Saturday, March 7, 2009

"Hi, My Name is Crystal, and I Am Not a Groupie..."

Maybe someone could explain this shit to me, because apparently, I'm just not getting it. There is no reason to be a groupie over anyone except Jesus Christ himself. Quite frankly, any monkey with a finger and a screech can sing into an autotuner, but not everyone can walk on water or feed five thousand with five loaves of bread. Yet, I digress. First of all: groupie-(n) an ardent fan of a celebrity or of a particular activity, as per Although this is it in a nutshell, I feel they should amend this definition. Many groupies, of the rap persuasion in particular, will do ANYTHING to grasp even a minuscule piece of this "artist's" attention. Please. I am not personally prepared to remove my underwear that probably cost more than dinner and throw them on a stage to be swept up with confetti, gum, and whatever trash may be up there. Neither am I prepared to air out my dirty laundry in a tell-all confession that may be a New York Times Bestseller but irreversibly brutalizes my reputation and my psyche.

I recently met a guy, who claimed to be a big-time producer for Slip-N-Slide (whether he was or not, I don't know. Don't really care). He was feeding me hella crap about all the cars and houses and shit he had. The thing was, he was used to women falling all over him and being guessed it. Groupies. Me? Not even, bruh! I don't know why I was not born with this seemingly innate female characteristic, but then again I don't ask why I wasn't born with 12 fingers either. And sidebar: this guy was not the cutest either. It was one of those rags-to-riches stories where the kid who was teased in high school gets a little money and self-confidence, swag if you will, and proceeds immediately to the nearest cool kids' table. Spare me, guy. Looks like if you take away the clothes, the diamonds and the cash-induced swag, I'll take the monkey with the autotuner.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Best Friend or No?

How the hell do people get caught up in such situations? Friends with benefits...or maybe more than just friends without benefits? I'm so lost. This person is someone you talk to everyday, think about everyday, but is not your significant other. Not even close. You can talk about your genitalia without talking about sex. This person knows that you have someone, and will even listen to you vent about your here-today, gone-tomorrow relationship. So is this dude my Jersey angel disguised in gentleman's couture? How can one put such a complicated situation in a box? Or slap a cheap label on it? Or do you even want to? I was once told that I was the only girl he talked to on a regular basis. How do I take that? He's one of the only people I can talk to about my problems without being judged, debate the most recent political foolishness with, and understand my dry, sarcastic sense of humor. So what damn box does this relationship go into? Maybe I can put it into one of those butter cookie tin cans...

Sunday, March 1, 2009

"Life Has a Funny Way of Sneaking Up on You..."

Well, hot damn, I looked up and matured and I didn't even realize it. Crappy life situations have the capability of making one grow up incredibly fast. For instance, I had an incredibly awful indoor track season because of "extenuating circumstances". When these circumstances were taken care of, it changed my life. I came to the conclusion that some people are completely satisfied with being mediocre...and I am not one of those people. It's funny how I used to tell people I looked up to things just so they'd get off my back; bull that just sounded good. Now...I don't want to just talk...the desire to be a "do-er" is so empowering.

Then again, there are situations that manage to get the best of me. For instance, my attitude is horrible. At first I used to voice my harsh opinion the first chance I got, be it toward a superior or otherwise. Controlling my snide comments was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Trying to deal with your own trite characteristics, once its been brought to your attention, is one of the most difficult things to do. However, I'm still not dealing with it in a healthy way; instead of me voicing my opinion, I emotionally shut down. Okay, and that is the end of Dr. Phil's section in this blog. Talking about feelings gets me depressed. Blah.

I also realized it's incredibly easy to listen to other people's bullshit and let it get to you. A friend of mine recently asked me why didn't I get married to my boyfriend and we'd been together for almost 5 years. This thought festered in my head until it turned into anger and distrust. I gave him an ultimatum: marry me in 6 months or we're over. This was an incredibly idiotic mistake on my part. This turned us against each other and made us not even want to get married. Moral of the story: don't let anybody deal with your bullshit...except you.

to be continued...(I always say that and I never do...)