so. today i crip walk on down to the fothermuckin’ I.R.S. to do my taxes. damn the fact that i have to file for 2005, 2006, and 2007. that’s not important. i don’t HAVE to explain shit to you, but because us so close, immo tell you: with all this globe trotting (read: apartment hopping around brooklyn) this is the first time that i’ve had all my w-2’s at the same time. so, i pry myself out of the arms of such and such and arrive at about 8:03. so there i’m is standing in line: harriett “i haven’t run a comb through my hair since JJ got V.D. on good times” tubman, chicken george, ned the wino, and me, standing in line togeva. fixing to have us taxes did. so i’m waiting. i’m doing choreography in my head to j*davey/j’davey/j-davey (depending on who you ask), stripping down, preparing to pass through this metal detector and be searched….
(good thing i ditched that shank on the way there…)
and i realized how it was possible for the group of homely black men acting as “security” found their entertainment throughout the days. you see, when we pass through the metal detector, we had to remove belts, coats, and hats as well. the wild ass assortment of dookie braids, unfinished weaves, slave-esque locs/twists that brooklynites hide under their hats and wigs was enough to make me consider volunteering. wipe me down and sign me up! frederick douglas’ first wife (who revealed ankles whiter than mikey jackson when prompted to remove her rainboots) must have one of those conditions that causes your hair to fall out when shampoo touches it. that is the only explanation for the dandruff, crack pipe residue, spiders, and dried ejaculate that resided in her braids beneath her hat. complete fucking insanity. i LOVE my people, gawd knows i do.
so, after this freakshow in the lobby, i wait on line for another twenty minutes or so. behind me, some Adebisi-looking dude
sang mariah’s “touch my body” in that whole i have my ipod on LOUDasFUCK and have no concept of how damn loud i’m singing voice. first and foremost, why is some musclehead with a Sweetback singing about being touched and caressed and what not? maybe he was…you know…(shakes hand mid-air to denote possible faggotism) “funny”…? needless to say i wanted to stab him in the top of his head. but i resisted.
after all of THAT, it turns out i needed an appointment and LaShaniquandayonce dismissed me with a loud, unmistakeable NEXT! well run up on me in an empty parking lot, beat me in the face with a tire iron and call me Prophetess Juanita Bynum. FUCK! annoyed is an understatement. oh well…at least i got a good laugh out of it all.
then i came home to hibernate…and watch season 2 of my guilty pleasure: veronica mars. joy! sue me.
and now…googling to do these mamajamma’s online for free somewhere.