Thursday, August 7, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
The Beauty Queen, The Athlete, and Well...ME (The One with the 26s)
"RHONDA HAS 26s!"
The infamous words spoken by my best friend "The Beauty Queen."
What does that even mean? Well, I can't go anymore than PG13 on this thing, so how about we insert Black Eyed Peas lyrics so you can get an idea of what I mean:
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
In the back and in the front (lumps)
My lovin' got you,
Now that you understand (unless you're simply stupid and STILL don't get it...), we can move on.
God is a great being who makes people in various shapes and sizes. There are two people in my life who were blessed with basically everything you could ask for in a black girl:
The Beauty Queen
She's young, beautiful, and whether she believes it or not (she's in a phase where she doesn't believe right now), she's a sexy mamacita. Not a beast, not "freak nasty," a sexy mamacita. She's short, no more than 5'3 or 4, she's got a face marked with scars from her battle with acne, but for some reason, that makes her look remarkably beautiful in a way that only she can pull off. She's got naturally wavy hair (as most blacks do) that looks beautiful in its natural form and even more beautiful when straight. She's got a nice set of 26s, and honestly, she's got herself a semi hourglass figure, not too much, but not too little. The PERFECT figure for someone like her. For your viewing pleasure, she looks Blasian. Black and Asian. It's great. Light skinned, short, and beautiful. And she's into urban-wear. RoccaWear, Baby Phat, etc. She's everything that you'd wish you could be.
The Athlete
She's the Beauty Queen's younger sister and my other best friend. She is, as I said, an athlete, but she's an athlete who just got a growth spurt in the back. Shall we quote the Black Eyed Peas again: " My lovely lady lumps (lumps) In the back and in the front (lumps)..." It took 18 years, but she got it. According to a guy friend (The Model-no, he's not gay) she's gotten "fat in the back" and that is the honest to goodness truth. What was flat is not so flat anymore. She's a little shorter than me at about 5'6, and she has what people like to call an "air conditioner booty." She, too, is light skinned, she has that naturally wavy hair, but it's MUCH longer than her sister's, and when it's straight, you'd think it was weave, but it isn't. She was blessed with naturally long, gorgeous hair which most black girls don't have because they got perms too early or they bog it down with weave and simply don't care for their hair properly. And The Athlete is still ripped from her many years of basketball, volleyball, and track. She does not, however, have the same set of 26s as her sister which is good because that would get in the way of playing sports. She, too, is a dime piece.
Well, what does knowing all that have to do with anything? What does that have to do with you, Rhonda? Well, let's take it back to last night as I was enjoying a video game extravaganza with my youth group...
Dance Dance Revolution: I Can't Dance Without the Arrows
Actually I can dance without the arrows, but that's what's written on a shirt I've been meaning to buy ("I Can't Dance Without the Arrows"). Anyway. I love the game. DDR, I mean. And we got the big screen tv to play it. I was pumped. I love Dance Dance Revolution, but as I was playing, something happened. But to understand that, you have to understand what I look like:
The, um, well...Me: The One with the 26s
I'm about 5'6 and 3/4, I float between lighter skinned and just light. I have short brown naturally wavy dark (times infinity) brown hair with natural lighter brown hilites. (It's all natural. I like straightening my hair and I do have a perm, but my hair is 100% real, and I'm growing it back out ever so slowly. Trims get in the way sometimes.) But for some reason, I don't exactly know if I'm "beautiful" or not. I've certainly never been put on a pedal stool like The Beauty Queen or The Athlete, and I've never been compared to them because I'm no match. But I do have something: 26s. Since about 5th grade. It's an unprecedented thing. I have no clue how it happened, and all I know is that I never asked God for them, I just got them. LONG BEFORE everyone else... I have no clue what my butt looks like. However, I do know that I'm wide. I can't seem to do anything about that. And my stomach is far from toned up, but yet, I'm not exactly fat. Thick is the word for it. I'm not flat...anywhere...well, except flat footed, but that's not what we're talking about now is it? I wear crooked glasses (though you have to look hard to notice), and my face is pretty much free from scars except for a few. So that's it. That's what I look like. Wide in a lot of ways, and not extremely special in the beauty category, though not ugly. Just average.
But remember, I have 26s.
I think the fact that we refer to breastage like one refers to rims is sad, but it describes things doesn't it?
So we're DDRing, having a great time and all, and I've been challenged to face my friends what with this:
I didn't actually care. Everyone was like family to me, but then again, who wants to see their sister's jugs bouncing and crap, almost CONSUMING HER FACE as she plays DDR? Yeah, that's not exactly a pretty thing to see, and I understand that, but I couldn't help the fact that my best bra wasn't clean and that I currently don't own a sports bra, so my 26s had to settle with my decent black bra (the first black bra I have EVER owned, and that I love dearly because it's BLACK! A black bra is on the list of items that EVERY female should own). No biggie. But apparently The Model, my older brother NuStyle (Zasalamel, Tokin, Chris, WHATEVER you want to call him), AND The Playa/Jerk (because he gets on my dearest nerves sometimes despite being my best friends' older brother) took notice to the jugs and their bouncing magic.
I COULDN'T help it!
Well, The Model told my brother who came and told me to tone it down.
Again, I COULDN'T help it!
And I don't blame them for saying something. There were young kids there, too. My little brothers, my little sisters, even adults and others. I can understand trying to find a way to fix it, but then again, it's DDR. What did you REALLY expect? I had to spend the rest of the night playing DDR with my ARMS CROSSED over my chest to keep my jugs from doing too much. My little sister Jade thought it was cool that I was so "talented" that I could look all "chill" with my arms crossed while schoolin' our brother Jamel in three rounds straight of DDR.
The truth:
With arms crossed, the jugs can't dance.
So what's today's moral? Don't wish to look like me. Ask God to bless you with a tight bod like The Beauty Queen or with a booty like The Athlete. But DO NOT ask the Heavenly Father for 26s if you know you like DDR. It isn't preferable.
But then again, you may not ask for it, but you'll get it anyway...
The infamous words spoken by my best friend "The Beauty Queen."
What does that even mean? Well, I can't go anymore than PG13 on this thing, so how about we insert Black Eyed Peas lyrics so you can get an idea of what I mean:
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
My lovely lady lumps (lumps)
In the back and in the front (lumps)
My lovin' got you,
Now that you understand (unless you're simply stupid and STILL don't get it...), we can move on.
God is a great being who makes people in various shapes and sizes. There are two people in my life who were blessed with basically everything you could ask for in a black girl:
The Beauty Queen
She's young, beautiful, and whether she believes it or not (she's in a phase where she doesn't believe right now), she's a sexy mamacita. Not a beast, not "freak nasty," a sexy mamacita. She's short, no more than 5'3 or 4, she's got a face marked with scars from her battle with acne, but for some reason, that makes her look remarkably beautiful in a way that only she can pull off. She's got naturally wavy hair (as most blacks do) that looks beautiful in its natural form and even more beautiful when straight. She's got a nice set of 26s, and honestly, she's got herself a semi hourglass figure, not too much, but not too little. The PERFECT figure for someone like her. For your viewing pleasure, she looks Blasian. Black and Asian. It's great. Light skinned, short, and beautiful. And she's into urban-wear. RoccaWear, Baby Phat, etc. She's everything that you'd wish you could be.
The Athlete
She's the Beauty Queen's younger sister and my other best friend. She is, as I said, an athlete, but she's an athlete who just got a growth spurt in the back. Shall we quote the Black Eyed Peas again: " My lovely lady lumps (lumps) In the back and in the front (lumps)..." It took 18 years, but she got it. According to a guy friend (The Model-no, he's not gay) she's gotten "fat in the back" and that is the honest to goodness truth. What was flat is not so flat anymore. She's a little shorter than me at about 5'6, and she has what people like to call an "air conditioner booty." She, too, is light skinned, she has that naturally wavy hair, but it's MUCH longer than her sister's, and when it's straight, you'd think it was weave, but it isn't. She was blessed with naturally long, gorgeous hair which most black girls don't have because they got perms too early or they bog it down with weave and simply don't care for their hair properly. And The Athlete is still ripped from her many years of basketball, volleyball, and track. She does not, however, have the same set of 26s as her sister which is good because that would get in the way of playing sports. She, too, is a dime piece.
Well, what does knowing all that have to do with anything? What does that have to do with you, Rhonda? Well, let's take it back to last night as I was enjoying a video game extravaganza with my youth group...
Dance Dance Revolution: I Can't Dance Without the Arrows
Actually I can dance without the arrows, but that's what's written on a shirt I've been meaning to buy ("I Can't Dance Without the Arrows"). Anyway. I love the game. DDR, I mean. And we got the big screen tv to play it. I was pumped. I love Dance Dance Revolution, but as I was playing, something happened. But to understand that, you have to understand what I look like:
The, um, well...Me: The One with the 26s
I'm about 5'6 and 3/4, I float between lighter skinned and just light. I have short brown naturally wavy dark (times infinity) brown hair with natural lighter brown hilites. (It's all natural. I like straightening my hair and I do have a perm, but my hair is 100% real, and I'm growing it back out ever so slowly. Trims get in the way sometimes.) But for some reason, I don't exactly know if I'm "beautiful" or not. I've certainly never been put on a pedal stool like The Beauty Queen or The Athlete, and I've never been compared to them because I'm no match. But I do have something: 26s. Since about 5th grade. It's an unprecedented thing. I have no clue how it happened, and all I know is that I never asked God for them, I just got them. LONG BEFORE everyone else... I have no clue what my butt looks like. However, I do know that I'm wide. I can't seem to do anything about that. And my stomach is far from toned up, but yet, I'm not exactly fat. Thick is the word for it. I'm not flat...anywhere...well, except flat footed, but that's not what we're talking about now is it? I wear crooked glasses (though you have to look hard to notice), and my face is pretty much free from scars except for a few. So that's it. That's what I look like. Wide in a lot of ways, and not extremely special in the beauty category, though not ugly. Just average.
But remember, I have 26s.
I think the fact that we refer to breastage like one refers to rims is sad, but it describes things doesn't it?
So we're DDRing, having a great time and all, and I've been challenged to face my friends what with this:
- being my game
- being the game I'm fairly good at for a girl who doesn't own a DDR dance pad, so I have to use a regular PS2 controller
- being just a fun way for us to spend a Friday evening
I didn't actually care. Everyone was like family to me, but then again, who wants to see their sister's jugs bouncing and crap, almost CONSUMING HER FACE as she plays DDR? Yeah, that's not exactly a pretty thing to see, and I understand that, but I couldn't help the fact that my best bra wasn't clean and that I currently don't own a sports bra, so my 26s had to settle with my decent black bra (the first black bra I have EVER owned, and that I love dearly because it's BLACK! A black bra is on the list of items that EVERY female should own). No biggie. But apparently The Model, my older brother NuStyle (Zasalamel, Tokin, Chris, WHATEVER you want to call him), AND The Playa/Jerk (because he gets on my dearest nerves sometimes despite being my best friends' older brother) took notice to the jugs and their bouncing magic.
I COULDN'T help it!
Well, The Model told my brother who came and told me to tone it down.
Again, I COULDN'T help it!
And I don't blame them for saying something. There were young kids there, too. My little brothers, my little sisters, even adults and others. I can understand trying to find a way to fix it, but then again, it's DDR. What did you REALLY expect? I had to spend the rest of the night playing DDR with my ARMS CROSSED over my chest to keep my jugs from doing too much. My little sister Jade thought it was cool that I was so "talented" that I could look all "chill" with my arms crossed while schoolin' our brother Jamel in three rounds straight of DDR.
The truth:
With arms crossed, the jugs can't dance.
So what's today's moral? Don't wish to look like me. Ask God to bless you with a tight bod like The Beauty Queen or with a booty like The Athlete. But DO NOT ask the Heavenly Father for 26s if you know you like DDR. It isn't preferable.
But then again, you may not ask for it, but you'll get it anyway...
Friday, July 25, 2008
The Truth About "The Place Where Rhonda Fell"
I have to fix this misconception that my fellow snow bunnies have come up with. It's known as:
The Place Where Rhonda Fell
Let me start by saying that this took place almost a month ago at Middle Tennessee State University outside of Corlew Hall during Volunteer Girls State.
VGS? WTF is that?
It's like a camp for girls expressing a like of politics (yeah, right. I hate politics. Seriously.) and show great leadership skills and such. But that's only the basics. It's everything you want it to be, everything you make it. I made it one huge social fest and was quite content by it all.
But back to the story.
So there was this one girl I became friends with: Marie and she and I share this love-hate relationship that I love so much. Marie is like my other half, my partner in crime. Whatever you wanna call it all. And she witnessed this great act of clumsiness on my part, and that is where the story really begins.
Smith City (the city I was in. all 521 girls at VGS were separated into 12 different cities) was on their way back to Cummings Hall to go to our dorm rooms all the way up on the 6th floor. (stairs are a bitch for sure.) And as we were walking passed Corlew, I saw this REALLY pretty flower, and I decided that I wanted it. I HAD to have that flower. So stopped to pick it up. I got it off of the stem, but I dropped it, and as I bent back down to pick it up, I slipped in mud.
Let me back up.
It rained HARD the day before, so it was all muddy outside. This incident SO got my BRAND NEW WHITE Reeboks muddy. I had to clean them. i was slightly distraught.
So I slipped in this mud, but I stopped myself from actually falling because I'm talented and coordinated and can save myself from complete and total embarrassment. (well, most of the time anyway.) And so a footprint was there. The actual footprint and then the slide that my foot made in the mud. It was quite a remarkable sight to see and an even more incredible save on my half to get that flower and save myself from falling in the parking lot in front of 45 other girls.
So what of the flower?
Well, I looked at that really pretty flower that had sprouted from the concrete by the parking lot, and I noticed something very strange about it...
it was FAKE.
Straight up fake, my friends. How a FAKE flower was attached to a REAL stem is BEYOND me, but that's what happened. And so I chucked it into a bed of real flowers to allow some other foolish person be tricked like i had (only WITHOUT slipping in mud. maybe they'll fall in the mulch and smell like cow manure...)
And what about the place where I fell? I mean, slipped?
Well, the next day, the sun returned and dried up EVERYTHING leaving a fossilized version of where I slipped that day. And Marie (the girl from earlier) wouldn't let it die. We'd walk by and she'd be all,
THAT'S WHERE RHONDA FELL!
Um, no, Marie. I SLIPPED.
HAHA! RHONDA FELL! LOOK EVERYONE! RHONDA FELL THERE!
Marie, go curl up in a corner and cry...
Eventually everyone was saying it. I got so tired of defending myself (though I had never actually cared to begin with) that I just laughed and joined along. It WAS funny. REALLY funny.
So what's the moral of the story?
Don't fall for fake flowers. Look before you touch. Learn to laugh at yourself. Life will all be more interesting and fun that way.
Oh, and NEVER listen to ANYTHING Marie has to say.
The Place Where Rhonda Fell
Let me start by saying that this took place almost a month ago at Middle Tennessee State University outside of Corlew Hall during Volunteer Girls State.
VGS? WTF is that?
It's like a camp for girls expressing a like of politics (yeah, right. I hate politics. Seriously.) and show great leadership skills and such. But that's only the basics. It's everything you want it to be, everything you make it. I made it one huge social fest and was quite content by it all.
But back to the story.
So there was this one girl I became friends with: Marie and she and I share this love-hate relationship that I love so much. Marie is like my other half, my partner in crime. Whatever you wanna call it all. And she witnessed this great act of clumsiness on my part, and that is where the story really begins.
Smith City (the city I was in. all 521 girls at VGS were separated into 12 different cities) was on their way back to Cummings Hall to go to our dorm rooms all the way up on the 6th floor. (stairs are a bitch for sure.) And as we were walking passed Corlew, I saw this REALLY pretty flower, and I decided that I wanted it. I HAD to have that flower. So stopped to pick it up. I got it off of the stem, but I dropped it, and as I bent back down to pick it up, I slipped in mud.
Let me back up.
It rained HARD the day before, so it was all muddy outside. This incident SO got my BRAND NEW WHITE Reeboks muddy. I had to clean them. i was slightly distraught.
So I slipped in this mud, but I stopped myself from actually falling because I'm talented and coordinated and can save myself from complete and total embarrassment. (well, most of the time anyway.) And so a footprint was there. The actual footprint and then the slide that my foot made in the mud. It was quite a remarkable sight to see and an even more incredible save on my half to get that flower and save myself from falling in the parking lot in front of 45 other girls.
So what of the flower?
Well, I looked at that really pretty flower that had sprouted from the concrete by the parking lot, and I noticed something very strange about it...
it was FAKE.
Straight up fake, my friends. How a FAKE flower was attached to a REAL stem is BEYOND me, but that's what happened. And so I chucked it into a bed of real flowers to allow some other foolish person be tricked like i had (only WITHOUT slipping in mud. maybe they'll fall in the mulch and smell like cow manure...)
And what about the place where I fell? I mean, slipped?
Well, the next day, the sun returned and dried up EVERYTHING leaving a fossilized version of where I slipped that day. And Marie (the girl from earlier) wouldn't let it die. We'd walk by and she'd be all,
THAT'S WHERE RHONDA FELL!
Um, no, Marie. I SLIPPED.
HAHA! RHONDA FELL! LOOK EVERYONE! RHONDA FELL THERE!
Marie, go curl up in a corner and cry...
Eventually everyone was saying it. I got so tired of defending myself (though I had never actually cared to begin with) that I just laughed and joined along. It WAS funny. REALLY funny.
So what's the moral of the story?
Don't fall for fake flowers. Look before you touch. Learn to laugh at yourself. Life will all be more interesting and fun that way.
Oh, and NEVER listen to ANYTHING Marie has to say.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Just Because Everyone Else Is Doing It
I'm not jealous. I'm not trying to fit in. I am simply doing this because I haven't blogged in two years when I closed down my Xanga account. Simply put: I'm starting up again for Mary Bec and Natasha and all those other friends of mine whose blogs I read on a regular basis. Yes, this is what I do. In fact, the more I know about my friends, the better I feel about myself in terms of knowing that I'm not the only one going through things or having fun or whatever else you wanna write about. This is more or less where I can pick my writing up again. Stories, songs, plays, and everything else I do. Yeah, I miss that. I miss being able to take this imagination of mine and put it down somewhere in written form to capture not only my life, but the lives of others. Call it fanfiction or diaries or musicals or this and that. It's all the same to me, and my mind is going to race into a world that hardly anyone sees. So sit back, enjoy, comment. I'm going to be all I can be, and you should, too, as a reader, a listener, even as a fellow blogger.
It's time to write history.
It's time to write history.
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