam the streets feeling all, “Ahhh! My legs are freezing! But, my toes? My toes are much too toasty.” Eureka! Sock sandals. o_O

10. Oh my, Louis Vuitton is so genius! Making a heel out of — what looks like — a doorstop! Glamour! Fashion! Douchbaggery!

11. Ah, the classic pimp shoe. Duh, Marlin if you wanted to find Nemo, all you had to do was look in Archbishop Don Magic Juan’s closet.

12. The infamous Lady Gaga shoes. Granted, I do agree with the fashion world that they are works of art. But, you don’t catch me wearing the actual Mona Lisa painting as a hat, do you? Plus, how does this Gaga bish (or ANY bish) walk in these? For serious.

13. Honey, you already know how I feel about these.

14. So, basically, the designer’s muse for these things was “pubic hair?” This shoe is so NSFW.

15. Similar to the toe shoes, these things have an affinity for feet. So much so that they want to supposedly make the owner feel like they’re walking barefoot? And the shoes are made for sprinting? If you take Antoine Dodson’s advice and run tell that (Homeboy) in these shoes, hopefully what you tell folks is that you should be slapped with Bugs Bunny’s glove.

16. Ok, the picture on the left is what looks to be a rag. Or a “Oh you fancy, huh?” dinner napkin. But then — VOILA BISHES — it turns into a sandal. Um…(-___-). I’d rather my shoes not be a show in Vegas, but thanks. Let alone the whole getup being grotesque, the shoe is fug even without the rag. And you call this a surprise reveal?

17. Apparently, Marc Jacobs saw how “meh” Clarks (aka “wallabees”) shoes were and decided to add a heel AND a platform. Granted, they’re not “meh” anymore, so he was successful in that regard. The word I think of now is, “clusterfuck.”

18. Oh, Balenciaga. I loves your handbags, on the real. But, these shoes? Well, they kinda reignite my yearning to visit LegoLand, but actually wearing them? I’d rather French-kiss a cactus.

19. Yeah, I’m not so into the Gladiator shoe trend in and of itself. I mean, I’ve seen some cute and non-obnoxious ones, but…eh. These, though? Are like the Two-Face of shoes. Sandal in the front, boot in the back? Like, does your leg have split personalities?

(Um, so yeah. I have no idea why they decided to end the list on such an odd number: 19. The neurotic part in me wants to just randomly add another shoe to make it an even twenty, but I’m trying to pay homage to the article. Word to female hip-hop emcees.)

Anywho.

Mayne, those some fug shoes. My eyes are considering quitting their job because I’ve assaulted them so. And what makes it even worse is that a lot of them are high-designer shoes, thus making them expensive. I’m a pretty cheap thrifty person and if it ain’t something that I really, really love**, I’m not spending much money on it. So, imagining someone actually spending beaucoup dollars on these particular shoes is mind-boggling. And, frankly, offensive.

Happy Friday, Pincher boos! This weekend, don’t wear any of the above shoes. *stereotype poetry slam snap*

Love ya like The Situation loves to end up in certain situations involving the gym, tanning, and laundry,

Cheekie

*OMG, ya’ll are SO jealous of that alliteration right nah.
**Most of the time, something I really, really love ends up being “handbags.” I must admit, I do tend to be a bit more frivolous with my money in terms of those.

Friday Foolery: The “I Ate Poo” Face

I got something to say.

I was am was am a Dawson’s Creek stan. There are certain things about the show that’ll always remain in my heart. The Pacey/Joey epic love (STFU, Dawson/Joey folks), Joshua Jackson’s sizzling hot piece of arse, the obnoxious yet helpful vocabulary-rich dialogue and, of course…this:

Worst. Attempt. At. A. Sympathetic. Cry. Evah.

The sheer clusterfuckery of this cry coupled with the fact that I could not STAND Dawson at this point in the series is why I collapsed into a fit of giggles instead of saying “aw” like I was probably supposed to. Sure, he gave up his “soulmate” (*gag*) for the greater good, but… that face, though.

Television Without Pity (TWoP) cleverly dubbed this cry the “I Ate Poo” Face within its Dawson’s Creek recaps. Meaning, his face crumbled up in an expression resembling someone who had just eaten a spoonful of feces. Perfect.

Dawson’s cry first appeared on my TV screen roughly ten years ago and it still has an impact on my ratchet life. I always cite this cry as the worst cry in the history of Tears for Fears. And ya’ll know I’ve seen some horrible cry-fits. Because I still kinda hate Dawson (despite the show being over for years and Pacey/Joey fans WON, booyah), I’m going to continue in my long-standing mockery of him and list…

Other Hypothetical Situations That Dawson’s Cry Resembles.

– Otis Williams, after running to the bathroom when David Ruffin exclaimed, “Ain’t nobody comin’ to see you, Otis!” (I’m thinking this deleted scene will be in the BluRay version of The Temptations, no?)

– The Bed Intruder, when he realized that attempting to snatch your people up didn’t win him an iTunes song and/or ringtone.

– Oprah, whenever she’s showing any emotion whatsoever.

– Windows Vista, when it realized it was the forgotten fugly ex of Microsoft.

– The mirror that has to stare at Flava Flav everyday for a living.

– Anyone within at least a 10 mile radius of a bowl of hot and fresh chitlins.

I’m just gonna stop there, because if ya’ll allow me to keep going? Well, I just might have to do some extra repenting tonight. And I’m not trying to go into the weekend all sully with heathenism. I’m completely fine exiting the weekend that way, however.

Pinchers, be a fool dear and tell me what does Dawson’s cry remind you of? Participation is admirable. Especially when it comes to foolery. Bring your A-Game! Or uh…F-Game? o_O

Have a fabulously foolish Friday! Alliteration, bishes.

Love ya like Kanye Titter loves to LOCK CAPS,

Cheekie

I Do Not Dine Thine Swine

Somehow, I think ol' dude is currently saying, "That'll do, bacon. That'll do."

I am non-Muslim and I don’t eat pork. Now, that I answered the “Are you Mooooo-slem?!” question before it was asked, I wanted to briefly explain why exactly I stopped. I wish I could be all historic and remember the exact date I stopped, but I can’t. I’m on some “elephant on Opposite Day” mess. I can guess-timate and say that it has been about a year.

Mama Cheekie stopped eating pawk about 20 years ago. And her mama had her eating every bit of the pig. Since we and just about every Black folk in the history of melanin have high blood pressure in our family, she decided to cut out the salty meat for good. Recently, I decided to follow her lead. And I must say, it wasn’t that hard to do so.

So, I’m gonna take ya’ll into the life of an anti-porker.* Think of it as a documentary. A blog-umentary if you will. This is not so much an all-inclusive list of all non-pork eaters’ traits as it is an all-inclusive list of MY non-pork eater traits. Meaning, what I have to go through as a porkless ninja. Make like Twitter and follow me, please:

The Bacon. Ok, so supposedly, bacon is like the best food in the world. FALSE. That would be rice, boo. Regardless, the rest of the world seems to believe that bacon is the second coming since everything is being made with it. ANYthing you can think of, there is a bacon variation. Candy, cake, condoms. I’m not sure about the third one, but if you can Google it for me, that’ll be fab. Point is, the list goes on. It wasn’t difficult giving up bacon because I didn’t even have to give it up. I’ve ALWAYS loved turkey bacon more. Why? Because, I’m a carnivore. Babe bacon is like 55% fat, 20% grease, 20% broken dreams, and 5% lean meat. Turkey bacon, however, is a lean-mean meaty machine. And this chick loves her some meat. Gone ‘head push that “That’s What She Said” button. I still think turkey bacon is better,  you Jive Turkey.

The Lost of the Black Card. If I had a nickel for every time one of my brethren/sistren said some variation of, “You’ont eat pawk? Guh, that’s kneegrow meat! You fake ninja!” Um, stop…HALT right there. The motherlovin’ Nation of Islam is blacker than the unlighted section of the visible spectrum and they don’t eff with that dirty meat. So, um, ya’ll need more people. Preferably ones wearing bow ties.

The Cookouts. This is where it gets kinda difficult for me. Just recently, my sister’s cousin’s (on her daddy side) husband’s mama (See why we just say “cousin” for everybody? This six degrees of separation mess is not what’s sizzling in the cement.) made some (allegedly) bomb-ass spaghetti. ‘Twas supposed to have all kinds of basil and whatnot. This ninja loves basil.** Anyhow, my sister bought the ingredients and the lady was to cook it. Turns out, she put ground Italian sausage in the meaty mix without my knowledge and was like, “Oh, yeah, I forgot you didn’t eat pork!” I was so butthurt. I mean, luckily I had other lovely side-dishes to partake in, but I love spaghettis. And FML that it was GROUND Italian sausage, thus eliminating any chance that I could pick it out of mine. Hmph.

The Parker House Nostalgia. Like, I said above, it wasn’t really difficult for me to give up pork. I was never a fan of ham, was sort of “meh” on pork chops, I HATE chitlins despite never having tasted them***, and I already expressed my disdain for pawk bacon. But, the one thing I’ll truly miss is Parker House Sausages. My grandma used to whip up some hot (as in “spicy”) Parker House Sausages and I devoured those things like a Not-Safe-For-Work video production. o_O

Moving on.

So, those are a few attributes of a non-pork eater. Any porkless Pinchers out there? What have been your experiences with not eating pork? How long have you been off the swine? What are the pros/cons for you?

As for the pro-pork Pinchers? Don’t even think about trying to re-convert me with Parker House gift baskets. Enjoy your bacon. Tell me why you love pork. What’s your favorite pork park. Everyone’s welcome to the discussion here. I don’t judge. I love you.

Love ya like Glenn Beck supporters love to speak in generalities when defending their nonsense,

Cheekie

*Ya’ll nasty.
**Do you say “bay-sil” or “bah-sil?” I say the former, but I’m always reminded of the “Proud Family” episode where one of those bad little kids named after seasonings was like, “It’s BAHsil, you twit.” Cracked my whole world UP. I laughed for eons.
***Nope, I have not tasted chitlins. I love my tastebuds too much. However, I am CONVINCED that they taste just like they smell, contrary to what its supporters say. They are liars. I love me some hot sauce and it does make things taste better, but even that is no match for chitlins, aka “death warmed over in hell.”

Monday Memories: The Beyonce Bug

*CHEEKIE NOTE*: Because it’s Monday and I’m a lazy hussy (#EffAMonday), I feel like doing something a bit different today, I decided to post a little throwback. I figured I’d be cutesy and name my throwbacks, “Monday Memories.” This one comes from the collabo blog of my big sister, Chyna and I, Sister Sound Off. I got an interesting reaction to this post, so check out the comments over there. No, seriously, some crazy bish gave me a tongue-lashing via keystrokes and my sister swooped in and defended me on some Mighty Mouse ish. She so sweet. And please comment here! I realized that I’ve gained a bigger audience over here so I would love to hear your thoughts if you haven’t read it yet! And even if you have, pretend you haven’t and leave a brand new shiny comment here. I’ll thank you sooner than later.

Disclaimer (aka a Calm-The-Hell-Down-Addendum): Below is a seemingly unpopular opinion of Ms. Beyonce Knowles. While it is not pure hatred (I don’t hate the lady, she just gives me a “meh” vibe in terms of vocal ability), the term “hater” might be thrown out by a few Beyonce stans. So, for all you “Hi, Hater” responders, please take a moment and actually consider that the critique just might be valid. People are far too comfy handing out this term and they never consider that the critique may have a point because they can’t possibly fathom anything being wrong with a public figure they admire. Also, don’t let the negative critique completely blind you to the fact that I’ll have some good things to say about her below as well. But, uh, if you still want to toss out the “hater” label at me, by all means, go right ahead…but please believe you are also a hater for hating on my hating.

So. I’m just gonna come right out and say it:

Beyonce. Can’t. Sing.

Ok, maybe I should change that up a bit. Maybe it’s more like:

Beyonce. Can’t. Sang.

That’s right, folks, I have not completely caught The Beyonce Bug. She does not really impress me as much as she does a lot of other people. Now, when I say I haven’t “completely” caught The Beyonce Bug, it doesn’t mean I hate each and every thing she has released to the public. Her songs are very catchy and a few of them are even shelved in my iPod Playlist as I type.

However, is she the best singer of her (and my) generation? I’m gonna take “No” for 200, Alex. Folks sure act like she is, though.

Thing is, her voice is perfect for pop songs at best. I do admit that she has a good “pop” voice and her voice is probably perfect for the upbeat, not-really-complex hit singles she usually disperses. She has a “pleasant” sounding voice, but a true diva-fied sanger, she is not. So, why is she now the go-to woman for power ballads as if she can even hold a tea candle to the original singer? To name one example: the choice to cast her as Etta James in the film, Cadillac Records. Now we know damn well she wasn’t primarily chosen because of her stellar acting ability. It was more about her being a “sellable” actor. She’s Beyonce, she of “She’s So Famous She Doesn’t Need A Last Name” status. Now, the second reason could be due to her voice. Now, in terms of acting, I’d say, yeah, she’s a better singer in comparison. But, that ain’t saying much if you factor in her alleged acting ability. Which is “zero”, by the way, for those of you playing at home.

Recently, she — for some reason unbeknownst to me — was chosen to do an alleged MJ tribute at the BET awards by singing “Ave Maria” (along with a cover of “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan…another song I don’t think she can efficiently touch). To this choice, I say, “WHAAAA?!”. Do the producers at BET know the same “Ave Maria” ballad I know? That song is probably one of the most complex songs ever in terms of vocal range and they give Beyonce a stamp of approval to sing that song? That song requires an octave range that Beyonce couldn’t even reach in a pair of her 6-inch stiletto heels.

Here is the audio from the performance (I don’t think BET is allowing video to be posted on YouTube):

Even with her very own song, “Sweet Dreams”, I notice she tries to go beyond her range. See link below:

Sweet Dreams YouTube Video (embedding is disabled by Beyonce/Sony)

At around 2:57, she attempts to reach a higher octave with the line, “Not even death can make us part”. I cringed when I first heard it because I could hear the strain in her voice. I mean, are you serious? Is it really supposed to sound like that?

Look, it’s not like I’m an older woman who wants to relive “the good old days” when music was better. I’m actually Beyonce’s target audience to a T. I’m a 20-something single lady. However, I’m a 20-something single lady who does know what a real singer is and who is not easily impressed by what is being distributed to my peers today. And yeah, the bulk of the “real singers” happen to be during the “good old days”. Ya know, when the instrumentals were natural and they complimented an already terrific voice instead of being digitized and studio-coated in order to support an “okay” voice.

I mean, what are the requirements for diva status these days? A pretty face, a bangin’ body and a great studio voice? And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we don’t have terrific singers nowadays, it’s just that they’re not at the forefront…not like Beyonce. I know for one that songstresses such as Jill Scott or Jazmine Sullivan can single circles and spheres around Beyonce, yet you don’t see their faces (or better yet, bodies) plastered over every single network/cable channel pretty much covering every song known to man.

And before folks start smacking me with Beyonce’s lace front wig, I’m gonna say: Beyonce is pretty. She is. Even during her no-makeup days she is a cute lady. So, trust, I’m not one of those that automatically jump to saying, “Why are men fallin’ all over her? She ain’t even all that” regarding Beyonce. Contrary to popular belief, a critique of a fellow woman doesn’t always have to be compared to her looks. But, I have to ask:

Are Beyonce’s looks blinding us to the fact that her voice ain’t really all that? To put it into perspective, let me point out a few of Beyonce’s singing traits that cause people to faint as if the Holy Ghost has befallen them.

Things That Don’t Necessarily Mean You Can Really Sing:

1. Hollering.

2. Grunting on certain words of the song to give it that “soul” or “diva” edge.

3. Vocal acrobatics that don’t really makes sense beyond adding some type of “flair”.

So, I have to ask, if Beyonce wasn’t the Creole, long-haired long-weaved, light-skinned, coveted waist-to-hip ratio, glamorized lady she is today and was instead, an average wholesome girl, would her voice be as praised as it is now?

This time, I’ll take “Helllllll Naw” for 500, Alex.

Love ya like Beyonce loves dropping 371 singles a year,

Cheekie

Match-Made In Hell

Dayum, save some patterns for the rest of us. Actually, no…keep it.

Do you have a favorite color? I have a favorite color. It’s called “red.” Know how I show love for the color? I don’t wear every effing thing that was colored red in the history of Roy G. Biv, that’s for damn sure. At one time.

Which is why I’ll never understand matchy-matchy outfits.

Here in the Chi (and elsewhere I know, but I’mma just speak for my peoples), we have a saying. It’s called “country.” What is country? Steve Harvey and his Super-size McTEEF for one. Folks that think they SHAHP (it’s “sharp” but trying being a bit looser with that ‘r’ there…). There’s not one specific style that encapsulates the country-ness, but you know it when you see it. Matching every single item of clothing (plus accessories) from head to toe is one of ‘em.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, I get a truckload of Newport News catalogues. I sweah fo’ lawd I ain’t never bought an earring from them. But, someone in their corporate family (probably some ratchet cousin) must’ve sent my mailing address to them. Anyhow, because I can’t NOT browse clothing catalogues, I often flip the pages to check everything out. Man, when they say curiosity killed the cat, they weren’t telling no half-truths.

One particular day, I was catalogue page-flipping and what do I see? An entire page dedicated to one pattern. It was quite the loud pattern, similar to the one in the post picture above. The things that were blessed with the loud pattern were:

- Blouse

- Slacks*

- Blazer

- Shoes

- Purse

Wait. *record scratch* Purse?! There was a purse to match?? There was a purse to match. That is some country ass, foolish ass ish…on the real. I truly wish I knew about this blog when I saw that catalogue page so I could’ve taken a picture to post and show you, my Pinchers. But, for now, you’re just gonna have to use your imagination. Eddie Kendricks.

Speaking of letting my imagination run away with me. While looking back at past posts, I realized that I don’t understand a lot of things throughout my blog. Picture me confuddled. So, for today, I’m gonna do something different and attempt to understand why someone would fix their minds to believe that wearing matchy-matchy outfits is a good idea. Remember, this is me imagining here…

Possible Reasons Why Matching Head-To-Toe Is a Good Idea:

– You may want to create a national holiday for your favorite color.

– Your life goal is to blind those close to you.

– You want to blend in with cheesy wallpaper.

– You don’t like to multi-task.

– You want to show how racist you are against other colors.

Pinchers, because it’s Monday and I need a drink I love to share the wealth with ya’ll, how do you feel about matchy-matchy outfits? Is it fashionable? Does it show a talent of some sort? What other reasons can you think of that’ll justify such madness? I need to know.

Love ya like alcoholics love a good half o’ gallon of plastic bottle Svedka on a Saturday night,

Cheekie

*Don’t worry, I don’t say slacks. I know you’re like, “Slacks?! Who TALKS like this?” But, I had to say slacks because that’s how they look. Not like pants. But, slacks. You know what I’m talmbout. I hate slacks, by the way.