You got to love Facebook for it’s sheer blackmail potential. An old friend of mine posted this throw
up-back on my wall several months ago. I dug it out of my fashion-dungeon to show you kids just how hip my ass was back in 1992. Let’s start with that patch. Polyester and hand-sewn, thankyouverymuch. You know, nothing says Wrote For Luck better than a pair of size XXXXXXL OV’s. There’s no rave girl, only grass and you know I smoked a lot of it getting dressed that day. Those are Puma sneaks, friends. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to be a hip-hop dancer, club kid or hippy. One thing’s for sure: I still have the same hair-do.
Recently I purchased a new pair of overalls from my favorite store in the world, Hop Sing. They look like this. Notice: no patch. Funny how trends come back and make you feel old.
Hope I spelled that right.
Who wants to join my hustle gang?
I was born as a silver-spoon street kid. My Dad came from nothing, built a business and was a millionaire by the time he was 36 years old. I remember driving to private school in his red Porsche convertible, blasting the Rolling Stones. We didn’t listen to the Beatles in my house; it was Uncle Mick, Berry White and lots of Rick James. Grit came from hard work coated with low self-esteem. I witnessed my parents keeping up with the Joneses only to give birth to a wheelchair bound son. Game over. No one asks for a handicapped kid for Christmas. But we got one. My brother had a disease that affects 1 in a 100,000,000 men. That’s right one hundred million. We’d have a better chance winning the lottery.
Unfortunately our lottery ended in the 90’s when my father sunk his life savings into building a big home – when the market tanked so did all our money, my parents marriage and sadly, my brother’s life. He ended up passing on from what we all believe to be an out-of-body experience and with it, passed the world I knew into a downhill slide. I believe the death of my brother set the tone for the next 20 years of my life; I internalized it and blamed myself for it. I also set off on a path of self-destruction and exploration that included, but was not limited to, copious amounts of drugs. Trust me, I’m not crying the blues. In fact, I’m grateful for all of it. I don’t think I would be able to write in such a sassy tone if it wasn’t for all my bottoms.
What inspires me are the people that rise from the nothingness of their experience; people who are dealt blows and beat odds. People who make stacks of money the right way (and sometimes the wrong way too). I’ve always admired guts. As a lady, I’ve taken risks and have racked up more failures than victories. I victimize myself because of it – then try and say “turn that victim into a victor!” Even when I don’t believe it.
My goal is to meld my street smarts with business acumen and sell myself as a package deal. I’d like to write, teach, speak in front of people and tell jokes about all the cocaine I did in Miami. I want to be improperly proper; a juxtaposition of smarts, sass and balls. I’d like to do it successfully and then tell others how to do it. Don’t ask me how because I really don’t know. This not knowing keeps me up at night and makes me sick to my stomach every morning. It also keeps me going. Going and going and going; it’s a compulsion, my hustle. Yet, it gives me a reason to believe that I can. Can what? Who knows. I can only trust that I’ve gotten this far and have far to go. As long as I keep my shit straight and my eye on the ball, there’s no reason that all my bottoms won’t get me to the top of my game.
She’s the hottest girl in the game wearing all the chains. If you haven’t listened or seen Ms. Thing rap and perform, you don’t know what you’re missing. Happy Birthday Iggy Azalea! Work it like you 24…because you are.
Many moons ago, when I lived in Miami, I was locked out of the financial system. A big reason was because of my unwise credit management (and a bad drug addiction). I didn’t have a checking account and had to cash checks through a check cashing place – then ride my bike to several other locations to pay my rent and utilities. It was a big pain in the ass, to put it mildly. I’m thankful those days are behind me, but for some people, they have just begun. This movie addresses those issues and more. It’s a short but effective documentary. Enjoy!
The Mush is glad we’re back!
It’s been a year since I abandoned my post here on Ladytigerproductions.com. What in the hay-hell as been going on? A lot. I won’t go over the past year’s reflection, let’s just say I got laid a lot last summer and nothing distracts my attention away like a good lay, hey.
Did I mention I’m also writing rap songs? Kidding. Ditto on the kidding about getting laid too. I wish the reasons I stopped writing were that salacious. Truth be told, I was working 3 jobs – stopped and enrolled in school. I also took an internship. You see folks, I’m trying to reshape my life. Trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Trying to well, become an adult 37 years into the game. Has it worked? Sort-of. I don’t think I’ll ever be fully functioning and that’s okay by me.
I don’t expect anyone to remember my blog – after all, a year without writing online is like 43 light years in space. Star-Warsy speaking. Yesterday I decided to take time off of my internship so I could return to doing what I do best: bitch and moan about my life. KIDDING. In actuality I had an epiphany. For the past 12 years I have been building other people’s businesses (OPB) and not my own. Why? Partly because I was (and still am) afraid and partly because I didn’t believe in myself. I didn’t think I had the brass-balls to make it in this world. I still don’t know – but I’m ready to try which is why I’m getting back on the writing train. I have a lot to write about seeing that I’m in school and all edge-a-macated and shit.
I hope all of you have been making the most with your time, not being scared like me and pursuing your dreams no matter how whacked out they seem. We only have this one shot (until we are reincarnated which I still pray the universe makes me a man with a fast metabolism).
This has nothing to do with my prior point, but after writing OPB you know what I want to hear.
Oh HAAAAAY boos. Seems like I can’t quite get my shit together when it comes to writing this year. Now that I have:
but 3 jobs, finding free time is a bit impetuous. But that’s okay because free time always gets this lady into trouble.
Speaking of trouble, let’s lace up your dance shoes and get ready to do the Running Man. Where you going, girl? In Living Color called and they was wondering if you could do a couple of chest thrusts and step-ball-changes in between skits. Life as a Fly-girl can be rough on the callous. No matter. I’ma still wear my hat sideways.
Apparently I didn’t get the hip-hop memo that it’s not cool for a white girl from New Haven to wear a fake diamond chain around her neck. Not only a fake diamond chain – but a chain in the shape of a money symbol. Now that’s some pre-Ke$ha bullshit.
The T-shirt I’m wearing is a H&M classic. I remember when the store opened in Boston, I was invited to the pre-opening. That’s only because I was running a modeling agency and had loads of pretty girls at my disposal. Let me tell you something: pretty girls will get you into more premieres than puppies. Because old men don’t like to fuck puppies – unless they’re really bat-shit-CRA. Old men like to pretend that they are going to fuck young girls and they will give you all sort of perks in hopes of getting into some panties. Of course, being the protective Mama-Bear that I was, that never happened. But anticipation, like Tim Curry says in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, makes a man shiver. And a shivering man with a shrinking hard-on will give gift-bags and fruit loops to any lady carting around 18 years olds. Trust.