i don't even need to say much.
i'll just say that homegirl right here spoke to my soul on this past weekend as I returned home from Manhattan. I'll also say that I tried to get a shot from directly in front of her while riding on the train, but...some jerk chicken-eating west indian hater was shooting me death stares during my attempted impromptu photo shoot.
it was a strong 80 degrees this day, and homegirl was bundled from head to toe, rocking her favorite pink poodle fur coat. and you can't see in the pics, but......(deep breath).....her gums matched her skin. and you KNOW i have a special place en mi corazon for brown gummed colored girls. (swoon!)
take notes.
any questions?
and hello. happy tuesday. it's been a few days since i've enlightened your life, so i figure i owe you for leaving you lonely and depleted for the past week. so. welcome to the first entry of a coloredboy.net triple post!
(applause)
thank you.
alright. i'll start in order of importance. this first lovely jewel strolled up on me last night as i chatted with so and so outside of the negro capital of New York:
now. i deem these pics post-worthy because they will undoubtedly benefit the masses in many ways. first off, it'll show you lame ass broads how to correctly execute the 2009 version of this legendary 'do:
now, i LOVE keri hilson and her edgy girl antics, but compared to miss pank, she FAILS in every aspect of life.
Exhibit A:
cute. but a total miss.
Exhibit B:
...THIS is how you crush dreams, shit on every chick within a 3 block radius, and drive broads to suicide.
peep that head nod! she's serving you broads. suck on that!
whatchu know about this?
that LENGTH!
those mysterious dark circles around the eyes!
that volume!
those remnants of yesteryear's microbraids!
the excess space between nose and top lip a la Tracy Morgan!
oh my damn! Lawd i cant take it!
(passes out)
again, ladies. it's 2009. YOU HAVE GOT TO COME HARDER!!
i'm spent. good day.
still feeling empty inside?? meet wind and fire.
I was diagnosed with systemic lupus erythermatosis on Monday, April 25th, 2005. I had NO symptoms before that day, aside from the worst migraine, stomach cramps, and nausea I'd ever experienced, which didn't hit me until the night before.
I was twenty. To the twenty-year old Me, this was devastating. I feared my battle would mirror that of my mother's: extended hospital stays, progressive muscle weakness, endless mysterious ailments, and an no "better days" in sight.
Thankfully, after my body gradually shut down, things (obviously) turned out completely different than anybody else (doctors included) thought: I awoke from the coma. I survived.
I have previously written about this experience at great length HERE ("heavy") and HERE ("3 years later"). As one could imagine, those months were life-changing. In addition to a drastically weakened immune system, I developed a sharper focus and more positive outlook on life. Now, challenges excite me, and overcoming even small obstacles is thrilling and worthy of celebration.
My experiences also explain why I'm so turned off by people who lead empty, inactive, unremarkable, unfulfilling lives.
What's the point?
I'm thankful to be alive.
I'm thankful to be alive.
I'm thankful to be alive.
I'm thankful to be alive.
I'm thankful to be alive.
Amen.
Good Night.
in a bag.
spotted on a rack in my favorite deli/bodega (the only one in the neighborhood without a cat on the counter).
shit like THIS is why your pre-teen kids wear bigger clothes than you.
yuck.
Dear Coworker,
Increasing the amount of Axe "Springtime Psychopath" Scent Body Spray does not decrease your creepiness factor.
Try again.
-chris.alexander
i board a brooklyn-bound 4 train after work at union square.
then: "attention ladies and gentlemen, brooklyn bridge will be the next and last stop on this train."
(collective groans)
as we approach brooklyn bridge: "attention ladies and gentlemen, this train will be continuing through to Utica Ave in Brooklyn."
(collective sigh of relief.)
we continue pass brooklyn bridge toward bowling green.
then, as we pull into the bowling green station: "attention ladies and gentlemen, bowling green will be the next and last stop on this train."
nobody moves.
then: (yells) "THIS IS THE LAST STOP! GET OFF THE TRAIN IMMEDIATELY."
we exit.
a 5 train comes, heading into brooklyn in the same direction. we crowd onto the train.
then: "ladies and gentlemen, we've just been informed that this is the last stop on this train. please exit the train immediately."
...and here I wait as I write this.
to quote the legendary, mr. turner, FUCK DE GATDAMN SHIT! YALL FUCKIN WIT ME!!
THIS IS RACIST!
MTA, fuck you very much.
-chris.alexander
My marathon day is coming to an end. Two work-study shifts, four classes, a $5 footlong, and lots of fruit and water. I'm TIRED as all hell. Now: laundry must be done. I have been trying to get into the habit of washing clothes weekly, but it's a joke, mostly. However, I've got a pretty serious week of classes on the agenda (at least 9 between now and next Tuesday), and stretching additional life out of my wonderfully scented dance attire is pushing it.
Some gems from today's ballet class w Darius Hochman:
To a girl who clearly considers herself more advanced than she actually is: "Why you move like that? You have problem?"
To a woman who smiled proudly throughout a ballet drill: "Why you smiling? That was horrible!"
To a woman who, when asked to demonstrate, performed less than perfectly: "Oh. You hurt my feelings."
In response to dancers switching lines at their own discretion: "You should know where you stand, you are not children! If somebody is in you space, tell them 'YOU ARE LIAR! YOU ARE IN MY SPOT!'"
Needless to say, class was amazing. I perspired MUCH more than normal because I worked my ass off today. It paid off, as I received more "Okay. Good Alexander," and less "Wrong, Alexander. Everyone do it again."
Tomorrow, more work-study and at least two classes. The Choreographer's Carnival is tomorrow so I expect to be inspired. There will be NO discussion of why I'm not performing. None whatsoever. As I've said for the past 3 years, "Next time."
Whatevs.
Laundry's calling.
Good night.
yes, children. i used to have el round face. and a strooooooong B cup.
peep those taco bell-fed cheeks and that extra storage space under the chin. oh yea, bitch. 
this is all you get.
Dear Coworker,
How are you?
Good?
Great.
Well, you stink.
Whew.
It's not so much a total body odor...it's more so your breath. And, its not just a "oh, I had a dish with garlic in it for lunch," but more of an "excuse you, I regularly dine on twice-baked diseased pigeon corpses, and fuck you for asking" kind of aroma.
I'll admit, I am not particularly well-versed in the diets and hygienic practices of certain...Asian cultures. If you weren't aware, here in America, in the age of Obama, rotting innards are not the ticket. This is especially true when said rotting internal organs and/or poor (read: no) hygiene affect other people's ability to make eye contact and communicate with you...without their skin liquefying and dripping to the floor.
Personally, I, without fail, avoid eye contact and conversation whenever possible. I don't envy burn victim's skin, and do not need a microdermabrasion courtesy of you. Hmph! I am most certainly not the only person who feels this way. Your total disregard for your coworkers' right to breathe clean, unpolluted air is boldly disrespectful and should be punishable by a dozen whip lashes, a public stoning, and the forfeit of 6 of your wives.
To sum it up: we, your suffering coworkers, do not enjoy and will no longer be buying your scent, "SubwayRatSexJuice."
Please discontinue your pigeon corpse and dumpster juice diet immediately.
Yours from a distance,
chris.alexander
sausage casing, anyone?
was just randomly browsing profiles of other brooklyn-based bloggers and i happened upon this family portrait. the FIRST thing that popped into my mind was, "oh shit. they definitely put hot sauce on that baby and made it disappear after this picture was snapped."
poor chile.
okay, goodnight.
Dear Black Girls at Table 292,
First off, I would like to applaud you for venturing beyond the war zone-like zoo that is the Bronx and attempting to blend into mainstream society (Manhattan). Eating at a semi-respectable establishment such as mine, and stepping away from White Castle or Crown Fried Chicken is a baby step in the right direction. So, congratulations, girls. Handclap for you.
Now. I must admit that your attempts to revive Toni Braxton's super-short, cropped, slick 'do from its well-deserved resting place back in the mid 1990's was a horrific failure. Times three. Did Shaquintalia from the salon trick all three of you into taking advantage of some type of April Fool's 3-for-1 Shampoo-n-Shame deal?? In the event that the hood news wire hasn't reached you, self-degradation is not the ticket in the age of Obama. This self-hate must end, sistergirls.
I overheard one of you mention, after CLEARING your plate, that you didn't like your food. Okay girl, fine. You're one strong-willed broad to deeevour a dish you dislike. I could only imagine what you do to food you LOVE. Do you...then eat the plate too?
With all of that said, I do have a request. Could you PLEASE enlighten a lowly, misinformed heathen such as myself and share the logic that led the three of you, who have admittedly given up meat and alcohol for Lent, to....A BARBECUE RESTAURANT. I (and my coworkers) don't get it. I must be mentally inadequate. You three divas must be on some higher level of thinking that I can only aspire to. (Sigh) I shall wait eagerly for you to share even a small morsel of your expansive knowledge with me.
I bow at your ashy feet.
Judgmentally yours,
chris.alexander
alright. i just introduced you to train crazy number two. a few weeks before train crazy number two entered my life, there was Nutcase Sally.
now, because i'm such a winner at life, i ran up on Nutcase Sally the first time i left my camera at home. as a result, i have no pictures of Nutcase Sally. don't be too sad, Nutcase Sally about to sing a beautiful, uplifting little song that hopefully comforts your soul and paints a vivid picture in your mind.
Nutcase Sally is...a citizen of the world (read: homeless) that i spot on trains occasionally singing her crazy little heart out "for money for the salon," as she puts it, or screaming on people who don't give "enough" change. this day, she blessed my weary soul with a tune. and i shall share it with you.
amen.
don't you feel better? i shole does.
she then approached me, asking why i looked so sad.
"what's wrong brother?? you look down? you look like a singer. you wanna be a singer like me? don't worry, you're young. you got time."
well okay then. Nutcase Sally says it's gonna be alright.
until next time...
~chris.alexander
So. I promised myself that i'd never leave the house again without my camera on hand. i've been pretty god about it for the most part. BUT, the two times i left that sucker at home, i ran into CRAZY people on the trains that DEMANDED to be documented. I'll post my first meeting with Nutcase Sally at a later date.
now, tonight was a LONG night at work, but it was damn worth it ($$$), and all i could think about as my table of shitbags drank and enjoyed the projection screen was how amazing tonight's sleep will be. eventually, i left work with my millions, and boarded the 4 train in the front, as usual. first car, always.
as i boarded, i notice everyone smiling, some laughing, and immediately see the reason why: a LOUD colored woman (with a FOOLISH ponytail) was chatting with the guy next to her about all the wonderful goodies in the gift bag she received at work ("OOH! i didn't know there was makeup in here!")
since every passenger was fixated on this broad and the unfortunate man next to her, I figured i was about to witness something magical. then: i silently called myself all types of names upon realizing my camera was here at home, plugged into this punk ass laptop. ugh, i suck at life sometimes.
in the course of her product demonstration, she came across an eye cream that she deemed great for this guy.
"here, can i put some on your eyes?"
he objects.
"lemme put some on you! you end a little lift, shut up! everybody needs a little lift, dahling!"
he objects. "my skin's fine."
then: "you got bags. shut the fuck up."
the train erupts in laughter. he eventually gives in.
"you cannot have one eye lifted and not the other!"
guy: "NOT TOO MUCH!"
the train rolls along. she tries on lipstick ("it's not my color, but i like it! it's creamy.") with plans to "kiss this pretty black boy right here." eventually, she kisses him. we cheer.
in the midst of all THIS craziness, a homeless dude keeps chiming in with "BADABING!"
she stops him, "uno momento, yo no se. Mira coño!" according to her: "uno momento means 'wait a minute'" and "yo no se" means "........fuck you."
i LOVE it!!
then...we cross into brooklyn. and she took her craziness to a WHOLE new level. rather than type it out, i'll let you hear it straight from HER mouth. while i did leave my camera at home, i did manage to get AUDIO from my lovely blackberry. the train was surprisingly quiet, so she comes through loud and fucking clear.
picture a homeless man making beats with his change cup, chanting "oooh. ahhhhh. oooh. ahhhh. oooh. aahhhh....." as a crazy woman harasses a fellow passenger with her rap: "GET YOUR TEETH DONE! GET YOUR TEETH DONE! GET YOUR TEETH DONE!" (his teeth were JACKED though. she wasn't THAT crazy.)
yea. it happened. take a listen, children.
i SWEAR even my imaginative ass couldn't make this up. it's a little long, almost 10 minutes. but you WON'T regret listening. TRUST ME.
personal highlight: at 4:35 -"if you don't get your teeth done, i'mma kick your ass....come on! you're too young for that shit! i dont give a fuck!"
sadly, i didn't get to enjoy suga mama's company for my whole train ride. she got off at Nevins St to go "get in bed with her Japanese husband." okay, fine.
her departure put a damper on our hearts. she made our train ride magical. and her contagious charm made my dick drip. shit yea.
BUT, kids, don't feel too bad. train crazy number two left us a present.
"what could she have left?!?!?!" you ask??
take a WILD guess.
(i'll wait)
done?
okay fine. you're not even CLOSE!
this was her gift to the world:
right. blood on the dancefloor, yall.
happy kwanzaa bitches.
(shakes head)
the train erupts in laughter again. these goddamn west indians and coloreds had a field day with that. don't be surprised if you see a Twitpic from CurriedGoatGal89 tomorrow. oh my damn.
my immediate reaction: I NEED THAT PICTURE.
i passed a biz card to homeboy across from me who had snapped a picture and when i got off the train, the pic was in my inbox. (thanks again, sir!)
THAT..........(dramatic pause).....is February blood. shizzam!
a word to the wise: get your teeth done. and please handle your drippage situation when that special time rolls around. please and thank you.
this has been another magical moment courtesy of chris.alexander. tell a friend.
have a great day.
~colored boy.
