Got A Lot Of Earrings? Easy Organizer
04 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in Random Rant, Solutions Tags: cheap, earrings, easy, help, jewelry, organize, women
I’m all for practical solutions to everyday problems. And for ladies like myself who love to accessorize, finding efficient ways to organize all your jewelry becomes challenging. For me, earrings were a problem. I need them all (yes need) and I continue to buy more until one day…I’ll eventually end up with 365 pair. And then some.
Anyway, I saw this idea posted on another blog and decided to give it a try. I used these splatter screens from Target for about $5 per pair. I made sure to get the cheap ones because the wires move/adjust to the size of my earring part-that-goes-in-your-ear-hole. The $15 ones are a bit more sturdy, but have less holes. To secure it to the wall, I used white plastic hooks (like the ones to hang Christmas decor). And if you look closely, the little green bags have my earring-backs (on the left) and smaller studs and clip-ons in the other (on the right).
Not a bad idea! And in case you’re wondering, yes, I’ve bought a 3rd screen since then. Love my earrings.
Lollipop Music
03 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in Entertainment Tags: future, hip hop, memories, music, rap, ratchet, young jeezy
When I was little, we would have huge family/friends’ gatherings in our backyard. Truth is it wasn’t a ‘real’ backyard, but rather an extensive lot where a neighbor’s house used to be (this happened waaayyy before my time, like the 60′s. By the early 90′s it was just a huge field of grass). To add to these parties, Grand-daddy got a volleyball net and loads of sand (as a kid, I swore the beach was like 20 minutes away when I saw all that sand!) right next to the house. Then my Granny installed a patio and put like 5 picnic tables and chairs plus a BBQ barrell on it. Finally, Grand-daddy got a 10-foot pool for us kids. And the games began. On top of this, there was a corner store directly across the street; proves our house was the The Spot.
And we all know that no party is complete without music, right? So he would put the stereo speakers—the BIG ones—in two of the windows facing this lot. Voila. Backyard boogie-oogie-oogie. I can recall his selection of songs from Marvin Gaye and Betty Wright to Salt-n-Pepa and MC Hammer. Man, these were the days.
Now as a grown-up, when I hear these songs on the radio or where ever, I have vivid flashbacks of all these great family moments. Fast forward to a few days ago and I’m driving around in Burbank. Drake’s “Practicing” comes on, and my first memory was of the back-that-ass-up times I had dancing to Juvenile at middle school dances. My, how things haven’t changed.
Before I dive in and basically roast every song on Billboard’s top 100 hip-hop chart, let me show some gratitude. I LOVE ratchet ass hood music. I live for it. I swear I was the second person (next to the guy I got it from) with Young Jeezy’s Thug Motivation leaked album. I get excited when I hear Gucci Mane is performing in my city. Yo Gotti will always take my listening preference over Maroon 5. Anything T.I. does in the studio sounds spectacular. Three-6-Mafia deserved that Oscar. Wacka Flocka and Roscoe Dash make sure I have a “good night.” And 2 Chainz will remain Tity Boi anytime I refer to him. “Do you love this shit?”
But I’m afraid none of that music will actually mean anything, say, 20 years from now. Well yes, President Obama made a slick Young Jeezy reference that gained a bunch of attention, but I come on; how many people at that dinner even know who Jeezy is? Exactly.
And what the hell is a thun thun thun, and why shouldn’t I drop it, FiNaTTicZ? I’m so disappointed.
When Lil Wayne came out with “Lollipop,” I got excited. This is something I can dance to in the club, crank in the car, and no one will judge me *insert ‘girl please’ side eye*. But by listening to the words, I’ve concluded that it was some pretty basic shit. Elementary. Is this the future of rap? Or is it just popular rap? In either case, folks, we’re all doomed. We’re also doomed because Bow Wow is signed to YMCMB, Twista hasn’t dropped an album in forever, Tyga is invited to sweet 16 birthday bashes, and Kanye is backing Big Sean.
Since I’m not a big fan of east coast or west coast hip-hop artists, I lean on midwest and southern rappers to give me my fix. And I guess I’m happy. But if I had a lot next to my house and 4-foot tall speakers to put in the windows, I most definitely wouldn’t be crankin’ that Soulja Boy or looking for a ‘Supafreak’. I’ll just wobble wobble and drop it like it’s hot (AND bring it back up) when no one’s looking…or maybe in the middle of the dance floor on a nice day.
*turns up the volume on Boyz N Da Hood’s “Dem Boyz”*
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Why I Like Being A Bitch
25 Apr 2012 3 Comments
in Angry Rant, Women Tags: bitch, chic shit, friends, happiness, life
I say, heffa say what?! Get yo' life.
Given the state of black cinema, and by “state of” I mean “lack of quality,” I was somewhat excited for the opening of Think Like A Man. I wasn’t overjoyed because the casting department got way too excited and put everybody and their Wendy Williams in it. But I wasn’t lackluster since hilarious Kevin Hart flooded the advertising. So I expected a pretty decent film, and that’s what I got. But when it was over, all I could think of was the mistakes that were made from a production viewpoint and obvious bloopers. Why couldn’t I just be proud of this–accomplishment?
Then just a few weeks before, an associate of mine invited me out for drinks. I declined. Twice. Why? Because I have nothing nice to say to this person. I don’t hate them, I just have ill feelings & sincerely don’t want to entertain them for even 15 minutes. So I chose the avoidance route. Why can’t I just sit down, get those issues off my chest, and shoot the shit for a few hours?
Because I don’t want to.
Either I want to be (humanly) upset and in my zone for a while, or I’ve got to say what’s on my mind. And in my eyes, there is a decent explanation behind it (I know you couldn’t wait for me to say it). I’m mid-20s, so I’ve got a lot to learn. But that doesn’t discredit the trials of life that have already beat me up. Remember high school? Sure you do. That was probably the best four years of your life! You kicked it, saw it, drank it, smoked it, did it, and all of the above. Well I didn’t. I fucking hated high school with a passion! It was miserable deep down inside, but no one knew. I always covered it up because I was the ‘happy’ friend. Didn’t matter what day it was, I had a smile. I made someone laugh. I helped somebody with their work. I decorated for Homecoming. I was a cheerleader. I did all these things to boost my image and to maintain popularity. Didn’t get me any real friends, though (we’ll talk about that later). I was just trying to remain the girl who people liked. That means I hid a lot of bad days!
Fast forward to college, and Mr. Nice Rhonda disappeared by the end of the first semester. There’s only so much a person can take!!! (breathe…inhale…exhale) My dorm roommate was pushing the right WRONG buttons and I went loco on her ass. I used so many curse words at the top of my voice that the Resident Assistant came to see if we were fighting. Yeah, it was that bad. But you know what? I had never felt so good.
That one experience, yes that one, taught me not to hold in anger towards people. Why? Because I can crush them with my words (a skill that continues to develop!) and not lay a hand on them. That keeps me out of prison. And releasing those ill feelings makes me happier. Sounds messed up, but it’s the truth.
Lately, I try not to take things out on the wrong people, so I keep my distance. And you know what that makes me look like? A bitch.
Here’s an example. Months ago I was at a bowling alley with a group of friends and… long-story-short, some guy there made me upset to the point where I wanted to fight him. But he was a cool 300+ lbs so I wasn’t about to be stupid. Instead, I stormed away and didn’t speak to anyone the rest of the night. I was still mad. He pushed the right WRONG button. But my attitude in the situation toward my friends was quite bitchy. Oh well.
Now that I’ve lived a little, I’m tired of apologizing when someone has wronged *me* just to mend the bridge. I’m sick of picking up the phone to reconnect with people who *used* to call me all the time. And I’ve worn myself thin with fake hellos and goodbyes. I’m just fed up. I’m gonna be a bitch about it.
I know what you’re thinking: Rhonda, that’s not the way to be, don’t bow down to these people’s low behavior. Guess what? Fuck you, too LOL! What’s done is done. I’m tainted. There’s something like 7million or so people in this town, so I don’t feel the need to stroke a handful of egos just to keep them as “friends.” Honey I’ve got 6,999,995 more people to meet so step aside.
But I do look forward to the day when I’m nice to everyone again and their actions toward me aren’t a bother. That’ll be the day when I’m assured I’ll grow into a sweet old lady and not a mean one. Because eventually, someone’s gotta change my diapers again, and they deserve the utmost respect. So let me be a bitter bitch now while I’ve got the time. And when my inner Nene Leakes/Stasi Quinn surfaces, don’t say you weren’t warned.
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Twenty-inch Blades on the Impala
12 Apr 2012 2 Comments
in Random Rant, Women Tags: baller, marriage, NBA, NFL, stupid, women
I’ve been cursed with the gift of stupid intelligence. That means I can figure out the square root of -1 in less than five seconds, and maybe even invent the world’s first triangular wheel. But my stupidity comes into play because I can never answer the ‘why’ or ‘how’. For example, duh, when cool air meets warm air, it creates a tornado. But how? Does the warm air never get the chance to cool down before it meets cold air? And vice versa? Why doesn’t the tornado make it out of the Great Plains area to places like California? I’m so smart, but I always wonder way too much and that creates stupid questions.
My biggest headache is trying to decode the lives of groupies, rich guys’ girlfriends/wives, and the like. I’m puzzled! I can not–for the life of me–figure out what makes a woman abandon her goals and dreams for instant (or long term) gratification ’cause I know it ain’t love. Put on your seatbelts; I’m about to go there.
Ever heard of NBA All-Star Weekend? Good. So I don’t need elaborate on why it’s nicknamed The Gold-Digger Convention. Chicks spend their time, money, and hard-earned resources to get dolled up in hopes of snagging a baller. And I use the term baller lightly ’cause that major league money is bound to run out & he’ll need another source of income (see: Magic Johnson or Bob Whitfield). Women attend all the parties with the hottest stars, you know nobody goes to the game, and the ultimate goal is what? To wiggle your way into VIP for free drinks? Or the notion that somebody like Rick Ross or Russell Westbrook will wife you for the night? You mean to tell me all that’s all they want? It can’t be.
Let’s just say, ok, Russell sees you from afar and invites you to his booth. Score: liquor and some dark, blurry pics. He’s so captivated by you that he wants to take you out the next day, so you give him your number. That date leads to several dates, and he eventually proposes. Follow this picture I’m painting… Years later you’re living the high life with 2.5 kids by him and all the luxuries your closet can hold. Marble kitchen counters, manicured lawns, Louis bags, and all that jazz. Congratulations! On the outside, it seems you’ve gotten everything many people only wish for. Who knows what’s REALLY going on behind closed doors, though.
But now what? What do you do all day? Where’s your job? What happens when Russell retires and your vag dries up, how will you sustain? Do a lot of people comment on the pictures when you upload them to Facebook? Are you happy that the losing women might be jealous of you? I seriously don’t get it.
Let’s not forget the pretend-ballers also. These are the guys who get girls by association. They “look” the part, or they were seen “hanging” with Drake. Nah, son. Women don’t really like you, you just smell good and might get them closer to Drake. (Note: they ALL wear great cologne, trust me. It helps them get more cooch). Now that I think about it…the pretend-ballers are the real winners here. But back to my point.
All that glitters isn’t gold, but I’m convinced I’m missing the bigger picture. It’s the reason so many NFL’ers have multiple kids my multiple women in multiple states. And I overuse ”multiple” because they’ve gone beyond 2 or 3. It’s the reason shows like Basketball Wives and Love & Hip Hop are even created. Hell, it’s probably the reason springtime tax refunds produces Christian Louboutins in the projects.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’m on a quest for knowledge. I’ve got to get closer to them. I need to interview the gold-diggers just so I can sleep better through the night. It makes my stomach turn, flip, and flop to know that there are chicks who thrive in these I-Might-Land-A-Baller environments! All I can say is, “Man up and buy your own damn drink.”
Sidenote: the Child Tax Credit is about to be sliced next year by 50% so that you only get $500 per eligible child vs. $1000. Did y’all know that? Crooks, pay attention, and check the news. The government is finding creative ways to fund EBT and unemploymen! Don’t shoot the messenger.
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Panty Problems? Solved.
05 Apr 2012 2 Comments
in Life Lesson, Women Tags: commando, fashion, leggings, panties, sexy, women
I don’t support hoes. However, I do support hoe tendencies. I consider myself to be a rather classy woman, but sometimes…at certain moments…my inner-hoe (her name is Trixie) comes out. Allow me to explain.
There are RULES to being a classy woman in public. One of these rules is that underwear should remain under where? Under your clothes. At no point should a man (or anyone in public) be able to guess what color they are, see them through anything, or even guess what type of cut they are! The point, the blank, the period. I know some of you ladies out there have huge knockers, so the jury is still out on how to handle bra issues. But when it comes to panties? The verdict is in: take them off and they won’t show! Please note none of the following applies to my plus-sized fashionistas. For you all, the answer to every dilemma is Spanx and more Spanx (if I’m wrong, leave a note in the comments section).
LEGGINGS
Problem: This one is major. Personally, I’ve gone back and forth in my mind on how to deal with hiding panties while wearing leggings. If you wear boyshorts or cheeksters, then your panty-lines show. And briefs are definitely out of the question. If you wear a thong, either the imprint shows or in many cases, your cheeks show through the thin material. Major no-no (this girl was at the gym in leggings and clearly wasn’t wearing any under garments at all. You know we can see your flower bomb through those things!). We shouldn’t see your crack in broad daylight.
Solution: There are a couple of options in this case. If they’re really thin leggings, double up. Wear some black or brown tights underneath and they provide a good barrier for thongs or cheeksters. They also give the necessary protection so you can go commando without your camel toe peeking. Or you can just cough up the money for a nice, thicker pair of leggings. You know, the kind that gives great cellulite control. Some of these can be worn with lace-back or lace trim panties and you’re good to go.
JEANS
Problem: Undies like to poke from the top of low-rise jeans. Very distasteful. And jeans are a go-to for that time of the month, so we need a great pair of strong soldiers underneath to handle the day. No one said being classy is easy, but it’s understood that panty lines must not show through.
Solution: In this case, I recommend boyshorts or cheeksters. There are some good brands of seamless briefs that will do the trick, however, so invest in a good pair. And thank me later. For my edgy girls, thongs will cooperate with jeans but they’ve got to be low-rise. If you’re not in a Britney Spears video, then thongs shouldn’t be revealed when you sit down or bend over.
DRESSES
Problem: You have a banging dress that hugs your body the way you want it. It’s a guaranteed winner in the game of catching husbands (Note that Rhonda Mae does not condone adultery in any situation). But the fabric isn’t friendly to any cut of panties so that the lining shows or you can see underwear through the dress.
Solution: Take them off. That doesn’t mean we should see your crack (refer to ‘leggings’ above) through your dress either. If we do, then I’m afraid your hoe tendencies are too extreme for this post. But please note that this also doesn’t apply to “t-shirt dresses,” ones you know are way too short and you flash flower bombs with each step. No-no boo-boo.
Of course my solutions aren’t set in stone, but they definitely prove to be winners on my end. And all of the above mentioned garments can be purchased at Victoria’s Secret. But at the end of the day, if all else fails what do you do? Let your inner hoe shine through and be open to a good inner-thigh breeze!
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Gucci-opoly
02 Apr 2012 Leave a Comment
in Entertainment, Life Lesson Tags: banks, church, God, los angeles, money, monopoly
I’m writing this through watery eyes and a series of uncontrolled sneezes. It’s gross. Let’s just say I learned the hard way that I’m allergic to cats. We’ll talk about that later.
I joke a lot about being The Golden Child simply due to the fact that the most random things happen to me. And only me. Like what, you say? Well I’m glad you asked!
Recently I went to deposit a payroll check into my bank. I was smokin’ hot that day. For some reason, I was really feeling my slick edges & new pedicure. That means ‘all this’ would go to waste if I had deposited the check into the ATM. In retrospect, that would’ve been a much better idea. An-tyhow, I go inside the branch, walked up to the teller with a big smile on my face, and slid her my signed check. We held small talk. I blushed at the security camera. Few minutes later, I pranced back to my car & drove to Chipotle. Ballin’.
The next morning, I had big plans to spend at least half of that money between Target and Trader Joe’s. Okay, not half, but you get my point. I checked my account (which I freakishly do every single morning—no lie) only to find my balance was SIGNIFICANTLY lower than it was the day before. I hopped online. I called customer service. I went back to the branch…they were closed…I went to another one. Thank God I kept my deposit receipt as proof. After four long, draining hours, they all confirm there is no record of my transaction! Hell to the naw.
I was furious. And I also had to wait until Monday morning when the branch was open in order to complete my dispute. Long story shorty, there was an “encoding error” and the check was rejected from my account. So then they credited my account and things seemed okay. For the moment. Not only had they given me my money, but the transaction posted three times and—basically I heard my bank account sing “Rack City” through the ATM. Hell to the naw.
So what did I do to overcome the stress of these financial ‘issues’? I went to church! What else? I’m kidding, I don’t run to church every time something bad happens, rather I do the opposite. I don’t even GO to church (we’ll talk about that later) but this particular Sunday, the sun was tapping me on my shoulder. So I got up & went.
There was a church I’d heard about when I first moved to LA. I probably visited six different ones in just a few months. Well a group of buddies decided we should all go to this particular church together. Okay, I’m in.
I get there and while walking across the parking lot, a grandpa-looking man stopped me. “Hey sistah! This must be yo first time herre, I ain’t seent you befo!” He reached for a handshake. “Yes, this is my first time.” He smiled big, “Well come on in herre so we can sho ya some love!!” His enthusiasm scared me.
I sat down in an open row near the middle. Not too close, but not too far in the back. And I’ve already made up my mind not to stand during the recognition of visitors. The service begins and suddenly, I’m pushed aside. Wayyyy aside…for some lady and her two kids. I couldn’t help but notice all the flashy jewelry she was wearing and her Gucci purse she placed by her feet (Gucci on the floor?). Her curly-haired little girls were quietly drawing on their iPads. I’m thinking I’ve seen this lady somewhere before. Somewhere.
And whaddya know, she was the first person to stand up when the pastor inquired about visitors. All eyes on me her now. As I hear her voice, it took me 2 seconds to remember where I knew her from. Basketball Wives LA. That explains her gaudy bracelets and perfected praise clap.
The whole situation made me laugh. I’m looking at her, the kids, that Gucci bag (it was nice, y’all) and thinking about all the viewers who envy the lives of women like this and would love to trade places with me. 
Trust me, I read their comments on Twitter. And here I was sitting next to her… with a banking error in my favor… and an attitude! In all the open seats, I had to move for her?!
So I lived in that moment, although I didn’t make it rain, I felt a complete sense of peace. I stopped worrying about my minor crisis & tried to open my eyes to the bigger picture. And don’t ask me what the big picture is because I was too distracted to pay attention to the preaching. Kidding.
But I hear there’s a lot to be said about where a woman places her purse; I picked mine up off the floor and put it on the bench right next to me.
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What’s In Your Purse?
26 Mar 2012 Leave a Comment
in Dating & Relationshps Tags: adulthood, chicks, dating, single life, starbucks
DISCLAIMER: I live and love the world of reality television. Period.
Now that that’s out of the way, did you see The Braxton Family Values last week? In case you missed or don’t watch it at all, Mrs. Evelyn (aka Mama Braxton) decided to call off her wedding to Doc. She had no better explanation besides the fact that marriage simply wasn’t in her plans at the moment. I understand that.
So Mrs. E went to visit the family therapist to ‘discuss’ her decision since it was weighing heavily on her heart. As I’m watching, I notice the therapist isn’t saying much but rather agreeing with Mrs. E about doing what’s right for her! And Mrs. E said something that sparked this blog. Allow me to paraphrase: “I tell people I got married when I was 2. (laughter) That means I was very young when I committed my life to someone, and since then, I’ve always put other people before me. It’s time for me to put ME first and do what I want to do! To make ME happy.”
Isn’t that a mouthful?! I love Mrs. E because, much like my own Mom, she’s living some dreams now that the kids are grown-up and out of the house. Also, Mrs. E’s words makes me want to ‘slap the piss‘ out of many women my age. She explained that, although Doc made her very happy, she didn’t need him for her happiness. *pause*
Oprah Winfrey talks about finding happiness and love all the time through her website, shows, and magazines. She’s also a prominent figure in the single world. Y’all know she ain’t legally married to Steadman. And I doubt for one second she’s unhappy about the decision not to marry him! That’s because women like Mrs. E and Oprah have lived long enough to fully understand that they don’t need a man to make them happy.
Did you desperate broads hear what I just said? YOU DON’T NEED A MAN TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. I get so frustrated talking with my guy-friends about clingy/needy/jealous/weak/whack women they meet. And the same frustration turns to disgust when my lady-friends ‘wish’ they had a man to make them happy. *banging head against the desk* How stupid does that sound? True happiness is internal. Think about it.
If you can wake up in the morning excited about some fancy shoes or panties you just bought, you’re probably happy. But if you ‘wish’ you had someone to show your shoes/panties to—which would make you happy, you’re probably psycho. And you’re going to be miserable if your search for a mate is speared by your need for someone to give you joy.
It’s time for us as women to be more proactive in our own satisfaction. That way, when you meet someone and it doesn’t work, you don’t feel like you’ve completely missed out when they decide to ditch you! Example: Guy sees girl in line at Starbucks. Girl is obviously overwhelmed with work and life stress as she shuffles through her large work bag to find her wallet. Guy offers to pay her $4.40 coffee tab and slides a $5 bill toward the cashier. Girl thinks she’s found the man of her dreams as she hasn’t been on a date in 4 months. Guy has been waiting 6 minutes for her to decide on a drink and slid the $5 so she could finally get out of the line. Girl flashes several smiles at Guy as he leaves Starbucks without asking for her number.
Okay maybe that example was a bit OverTheTop.com, but you catch my drift! And I’m sure you can personally name at least 2 females like this. Us women are direct displays of how we internally handle life’s stress (we’ll talk about this later). A lot of times, when a great guy sees women like her coming, he turns in the other direction to avoid her tornado of sadness emotions coming at him. And just like that girl at Starbucks, we need to get it together.
Am I saying just because your wallet is buried beneath your laptop and 22 manila folders in your bag that you’re unhappy? No! I’m saying that if you take the time to organize the shit in both your bag AND your life, you might begin to have happier days. And maybe, just maybe, the guy behind you (who has already taken you on 6.5 dates & mentally “hit it” 72 times) might ask for your number.
Now go buy yourself a nice pair at Aldo, hit up Victoria’s Secret, and really enjoy being with YOU. Because if you don’t, no one else will.
*Turns up volume on TLC’s “Silly Ho”*
Been Around The World And Ay-i-i-i
18 Mar 2012 Leave a Comment
in Random Rant Tags: culture shock, east coast, holiday, people, the south
If you’re wondering where I am in my exciting life, I’m on the east coast. Many may say I’m in the south, but as a midwest girl, I call this the east coast. I’m in North Carolina for a while doing work (don’t ask, can’t tell). I’m facing extreme culture shock here! And it is almost as bad as my shock when I first moved to LA; but people here are way too nice and I’m getting nervous.
When you walk into a restaurant, everyone greets you. The people waiting in line, the hostess, the servers at other tables. People walking by on the street. The housekeeper in the hotel. The guy on the next pump at the gas station…EVERYone! This is strange.
Also, everything is so cheap. The food is like $7 for a meal that I’m used to paying $13 for. And I swear the cook drives it through a tasty bucket of grease and sin before it hits my plate. Everything is delicious in the south/east. Besides the inexpensive food, there are free shuttles throughout the downtown areas during busy times. Really? The only thing LA seems to be handing out for free is STDs and sand on the beach.
So yesterday was this big, record-breaking St. Patrick’s Day pub crawl. And coincidentally, my day off. Winning. I paid my $20 for all-access to 60+ bars in the area and that’s where it all began! I’m used to seeing mobs of (white) people at Fair St. Louis during the 4th of July. But what I saw at the pub crawl was a new set of (white) people. They were wearing cowboy/cowgirl boots with their blue jean mini skirts. And yes, they cut their tshirts into belly shirts or halter tops. The guys were wearing suspenders with their shirts tucked into khaki shorts. Kate Spade bags hung from ladies’ arms. Bangs were swooped and hairsprayed across faces. Somewhere in the USA, all of this is fashionable.
The girls were kissing/dancing on each other like it was MTV’s Spring Break, and there were more redhead women than I’d ever seen in life. Is this what it means to be Irish?
After several (who’s keeping count?) $3 Bud Lights and the setting sun, I decided it was time to go while I could still stand on my own two feet. I guess now’s a good time to mention I had a record number of (white) guys approach me that day. One of them even took a picture with me. I’d like to think it’s because I am celebrity and I’m just-so-hott, but he probably needed evidence that a (black) girl actually danced with him. Thanks to Bud Light, he has some great pictures.
And in case you’re wondering, yes, they still play that one Petey Pablo song.
Genuine or Ginuwine…And Dine
07 Mar 2012 Leave a Comment
in Dating & Relationshps Tags: boomerang, los angeles, men, spaghetti
I know what you're thinking. And quit looking at me like that.
In case you didn’t know, I have full lyrics to thousands of songs in my head. I have no idea how this came to be, either. All I know is that I can listen to any of my stations on Pandora for 12-hours a day everyday & sing along to each song (wanna try me?) and my iTunes is about 3000 songs deep. Yep. I know all of them.
So today when Ginuwine’s “Last Chance” shuffled through on Tony!Toni!Tone! Radio, it brought back memories of me rolling in my Jeep down Santa Monica Blvd. Where was I headed? Glad you asked.
I met a guy (let’s call him Theo) at a beach party some friends threw in summer ’09. This is after I had relocated, so I was a mere infant to LA lifestyle and fresh outta college. When I saw Theo, I gasped a classic *girrrrrl look at his chest* as he and his friend walked past our blanket. I was with a girlfriend who co-signed the bulge of his biceps. I’m a sucker. Long story short, I got his number & we scheduled a date.
In college, a ‘date’ means we meet in the lobby of our dorm & walk to the dining hall together, right? PAUSE: Now before you go judging me, please be aware that I’m fully grown now & I can whoop your ass. But due to the fact that I’m saving for an ES-350, I don’t have bail money, so I won’t fight you. Go ahead, judge me. RESUME: Yes, I fell for Theo’s age-old classic dinner-at-my-house game. I was actually excited this hot dude invited little, country Rhonda Mae over!
He opened the door (fully clothed might I add; I was expecting more TRICEPS!) and I was surprised by his small studio apartment. I figured nice car = status. But whatever. This means he invited me to sit on the only chair in his apartment (his bed), I declined. I said, “Why don’t I just hangout in this half-kitchen? I’ll talk while you finish cooking.” So far, I’m winning.
About 45-minutes had passed while Theo tried his best to whip up meatless spaghetti with garlic bread. And I was laughing at his poor effort. He refused my help but managed to ask me to open the drawer near me and hand him a potholder. I pulled out the drawer and a beautiful array of golden-wrapped condoms was inside.
Me: Ummmmmm…really?
Theo: I mean, where else would I put them? It’s a drawer, right?
Me: Maybe in the bathroom? Or by your bed?
Theo: I like ‘em in the kitchen. *grins, smirks*
I was not intrigued by his immature, blatant attempt at gettin’ some. I was also starting to get hungry since there was no eye candy on display. Meanwhile, Magnum Theo is losing on his quest for a potholder.
Once the sloppy spaghetti and burnt garlic toast was done, he invited me to dine on the roof. Said there was a pool and a great view up there (duh, it’s a roof). We sat poolside, picked over the food, and held standard “first date” convo. I started to yawn. Not only did he quote Diddy twice, but his lisp was starting to sound the elderly pervert from Family Guy. Turned off.
So we went back inside and I reached for my purse to find my keys. He asked, “You’re leaving that quick?” I replied, “Yeah, I gotta catch Chipotle before they close.” Theo insisted, “I mean I can order a pizza, my bad on the dinner HAAAA! C’mon, let’s watch a movie. I got all the classics.” My eyes rolled like my pupils were compass needles looking for north. “Alright.”
I walk over to sit on the bed and Theo is already quoting lines from what he says is his favorite movie. Then, he put “Boomerang” in the DVD player. He did a yeah-Im-about-to-score dance from the TV to the bed, sat down next to me and said, “Oh you didn’t know? This movie is about me! I AM Marcus Graham!!” Roll opening credits. Cue Rhonda’s exit. And no, I won’t text you when I make it home.
I’m driving home thinking–no he didn’t think I was gonna drop my panties for a cheap (disgusting) dinner? Who does that? Wait a minute, I know who does that. The kind of girl who would’ve gotten excited seeing the condoms in the kitchen! Well that ain’t me, but I knew what I was getting into when Theo invited me over. I was just hoping he was a little less whack.com so I could have a juicy story to tell y’all.
*Turns up volume on 100% Ginuwine*
Friday morning one-liners
02 Mar 2012 Leave a Comment
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