Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Like done fucked up the pussy for me

It’s something about love (like actually) at first sight that just kills my swag on sight.

I’ve only liked about 5 girls on first sight and I mean that day dreaming about us picnicking, going to wine tastings, paddle boating (all things that I won’t do in a regular state of mind) and a gang of other corny shit my pride won’t allow me to type. From that moment my dormant ‘nice guy’ gene becomes hyperactive and turns me from Jean DeGrate to Jean DeLame; it’s really some sad shit. Here’s one of the stories...

The Prelude
It was early spring of 2002 and my man Greg (fake name) put me on with one of his girlfriend’s homies, her name was Nicole (real name). Greg told me she was a “cute joint”, which means she could be anywhere from a 5 to an 8 on the hook up protocol rating scale and normally when a guy is looking for a dude for a female friend of his girlfriend, it normally means she’s a lonely bitch.

Yeah all that shit was way off.
She was going to Howard staying on campus at the time so I decided to throw on something and walk around the corner and meet this chick. I put on a Latrell Sprewell New York Knicks Nike swingman jersey with a tank top under it, a pair of Silver Tab Levi’s and some beat up tan Timberland boots. My hair wasn’t brushed (I was a bald head back then) and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t clean shaved. So here I am walking up to the Towers (a dorm at HU, looking like an extra from “New York Undercover”, looking for a girl I’ve never seen before. She walks up to me while talking to me on my cell “saying I think you are directly in front of me” and she was cute as shit. She kind of reminded me of Lark Voorhies (Lisa from “Saved by the Bell”) with that girl next door pretty. She fit perfectly into my preconceived idea of what my girlfriend should look like: brown skin, long hair (that grew out of her head), about 5’3 and slim build with curves. I was on stuck before I got the “Oh I see you” reply out of mouth.

And let the lame shit begin:
We sat on that wall in front of the Towers for like 2 hours (sitting on a brick wall for two hours will have your ass feeling like hamburger meat); I was soaking up her words like a Shamwow soaks up water. I can’t remember shit she said to date, but that night I could recite that entire conversation like the national anthem. The moment I stepped on the other side of my door I was calling my man Greg to call his gir, to see what Nicole said about me; I was beyond pressed. She eventually called me that night and stayed on the phone with her until she fell asleep (yeah it was downright gay).

More lameness.
Her dorm mate was a cubby chick but they were homies and to help her lose weight she decided it would be a good idea for them to start jogging in the mornings. What does any of that have to with anything, you say? Well since I used to run track (in the 4th grade I conveniently forgot to mention how long ago it was) I offered my expertise. At the time I didn’t have to be at work until 1030 in the morning so my eyes didn’t open before 830am EVER and to add icing to the lame shit I don’t run, that’s like my motto; DeGrate don’t run. Never the less here I am at 6am doing stretches preparing to do laps around this track. This wasn’t even a one time event for like a week straight I’d hop out of bed walk down to HU wait for them to come out do 5 or 6 laps around the track and walk my happy ass home. I wasn’t even in running shape but pride and Jesus kept me from passing out. I’d literally go home sit in a tub of hot water, rubbing alcohol and Epson salt, but like (not love) got my ass out the bed the next morning to do it again.

The PEAK of LAME and I should have jumped off and killed myself.
(Real talk I’m staring at the screen trying to find the best way to word this shit to make me look the least lame as possible. Just thinking about it reaffirms why she cut me off like a Mexican with a switchblade.) At this time Nicole and I been chopping it up pretty heavy for like a good 8 days; she saw me like almost twice a day (including jogging). She snuck me into the dorm, bypassing the sign-in process at the time this meant nothing to me so I figured I was going home anyway. We were in the room, chilling and she was playing me close but for some strange reason when I’m in serious ‘like’ with a chick my “she’s trying to give you some pussy” detector just doesn’t function well (I might have to check into that). So she stepped it up a notch and began to change in front of me and I actually looked away; like I was really trying not to look at her get underdressed (anti-pussy move). After she switches into the Adina Howard outfit (T-Shirt and panties) it’s time to go to sleep and I should spend the night. So here I am grown ass man with a count in the triple digits laying next to a half naked attractive girl that I’m seriously digging, in jeans and a tank-top then she turns to me and says “Don’t you want to take your jeans off?” I reply “Nah I’m good” then proceed to go to sleep. It wasn’t until I was halfway home and started to do the night’s recap in my head that I realized that I smoothly worked my way out of the pussy.

Soon after that Nicole stop talking to me and her exact quote to my man’s girl for her reason,“He’s extremely attractive but I don’t like anything else about him”.

That “Nah I’m good” line haunts me to this day
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Don’t Blame It on the Alcohol

“A drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts” or in my case (and probably yours too) actions because I'm going to act a fool.

About once a year I get wasted and I mean memory hazy, calling Earl, making a fool of myself, stupid drunk; that time of year is normally my birthday. I do a few things I wouldn’t normally do, not saying I wouldn’t normally want to do them, but the drink just gives me a fuck it attitude, so I push it to the limit. While being drunk off my ass I’ve fondled 100’s of women (sorry ladies), threw a dude down a flight of stairs, choked a 7-11 employee, had sex on the hood of a car, and an assortment of other dumb shit I probably shouldn’t ever mention. That little voice in my head that says “JD don’t even think about doing that dumb shit” takes an elongated cigarette break and returns around the same time I’m pealing myself out of the bed the next morning while trying to piece together my night.

"When anyone drinks there is a neurological and psychological regression, and the higher the blood alcohol level, the more primitive and hostile the response that comes out. Alcohol can't make you think or feel things." according to Gary L. Malone, MD, an addiction psychiatrist and the Medical Director and Chief of Psychiatry at Baylor All Saints Medical Center in Fort Worth, Texas.

Short term effects of alcohol include; difficulty walking, blurred vision, slurred speech, slowed reaction times, impaired memory and blackouts, and breaks down inhibitions

They try to do like Jamie and blame it on the liquor.

I’ve heard so many stories of when people pushed the fault for their actions on an unsuspecting beverage; shit I’ve been guilty of that a few times myself (like that time I was off the Sal in Philly during Temple’s 2003 homecoming but that’s another story for another time).

Like that time you got drunk and fucked the gorilla looking chick that lives 3 building over from you, that helped you up the stairs while you were stumbling in the house drunk. You might want to blame the drink but in reality your dick was hard, she was down and nobody was around to judge.

You had them drinks in you when that guy told you he just wanted to give you head, then chopped the box for like 90 seconds before he got to stroking. It’s not the Goose/Nuevo combo that got you tripping or that you haven’t had some slight in a really long time; it’s really because you are a bit easier than you’d like to believe but pushing it off on Mr. Grey Goose just makes you feel better about yourself.

You came home fried from the club got in an argument with your girl and ended up putting your hands on her. You and her both will try to blame it an assortment of shit but at the end of the day you’re a woman beater.

Outside of passing out, calling earl and just being a clumsy fuck (like that time I fell and broke the camera stand in the club) all the shit you do under the influence is all part of who you really are it’s time to just face it.

I have seen 5 Patron lemon drops turn a ‘stand up’ chick into a table dancer but real talk, that table dancer was always in her.

Jean DeGrate has spoken

Friday, March 19, 2010

Why I’m so knowledgeable...

To many people, I may seem wise well beyond my years and why is that you ask? Because I’m Jean DeGrate and being on top of my shit is my number one goal in life. How else could I drop knowledge to the masses with my comedic panache? Ok you’re not buying that shit? Well here’s the real...

I’m a people watcher (mostly black people; I’m trying to get my white people watching game up but it’s kind of hard to watch them without being questioned by the cops)

I was born here in DC but from the ages of 4 thru 6 I lived in Trinidad and went to Catholic school, so when I enrolled in DC Public Schools I was like an alien trying to learn your strange American ways. My first 3 years in Meyer Elementary were split between fighting and trying to imitate the shit ya’ll was doing, so I could fit in (hey I was only 6 don’t judge me). It wasn’t until about the time I hit the 4th grade that I had fully come into my own swag and carved out my own lane but I never stopped, like some of ya’ll would tune into a VH1 reality show. I’d watch my peers, my teachers, my mother’s friends, my uncles, my crack heads; absolutely nobody was off limits to my people study, I might be an amateur anthropologist. It just turned out that my study of people lead me to a better understanding of my peers and my gift of gab made it easier for me to relate my findings to you. Funny thing is people really aren’t that different from one another real talk, something that is funny to girl A. is probably funny to girl B thru F and something that pisses off boy E. is equally irritating to boy A thru D.

I got a bullshit filter

Do you know all the words to a song you hate? Can you name 4 members of the cast of ‘Family Matters’? Do you know all the words to the McDonalds filet of fish commercial? Do you know who lives in a pineapple under the sea? Now I’m betting all of you answered yes to at least 2 of these questions and you want to know why? You have no bullshit filter so you pick up all this utterly useless information and it sticks with you not that it’s anything wrong with that I just don’t.

I read the paper and watch MSNBC & CNN

Local news is full of shit neither you nor I really need to know like those updates on Elgin & Tiger Woods or the heart wrenching story of Corey Haim’s drug overdose. Yeah this might be great for conversation in the break room or an interesting twitter/FaceBook status. At the end of the day how does any of this information help you? So to avoid any of this shit I consider fluff news I read the paper and avoid local news. So while you might be picking up helpful tips about online shopping for underwear, I’m learning what Ben Bernanke and them are doing to keep mortgage interest rates low. Do you even know who Ben Bernanke is without going to Google? Probably not but you have chapters of knowledge on Octo-mom and I guess that’s a plus.

I hate not knowing shit

Nothing bothers me more than when somebody asks me a question based on factual information that I can’t answer. It hurts my soul to say “I don’t know” I got to know; I need to know. I got a strong thirst for knowledge. I play Jeopardy with my co-workers every night so I can be even more on top of my shit.

Oh and I got an IQ of 131 real talk
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

We “EXCLUSIVE” but he ain’t my man

On Monday a friend of mind asked me “Why do men say we are exclusive instead of committing? What’s the difference? If he is only dealing with me and I’m only dealing with him why not just be together?” And here is the difference and the reasons why you’re not quite his girl.

1. She don’t have to know; she’s not my girl

It’s certain things he won’t do because he may have to tell his girl but the unofficial girlfriend line isn’t really clear as most of you would like it to be. Your exclusive meaning he won’t stick his dick in anybody else but that doesn’t mean he not taking the girl’s number who always flirts with him in the elevator or calling that cute chick from the bar last week the moment he gets off the phone with you. Matter of fact here’s a prime example and a true story...

Mike goes with Dave to see these chicks to play wingman. While they are at the young ladies’ residence, Mike drank 2 shots of Patron, out of Ms. Wingman’s cleavage, let her massage his joystick, for about 45 seconds and palmed that ass one good time on his way out the door. Did he smash? Nope, so the exclusive agreement remains unbreached but it’s definitely something his “Exclusive” girl would frown about ,good thing he doesn’t have to tell her.

2. I’m not obligated to do it

There are things he will do for his girl that he won’t do for Ms. Exclusive

The degree of moving help
Your man will cancel all plans go pick up the U-Haul get to the spot early in the morning and stay until the job is done. He even comes back the next day to help unpack all your shit and break the new place in, if he didn’t spend the night.
Your exclusive dude will show up mid day but he will tell you were those Mexican day workers can be found.

If you’re broke
Your man will toss you some bucks to make ends meet.
Your exclusive dude will take you out to make you feel better about being broke.

If you get a flat coming home late at night
Your man will come out to meet you and change your tire and then take you to get a replacement the next day so you won’t be riding on a donut.
Your exclusive dude will look up tow truck numbers for you and remind you to stand out of the road, but will sound real sympathetic while he’s doing it

3. Commitment is Commitment

Once he says “You’re my girl” it’s real he’s cutting off all those chicks that are just hanging around and ready to make a move when he makes their phone ring. He changes his Facebook status from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship’ (and even his momma is on Facebook) so the whole wide web knows, even the girl he doesn’t really know but she is phat as fuck that sent him a friend request this morning. He allows your hot pink toothbrush to sit on the edge of his sink and your Oil of Olay bodywash to sit in his shower instead of tucking all that shit away the second your out the door.

Making the jump from exclusive to commitment is really a world away. Exclusive means you get dibs on the weekends and he is only fucking you. For most dudes that doesn’t even mean you’ll get a Valentine’s Day present; I mean after all you’re not his girl ,a single rose from the Latino 3rd street will do just fine.

Commitment is a big deal and exclusive not so much.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Monday, March 1, 2010

5 Little known facts about Jean DeGrate

1. Ladies if you want to have sex with me just put my dick in your mouth, gets me in the mood every time guaranteed

It’s been many times that I’ve fallen asleep on a female who was trying to get it popping and was hoping I could read her mind because I couldn’t read her frisky mood while she sat on the other side of the couch watching TV while avoiding physical contact with me. Then the next day I get a call like this...

Her - I was so horny last night and you just went to sleep on me
JD - Word?
Her - Why didn’t you try anything?
JD - I’ve been trying to steer clear of that whole thing rape lately (but what I really meant is how the fuck what I suppose to know you wanted to get it in you were watching “For the Love of Ray J” so attentively and koonism bores me so much)

2. Some days I just do not want to be bothered.

Some mornings I wake up and really rather be alone. Loafing around the house, cooking for myself, watching funny movies and ignoring the phone works just fine for me. Don’t be mad if you been calling me for 8 straight hours and been getting the end button after 2 rings.

3. I’m very afraid of the single gun shot

I’ve been shot at and in some cases I’ve even shot back, but good aim in the hood isn’t common. To hear a barrage of gun shots is very common and about 15 minutes later you’d hear police sirens, then about 60 minutes later you’ll get the hood news version of who was shooting at who because people are seldom hit. Let’s face it; if our gun toting thugs spent as much time at the range as they spend on buying Air Jordan’s and playing Madden ever nigga in the hood could be a certified swat team sniper. So when that one unaccompanied shot emerges from the silence and fades back into calm, much in that way of how it came; that’s some scary shit. It makes me think a Dirty Harry/Doc Holiday type of dude is lurking around the corner with the marksmanship of an assassin.

4. I wish I could sing

I mean really sing, but not so I can go to American Idol or try to get a recording contract, but when my favorite song comes on the radio and I open my mouth to hit a note or two people won’t look at me like Mumble from “Happy Feet”. My very good friend Fatz AKA Russell once compared my singing voice to static.

5. I used to live in Macon, Georgia

That’s right from the ages of 10 thru 11, I was a watermelon eating, dirt bike riding, baseball playing country fuck. Things I learned in GA how to drive, fight, smoke and piss while walking.

There you have it you should all feel a little closer to DeGrate
Jean DeGrate has spoken