Category Archives: random randomness

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.

i demand an explanation.

can someone PLEASE tell me what the FUCK kinda name is….


dining out with friends the other night, when we received the bill, we saw that our waiter’s name was…. Davonald. i dont get it.

and…i need answers.


the picture serves NO purpose. i just love it. and fuck you too.


let me start by saying that it’s monday afternoon and i’m already tired from the thought of the week that lies ahead. the guy sissified tweetybird that i’m renting from is returning from college a few months earlier than previously agreed. thus, i must leave. not solely because fuckface wants his room back….but….based on the three (3) times that we’ve interacted face-to-face, alex shall not be able to cohabitate with this being. dude is terribly inconsiderate. por ejemplo: i returned to the apartment after spending the night @ a friend’s to find three random people i’ve never seen before lounging (half-nude) on the floor in my room. an open makeup kit sat on my futon and two boys scurried to get dressed and giggled at the “what the fuck!?!” expression on my face.

my first thought: “i’ve just interrupted a porno shoot.”

my second thought: “i’m about to be arrested for attempted murder.”

the girl, an undeservingly overconfident broad “frum texus” extended her sweaty and to me. i declined. “i’m ashley.”

me: “of course….”

then fuckface runs out the room and explains that these are his friends visiting with him from philly (where he goes to “school.”) they clubbed and came back to crash. “we tried to call you to ask if it was cool if they crashed here.”

i’m thinking: “liar. my phone is surgically attached to my penis. it never leaves my body. please die now.”

…i’m getting off track. this isn’t about how much of an inconsiderate, rude, xtube-video-posting, fucktard this ghastly skinny boy is. this is about me having to move. me thinks i’m going to call up one of those “man with a van” ads i see EVERYWHERE and pray to Rupaul that some big burly brooklyn dude (with a van) comes to my aid. prolly not.

so…between today and tomorrow, i must pack, finalize this apt thing, put shit in storage and move. by tomorrow night, i’ll have a new address. for a few weeks, anyway. in the meantime, i’ll be hunting for my OWN place. this roommate shit gives me the blues and I hope i never NEED a roommate. ever.

this whole ordeal has been far more dramatic than required, thanks mostly to my horrible, wretched procrastinating ways. i was WELL aware of this impending move, and worked 9 days a week frederick douglas style to save up some scrilla to move with. my ass then decides to wait until 3-4 days BEFORE moving to solidify these plans. didn’t i tell you that I ARE GENIUS!??! boy, i amaze myself sometimes. but…as is always the case, i shall be fine. watch.

que más?

ah yes. so…yeah. today i walk into Capital One on Broadway down in Soho to cash a paycheck. some western European broad who obviously grew up drinking polluted well water tried to lure me with her CzechosloRussian charm into opening an account. Girl, please. i collected my coins and headed to the elevator. i glanced at the other business on the floor and see a sign for Music Gremlin. and I fagged out for like 2.2 seconds. you see, when i moved to new york on June 6, 2006 i unloaded my car at granny’s house (that cottage cheese-eating nutcase. ugh!) and hit it into manhattan for my very first new york job interview…at music gremlin. they are a music company who produces a product/service similar to the zune. a clear ripoff, but whatever. anywho they didn’t see it in the stars for me to work there. and that’s totally fine. maybe i should have slobbed some knob while there…? anywho it was just interesting to happen upon this place randomly.

then the moment was over.

and…here i sit in starbucks on some hijacked ass internet connection listening to my mother (Anita Baker) shooting lust-filled glances at fellow caffeine junkies, looking up storage companies. yay.

madonna’s hard candy is pop perfection. and it makes my dick drip.

and she looks AMAZING to be going on 695 years old.


i haven’t had sex in 34 days.

have a nice day.

things i hate.

i JUST got into my apt from visiting erin and dre in harlem. happy birthday dre, by the way.

i’m using my roommate’s laptop to check email.

i have to be physically ON the train en route to work in 5 hours and 8 minutes…approximately.

all of this is irrelevant.

the door downstairs at the entrance to my building is usually controlled by a magnet…that…releases… once the correct key is inserted and turned. simple.

it was broken for about three weeks. not due to mechanical failure, but i witnessed a guy (let’s assume he was some species of junkius-bobbybrownius) kick and kick and kick and kick the door until it flew open, allowing him entry. so…i, too, got away with not having a key.

they fixed it this weekend. and i just got my feelings hurt; i had to wait 12 minutes for some exiting junkie woman to let me in. fuckshit.

so…i just heard the unmistakeable sound of a THICK metal door being kicked open downstairs. kick. kick. kick. kick. kick. kick. tyrone must need a hit BAD.

again, i can get away without having a key to the front door.

things i hate #328: knowing any random brooklyn junkie or scorned akon fan can saunter into my building at any hour of the night.


(this is why i miss living with/near/surrounded by white people. they do NOT tolerate such fuckery.)



union square.

it cant be more than fifty degrees where im standing, here on the north side of union square. directly facing Barnes and nobles. (yes, plural, with an S on the end, like Erin insists on saying.) im waiting on him. he just left his apartment and should arrive in “fifteen minutes. times two.” to my left, an interracial couple fights bitterly: a slim but muscled, grossly unattractive black man and a wide-hipped dominican/mexican/puerto rican broad. fighting. intensely.

between puffs on what i assume is a newport, she questions: “now WHO is spiteful? I wish you would kick us the fuck out on the street so i could hand those motherfuckers over to child protective services. JUST so you couldnt see them. MOTHERFUCKER! ”

he threatens to “bash [her] fat face.” i make up a million scenarios that could have led to this. less than 25 feet away, a toddler guards his infant sister as she screams for god knows what in her stroller…sans hat, socks, shoes. conversely, her blanket rests peacefully in a puddle at the toddlers feet. i tell myself that the screaming infant kicked it off of herself. thats what happened. the toddler appears confused. they both look cold. a passerby stops and asks me if i “own those kids.” i point at the interracial couple. the unnattractive black man fesses up: “miss. those is my kids! lemme tell u bout their fat, horrible mother.” the passerby is involed now. …good…? madonna and i walk away as she tells someone to take a bow. And i continue to wait for him…