Martini Moratorium

This weekend I had a martini moratorium.

I mentioned in the Credit is the Devil post that
my two favorite hot momma items are dirty martini's
and vintage dresses.

I like the martini's with four or five olives.
I like the dresses sheer.

The Saturday of MLK weekend, I had too many 'tini's
and it was all Ghostface's fault.

See, earlier in the day I was talking to our dear friend Sweet Jesus
and it was one of those intractable conversations, where
I just wanna be like love me or leave me alone.

Don't get me wrong. I go hard for dude.
He has taught me about humility, he appreciates
the fact that I am a dreamer and he has never hated on my
greasiness.

But, the conversation was beginning to make
me wonder if he would just prefer to be my
friend instead. Would that actually be better for us?

Why did I say that?

It was one of those moments where you say
something, and you don't realize the gravity of it.

We decided to think about it and talk about it
later.

That evening I was listening to my pod. It was the new
Ghostface in fact. The more I listened to it, the more
"ignorant" encouragement I received, the more
I was willing to "to go hard in the paint".
It accelerated my anger. Eventually,
I got to the point where "I didn't need a date,
I got Ghost face".

I mumbled to myself, forget that fool if he just
wanna be friends.

I know, it looks pitiful reading it, but those thoughts
actually ran through my head.

Suffice it is to say I went out, ran into a new lounge owner
who saw my ID said Brooklyn and we wound up
chatting about Smith Street and Bedstuy and
the Martini's kept coming.

Here is the rub, the next morning I woke up feeling like
crap and I can go pretty hard. But I figured, maybe I
am a light weight now. So, I thought was just paying the price.

The following day I felt worse, like runny eggs in a cold iron skillet.
It finally dawned on me on Monday afternoon that
I had caught Strep.

ALL bad. There is nothing more humbling then getting sick.

I was calling the doctors, trying to get an appointment.
They were not trying to see me.

Dr. Lopez is not accepting new clients.
Dr. Greenberg can see you in March.

What. But I'm SICK TODAY!

Hence the moratorium.

To top it all off. On Sunday, my favorite,
vintage store, which is open every other Wednesday
from 1:00-1:30pm was open.
So I bought a new dress.
At least it will last longer than the olives in a dirty-flirty.



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When was the last time you told someone
that you wanted to be just friends?

Or for that matter someone told you?

Why do we underestimate the emotional impact
of some of the things we say?

Do you think hip hop has the capacity to accelerate our
ignorance?

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