Back the Fuck Off

Ya know when you are supposed to go to the gym because when you go to the gym and do something that creates results, people compliment you and stuff and that’s awesome, so you tell yourself you’re going to go to the gym after class, but you forgot that “E! Investigates: Rich Kids Who Kill” was coming on, so you put the gym off for an hour, then two, then 3 days roll around, and then you feel so bad for putting off the gym that you just don’t go for weeks and pretend like the gym doesn’t even exist, but then you miss getting compliments and attention, so you go back to the gym? Well, thats what happened with this blog. And I miss getting compliments and attention. And there are no new E! specials happening. So we’re back.

During the hiatus, a few people asked when I would post again, and I always promised a new post soon, and it was honky doory. BUT things got weird when some weirdo goes, “if you don’t post something new, I’m going to slash your tires, snap all your headbands, and cut your braids off.” Woah. Back the fuck off, crazy. I understand that I am awesome and fantastic, and quite frankly, the cats meow, but ease up. That’s a little drastic. The way to get me to do something is NOT to threaten my headbands. I can find or steal new tires. I can go buy a new pack of 1B hair for $37 on Long Island, $25 in Harlem. But I can NOT replace some of my precious babies. So back the fuck off. Here are some other people who can do the same:

1. The toothless wench who pushes carts at the grocery store who yelled at me for parking in an expectant mother/mother with toddlers parking spot. Ya know what? Hell yes I am parking in this damn parking spot. Will it make you feel better if I puff my gut out for you? And by the way, it's 11:30 at night, why would a toddler be at the grocery store at 11:30 at night? You call the police on me for parking in this fake-ass, made-up parking spot, and I will call child services. All I wanted was some raspberry lemondade and some watermelon Big League Chew. Back the fuck off.

2. The Long Island losers who drive around in their Lil Bow Wow circa The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, piece of shit neon cars with the purple headlights who pass me on the parkway as I’m doing 75. Driving is something I take very personally. I think I am a FABULOUS driver. Sure, there are some trees, a fire hydrant, and a few ignored stop signs that beg to differ, but I know that I am a fabulous driver. I have somewhere to be, I’m going to get there in a timely manner. When I’m on the parkway, already doing 20 miles (safely) over the limit, don’t you DARE have the nerve to pass ME, honk at me, or glare at me from your dumb ass reclined driver seat that you can't possibly see over. I can’t wait until Norman Black, the state trooper who gave me a ticket for going 10 (okay, 28) miles over the limit, gives you a speeding ticket. It's gonna be tough paying for your trunk stereo system when you have a $215 ticket to pay to the great state of New York. Back the fuck off.

3. The sketch man sitting outside of Delia’s at the mall. Do not sit there with your compadres, eating a stale cinnamon sugar pretzel or a cup of Dip N' Dots and try to “holla” at me while I’m simply trying to exchange one of my in denial, too small purchases. Offering to buy me a piece of “jewelry” from Things Remembered is not the way to woo me. “Jewelry” from Things Remembered is the equivalent of buying a piece of “crystal” from a Hallmark store. If it's sitting next to a tower of discounted Beanie Babies and a pack of Rollos, it ain’t crystal. If its sitting next to a heart-shaped serving spoon and a crucifix alarm clock, it ain't jewelry. Back the fuck off.

You all get the gist. Whether you are pissing me off, or just too close to my personal space, back the fuck off. Seriously. Back off. Im just a simply, quiet, introverted gal.