Brand New

(Before I begin, I should preface this post with the following disclaimer: this is not all me. I have compiled this post from several convos. Don't shoot the messenger. Lol)

What the eff is it abt Posh shit that just makes a bitch feel so effin' fly? I don't drop labels, I drop niggas, but I have to say, there is something extra sexy about wanting something hot with a pricetag comparable to my rent and knowing I can swing it on my own. Not that I would, everytime...but....

I remember when I first started out on my hustle and I was a levis girl. It wasn't because I couldn't afford better, but because I hadn't learned the value of retail therapy, even if I was only going to be a window shopper like Lily Allen's Nan. (Not a diss. She has a whole song about it and I totally Stan for Lily Allen.)

I've been listening to the music of the yout' a lot lately and between hearing about Soldier Boy putting his swag on and Jamie Foxx skeeting on himself 'cause his chick "got her own," I started to examine my flyness.

(Sidebar:I refuse to speak on "swag" unless I'm copping free shit from an event. The phrase is sooooo November 2008. PS according to Donna Summer's #1 Fan's GBF, if u have to put it on, then you have no swag. You're just a lame in nice gear.)

I digress...

Upon examining my flyness under closer scrutiny, and realizing that I'm not doing all that bad by my damnself, I consider the import of actually being able to have one's own. I must admit, I am mildly confused as I had just gotten used to hearing T.I. croon that I, or whomever he's really singing to, could have "whatever I like." Now I'm celebrated 'cause I got my own? Which is it fellas? Do u want a sugar momma who can buy you a short set, (hey bey!) or are you looking to be someone's cake daddy?

And what happens when having your own goes wrong?

What is the ettiquite for a boss bitch like yours truly who has her own and is venturing out into a world of delectable summer weather suitors?

I only ask this because I've never been entirely comfortable having a dude cake for me. I'd like for him to have his own, but the notion of being "taken care of" has always made me wildly uncomfortable. Probably 'cause I'm a turned out tomboy and hanging with the brothers and cousins and fellas for most of my yout' has given me painful insight to how niggas think. Not all of y'all, but still...

The deeper and realer reason is I am not just a boss bitch. I'm also a bossy bitch and I like to be in charge. This can definitely be a problem. I don't mean to try and run things....whatever.

Is it still polite to assume I can have whatever I want?

What if what I want is uber posh and reasonable by my standards, but not by someone else's?

Is it a deal breaker if a dude can't afford my drink?

What do you do when you have champagne tastes on a beer bottle wallet? LMAO!!!

Thoughts?

FAT FATTIES

PS

because Donna Summer's #1 fan tells me that i should be kinder to the Plus sized Patties i feel the need to share with you something i just recently learned about the obese:

overeating is reaching for one's mother, or looking to be mothered and nurtured

undereating is reaching for one's father, or looking to push mother away

it is not always about being gluttonous just for the sake of salivating over one more slice of pie, sometimes, there are some deeper issues at hand that force the unhappy to soothe however possible.

there. i offered something positive about the undisciplined slobs that surround me in the workplace, in society, everywhere.  that does not negate the fact that the two barrels who were on the treadmills in front of me at the gym this morning as i tried to get my sweat on should not have been going much faster than they were...i'm saying....your ass is not going to work itself out.  i'm sorry you've got mommy issues, but if you're gonna get the super sack at white castle to make yourself feel better, really work on that by really WORKING on that with som super sit ups too.

fat chance on a saturday night

i had nothing to do yesterday after my session with my headshrinker, so i called up my homie, mona, the journalism chick,  to see what she was getting into on saturday night.  don't know why i wasn't too keen on being home alone.  

turns out, she was going to check out a friend of hers in some off off broadway theater in the LES.  the idea was a novel one as i do enjoy watching live performance.  something about it inspires me to go home and write either 'cause the shit is sooo fucking wack that i know i can top it, or 'cause the shit is so beautiful, that i want to aspire to top it. since i am still recovering from my BET overdose and suffering from a smidgen of writer's block, plus, i relish any excuse to kick it with my chicks, so away i went to the LES

the theater was decent sized with a tiny lobby that we were packed into like sardines as we waited for the house to open.  

as i said, we were in an off broadway theater.  a small assed lobby having off broadway theater where in spite of the fact that the play had a black playwright and a predominantly black cast. we were, quite certainly, one of a few polka dots (read: lone people of color in a sea of white.)  i'm cool vibing with the pink toes.  after all, some of my closest friends are white.  

this is to say, i am very familiar with the genus caucasious.

this particular species of white folk was a little different from what i am used to.  

mona hates the faces i make when i see something out of order, mostly 'cause it sends her into a fit of giggles and then we're both assed out with me staring at the strangeness, and her cracking up about it. these old ass weirdoes were very, very old and very, very entitled with their stuck up broke down looking selves. 

DEAR READER: one of my favorite hobbies is to people watch and invent stories for those I observe.  the more bizarre an individual, the more likely they are to turn up in some manifestation in my writing.

last night there was a whole host of people who could possibly end up in my stories. the most astounding individual, (and this is saying a lot since there was a dude there who's ear hair was so long i could'a cornrowed that shit real quick for him,) was everyone's favorite:

the fat, obnoxious older lady.

i knew she was gonna be a problem when i saw her walk into the theater with the cane she wouldn't've needed if she believed in portion size.  poor hairy ears made the mistake of standing in the aisle as fatty fat fat started to move towards the seats.  

in his defense, it wasn't his fault to be in the way.  in addition to having extraordinarily long ear hair that kept him from hearing his pushy wife tell him where to sit, he also had extraordinarily think lenses on his glasses that actually seemed to impede his vision more than it helped it. these two physical obstacles forced him, a very slight man, to stand in the lone aisle and turn in circles looking for where he was going to sit.  (it was open seating in the theater.)

fatty fat fat sighed REALLY loudly behind him, turned to say something to her hag of a friend who was with her, then turned back and said in a pitch perfect roseanne barr voice, "COME ON PEOPLE LET'S GO!"  

people was really not the appropriate noun as he was the only one in the aisle and was clearly perplexed, confused, and maybe even a little lost, even though his wife was less than 20 feet away. all fatty fat fat had to do was lean in and say,  "excuse me," to the old codger and she would have been able to get by.  this would have required that she remove 1/3 of her ass and gut to do, but it would have been a nicer option than yelling and the follicly hearing impaired.

i watched the whole exchange take place from the vantage point of my 6th row folding chair.  

did i mention that all the seats were folding chairs with meager padding? old fuzzy's wife comes to his rescue and pulls him into a seat and out of the line of fire of this obese old bitch.

you're gonna get two seconds to guess who the fat cunt decides to sit next to.

that's right. yours truly.

she proceeds to lay her cane on my chair, almost like a guardrail to keep her supersized ass from spreading into my seating area too much.  i asked mona if she thought the bitch had to buy two tickets like on the airplane and she gave me an elbow to the ribs.

fatty fat fat was not only fat, she was rude. three guys tried to get by her to sit next to the empty seats near mona.  fat bitch grumbled as they passed.  a few moments later, before the play started, one needed to go to the bathroom. 

fatty fat fat's response to the polite gentleman saying "excuse me," was, and i bullshit you not:

"you can't be serious, oh, you are serious!" and did not stand to let dude by.  

the rest of the evening continued to be a collection of her disgusted sighs and rude comments to those around her.

when the person behind her accidentally kicked the back of her chair, she turned, during the play, and said "JESUS!" very very loudly.

during intermission, she and her hateful friend complained about the man next to them and how the way he was sitting caused his ass to be hanging off of his chair.  i told mona i know how he felt and she elbowed me again.

i ask you, blognistas, is it fair for such a miserable creature to be allowed to ruin the evenings of others?  

isn't it wrong for her fat ass to be allowed to be that fucking big and nasty?  like, she has to pick one or the other.  either be fat, or be a bitch....you shouldn't be allowed to be both.  

lawd ha'mercy and please don't be a fat, mean and ugly bitch....

see, i know who i am...i am that bitch y'all love to hate.  i am not that fat bitch y'all love to hate, nor am i that fat ugly bitch y'all love to hate.  my biting social commentary would not come from the same place if i were.  if i were any of the above listed bitches, then my posts would read like a sad country song that would make y'all cry into your beers.  

i'm fat and also mean

i wish the air were clean

if i don't get a man

i guess i'll eat a ham.

being that i am as fucking fly as i am, i can get away with commenting on what a fucked up place we live in and how fucked up many people's actions are.  i can say what the fuck i want to say to whomever the fuck i want to say it because i am not a miserable old fat white bitch who terrorizes theater goers trying to support off off broadway movements.

please don't try and make me feel sorry for her about her state and her station in life.  the cunt was evil and had on them old lady jelly sandals...you know the ones i'm talking about.  they front like they are orthopoedic sandals made out of rubber and you can buy them at the walgreens or the riteaid....you know what i'm talking about.  them shits come in brown, black and white and got two non adjustable straps across them?  

whatever.  

this fat fuck had those on with no goddamned socks!! in february....in new york....this pale pink dragon had no fucking socks on and proceeded to wiggle her milky white toes with her yellowing long ass toe nails throughout the course of the play.

and i should feel sorry for her?  

i know you're thinking 'damn charlie is one mean bitch.  didn't she hear when chris rock said it wasn't nice for skinny chicks to make fun of fat bitches?'

fuck that.

you don't want me to be mean or talk about your ass, then don't be a mean old fat bitch in dollar store chanclas.

before one of you tries to call me a hypocrite 'cause i said i live a good life and then i sit here and trash talk the poor old mean fat bitch.  i still live a good life and i am still a good person.  if she were a nice old fat fart, she would have been spared from my wrath... but to be as nasty and evil as she was with no apology is ridiculous!  

donna summer's #1 fan will undoubtedly call me out for my fat people prejudice.  before she has a chance to blast me in my comment section i will say that i am not opposed to help the obese come up with other solutions for their existence from the superficial, patterns and fabrics that can mask your belly, to the emotional, "there is a good person beneath all those pounds." i can even help conquer the more difficult, "PUT THE FUCKING KRISPY KREMES DOWN!!!!"

to prove that i live a good life, i will offer any heavy harriet, any chunky chucky, and rotund ramona, my services to help improve their quality of life.  the first step in getting help is to admit that you need it.  if those beached whales on the biggest loser can take their shirts off on national television (threw up in my mouth, again) and jiggle like bags of skim milk for the whole world to see, than certainly some fat fuckers out there in the blogosphere can reach out to me for the help they so clearly need.

and because i am such a good person i offer this help free of charge. seriously.  let's make the world a skinnier, oops, i mean healthier place.

may god smite me with an extra 200 lbs if i am lying about my intentions.

PS i hope that fat bitch is employed so she doesn't have to use my tax $$$ to pay for her prescriptions for diabetes or hypertension.