welcome!

this is the blog of a 30 year old confused woman. am i supposed to wear taupe shoes with sensible heels? or am i supposed to get my toenails painted in electric blue with daisies on my big toe? where do i fit in? do i listen to wu-tang and black crows, or do i listen to winehouse or jump around to fall out boy who sounds suspiciously like green day? am i still cool or just mutton dressed as lamb?

in any case, i am confused. can i get a witness?

i feel like redman on his cd, "muddy waters", during the "chickenhead skit", when the reporter/commentator stated, "them bitches SWEAR they fly!"

i feel like the need for nostalgia is a bit too premature. i do not need to hear "it takes two" by rob bass bastardized (as bama as it was), for an applebee's commercial! come on guys, when we heard that song, we broke out with the wop, the cabbage patch, the reebok, the grind (the one dance that your keyboarding teacher came over and broke it up). we watched things like hee-haw, soul train, american bandstand, solid gold. we were there (don't make me break out into that old military commercial)! we were there for the evolution of music, when creativity was actually an original thing, not a warping/modification of someone who worked harder than you.

i can say as a hip-hop head, that i do appreciate the manipulation and prose of a class-A dj, but i can't stand artists who are just too afraid to take a stance, and make something truly unique. and i especially can't stand the aloof detractors, those who try to distance themselves from their own failures. bravado will always be a pillar of hip hop, but should it be the measuring stick? what about poetry, improvisation, and command of vocabulary? we all know that everyone has a big dick, they can pull all the ladies, and they have lots of $$ and are thugs? so when we translate that, it means that they are either working with a misshapen 'lil smokie (not all beef), they still take the ugly bitch home after the lights come on, they got a title loan from carmax, and they stole a mr. goodbar from the corner store when they were 6 years old.

i just think that we should be given more respect by these young bucks...they know so little of the world (the good parts) and know too much of the world of unattainable. where do i come in as a "grown-up" and let them know that i wanted to be a ballerina/doctor/firefighter (at least i wanted that combo), and then let them know that i am now a government contractor who sits in a cube but still remembers what it was like to push off on a pirouette and land it gracefully? with my arms, hands and fingers articulately and artfully pointed towards my guaranteed greatness... when do we let them know that reality is that boogie man that lurks in the darkness? it is the one fear that we never truly overcome... reality is omnipresent, like the asshole in the stall next to you when you're trying to pass on the sins of your past, e.g, the burrito that was heavy on the beans, that big helping of cabbage, or sating that hunger you've had for baby carrots.

wow, this was deeper than i intended it to be! but, i'm 30, with dreams deferred, farts held in, and with wholly underdeveloped body hairs. i shall overcome...but not without hope, air freshner, great tweezers, a sharp razor, and a vigilant eye! best of luck to you all... i hope to see you all on the the other side.... meaning my next post.