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This here post was actually written on Saturday, December 18th, but at the time I was trapped inside the Devil's Cross-Country Coach to Utter Insanity and was unable to access the Internet... or my peace of mind. Therefore I just typed up a little something to calm my spirits and do some much needed self-inventory. I had not intended to post it but, hey... why the hell not?

Beginning at roughly 1:30AM Pacific Standard Time on Saturday, December 18, 2010, my aunt, my cousin and I embarked upon a near cross-country journey beginning in L.A. with the intent to wind up in Houma, LA. This ill-plotted trek is estimated to last for a duration upwards of 24 hours. So far we are just about 30 minutes past El Paso headed East. The time is now 6:29PM Central Standard Time.  The situation stands as thus: I have a feeling that I am the outcast of this trio and my kin find me generally unfavorable for whatever reason. When my cousin nearly KILLED/SERIOUSLY INJURED us, I was called a "jack ass" and was wrongfully attributed much of the blame with her just because I was in the front seat. Little did my aunt know that her daughter NEGATED me when I said, "This is our exit coming up" and realized at the VERY LAST MINUTE that I was right. When my cousin told her that I did in fact indicate the proper exit long BEFORE it was too late, my aunt continued to berate me for the mishap. When my aunt forced us to go the wrong way because she was CERTAIN that my directions had to be wrong even though she was in a place she had NEVER been before, she refused to apologize when proven wrong OR for calling me out of my name. When I put my music on after being asked to do so I was criticized because for whatever reason it was all wrong. Finally I was chastised AT LENGTH for my driving. I am aware of the fact that, to date, I have not accomplished much in my life but one thing I KNOW I can do is drive. I may not have matured in my driving in big fancy Los Angeles like my cousin nor have I made a many long highway journey like my aunt, but I HAVE well-navigated heavy traffic areas and have even done so impaired... heavily. 

Anyway, back to my tale. When I took the wheel it seemed like all of a sudden everyone was nervous even though none of them had never been in a car that I was driving before. It was smooth sailing for quite a while but once I made what they saw as an outrageous error (that was neither life threatening nor gross) all of a sudden I was scrutinized for my every move. My speed was always wrong. My passing methods were aberrant. My music selections were much lamented. In their opinion I was a 16 year-old in the driver's seat for the very first time having her initial brush with the almighty Highway. My first instinct bade me to fervently weave and wind through the traffic at a much accelerated speed (90 mph). Taking personal note of my reckless behavior, I resigned from the display. Once we hit the metropolitan and traffic laden area of El Paso they're nerves went into overdrive. There were many suggestions that I should pull over soon and I should "Just do" this and "make sure to do" that. I was spoken to as though I were a child by two women who are no more skilled at driving than I am myself. Instead of adhering to their many pleas for me to relinquish control of the steering wheel, I merely reacted with mild demeanor and a calm tone as I effortlessly navigated the tumultuous and fluid freeway.

My performance was nearly flawless. I barely pressed the brake. Hell, half the time I had the gears on cruise control. (Yeah, I was stuntin a lil'.) Their anxiety fueled my excellence. I took pleasure in their fear and paralyzing doubt. (This satisfaction, of course, set in once I soundly quelled my temper, easily flared by ANYONE doubting my gangsta.) Once we neared the outskirts of the city most protests had been silenced. Agile confidence and quiet resolve seem to have a way of showing your critics that which no amount of dissent on your part (the criticized) can do any justice. As soon as all was clear… I then passed my aunt the wheel, neigh I insisted that she take it (very humbly and cheerfully, of course). I was glad to oblige after all.

Before this would-be catastrophe transpired, I hated everything about me. A few hours ago I was really sitting in this car crying (again), typing about how I can’t figure my life out and how I am completely devoid of a path. I was in need of an outlet. Someone to really talk to and hear me out and understand and say it was gonna be OK, but I don't have that. All I have is ME and several hours ago that wasn't enough. For the past year that hasn't been enough. For a long time I've felt like whatever I am, it doesn't amount to much in this world as I have come to know it. It is truly a daily conscious battle for me just to accept myself--LIKE myself. (Wow. Just typing that was exhausting.) Now, after I've been chastised so needlessly, I realize that this feeling of worthlessness I have is exactly what the world wants of me. As long as I compare myself to everything and everyone else I'll never feel like I'm capable of anything at all. Which brings me to my point of catharsis...

Why the hell shouldn't I be cocky as fuck? Hoes who wish they had a drop of what I got talk more shit than a lil bit so why can't I talk mine? Because of fear… of failure?!?! To hell with that bald-headed bullshit. People REALLY expect me to deny myself of all the things that make me unique just so they don't feel so "regular"… and dammit I often do. That is something I should have NEVER begun because since I have not been able to stop. What I should be doing is concentrating on any and everything wonderful that I KNOW I am. So on that note...

I am a GREAT driver. I have EXCELLENT taste in music. In fact, I'm musically talented my damn self. If I make an assertion, 87% of the time it's because I am DAMN certain. (13% is all astute guesswork, naturally.)I know a lot and while there is PLENTY I am ever eager to learn, there is quite a bit I can teach someone else. I am funny as SHIT. Half the comics I see ain't got NO MATERIAL compared to what I ruminate on the daily. I actually CAN write no matter how little positive feedback I'd get on the subject. I am beautiful and confident and intelligent and fiery and witty and a good person to those who have been good to me and striving to be even better.


I'm so tired of people who are so put off by my self-assuredness that they try to quell it in any way they can. I'm too through with feeling like nothing just because I'm not on the same plane with everyone else I know. I'm not that slumped shoulders, down turned eyes kinda bitch so why in the HELL am I acting that way these days? All these other ridiculous hoes out'chea brag on absolutely NOTHING and here I am hiding inside myself because I'm afraid that all I feel I am won't translate as well on the surface. Just because I don't have a degree, or a car, or a job or anything else right now, is that supposed to mean I'm nothing? That's insanity if I ever heard about it in my life. I have EVERYTHING I need to make AAAAAALL that happen if I so desire. So the world can continue to ice me out if they wanna. If my name never gets called again, I'm still here and I'm still someone unlike any other human being. No matter what everybody else thinks my proper place should be I know that in this world there is only one place I have ever truly belonged and that's WHEREVER...THE FUCK… I WANNA BE.

That's Not What That's For!!!!

"Lawd, what ya think wrong wit 'em?!?!" is what my grandmother might outcry upon reading such a story as this. Me? I say, "Hoes be dumb, yeah."

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/40718872/ns/local_news-new_orleans_la/

If you skipped the link (which I doubt) this is what you should know by now. Apparently some young lady thought it would be a good idea to take on an unintended and very violent use for a utensil that is possibly the most benign of holiday feast preparation tools. Simply put: a bitch went off with a turkey baster. The assailant, one Quenika Johnson 20 years old, got into a skirmish with a family member and proceeded to attack said kin with the seasoning implement.

Now I wasn't there but from the scant details provided in the article, I have conjured up something of a "dramatization" in my mind. I will share it with you.

(Enter QUENIKA to the kitchen to find her family member there)
QUENIKA: Bitch what you was doin by MY fuckin' nigga mama house?!
TIKA (I made the family member a girl and gave her a name): Bitch he ain't yerns no mo!
QUENIKA: One thing about bitch, this MY nigga if you believe dat shit or not.
TIKA: He ain't told ME dat shit, so until he do, bitch, Juice MY nigga.
QUENIKA: Bitch, I got two'a dis nigga kids. Nah what tha fuck you got fuh'em?
TIKA: One on the way thanks to dis shit right'chea. (Mockingly, TIKA brandishes the baster then QUENIKA snatches it)
QUENIKA: And I'm bot tuh fix dat shit right mutha fuckin nah. (In a fit of passionate rage QUENIKA attacks TIKA with turkey baster)
(They tussle fiercely until TIKA gains her footing and scrambles for the nearest exit.)
TIKA: (Badly beaten and with her eye punctured by the instrument) Bitch, watch how fast them fuckin people be on you! I'ma fix yo fuckin ass. Watch!

(Exit TIKA)
(End scene)

Feel like you were there right? I know I did when my head came up with it all of a sudden. You might say that my dramatization was stereotypical but I say everywhere I go I see the same hoes. And these hoes are ALWAYS fighting over some dude. No matter what may have immediately caused tempers to flare, some little boy is always at the center of the argument fanning the flames, especially at the age of 20. Maybe it wasn't such a scintillating subject as I have depicted it but when a girl goes of like that in New Orleans, there is no doubt that it has SOMETHING to do with "her nigga".

"R. Kelly's Ghost Haunts the Halls of Harvard"

As preposterous as that sounds, it may as well have been the title of an article in the NY Daily News that I had the pleasure or perusing today but sadly no one was clever or reckless enough to come up with that.

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/2010/12/14/2010-12-14_harvard_books_found_doused_in_urine_was_not_a_hate_act_worker_accidentally_spill.html

When I came across the headline, ("Harvard books found doused in urine was not hate act; worker accidentally spilled on books") I thought it would be your average run-of-the-mill news article about gay outrage and things of that particular nature. So say a gang of books all on gay and lesbians topics were found drenched in piss. The library employee in question of committing the act (who reported it two weeks after it occurred) contested that he/she actually knocked over a bottle of piss that happened to be on that shelf and did not carry out the act knowingly. I mean who would drink THAT Kool-Aid? No queer I know, that's for damn certain. I couldn't wait to read the snappy quips of some of the disgruntled Ivy League community. I expected some zingers in lieu of the intrinsic hilarity of the situation. Upon further review of the article, I read that gay students were "relieved" to find that the seemingly malicious act was not deliberate or measured. One respondent did express his concern for the lingering bottle of urine and it's purpose for being, however.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

1. Who would accidentally knock over a bottle of piss on documents at their job and not report it IMMEDIATELY because I figure a) they wouldn't want to get the blame for it and b) it's a bottle of FUCKING PISS?!?! Let me knock over a container of piss ANYWHERE and see how bad I go off. Everybody I saw for the NEXT two weeks would have to hear the story about how some dumb bitch left a bottle of PISS sittin' 'round for me to knock over on my DAMN JOB that I already CANNOT STAND just to fuck my life even further. I'd want them to run that piss through whatever DNA matching systems they had to find the mutha fucka who would dare be trifling enough to do that nasty shit and leave it for somebody else (i.e. MY BLACK ASS) to deal with. End reason #1 for why I DO NOT believe that ridiculous story.

2. So that bottle of piss just happened to be sitting atop a shelf containing literature about one of the most abhorred, controversial and abused groups in American society today? Right. And all those Klansmen meant to put those burning crosses on the lawns of Catholics not black folk. BIIIIIIG misunderstanding that I'm sure all of us Negroes are "relieved" to have cleared up for us.  Reason #2 why I still don't believe this dumb ass' story. Which leads me to my third point...

3. WHY DOES ANYBODY ELSE BELIEVE THIS BOGUS SHIT?!?! From the tone of the article it looks to me like EVERYBODY at Harvard accepts that this person's account of the disaster it true. Maybe I'm just a cynic and find most things hard to believe but DAMN. Saying a bottle of wayward piss being accidentally knocked over to explain an incident that looks like an OBVIOUS case of vandalism is possibly the lamest excuse I have EVER heard in my life. Even if this library worker DID NOT piss on those books his fool ass knows who did to say some stuff like that. Hell I'd love to even think that they actually tested the leavings to see if they could match it up to a possible perp, but to me it sounds like the case has been closed on that one person's testimony. The authorities probably don't even care to get to the bottom of the situation. It is just piss after all. Now maybe if shit had been involved... that would be something to pursue.

Hell, if all of 'em are that gullible I say just replace the damn books and be satisfied with that shit. If only R. Kelly had thought of it first. He probably would've never gone to trail. They could have dropped the whole thing right there. "Somebody left a bottle in my room that I thought was filled with some Perrier-Jouet. My bad." You are forgiven Robert... so sorry to have troubled you.

"DeDeT, Why Can't I Find a Good Man?"

Maybe it's because the guidelines you follow to be considered the type of woman a "good man" would want all come from the Book of "Savage Life" As Told by Webbie and Boosie and The Gospel According to Lil' Kim (with all the words spoken by Biggie shown in red, of course).

Okay... I'll be the first to admit that I LOOOOOOOVE Kimberly Jones and "Savage Life" kinda went hard barring those more misogynistic tracks (i.e. "Come Here Bitch" "Give Me That" "Like That" "Gutta Bitch" "Gotta Show Me You Worth It") BUT (and that's a big "but") I can't see myself modeling myself after her or the kinds of women that Boosie and Webbie claim to crave. I know some of you hoes pride yourselves on being "Bad Bitches" who be "cookin and cleanin and cleaning and cookin... constantly douchin and cleanin her pussy" and all that other buck nekked bull shit but COME ON. Clearly the man has no idea how a woman works because a brizzle who is "constantly douchin and cleanin her pussy" will wind up with a nasty fungus/mold up there and that ain't EEEEEEEEEVEN what you want, ma. Hardly something that I think a man would look for in a woman. "Yeah, nigga that bitch moldy but she clean though." *Nigga please*

As evidenced by the vastly ignorant content being promoted through the lyrics of artists such as Boosie and Webbie, there are some men out there who are quite deluded when it comes to what a good woman looks like and how she is to be approached. That being said, ladies we should be the ones to SHOW them what a real good woman is through our actions, not succumb to their pigeonholed designs. Instead of thinking more highly of themselves, hoes out'chea are doing everything possible to prove their worth to these Negroes who are adrift in a sea of materialism and delusion. So now we have all kinds of "Bad Bitches" who keep their hair and nails done but can barely keep their lights on because they have multiple children and much drama for a cat who thinks the ideal woman is one who can manage that lifestyle while adequately stroking his ego for the duration. She sits around with her fellow "bad bitches" longing for the comforts of the club and lament about "these no good niggas" as the multitudes of unattended children scream, holler and run about at 12AM on a Tuesday night while he's out "stackin his paper" and bragging to all his equally jaded "rounds" who tout him for his ability to push product and pull hoes.

As for Lil' Kim... she's my GIRL. (Foxy was always my favorite though.) When "Get Money," "No Time," "I Got a Crush on You" and all those other cuts came out I was ON IT. At one point I know I was rapping "I Got A Crush on You" in my sleep, but I still knew the kind of brizzle that Kim was portraying in her lyrics was not the woman I wanted to become. I have noticed, however, that other women my age and some a little older have taken Kim's lyrics to practice with their varying colors and textures of hair, tawdry style of dress and general attitude about "ridin' fuh ya nigga." (Not as many appear to be bold enough to re-enact Kim's sexual proclivities though... scary hoes.) I understand that Lil' Kim was a "creation" of Biggie's design in many ways. Kim was the "ride or die" side piece that was all too happy in her place as long as she got her props from her nigga.

"I'ma throw shade if I can't be paid/Blow you up to ya girl like a Army grenade"

Her entire aura was one of a ghetto sexual fantasy to make her the quintessential black mistress. She'll roll the blunt, smoke ya, stroke ya and send you back home to your uppity high yella wife smiling from ear to ear. She'll load the clip and buss if she gotta. "Fuck the world. It's me n' you Big Poppa." Sure she'll make a fuss when her nigga looks like he favors wifey a little too much every now and again, but all he has to do is buy her some fancy baubles, break her off and tell her that she gives him something wifey never could--that real. Wifey is too prissy but the ride or die is down for whatever. She'll be the one flushing his stash and putting money on his books if he has to sit down for a dime or two because he knows the "good woman" he has at home thinks to highly of herself to get involved in that sort of depravity. If wifey knew about the uglier details of his lifestyle he would surely lose her and that is something he would never allow to happen. Just as much as these hoes want to hold on to that "good man" no matter what they have to endure, that no good nigga will jump through the same hoops to keep that "good woman" he's been neglecting at home.

So the moral of this profane story is that some cats will not waste an opportunity to mold any woman who seems malleable. If permitted he will shape you into the form of one who will accept just about anything and demand next to nothing. Essentially this will make it easier for him to run over your compromising ass while still being able to keep you in line. I may not know too much about "relationships" but it seems to me that a "good man" wouldn't even want you to stoop that low...

It's cool though if you didn't dig the message. If too many of you hoes changed, I wouldn't be able to enjoy Maury nearly as much as I do now...

Into the Blue...

... yeah, I'm tweetin'. What of it bitch? If you want beef, follow me @DeDeT0401. I'll be waitin' for that ass.

But on a less hoodratish note, I have finally done something I said I would never do and joined the scores of Tweeters. Am I proud of it? Probably. I have decdicated an entire blog post to it after all. Do I plan on using Twitter's innocent functions for evil? Only time will tell. It has been my ill-plotted intent to impose my self on the world one venue at a time so this is but another rung in the ladder. Loyola. New Orelans. Facebook. Vox. Blogger. Now Twitter. Next stop... your face.

Which reminds me... all I want for Christmas is a webcam and a damn fancy one at that.

The Invisible Man

I read that book once. I dug it. Never thought that I would BE that shit though...

From what I recall his invisibility was a figurative one, rather social, as is mine. I tried to fight against it for a while (just like he did) but thus far I have been quite unsuccessful. I have not yet arrived to the point where I live in a basement drenched in artificial light but who knows what 2011 might bring. Anyway, his "invisibility" stemmed from the fact that he was a black man in the white man's America. His identity was stripped from him. He had no name. I have a name... it just doesn't get called that often. He was an "educated" man. I am an "educated" woman... to an extent. I don't have a degree or anything. I just read a lot and know a couple obscure words that I can't help but effortlessly throw around. Kinda like a street magician who has a tendency to want to weird out unassuming passers by with pulling random things out of them that they were certain could not have been there before. It's sick really...

Anyway, what the hell was I talking about? Me. Right. See? Even I forget I'm here. It wasn't always this way though. When I was among the student race, I seemed to be somewhat visible. Now that I am not and wholly unable to pursue that lifestyle any further, I'm in socio-economic purgatory. I don't have a car and even if I did, I'd be pushing that bitch down the street having no money with which to procure the necessary fuel and maintenance commodities. Without said car I am barred from any activity that would include other people and take place somewhere outside of my parents' house since my surrounding communities interest me not and those that do require me to be mobile. Without a job I haven't much reason to venture from beneath this roof anyway. My incessant search for employment has yielded no result, due to my undesirability as an employee without a piece of paper that would let an employer know that I exist. I could go back to school if I had the money to pay what I owe the school I left behind. Because I can't pay the outlandish balance, I can't go back there (or anywhere else for that matter) due to my state of unsatisfactory financial standing. Meanwhile, my credit suffers as I am unable to repay the debt I accrued while attending that institution to which I cannot return. In my inability to proceed any further than where I am simply by acting, I have fallen from anyone's radar who is in motion... which seems to be everyone.

I have been pouring over my invisibility in an effort to correct it, but as for solutions I have acquired none. With no remedy in sight, I feel like I should be taking advantage of this phenomenon instead of loathing my nonexistence. I should be able to accomplish a number of extraordinary things since no one is really looking... things I could not at the time when eyes were fixed on me. Since your backs are so stubbornly turned to me, you are more at my mercy than I am yours. Now that I see its benefits, I believe I have more interest in my inconvenient condition than I had before.

Please, by all means, return to whatever you were doing before I so impudently interrupted. I'm kinda busy now, so... yeah. I'm sure you remember the way out.

"DeDeT, Why Can't I Find a Good Man?"

A few weeks ago, after witnessing the dating frustrations of a person I once considered a friend, I discovered that there might be a few women out there who were seriously deluding themselves about the real reasons why they have such difficulty finding a "good man". With this epiphany I decided that some of my guidance might be necessary. When I offered her my very humble opinion, it was brutally rebuffed. Then I decided that maybe I should be less humble about my advice since delusional hoes tend to be defensive. Since then I have been determined to (one status update at a time) reveal to those who are lost whatever directions in life they have missed, but my status updates aren't nearly enough to correct ALL that wrong. To be truly effective, these aphorisms of mine need to be expounded upon and eloquently at that. So without further delay, I give you my first Blogger installment of "DeDeT, Why Can't I Find a Good Man?"

Maybe it's because you're still wearing clothes from two years (and thirty pounds) ago and NEWS FLASH: They were a wee bit snug and played out back then.

So ladies I know if you're anything like me, you don't claim to be some manner of great fashionista but SOME of us out there have no idea how to dress ourselves whatsoever. People will often throw out the platitude "The woman makes the clothes. The clothes don't make the woman." In the context of this conversation, such a blanketed statement could not be further from the truth. The truth is that it is all to easy for the clothes you wear to make you appear to be the type of nonsense that you don't claim yourself to be (i.e., a hoe of the bargained sort). When you go to Rainbow, Rave and It's Fashion and raid the $5 rack without taking into account that some things (no matter how frugal) aren't always a steal of a deal, you'll pay for it later when you are met with many stares of disapproval. Don't get me wrong, I'm broke as a joke. But I still know what looks good on me and what makes me look like I just crawled off the avenue. In this economy, it is a very good idea to be conscious of one's spending, but when it comes to the way you wish to be perceived by the opposite sex, some corners should not be cut so sharply.

When you are on the hunt for a "good man", what is the VERY first thing he will see? That's right--your outer appearance. So if you look like a skeezer what else is there to lead a man to any other conclusion about your dateability? Do you think he'll really give you the opportunity to open your mouth and prove him right? Why bother? You're probably just as dumb as you look wearing those tight, unflattering clothes that REEK of "2 for 1 Clearance Rack". With that in mind, how do you think a man would naturally approach such an obviously indiscriminate woman? Correct answer: With hard dick and bubble gum. That's all a hoe really needs to survive in this world anyway. Pimpin' takes care of the rest, therefore, you will often be met with "pimp game". Of course there are some indiscriminate men out there who will undoubtedly approach ALL women the same way, no matter how she looks but a "good one" may not approach you at all.

Additionally, ladies, some of us are not being honest with ourselves about our SIZE. I know it's a truly fucked up feeling when you put on those 14s and they feel a little bit more snug than you remember but we mustn't shy away from the reality of the situation. You can't make them thangs fit like they used to no matter how much "give" they have. Just because you can still put it on doesn't mean that you SHOULD. Trust me you'll be more attractive in the right size than you are squeezed uncomfortably into the wrong one. Not only does it tell a man that you're lying to yourself about how you look, it also shows that you've let yourself go. Do yourself a favor and don't EVER let a man see too much of what the future would hold for him in the event that he would consider a long-term arrangement with you. We all know that one day we all will most likely put on some pounds as we age but damn, at least let the man enjoy how you look NOW.

And if it seems as though I'm leaning too much toward the male point of view, consider this ladies: Would you be running into the arms of a man who was dressed like he just rolled out of bed and lazily decided that whatever he had on was sufficient for any occassion? Would you rest your future in the hands of a man who looked like he borrowed his little brother's t-shirt and his sister's jeans? Would you procreate with another human being who was obviously so careless and jaded? Maybe you would... which is why you can't find a good man.

(REAL TALK DISCLAIMER: I ain't sayin' I got it all together my damn self but that doesn't mean I don't know shit. So if this offends you, then I must speaking directly to you. You can either get on your game or get off my damn page. It's up to you ma'am.