Status: Teneille is…Writing From A Nail Salon On Pitkin + Rockaway, Rocking
Mood: Masterminding Mischief
Listening To: "I need a chick that practice Tai Chi and still could buy weed"
Doing some honest self-reflecting, I realize I have some major hoodrat tendencies (on the low low). Yes, I’ve traveled the globe and can tell the difference between a dinner fork and a salad fork. But, I still have those “loud mouthed, shit-talking, confrontation seeking, head scarf wearing, chicken spot dining, Taral Hicks in Belly” hoodrat moments. At night I religiously wrap my hair (to the right) and then I “grease” my lips with Vaseline. I’ve gone to the store, laundry mat and beauty supply store in pajama pants and slippers. I’ve subconsciously given the boy behind the wheel of the white Denali with the loud rap music blasting the double take. And I too have picked petty arguments with the little phony smiling Asian ladies for refusing to speak English while tending to my nails.
An 80’s baby, I’d hit my impressionable teenaged years during the height of the mid-to-late 90’s Hip-Hop era. Before the glamorization of the “video-hoe”, most girls my age were being introduced to DKNY (“I put hoes in NY onto DKNY” - Hypnotize, Biggie) with dreams of settling down one day with a “nice little baller or a rapper, whoever money stack up” (Styles, Foxy Brown). As life is said to imitate art, I find many women (including myself) have unknowingly yet to evolve from these influences in their romantic relationships. We still all want to be your “Ride-Or-Chick”, the chicks to sing the loudest when Put It On Me by JaRule or Superwoman by Lil Mo comes on in the club. And despite the occasional possessive voicemail message threatening to either leave you, hurt you or both, take into consideration the fact that we’re a dying breed. The position its important for us to maintain in our relationships varies greatly from the naïve 22-yr. old party girl. A chick with a little hoodrat in her will probably work two jobs to keep the bills paid and “have you frontin’ in Armani sweaters” (Ain’t No – Jay-z + Foxy Brown). We’re a generation of ghetto fabulous “Bonnie’s” prepared to ride shotgun with you as we both fake it ‘til we make it.
And when you get put on and leave our ass for a white girl, we’ll be okay. We’re soldiers.
Just don’t sleep. We will run up on you with the Nina.
Mood: Masterminding Mischief
Listening To: "I need a chick that practice Tai Chi and still could buy weed"
Doing some honest self-reflecting, I realize I have some major hoodrat tendencies (on the low low). Yes, I’ve traveled the globe and can tell the difference between a dinner fork and a salad fork. But, I still have those “loud mouthed, shit-talking, confrontation seeking, head scarf wearing, chicken spot dining, Taral Hicks in Belly” hoodrat moments. At night I religiously wrap my hair (to the right) and then I “grease” my lips with Vaseline. I’ve gone to the store, laundry mat and beauty supply store in pajama pants and slippers. I’ve subconsciously given the boy behind the wheel of the white Denali with the loud rap music blasting the double take. And I too have picked petty arguments with the little phony smiling Asian ladies for refusing to speak English while tending to my nails.
An 80’s baby, I’d hit my impressionable teenaged years during the height of the mid-to-late 90’s Hip-Hop era. Before the glamorization of the “video-hoe”, most girls my age were being introduced to DKNY (“I put hoes in NY onto DKNY” - Hypnotize, Biggie) with dreams of settling down one day with a “nice little baller or a rapper, whoever money stack up” (Styles, Foxy Brown). As life is said to imitate art, I find many women (including myself) have unknowingly yet to evolve from these influences in their romantic relationships. We still all want to be your “Ride-Or-Chick”, the chicks to sing the loudest when Put It On Me by JaRule or Superwoman by Lil Mo comes on in the club. And despite the occasional possessive voicemail message threatening to either leave you, hurt you or both, take into consideration the fact that we’re a dying breed. The position its important for us to maintain in our relationships varies greatly from the naïve 22-yr. old party girl. A chick with a little hoodrat in her will probably work two jobs to keep the bills paid and “have you frontin’ in Armani sweaters” (Ain’t No – Jay-z + Foxy Brown). We’re a generation of ghetto fabulous “Bonnie’s” prepared to ride shotgun with you as we both fake it ‘til we make it.
And when you get put on and leave our ass for a white girl, we’ll be okay. We’re soldiers.
Just don’t sleep. We will run up on you with the Nina.
3 comments
i'm sorry, but no woman can call herself a 'real woman' without harboring some of these qualities...sometimes shit doesn't go as planned, and you need a chic to be your crutch....
...just don't cut up my clothes!!!!
Tell em Sport!
Omg how about using a metro card as a nail file, hahahahahahaha or patting your head instead of scratching it!!!!!LMFAOOOOOOOO...we're just beautifully flawed!!!!!!! What can we say!!!!
Post a Comment