Wednesday, October 22, 2008

What's Going On

We know that cooking is not, nor has it ever been, my forte. I am just too lazy. For the first month of school, I begged Top Chef to make me food so I wouldn't waste away to nothingness. Imagine my pride, then, when I whipped up some Hamburger Helper the other day! And corn! So there I am, playing music (for ambience, baby) and taking a picture of my cuisine, when Roommate's BF (henceforth known as RBF) comes in with an armload of groceries.

"You cooked!" he said.
"I know, right? And I didn't burn the house down!" I said.

Then Roommate comes downstairs.

"You cooked!" she said.

Honestly. I made all those chicken pot-pies, didn't I?

Anyway, after bemused appreciation of my efforts, Roommate and RBF proceed to go all Iron Chef on me and whip up this...feast. Putting my poor salisbury-steak flavored, Hamburger Helper-y goodness to shame. I slunk out of the kitchen, recognizing defeat. I felt like Jazz on the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air after Trevor prepares creme brulee for Hilary: "I guess no one wants the Pop-Tarts I made!"

I had to laugh, though. And I didn't leave, either. At first (we're making progress, yes?) Instead I sat my ass (with my food, thanks) on the couch and watched Fantastic Four 2 while they prepared their romantic dinner for two. I don't know what they made (potatoes were involved), but anything can be a romantic dinner when the couple making it is SO FREAKING CUTE YOU WANT TO DIE. They are. She's so petite and has a tiny little chipper voice and he is tall, dark and absolutely positively fuckable. And nice. And walks around in--I kid you not--wifebeaters. The first time I walked in to that sight my heart almost stopped. Every time I see him I probably have lust in my eyes. I just know it.

Moving on. I just realized that there are a few people who are dear to me that I barely acknowledge here. It's partly because our antics are too long to transcribe but deserve a mention nonetheless. Dr. Argentina is a main character in the story of mi vida. He is...a lot, to say the least. He goes to Brother College and we've been friends since freshman year. Literally a party in a bomber jacket, he's a really good listener, and is smart as hell to boot. He's crazy and I love him. And yes, insert Will and Grace analogy here--applicable to me, Cali Girl, Ex-Roommate (henceforth known as Ms. Politics/Ms. Politician/or similar), and Sistah Girl, especially him and CG.

Take last homecoming, for example:
Me: Should I wear Spanx tonight?
Him: What the hell are those?
Me: (I explain this marvelous invention)
Him: (Without hesitation) Yep, put 'em on. You may get into a fight tonight and we don't want your ass hanging out: (Imitating, presumably, me raring for a fight): "I wore Spanx for bitches just like you!"

So yes. Welcome Dr. Argentina to the canon of crazy.

CG, Ms. P and me saw The Secret Life of Bees yesterday. Loved it. I had to read the book for class, and although it didn't match up to the text (movies never do), I loved it. Yes, probably could have been better actresses, blah blah, but whatever. And Nate Parker was in it, formerly of The Great Debaters fame. Yum-o.

Ugh. I'm sitting here in classes listening to psuedo-philosophical discussions that are slowly breaking my spirit, honey. Here we go. "Beyonce is too sexual in her new video blah blah." These fucking puritannical collegiates make me nauseous. It's like any type of sexuality or, hell, bare skin is shamed and thought to be Destroying the Black Community. Get over it. The dance team at Brother College is WAY sluttier than Beyonce's choreographed, trained dance routine done wearing a--ohmigosh!--dance costume and high heels. College teaches you to critically analyze, but I hate when people take that for blowing every single thing the fuck out of proportion.

Maybe I'm just not enlightened enough. Ha. It's just probably my dirty mind justifying its place in an academic setting. Well shit, if that's the case, I'd better make my filth-ridden mind a drink 'cause its here to stay, thank God.

*PS-will add links later, when I should not, in fact, be doing other productive things.

No comments: