... there's a reason why chlamydia spreads so fast.

Kn'amsaying. College campuses. What. The. Ff-- ... not that I judge ... but I do get scared in class sometimes when people breathe in my direction.

What if I get mononucleosis 'cause some dood kissed some young lady but this dood also kissed other young ladies and this young lady also kissed other doods and I end up next to them in my Psychology of Women class and one of them sneezes and a speck of saliva is inhaled through my nose, rushes down the back of my throat and INFECTS my glands with the mon'.

I'm not d'.

But that's not what I'm trying to get at. It's Halloween, and the costumes are dope. Sike. I cannot deny my testicular reaction to them sometimes, but I can say that I'm offended when the people of our world today insult my intelligence ... by claiming ... to be things they're not.

"Hi Matios!"
"Hi Kelly! Oh emm gee, it's so crazy to see you here at this 4 year university that I earned my right into and NOT because of affirmative action."
"What?"
"Nothing. Oh wow. So I see you're dressed up? That's nice. What are you?"
"You can't tell?"
"... I mean ... nah ... instead of 'no' 'cause they say I talk blacker than I write."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I'm a cop!"

But Kelly, my dear friends, is not a cop. She is a scantily clad being with hand-cuffs. Don't ask where. And Rebecca is not a construction worker. She's just wearing yellow tape. And Joanna is not a whale. She's comfortable enough with her body to not feel embarrassed if you can see her belly, bitch.

Wrong impressions are dope.

Stereo-types, I guess, are ways for us to interpret the world more efficiently.

Tigers eat humans, I stereo-type, therefore when tigers try to move into my communities, I will not allow them to take out the loans, that way they can't move in.

And even though it seems wrong, they're tigers ... they eat people ... so I don't care. I'm even willing to claim, as respectively as possible, that PETA can kiss my ass when it comes to this. Tigers don't belong in our neighborhoods, they're violent and they're probably moody since they are cats.

I wonder if that's why we call vaginas pussies. Equating a homo sapien with an effing HEAD ACHE of an animal. I would sock a house cat. A tiger I would not. A woman? Not unless my life hung in the balance.

I would even venture to say, as the single most respected spokesperson for White America, I would rather have 5 black families versus 3 tigers.

How is that for your three-fifths compromise.

Represent. I just repaired ALL racial tension within our country.
You're welcome.

Alcohol induced dehydration

In the spirit of contemplating drinks that make your face feel fuzzy, there is--I feel--a lack of information on what exactly a hang over is.

Maybe, while your liver is breaking down the alcohol in your body, it needs water to get it done ... so since it's being over-worked, it absorbs the water from all over which might explain the fatigue, the head ache, the fact that your brain is dry and et ceteras.

But I don't know. What I do know is that a hang over is a metaphor. It's your body's way of saying "... kn'amsaying? You play that s#%! again and I'll turn this liver green."

Which leads me to my next conclusion: there's a reason why alcohol ads are feminized. They're equated with a woman's sexiness and breastases and long legs and dome-shots. Not just because sex sells, and no Simonites, not just because we as a society want to equate women's bodies with objects so that we may maintain power.

It's a different sexist angle. Peep greatness:

If I equate a bottle of vodka with a woman, I'll ignore the head-aches.

;]

I'm just being cheeky.

I like Vodka. I also like potatoes. Potatoes and Vodka come from Russia. I like Russia.

Das vidanja. I don't know if I spelled that right, but neither do you because we don't use the same alphabet. So if you're a racist, cultural elitist who doesn't believe in alphabetic relativism then maybe you don't belong in California. Or maybe you do. Or maybe I'm no one to tell you where you belong because you are a human being and that would be both condescending and disrespectful. And so I apologize. And I Love you.

But you're racist, and you hate Russia because of a thing called the Cold War that most of us weren't even alive for. Some of you might consider Russians some potato fermenting, Czar Nicholas deposing, painted egg inside of a painted egg hiding, katorshka eating, Sputnik deploying, Bolshevik revolutionizing arms dealer to Mexico.

And that's not fair to the people that aren't those things. The few that represent the many. If you're not white, according to my studies at the University of Negrolous Radicalness, you do not experience this phenomenon on a tangible level.

... do you think that I feel sorry for you because sometimes when you go to La Bodega on 3rd Ave., people accuse YOU of being responsible for taking Aztlan? Well. I do. But that's besides the point.

My dear Russians. Matios doesn't blame you for the invasion of South Ossetia. Matios is angered by the stereo-typing. IF FOR NOTHING ELSE, then for the fact that you are the home of the Caucusus mountains.

And it confuses me when I see CAUCasians ... who don't realize they get the name for their socially constructed race from Russia (That place called the CAUCUSUS MOUNTAINS.) ... hating each other. Because then it's like ... no ... you're pale skinned, blue eyed and ski mountains too.

Hmm. So what am I really trying to say? Because as of now my intention seems unclear. That. I'm actually drunk. And the vodka got me thinking. Sike. But. What if that was true. Eff. That'd be a trip.

Thoughts on illegal immigration

You racists. Sike. But kn'amsaying. Conversation caught on camera 'cause I'm like the doper version of the Patriot Act.

When thinking about these big-headed, snot nose, money guzzling, whiney, helpless, coquettish little brats.

I can't help but be afraid of becoming a parent. And I wish I could say it's because of their syphoning, life destroying ways, making you slave for 16 hours a day to make sure there's some food on the table and clothes on their back like how my siblings and I made my Dad work.

Which I'm not responsible for, because if he didn't want any kids, we're Catholic, kn'amsaying, condoms would never work. He should've thought about the consequences of sexual intercourse before having sexual intercourse and kids 9 months after. Sike.

Sike the sike. Sike the sike the sike. Sike the sike the sike the sike.

But even with that sacrifice, seeing us moving towards something more than where we started is the ultimate source of pride for him. It makes his heart want to explode with joy to know that two sons have started in careers, another in a university--especially since he thought that one was crazy (kn'amsaying)--and a daughter studying neuroscience/psychology/social work/something pertaining to the mind that is amazing.

I'm afraid of having kids because I'm afraid of having the responsibility of raising a child, a life, a mind, in this place ... because ... failing as a parent is not like failing in a class. I'll go to Anthro, hardly do the assignments but enjoy the readings and discussions, take the F and feel satisfied at having learned something.

... but when you fail as a parent ... man ... a teen parent I can deal with. But my dumb ass kid catching an STD? He or she will get punched through a wall because by then it will be acceptable to sock your daughter since women and men will be equals.

We can dream the Egalitarian dream.

Who was the better olympian?

Jeffrey asked in a living room. "Hercules or Phelps?" Hmm. I'm not sure, but a thought came to mind. Kevin Sorbo is probably one of the darkest white men I have ever seen in my life.

I just had an epiphany ... what if he wasn't white? I would look it up, but what's important here is that they were both white and are therefore ... responsible ...

For ...

Sike. I was going to say slavery, which leads me to my next point. "How do you think the Portuguese got the African slaves? The Africans sold their own."

...? I mean yes. But. A) There's a problem with grouping an entire continent as one, single minded entity. And B) Those who were involved in the slave trade had a different brand of slavery than that established in America.

Africa, and the old world for that matter, had the Google slavery. The good kind. The kind you could get out of. The kind your children weren't born into. America had the Microsoft slavery. And you know I don't know why every one hates Microsoft, but I know they get painted as the evil folk. And therefore. Therefore? Therefore. "And therefore..." ... if I weren't me and my not-self self was sitting beside my current self, I would slap the being that is me now, but wouldn't be me if I weren't.

I'm afraid some news source will quote me as saying "Slavery was good," then all the black leaders will call me an uncle tom. Eff. Matios did not say slavery was ever good. They probably wouldn't quote this part though.

A recent headline:
"Obama/Biden
Osama Bin Laden
Coincidence?"

... kn'amsaying?

The South Cal. Diet

Carne asada on fried potato wedges. Also known as carne asada fries. Diced tomato. Diced onion. Fourteen globs of sour cream for an extra dollar. Eight pounds of guacamole. Red salsa (all other salsas are offensive, unless they will demolish your colon, in which they're acceptable). Lard. BOMB ass cooking oil. Sometimes beans, sometimes not.

A buttered quesadilla on a flour tortilla with a 3 ft radius. 1.5 ft since it's folded in half. Wait. Or is it diameter? 3 ft diameter. 1.5 radius. I remember. You use the quesadilla as a tortilla to snag handfuls of carne asada fries. A tub of horchata for $1. And that's a small. A large drink could saturate the Sahara for 72 weeks per slurp.

And a small coke. Because "the acidity of the coke helps break down the food for when you digest it."

Or. Maybe the meal is amazing with a coke. No need for rationalization. But what pisses people off? The folks who will eat that three times a day and gain 1 pound in 12 years. And people are jealous that. No offense. But I would gladly take a belly over hard arteries. Any day.

How I stopped watching pornography. True story. Except the very last sentence. Of the post, not the title.

So. Sexuality is a beautiful thing, of course, and I was taught that it was something to be saved and given. A gift. A promise. A level of bonding that's beautiful.

I said I believed that, but I don't think I was in the position to make that claim up until I was in the position to get butt naked and make mayonnaise sandwiches and decided against it. But then I thought "Wow. You know what. I do want to save this." So I tied my nuts into a knot and hid them in my back pocket. That's why I cry extra hard every time I get my ass slapped.

So in this same vein, I decided, you know what ... I should stop watching this saline breasted 40 year olds get penetrated, because I want to save all levels of myself for when I give it. The process was arduous. I chose not to use hard on purpose.

But an amazing thing happened to your afro-headed negro. I got annoyed. Kn'amsaying. All the talking.

You like that? You like that? Uh-huh? Right there. Right there. Yeah take it. Take it. Okay. Okay. OKAY! You're so strong. You're so strong. Tell me you Love me. TELL ME YOU LOVE ME. Bend me over. Bend me over. Yes. Spank me. I'm so bad you don't even know. I'm naughty. If you want that A you'll finish. If you keep quiet I'll untie you. See that horse? Et. Cetera.

Yo. No offense. But eff. Sensory over-load, my Loves. Enough was enough. So now I just look at billboards.

Is it really okay to just be friends?

The day will come when we've pulled back the seven layers of ourselves and get to the sensitive, bruised ball of whatever it is we are that deep ... and one of us will say "I don't understand why people can't just be friends," and the other will agree because both of us have experienced beautiful relationships that spiral into something potentially beautiful, but a little premature: a next level relationship.

But what is it about feeling like wanting to keep a friendship at a friendship level that makes us want to make it more than friendship? I don't get it. I do get it. Kind of.

We're suspicious of each other, and sometimes scared, women will feel like another man is going to take advantage of them, men will feel like another woman is just going to toy with their heart and so we're always looking for signs in each other that might let us know: this bitch will crush me/this asshole will scratch my emotional fabric because he's too scared to commit but then realizes what good can come of it but it's too late, but he'll tell me and make me question.

Once we've decided that we can just be friends, then there's no ulterior motives. We're comfortable talking, opening up, laying out the secrets, talking about what fascinates us most, how parenthood is scary in that we'll be responsible for a life, but beautiful in the Love it spawns.

Then what? We've been authentic and unguarded so we build trust, set an emotional foundation, then the biology starts kicking in.

"If I trust you with my secrets, I can trust you with my heart."

... why can't we just leave it at the secrets? Eff.

It's not just the dress ... it's what you bring to it.

I usually type up notes before I write to work from ... and I scheduled the post ... but then I forgot to delete the notes and come up with an actual post.

So if you read this between midnight at 1 a.m., you'd have seen something different.

What I meant to talk about was the sexiness that seems to permeate the air around women when they're dressed up, wearing their favorite pair of jewelry, eye shadow to the perfect blend of turquoise and whatever other colors.

Of course those things look nice, but I think it's half of what makes it so attractive. That type of dress gives women confidence, and it bleeds into their over all posture, interaction and self-awareness.

It's not always a dress though. You get it from women when they're in uniform for a game, or at their most comfortable in a t-shirt, sweats and a sloppy-slanted pony tail. It's a trip.

"Women forget that their sexiness doesn't stem from the face paint and the forever 21, but from knowing that they're as mysterious to us as the stars. They should learn to lord that over us."

Matios Emmanuelous Berhateous, 134 A.D.
Emperor of Monte Negro

Married language is a little different than us normal homosapiens of Earth.

In high school, there was a brief exchange between my parents about the big D. Divorce. And I was very confused by this because I was raised being taught that Love was about giving, that all senses of self were thrown out and amplified at the same time because you were not only living for yourself but for the people around you.

Suddenly, this nest that raised the lion-haired Matios that I am today was hung on a low branch with a lit match right beneath it. I couldn't believe my ears. So I went to school that day disillusioned. Going to my locker, pulling out my books, walking to my next class, in a weird hang-over type of haze.

My parents didn't get divorced though. They didn't even mean it. I don't know why the eff they said it. I know this because I told my mom once:

"Mom, you know ... when you and Dad said you were gonna get divorced I was really affected."

And she laughed in my face and hugged me and looked at me with the beautiful look mothers give when they're thinking "You're an idiot ..." but it's not just "You're an idiot ..." because the sadness that's kind of there while they're laughing is guilt. Guilt for having raised a child with so feeble a mind.

She responded:

"Matios. Why would we ever get divorced? We just said that to shut each other up. We've been together 25 years. I'm pickled. What's the point? I've been through the worst of it, I might as well just wait 'til one of us dies."

And she laughed more.

Then she said "I love him, m'ijo."

Eff. It's your fault, Mom. You RAISED me stupid enough to BELIEVE you when you SAY SOMETHING. How dare I trust your words. April fools. =)

I love you.
My mommy, I mean.

But I love you too.

Why DO birds suddenly appear?

I'm pretty sure I'm not on acid. And I'm not having a flashback because I haven't done it. Yet. Sike. So. Speaking of which, now that it's written, imagine if I apply for a job and they Google me and then give me a drug test just because I wanted to be cute and talk about doing acid.

But then it comes out negative, but then I would probably write about it and say "Wow, maybe I should watch my mouth because sometimes some people take the dumber things I say serious. You know I got tested for acid last week for this new job."

Then what? Would I get fired? Or would the company like the publicity? Will I even get a job? OH EMM GEE. I AM ABOUT TO GRADUATE. What if there are no prospects? Eff. What will I ever do. For shame. Oh Fates, have ye all not coca colaeth for thine eyes?

... but. Birds sometimes appear. Suddenly. In the morning. And I wonder where they stay because there are a lot of birds by where I live, and I've seen maybe one or two bird's nests in my life time, and I'm sure this is on purpose because they obviously don't want their eggs jacked the way we jack chicken's.

But still. Where do they go? And where do sea gulls sleep? I've never seen a sea gull nest. And I've been to the beach at night and I've never seen a sea gull there. It's like ... I'm in Love, the way they suddenly appear. Like the angels got together before you were born and put moon dust in your hair of gold and star light in your eyes. What?

You don't even know, don't act like you do.

Toilet paper under or over doesn't matter any more. The new question is: toilet seat up or down.

You know those days when you have to go so bad you rush into the bathroom and undo your corsette lace by lace and remove your belt, then unbuckle your pants and unzip them and pull them down, then tear your underwear off because it takes too long to pull them down, and you sit on the toilet without looking because you're in THAT much of a rush that taking a split second glance behind you is SO hard that you don't have the time for it?

Me either.

Look, my fellow inhabiters of Earth. I try to be as understanding as I can stand on any given day. Some days I'll give a parent the look of Death in Church while their baby is crying, ignoring the fact that the Gospel that was just read was when children walked up to Jesus and the apostles tried to shoe them away and Jesus said "Be like one of these."

Other days I'll take a beating from Jim's mom because she's going through a certain thing we call Menopause, or Hormonal Fluctuation: Puberty Pt. Deux for short. And it's okay. Because not only is Jim's mom single, but she's been through a lot in her life time, and getting spanked by her is clearly ... not ... so ... bad.

I Love you Jim's mother. And Jim. Dogg. I'm not even trying to get at your mom. Scout's Honor. (GOOD THING I AS NEVER A BOY SCOUT KN'AMSAYING!! BECAUSE THEN I CAN GO BACK ON MY WORD BECAUSE HONESTY WAS NOT INSTILLED IN ME!! N%%%%%%%%%F(*#@@#).

But. Look. Putting the toilet seat down after I'm finished flushing my bladder out is not so difficult that I can't do it. But. Audi taught me Progress is Beautiful. And so it feels that whenever I try to introduce this idea ranking second in foreignness only to chastity, it feels like ...

Should I even suggest that a woman look at the toilet before sitting down? So. This is wrong. But you know what I do just to get them back?

I put it down. I abide by their request. But I also leave it down when I urinate. AND I don't wipe it down. So now what? They have to take MORE time to take a handful of toilet paper that rolls under and wipe the seat. Unless it's already dried, then they have to get some windex and spray it down.

Consider your wish granted.
Mader pake.
I'm not bitter.

It gets awkward sometimes ...

When a friend has a girlfriend, and she is a great person, and you think this in a completely non-sexual way because she is your friend's girlfriend, but then he doesn't really treat her right, and he knows it, and he talks to you about how great of a girl she is and how she deserves someone who is willing to give JUST as much as she does, because all he gives is a fraction of that ...

... and then your friend makes the mistake of starting some deep conversation about relationships in front of you and a bunch of people, and you start talking about how beautiful it would be to submit to someone, to be absolutely vulnerable but trusting enough to know that your significant other won't hurt you ...

But then you get the feeling that your friend's girlfriend feels the same way you do, which is why she's been giving so much to your friend who doesn't give her what she deserves, but then you get the feeling that maybe she's drawn to that ... and you can tell she wants to be friends with you.

But you don't want to be friends with her because that's your friend's girlfriend. But she keeps saying things like "Let's go to lunch sometime," or "You're so funny," in front of your friend, things that would normally set your friend off, but he knows that you live by a certain code of conduct, and so he trusts you enough to know that you would NEVER under ANY CIRCUMSTANCE try ANYTHING with that woman.

I mean. Kn'amsaying. What on Earth.

Do not take too much time to pick a beer.

Once upon a midnight dreary, I was standing in front of a wall full of yellow and brown bottles, and behind us there were turquoise and red ones on a shelf, and inside these bottles was alcohol, because sometimes it feels good to be drunk.

But there were so many options. Arbor Mist has some nice bottles, I just want to drink that cheap liver unwinder to feel sophisticated. Hypnotiq is like koolaid with acid reflux.

Natural Ice is an embarrassment, as are all other beers that end in "Ice" or "Best". The lagers smile flirtatiously from the side. They'll probably be the drink of choice for the night.

Then, out of the distance comes a man white a banjo. Dirty t-shirt and holes in his jeans:
" Ey NIGGER. Hurry up and pick a beer! "

Oh, I said to myself and my friends as we laughed. " It looks like you got your finger stuck in a socket, boy. FIX your hair! "

I tried to hug him but he grabbed his malt liquor and walked out with his two kids who looked like the Children of the Corn. " Dumb asses didn't even pick a BEER yet. Niggers. "

So I bought Arbor Mist and watched What Women Want with my mommy.

When people say they don't believe in Love ...

I don't believe them. Basically.