Sunday, August 20, 2017

Story Time with JD - Stranger in the Dark

1st off I need to develop a sense of fear. (Ain’t going to be a 2nd but I just like saying 1st off; I also like saying “and another thing” when I never said a first thing. Fight me). Being fearless is going to get me killed and I’mma tell you how. Gather around boys and girls it's Story time with JD. I’ve said this before but I’m going to say it again… I live in the hood. The real hood. Cool? Cool.

I’ve leave the house before God wakes up on Sunday mornings to roll into the office. There’s no birds chirping, it’s still pitch black; it’s an excellent setting for a Jason Voorhees Friday the 13th style killing to take place. There are no houses or buildings across the street from my apartment; just woods and shit; which coincidently makes it a great place for Jason to appear from or a young lady dressed in all black. So as I’m walking to my car a women dressed in all black emerges from the shady woods and walks towards me. “Can you give me a ride to Capitol Heights? I’ll give you gas money.” Sure strange lady that just materialized from the darkness at 445am on a Sunday. What’s the worst that can happen? This would be a great time for a sense of fear to kick in and I go skrt skrt down the street but instead the hole in my face says “How far is that like 10 15 mins away? Cool. Get in.” She hops in and smells as if she had bathed in a combination of all flavors of those Bath & Body Works scented lotions. So she smelled like a stripper at the beginning of her shift; you know, before she picks up the scent of Newport smoke, old men and VS Hennessey. I cracked my window a bit.

JD – Which way are we heading? Suitland Parkway? 495?
The Girl (of course I don’t her name and it’s too early for me to be clever) – Take Suitland Parkway towards Pennsylvania ave.
JD – Bet
The Girl – How much do you want for gas money?
JD – I’m good
The Girl – Thank you so much

And I pull off. I pretty much live with my JBL wireless headphones in my ear. Doesn’t matter if I’m listening to something or not they’re in my ears from the moment I walk out of the door until I come back home. If you’re a soft talker I probably won’t understand shit you’re saying. This is relevant because unbeknownst to me she in the passenger seat having a whole ass conversation as we’re cruising down Suitland Parkway. I hear the slightest murmur and look over to see her lips moving then I removed my right earbud.

JD – What’s up now? I didn’t hear anything you were saying.
The Girl – Nothing. Nothing. I just got a lot going on.

Obviously something is “going on” if you’re asking strangers for rides in the dead of night like Uber doesn’t exist; I almost switched into Dr. Phil mode then the voice in my head said “Bro don’t open Pandora’s box”. I slipped my earbud right back into my ear. Now out of my peripheral vision I keep seeing her lips moving. I’m trying to block it out and mind my fucking business but, nope, I cannot not see it. She is chopping it the fuck up with herself over there. Yep this bitch is crazy. Odds were already leaning towards insanity but this was the absolute confirmation. Then I felt her arm touching my arm on the armrest. My car is pretty fucking big. Somebody once called me from the back seat to turn down the AC, so there is no good reason for any unintentional physical contact. So in classic sucker ass nigga fashion I just scoot my arm away from her creating some space like I’m not the king of my own fucking domain. Then she put her hand on my forearm. By the way she’s still deeply involved in her conversation with herself. My tombstone would read “Here lies a nigga that was tripping” because she’s probably about to stab me in my neck, then grab the wheel and send us both to a fiery death. But since you’re reading this guess who still alive? Now she’s massaging my forearm working her way down to my hand. I instantly abandon the death possibly to a move directly over to “is she about to try to fuck me”. I pull away and redirected her attention because we had just reached the light at Forestville Road and Suitland Parkway.

JD – (Pointing) We going through the light straight out to Pennsylvania or am I going to hit this left?
The Girl – Uhh… Make the left

I put my arm back down on the armrest and before I can even make the turn she grabs it again pulling it over to her side of the car. Now I’m thinking if she tries to put my hand down her pants or her shirt I’m going to have to punch in the face. I don’t hit women but I think I’m in a flexible gray area here, you know, because I don’t want to catch herpes on my pointer finger. Forever unclean. I redirect her attention again and pull away again.

JD – Hey hey hey put on your seat belt shorty

She puts her seat belt on and got right back to it. Is this my life right now? Is this really happening? I really have to work on my not giving a fuck when it’s not my turn to give a fuck. Then it popped into my head “if I’m going to Capitol Heights why the fuck are we in Forestville. I pull my arm away again for seemingly the 70th time (it was the 3rd) and grabbed my phone.

JD – What’s the address?
The Girl – (mumbling) 444 Noma Ave
JD – What?
The Girl – (mumbling still) 1444 Noma Ave
JD – (I felt like I was asking her why she was left off of Bad and Boogie) Huh?
The Girl – 1447 Nova Ave
JD - Bet

I plugged the address into Waze and we were 7 minutes out from an address that was only 6 minutes away from my home to start with. She was back to caressing my hand and having the convo with herself and I had spent 20 minutes driving around with a crazy person in the passenger seat. We pulled up and she slowly and reluctantly let go of my hand then thanked me again. The entire time I hadn’t taken a solid look at her but when got out of the car I looked over and shorty was phatter than a motherfucker. But she was way crazier than she was phat so that was a dead issue. She walked in the house and pulled off. Luckily no masked gunmen arose from the shadows to relieve me of vehicle and life and shit. My hand still smells like baby stripper.

No good deed goes unpunished
Jean DeGrate needs to stop picking up strangers

Monday, August 7, 2017

Owning Your Sexuality

The last couple of weeks have been a shit show when it comes to sexuality via social media and celebrities (or used to be celebrities and by used to be celebrities I mean Bobby Valentino)….

1. Amber Rose on the Complex pod cast Everyday Struggle discussing her Slut Walk and the slut shaming movement. If 21 Savage happens to be reading this stop reading this now I’m about to say something bad about your girl homie. Amber isn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but she sure is a hustler and her hustle is her sexuality. Joe Budden and Wackademiks let her run amuck on the podcast; good thing I was already planning to write this.

2. R. Kelly doing R. Kelly like shit and of course his legion of aunties and creep ass dudes caping up for him. That’s all I have to say about that.

3. Usher Raymond officially redefined the term Fire Stick and gave new life to his 13 year old song “Let it Burn”. Oh the irony is killing me as I’m sure the lawsuits are killing him. Even women that he didn’t burn are suing him.

4. Bobby Valentino got outed by a trans woman for allegedly receiving services than dashing out without paying.

5. The trans novelist/journalist Janet Mock responding to the “transphobic” remarks made by Lil Duval on the his Breakfast Club interview accompanied by a slew of blogs proclaiming that as a trans person dating you don’t have to let people know you’re a trans person. Oh ok.

I’ve really been waiting to touch on this topic since the first season of Insecure when Molly was dating Jared (the dude that got the top from another dude). That shit was crazy and awkward as fuck but here’s the thing if that conversation was had from day one there would be no awkwardness. It’s something we kind of keep leaping over. It’s funny because we as people want a background check on everything else. If you’re buying a used car you’d want a Carfax but getting the Hoefax on someone you might become intimate and/or get into a relationship with is somehow taboo.

Ok I’m about to get into some hoe math, stats and definitions and shit…

I have my own unique definitions for what a hoe is and what a slut is (and no they aren’t the same thing). Inconveniently under these upcoming classifications I used to be a slut and I’m currently still a hoe because numbers don’t lie, but anyway on with the definitions.  I’m a firm believer that almost everyone has had a slutty moment such as multiple people in one day or hitting the several members of the crew/family. Now if those types of actions are the norm well you might fall into the slut category. Now hoeing on the other hand is established purely on volume and based on the definition of promiscuous (having many indiscriminate or casual sexual relationships) who decides what many is after all. So I came up with a very generous standard of what a hoe is. If your body count exceeds your years on earth you are a hoe. According to California State University the average male loses his virginity at 16.9 and the average female at 17.4, therefore if you’re 32 with 33 bodies you’re been dropping 2.2 bodies a year on average. That’s a bit much since the lifetime average via the National Center for Health Statistics is 7. So for the sake of argument let’s say promiscuity starts at 15 bodies (slightly more than double of the national average of lifetime partners).

Now that we have the hoe and slut shit out the way on to the gay, bi, Trans, other blurred lines and ownership…

Transsexual - a person having a strong desire to assume the physical characteristics and gender role of the sex opposite to the one assigned at birth

Own - used to emphasize that somebody or something belongs to a particular person or thing and not to somebody or something else

These definitions are important because words mean things.

See here’s the thing a big part of owning your sexuality is owning up to your sexuality. This is triple important to you guys living these double lives. If you’re playing both sides of the field or having relations with transgenders keep it 100 with yourself. Don’t spaz out when things you’ve been doing in the dark comes to light and play the victim or crazy.  I’m also not saying everybody should be walking around with a t-shirt labeled with their body count and a detailed list of their sexually escapades. That would be crazy but an option should be offered to potential sexual partners for disclosure of said Hoefax.

Wouldn’t you want to know if the person you’re dating has a body count higher than your car payment? Wouldn’t you want to know if the person you’re dating was a part of the R. Kelly sex cult and lived in his basement for a year wearing leather underwear and eating Top Ramen? Wouldn’t you want to know if the person you’re dating has an STD (or you could just let it burn)? Wouldn’t you want to know if the person you’re dating if they participated in same sex/trans relations? Wouldn’t you want to know if the person you’re dating used to be man or woman? Wouldn’t you want to know if the person you’re dating has a video or two floating around World Star doing the absolute fucking most in some home made porn? I’m sure you’ve answered yes to at least two of these questions (but if you haven’t inbox me because I have questions).

The level of admission is really up to what the person you’re dating wants to know but when you choose to omit certain things you may be uncomfortable discussing or feel as if it’s nobody’s business but your own you steal the option away from the other person to be intimate or not. Your past might pop back up on you and the person you’re digging is going to start looking at you sideways. I am by no means siding with Lil Duval but you can’t control how a person will feel or react after they have been misled. It may result in an awkward conversation on the low end but it may result in violence.

Do you own your sexuality?
Jean DeGrate has spoken