I went on a date today (I’m writing this at 11:00 PM).
I never know how people are going to react to seeing me in real life. It was a girl I met on Tinder. The first thing on my Tinder profile is my height as to not surprise the ladies when they meet me and notice I am as tall as a middle-schooler.
Continue reading “Just A Regular Cringe Date Story”
Up the amplitude to show an attitude
My boys got dank
But it all starts off with a noise complaint
Break it up, cut the grass, while I’m vibin’ in the cypher
Phony puff, puff laugh
And I might add
From the blaze to the stage, Girls on my ass
Enter carefully because the floor is feeling like a trampoline
The ceiling broke up under us, because of us..
And then the cops came
And shut shit down
And then the cops came. That was a small excerpt from a song called “Cop Scame” made by a hip hop group called Phony Ppl, which is comprised of several Black men.
In this section the artist explains how a noise complaint turns into a situation with the cops. Now that’s what college kids do right? They throw a house party and then the old crotchety neighbor next door (or under them in this case) calls the cops on them.
Continue reading “Black People And Volume”
Here, I complain about how hard it is for an introvert to interface with the world.
Pet peeve of mine: Motivational platitudes/fake enthusiasm/how to be successful videos and/or blogs. (no shade because I follow some here.)
But that is just a personal thing tied to the rest of the stuff I’m going to talk about. I still respect them and read them. But anyway, what I mean by “This is not an introvert’s world” is that you need to like people. You can’t stay in a shell and be successful. You need to be able to woo people and you cannot operate by yourself.
Continue reading “This is not an introvert’s world”
I’m an avid reader. I’m always thinking about interesting settings and characters for possible books. This started young, and now I’ve taken that mindset to look at myself as a character.
Continue reading “What I Consider Success For Myself”
I can feel my hands.
As I pace nervously in my bathroom I can feel the grooves in my hands like sandpaper. I rub them together to nullify the sensation but the cold-sweat on my palms only magnify my uneasiness. My hands glide against each other hot, wet and brackish. I am thoroughly out of it.
Continue reading “A Story of Introversion”