Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

In the larger realm of all things white people, there is little funnier than a white woman--usually of the clean cut appearance--throwing down to gangsta rap.  And, in that regard I mean messy bun, old sweats fuzzy with holes in them, a white Hanes tee that's probably snug up top as it's from an old lover or some such, and that hair . . . yeah, that's like three day old hair that hasn't been washed.  Yeah, when that woman throws down, starts dropping gangsta signs, slipping out motherfuckers, dicks, and tits while jumping around her house in pure single girl, moment alone, who gives a shit fashion movies always tell us that shit is about to become epic. In that regard, that has been my week.  Epic.  Coffee, bun, sweats, and mother fucking gangsta rap.  Yeah, I dropped that out earlier this week and people who claim to know me jaw dropped like a fat kid salivating for cake.  Except, they weren't wanting cake.  Instead, they were downright flabbergaste...

So I'm like a whole freaking week late on posting the final Me Made May roundup.  Well . . . I was in Kentucky on work, and I won't apologize for having a beer after work and usually being too tired to stay up past 10:30.  Yes, lame.  Yes, true.  Yes, there were an hour of student and work emails too . . . nearly every night. But, for your viewing pleasure: Wednesday, a day of browns. An Amy Butler Barcelona, my new boat shows, a now toooo large cardi, and my insomnia bag (AKA Multi Tasker Tote from Anna Maria Horner). Of course,  I was still in NYC here . . . It was chilly, hence the cardi.  Guess where the cardi is now? In the growing Goodwill bin. Thursday . . . the day to finish packing what wasn't done the day before, remember the tablet and Advil (the sunscreen for kids who go to summer camp for nerds), and try to sleep. {There's no photo as my phone shit the bed a day or so later, and . . . this one isn't on my Google+ backup (meanin...

Ions ago, in the mysterious and often booze laden days of undergrad, a tradition was started.  A simple tradition, but one that I have held stead fast to in the years since.  Every year on Kentucky Derby Day I consume Chinese food and bourbon.  Kentucky bourbon, Makers Mark, to be more pointed.  You might balk, but you should remember that grease and bourbon are a food group.  I assure you that the US Surgeon General is aware of this food group but has just fallen short of making it an official category of edible consumption.  None-the-less, in my yearly tradition--which I'm not sure if the roommates even remember or bother with anymore, I ate greasy Chinese and drank Makers.  The flavors along my mouth's taste buds are a subject for another day, but the act of consuming a memory, partaking in a self-imposed tradition, and partaking in a brief moment of sports for which I never watch and have no desire to engage (meaning little outside of my realm of e...

I apologize in advance for typos. Mondays.  Diatribes about Mondays are easy to come by, and even on this blog I have posted one , two ,or some more .  Every now and then a Monday proves exceptional, causing a need for a brain dump, recharge, and maybe a bourbon or two.  Let's see . . . Monday for the making. 9:00am, first class.  I come into the classroom a few minutes early to see a student who hasn't been there in WEEKS waiting.  Walking in I remarked the he had returned, and he said "yea, I wanted to talk to you about that."  What did he want? He hasn't done any work all term, and I'm talking not a lick.  He wanted to sit-in on class and be able to pass . . . Did I tell you that he said he couldn't all semester because I have a policy that if you are more than ten minutes late you can't come in?  So it's my fault he couldn't get there on time? Yup, you know it . . . pass the bourbon, and it's not even 9:00am. Class wasn't ba...