Women.
Just when I think I have a pretty good handle on them, they go and pull some shyt that makes me realize I still have a whole lot to learn.
But the one area where I thought I had shyt figured out in was the physical sense.
No… I’m not talking about THAT kind of “physical” in this entry.
I mean, I was the kid in the state-sponsored 5th grade sex education class — well, lemme stop right there….. “class” is an overstatement since it was really an hour long barrage of big words and funny looking anatomy depictions of dicks sliced in half and tunneled out coochies.
And this “class” didn’t do any of the cool shyt like have practical demonstrations. There was no condom over a banana exercises — and I could have really used these because for a while I was puttin them shyts on inside out.
And then I’d have to reach up inside it, while it’s steady choking my dizzle to death, and roll it down from the inside! *the fellas feel me on this one*.
There was no STD film where you get to see all the surprises that sex has in store for those who are intimate with folks whose private parts make their own cornbread and buttermilk and manage to smell like the dumpster behind Red Lobster.
There was no live sex scene to show what it looks like when two people are engaged in the act — an image that I could have used so that I would have been mentally prepared for the sight of myself in the mirror whilst I was gettin my first piece of ass ….
for some reason, I thought I looked cool doing pelvic pumps at 50 miles per hour… I mean, I certainly FELT cool…. imagine my surprise upon looking in the mirror and realizing I looked like a dayum rhesus monkey on Ecstasy.
But really… this ain’t THAT kind of “physical” entry.
Yet as I sat in class, as soon as the sex ed teacher asked a question, my ten year old hand shot the fukk up:
“Ooo, I know! Sperm.”
“That’s easy! Egg.”
“Ummmm…. the Ethiopian Tubes??”
I was close!
Ethiopian rhymes quite well with Fallopian, thank you.
Gimme a break — I was only ten!
And I still knew females… better than most of them knew their own bodies.
As I grew up, I realized that what I thought was a genuine part of a woman’s appearance turned out to be a mirage.
Deception.
A fukkin trap.
Like when I found out that hoe Belinda’s titties in the 7th grade weren’t really that big…. she stuffed a sock in her punk ass training bra…. that revelation shook me.
Or when I realized that half the girls around had press-on nails.
Or that ol’ girl ain’t really that tall… it’s them damn shoes.
How many times had I been fooled??
I mean, how long had women been fukkin with my perceptions??
I’m walking around thinkin they got it naturally goin’ on and come to find out the heffa got more add-ons than a Mr. Potato Head accessory kit.
How unfair!!
It ain’t like dudes had the equivalent!!
I TRIED to convince girls I had “good hair,” but the smell from a pound of thick ass pomade and little threads from the foot of my mamma’s old pantyhose on my head told everyone that the only Indian in my family was the Jeep Cherokee in the garage.
And really, what can a dude stuff to look bigger???
Don’t even say his crotch, because if you saw a dude with a knot the size of his fist bursting the seams of his zipper, you would NOT be tryin to holla at him.
Then there’s the eyes.
I remember the day I met my first real girlfriend in 10th grade. She was a short, phat-assed sistah with long hair, a very light complexion, and blue eyes.
Yes blue!!
D-D-Did I st-stutter muhfugga??!?!?
I was amazed! A black girl with blue eyes???
She told me she was half white and half black…. which turned out not to be true…. well….. her mom was half white/black and her dad was half white/black… so I guess technically the shyt is true… but she acted like that was the reason for her blue eyes!
Ummmmm….. no. ACUVUE is the reason for your blue eyes!!
Yes dude, color contacts.
Here I was going around braggin to all these dudes about how I met this black girl with blue eyes — which, in those days, was like the 2006 equivalent of saying you got head from Beyonce — and they weren’t her eyes…. they was just color contacts…
But I can’t fault her.
Because I used to want some!!
That’s right! Cock-sure Kaviar used to want some hazel contacts!
That was the only gift that I asked for that Santa never brought.
Back when “good hair” and “pretty eyes” were fashionable, I had my pomade and color contact magazine ads handy!
Dude, if I had gotten those contacts???
I would have been walking around talking about:
“Take a look at me....tell me do ya like what you see...Do you think you can...do you think you can doo-oo- me!”
Fa real, you wouldn’t have been able to tell me shyt.
Then there’s the hair.
I actually do have a decent blend of hair that many blackfricans envy....Such as that...my shit is good enough to be done at Hi Gorgeous, Goulds, Fantastic Sams, and Dabbles....(an yall know that no black person would ever think of those places to get their hair done).....this is thanks to my Cuban father who was on some dark skinned El Debarge shit.
But Anyone who knows me knows that while I prefer natural hair on a lady.....if she must fuck with it.....that I’m a proponent of good weaves and extensions.
I think the shyt is great.
And weave has gotten so good now that I can’t tell whose shyt is real and whose is fake.
And I’m pretty much ok with that.
Hey, even I almost got a weave.
What?? I’m serious. What???! It’s true!
Now don’t get it twisted, I wasn’t on some Al Sharpton perm shyt trying to get my weave on.
That’s just gay.
Back when Leaders of the New School, Fu-Schnickens, and Das EFX first came out, hip hop was becoming dreaded, and I wanted in!
There was just one problem, my punk ass curly flat top was of no value to gettin me dreads the next day!
So this girl told me that she would braid my head up if I went and got some hair.
I told my boy, and he was down too.
Dude shows up at my house with 10 pounds of weave that he got from Wal-Mart for $3.95!
For about two seconds, I was excited.
Then, I realized that I was gonna look like a dumbass with all that shit weaved in my head.
Needless to say, I didn’t get it done….
and the fact that I even considered it still remains unbeweavable!
Sadly that was my fate when faced with many "BLack" folks hair styles....Due to the fact that my hair is naturally curly.....I'm like the Black Carrot top of this myspace shit.
but anyways....
And then a while back I stumbled on some shyt that rocked everything I thought I knew about a modern woman’s physical appearance.
I met this girl… she was a cutie.
And since it’s the topic of the day, I’ll tell you her eyes were real — a beautiful light brown — and her hair wasn’t — a very well maintained braided style.
We hit it off immediately.
We went out on a couple dates, and then decided to nightcap it at her crib.
Things got heated and I could not wait to get into her bangin ass body….
… or so I thought….
… as I slipped my hand in her shirt, and down into her jeans, I noticed that the tight ass top she had on underneath her shirt….
…. SNAPPED…. like, it fastened at the crotch.
I was thinking to myself, “Why this bytch got on a damn leotard??!?!?”
Well…. when the shyt came off… I found out why:
Her name shoulda been Royce with all the Rolls she had….
I’m sayin’… even Proud Mary’s river wasn’t ROLLIN like this shyt.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just witnessed! I mean, a grown ass woman with a leotard to shape her whole shyt???
Hey dude, I’m a proponent of control top draws and hose and such… but wearing a damn one piece swimsuit in the middle of the winter???
Dayum…. at least warn a brutha before he cuts himself on those metal hooks round about your coochie region holdin all your shyt in place!!
And then, this past Wednesday, I stood corrected.
I discovered the joy of body-shaping. It’s name is UnderArmour and it bringeth me joy.
Now that I’ve been working out seriously for almost two months, I’ve been paying more attention to how I look.
As a result, I had to beef up my workout gear and I purchased some of the UnderArmour gear because I liked the material.
Well I didnt purchase it....lets just say I came up on some....
When I slid on the shirt… dude…. my shyt just popped into place!!
My chest looked bigger… my arms looked bigger… but my stomach tightened the hell up!!!
I will freely admit that I am an UnderArmour groupie!!
Now, you will NOT catch me at the club with one of those gay ass muscle shirts!
And you will NOT catch me in a pair of biking shorts with my ass cheeks on display for the world to see!
But ladies, what you will find is a cut looking brutha at the gym working shyt out….
and then you’ll think how attractive he is and how nice his body looks…
and you will flirt…
and he will flirt back…
and you two will hit it off and you’ll invite him in for a taste of your goodies….
and when he comes out the Armour….
and his shape returns to its natural state…..
I want you to close your eyes and say:
“My own medicine doesn’t taste so good….”
…. but as least the look appeals.
True Story...
