There are a couple of things in life I think we all don’t expect to be late like your dreams, new born babies, a females period, and strippers. Yes I said it strippers. Take a moment to think about it and then nodded in agreement.
“But where did strippers come from?”
The answer my dear Watson can be found in the following abrupt story that I shall now retell to you, the reader. However, before I dive into the tell I must inform you that this following story will be abrupt for the following five reason…
5.) The individuals that were at the party could possibly be greatly offended by me giving out too much information regarding their actions
4.) It would take longer than this page in the blog to retell what happen on that
particular night
3.) I believe more professional people are reading the blog so why incriminate
myself
2.) If you really need to know about all the details you probably should have been
there because this page out the blog is more about the lateness of the strippers not
so much what they did.
1.) I actually wasn’t there… “But why not?” As cheesy and possibly unbelievable as it might sound I felt funny about paying money for a woman to take her clothing off. Weird I know, but don’t blame me for how I feel it’s just how I feel.
Anyway, the story actually begins with me, the writer, being informed of the stripper party. Despite popular belief I did not come up with the idea. Yes, I do a lot of planning and thinking, but this time it was not my idea. I leave that concept completely up to the Godfather who thought it would be a great money maker. So he basically presented the idea to me as the following…
“We’re having a stripper party on the 4th at 2 am till 5 am”
“Umm, I’m down. Glad we had this discussion I guess.”
Anyway, the event happened on the 4th and as I was told the strippers showed up two hours late. Yes the people who the whole party was thrown for showed up late to their own party. Black people and CP time may never be fixed (SMH). Well, from the videos and stories I heard it still all turned out as a great event and a fun time. There were endless beads being pulled out of a place I will not mention, bottles disappearing into wholes, tig ol bits flying everywhere, and hungry hippos eating till their hearts delight. All in all it was a good time for all who were there.
“So what was the purpose of this note?” you might ask.
To simply remind you that even though things don’t always come on time it doesn’t mean that you still won’t enjoy it when it gets there. So stop worrying about the clock and just enjoying the waiting period cause when that dream finally does arrive you’ll still enjoy it. Don’t believe me ask anyone who was there and they’ll probably agree.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The Ghost of Tenants Past… Where the ghost busters when you freaking need them?
Now the blue house, which we like to call it now, has been called many things when visitors first see it. A Slave House, a Plantation, Frederick Douglass’s First Home, the Great Debater’s Home, and the most common the Haunted House. Yes, the house is old, but no it is not that old (I think). Anyway, whoever refers to it as the Haunted House always asks right after…
“Have you seen any ghost?”
And the naturally answer is…
“No mutha(explicit word)! Why would I still be here if I saw a ghost?”
However, to be honest that answer is actually false. There are ghost in the building that we, the current residents, have been trying to get rid of since we happily/forcefully moved into our little home. Who are these ghosts? They are the tenants who lived there before us.
I know what you’re thinking…
“But isn’t it cruel to be writing about them as a ghost?”
The answer…
“Stop interrupting me!”
Let me get back to the story. Well when I say ghost I do not mean that they are physically there (even though one did remain, but by our own choice). What I mean is that there presence still haunt the halls. Their presence haunt the halls in the way the walls look (random colors in all the rooms), the bags they left to be pick up God knows when, to the damages to the house. All these things are constant reminders that they lived here and it all has haunted us since we moved in to the point we’re almost pulling our hair out.
The prompting for this note came from the fact that when we, unfortunately, had to request that the last old remaining tenant move out due to the fact that the land lord wanted her, the lovely ex-tenant retaliated (let me state this tenant is never at the house, which sucks more when they appeared in he house back from God knows where and begin to float down a hallway nearly scaring you out of your mind) she turns off our power, which they promised to switch in our name. So the power company walks in turns off power and walks out leaving us in the dark. As we sat in a powerless house one thought crossed our mind.
“Where are the Ghostbusters when you freaking need them. These ghosts got to go.”
“Have you seen any ghost?”
And the naturally answer is…
“No mutha(explicit word)! Why would I still be here if I saw a ghost?”
However, to be honest that answer is actually false. There are ghost in the building that we, the current residents, have been trying to get rid of since we happily/forcefully moved into our little home. Who are these ghosts? They are the tenants who lived there before us.
I know what you’re thinking…
“But isn’t it cruel to be writing about them as a ghost?”
The answer…
“Stop interrupting me!”
Let me get back to the story. Well when I say ghost I do not mean that they are physically there (even though one did remain, but by our own choice). What I mean is that there presence still haunt the halls. Their presence haunt the halls in the way the walls look (random colors in all the rooms), the bags they left to be pick up God knows when, to the damages to the house. All these things are constant reminders that they lived here and it all has haunted us since we moved in to the point we’re almost pulling our hair out.
The prompting for this note came from the fact that when we, unfortunately, had to request that the last old remaining tenant move out due to the fact that the land lord wanted her, the lovely ex-tenant retaliated (let me state this tenant is never at the house, which sucks more when they appeared in he house back from God knows where and begin to float down a hallway nearly scaring you out of your mind) she turns off our power, which they promised to switch in our name. So the power company walks in turns off power and walks out leaving us in the dark. As we sat in a powerless house one thought crossed our mind.
“Where are the Ghostbusters when you freaking need them. These ghosts got to go.”
Monday, August 16, 2010
Attack of the Killer Bee... My Killer Finds Me?
I once had a dream that I was brutally murder by a swarm of killer bees carrying katana blades. Since then I made it my civic duty to stay as far away from any type of bee to insure that the pre-determined destiny that awaited me was avoided. Happily, I can boast that because of this dream I have never been stung by a bee or ran across a bee carrying a katana (if I ever do I will be sure to inform the discovery channel or maybe a shrink).
This phobiatic introduction is important to the overall story. If I left it out the impact of the event would lessen and you the reader would feel less satisfied.
One night in the house we decided to prepare to shoot a promo video for the 2010 step expo (make sure you attend). As I prepared the lighting something unexpected happened. Certain insects were attached to the light and rushed toward the windows.
Now our house is old. I mean real old. Over time this historic home was remodeled, but lost many of these upgrades as time progressed. One such upgrade was the screens for the windows (spoiler alert).
Anyway, back to the story. The light attracted one particular large hornet who rushed to the window above our old school air conditioner unit. I was surprised to see him, but happy to see that he was on the outside of the window. Then one of the resident’s ask a simple question that would put me closer to that historic, nightmarish murder dream.
“He can’t get in here can he?”
I confidently boasted a “hell no” but then on close examination of the window realized that the top of the window actually left a crack open that he might be able to use.
“Oh (explicit word) he can get in” I shouted.
Almost as if he heard my response the hornet gazed into my eyes and began to climb toward the open crack in the window.
Manish/womanish like screams of horror sprung from my throat. Immediately, I struck the window attempting to scare him off. However, this only angered my killer who used his rage to climb fast. Running out of ideas I grabbed a near by cup and hope to catch him in it (not sure what I would do if I did). I then shouted for my fellow resident to get me something to attack back. Someone was going to die that night and it would not be me.
As the resident handed me a weapon (a shoe) I positioned the cup to catch the hornet. However, I missed him. He rushed into the room and went straight for me. My life flashed before my eyes.
Now I am not a girlie man inn any sense of the word (I did cry at the beginning of Up, When I see a baby I make the “aawww” sound, and I have been told my voice is similar to Mickey Mouse on helium), but I must admit that a girlish scream echoed out my mouth when I avoided his attack. I rushed out the room with my roommate following close behind me. When the bee was finally slain I examined him to find that he had no katana. I guess he wasn’t my pre-destined killer, but he sure did look like him. I mean they all look alike to me.
This phobiatic introduction is important to the overall story. If I left it out the impact of the event would lessen and you the reader would feel less satisfied.
One night in the house we decided to prepare to shoot a promo video for the 2010 step expo (make sure you attend). As I prepared the lighting something unexpected happened. Certain insects were attached to the light and rushed toward the windows.
Now our house is old. I mean real old. Over time this historic home was remodeled, but lost many of these upgrades as time progressed. One such upgrade was the screens for the windows (spoiler alert).
Anyway, back to the story. The light attracted one particular large hornet who rushed to the window above our old school air conditioner unit. I was surprised to see him, but happy to see that he was on the outside of the window. Then one of the resident’s ask a simple question that would put me closer to that historic, nightmarish murder dream.
“He can’t get in here can he?”
I confidently boasted a “hell no” but then on close examination of the window realized that the top of the window actually left a crack open that he might be able to use.
“Oh (explicit word) he can get in” I shouted.
Almost as if he heard my response the hornet gazed into my eyes and began to climb toward the open crack in the window.
Manish/womanish like screams of horror sprung from my throat. Immediately, I struck the window attempting to scare him off. However, this only angered my killer who used his rage to climb fast. Running out of ideas I grabbed a near by cup and hope to catch him in it (not sure what I would do if I did). I then shouted for my fellow resident to get me something to attack back. Someone was going to die that night and it would not be me.
As the resident handed me a weapon (a shoe) I positioned the cup to catch the hornet. However, I missed him. He rushed into the room and went straight for me. My life flashed before my eyes.
Now I am not a girlie man inn any sense of the word (I did cry at the beginning of Up, When I see a baby I make the “aawww” sound, and I have been told my voice is similar to Mickey Mouse on helium), but I must admit that a girlish scream echoed out my mouth when I avoided his attack. I rushed out the room with my roommate following close behind me. When the bee was finally slain I examined him to find that he had no katana. I guess he wasn’t my pre-destined killer, but he sure did look like him. I mean they all look alike to me.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Stand Down Soldier... but I'm not a Soldier
Mad, Insane, and Erratic are synonyms for the colorful word CRAZY, which is the only available word that exists in the vast reaches of my vocabulary that properly defines the situation I will articulate to “you” the reader. The online definition of the word “crazy” as pertains to an individual is as follows… “Deranged and possibly dangerous.” It is important to commence with this definition or everything that follows may seem as erratic as the behavior of the antagonist within this piece, but let me stop before I get ahead of myself and return to the story itself.
On that particular night we (the residents of the house) decided to throw a surprise get together for a close personal friend of ours.
However, that is all I will mention about the party. I will not divulge further into that particular night solely because the party has the capability to spawn itself into its own story, but for the purpose of this particular story pertaining to the definition of “crazy” the party story will serve solely as the backdrop.
Anyway, the party was exciting, it was fun, it was full of alcohol, it was full of tears and emotional outburst, and most of all it was an invite only event. With that in mind I graciously invited my sister and her friend (neither had visit the house before hand) to attend the get together. Unfortunately, my sister was unable to get to the party until later on, which was fine. The night pressed on without her for some time and alcohol began to affect everyone in the party. By the time she arrived at the house a majority of the party, as expected, including myself, were too intoxicated to articulate or function as members of society. Surprisingly, my close personal friend was sober and functioning, which helped because by the time my sister arrived I was half naked sprawled out in my bed unable to respond to any of my sister’s phone calls that requested directions and an escort to the house. So in turn she had to contact my friend for help. Now that the setting is painted this is where the story actually begins.
Wait, good reader I forgot an important aspect to the setting that if I neglect to relate the story in itself will lose its impact. The house we live in is draped in darkness. Not the average shadows but swallowed by unyielding black night duly because of the lack of proper lighting. The closest streetlight only extends to the far end of the drive way, which leaves every other portion of the house un-light (our porch light is left off because it attracts massive prehistoric creatures, again another story). With that mental picture let us return to the story.
My friend heads out the house into the darkness to retrieve my sister and her friend. They meet at the edge of drive way where the street light and darkness meet and cordially discuss life for a little while. During this conversational period a shadow out the dark began to approach them.
Now this shadow did not just approach as a slither or a slump but as a deliberate destructive darting moving toward the conversing group as if ready to attack. At first glance the group thought possibly it was a member of the party who arrived late swiftly moving toward them to talk with group, but after several calls of the supposed individual’s name were denied by the shadow the group suspicions began to rise. Is it an angry neighbor, a madman, a killer, a wolf man, a ghost, an undead former dancer from the thrill video (probably not the last one RIP MJ)? The shadow strutted toward the group and finally stopped directly in front of them.
My friend realized that my sister, her friend, and he could be in trouble. He decided to be the “strong,” “commanding” “man” he believed himself to be and stepped forward to protect the women. However, before he could get a question out his mouth the long haired middle aged man commanded my friend to…
“STAND DOWN”
...
Unsure how to answer my friend looked for clarification on what the stranger stated, meanwhile my sister wisely moved toward the house leaving my friend by himself with this individual.
“What did you say?” asked my friend.
“STAND DOWN SOLDIER!” replied the stranger.
Again silence was the only proper response.
“STAND DOWN SOLDIER,” shouted the stranger. “I AM A NAVEL OFFICER FOR THE UNITED STATES NAVY AND I ORDER YOU TO STAND DOWN”
Now I must add at this point that the individual did not have any type of officer/military identification on him to verify his supposed status.
Returning to the story my friend was completely confused by the response that all he could say was simply….
“But I’m not a soldier.”
In the response to this the individual turns and storms off in similar fashion as he approached straight into the darkness. My friend was left in the darkness confused and disturbed. The only phrase he could later use when relaying the story to me to sum up the experience was…
“That guy was CRAZY”
On that particular night we (the residents of the house) decided to throw a surprise get together for a close personal friend of ours.
However, that is all I will mention about the party. I will not divulge further into that particular night solely because the party has the capability to spawn itself into its own story, but for the purpose of this particular story pertaining to the definition of “crazy” the party story will serve solely as the backdrop.
Anyway, the party was exciting, it was fun, it was full of alcohol, it was full of tears and emotional outburst, and most of all it was an invite only event. With that in mind I graciously invited my sister and her friend (neither had visit the house before hand) to attend the get together. Unfortunately, my sister was unable to get to the party until later on, which was fine. The night pressed on without her for some time and alcohol began to affect everyone in the party. By the time she arrived at the house a majority of the party, as expected, including myself, were too intoxicated to articulate or function as members of society. Surprisingly, my close personal friend was sober and functioning, which helped because by the time my sister arrived I was half naked sprawled out in my bed unable to respond to any of my sister’s phone calls that requested directions and an escort to the house. So in turn she had to contact my friend for help. Now that the setting is painted this is where the story actually begins.
Wait, good reader I forgot an important aspect to the setting that if I neglect to relate the story in itself will lose its impact. The house we live in is draped in darkness. Not the average shadows but swallowed by unyielding black night duly because of the lack of proper lighting. The closest streetlight only extends to the far end of the drive way, which leaves every other portion of the house un-light (our porch light is left off because it attracts massive prehistoric creatures, again another story). With that mental picture let us return to the story.
My friend heads out the house into the darkness to retrieve my sister and her friend. They meet at the edge of drive way where the street light and darkness meet and cordially discuss life for a little while. During this conversational period a shadow out the dark began to approach them.
Now this shadow did not just approach as a slither or a slump but as a deliberate destructive darting moving toward the conversing group as if ready to attack. At first glance the group thought possibly it was a member of the party who arrived late swiftly moving toward them to talk with group, but after several calls of the supposed individual’s name were denied by the shadow the group suspicions began to rise. Is it an angry neighbor, a madman, a killer, a wolf man, a ghost, an undead former dancer from the thrill video (probably not the last one RIP MJ)? The shadow strutted toward the group and finally stopped directly in front of them.
My friend realized that my sister, her friend, and he could be in trouble. He decided to be the “strong,” “commanding” “man” he believed himself to be and stepped forward to protect the women. However, before he could get a question out his mouth the long haired middle aged man commanded my friend to…
“STAND DOWN”
...
Unsure how to answer my friend looked for clarification on what the stranger stated, meanwhile my sister wisely moved toward the house leaving my friend by himself with this individual.
“What did you say?” asked my friend.
“STAND DOWN SOLDIER!” replied the stranger.
Again silence was the only proper response.
“STAND DOWN SOLDIER,” shouted the stranger. “I AM A NAVEL OFFICER FOR THE UNITED STATES NAVY AND I ORDER YOU TO STAND DOWN”
Now I must add at this point that the individual did not have any type of officer/military identification on him to verify his supposed status.
Returning to the story my friend was completely confused by the response that all he could say was simply….
“But I’m not a soldier.”
In the response to this the individual turns and storms off in similar fashion as he approached straight into the darkness. My friend was left in the darkness confused and disturbed. The only phrase he could later use when relaying the story to me to sum up the experience was…
“That guy was CRAZY”
Friday, August 6, 2010
Introduction
This blog is about relaying information about a house I decided to live in with four other guys after I graduated College. The stories in the blog are all real (little embellishing) and involved view points from every individual in the house. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I will enjoy sharing them.
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