VICTORIAHASNOSECRET

If you know me, or follow me on twitter, then you know I like to frequent the bar. But that’s neither here nor there. The bar is merely the setting for quite possibly the most annoying conversation I’ve ever had regarding my tattoos. And let me preface this by saying that I am not opposed to explaining my ink to those who are in fact curious about them, but if you see I’m busy having an intense conversation with someone else, then that’s probably (and when I say probably, I mean it’s not) the right time to ask me a million and four questions about my ink. And so the story begins… One night, I’m at the bar with my homegirl. I forget exactly what we were talking about, but I do remember it being a pretty in depth conversation. Next thing I know, I’m getting tapped on the shoulder…

him: *tap tap tap* I like your tattoos.
me: *turns around* Thanks. *turns back around*
him: *tap tap tap* So… how many do you have?
me: *turns around* A lot. *turns back around*
him: *tap tap tap* What do they mean?
me: *turns around* They don’t mean anything. *turns back around*
him: *tap tap tap* So… if they dont mean anything, why did you get them?
me: *turns around* I don’t know. I just did. *turns back around*
him: *tap tap tap* Well, that’s not a very good reason.
me: *turns around* I know. *turns back around*

Now, it may not read very well, but if you couldn’t tell, I was pretty irritated after the second *tap tap tap* so all my answers thereafter were, of course, replies of sarcasm. I don’t know if he could tell… although probably not, seeing as the *tap tap tap*’s kept coming, but ladies and gentleman, take heed, if someone’s answers to your questions are short and then they actually turn their back on you, they’re probably (and when I say probably, they’re not) interested in talking to you.

Sharing is caring. I got y’all back.

I get asked stupid questions on the daily. I could easily give you a good 30 just from my coworker who I so lovingly like to call Dum Dum. She don’t know I call her that, but I do, and for good reason. BUT, this isn’t that kinda blog. Therefore, I’m going to go over my top 5 most hated dumb ass question. Ready?

1. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

This is probably my number one most annoying question. For one, do you want me to have one? Cause if I did, I wouldn’t be talking to you. And really, what are you expecting me to say? You want me to tell you I’m crazy? My pussy stink? I get crazy jealous? Why can’t I just be a nice, normal girl who happens to be single and content?

My answer: “I just don’t.”

2. “What do you like to for fun?”

This may seem like a normal question, but it’s one of those questions that have infinite answers. You really want me to rattle off everything that I do for fun? Cause, I’m not. Even when I try to answer with a short simple question, I always get slapped with stupid question 2a. “That’s it?” and 2b. “What else?”.

My answer: “Lay around and be lazy.”

3. “You have any other pretty friends that look like you?”

Now in all honesty, ALL my friends are beautiful, but NONE of them look like me. But even if they did, you’re still not going to meet them. What I look like going back to one of my homegirls talking about “Hey, this guy wants to meet you, he doesn’t know anything about you, except that you look like me.” BOY, STOP.

My answer: “Naw, all my friends are ugly.”

4. “So, are you going to call me?”

Now, this question is really only stupid, if I’ve already told you that I’m not. I have on more than one occasion taken a number, but only after I prefaced it with “I’ll take your number, but I’m not going to call”. And that only comes after the whole “Can I get your number?” “No.” “Well, how about you take mine?” shuffle. You would think that after all of that a guy wouldn’t want to give you their number anymore, but NAW, they still do. And right as you’re walking away, they hit you with the “So, are you going to call me?”

My answer: No words. I just turn, smile and continue to walk away.

5. “So, you don’t have ANY black in you?”

If I just explained to you that I’m half Korean and half white, why would you even ask this? You think I forgot what I’m mixed with?

My answer: o_O

Now before I start, let me preface this by saying, that I, myself,  have been guilty of what I like to call the ‘push back’. You know, when the person you’ve been seeing starts getting a little too relationship-y, therefore causing you to push back and say “Hey, hold up, I ain’t ready for allathat” or in most cases, not saying anything at all and just acting distant like a sonofamother.

Yeah, you’ve done it too. Stop lying.

But let me tell you, some of y’all, be pushing back over the dumbest things. I once had a dude start acting funny cause I gave his ass a toothbrush after one of our sleepovers. Yes, a toothbrush. Now, wasn’t nobody trying to lock him down, make him the next Mr. DidyoureallythinkIwasfinnatellyoumylastname. I just was trying to make sure that if he was going to be waking up next to me, breathing all in my face, that said breath was minty fresh. I mean, excuse me for not wanting your funky breath all up in my face in the morning.

Basically, some people just really need to chill the fuck out. Not everybody is trying to cuff you. Just cause they like it, doesn’t mean they’re trying to put a ring on it (I really don’t know what Beyonce was thinking about with them lyrics).

Now, there are some clear-cut signs of stalker-ism that do require the push back in full force, but that’s a blog for another day.

Be safe kids. And remember, hugs not drugs.

I don’t get it… I mean, I know it’s a joyous occasion (well, unless you’re like 12 or so) but do I really need to see the pissy ass stick you just got done urinating on for you to tell me your pregnant? Is it that you don’t think I’ll believe you unless you show me some kind of proof? I really just don’t get it.

Now that I think about it, this  doesn’t just pertain to the womens… a couple of months ago, my male cousin announced his wife’s pregnancy by emailing me a picture of the nasty ass pee stick. REALLY?

So please, ladies & gentlemen, stop that shit. It’s nasty.

I was talking to the homie earlier when I mentioned I needed to go to Walmart.

“For what? Draino?”

Now, he was joking, but you know what… that’s exactly what I was going to get. It really doesn’t make sense the amount of Draino I’ve used this past year having to constantly unclog my drain with all the hair that falls out of my head. Like, really? Why am I not bald. I mean, I’m not complaining. It just baffles me, because not to sound conceited, but I got me a pretty nice head of hair.

And really, I’m greatful, cause the comb-over didn’t work on my 7th grade history teacher, so I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t work on me either. Although, a few years ago, I did have the bright idea of shaving my head and buying beaucoup wigs so I wouldn’t have to worry about doing my hair anymore. Don’t worry, I didn’t follow through. The thought of waking up in the morning next to the boo and having him discover a bald chick didn’t quite appeal to me. I mean, come on Kanye, don’t you think Amber would look much better with some hair on her head.

Don’t ask me what the point of this entry was. I think lack of sleep has finally caught up with me.

I just now (like 2 seconds ago, really) realized that today is my one year anniversary of having this blog up. So, umm… whoop whoop, yay for me!

Oh, and Happy Birthday Daddy – even though you’re not going to read this.