happened across some old faves from my myspace blog days (HERE). aaaand i found an old series of blogs, entitled "girl, you stupit" which highlighted the amazing, wonderificent achievements of lovely ovaried negroids 'round new york, new york.

these still bring me joy. and make me miss new yawk even more, now.

hurr.

"girl, you stupit. part three"

so..i'm on the train returning from the afropunk festival, where i saw janelle monae rip the damn stage apart, giving one of the best live performances i've ever seen...

i'm riding...and riding...

dre nods his head @ the woman across the aisle on the train.

i glance:




what? just some stupit Brooklyn woman with bad tracks? what's so unique about that?

i look a little closer:

i found Cashawn's response to this. and iDIED all over again:
"I hope she's straight. Good gawd in heabens!!"
*dead*
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"boy, you stupit (awkward moments edition)

Scenario Two:

scenario two:

i didn't witness this awkward moment first-hand. one of my homies told me this story.

a few nights ago my friend and his roommate returned home from the city. the roommate stayed outside, smoking. my friend continued inside the apartment. there are two doors to the apartment, an outer door to the street and one that lets you directly into the apartment.

while walking into the apartment, my friend mentioned to one of the other roommates that one of the doors was still open. during the brief exchange there was confusion about which of the doors was left open.

in attempt to clear it up, my friend said, "oh, i thought you were referring to THAT door, now i know you were speaking in regards to THIS door....."

roommate (immediate, loud): Yo, son, you don't even know me like that to be throwing all those big words at me son. Forreal....

Confused, my friend just walked away.

(it just doesn't compute. how DOES one respond to that?)

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"girl, you stupit, parte dos"

a friend called JUST to tell me this fanfuckingtastic tale. again, i couldn't make this shit up, even if i wanted to. but. if i DID, you could bet your last pack of red koolaid that i'd have fifty-leven off-off-off-off-off broadway "mama done burnt up the chicken"-esque plays to my name. dammit.

prepare yourself. to choke.

my friend ck's friend was braiding a little girl's hair today. in my mind i imagine her name being chiquita ohmbarella-eh-eh jones. or something. (this is irrelevant, but made me chuckle.)

homegirl was getting microbraids in her hair.

ck's friend was only supplied with one bag of weave to use in chiquita ohmbarella-eh-eh's hair.

so ck's friend ran out of hair halfway through.

chiquita ohmbarella-eh-eh's mother to ck's friend:
"oh, iss awwright. just cut this weave out of my hair and put it into hers."

...i love my people.
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and the BEST one of all, i swear....

girl, you stupit

public stupidity:

i'm in line ordering lunch today. my meal comes up to $7.62. i hand Shaquanda-Latrishanella (or something) a $10 bill.

Shaquanda-Latrishanella (with the MOST sincere facial expression): "um...sir. do you have anything smaller????"

(silence)

the end.
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