Dear Coworker,

First let me say that I think you're beautiful. I'm sure you're a charming person, a great waitress, and are great in bed.

But...I need you to choose one of the 13 shades of blond/white in your hair and apply it to your entire head. Your hair looks like an albino rainbow, and I don't appreciate it.

Judgementally yours,

chris.alexander

kidding, he's 18 damn months and weighs 40 lbs.

FORTY POUNDS!!

that is TWO of those 20-lb bags of rice i have in my kitchen. TWO of them.

my niece weighed about 30lbs when she was FIVE.


last week, after my niece's graduation, we had some fun in the front yard with Blessed, the "little" boy from next door and Papi, my sister's dog. the boy is hilarious, raised on spare ribs, spinach, t-bone steaks, and Guiness and is endlessly energetic.

he comes from a family of water buffaloes so his...girth...is no surprise.

watch Blessed in action.

You ever had one of those days that confirmed that everything you were doing/hoping/wanting was right? Ever been absolutely sure that you were on the right path?

Today was one of those days. In Ballet today, I was Dorit Koppel's demonstrator. When she wanted to show how to properly execute a backbend, she directed attention to me.

"Watch the articulation in his spine. You can see each vertebrae stack one at a time."

After the barre work, a new student stood beside the teacher in front of the mirror.

"No, no: that's Alexander's spot." She was moved elsewhere.

Now, I am very much aware that this isn't an Alvin Ailey professional level ballet class. It's very much a Basic level course. I'm most certainly not overstating my ability or getting beside myself. At all. I am just very proud of my progress in this relatively short period of time, especially in Ballet, a style that most hip hop-based dancers hate and/or deem unecessary. I am proud that I am building a very strong technical Ballet base, which, as expected, has translated to better performance in contemporary jazz/modern as well as hip hop.

I am not considering myself the best in my class. I am just confident (and have been told) that I definitely work the hardest. That, I'm sure of.

I spent the weekend in Virginia with my family, catching up with friends, saying goodbyes, and racking up free meals.

Before I left on Sunday, I had a beautiful dinner with my parents. We discussed my L.A. plans, my financial status, family issues, among other things. My primary reason for taking them to dinner was to open up the lines of communication among us all, in hopes of creating a more open relationship.

We haven't really discussed my sexuality since I told them I was geigh when I'd moved out shortly after my 18th birthday. Now, like then, my objective is to stop them from worrying, wondering, guessing, and assuming what my life has been like. When I came out to them, I assured them that "I'm not out here dressing like a woman, being promiscuous (which wasn't entirely true, lol), wearing makeup, and shaming the family." Overall, I don't want to embarrass them. My ultimate goal is to make them proud in everything I do.

Sunday, I informed them about my two-year relationship with M, our highs and lows, and confessed that the "roommate issues" that led to me moving out was actually a terrible breakup. I opened up about the depression, financial and emotional instability, and shitty times that followed. And I elaborated on my bounceback and journey to now, perhaps the happiest time in my adult life. I told them it would have been great to be able to share that I was crying every day for months (breaking down in public places, etc), or just how bad my finances were last year.

My mother responded that even though they wouldn't have chosen this way of life, the bigger concern is that I am happy, healthy, safe, and successful. In the coming months, I'd like to reach a point where I don't have to censor myself for them, and can talk openly with them as I do with friends. Hell, I drank alcohol in front of/with them this weekend for the first time, which was a major step.

That dinner brought us closer. I'm glad I opened my mouth and invited them into my world. My sister and I are both extremely private when it comes to our family, but I've always viewed this as an unnecessary barrier. Initiating that conversation opened the door for them to feel comfortable asking me "personal" questions, which I welcome.

In a perfect world, I would dig up the desire to engage similarly with my sister, with whom I have no actual connection beyond my nieces. I can't say this makes me sad, as I am more disappointed with her with each frustrated talk with my mother. As I stood in the doorway of my parents' house, saying emotional goodbyes to my nieces and, generally, having a hell of a moment gathering the strength to leave the house I grew up in (for the second time) prior to moving far away, she...leaned against the wall, talking on her phone, saying, "Awwww. Awwww. Alex...," and other stupid shit like that. Fool ass woman.

I won't let that damper my spirits. I'm in a great place, finally, no thanks to her.

Today, the girl who will be finishing up my lease when I move West flew from San Diego to view my apartment. She loved it and the neighborhood. My roommate likes her, the landlord likes her. And she's pretty. Can't have an ugly woman sleeping in my room. Needless to say, everything's a go. One less thing to worry about.

Now: it's late. Work-study and Ballet wore me out. Off to bed. Another beautiful day awaits me tomorrow.

(Insert smiley face)

~chris.alexander

The transition from the order, singe-file lines, predictability, and safety of elementary school into middle school was one of the roughest periods of my childhood. I had an interesting time finding new friends in each of the classes beyond my homeroom.

I'd experienced being teased for the way I looked for the first time. Looking back, I was actually an awkward-looking pre-teen. A big ass head and the lamest glasses. I handn't yet grasped what was cool to wear, so I definitely had some low fashion moments. At the time, my mother still shopped for me, and things I thought were cool (half-undone overalls that I LOVED, for example) most certainly were not. I can vividly recall who teased me and exactly what they'd say. And many of these things have stayed with me over the years. I internalized all of this, and never really shared any of this with anyone at the time, so I believed it was all true for a long time.

Add to this a new sexual curiosity, the lost of my childhood best friend (moved to Georgia), and the result was one hell of a time for me. My first semester in sixth grade, I got D's and F's for the first time ever. I pretended to be challenged, to avoid having to discuss my unpleasant social experiences...and never really discussed the truth with Mom and Dad.

My turnaround came when I befriended another gay student and slowly began building a solid group of "friends," many of whom I still communicate with to this day. I went back to getting A's and B's as usual. I also found a niche that worked for me: the mischevious, slick-talking, sharp-tongued jokester...with a knack for insults. Projected frustration, anyone?

Anywho, it worked. And those fomative years most definitely helped craft my sense of humor and shape my reputuation. They also led to some life-long insecurities and friendships. With this next phase of life I'm entering, I've often reflect back on this particular time, the forced adaptation and my coping techniques.

I'm curious to see how things pan out socially for me in out West, with me battling internal issues in the ultra vain/shallow City of Angels.

Stay tuned...

ah yes. so, let's go back to march 2007. i was living in a dope ass apartment with my roommate, the then-36 y/o head of digital media for softsheen-carson (think dark and lovely and Optimum relaxers/products) at the time. we'd had no issues up to this point. i had lucked out, finding an amazing space with a great, hard-working, generous roommate.

enter kyle, her beefy personal trainer-turned-boytoy, who provided endless entertainment (and an opportunities for lust-filled staring on my behalf) for me and my blog readers. this extended saga was my one of my favorite things to write about. re-reading it gave me another opportunity to behold the luscious wonder of this man. sweet jebus. he was quite the shitbag, though. my first major encounter with kyle (who i lovingly referred to as sweetback) and the roommate:

----------------------------------------------

then: Sweetback started stepping out on Chiquita (not her real name, but I dubbed her this as the dumb fuckin' name fits the dumb fuckin' woman). and hilarity ensued.

so. my 36-year old roommate is out of town. where is she? i don't care. her electric toothbrush and thermos are gone, meaning she's not in the state of new york. whatever.

i'm washing clothes...downloading music and porn, minding my business. talking to M on the phone....

who walks in? her goddamn 23 year old boyfriend/fuckbuddy. as annoyed as I may be...i expect this. he ALWAYS pops up with luggage when she's gone. whatever.

so i'm chatting....and i hear a woman's voice. okay fine.

so i walk in the living room to investigate. no roommate. but who is here? some lil porta riffa ass skank.

(gasps)


exactly.

mind you....he's 23. and she doesn't looks between 18 and 21. god daughter my motherfuckin ass.


and....

just because i'm a dickface...here's his pictures...


these were um...."acquired"....from his laptop. that's all i'm saying. this isn't about me. dammit.

so. i come back in my room to resume my activities and then head out to grab something to eat...and these motherfuckers are all cozy on the couch. and we've got 2 decent sized couches....


but these bitches arent just sitting beside eachother, but these bold asses are on some his-head-in-her-lap type shit. okay fine. he doesnt even flinch when i left...didn't move or try to change positions real quick or anything...

so i come back from getting my food...and i come back to an empty living room.


okay fine. i thought they left...

but....i saw her shoes....



and her coat....



and her purse and overnight bag....



keep in mind that this gentleman, at one point used the LAST of my motherfucking Pathmark laundry detergent, has eaten the last of my chinese food on two occasions AND has stolen porn (which he called "borrowing) from me (which was later stolen BACK from him).
_____________________________________________________________

THEN: the fam chimed in. i got advice from all over on how to handle the situation.

(1) approach the well-endowed dirtbag and tell him

a) "Either you tell her or I will." or

b) "If you sling a lil dick my way, I'll forget his even happened!"

(2) be vague. Ask my roommate if she was okay with the well-endowed dirtbag having company here while she's away...avoiding all specifics..and let her figure the rest out.

Me: Ummm.....yea. I'm not trying to cause drama or anything, but I just think you should know that a girl was here last night with Kyle.

Her: .......oh really? Did she...spend the night?

Me: Yea. some yellow chick. Looked young. Just felt like you should know, because it made me uncomfortable as fuck...

Her: Oh...(visibly shocked)...yea......okay....Thanks.

Me: oh shit.

Her: Wow...............................(long pause) Well....I most likely know who she is.

Me: Oh.....okay...sorry.

Her: Nah Iss arright. don't trip. I aint.

Her: "They did sleep on the couches....right?"

Me: Nah. Not on the couches.

__________________________________________________

of course she took him back.

Every now and then there comes a point where even I am at a loss for words. (hard to believe, i know) As some of you may (or may not) know, I prides (yup) myself on being....an asshole. Exposing jackasses, dipshits, retards, fuckfaces, jigaboos, niggers, and life ruiners to the masses brings me unmatched joy and gives me a feeling of accomplishment. It gives purpose to my otherwise petty existence. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I am stumped........I don't think y'all heard me! I said, I AM STUMPED. Dammit. The stupidity of one individual has stupified and shocked the fuck out of ME. (gasp from the audience) I think that I must acknowledge an individual who has gone to great and previously unseen lengths to secure her place in history. Initially, I was weary of laying such a huge title on her, but after last night I am confident that no further deliberation is required. I have not found the fountain of youth, the meaning of life, the holy grail, jesus' gravesite, or Michael Jackson's original nose....My beloved readers...

I have found the dumbest bitch in the WORLD!

(applause)

WHO, you are surely asking yourself, is worthy of such a distinction?

Don't worry your pretty little head or wrinkle that prettly lil brow in deep thought because dammit I shall tell you.

I'm sure you recall the well-documented drama that went on in my apartment about 10 days ago....

If your memory sucks, or you lived under a rock with the King of R&B (Bobbbayyy), check it out for yourself.

Stupid Hoes DO exist

Brush with stupidity #2

Well pimps and hoes, it appears my beloved...stupid as fuck, but beloved roommate was struck by that which has turned many intelligent, promising broads into mindless, open-legged, bill-paying, vagina-surrendering skeezers. Yes, folks. My roommate was hit by some good dick. My looking-for-love ass roommate allowed that raggedy, dick slangin, subway car benchpressing ass manwhore back into her life....and our apartment.

(awwwww from the audience)

lemme splain.

So. I'm in the kitchen last night. minding my own goddamn business. (This of course, AFTER i won the $3 lotto jackpot). I'm having a drank of delicious, ice cold, germ-filled Brooklyn tap water. My roommate runs out of her room looking like a heap of whatthefuck....all bewildered and crazy-looking with her AintYamama headwrap...tombout:

"did the doorbell rang???"

me: (looks at phone. it's 12 fuckin 48) "no...?"

dumbass: "oh. (smacks teeth) well (looooooooooooooooong pause) kyle's staying for a week until him and his roommate work thangs out..."

and she dashed back in the room.

(eye roll from me)

it was THEN, ladies and gentlemen--THAT EXACT MOMENT....that I was stumped.

Fucking. Stumped.

It was also at that moment that I realized that my life's mission was complete. I was not put here to dance. Not to love or be a good friend, son, uncle, or brother. I, Chris Alexander, was put on this goddamn earth....to locate and expose stupid bitches such as my roommmate. And through humiliating accounts, ensure that the cycle of stupidity, coonery, and fuckery (stolen word) is STOPPED. STOPPED, STOPPED I say!! (Then the sky parted and Jesus smiled down upon me and said..."good work, my child. this time you found the mother of all the world's dumbasses.")

(sigh)

Let's not forget that this is the SAME kneegrow that brought another vagina (the porta riffa one who's 'gina smelled like goya) into our apartment while my roommate was out of town, cuddled up on the couch with her and then impaled her with his 15 inch dick of death.....in the SAME bed where he dug for gold in my roommates vagina.

So...I randomly wake up @ like 3:84 to go piss...and i spot that big ass back of his sprawled out, shirtless in boxers on the couch. Which couch?

this couch.

just a reminder of the 23 y.o. he-man/woman-banger who's been stupifying broads all over the tri-state area:

all jokes aside, can we just have a moment of silence for that back?

(bows my head)

lord. i almost forgot the point i was trying to make. focus. where the hell was i?

Ahh, yes.

So...he's staying with us for a week. I'll be sure to keep all porn, chinese food, and other valuables out of sight.

This is GOING to be an interesting week.

Just when I thought there was hope for her yet, she proved me wrong. Well, she didn't just prove me wrong, yall. She proved.......that she......is the.......(say it with me)

DUMBEST

BITCH

IN

THE

WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So folks, it gives me great pleasure to present the

George Bush Failed Abortion 2007 Award

to

MY ROOMMATE

CHIQUITA!!!

(APPLAUSE)

Unfortunately, she couldn't be here to accept this award; she's out shopping for dickwarmers for her fuckbuddy.

If you DO see her in the streets, please, by all means, deliver a few sharp judo chops or drop kicks to the back of that hoe's dome. Please. For me.

Thanks.

I truly feel that my myspace blog (here), specifically from 2006/2007 contains some magical writing and events that I could not duplicate even if I tried. i'm going to repost several of my favorite entries from over the ears. So, while browsing I came across this entry from 5/10/2007. It was a story about one of my lovely coworkers and her beautiful family. enjoy.

at a loss for words....
I could not make this shit up. Even if I wrote the Lord of the Rings saga. or the Bible. This shit is too damn good.

So.

This girl i work with, Domanica the Hoodrat (some of you may remember her - read here and here for an introduction) and I were talking today....

Pause.

I find it worth pointing out that, contrary to what some of you (specifically the bitch who thinks the kid is insensitive and sometimes rude and mean-spirited) may think, I am quite the angel. I sponsor a few kids in Mozambique and read to unfortunate chilluns in the Bronx on weekends. I am also considering suicide JUST so I can donate my organs to those in need. Okay, so maybe I just made all of that up. But I do run a fully functional Gangsta Bitch Newswire consisting of gossiping baby mamas, snitches, and wanksters which allows me to stay abreast of what's happening in the hood. With my people. **raises black power fist** Domanica is my connection to the streets. Without her multicolored weaves and endless "my-chile-did-this-and-that-this-morning" stories, my life would be incomplete. Word to your mother, son. Forreal, yo. I love she.

Back to what I was saying...

So we're chatting and she tells me some long, drawn-out tale about the woman who babysits her nappy-headed child (who i feel like i gave birth
to thanks to all the damn stories she tells). Apparently she's going through some battle with the city to try to keep her section-8 status. No comment there. You do what you must. Her compulsive liar son apparently told government officials his mother was dead and he was NOT living with her...which he definitely is. He then told his girlfriend that his mother is actually his stepmother and she had KILLED his real mother. Only a fellow crackhoe like Whitney could understand his logic for any of this fuckery. I told her he's not a liar...he's actually a fucking idiot. I don't know how to respond to that foolishness.

But, children, THAT is NOT the good shit.

Oh no.

This woman wrote a letter to the city or whoever handles section-8 shit, to prove that she is, in fact, alive....thank you. She faxed it to Domanica the hoodrat to review.

First question: They have fax machines in the projects?

Second question: What.inTHE.fuck would convince you that Domanica the hoodrat is a valid source for determining the quality of anything other
than a brick of coke?

Anywho.

As usual, I HAD to see this letter. I mean, how many times in life have YOU had to write a letter to prove that you were ALIVE?

And.......................i snatched it from the fax machine.

(does the harlem shake in jubilation)

this.made.my.motherfucking.day.

so this is what she wrote:

Now.

No further commentary on my behalf is needed. I don't even know how to respond to this bullshit. I have nothing. I am done.

it just hit me that, as of today, i've been in new york for three years.

wow.

what a journey it's been. i was browsing through photobucket and found some pics from my journey TO new york. similar to now, one dance i decided: i'm getting up and out of this place. made a plan, started saving, preparing mentally. said my goodbyes, and on 6/6/06, packed my entire life into my Altima

and hit the road.


a in-car sing-along on the Turnpike:


landed in jackson heights, queens. i was the darkest and tallest person in that hispanic neighborhood. stayed with my nut ass grandma. this was my room:




eventually, i got over her cottage cheese eating ass, her smoking, locking the door @ 10PM, and the commute on that god awful 7 train and moved here:


park slope, brooklyn,
in the best apartment in the world,

got a job:



my first check:

and started dancing,


since then, I have made my first (and last) trip to Magnolia's Bakery,

discovered my love for crazy New Yorkers,


lost hair,
got fat,

got skinny,

fell in love...with Jamba Juice,

found love,

...and a fafillion other amazing experiences. i'm overwhelmingly excited to enter this next phase of adult life. later tonight, i'll post some of my favorite blogs from my time here. for now: off to corporate servitude. but first, i'm treating myself to lunch @ Spice. ow ow ow!

stay tuned.

~chris.alexander