Adventures of a College Educated Misfit -- Part Two

--On Ratchet Anthems

First off, I think we need a good running definition of what a ratchet anthem is.  Issa Rae does best at trying to provide a definition, and also shit is just mad hilarious.   (Be sure to check out all 5 episodes)

With that said, I still think there are several different definitions of ratchet anthems (or at least two).  The first and most simple definition would be a ratchet person's anthem.  We should already know what a ratchet person is, so their anthem would reflect their lifestyle.  They are known for their really ratchet and explicit lyrics, mostly about money, molly's and strippers.  Oh, and bands, cuz they a make her dance. Examples of this type of ratchet anthem would come from some of my least favorite artist : 2 Chainz, Juicy J, and the like...

The second definition would be an anthem that causes not normally ratchet people to behave like the ratchets.  You know, that song makes you pop your p***y like a stripper and wanna fight a bitch, and then you catch yourself like  "what the fuck was I doing?"  These songs have the same overly explicit lyrics, but have more....substance?  I don't know.  Examples include songs from Crime Mob, Big Sean, and the lesser known, Ms. B.

The third definition isn't that well know; I think I made it up.  This section is dedicated to the light weight ratchets from New Orleans who just want love.  Do you see where I'm going with this?  While I know a few folk who may be slightly offended because they think they belong to this group when they really don't, a few will actually get this.  I mean, I shake my ass and get excited when songs for the "genre" of ratchet comes on, but I know it doesn't apply to me.  Let me try to explain this better.  So you're in a club with mildly ratchet fees  (the ones who look respectable til the dj plays dat b.e.a.t. and they lose it, bend over and you realize they ain't wearing drawls), and the dj plays dat b.e.a.t.  But not just any song to dat b.e.a.t., a love song.  They body start looking all confused.  They ass wants to pounch, but they head and hands wanna sing the song and act it out.  And then the start singing to the most ratchet, broke down lookin ni--.... I'll stop there.  Here are the examples: Refill (but only the version with zydeco roots), Officially Missing You, and Dance for You.

But wait, there is one more definition, the misfit definition.  This misfits definition of a ratchet anthem.... has more than one definition.  Sigh.  This is complicated.  I think it may just be that I want this song on the list.  But, no, I think that other people will agree with me on this.  Songs that are ratchet with a "message" catch our attention.  This would include songs that would normally be labeled ratchet only to find out the artist had a different vision of it.  Case in point: Spectacular.  It's a ratchet anthem to a filthy one night stand.  BUT to Kiely it's a way to bring awareness to the fact that women get drunk and go home with strange men and fuck them, or something like that.  Here's her explanation:

They took off the video she made explaining it, well trying too.  It was hilarious.  Anyway, she calls herself trying to bring awareness to an issue.  Yes, we all have known somebody who has randomly hooked up with someone, or have done it ourselves.  But, the sparkly booty shorts and gyrating on a brick wall and railroad tracks?  Or the fact that she woke up next to a bubble bootied dude who looked like predator? Or that she apparently let him pull a track out her short ass bob as she was getting her back blown out?  Or that somebody would really walk down the street with a handcuff attached to one wrist hitting on anything that past?  And the same men who were dancing in the club with her the night before would be on the street, in the same clothes, judging her?  Y'all get the point.

A misfit like me finds a song like this and has a intense debate on whether the song has any message or validity and move the fuck on.  Hell,  I still wanna recreate this video.

Sigh.  The other part of my definition is simple.  It's a song that resonates with that ratchet hood heaux that I am not and my college educated mind at the SAME DAMN TIME.  The song doesn't necessarily make me wanna twerk, but it does make me wanna do that Tipping Point dance.  Trouble knows what I mean.  The song is ratchet in the way it makes me act but not necessarily in what it is.  Makes no sense?  Maybe some examples will help: Mercy, and, my current favorite, Backstreet Freestyle.

That's all I got.

Misfit.  Out.

The Adventures of a College Educated Misfit (ACEM) -- Intro

First off, THIS IS THE 100TH POST !!!!! Yay us !!!!

Second, this is something new we will be trying.  Of course there will be more than one misfit.  We have to figure how close to real life we want to make it.  I just came up with the title and decided to run with it.  I want to write but smut ain't really my thang....

Here goes...

According to Merriam-Webster's Learners Dictionary (yes, learners), a misfit is defined as:

"a person who is different from other people and who does not seem to belong in a particular group or situation".

Enter me.  Now you may be wondering why such a well adjusted person as myself would label...myself, in such a way.  Nah, probably not.

I shimmy along the outskirts of what is normal.  Things I was once teased for are things that make me who I am.  I do not comprehend the concept of conforming.  I am who I am and those who don't like it can kick some rocks then smoke them.

Let's mosey along to this first adventure.  Guess we'll tackle natural hair first.

I've been natural for.... 14 years?  The majority of my friends are natural, both vets and newly transitioning.  And I love it.  Wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.  I can do any-fucking-thing with my hair.  ANYTHING.  But, alas, you see no adventure in my struggle.  Let me explain.

A day in the life of a natural chick, whose hair is not in a protective style  (i.e. braids, weaves, under a wig...)

It all starts when you wake up.  Stumble to the bathroom.  Brush your teeth, wash your face.  Look up in the mirror and see your wad of glorious natural locks packed to your scalp.  Normally dry and tangled.  I dare you to find your scalp.

You now have two options.  One, hop in the shower, co wash and detangle with either a wide tooth comb or wide plastic bristle brush.  Or, two, load your favorite spray bottle with warm water, conditioner and your favorite blend of oil, spray away, and begin the detangling process with two of the weapons listed above.  There may be other options, but those aren't options for me.  If you wanna dry detangle your hair, go forth, heaux, and let your ends split.

So, you chose option two.  Upon finishing your detangle battle, which took about 15-20 minutes, you notice some flakes in the front of your hair.  A lot of natural girls are plagued with this.  It's not dandruff.  It's like our scalps revert to that of a babies and we all get cradle cap.  After frantically picking out the flakes, and I mean picking like you do an afro, you seem to be mostly flake free.  Next battle.

You have made it quite far past the TWA phase (teeny weeny afro), but not quite to the Angela Davis.  In other words, you afro doesn't look quite full and fabulous on it's own.  You have to tie something around it.  Now it can't be too tight, don't wanna pull your eyes and make yourself look Asian.  You also don't wanna put too much tension on your edges.  You know what those are, and you know who has damaged edges.  You know, the broads who hairline start at the top of the head and right in front of they ears.  You decide to tie a silk scarf around your hair to hold in moisture and tie it tight enough to hold your hair in place without giving yourself a headache.

The journey to twisting, washing, deep conditioning, etc... is a lot worse.  And on top of that you are bombarded with basic heaux blogs.  I been natural for blah blah months and this is my journey and what I've done. NDC, heaux!  True, there are a few blogs out there with good information that I actually use and trust, but most of this shit is just that, SHIT!! You mean to tell me that my hair type, color and curl pattern, all that shit really matters?  No.  Not really.  The same shit I do to my hair is that same shit my friends do and we all have different curl patterns, and all of us have healthy hair!!  Hell, I get most of my advice for CurlyNikki and she has curls.  I have them backwoods, huts in Africa kinks.  And I'm fucking PROUD.

I'm quite sure I'll have another adventure in natural glory to blog about later but this is a good start, no ?

Welcome to the Adventures of a College Educated Misfit!

The Quickie Chronicles: Out Of My System

 

My lover kissed me good bye as he left for work. He always kisses me after her sprays his favorite cologne of the season. This season, he can’t get enough of the Weekend by Burberry I gave him for our anniversary. No, we aren’t married and I wish people would stop rushing my time. I rushed my last relationship and what it got me was a broken heart and side eye. Five years of dealing with bullshit to get a broken heart and side eye is simply not the business. My ex is the reason I wake up early and sip on this coffee like it will save my life. The situation is simply this, I love him and I love the way he sexed me. He wasn’t good for me, but damn it, he made me feel good sexually. How do I tell the man I’m with I’m not satisfied? How do I continue to make love to him while fantasizing about my last lover? The situation just isn’t right.

I mean, how do you move on when someone was the best you ever had sexually and your heart is with the one you love… but the lover can’t satisfy my sexual needs ordinarily. I mean we’ve enrolled in Kama Sutra classes, taken yoga, do his and her version of kegal exercises four times a day, watch pornography to get a clue that maybe I’m not doing enough, but my love just isn’t hitting it on the regular like I need. Obviously, I’m doing everything he needs perfectly because there aren’t any complaints on his end. I love him, I really do, but how do I tell him his sex just isn’t doing it for me? I figured I had a problem, like I was stuck on my stupid ex after all of these years of trying to sweep it under the rug. Well, I finally thought I would talk to someone about it. I slide into my shoes and head towards the door. The minute I turn the knob to walk out and just like magic guess who is staring at me in mid-knock… my old lover.

“What the hell are you doing here Brian?” I almost yell out of horror until my panties start to moistening. “Nicki, I had to see you. I need to talk to you about something.” I gave him THE stupidest side eye I could muster with a healthy side of nucca please! “It’s been three years, sir. You left me, no warning, no notes just rolled the hell out. I moved on and forgot all about you!” He looked at me wounded but determined to talk. I folded my arms and gave him the “what the hell you have to say now” look as he stammered on. He explained why he left, that he wanted to find out what life was like beyond our relationship and how he just needed time to see how much I really meant to him, blah, blah, blah. The icing on the cake was that he just wants me to consider having sex with him one last time to get it out of his system…

Now the pure sexual need in me says hell yes, but I can’t fight the feeling that I just need him to vanish just as quickly as he appeared at my door. I told him I would think about it and shut the door on his face. He asked how will I contact him. “Come back tomorrow same time. Now go.” He says he’ll be back later tonight like my permission just isn’t needed. I hear him walk down the stairs and I slide down the door to the floor. What the hell have I done? Not only have I failed trying to be a hard ass, but I told him to come back because I am literally going to bang his brains out. Damn, you, Brian!! How will I ever concentrate on the rest of my day?

Long story short, I couldn’t function at all during the day. I was way too giddy and anxious to blow my back out on Brian’s joystick. He walked into my place looking around taking note of how long he’s been missing in my life. He waited a while just catching up on our lives and how good the good times were. He made note of how he’s never found anyone to love him like I did or anyone to sex him like we did. That’s all I needed to hear. If we didn’t have anything in common anymore, sex was that thread. He apologized for everything, all of the shit I blamed myself for he apologized and held me real tight. I didn’t realize the tears were streaming down my face and his lips found that one familiar spot that always conceded to his will. Before I could count to one I was naked and straddled on the floor.

He kissed and licked me from head to toe and back. I was a quivering mess when he finally decided to undress next to me. All I could think about was what new things has he learned from other lovers… what positions was he planning to put me in and how long would it take me to come off of his efforts. Needless to say his tongue got the first three.

Spread eagle on the sofa he put on a condom and slid in slower than a drop of molasses from the bottle. Trying to grind into him to speed up the process of going in deeper, he just backed up going slower. Because I’m defiant to the end, he used techniques like these to make sure he had control. At this point, I didn’t care. It was all animalistic and need driven. He finally plunged in and stroked me like it was the reason I needed to breathe. He pumped with a force that made my back arch and moans cooed the pleasures he gave me. There was nothing and no one in the world that could bring my body into submission like Brian and he always knew exactly how to make the soft pink matter work in his favor.

Before I could make out my fourth orgasm I was on my side in a perfect L being served all the strokes of bliss ever in life. He hit all the corners only he knew existed because no one else has ever dared to reach in those places. Gasping for air and clenching the sofa for dear life, he smacked my ass and moaned my name because all I could do was clench down on him harder. The more I clenched the faster and deeper he plunged into the most sensitive spots of my body. He pinched a nipple with one hand while swirling my clit with the other. Sending me to my fifth orgasm I find myself shaking and quivering on the sofa looking up at this man in awe. He lifts me like a rag doll and I’m forced to straddle him as he slides in… deeper… slower, then faster, I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I am just there. Being sexed in the best and most visceral way I can imagine. He finds a wall and my back arches due to the temperature as he drills deeper into my sixth. Crying out his name he gasps out my name and grips me closer to his chest as I try to support myself but my legs just won’t let me be great. He looks deep into my eyes and says he could never have me out of his system because of what we just shared and always shared in the bedroom. Too bad for the both of us, we will never be able to get our sex out of our systems…

The Quickie Chronicles - Birthday Sex

I am not one for random hook ups.  Honestly.  Not saying I'm against them or anything, I've just never had one and don't see it happening.  I'm a little too conscious for that shit.  Until I've had a hand grenade and had my booty sufficiently rubbed in public... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

My excuse for any fuck shit I got into this week has already been "It's my birthday!".  LOL set myself up for failure.  I'd been celebrating all week, even had a little list of shit to cross off.  I did all but one.  I'd tried to get in contact with old  "friends" and even considered calling up an ex.  I just wanted my booty rubbed.... and I refused to turn 25 without ever having birthday sex.

I'd all but given up on the last part of my quest.  I ended up on Bourbon with a friend and decided to celebrate the last night of my birthday week to the fullest.  We were suppose to meet a friend of hers out there.  As he walked up, I felt slightly betrayed.  I thought we were meeting girls.  My ass can be so naive at times.  I took a slow drag off my clove and spoke politely to her friend and the guy with him.  They instantly struck up a conversation, I just kept smoking.  I was not going to baby sit.

Marcus struck up a conversation with me.  Or should I say the half a bottle of vodka he drank tried to have a conversation with me.  I was called all kinds of mean because I tried my hardest to blow him off and make it to a bar.  Nothing ever worked.  I mean eventually we did make it to the bar, but his hand were becoming familiar with my body even though my words to him were not the nicest.

By the time we made it to the land of hand grenades, my ass had been groped enough for my to scratch getting my booty rubbed off my list.  We sat across from each other at the bar.  My friend and I nursed our drinks as the boys at hot wings.  Drunk asses.  I played with the straw with my tongue and made occasional glances towards Marcus to make sure he was paying attention.  Then I started ignoring him again and talking to my friend.

When he was finished with his hot wings, he moved next to me.  Rubbed on my ass and pulled me up closer to him.  Apparently I'd been biting my lip at him and he wanted to see the show up close and personal.  I obliged, a bit.  Remember I'm mean.

It was getting late and I was getting tired.  My friend was ready to go, so we left.  On the walk back to her car, I told her what was going on with me and Marcus.  She told me it was my birthday and I should get it.  I sighed and kept walking.  She texted her boy and set shit up.

When they pulled up to my house I almost refused to open the door, so my friend did.  Then she left and told us to have a good night.  I started to back out of this whole thing and then he grabbed me and it was on....

In my mind, kissing and hooking up never mixed but I didn't refuse his lips.  He fell backward on the bed and  I fell right on top of him.  He commanded me to strip and I did.  He gave my perky nipples the 15 seconds of attention they deserved and told me to get up.  He climbed on top of me and fingered me.  It had been a while since I experienced that.  It took everything end me to not just say give me the D.

When he thought I was wet enough, I guess, he got up to find his pants and the condom in his pocket.  He took off his boxers and slid it on.  It was at the point I realized he was messing any clothes.  I need to work on being more vigilant.  Anyway, he slid my down to the edge of the bed and quickly entered me.  I gasped. We started grinding to our own rhythm.  Soon after I start to run away.  He pulls me back and flips me over.  I start throwing it back on him with all my might.  It's been too long since I've been bent over and I'm enjoying every minute of it.  Slowly I began to collapse from the pressure building in my pelvis, he just rolls me on my side and keeps going.  He stops and lays down.  I sit up to see what the deal is, he just stares at me.  I know the look and meaning.  I climb on top and start riding him.  He forces me down on him with each trust forcing involuntary screams to escape my lips. He pleads with my to cum and the convulsions in my legs should let him know I'm doing just that.  I start running away again, but he follows me.  We both end up panting on the floor.  I kneel up against the bed as an effort to try to stand but he's right behind in, right back in me.  His constant urges for me to throw in back at him cause my hips to whip into a frenzy.  Again, I gracefully tap out.  I get up and sit on the bed.  He remains on the floor, panting.  Eventually he gets up, and mumbles something about getting this nut out the way.  He asks me how I want it.  I say I want him on top.  He throws my legs over my head and eases back into me.  I'm already shaking.  He hits me with that slow stroke of death and I squirm in torment.  Finally, he gains speed and sends us both over the edge again.  We both lay there, panting for several minutes. Eventually we both get up.  He goes to the bathroom, I go to find a tshirt.  It is then that I realized that we managed to fuck every single thing off the bed, even the mattress pad.  Too tired and weak to care, I find the blanket and pillow and clock out.  I feel him hit the bed not far from me and few minutes later.

I'm not sure how long we laid there but I felt him stir.  Watched him retrieve his clothes.  Walked him out and locked the door behind him.  All I can remember thinking is Happy Birthday to ME !!!! And then I slept a really long time.

Interview with a Vampire....

Now, I remember watching 20/20 when I was little, and they did an interview with a "vampire" in New Orleans. If memory serves me right, this was before the Twilight and True Blood phenomenons. I've always been intrigued by the occult and nightwalkers but I never believed they were real.

 Until tonite. I was intrigued by Macaroni Tony with the feather in his hat, that's what caught my attention. Then I noticed him doing magic tricks, entertaining the masses in the French Quarter, right outside of Cafe du Monde. As he walked away, cackling, I noticed two perfectly sharp fangs in his mouth. I thought I was crazy, but my friends saw it too. Naturally intrigued, we all left to find this mysterious man. Get him to perform magic tricks for us as well.

 Fear set in my bones when I first saw him. I was afraid to approach him. Afraid to speak to him, even though my bold ass already said I would let him bite me. After walking in circles, we finally approached him. Ask for a magic trick like we'd seen him perform across the street. As he and his lady friend packed up, he seemed slightly uninterested in our request, but, as we began to walk away in defeat, he called us back.

 We stood under the light as we were instructed. He told us to come closer and not be afraid because he doesn't bite....often. He showed us his fangs and stared directly at me. I didn't flinch. I just starred back, intrigued and slightly aroused. He did a much more elaborate trick for us, using my hands. I watched cautiously to catch him in his act. My friend could only say that he was magic, that there was no explanation for our amazement. We left and went home. He stayed on my mind. My first encounter, I wanted more.

That night, as I slept tucked tightly in my bed, he visited my dreams. He seemed to hover over me and stare down. I stared back. He spoke my name in a whisper and I sat up. He sat before me and barred his fangs. Again, I did not flinch. I just looked back and bit my lower lip.

 "You do not fear me." He spoke calmly in the air. I only managed to shake my head no. He grabbed my chin and moved towards me. I could feel his breath on my neck. I could feel my heart beat faster. I was afraid, only slightly. I was mostly aroused. Silly me.

 He let go of my chin and moved back to look in my face again. He leaned in again, only to kiss me this time, biting hard on my bottom lip and drawing blood, which he licked up. He moved back again. My expression remained the same. Heart pounding, heaving breathing, lust in my eyes. He leaned in again to kiss me, pushing me back on the bed. He felt like a feather on top of me.

 My panties eased down my legs to my ankles and made contact with the floor. The vampire stared in my eyes from in between my legs. I bit my lip and hissed. The wounds were still fresh, I'd almost forgotten about them though. He trailed soft kisses along my inner thigh. Then I felt pain and felt my life force being drained from me while I was simultaneously having an orgasm. As I let out a gasp, I felt him stop. I felt his eyes gazing at my face, trying to decipher my expression. All I could do was nod as I signal for him to carry on. 

He returned to my mouth, kissing me with lips covered in my blood. The metallic taste was not appealing but there was still a strong sexual surge coursing through my body. I wanted more, I wanted it ALL. Sensing my desire, the vampire, whose name I still don't know, unbuckled his pants and proceeded to penetrate me. Unsure of which myth I should believe, I stopped him and asked if he would use a condom. He laughed at me but obliged my request.

 The vampire stroked me for centuries. He stroked me through history, time and space. He stroked me incoherent. He stroked me until it felt like my head spun around like the exorcist. He stroked me to sleep. 

The next morning, I woke up as if nothing happened. I'd dreamed about having sex with vampires before. This was nothing new. As I got out of bed to walk to the bathroom, I noticed blood on my sheets. I looked down to my thigh and saw to puncture wounds about and inch and a half apart. There was a used condom on the floor and my window was open.

 What the entire fuck ???