Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Thug Lovin

I have always shouted from the rooftops my love of thugs. I have no idea how it came about, my mom thinks it has something to do with the fact that they are the complete antithesis of where/how I was raised, but I love em. All day, every day, baby, cause I’m a thug-lover. They are just so…thuggish. And yet, it might be time for me to hang up my thug life.

About a month ago, I met Trey, a chocolate, tatted, ebonic speaking, pit-bull raising, take no prisoners boy from the hood. I have no clue how, but he wound up with my phone number and I wound up shooting pool with him a few nights after. Okay, that isn’t true. He got my number from my cousin, who lives in the same condominiums as he does. Apparently, he saw me and during one of those routine-by-the-mailboxes conversations, asked about me. Now, my cousin assumed what I did: to not judge the book by it’s cover, after all, he lived in a pretty expensive condo. Maybe he played football…maybe he was a rapper…maybe he was Diddy! Stereotype central. Anyway, she gave him my number, sent me a quick text to let me know, and went off to shoot someone else with her cupid’s arrow.

Trey called pretty quickly. He was charming and complimentary and immediately asked me out. On this “date,” I was initially apprehensive. First, the location of our “date” was in a neighborhood I wasn’t too keen on, but it was a hood he knew well, and everyone knew him, no one “tried” him in those parts. Second, I was curious about the wad of large bills in his pocket, the rimmed out Benz he was driving, the hood ass accent that forced me to say: “huh” way more than altogether necessary. But there was something so incredibly sexy about him, so intriguing. See, that’s the thing with thugs. Their pure crazy masculinity murders any hope for a straight-laced, regular joe and before you know it, they are your crack. Addictive.

During our date I found out quite a few important facts, all of which contribute to my ultimate making of a true thug list. This is the diary of a REAL thug. I thought I knew, but I had no idea.

Baby’s mom(s). Trey has two kids, both with different moms. He also has an ex wife. She is in addition to the baby’s moms, not included.

Gunshot wound(s). Trey has been shot twice. One was an attempted robbery, the other was a botched “hit.”* He obviously lived through both.

Bitch/Nigga. Every dude, no matter what, is aptly called nigga. Every girl, no matter who, is called bitch. In fact, when we’re in bed, I’m always his pretty bitch. I haven’t decided how I feel about it. Is that a compliment?

Wads of cash with no appearance of a 9 to 5. Trey throws parties for NBA players-this is not to be mixed up with a party promoter. He isn’t that low on the totem pole. He throws like three major parties a year, kicks it with all these ballers, and doesn’t do a darn thing otherwise. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t sell drugs. Which leads me to…

Jailbird. Trey did a year in prison for selling drugs at the age of twenty.

Trigger Happy. He’s totally TI with it as he isn’t technically allowed to bare arms, being an ex felon and all, but he certainly doesn’t let that stop him. I’ve never seen it, and while I know it very much exists, this one isn’t totally based on firearms. Trey has punched two people in the face in the last week and a half. I have seen him threaten one. It’s very funny actually. It probably isn’t supposed to be, but I always laugh when he tells me how dude was disrespectful and he had to put him back in his place.

Actually, I’m going to stop with this list. It’s getting depressing, so instead I’ll switch to why I’m into him. Otherwise, my credibility might be on the line…

Jokes galore. He’s incredibly funny and I spend most of my time in stitches. Besides, when he laughs, he has these two dimples that pop out his cheeks and they are adorable.

Chef Boy-R-T. He’s a southern boy and puts many a gal to shame in the kitchen.

Moneybags McGee. I never pay for a thing. Ever. He might even pay my rent for me if I asked.

Healthy Arrogance. He’s totally into himself, but in a good way. He takes pride in what he looks like. His clothes are always together. He’s well groomed. Ugh, he’s totally hot.

He’s Just So Into Me. I think it’s funny that he’s Mr. Tough Guy, but with me, he’s like pure slushy mush. He does whatever I want and has asked me on numerous occasions to be his girlfriend, that he’s falling for me hard. (For the record, I’ve said no on every occasion. There’s just no point in being his girl.)

Member’s Only. And perhaps the LARGEST reason I’m with him…good golly. His member is like perfect. The most perfectest thing on earth. I can’t even describe it. I think about it at night, during the day, at the gym, in the market, in the park, by the lake-and I don’t even know where the lake is. It’s just awesome.

Protected. I feel completely safe with him. Maybe it’s because he’s so scary, no one will make any attempts. Maybe it’s because he can clearly take a bullet or two. Either way, my back is completely guarded when I’m with him…and when it isn’t, I’m laying on it, helllooo!

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins

*I think he was exaggerating on the whole “hit” thing. Here’s hoping.

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