Archives for April 2011

crafty mother…fucker

In my early 20’s, I dated Darrell, a man who kept our relationship a secret from his old-fashioned Korean mother because he knew she wouldn’t approve. She wouldn’t approve because I was a single mom. And because I didn’t have a college degree. And because anything less than a docile lawyer or doctor wouldn’t do for her firstborn son. Even if Darrell was living in a studio apartment with a bed that folded down from his wall, and his job barely afforded him enough to stay a member of good standing with his Jazz CD-a-Month Club.

When he finally told her about our relationship, she showed up at his doorstep and locked herself in his bathroom. She had a soft voice, so it was hard to make out exactly what she was threatening, but Darrell finally figured out that she had taken a pledge not to eat until he ended our relationship.

I was impressed. The dramatic display alone was enough to grab anyone’s attention, but I also had to give her credit for her speedy call-to-action. After hearing the news, she booked a ticket, flew overseas from Korea, flagged down a cab with her broken English, and showed up at his doorstep…all within 27 hours.

Three days later, Darrell and I met at a nearby Einstein’s Bagels for a cup of coffee.

He took my hand and said, “I have to break up with you because I don’t want my mom to starve to death.”

Alright, old lady, you win. I can’t top that.

Worst break-up line you’ve ever had to deliver? Overheard? Received?

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Monday Dare: Sha-nasty Poof Poof

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: Expand my musical horizons.

I spent the better part of last week in my hometown. I drove by the house I lived in as a high schooler. I had to settle for a slow drive-by since neither my mom nor dad still live there. Okay, so maybe I stopped the car in front of the house, took a few pictures, and walked up to the garage door to see if it still had the ding from the time my brother, in a rush to get to school, backed the car out of the garage without opening the door first. Thirteen years later, the ding is still there.I stopped by my high school. It was the end of the school day, and I edged my way into the parking lot as kids rushed by in their haste to get the fuck off school property as fast as possible. I remember the feeling. Most of the students had their windows rolled down and the music turned up. Unabashedly singing along to the lyrics, they looked happy and carefree. It reminded me of Sha-nasty Poof Poof.

Sha-nasty Poof Poof being the name I would have chosen for myself had I been a rap star. For a short week in high school, I decided that my inability to do long division and my total lack of talent in any other subject meant that I either had to be a rap star or a professional game show contestant. Combining my favorite soda, Shasta, my favorite catch word, Nasty, and the name of a three-legged dog in the neighborhood, I christened myself Sha-nasty Poof Poof.

I’ve always had an affinity for hardcore rap music. Once in a while, I might throw in a little Reba McEntire or Muse for variety, but if we ever pull up next to each other at a red light, and my car is reverberating from the bass, or my face is scrunched in concentration, know that it’s because I’m intently trying to decipher the lyrics of Lil Wayne’s 6’7.

Cal wants to know why we can’t listen to more easy listening favorites.

Because, I say, what are the chances of watching the famed Peter White thank his baby mamas while accepting the Academy Award for Best Song like Three 6 Mafia. Will Kenny G title his next song It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp? Chances are slim, kid.

Harv, Cal, and I have vastly different tastes in music. Any car ride longer than ten minutes invariably spirals into a battle to control the radio.

Maybe I’m being too stubborn. Maybe there’s more out there than Waka Flocka and Petey Pablo. I’m willing to find out.
I’d love some suggestions. Here’s the deal- I’ll do my best to listen to every single suggestion listed below, so I’d be grateful if you left specific song titles by artists rather than just the artist/group names.
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