Phillip's Choice.

Talk about ass holes. Every computer I've worked on in the past two days have co-conspirited against me to ruin my goal. Yesterday, I was two topics away from finishing the blog and the damn computer wouldn't save. I stayed at work for a extra twenty minutes trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong. But, you know me and my ADD. I just didn't have the patience. I went home and knocked out because of course I had to be right back in this bitch a mere eight hours later. What kind of bum ass schedule is that? 6-11 then 7-12? Yeah PM then back eight hours later in the AM. Ain't that about a bitch?

So my friend, P. Barneez, gave me a list of topics today since I have officially ran out of things to write about. It's so frustrating sometimes because I get the sense I'm never going to make it to 100,000 if I don't have anything to say. So in order in which he gave them to me, here it goes.

I can tell the future.
Now I've said this time and time again that I can tell the future but no one seems to believe me. This isn't a trait I've had my whole life, however it is one I've been taught and I have refined over the past few years. It was my freshman year of college and I enrolled in Donald Lee's Fortune Telling class. Now for those of you who do are not familiar with Donald Lee, he is probably the most amazing person I know. He's humble, a real winner on the basketball court, and the best professor I've ever had. So, as I stated earlier, the past few years I've really been refining my skills. Let me take the time to clarify for you. I'm no Raven Baxter, I don't get those half ass visions that always end up being the exact opposite of what I see. Matter of fact, I don't get visions at all. It is just knowledge that jumps in my brain when I am asked a question. Any question. You can ask me anything you want and I'll have the answer, all thanks to Fortt 232. Just yesterday I dropped some knowledge on Phillip. His Kia was having some trouble like Blue, but Blue is back in commission and Kia is not. Phillip says he took Donald Lee's class but he's photoshopping. Because A: I never saw him in there and I know there was only one section, and one class. Period. And B: He didn't see this shit coming. So anyway, the Kia was breaking down or whatever, some sort of battery problem I guess, and he said that because he took it to the shop it was fixed and would never break down again. Please. I knew better than that. I had sharpened my skills so much he didn't even have to ask me a question. i just replied, "That's what you think." Well needless to say I was right. Just one day later, Kia broke down again, just like I said. Oh and get this the day after that, there was a hole in his coolant container thing a ma bob. So yeah, to make a long story short, I was right, but we knew that.

The demise of the Suns.
I’ve been procrastinating for months on writing this piece I guess when you have nothing left to write, you resort to that bank of things you’ve been meaning to write and haven’t. Well this topic just happened to be at the top of the list.

A while back I posted a blog about the infamous Shaq trade and the Pau trade. I had this amazing theory that the Suns were going to maintain the great team they were, and with the addition of Shaq make a legitimate title run. Well needless to say I was wrong. I hate to admit it but I was very wrong. It happens sometimes. Sue me.

I was positive the Shaq trade was the better trade. Positive. All the keys were there. The Suns were a next to perfect team, they ran the perfect offense, for them, and all they were missing was the inside presence. Shaq was supposed to fit the mold perfectly. Perfectly. Let’s just say he would have if I was coaching the team.

Where they went wrong.
It’s not hard to witness what happen to the Suns. They fell the fuck apart. They went thorough a, shall we say, identity crisis? Yes, that is it identity crisis. They thought that just because they have a big man, an aging one at that, they would drop the run and gun play that worked for them and play a half court set. Well, they were wrong.

What I would have done.
That shit is easy. Listen up. It only takes three people to run a successful fast break and anything over that amount is going to do nothing but clog the lanes. What does this mean? Leave Shaq’s big ass at the opposite basket and let him nap a little bit. He doesn’t need to run up and down the floor for them to be effective. His job is at one side of the court or the other, not both.

They lost their identity and that's all there is to it. If they would have remained the team they were prior to the big trade they would have been unstoppable. Shaq was not brought in to score he was brought in to be a 300 pound distraction. Shaq did his job. It was D'Antoni who didn't. And you all wonder why I'm happy he took that Knicks job. Please.

Fourth Graders.
I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. It's like fourth grade is the exact time of loss innocence. It's the grade they give all the girls the period talk at school. (Do they do that anymore?) It's the grade where boys and girls miraculously get cured from the cooties. It's the exact time where baby bad asses turn to big bad asses. I know when I hit fourth grade I started to participate in sports, I had my first boyfriend, and I went from innocent Celia to the most arrogant bitch at Panama Elementary. I was the best thing walking on campus. My socks always matched my outfit and I was the only fourth grade girl beating on the boys in the high jump. Fourth grade was a pivotal moment for my track career. I remember to this day receiving the golden track shoe right alongside my fourth grade boyfriend and walking down the aisle of arrogance together. Getting the golden track shoe is a big fucking deal for those of you who don't know. That means I had more first place than anybody in the whole fourth grade (even though I know I had more points than the fifth and sixth graders too).

But enough about me. Fourth graders today are even worse. Two months ago my cousin was the sweetest thing walking. But yep you guessed it, she graduated from third grade and now she's headed to fourth and her swag is mean. She went from barbie dolls to a boyfriend, listening to Chingy and now a fucking Myspace. I don't think I was doing anything but Oregon Trail when I was in fourth grade.

My mom used to teach the fourth grade so trust me I've done my homework when it comes to 10 year olds. Actually I'm probably over qualified to write on this subject. I was hoping the kids in my moms class would change my mind, but they didn't. Every time I set foot through the door someone is giggling, smirking, or whispering. All of which gets on my nerves by the way. However there was this one kid. He was BAD. Every day I was there he would have his desk all by himself in the room. No group activity for him. He didn't mind. I would always catch him with his desk up looking at a Laker book, staring at the Laker girls. I knew he was down when he said he loved basketball. I thought to myself, this just might be the kid to change my perceptions. Boy was I wrong. One day he asked me, "Do you go to Cal State?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Wow. So do you know some of the guys on the basketball team?" he said.

"Yeah, actually I do. I'm pretty good friends with one of the guys," I responded.

"Zack Grasmic?" he said with awe.

I replied with a valiant, "NO! No I'm not friends with Get Trapped Zack."

He said, "Well why not? He is the best player on the team?"

"No. No he's not," I was almost stuttering I was so mad.

"You don't know ANYTHING about basketball if you don't think Zack is the best player." he muttered.

It took everything in my power not to slap his white ass.

"Look little kid, you are all of ten years old. You don't know a damn thing about basketball. I've got twice the years on you and twice the years in basketball experience as well so you better get on somewhere before you make me mad." I replied.

"Make you mad? You are already mad that I know more about basketball than you. Oh and Micheal Jordan sucks." Then he stuck out his tongue, and hit the tether ball and it swung around the pole and hit me in the back.

I must have chased his little ass down for minutes before I could catch him. After two knee surgeries I can't say I still have those fourth grade golden track shoe worthy legs anymore. Oh but I caught his little ass. And rubbed his face in the dirt until he took back what he said. Needless to say, my mom got fired. Me and white kids just don't get along.

Blank VHS tapes.
So I've decided I am going to be sweding all my stories. [Sweding is from the movie Be Kind Rewind. Jack Black and Mos Def are unlikely friends. Mos Def works at a video store ran by Danny Glover and they only rent VHS tapes. Well, crazy ass Jack Black thinks something is taking over his brain, magnetizes himself, and erases all of the videos in the entire store. In order not to get Mos Def in trouble they start shooting and recording their own versions of the movies and getting the community involved. It starts bringing back business to the store because everyone wants to star in a movie. Anyway a new copy of the movie is called the sweded version. Pronounced ssssss-weed-ed.] I mean, I think my stories are pretty hilarious don't you? Who wouldn't really want to watch a movie of me punching that white broad in the face the other day over that barbecue? Oh and don't even think about saying that previous story about the fourth grader wouldn't be hilarious. Oh and that story about my highlighting co worker. Come on. It would be great. Anybody want to star in one?

Osmosis.
Two words, one concept. Osmosis Jones.
Enough said.

Pajamas.
I am purchasing a pair of pajamas with the feet in them. That's right, I said it. I am purchasing a pair of pajamas with the feet in them. You know the ones with the flap in the back and the zipper all the way up the front. It's my girl's birthday next month and she's having a good old fashioned slumber party for the girls. You know, the works. Pizza, beer, hop Scotch, side walk chalk, scavenger hunt. The works. But to be honest what I'm most excited about is those pajamas with the feet in them. I'm just scared I won't be able to find any to fit me. Has anybody seen any that come in zero extra long?

Diddy. Puff. P.Diddy. Puff Daddy.
No Bitchassness.


P.S. Thank you to Chante and Shanyia for sending me a text asking where's my blog. You are the ones who keep me on top of my game and for you I am grateful. I love you guys!




Until thoughts meet words...

( 20,065 words and counting...)