I DID NOT RUN THIS THROUGH MY PROOF READER SO IF THERE ARE TYPO'S AND GRAMMATIC ERRS I'M SORRY.
Hello to the one reader who reads this..........
What actually happened, happened a while ago. But this is what happened...
My girlfriend or wife depending on how you look at it (more on this later) split up a bit ago. In a struggle to maintain my manhood I went on a mission to sleep with someone way hotter than my ex. Being that my ex, is pretty hot and she has the personality to back it, this would be a tall order. Also taking into consideration that I have about as much game as Nipolian Dynamite, this would truly be mission impossible.
I met this really nice girl at an 87 Stick-Up kids show and we ended up making out after literally a 1 minute conversation. When I say make out I mean two drunken fools essentially rubbing their open mouths together with uncontrolled tongue throttles to each other's throats.
In a fashion that puts even the most animalistic creatures to shame, I managed to get a hand or two on the boobs. In the heat of the moment I could not help but think that I wanted more than just a hand on those boobs.
After a very "power" make out session she gave me her number. Like the moron that I am I forgot to put her name next to it. So her number fell into the sea of numbers in my phone that have no identity connected to them. This is a true comment on my personal organizational skills, because there are many numbers that I have gotten way drunker than I was when I got that number that I have a name next to.
In short I was sure that I would never talk to her again. Because that would mean me going through all the "unknown" numbers in my phone and some half assed text message saying something to the extent of "Hey we made out the other day who is this?" For obvious reasons this can't happen.
Three or four days later I get a message from her on myspace. I'm not much of a myspace guy but once I see the photos on her page I know it's her. By the way my mom's name is Paige and I can't write any version of that word without thinking of her. I don't think that she's too proud of me right now.
We decide to meet up at a bar close to my house. We meet up, make out a little. Nothing to report really.
I ask her if I can make her dinner, she obliges.
A few days later I make her dinner. We were at the house and one thing leads to another and were making out on my bed. My shirt is off but her's is not! In the back of my head I'm thinking that this is not fare, if I'm going to show off my overly skinny body she should give me something. Like a boob!!!!
After deftly maneuvering her blouse and bra above her boobs, I feel vindicated. Moving in for the kill I get myself a hand full... And then it happens.
Her boob starts to disfigure and "explode". It was the most bizarre thing I have ever seen. I felt like I was making out with an alien or something. I could actually see the saline bag protrude from the side of her boob when I applied pressure to the boob.
Obsessed partially with a morbid fascination and partially from awe that I FINALLY was having my way with a set of fake boobs, I proceeded to kiss these boobs. All I could think of was that they were manufactured. There is nothing wrong with manufacturing an image. Shit everyone does it. Simply by getting dressed in the morning we manufacture an image. There really is very little difference between throwing on a pair of shoes on and getting a set of fake tits. Really the only difference is how permanent the decision is.
When a guy or girl looks in the mirror before they go out to bar to share drinks with people there are decisions made, such as I would rather look this way. There is no difference when you chose how you want your boobs to look.
Having said all that I could not help but wonder as those saline bags bulged from the side of her breast if she was going to look at me and say "you won't like me when I'm angry" and then she turns green and fucking whoops my ass...
That particular make out session ended and she went home.
We no longer see each other, we seemed to end it amicably but I am sure that if she were ever to catch wind of this blog I'll catch a pint glass to the side of the dome piece at some local spot.
In closing I would like to leave you with a few parting words and than a quote.
Fake boobs are not for me, they make a great look, but when we get down to the nitty gritty, they just don't cut it.
I'm type polite but now I'm lookin at her skeptically
Cause baby girl got all the right weaponry
Designer fabric, shoes, and accessories
Chinky eyes, sweet voice is (fucking) with me mentally
We conversated, made a laugh, yeah you know me bro
Even though I know the steelo, she wild sweet yo
I'm bout to merc, I say peace to the family
She hop up like "How you gonna leave before you dance with me?"
MOS DEF - MS. FAT BOOBY, I MEAN BOOTY...
Tarl
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Tracer Tips and Fat Caps
Can I get an amen for all my bombing brothers out there in the street?
I'm back after a bit of an absence due mainly to work. Yes unlike most of the people who blog these days, I work.
So here's what's up and your next assignment on the never ending struggle for happiness.
I'm currently reading/studying a book called GRAFFITI L.A. STREET STYLES AND ART. This is a must read for any and all who live in the city. It is the true blog of our culture, perhaps an essay of what happens to us, around us and about us. This book is vital.
Here's a little anecdote:
I am in a constant struggle to discover who I really am. You think you struggle, there is not a morning, that I wake up and don't think about what I am doing, where I'm at and where I'm going.
Put on the new (or not so new) Kanye and was loving it. Despite my deep hate for people with ego's like that. Directly after him on the shuffle was Mobb Deep and I instantly felt a little more comfortable. Weird I think.
Had a little shin dig at a place that I'm house sitting right now. Had a bunch of friends over and a bunch of people who I don't know. There was a girl who refused to take her sun glasses off even though it was 4:00am and there was not a light to be found. Made me wonder if she had a lazy eye or something.
Really why do people wear sun glasses at night!?!?!?! There is no reason to hide those eyes of yours, I want to see them and I would imagine that there are other people who want to see them as well.
Needless to say after the whole sun glasses thing I saw her at Chris Garcia's birthday and I decided not to talk to her. Sorry.
I don't really care if it's cool to wear that shit when there is no light out. It's just lame to wear sunglasses at night. There was a song that was written in 90's or 80's about that. Now let me ask you if you know who wrote/performed it and then let me ask you where that motherfucker is now?
I rest my case. Shut the sun glasses at night down.
I leave you with a quote...
Ok smartie, go to a party
Girls are stancin the crowd is showin body
A chick walks by you wish you could sex her
But you're standin on the wall like you was Poindexter
Coming very soon.
FAKE TITS: MY PLEASURE, MY PAIN....
Tarl
I'm back after a bit of an absence due mainly to work. Yes unlike most of the people who blog these days, I work.
So here's what's up and your next assignment on the never ending struggle for happiness.
I'm currently reading/studying a book called GRAFFITI L.A. STREET STYLES AND ART. This is a must read for any and all who live in the city. It is the true blog of our culture, perhaps an essay of what happens to us, around us and about us. This book is vital.
Here's a little anecdote:
I am in a constant struggle to discover who I really am. You think you struggle, there is not a morning, that I wake up and don't think about what I am doing, where I'm at and where I'm going.
Put on the new (or not so new) Kanye and was loving it. Despite my deep hate for people with ego's like that. Directly after him on the shuffle was Mobb Deep and I instantly felt a little more comfortable. Weird I think.
Had a little shin dig at a place that I'm house sitting right now. Had a bunch of friends over and a bunch of people who I don't know. There was a girl who refused to take her sun glasses off even though it was 4:00am and there was not a light to be found. Made me wonder if she had a lazy eye or something.
Really why do people wear sun glasses at night!?!?!?! There is no reason to hide those eyes of yours, I want to see them and I would imagine that there are other people who want to see them as well.
Needless to say after the whole sun glasses thing I saw her at Chris Garcia's birthday and I decided not to talk to her. Sorry.
I don't really care if it's cool to wear that shit when there is no light out. It's just lame to wear sunglasses at night. There was a song that was written in 90's or 80's about that. Now let me ask you if you know who wrote/performed it and then let me ask you where that motherfucker is now?
I rest my case. Shut the sun glasses at night down.
I leave you with a quote...
Ok smartie, go to a party
Girls are stancin the crowd is showin body
A chick walks by you wish you could sex her
But you're standin on the wall like you was Poindexter
Coming very soon.
FAKE TITS: MY PLEASURE, MY PAIN....
Tarl
Monday, October 15, 2007
This ain't rap it's blogsport...
Yo this ain't rap, it's blogsport your life cut short, you fell short pressure's on high, full court my team form killer instincts and fire arms dangerous stuff mine's brainstorm wars a life of a wild rebel, who run wild clik (blaow-blaow) ninja lay down (blaow) fool stay down. Appear, disappear, a hydro cloud
There you have it, a blog-dap-tation of a timeless classic. So first I would like to thank Prodigy for the words and then that round marble looking thing rolling around in my head for that wonderful stroke of genius.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT A PG 13 BLOG. THERE MAY BE THINGS THAT WILL UPSET SOME. SO IF YOU READ THIS AND ARE OFFENDED, BY ALL MEANS POST SOMETHING ABOUT IT.
Friday 10:00pm. No transport right now because the car's in the shop. And when I say in the shop I mean I don't have one. Someday soon I will, so until then I mooch rides from my friends, walk and take cabs.
Taxi gets here, I hop in and we make our way to the Echo for the 87 stick up kids, Pacific Division and Brother Reade.
10:10pm @ The Echo, no one here, get to the bar, buy a 5 dollar beer and leave a dollar tip. I find myself in the corner thinking about the cost of beer in LA and playing bubble breaker on my cell phone. As we can already see I'm well on the way to going home with some lucky lady tonight.
Around 10:30 the crew starts to arrive, after hugs and kisses we make it out to the back for a smoke and some catch up.
87 Stick-up Kids go on stage and ROCK THE FUCKING HOUSE!!! For those of you who know me know that I'm a little partial, but still the show kicked ass. After 87, Pacific Division came on with a killer set that I ended up getting on stage for at the end. It was pretty killer. Thanks for the fun guys.
That was the first time I had seen Pacific Division live and have to say I was impressed. Check'em out here: http://www.pacificdivision.com
Then came Brother Reade, which was great.
After the show we hung out in the back.
CUT TO: Ext. Sunset Blvd @ 1:55am.
Nash and Tarl at a dead run headed for the liquor store. They make it just in time and leave with some beer for the after party.
Over to Nash's crib where the close homies and ladies hang for a bit tying a few on and cleaning poor Elana out of house and home.
3:30am James, Kelly and I leave to get some real grub. James somehow talks us into going down to Pacific Dining Car. I thought it was kinda cool to eat in the same place where they shot the three wise men scene in Training Day.
James and I got into a conversation about money, having, not having, but mostly wanting. From what I can remember. I found myself eating at a classy joint simply for the novelty of eating at a place "that I don't really belong in". Taco Zone would have been fine with me. You know not having a lot of money and all, one should not go spending too much on food.
This concept actually dug into me deeply. Why should I want to eat at a place that is regarded as "classy" just so I could feel classy. The funny thing was that the food was good and the place was nice but the only other people there were drunk and complete idiots, making a lot of noise and kinda fuck'n with the ambiance (French pronunciation).
I started to wonder if I was the same guy as that inebriated fellow who could barely make his way to the bathroom. Did I just not belong there, was I there to seek approval, not from someone but from myself? Was I there to buy expensive food because I wanted it? Or was I there to buy expensive food because I could? After much soul searching I have yet to come to a conclusion. I think the answer lies somewhere in between wanting good food and being willing to pay for it, and wanting to be in a place that others consider classy.
So after all that I picked up the tab.
6:30am: We made our way back to my neck of the woods, they dropped me off, I got up to the apartment, looked for a beer in the fridge, spent a bit of time wondering if James and Kelly were gonna have sex, after deducing that it was probably a 50/50 chance I gave up. With a little luck I would be asleep before the sun started shining through the windows.
I was lucky.
Tarl
P.S. That's my first blog. I like it. Hope you do too, and for all the haters out there I'm sure we'll meet somewhere on the long journey to the middle.
There you have it, a blog-dap-tation of a timeless classic. So first I would like to thank Prodigy for the words and then that round marble looking thing rolling around in my head for that wonderful stroke of genius.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT A PG 13 BLOG. THERE MAY BE THINGS THAT WILL UPSET SOME. SO IF YOU READ THIS AND ARE OFFENDED, BY ALL MEANS POST SOMETHING ABOUT IT.
Friday 10:00pm. No transport right now because the car's in the shop. And when I say in the shop I mean I don't have one. Someday soon I will, so until then I mooch rides from my friends, walk and take cabs.
Taxi gets here, I hop in and we make our way to the Echo for the 87 stick up kids, Pacific Division and Brother Reade.
10:10pm @ The Echo, no one here, get to the bar, buy a 5 dollar beer and leave a dollar tip. I find myself in the corner thinking about the cost of beer in LA and playing bubble breaker on my cell phone. As we can already see I'm well on the way to going home with some lucky lady tonight.
Around 10:30 the crew starts to arrive, after hugs and kisses we make it out to the back for a smoke and some catch up.
87 Stick-up Kids go on stage and ROCK THE FUCKING HOUSE!!! For those of you who know me know that I'm a little partial, but still the show kicked ass. After 87, Pacific Division came on with a killer set that I ended up getting on stage for at the end. It was pretty killer. Thanks for the fun guys.
That was the first time I had seen Pacific Division live and have to say I was impressed. Check'em out here: http://www.pacificdivision.com
Then came Brother Reade, which was great.
After the show we hung out in the back.
CUT TO: Ext. Sunset Blvd @ 1:55am.
Nash and Tarl at a dead run headed for the liquor store. They make it just in time and leave with some beer for the after party.
Over to Nash's crib where the close homies and ladies hang for a bit tying a few on and cleaning poor Elana out of house and home.
3:30am James, Kelly and I leave to get some real grub. James somehow talks us into going down to Pacific Dining Car. I thought it was kinda cool to eat in the same place where they shot the three wise men scene in Training Day.
James and I got into a conversation about money, having, not having, but mostly wanting. From what I can remember. I found myself eating at a classy joint simply for the novelty of eating at a place "that I don't really belong in". Taco Zone would have been fine with me. You know not having a lot of money and all, one should not go spending too much on food.
This concept actually dug into me deeply. Why should I want to eat at a place that is regarded as "classy" just so I could feel classy. The funny thing was that the food was good and the place was nice but the only other people there were drunk and complete idiots, making a lot of noise and kinda fuck'n with the ambiance (French pronunciation).
I started to wonder if I was the same guy as that inebriated fellow who could barely make his way to the bathroom. Did I just not belong there, was I there to seek approval, not from someone but from myself? Was I there to buy expensive food because I wanted it? Or was I there to buy expensive food because I could? After much soul searching I have yet to come to a conclusion. I think the answer lies somewhere in between wanting good food and being willing to pay for it, and wanting to be in a place that others consider classy.
So after all that I picked up the tab.
6:30am: We made our way back to my neck of the woods, they dropped me off, I got up to the apartment, looked for a beer in the fridge, spent a bit of time wondering if James and Kelly were gonna have sex, after deducing that it was probably a 50/50 chance I gave up. With a little luck I would be asleep before the sun started shining through the windows.
I was lucky.
Tarl
P.S. That's my first blog. I like it. Hope you do too, and for all the haters out there I'm sure we'll meet somewhere on the long journey to the middle.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)