Every time I move, I realize that I keep leaving people behind. People fall away like dead leaves and just drop out of my life. When I look back for the people I missed, it dawns on me that I didn’t care about them getting gone. The older I get, the better I get at staying away from the people who ain’t worth a damn. I’ve managed to get the “un’s” out of my life.
Sometimes things happen and you don’t even make the connection. First this and then a little twitter conversation with @myrtle_urkel about things flying over people’s heads sometimes.
Between sexual exploration and hoe shit. I’ve been trying to figure out what that is. Ladies, please take note, as soon as you lose you virginity, you’re a hoe. That being said, you might as well make the most of it and be selective with your sausage. Women didn’t burn their bras in the 60′s just so that the women of today could be labeled as ultrawhores if they want to entertain some peen now and then, but the standards for women and their virtue haven’t seemed to budge an inch. Discounting the attention whores laying thirst traps like Bear Gryllis, the average woman still isn’t allowed to shop around and figure out what she likes and doesn’t like without being labeled a Dirty Diana.
My motto has always been: 2 dicks is a menage, 3 dicks is a train. There are a lot of women who are repressing themselves because of what we men have become. I’m sure there was a time when one could partake in a double dip without it being spread to the masses. Now thanks to the innanet you can best believe if you like to take it from both ends, your name, social security number, credit score, and photos of the event will end up on your favorite social networking site. Discretion has gone the way of the dodo as men have become as big a butthurt gossip as any woman.
HOW MANY BODIES MUST A WOMAN HAVE IN THE TRUNK BEFORE SHE’S CONSIDERED A HOAR???
I made a little jaunt home and I started to realize something. I looked at my parents and saw things that I’d never seen before. An extra line here. A gray hair there. A slowness in their gait. Hell, my father had to rock to get up. While watching this I came to the epiphany that brought me to the title of this post. They’re going to die and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I turned 29 last week, please try to hold your applause. As usual, birthdays make me all reflective, introspective, and every other -ive you can really think of. The thing that has been permeating my mind as of late is my relationship to the “black experience” as a whole. I’m wondering if I can still understand the common man or am I beyond the every day negroid.