Slip And Slide

via The Beautiful Struggler - Me, Myself and Eye

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Upon hearing the siren's call of the neighborhood ice cream truck, I foolishly took my flip-flop-footed self out the door and quickly down the wet stairs. Too quickly.

As epic a FAIL as Crystal Pepsi, yet nowhere near as delicious.*

It's okay. Everybody falls down, right? Everybody bleeds. Everybody's dress comes up and shows their panties. Everybody gets dirty. And surely, everybody falls down, bleeds, has their dress come up (showing their panties) and gets dirty in front of the ENTIRE BLOCK, right? Right.

Meanwhile, I will never leave this house again. I don't want to face those people and I know one of the witnesses to my spill will be out their at any given moment. You see, my neighbors NEVER leave the block. Ever. And I can still hear them yelling "OH SHIT" and "WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?" when I fell.Thus, I can't get out of here again without passing one. Thus, I wish Fresh Direct worked with bodegas, cause I will probably run out of food by Friday.

Am I the only one who has irrational thoughts when they get embarrassed? Like, instead of getting upset at yourself, you wanna blame any or anybody else for your pain? Instead of damning myself for running after ice cream not an HOUR after stating that I was gonna lose 15 more pounds by Howard's homecoming, I decided to charge someone else with the responsibility for my fall. I came up with a good list: the person who painted the stairs so shiny that they are always slippery at the first drop of wetness, the ice cream truck driver for not coming before the rain or after the stairs could dry and the BIGGEST culprits: my neighbors, for being outside so damn much! If they could just go indoors for once, they would not have seen me fall! Dammit, I'm getting pissed off thinking about it all over again.

Amateur sketch of the house next door.

Whatever. This probably was payback for me posing in front of some one's 40-inch rims today and giggling. Or taking a friend past the salon that does "Shurrley Tempo" curls and pointing at the sign and laughing for a good two minutes. Or for flirting with a 19-year-old boy yesterday (in my defense, I thought he was 20).

Did you notice how I effectively transferred blame over from myself to the universe? Yes, I'm cool like that.

I should mention that I am on Cloud Ibuprofen right about now and that if my writing is anything like my speaking, I am probably making no sense and I apologize like Anita Baker: somewhat unintelligibly.**

Back to my neighbors. Not only did they make me fall down the stairs, I'm still mad at them for waking me up at the crack of dawn- 9:15 AM, to be exact- on Saturday morning. Some fool pulls up in front of my house with the booming system on FULL BLAST playing.....wait for it...wait for it....Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready".

Whatup, Blood? Whatup, thug? Whatup, gangsta? No really, what the hell is up?

Not only did this man fail to have his hood pass revoked, he was allowed to run the ish back and play the song three times. Three times. THRICE. Now, I love me some Tevin but the bass on the track actually woke me up. That joint goes harder than half the songs on The Carter III, quite frankly.

I'm moving,
Sister Toldja

*-Um, I tried to find a good picture of someone falling but couldn't. Admire my creativity in a crisis, dammit.

**- What? I love Anita too, but you know she has bad diction! Listen to "Sweet Love"-"The sweeeetaaast dream, I lub you baby staaywiiimeeeandiwiiiiibeeedolldatuuuunnnneeeeddd...."

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