BODIED!

LESSON:  Keep your whits about you when hanging with your guy friends and their rambunctious well meaning older brothers. Especially when your one of those girls that your guy friends consider a dude, because if things get exciting and they forget your 5'1" you might get BODIED!

As I sit at home breathing pathetically out of one nostril. Covered from head to toe, arm bandaged, head swimming in congestion; I thought I should try to pick up my spirits by trolling for music in bed on youtube that would remind me of better times. Just then N.E.R.D.'s album " In Search Of..." popped into my head. This album in incredible and if you haven't heard it please please please for your own sake listen to it streaming on this site: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzPLPb8QuuM&feature=channel. 

     As I played each song on the album, I came across a track called "Things are getting better" and remembered my homeboy, now doing his grown man thing down in ATL.  As I listened to the song I recalled many memories from the summer of 2004. 

      There was on particular night when it was incredibly warm but not humid and there was slight breeze. My boy, whose trini, lived deep in Flatbush. I loved going to visit him because frankly whenever im in East New York, Flatbush, or Brownsville I know I can get an excellent homemade beef patty. Im not talking about the golden crust beef patty's which are okay, or even worse those terrible no name FROZEN BEEF PATTYs that they sell at pizzerias and other establishments (that should stick to their main faire and not disgrace the staple foods of other cultures). But this blog entry is not about my love of bk, or beef pattys, or my homeboy from ATL; this blog is about me thinking that I can hang with dudes that are twice my size because sometimes I think im 6'6"  300 lbs, when I am really 5' 1" 119lbs. Anywho this one night we were hanging in the park across the street from my boys house in Flatbush, with him, his older brother , the older brothers two friends, and our childhood friend, and of course we were having a heated debate about what I just forget. I had been hanging out with my "ninjas" the entire day, and there was a little bit of drinking and spades playing going on which may or may not have led to this heated debate. 

Then there was conversation about football.  We were standing on a grass soccer field which is rare for BK but this is park is particularly frequented by West Indian Soccer players and I guess they frequent it because the city does a good job of manicuring the lawns; but again I digress. While the men argued heatedly about football I began to remember my own football public school and neighborhood touch/push-tackle days.The ever tomboy  for some reason I started to feel sprucy and thought  6'6" 300 lbs, I dont know what happened but just as I had thought like I should try to tackle one of my boys, WHACK! I got bodied. Apparently in my day dreaming I had missed the point in the conversation when the men had turned there attention to one particular game of football , when my friends brother turned to me and asked if he could demonstrate something on me, not paying attention and in my own day dream I nodded not evening remembering i did - all the while reminiscing thinking myself 6'6" 300lbs - and man when he sacked me I fell first diagonally up and back then i went horizontally across, shit I got like 5 feet of air man that has to be some kind of record. Of course what goes up must come down and so did I, fortunately onto the soccer field. I laid on the field sacked, cracking up. 

All the guys rushed over to me chastising the brother but laughing themselves. All they could do was say "Damn Son Why you have to Hulk- out like that. She mad little Dog." The brother could only apologize and say "I forgot homey she said yea i got carried away." I was still laughing. All I could think was "shit I guess im not 6' 6" 300lbs."  They picked me up tussled my hair as if I was their little sister and we all retired to the store to pick a little something to follow that hilariously harrowing experience.

Relax. Relate. Release. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Lesson: SLEEP!! Too often we get caught up in our responsibilities and forget to, can’t, or are deprived of sleep. When this happens check yourself or else YOUR BODY WILL CHECK YOU, and having you looking like a fool.

I once thought that sleep was something that could be done only at night. The day was for work, productivity, and play – the latter being my favorite. Yet as my first year of law school would quickly teach me sleep is a luxury, necessity and shit if you don’t get it, it will get you.

MLK Weekend 2007 found me at my best friends Bronx bungalow with her and her boo, enjoying a relaxing grown up weekend. The wild child that I am I thought that I could hang with them in all their debauchery, of course disregarding the fact that I have been neck deep in books for 7-9 hours a day for the four months leading up to this test of valor.

Half a bottle of Hennessey and a Cohiba later I feel literally glued to the lazy boy. I could hear a faint voice calling my name only to realize it is my friend, trying to make sure my catatonic state is not persistently vegetative. As I try to respond I feel (what can only be called the dark spirits from the mid 90’s movie ghosts) pulling my body back into the couch despite my efforts to rise from my semi conscious state of elation and exhaustion. Needless to say I was done. Little did I know there was an entire adventure ahead of me.

Finally revived and feeling somewhat alert, my friend informs me that we have an invitation to well known and popping lounge in the meat packing district. That’s right a lounge in the meat packing district most tourists wet dream, yet yours truly is half a sleep drooling in the rental driving down the west side highway on a dag-gawn Friday night! Yet somehow I am totally un-phased by all the commotion including leaving the apartment and getting into the car which for some reason I don’t ever recall actually happening, however something tells me we didn’t beam into the vehicle.

Fast Forward 30 minutes – all of which I was asleep in the backseat—we pull up to the heart of the meat packing district on 14^th and 9^th ave. My friend and her boyfriend have parked gotten out the car, and apparently asked me several times to disembark the vehicle… needless to say I am unresponsive, unless drooling in my sleep can be considered an acknowledgement.

Fast forward 10 minutes – finally I free myself of Patrick Swayze’s ghost get along gang and muster up a “huh.” Somewhat peeved – and rightly so – my friend tells me that we have arrived and we should go into the lounge. Feeling so irreverently tired that I could not care where I was because sleep was my ONLY priority. She could have told me that if I didn’t get out the car right then my breasts would shrivel to raisins, I would grow a third nostril, and patches of hair would fall out my head; But I still would not have gotten up. I shamelessly ask her if I could stay in the car an regroup, and I would meet her inside shortly.

3 hours later. I awake mildly chagrined to see them re-entering the car. I feel refreshed, but still tired; They just partied their asses off. Damn, Law School – the sleep thief - strikes again; No sleep had me looking like a fool.

PULL OVER !!

Lesson: Don't be afraid to walk around with a letter in your pocket, for fear of forgetting to put it in the mail. You may just see a postal courier from your car window about to cross the street and you can just drive by drop off the letter.

[ I once carried a letter in my coat for 3 weeks until one day after a meal, pupils dilated speech slurred I spotted a postal service courier standing at the cross walk. I suddenly shouted PULL OVER! DO NOT let that postal courier cross! We rolled up like gang busters. I whipped out the letter and handed it to the postal courier. Then we drove off.]


Lesson: Don't sit alone on a gallery bench in the company of small french children. The french are wildly sensual and know no age for flirtation, you never know when a 6 year old might come on to you.

I once went to a gallery opening with my partner. It was a beautiful day and everyone was out gallery hopping. We had stopped an interesting looking exhibit when we both noticed a kind of film area, with a reel playing as a part of the exhibit. My partner walked to the back wall and stood there to watch the film. Since im smaller I sat at a bench right in front of the screen, which was really only okay because it was apparent that I was not going to obstruct the view of even the shortest person standing along the back wall.

the bench was empty when I sat down but as the film commenced a small boy, with a rat tail hair cut sat next to me. I LOVE KIDS, but even i know that in a dark gallery where a film is being viewed is the #1 place not to try and entertain random children with googlely faces, unless you want to look like a pedophile. So with that in mind i sit on this bench, minding my own business watching the film when all of a sudden i feel something wet on my shoulder I look down and the little boy had his lips affixed to my shoulder!!! I of course start looking around as i know that the 10 other people present had to know (a) i don't know the kid and (b) i did nothing to incite the kid to kiss my shoulder. Talk about feeling like at any moment some angry mother was going to swing on me because as far as she knows she only saw her son peck kiss the shoulder of some random brown woman. But that didn't happen. When i turned around frantically for some sign that the others saw everything -mainly that I did nothing to make this boy think that his actions were welcome or okay - I saw what I immediately thought was a Parisian woman, who smiled at me. I felt awkward about smiling back given the context of the interaction, but something said I could smile back so I did. At the moment when I smiled back she spoke in French rather authoritatively and wave her arm at the boy who finally took his lips of my shoulder smiled and scampered off behind what I can only imagine was his mother. OO the French.


Lesson: Don't make googlely faces at the children of mothers who look perplexed, because the source of the confusion may become distracted and fixated on you.

[ I am obsessed with babies. Not in a scary R.Kelley or Jon Bonet Ramsey abductor kind of way, but rather in a more "aww goo-goo gaa-gaa" kind of way. Well one day, on the 125st AC/DB platform, I stood awaiting the arrival of the downtown A train. Having just left work I was a bit frazzled, but excited and relieved. Just as I descended the stairs to the platform I saw the cutest baby ever! She was maybe 3 and just look like a dog-gawn precious moments doll baby. I smiled at the baby careful not to look like the harbinger of "stranger danger" and looked away quickly.

The problem with being obsessed with babies, however, is precisely that you cant stop looking at their little faces. THe more they drool and make incomprehensible sounds the more one would like to tickle, make faces, and raspberry their little tummies. (okay so i obviously am not tickling or rasberrying any random kids on the train cuz that would be rather suspect but you get the idea.) IN ANY CASE, the train comes so I think I am saved from myself, but no I am followed onto the train by the mother, baby, and granddad (or at least I think its the grand dad given how close he was playing the mom, and his visibly gray hair).

Trying to minimize any attention that I might attract to myself by blatantly making googlely eyes at this baby I put on my head phones and look down. I forget for a second where I am and look up, In my upwards glance I catch the eye of the "grand dad" who smile at me. Still feeling awkward since I am the stranger smiling at "his" grand baby, I smile back and look down again.
Just as I resolve myself to retaining my downwards glance for the remainder of my trip I see the "granddad" walking towards me. At that point I realize this "granddad" is dressed in construction attire, and has fresh plater and drywall clinging to his Carhart jumpsuit. He sits down next to me, mind you im sitting in and EMPTY four seater, right next to me in such a way that i am now wedged in between him and the sidewall of the seating row.

Trying not to judge or assume what is going to happen next. I smile and turn to him, and with an intentionally surprised and restrained look I say, "why hello." Then he smiles, setting free the tangy spirit of some alcohol now eternally resting in his gut. I cringed at the rusty smell. (Did I mention he was like 60 + years old)

Anyway he says, "You know when I man sees flava he has to recognize it. And you are flava." I was stuck thinking -WOW... did this fool just refer to me as flava? The only thing I could think to do was tell him I was under age since im rather short and sometimes get cardedI figured it was a non threatening way to get him to leave me alone. Having complete faith this was going to work, I say "thanks, but Im too young to be having this conversation with you." Not even slightly daunted by my statement, he says "well how old are you? you got to be at least 18, and thats legal." (WOW this fool is like 60 plus and he like well 18 is old enough we know he does not suffer from E. D.) Realizing I got a live one here, I say "actually im 17 so im not even legal."

He says, "17... well when will you be old enough to fuck? 18 cant be that far away."
(cue drum roll and cymbal! We got to give him points for delivery, shock value, and the seemless transition from im sure hitting on the mother of a three old with child present, to hitting on me.)