Category Archives: Life.

“you know who you look like?”


En route to work today, while listening to my ipod (who I’ve named “Damita”), trying to remember all the choreo I learned in this week’s classes, I noticed an Island woman glancing in my direction.

I brushed it off, concluding she must be overwhelmed by my beauty. No big deal, right? So she kept looking, and finally signaled for me to remove my headphones. Okay fine. She had beautiful locs, so I obliged.

“You know who you look like?”

Oh fuck. My stomach tightened.

“You…look a little like Spike Lee.”

Aww shit.

Again? The damn Spike Lee comparisons…in 2009? Still?

Apparently, something about me resembles the brilliant filmmaker.

“Something in your eyes…your face. You could be a close relative.”

I’m thinking: “Girl, you’re pushing it.”

I dropped my head, sighed and offered, “…maybe the glasses…?”

“No…more than that. Are you sure you’re not rela…”

I smiled and re-inserted my headphones. Girl, bye.

Thinking back, she’s probably the 6th or 7th person since I’ve been in New York to draw this comparison. And…I just don’t see it. So…if any of you can locate “proof” of any alleged similarities, I’ll take it under consideration.

Until then, I stick with my original conclusion: it’s a consipiracy.



wind & fire.

First off, let me welcome you to my 24th year of life. I thoroughly enjoyed my birthday, and had a very productive day. I had an excellent workout, worked on choreography for a few hours….

…had a fruitless talk with a manager (big, dramatic eye roll), and saw a few of my favorite people on this earth. Good times indeed.

If this coming year are anything like the past few weeks are, I am certain that I’ll have an amazing year. The people that have been placed in my life have had a tremendous impact on me, some good and some bad…but all very necessary.

Some people alter from the course of your life at first sight. Take, for example, the superfly ass specimen I cam across (read: ran down the train platform to have a closer look at) while on the way home.

Consider your life changed.

Now. When This pretty young thing flew past me on the train, my mouth dropped and my heart fell out of my ass. Very few times we are so overwhelmed by a being’s beauty that out breath is ACTUALLY taken away. No words from Alex, only action. I felt compelled to capture this woman’s wonder to share with the world…to give other helpless, lost broads out there something to aspire to. So, I sprinted down the train platform so that I could behold this precious lamb of God. Fuck Beyonce, Tyra, and even Rihanna….THIS is classic, effortless beauty.

I shall call her “Wind & Fire.” There’s nothing Earthly about whatever it is that she exudes, that’s for sure.

Who else do you know that can jump out a window, have their hair (see footnote) get stuck in the air, make all the nail polish fly off one hand, and apply eye shadow with a pink crayon ALL before hitting the ground??? …and STILL look better than any of those so-called “Top Models” you see on TV…with minimal effort??

Surely not that floozie Beyonce.


What do YOU know about blue nails on one hand,

purple lipstick,

a casually-placed (okay…askew) red wig

and shopping sprees at “BALLERS Clothing and Shoes”???

And what do YOU know about wearing your “going home to be with Jesus” makeup at ALL times JUST in case God calls you home unexpectedly, and to keep yourself one step ahead of these bargain bin skeezers on the block??

Not a damn thing.

Wind & Fire is READY for the runway, the magazine cover….AND the damn coffin. She’s even practicing her legendary, sick ass couture coffin pose while you silly broads listen to ipods, read BOOKS, and other nonsense.

Meanwhile, some of you are still walking around with kinky twists (YEARS beyond those few months in 2005-2006 when they were actually fashionable), unibrows, mismatched, multicolored weave, AND brown gums!!?!??

You want folks to take you seriously…

…AND you expect a man to put a ring on it??


What do you have to say for yourself?

Good luck, you poor, lost souls.

It’s 2009. Ladies, step your game up. You’ve been warned.


**“their” is used loosely. the jury is still out on whether store-bought hair can actually be considered your hair.

miss world.

“….and the homeless girls is smarter than yall. I already won one….Miss World. That’s me. You know its gon be nice cuz I’m givin it this time. MMhmm. Keep it simple. MMhMM. A long runwalk with the thing where you stop and smile and strike yo pose and walk away. Mmhmm. Phillipines. Yea. Nice and hot there too. With those lil chinky eyed kids throwin flowers on me when I win Miss World. Mmhmm. Again. Yup. Gon be real nice.”

…this was the tail end of a monologue/rant by a disturbed woman who boarded the train with me today. A tall, slender black woman with the longest (synthetic) ponytail in the world and deep, dark red lipstick. With lip liner. Also: burnt urrnge snow boots and the tightest nude tights. Ever. And a bubble vest. In 2008. I see her from time to time, always well-dressed (read: obviously not homeless, not necessarily the least bit stylish) and always ranting about “that girl upstairs, the crazy one who hollers and screams all night” or “this b from housing, the ugly fat one who keeps losing my damn applications….whatchu workin for!?!” or “that silly man who keeps calling and texting and texting and calling and don’t know that I know he playin games…makin the damn situation worser”. Or whatever.

A little sad, but the fact that she always boards the train in mid-conversation with nobody that you or I could see, and that her loud, vulgar ramblings make everyone (myself included) uncomfortable makes me feel less horrible for not pitying her.

Today, I was blessed to have her stand directly in front of me as I sat and attempted to read Mr. Baldwin. I gave up once she said something she didn’t like and went the fuck off on herself, attracting stares and sympathetic glances my way. I couldn’t hold in my laughter when she actually sat beside me, continuing her rant while eating Cool Ranch Doritos at 8 in the morning…spitting chips on me as she spoke (“Oh hell, sorry baybay.”). The absurdity of it all led to an almost violent fit of (contained) laughter. A hard chuckle, if you will. And more sympathetic glances.

By the end of our ride together I learned that she would be passing out the Christmas meal at GMHC on the 19th, a “hoebitch” she used to know made a dog to attack her once (giving the scar that got her disqualified from Miss Universe back in 84), she doesn’t believe in monogamy, and she can’t understand why metrocard machines are always out of order when SHE needs to use them.

Good times, indeed.

When we got to Wall Street she cursed someone (herself…?) for almost causing her to miss her exit…and wished us all “a good eternity.”

The train breathed a collective sigh of relief.

A woman asked with genuine concern, “Baby, are you okay.”

“I’m good.” (Still chuckling)

“..mmhmm. She not though.”

Needless to say, she made my day. NEXT time: picture or video.

monday morning commentary.

it’s been quite some time since i’ve done a “randomness” blog, so…dammit, here goes:

tonight, on my way home from work, i walked up on a drag queen with his/her skirt up around his/her waist examining and readjusting his “tuck”…on the subway platform. he/she even fell out of character and resorted to the standard man’s nut grab/shift/grimace…while on the subway platform.  judging by his/her face, he/she had a HARD night. either the money wasn’t flowing like it normally does or that nasty bitch Miss Sasha Dereon stole his/her knee pads again. bitch! even in my earlier days of cavorting and associating with dragons, i’ve NEVER seen anything leading up to the final product. seeing a drag queen without wig, makeup, and dick tucked is like spotting mommy without her bra…it’s sinful! and a little bit yuck yuck. you’re just supposed to see the end result. never the “before”. good times, indeed.

you know what i LOVE? vegetarians who decide to take their monkey asses to barbecue restaurants (let’s say…mine, for instance) demand ridonkulous shit like “tofu ribs” and “pulled imitation chicken sandwiches”, claim nausea at the sight or smell of meat, and expect to NOT get the worse service ever, a swift, double-handed throatchop or…at the very least least, attitude major. i love people who complain that their “fries have been fried in the same grease as chicken or some other meat. i cant taste it.” …..and then have the NERVE to ask if we can make vegetarian chilli (which we DO offer), but without the sauce.”the answer is “no. fuck you.” do you also want your maccaroni and cheese without the “and” too? fuckface. THAT is what i love.

i had to have a tear-inducing (not on my part–i’m not no punk ass pussy ass cryin’ ass bitch) conversation with a good friend that was long-overdue. months even. this particular friend has had a string of bad luck due (in whole) to some bad choices and awful prioritizing, partnered with, honestly, a horribly spoiled upbringing. this friend has a habit of fishing for compliments, attention and concern with vague, question-prompting, pity-generating statements like “Ohhhhh, (big sigh) my life….”, “_____ is sad…”, “you won’t believe what happened to me today…”

and alex doesn’t feed into that bullshit. i know this person VERY well. and we’ve grown apart as of late, a little. rather than indulge these UNsubtle ass attempts for pity, I just ignore it all. i refused to be one of the dozen jerks that responded to melancholy ass facebook statuses. i turned the other way whenever i saw a guilt trip coming. i downplayed drama when confronted with shit like, “oh…i…thought that with all of what i told you yesterday, you’d call and check on me.”

me: “oh….nah, you’re okay.”

i just…have an issue with that. if you need help, ask for it. that was the general tone of our conversation: “nobody cares.” i had to convey to him that i am not ALWAYS a dick, but i have my own fucking problems to deal with. okay, you can’t find a job, money’s low, the guy’s you like keep playing you to the left, you’re gaining weight and have an addiction problem. i’m sorry to hear that. but…i’ve got my own issues, jerk. thanks for asking.

it’s just hard to convince someone who’s used to worlds stopping and wallets opening at the smallest sign of distress that, after a while…people get tired of catering to you. i did. shouldn’t have to. and i won’t. so, get it together. life sucks, but overall…nobody cares. my shit stinks too, my friend..and nobody’s helping ME clean it up.

anywho, it felt good to get all of that off my chest with him. he cried. i drove the point home any way i could: i used to have a dance company. danced DOWN 9 days a week. created a handful of amazing pieces of work. acclaim. awards. fans. haters. when i was 18. now? nobody cares. what have i done lately? THAT’s what matters. Him: had a car. a decent job. money was no issue. was young, cute, skinny and “in love.” had lot’s of material shit to “show for his work.” now? not so much…on all accounts. the gotcha-gotcha? nobody cares. get it together bitch.

still love ya, though.

took my first breaking class this week. breakdancing is something i’ve always admired, but never dared to try. i figured i’d look crazy. it turns out, for my first class, i didn’t look totally nuts. the uprock and foot work (everything that happens BEFORE you hit the ground) is fairly easy. the basic, fundamental moves (six step, four-step, CC’s, freezes, etc.) will definitely take work. the homeboy Cory (former Grüvment member, dancing for Hannah Montana currently) is a beast and gave me some pointers…i’ll keep you updated on my progress with that. when i DON’T look crazy, i shall post vids down the road.

i’ve fallen in love with dance again. the necessary spark: the choreographer’s carnival a few weeks back. the choreographer’s carnival is a show by and for dancers and choreographers. dancers and choreographers get a few minutes of total freedom to express themselves on stage without the influence of movie and music video directors, record labels, or difficult artists. a chance to shine in the foreground in front of peers rather than as an afterthought or as an unappreciated part of someones show. this show justifies my HATE for the term “background dancer.” we are not plants, scenery, or props. in many cases, dancers are entirely responsible for a untalented artist’s appeal…without them, they’d have and be nothing (Rihanna, anyone?).

Anywho…back on track here, I promised myself that, even if I don’t submit a piece of my own, I WILL at least dance at the next Carnival in the spring. I’ve been around this scene long enough. shit NEEDS to happen. I’m not getting younger and all the waaaaaaack people from last year are all now dope as fuck (most of them). Alex needs to catch up. i have my eye on a few choreographers i’d LOVE to dance with. i need not say who…i’ll just make sure they notice my ass. dammit.

okay. it’s 2:21. this blog took ENTIRELY too long to write. more later.

off to bed. tata.



texting with ticole.

first off, i’m alive. hand clap for that. (amen)

life happened. haven’t posted in over a month. but…you’ll still read this so…whatevs.

anywho, just a few minutes ago, i engaged in a lengthy text convo with a good friend of mine, met via Myspace at Cashawn’s house in DC ages ago….TICOLE.


i don’t know where this dialogue came from, but we tend to go back and forth like this for great lengths of time for no apparent reason. i re-read the convo today and laughed out loud several times. hopefully you find it as interesting and stupid as i do.

note: i am “sammy.”

Hey Sammie.

-Mmmhmm. What u doin?

-Thinkin bout u. When u gone tie me up and put summa dat sweet luvin on me agin?

-After Geraldine cut me loose! I aint no good time charlie! My mammy aint raise no two-timer. Waitcho turn Edwina!

-MMhmm…u aint say dat last night wen u had dat mayonaise spread all n mah crack…sho wont thankin bout dat ol floozy den!

-Nah woman, don’t be givin be da blues. I had me one a dem..change ‘o hearts. Ainna man posta do right by his main hoe?!!?

-Well don’t come scratchin round ma do afta u done got all licka’ed up talkin bout gettin dese good dun debbies!! I’m thru witchu sammie!

-Now Edwina, u and ah both no dat minute i come round with dose red knee-hi tube socks u like, pitchin woo atchu like i do, those hanes gon hit de flo.

-Hmph!  U bess gone and pitch woo to one of them otha skanks! I think I’m gone get back wit Ricky Lee.

-If u go shack up wit dat no count fool Ricky Lee Jones, I’m gonna git back ta hunchin wiff yo cuzin  Claudine. She alwuz knowed how ta luv a man real good. And her catfish and college greens is betta den yo’s is!!

-Now sammie dats a lie an u know it! Aint nobody in da great state of gawguh cookin betta greens than me and i guess you aint heard dat Claudine got dat nasty womyn’s disease. Ol loose self…serves both yall rite!!

-U seem ta think very highly of yoself eva since you did a week at dat ere fancy comunitee college, witcho books and yo MacIntosh compurtas, and learnin and what not. Just a year aga ya wuz sellin used socks ova on Peachtree. Uppity, no college-green cookin nigra!

-U sho aint one ta talk witcho 6th grade diploma sammie ray! My lil boy jimmy dee can read betta den u!

-SIXTH GRADE IS MO FARTHER THAN DEM NIGGERS ON THE MOTHERCOUTRY GIT TO GO!! Shooot, I’m prolly smarter den bout 625 a dem Afreecans put togetha. I gotz life sperience! HMPHF! Don’t be puttin dat lil proud woolly-headed boy a yours on no pedestal. he still shit in his pants…what de fuck do he know!?!

-Now sammie u can call me whateva nasty ol names you can think of but u aint fixin ta be talkin bout mah boy!

-Oh Nah! I’mma say what i wonts! Dat lil shit-pants sumbitch so smart, let him take up fo himself! Who de hell heard of a boy goin past 6th grade?!? Get that bastard out on the field! He can go tend ta Mista Jasper’s mules! Them is good white folks. Don’t spoil that boy with lies bout college…and being RICH…and being PRESIDENT…and all dat otha mess. Think womyn!

-He kin b anything he wonta b and that just happens ta b a manager at Hardees…and it shall, by and by lawd.

then it kinda died out. i don’t know why its so funny, but this time we dug deep and let it ride for a LONG time.

good times.

well, off to dinner with…um…someone from the past. laterz.


…i killed Sho-Nuff.

me so sorry.

apparently, the day that I scooped up Berry Gordy’s The Last Dragon from Circuit City, Julius Carry, the guy that played the role of Sho-Nuff in the movie….went home to glory. aww lawwwwd, WHY?!?! take me instead, lawd….and so on and so forth.

so…yea, i think i killed him. somehow.

anywho. i’ve soooo much to catch up on. i last blogged three Lil Kim noses ago and so much has happened since then. forgive me. i’ll try to recap as much as possible before i lay it on down for the night.

i’ll start from today. as i mentioned previously, i am working in a restaurant at the Tennis US Open in Queens. i expect to make stoopid paper during the next days. i recently discovered that all of the Newport smoking, box wine drankin’, fuzzy braid wearing social rejects i encountered during the job interview/cattle call were distributed to the dozens of concessions stands, dumping trashcans, or washing dishes. fine by me. my judgemental ass could not IMAGINE 90% of these individuals within 50 feet of consumable food. Ugh. oh, the woes of being uppity. le sigh.

after days of training, our restaurant opened today. day one. chaos everywhere. fucked up orders. skipped orders. miserable self-hating, manless, nappy-haired white women managers from Florida who spend free time moonlighting as dick-sucking vampires, attacking harmless employees in broom closets. and Rhonda.

Rhonda is the server’s assistant assigned to my area of the floor today. a nice woman, i’m sure. violently protruding teeth aside, i’m sure she’s great. (did i mention i’m judgemental?) we introduced ourselves to one another this morning…

me: “hey…i’m Alex. a server. are you my servers’ assistant?”

Rhonda: “mmmhmm. yea, i’m Rhonda. and I don’t know what I’m doing.”


well…needless to say, the day was interesting. chaos, chaos, and more chaos. good money though. white folks with disposable income and black AMEX cards. ugh. more to come on this.

and….a few other tidbits.

spotted these lovebirds in Union Square a few weeks ago.

Her: so fresh and clean displaying those panty draws para todo el mundo.

and him: with the underbite of death. DON’T let this man get a grip on your ankle or fingertip. its a WRAP!

spotted THIS bird in Union Square, with my FAVORITE thing….BLONDE [fake] HURR. oww!!

AND this fool, for daring to be seen with such a fool.

on a recent trip to Alice Mae’s/Bessie Anne’s/Sally Ruth’s or whatever soul food joint in Harlem with Alana, Dre, and Royce….

we spotted Big Mama Mammary Gland (Sherri Sheppard from the View) leaving with her beloved Jeffrey (curly-headed 2 y/o son). my otherwise perfect camera game was lacking this day.

some shots from chasing down rejects in Times Square:

i dunno why i took this….i just thinks he looks insane:

there’s a LOT more to update…but i have to be clocked in and ready to work in 7.5 hours. and 1 of those hours will be spent on a train. oh joy.

later for now fam.

1. save a life. kick a hoodrat.

2. subscribe.


EDIT: and…i just remembered that the miserable ass manager (with the nappy hair) ran up on me screaming  “EARRINGS! EARRINGS! OUT! PLEASE!”. i’m thinking: “girl shut up! we don’t open for another two damn hours.”

and in the hustle and bustle of the damn day…..

i threw away both my earring and bar for my industrial piercing.

and so now my life’s mission is to make her miserable life even more miserable…er.

off to work.

seen in manhattan.

while walking in manhattan with dre and irwin the other day i spotted something that spoke to my me, intensely. and it inspired me to write a beautiful piece to show the raw emotion that the subject of this photo stirs within my soul.

here it goes:

girl, i hate you.

the end.