She’s my favorite nerd…

After sharing a hookah with PB, we sat and stared at her ceiling. Seriously. After about 5 minutes of complete silence and ceiling-staring, she blurted out, “Erik, why are you so into that lass?” She looked at me as if she’d been waiting for me to answer that question as soon as she came back stateside. I told her that my chick is dope. She gets me. She loves my “asshole ways”. We have conversations of substance. There’s seemingly never a dull moment between us. She’s hot without even trying. Her “pervert laugh” makes me laugh, because I have one, too. When she calls me pet names, I don’t cringe; I know she does it to be funny. She NEVER sends me “What you doing?” text messages, and it’s not the first thing that she says when I answer her phone calls. We read books…together. She’s smart, but doesn’t feel the need to rub it in. She uses proper grammar. The weirdo label? She fully embraces it. We make fun of each other as if we were kids on a playground. She’s not afraid to let me know when I make her heart beat short. She complains, and I don’t mind. She whines at times, and I don’t mind. I don’t mind letting her vent. She makes sure that I know that she’s all mine. I think of her, and then think to myself, ‘Why the hell did I have to go through so much just to find her?’ Then I remind myself that I should just be grateful to have found her. She doesn’t mind my affairs with MJ. She encourages it at times. She’s the hottest bookworm I know. I love how passionate she can get. I love her slang, and her voice. I love her “normal” laugh. Oh hell, I love her, period. P.S. I miss Karen!!! P.P.S. #shoutout to #myfavoritenerd You’re the illest, miss…

We do it for the strong, we do it for the meek…

I received the best compliment since “Hope Diamond” earlier today. “You’re so…hip-hop.” It kind of caught me off guard, because she (LJ) said it so sincerely, and so sweetly. As if to say, “Word.” Acknowledging that I’m just doing me. True, I am a backpacker, but I’m not afraid to let it be known that I dig Coldplay, Daft Punk, and Radiohead, too. I’ll play “The Anthology” right after “Kid A”. I play “Revolution 909″ at least a handful of times a day. Still, I play the shit out of Consequence’s (@itsthecons) “A Tribe Called Quence” mixtape, and can’t help but at least listen to the instrumental version of Nicolay (@nicolaymusic) and Kay’s “Tight Eyes”. I have an appreciation for the Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Metallica, Coldplay, Radiohead, Daft Punk, Jim Morrison, Bob Dylan, Animal Collective, Simon & Garfunkel, Bon Jovi, Wes Montgomery, Roberta Flack, Frank Sinatra, Sade, and the like, too. Of those artists or groups that I just mentioned, I doubt I would’ve become a fan of most of them had I not gone away to school, to the vanilla flavor that is Michigan. Seriously, going from a high school that is predominantly black to two universities with a large white population exposed me to a lot of “different” things. Truthfully, if I hadn’t gone away to school, I might not have the same views that I have now. I think I’m better for that. In my opinion, that’s what “hip-hop” is. Having the ability to be open-minded and absorb as much as you possibly can. I can’t say that at 14 I thought I’d ever listen to artists like Adele and Bird and the Bee. 10 years later, I have both of their albums, and they both are part of the rotation. I have friends who “rock out” to Bloc Party. I mean…seriously rock the fuck out. And you know what? That’s dope! I’m familiar with glow sticks, techno music and dance clubs. Don’t get it twisted though, please, ladies and gentlemen. I’m still up on The Purple Tape, IMD, Tribe, Prodigy, Talib, Hi-Tek, Blackstar, Main Source, Lauryn Hill, Foxy Brown, Little Brother, Slum Village, J Dilla, Big L, 9th Wonder, DJ Premier, DJ Quik, MC Eight, and just about anybody who has even remotely contributed (in a positive way) to the genre. I just believe that hip-hop was meant to evolve. I don’t think it was meant to remain stagnant. It was meant to go global, and touch more than just poor inner-city youth in the US. I hope that like sports, hip-hop has no preference in who participates in the near future. It has become something that has forced many heads like myself to actually listen to the songs that have been sampled. And this has caused people like myself to develop an affinity for those older artists, which in turn helps bridge the generation gap. Even if the repair is brought on moreso because of music, so be it. Every little bit helps, in our community. THAT is what hip-hop is about. It’s a fucking movement. What other genre of music can you think of that has such a global appeal? Little Brother can book a show at London tonight, and sell out. Wu-Tang could do the same anywhere in Asia, most likely. THAT is what keeps me optimistic about the state of hip-hop. Can’t you feel The L.O.V.E.? P.S. I miss Karen!!! P.P.S. #shoutout to #myfavoritenerd, Adina G aka Ms. Jager, little brah, and my Michigan clan…

I’m her hope diamond…

I received the dopest compliment ever recently. I was told by Adaj that…I’m her Hope Diamond. Sitting encased, inside of the Smithsonian Museum, in Washington, D.C., out of reach. Heavily guarded. Unattainable. A dreamer’s most outlandish dream. Because of certain circumstances, basically untouchable. I can’t even lie, I was caught off guard. It’s one thing to be told that you’re wanted, but it’s completely different to be compared to a nearly 200 year-old, 45 carat, $300million piece of history. You know how it’s said that “A diamond is a girl’s best friend”? This rock would turn Medusa into a beautiful, grateful, and cheerful PYT. You give your wife this diamond, and you’ll be her king for forever and a day. This diamond has so much history behind it…it’s actually cursed. To be told that you are someone’s pristine, out-of-sight treasure is mos def in the area of mind-blowing. In the vicinity of awe-inspiring. The proximity of “Whoa”, if I may add. I’ve received compliments before; we all have. But, to be put in the same boat as, in some people’s eyes, the most beautiful material object on the face of the Earth… Excuse me if my record skipped a little bit. Pardon me if my heart beat short. I apologize if my smile was big enough to make a pageant contestant cringe. Plain and simple, I’m someone’s Hope Diamond. And that is something that the average pair of ears don’t have the pleasure of hearing everyday, let alone once in a lifetime. You’re killing me, Snickerdoodle… P.S. I miss Karen!!! P.P.S. #shoutout to Adaj Droftaw(*kick in shin*)

Relationship summer school…

Oy vey. Is what I said a little over 4 months ago. My whole world seemed to come crashing down. A king, without his queen, I was. I was in more of a funk than Parliament in their heyday. I had something that seemed so genuine, so thorough, so…dope, and suddenly, it was no more. One nonchalant “I’m kinda blah about it” and it was over. There would be no more “us” or “we” or “you and I”. We would go our separate ways, which was something I honestly, before that day, never thought would happen. I didn’t understand what the hell happened. The blame was pretty much placed squarely on me even though I pretty much made anything we had actually exist. I went all-out, 24/7/365, and when I was told that any future efforts would be futile… Wow. I wasn’t sure how I would get over it. Then, I woke up one morning and realized that I’d done everything that I could for her. That SHE at times wondered if she reciprocated the love properly. That even though we’d both gotten out of toxic relationships, she was still holding on to her feelings for her ex, and simply wasn’t ready to let go. I was HER rock, and it hit me: Maybe she just wasn’t mine. Maybe her efforts, or lack thereof, wouldn’t have been conducive to the married life. Her reasoning for the split was, and still is, in my opinion, total bullshit. I’m not sure why she felt that way, but not too long ago, I caught a case of the let-go’s. I stopped caring. I still love her, and there’s even a part of me that wants to tell her that. However, I ask myself, ‘For what?’ Really, what would that accomplish? Shitted on and treated as if I don’t exist, and I’m sitting here semi-pining to hear her voice, to see her smile, or to goofily walk down the street with her. It wasn’t HEALTHY, mentally or physically, to stay in that state of mind. There were pieces that needed to be picked up, and a new path that needed to be walked upon. Sometimes, some of us beat ourselves up over the end of a relationship; especially when we’re made out to be the antagonist or reason for its demise and eventual death. We do this because we KNOW we gave the relationship everything we could during its duration…and all for naught. To not even be acknowledged, to be questioned and doubted. To be hurt, lied to, and seemingly led astray. To be told that everything is fine, when in reality, it was the complete opposite. It hurts us so because we care SO much. Can you imagine being ready to spend THE REST OF YOUR LIFE with ONE PERSON? I was ready. She claimed she was ready. Optimism and hope filled our lives moreso than the air we breathed. Which led to sublte doubts. Which led to uneasiness. Which led to the end. I beat myself up because I wanted so badly for things to back as they once were. Those of us that carried the relationship, whether emotionally, financially, or physically, tend to do that. It’s not kosher, people. Did we make mistakes during the course of the relationship? Of course. Could we have done better, overall? Again, of course. What separates us from them, though, is that we were willing to do whatever it took to right any wrong that had presented itself. We were more than willing to face every obstacle and hurdle…together. The thing is, we understood that no matter what transpired, there was a common denominator: a committed relationship. We committed ourselves to every little good and bad thing that anyone or anything could possibly detect in “them”. We accepted their flaws as a part of them, and not some sort of completely separate persona or behavior. The problem? The favor wasn’t returned. Whether you’d been lied to, cheated on, beaten, or just downright treated like shit, know that you didn’t deserve it. Working on ourselves afterwards is vital. Not for an undeserving ex, but for a more deserving potential future partner. I’m determined to not have my heart broken and put back together with stale, weak ass Elmer’s glue. I’m determined to be a better person. Not because I wasn’t a good person before, but because I want the next woman to know that despite the past, I’m better than ever. Despite any flaws or shortcomings, I’ve fully acknowledged that moving forward is the best thing to do. Moving forward with her. If love is a science, it is the biggest mindfuck of an experiment that there has ever been. Consider all of the variables. There are too many to count. Often, our hypotheses and conclusion are worlds apart. Mainly, because we’re in the lab while they wait around for the results. Don’t ever work late hours in the lab, with the test tubes, bunson burners, and laptop by yourself again. I guarantee that they’ll find a way to be disappointed by your findings. And you’ll have nothing to show for all of your experimentation and scientific research. Bill Nye the Science Guy should’ve aired a show on how to find the perfect love, because people like us truly deserve it. To all my fellas and chicks that STILL put in work in the lab: Your efforts will someday be greatly and wholeheartedly appreciated. Just make sure you don’t allow a slacker lab partner to take credit for something that they shouldn’t. P.S. I miss Karen! P.S. #shoutout to Peach(good look), my future wife aka @CookieMonster, Fowler, and last but not least…KMo.

Crushes

I HAD to chore(ups to @bishlu77 for the new vernacular)this one from my Blogspot page…
Seriously, I’ve probably had 1,000 crushes in my lifetime. They might last a day, week, or month. I could have a crush on one chick, or two,or six at a time. She could be Black, White, Italian, Greek, Cuban, Mexican, et cetera. Goth-emo chick or round-the-way girl. My crush could range from a chick from Westwood, Cali to Bridgeport, Connecticut. Sneaker chicks. Heel chicks. Loud chicks. Quiet chicks. Party animals. Homebodies. Chicks that smoke weed. Chicks that don’t even sip liquor. She could be in love with me or not even know I exist. I might crush on someone because of a hat or scarf she wears. Maybe because of her sneakers or the fact that she sounds hot when she says the word “fuck”. I crush on brainiacs and chicks that don’t know the difference between digital and analog. I crush on uppity chicks and those that embody the meaning of humble. I’ve crushed on athletes and cheerleaders. I’ve crushed on a model and a chick that has never owned makeup. She’s been a hard-core Conservative and a full-blown hippie. Sports or reality show fanatic. Thick and slim. Long hair, short hair. All of these are simply crushes. And there are plenty more where those came from… P.S. My current crush is a stretch, but a crush nonetheless…

First Shoutouts!!!

I’m on my WordPress shit! Two blogs, up and running. I’ve decided to use this blog to vent–about whatever. Everyday, I’m gonna ask those around me to suggest what I should blog about. I have my first topic, which will be addressed later. Shoutouts: Karen, Granny B, Adam, Bfff, Tiara in her tiara, Peach, Martina, J Earl, Sarah, B, the Animal House, Lacey, and Fowler. If I forgot you…kiss my ass.