Tale of a Wingman

It was Tuesday, May 2nd 2006 at about 8:45pm and I'm lying across my futon watching Eddie Murphy's "Raw". I just got off work and just felt like chilling so get in the house pop in the DVD make a sandwich and grab a beer. I get three bites into this sandwich and my phone starts to ring; which is about a foot outside of arms reach from where I'm laying. I don't even look at the caller ID because I don't have any plans on answering. Fifteen minutes passes and my phone is still ringing so I could either smash it to pieces or answer it. In retrospect I should have smashed. I mute the TV and crush the last piece of sandwich...

JD - Hello *using the half sleep voice*
Dave (of course it's an alias) - What you doing dog?
JD - I'm running track! What the fuck does it sound like I'm doing?
Dave - I need you I got some 2 player action
JD - It can't be made into 1 player?
Dave - Nah it's got to be 2 player possible 3 players
***2 player 3, 4 so on and so forth = the number of guys needed in a mixed gender situation***
JD - Aigh I'mma call you back in fifteen minutes

I hop up then turn off the movie and get myself together, all the while cursing myself for answering the fucking phone. Pick up Dave, of course I'm the lucky guy to play wingman because I own a car, then head out to god knows where Virginia while he fills my head with all this "you should see her friends" bullshit and telling me how I'll be thanking him for calling me. Niggas always lay the sice on extra thick before sending you on a setup mission. When you hear stories like this you want to believe it, you need to believe it, but if you've been doing this wingman shit as long as I have you know better.

After getting extremely flawed directions from this chick we decide to let them meet us at this gas just east of the middle of fucking nowhere. A pack of Black & Mild's and an hour later (more like 15 minutes and 1 black but it felt like fucking forever) this bitch pulls up in a Super Shuttle van (as in the airport Super Shuttle). A burly black chick hops out with two Spanish chicks and a toddler. I look over in their direction thinking "I know these can't be the bitches" and at that exact moment this nigga Dave starts walking over to them.

Before I go any further let me tell you what these girls look like... The two Spanish girls were cute as shit to be perfectly honest. They had on matching Baby Phat winter bombers with the fur around the hood zipped all the way up to the neck even though it was 72 degree outside. Maybe they had recently crossed the boarder and weren't used to weather in America yet. They both had nice shapes as far as I could, it kind of hard to tell staring at winter coats. At this point things were looking up.

Now my man Dave on the other hand appears to be in real bad shape. This girl is fucked up for the floor up. Body shot. Face shot. Hair shot. Clothes shot. She might have one positive feature but I couldn't see it from the angle I was standing at. She had her hair in a struggle pony tail. A struggle ponytail is a pony tail where the hair in the front won't reach the back so you brush and grease it down then pray that it stays put but after a while it's all sticking up expect a pinky finger sized knot of hair held down by a scrungi. She was super dark skin and looked as if she was sweating so her face was glistening in the moon light like black patent leather. She was at least 70lbs over weight; her body was shaped like a 2 liter soda. I would keep going in but I got a story to tell; just know she was fucked up.

This coon calls me over to introduce me as I notice the Super Shuttle pulling off; at the time I was driving a coupe a true four seater a 2003 Acura CL to be exact. This team of misfits' piles into my car and to this day I'm still not sure how 2 Mexicans, a fat girl, and baby fit in the back seat of my whip. Good thing it was a short drive because I know that big bitch was hell on my shocks. We literally at big girl's apartment complex in 3 minutes but she lived in one of those places were the visitor parking is at the very beginning of the complex. As we embark on this huge trek towards BG's (big girl) apartment, which is a good 7 blocks away from where I parked, everybody is talking with the exception of the Spanish girls and me because I was pissed the fuck of still so I thought nothing of it at first. The moment we walk through the door of BG's apartment her mother gets to complaining...

BG's mother - I know you ain't in here again with a gang of niggas!!! Oh how ya'll doing tonight?
JD - I'm fine ma'am
Dave - I'm okay
(Yeah she took time out to speak to us and got back to screaming on her daughter)
BG - Ma it's my birthday! Don't do this on my birthday!
BG's mother - I don't give a fuck whose birthday it could be Jesus birthday. Just look at the example you are setting for your daughter!

Okay that carried on for about 20 more minutes and I'm all for ratchet shit but it got down right awkward after 5 minutes. After that we all made our way to BG's bedroom. I was really praying that we would get put out, but no such luck. BG pulls out this pint of Hypnotic then had the nerve to ask everybody if they wanted a cup. After that the two Spanish girls step off and come back with bowls of spaghetti O's as they walk back in the room I notice that they still have their jackets zipped all the way and still haven't said a single word. At this point I'm beyond done; I grab the remote and try to focus on the TV. BG decides she doesn't want to see the shit I'm watching and my man sides with her off some "Come dog, on it's her birthday", so now all the wingman in me has left the building. In the mist of trying to figure out how the hell I'm going get out of here I hear the front door slam and when I look around the Spanish girls are gone. I turn to BG...

JD - Fuck happened to you girls? They just rolled out like that?
BG - Yeah they do that from time to time
JD - Go long periods of time without talking or just roll out without warning?
BG - Oh they don't speak English
*During this conversation BG's daughter has invented a new game it's called "Step on Jean's new shoes" but this is before I was wearing Gucci shoes and shit*
Dave - Do you speak Spanish?
BG - No, not really?
JD - What the fuck do you mean not really? It's either you speak it of you don't Dave - Are you telling me that I dragged my man way out here for some girls that don't even speak our language?
JD - Get your child to stop stepping on my shoes. Son I'm ready to fucking roll.
*During this going back and forth we've managed to wake BG's younger sister. *
BG's sister (BGS) - *Banging on the door to her room* Ya'll need to shut the fuck up
Dave - Who the fuck do you think you're talking
BGS - *Pokes her head into the room* To who ever been talking
Dave - Don't make me get up
BGS - Get up you ain't about to do shit to me
BG - Everybody shut up ya'll are fucking up my birthday
JD - It was fucked up way before we got here. Dave come on I'm gone. As we get up and walk out of BG's room she races behind us with child in tow.
BG - Dave, I know you ain't going to leave me like this on my birthday
BGS - Let them weak ass niggas go (as she walks into her room and slams the door).
Dave - Let me go holla at her right quick I'll be like 5 minutes
JD - Give me the hammer and I'mma wait out here. You got 5 minutes after that I'm knocking on the door. *You never go to a strange hood without the pistol*
BG, the baby, and Dave make their way back to her room and I sit on the couch in darkness playing with Dave's snub nose 38. After about ten minutes I hear a hard knock on the door and BG's sister comes flying out of her room. She opens the door without even looking to see who it is and enters some dude who immediately starts to ask questions.
SD (some dude) - So is that him? (Pointing in my direction)
BGS - Yeah that's one of them
SD - Where is the other one?
BGS - He's in the back with my sister
At this point I'm staring directly at SD then he turns and walks out of the door and BGS goes back into her room smiling. I immediately start calling Dave's phones after fifteen attempts this dude don't answer the phone once. I wait on the couch for about 3 minutes then there is another knock on the door and I got gun in hand now thinking "From now on I'mma cut my ringer off as soon as I get in the house". Once again BGS is at the door in a flash and it's SD and about four of his buddies talking loud and ready for war I guess. I'm sitting on the couch as cool as an ice cube waiting for shit to jump off. These dudes walk around living room and look directly over at me; I give them the head nod and they give it back. SD cut's on the light for a second takes a good look at me then his friends leave and SD follows BGS into her bedroom. I put the gun in my pocket and relax a bit then I hear SD and BGS arguing and then a loud crash. I hopped up, went to the door of BG's bedroom and started knocking.

BG - Who is it?
JD - Fuck you mean who is it? Dave bring your ass on son you're fifteen minutes over your five.
Dave - Give me one minute

After about two minutes Dave opens the door adjusting his clothes, the smell of boodaussy rushes out with BG following behind looking like somebody threw a bucket of water on her big busted ass. When we're outside of the apartment I tell Dave of shit that transpired while he was fucking this ape and let him know that his wingman rights have been forever revoked.

Being a wingman is a hard line of work
Jean DeGrate told you a story

5 Signs She Might Be a Hoe

A Choosing Season PSA

There used to be a time where you could spot a hoe a mile away. If she looked like a hoe, talked like a hoe, and acted like a hoe... well by God Almighty, she was most certainly a hoe. How I miss the golden era of clear-cut hoes. These days we have professional daters, attention whores, and dot.com freaks. (Dot.com freak - a woman that talks in an overtly lusty manner online but the entire time she probably hasn't had sex in 6 months and in-between status updates she's ordering shit off of QVC.) They all seem like hoes, but in all honesty, they're only wearing a hoe's uniform. I'm going to give you these signs that will prevent you from mistaking a thirst-trapping chick for a legit whore. Because hoes are going be hoes, and you don't want to get snowed in with a chick who has been fucked more times than she's had hot meals. So here's the list...

1. She has hoe tattoos
There're primarily two types of hoe ink: (1) fruit tattoos and (2) bad ink. Older hoes (normally 30+) love to tattoo cherries and strawberries on their body. I don't understand the fascination with it, but they normally place them in on a sexual area like the ass or the breasts. On her left titty, she has a pair of dripping cherries with the caption "juicy"? Yep, she's a hoe for sure. When it comes to bad ink, there're a lot of people in their youth, who let their homie give them a shady ass jailhouse tatt for the low. If they didn't get it covered up, they are still running around with loyalty tattered on their rib cage spelled "l-o-y-a-l-t-i-e" in Old English lettering. Welp, life comes at you fast. Now you have the grown women that proudly showcase their shitty ink for the world to see, those women are hoes. It takes a certain type of female to get bad ink in adulthood, and that type of female is the one who will suck your dick in the movies on the first date. They also frequent tattoo parties where they get new shitty ink by a guy using Stoli instead of rubbing alcohol; so she might also have hepatitis.

2. She's a syke-a-dyke
"Girls kissing girls because it's hot right? But unless they use a strap on then they not dykes. They ain't about that life. They ain't about that life" - Kanye West. There's a gang of girls out here faking their lesbian. They kiss girls, they talk threesomes, and even post pictures of phat ass half-naked women from time to time on social media, but they are not about to go get no pussy for real. They talk a good game to make them seem freaky, but on the real, they are just regular ass cum swallowing hoes.

3. She doesn't dress her age
Hoes love to dress like women half their age. There's actually legitimate science behind that because younger looking hoes tend to be more approachable, and nobody wants to be an unapproachable hoe. All of her date night clothes come from Forever 21? Yep, she's a hoe. She's 30, and her winter coat is a baby pink Helly Hanson/North Face/Spyder? Yep, 9 times out of 10, she's a hoe. She's rocking leggings under her skirt that look like a kindergarten class designed them? Yep, she's probably a hoe (or color blind). She doesn't own any shirts with buttons on them? Yep, she's a hoe. Her lip gloss has glitter in it, but she's damn near 35... that lady is a hoe.

4. She's a heavy drinker
Girls love their Patron, Ciroc, Moscato, and whatever liquor is popular right now, but that doesn't make her a heavy drinker for real. It doesn't even make her a drinker at all. They'll probably chase the Red Berry so much that it's not even vodka anymore, it's just juice. Nah, the real heavy drinkers will go shot for shot with you, and will hold her liquor like she's an Irishman. Her liquor of preference is whatever liquor you're buying, and it doesn't matter if Jay-Z drinks it or not. If she orders Goose and cranberry in the club, but it's light pink instead of deep red, that bitch is a hoe.

5. She constantly reminds you of the other dudes checking for her
Hoes love to let you know about all their options, especially if she thinks that you aren't giving her the attention she deems she deserves. Funny thing about it is when she says other guys are checking for her, she really means niggas are trying to fuck her. She's not counting the 1 or 2 thirsty dudes who will shoot her a text on regular basis trying to break out of the friendzone. Nah, she's exclusively speaking on the dudes who make reoccurring appearances in her phone, inbox, and DM's that have been given a reason to believe that pussy is accessible because they've probably already got the pussy.

That Hennessy straight drinking broad at the bar with the rainbow colored hair is a hoe
Jean DeGrate has spoken

5 Signs That She Might Be Butt Hurt

A Choosing Season PSA...

Scorned women are amongst us. They blend in perfectly to the untrained eye, but they are emotional clusterfucks. Their hearts are filled with bitterness and insecurity, and you ain't even know it. It may not seem like such a big problem today, a few weeks before cuffing season officially begins. But, as we near Thanksgiving, Christmas, and countless snowed-in days, you'll realize that choosing a butt hurt bitch isn't the move. So let ol' Jean put you up on game on by revealing some of the butt hurt signs.

1. She often compliments herself and speaks on her self-worth
She's so used to being taking for granted and the men in her life overlooking her "greatness", she will take any opportunity she can find to let you (and anybody else willing to listen) know how dope she thinks she is. Bitch might be a bagger at Safeway and be in her second semester in hair school, but to her that means the world, and all men should bow down.  She feels as though she's deserving of so much: love, attention, front row tickets to a Beyonce concert, a faithful man, dinner at restaurants that don't have pictures on the menu, Gucci bags, midnight walks on the oceanfront, and a vast assortment of other shit. She can't understand why she has never gotten any of these things and she is determined to never settle for less than what she is "worth" again. Vagina logic dictates that if she makes it known to her suitors all that she's worthy of and how awesome she is, the men will finally take notice and treat her in such a matter. It almost never works though, and by "almost never" I mean "never ever".

2. She changes her phone number often
Butt hurt woman love to escape reality by dropping off of the radar and crawling into a deep dark hole filled with snacks and solitude... and often times rebound dick (but that is another blog). The best way to escape from everything and everyone is by changing their phone number. With every break-up, emotional letdown, or flat-out curve, you can expect her phone contact info to change. Just for shit and giggles, and to convince herself that she is really "moving on", she might add a digit to the end of her gmail address too. When she re-emerges into your inbox as JBeauty1@gmail.com, the reason for number change is always some variation of, "I had too many people from my past still trying to contact me", which normally loosely translates into "My old 'him' hurt me so bad, I can't allow him to contact me anymore".

3. She shuts down social media pages
The other part of the butt hurt shutout is through social networking sites; Instagram, FB, Twitter, and whatever else the cool kids are using these days all have to go. You might get a sad status or tweetgram before it all goes black. Even if it's for just 24 hours, that's the only way for her to fight urge to search his social networking on-goings, which will only add fuel to her already spurned feelings. Bitches be strong and bold until their "him" gets a new "her" online after merely 10 hours of being broken up. Even if she didn't want to stalk him, mysteriously her fingers type www.twitter.com/jeandegrate (for example) into the browser every time she gets online. Following the cyber stalking, a butt hurt bitch will formulate entire secret relationships between her "him" and other women based on the slightest online interactions. "Oh, he's commenting and liking this bitch's pictures now? I knew he was fucking that hoe. They've always been way too friendly." To avoid that the best way she knows how, she deletes all social network sites and put child protection blocks on all his personal page urls on her computer.

4. She thinks God will send her a man
Scorned women love Jesus. Scorned women go to church every Sunday (or at least post some scriptures on twitter and FB), praying for their new "him" to come rescue their tarnished hearts. In the world of scorned women, the only man that's really looking out for them is Jesus. Jesus doesn't want her to die alone. Jesus doesn't want her to be a cat lady. Jesus doesn't want to her baby father to flourish while she sits in the house watch reality TV. Jesus has a plan for her to get a great man that will make all the mishaps of the heart she has experienced seem miniscule in retrospect. All she needs to do is be patient, and Jesus will provide her with the man she has been longing for. She'll be like 35 and alone, with two baby daddies, and still proclaiming she's waiting on Jesus to send her the right man.

5. She compares you to other guys in her past
She asks random questions that seem to have no meaning with the conversation you're currently having. She's making comparisons to past "hims", and you don't even know it. "Would you ever borrow money from your girl to get new rims on your truck?" "Huh? I mean, no. So you trying to see the 8 o'clock movie or the 10 o'clock showing and we can get something to eat first." As soon as you do something vaguely familiar to a guy that hurt her, you'll hear about it. "I sent you a good morning text with 4 emojis in it, and here it is almost 12, and I haven't heard back from you. If this ain't what you want, you should just let me know. I'm tired of going thru this shit." This is happening because Tyrone didn't respond to good morning text after he got pussy, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you're still sleeping in on a Sunday morning. Her butt hurt automatically makes the irrational comparisons for her.

Beware of the butt hurt
Jean DeGrate has spoken

5 Things I'll Make Sure My Daughter Knows Before She Grows Up

***There are no jokes in the blog***

When I was a kid, the basis of being a grownup was finishing school then going to college (I dropped out), finding a good job, moving out, and starting a family. It seemed so simple. Along the way, ideals and morals were forced upon me, and as a child knowing nothing of the real world, of course I accepted them. We can call it the "Miss-education of Jean DeGrate". I've spent the last 10 years of my life unlearning this bullshit, but now that I'm up on game, I will pass my knowledge off to my seed.

1. Being fake is a big part of being a grown up
As a youngin', my peers and adults told me to: "Speak my mind", "Honesty is the best policy", and all sorts of other similar bullshit that turned around to do more harm than good. Honestly, being phony is the best policy. If it wasn't for being fake, I would have never made it through a single job interview. I have work laugher designated for corny jokes told my co-workers and superiors. I have perfected playing nice with other people I absolutely can't stand for the sake of professional advancement. Keeping it 100 is all fine and dandy when you're slanging rocks on the block, popping off on twitter, and hanging with your homies, but that's about the extent of its usefulness.

2. It really does matter what people think of you
Without the input of others, you can only successfully be two things in life: (1) a bum or (2) a criminal. Unless you plan on knocking over liquor stores or making your bed on the warm heating grates of the local business district, you might want to conform to society just a little bit. The truth is your path to greatness or failure is paved by the judgment of others. Revolting against the machine is dope in concept, but there must be balance to live a productive life. It might not matter what your FB and Twitter friends think of you, but your teachers, co-workers, superiors, and business partners should always view you in a positive light. So no facial tattoos, ok?

3. Don't let your dreams hurt you
The line between what you want to do and what you can do is laden with varying obstacles, none of which are more difficult to overcome than talent and opportunity. Some people fall ass backwards into success and others work entire lifetimes only to never see their dreams achieved. There may come a time to abandon the dream and to start living your life in pursuit of goals that are achievable. Don't be the 30 year old R&B singer trying to get on, quitting a good job to stand in line at an American Idol tryout.

4. See the world how it is and not how it should be
Don't look for the evil in man, but don't look for the good in man either. The modern world is filled with people with good intentions, who lack either the will, courage, or know how to put it into application. Evil exists, and good exists... and you will experience both. Life is unfair and somehow that ultimately makes it fair consequently. Things don't stay bad forever; they get better or you die; whatever comes first.

5. Deciphering what's permanent and temporary in your life
Relationships will come and go even if they seem like they'll last forever (or you at least hope them to). Family and your body are the only guaranteed things in your life; it would behoove you to take care of both. As for other things in your life, you will have you use your discretion to determine what will be around, what will be worth nurturing, and what will be better just letting wither away. This will ultimately decide your priority matrix in life.

Jean DeGrate, I mean your dad has spoken