Take Her Ass to The BK, OK,. Maybe Not

I caught up with Belizeanchica last night. I hadn't talked to her in a good month or so (probably more), so we needed to play a little bit of catch up.

Not five minutes into the call she tells me that she had a date with an African medical student earlier than evening.

"He took me to this fancy restaurant and I got a $40 steak," she said.

"WTF?" is all that ran through my head.

This was a first date. Let me calculate this shit out for you. The sides were mostly likely a la carte so you can throw in another $10 for sides. Another $10 for drinks. Then don't forget to add the same total for him to be on the safe side.

Who in the hell - aside from doctors, lawyers and professional athletes - blows $120 on a first fucking date?

"You should have thrown your panties at him," I said to her.

"I wasn't gonna fuck him."

"I didn't say you need to fuck him. You should have gave him your draws, though. A $40 steak (or $120 first date) deserves a consolation prize."

She laughed hysterically because she understood me.

I mean really, who in their right or wrong mind spends that kind of money on a woman he doesn't know? That is a clean ass pair of Kenneth Coles or a three-year supply of Black Code or a couple of nice button downs that will last you a few years.

A one-hour $120 first date on the other end might nourish you for the next day, but you're not even guaranteed a phone call. Hell, she might even change her number if she thinks you might go stalker on that ass.

I got into an argument with Wildcat-Squared about this and concluded that there should be a law drawn up that if a man spends $120 on a first date his newfound woman friend should be obligated to a second and third date.

Now, if you take a "Hoe to Burger King," and by Hoe I hope you know what I mean, that's on you. But if you're chilling out at your local Melting Pot on date No. 1, you need something in return.

Maybe not ass. But something. A second date. Two weeks worth of conversation with this woman. A pair of "consolation prize." A massage. Some reciporication.

Moral of the story: Do not spend $120 on first date with a woman you do not know. It's dumb.

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This is weird

Over the last few years, I've been told by random people that I look like a specific celebrity. When I'm dressed properly, I'll walkin a resturant, and I'll get a "Hey, do you know who you look like?" at least once a month.

Whose the person? The bragadcious one himself, Kanye West. I hate the attitude, love the music.

I never quite saw the look though. Then I had to start really searching myself after i let my barber/cousin taper my head. One of the barber's in his shop, without fail, called me Kanye everytime I walked in the shop.

To this day, it's the same thing. "Kanye this" and "what's it do Kanye?"

I still didn't see it.

What does this bring me to? I went to this website, myheritage.com. One of my friends stuck in a picture, and pulled her celebrity look-a-likes out. Some were impeccably close. Others, well they were off. My friend is white, and they the site tried to say that she looked like Oprah.

Still, I thought I'd give it a try. The closest match?

You guessed it, Kanye West was a 75 percent match for the picture I used (my profile picture for this blog). Ignorance, I tell you. Ignorance. His nose is twice the size of mine (i guess he's told a few more lies). They also said I looked like Jude Law, so they could be hellified wrong about Kanye.

All I have to tell you is this: If you don't want me to throw "Two Words" your way don't ever ask me to recite the chorus to "Gold Digger." Trust me, it will "All Fall(s) Down."

Here: you can look at the comparisions yourself and tell me what you think:
Damon vs. Kanye?

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The Truth

Tell me what you think?

The Truth

The truth doesn't rhyme, but reasons.
The truth is honest, hurtful and beautiful at the same time.
The truth is dropping names like Hiroshima and Nagasaki as though human beings never lived there.
The truth is invading Iraq with the only weapon of mass destruction sitting in the Oval Office overusing the word resolve.
The truth knows where Osama bin Laden is.
The truth knows real democracy isn’t spread by desire for oil or by force, instead by choice.
The truth is taking care of home, er, New Orleans, before attending to matters abroad.
The truth has no party affiliation.
The truth sits down for what it believes in on Capitol Hill.

The truth knows history repeats itself.
The truth knows history repeats itself.

The truth stares back at you in the mirror as long as you’re looking for it.
The truth is right underneath your nose and you can’t smell it.
The truth understands that an “eye for an eye” is a policy only blind people use.
The truth knows 15 cents doesn’t equal a dollar except on a hustle.
The truth knows that fairy tales are just that, lies.
The truth knows education is ignorance without common sense.
The truth knows that the fastest way to a destination is a straight line.
The truth also knows that straight lines are impossible except when traced with a ruler.

The truth knows no duplication.
The truth knows no duplication.

The truth is Mike Jordan in the Fourth Quarter or Shaq within two feet or Joe Montana and Jerry Rice with less than two minutes at their own 20.
The truth knows if Barry Bonds took steroids.
The truth knows that Bud Selig and friends (including GWB) are the real villains in the steroids scandal.
The truth is a father coming straight home after work to play catch with his son.
The truth knows who the baby’s father is and Maury is unnecessary.
The truth isn't "working late."
The truth is being a black man and living past 25 to see your children grow and teach them how to be adults.

The truth knows that children repeat what their parents do.
The truth knows that children repeat what their parents do.

The truth eats dinner at a table for 12, plus one traitor.
The truth is a church building fund actually erecting a building of substance.
The truth believes Moses parted a Red Sea.
The truth knows who brought cocaine and crack to MLK Blvd., and parted the black community.
The truth knows who shot Ronald Reagan, and at times (depending on the day), wonders what America would be like if he had better aim.
The truth knows that guns don’t kill people.
People do.The truth knows city schools are set up in an inferior structure, but the brightest and most resilient people in the world make it out.
The truth knows black doesn’t equal white, not even in dreams.
The truth knows black isn’t less or greater than white, not even in dreams.
The truth understands that there is one truth.
The truth forgives those who trespass against it, but it still leads you in a righteous direction.
The truth said the first shall be last.
The truth said the last shall be first.
So if the truth isn’t first in your book, the truth is you’ll be last in His.

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I Walked Out of Her Life A Long Time Ago ...

If you knew me back in the 90s, you knew I had a thing for the original Miss Thang, Monica.

I loved that jam "Don't Take It Personal," but more so "Before You Walk Out of My Life." Nevermind that I was 15, and no one was walking in and out of my life aside from classmates day to day. I just loved the jam for some reason, and wished I had a bit more Monica in my life.

Well, my wish came true. Back in 1998 when Monica dropped The Boy is Mine the album, one of my colleagues at the time set up a phone interview for me with Monica over the phone. At the time, I triumphed it as one of my greatest moments in life. Bump everything else I'd done up to that point in life. Monica and I had a 20-minute conversation.

A year later, I met her in person at some concert and got to interview her again and pen a concert review.

I was excited for this opportunity to meet my "celebrity" crush of the mid-to-late 90s. I put on my best fit, threw on some cologne (co-log-nay) and got a fresh fade for the occasion.
I left in total disgust.

Why you wonder? The interview went well, aside from the fact that i couldn't stop staring at her tattoos. The main one of concern was the one on her right forearm near her wrist.

Mind you, I was sheltered to a degree. I didn't think such a beautiful woman had a need or desire for a tat. I was in shock. My thang for Miss Thang was over.

It was hard to take her seriously after that. I refused to buy her next album, or really give the music a chance because all I remember about her were her tattoos, and how she couldn't hide them. On TV, they hid those tats from us for much of the 90s. But it was impossible in person. The little girl was gone.

So to see Monica now? All tatted up the left arm and singing to the tune of "Everytime the Beat Drop." I'm kind of like, there's no comparison between her and Brandy now. Take Brandy, hands down. I don't think I want to hear anything else Monica says or sings. It's not going to live up to "Before" so I'm good.

Although, I'll admit, Brandy's situation (The whole fake marriage thing that involved an newborn baby) was a little bit worse than having a few tattoos. But, to each his own.

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I disgust myself ...

I can't lie. I'm not worthy. I got sucked in again, into the Flavor of Love. Somehow, someway, it happened.

All I can say is this, New York takes after her mother (through actions and looks) and I can't understand why or how her father puts up with those two women. He must love him some drama.

Secondly, (this is wrong) New York's momma looks like she just stepped off the set of Planet of the Apes, make-up job still intact. I don't feel bad because I'm talking about a crazy woman.

Finally, Flavor Flav is still disgusting, but he churned out a few OK-looking kids somehow. Translation: THEY LOOK NOTHING LIKE HIM.

I'm done.

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