Valentine's came and went this weekend and for the first time since the last time I was going out with someone (a whopping 4 years ago) and not just busting a nut on a Junior whenever Flex drops a bomb (word to Horse). That girl also happened to be the first person I ever fell in love with, so of course only recently have I been trying to snag me a wife.
No, for real. I'm wifing the first girl I find that's at least a 7.5/8, has good conversation and can cook me some good arepa. Utility>Heartbreak. I have no interest in revisiting the emotional catatonia of splitting with your love and I'm prolly just going to get betrothed to one of Christian's Colombian cousins
Speaking of heartbreak, it ended over me airing out business and my doubts about the future of the relationship out to a third party and posting it to my online journal, but fucking up the friends filter and not realizing she could see all of it and not being experienced enough to finesse that out.
Anyway, when I was recklessly nutting like Mr.Peanut all over Brooklyn with the ex ,on-and-off for two years, I had a real penchant for the arts 'n' crafts. Re-gifting an old VDay heart-shaped gift box and goth-ing it up with black and purple markers, making colored confetti to line the inside with marker and looseleaf, writing really really bad high school poetry (read forced nihilistic/romantic goth-lite prose) about her and etc. I once even went to Chinatown, our haunt in high school, to pick up a foot-tall Hello Kitty jewelry box (more like a mini-closet with drawers) with a copy of Manson's Holy Wood and Antichrist Superstar. The first thing to go after the (second and final) breakup was my sense of creativity and romance. The thrill was long fucking gone and, although I'm prone to thoughtful and romantic gestures naturally, I haven't had the urge to go all out until this past weekend, when I plastered my campus with fliers with Bjork on them and handmade (or designed) cheap-ass Microsoft Word cards for 8 specific girls at my school, 5 of them platonic friends, two of them I probably have crushes on, or whatever being enamored passes for at 21, and one who has nice enough to let me put my shame into her lately (No Catholic Church).
Maybe it's the fact that two of the girls are graduating and I'm doing an extra bid of a year for some upper level credits so I can graduate, or maybe it's that I finally have my shit together and am motivated (No Tony Robbins) at the same time, but it was fulfilling to root down Saturday morning and devise individual images and captions that would capture how I feel or be funny as per each girl's relationship with me and/or personality. Plus, I may never do this shit again on such a large scale.
Post-participating in my first V-Day since that time in '05 that the ex went to the corner store to get me a sandwich after knee-scabbing at her sister's house, I got inspired to...hm, in retrospect, she even paid for my sandwich. Fuck I miss those last two years of high school.
Anyway, I've had a bunch of ideas on the back-burner (some, like my Nas post, since last summer) as evidenced by how sporadic my updates became, but I felt compelled by the holiday to deliver on this drop. I've made a two-disc mixtape/playlist celebrating the post-Valentine's day period, which, from the 15th to the 21st, I feel, should honor the various hoodrats, trollops, scalawags, slags, clap-havin jezebels, chickenheads, scientists, birds, pigeons, trifling whores, skanks, and assorted bar-trolls that color this beautiful, diverse earth of ours.
For every chick still rocking comically large press-ons, fucked up weave tracts, really tacky blonde streaks or red-dye jobs with the mousse/gel effect.
For every chick who stays reading Eric Jerome Dickey and writes their own little ghetto-ass slash fictions about their life hoping to get published at Barnes & Noble in their brand-new "Urban" section (Seriously, could we be setting the bar even fucking lower?) with some really terrible ClipArt looking cover.
For every chick putting cocoa butter on their prison scars and stretch marks hoping to wear a new too-small sequined top to the club and not look too much like a Flavor of Love reject.
For every chick who gargled Cadillac Tah's step-children just to get near enough to Ja Rule to give him their man's demo
For all of those dirty south heffers openly confessing their pedophilic intentions on MTV to sit on 1999-era Lil' Wayne's pubescent shitstache.
For every chick with a Micky Dee's paunch and tacky-ass labret/Monroe piercing that I've seen in Brooklyn, New Rochelle, White Plains, Myspace, or Times Square.
For every girl who failed out of her senior year of high school because she discovered the joys of dick (I See you Anthea).
For Keyshia Cole and, surely, her extended family.
For Mary J when she was real Ralph Lauren with the white pony.
For Ray J, Nick Cannon, and Superhead.
For Scott La Rock (R.I.P. Superhoe '87)
This is for you.
This mixtape is separated into two types of songs: Tracks prominently featuring hoodrats on the hooks and/or verses, or exemplary assessments of hoodrats, their culture, lifestyle, beliefs, and behaviors by colleagues such as Ludacris, Ghostface Killah, Project Pat, Jay-Z, and UGK. If you download only one Hoodrat-themed mixtape this year, make it this one
Fuck I Look Like? Presents: Hoodrats '09
A Salute To Hoodrats
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