The Dr. Phil of the Streets: Dallas Cowboys Fans Born and Raised In DC

Disclaimer: I love the city of Dallas. I love the food, the atmosphere, the skyline, the beautiful women, and I love my family members from Dallas. I’ve been there many times, and I look forward to going back this year. I think all of my family  members that live in Dallas, and those that have relocated to DC from Dallas are Cowboys fans. I totally understand the fact that they are Dallas fans (although you might catch me displaying my mean side-eye game from time to time when they talk about the Cowboys). However, they are exempt from this post. Now…

Occasionally, you will see posts on this blog entitiled “Dr. Phil of the Streets,” where I will tell you what I KNOW about certain psychological issues retarding your progress on our planet. So, without further “to do,”  (as my boy Carlito Brigante eloquently put it), here goes it. I’ll start off with a little background info for you foreigners…

Washington DC is a football town. Fuck hockey, fuck futbol, definitely fuck baseball (which will be the topic of one of my posts later on this week), and even basketball. Yeah, we love the Wizards and the Bullets, but our passion is football (not as much as the situation in Green Bay because they really don’t have anything else to do, but pretty damn close). I cried when LT broke Joe Theismann’s leg. I can’t express to you the pure joy our city felt when Doug Williams and the “Posse” whooped up on Denver in Superbowl XXII. Remember the T-shirts and sweatshirts with Doug Williams’ big ass face on them that said “Touch of Class?” Aww man! Or what about when Mark Rypien, Earnest Byner and the crew whooped up on Buffalo in Superbowl XXVI. Remember the songs that the crew over at WPGC 95.5 came up with before every game? Corny, but pure genius! So, needless to say, I was born and raised (for the most part) in Washington DC, and I will probably be wearing a Redskins jersey at my funeral.

Which brings us to this ridiculousness…(Deep Breath..sigh) There are alot (and I mean alot) of Dallas Cowboys fans living in the DC Metropolitan area. For those of you that don’t know, the Cowboys are the Redskins biggest rival. In my opinion, this is the biggest rivalry in sports history. I don’t know if it has to do with the whole Cowboys vs. Indians Native Americans thing, but if you are a minority, then how can you be against the Indians. But anyways, it is a HUGE issue in DC! We play the Cowboys twice a year due to the fact that they are in our division. Some of the greatest games in history have been between these two teams, which makes for some good shit-talking opportunities when these games occur. It’s all in fun, or so I think…

My issue is with these folks in our great nation’s capital that were born and raised in DC that happen to be Cowboys fans. I’m talking about DC to the core; you know, folks walking down the street with Mambo Sauce stains on their Nike boots, rocking some Chuck on their iPod…with a fucking Dallas sweatshirt underneath their North Face!. Y’all know what I’m talking about. What kind of fuckery is this I say? Since the DC-bred Cowboys fans I talk to on a daily basis have never given me a straight answer about their obsession with Dallas, I’ve been forced to form my own facts opinion on this matter: they do it for attention.

We all have insecurities; even me! And we all have our ways with dealing with them. Facially challenged individuals get plastic surgery if they can afford it, but some accentuate what they have going for them instead of going under the knife. We’ve all seen the ugly chick with the incredible ass. She understands that she is not the easiest thing to look at around the face area, so you are guaranteed to see her at all times with some tight jeans that accentuate her perfectly rotund posterior. Do you baby girl! Embrace that ass!

Unfortunately, some individuals deal with their insecurities by begging for attention, whether it be negative or positive (look at that sellout chick on I Love New York). Some people want to be “that guy”. You know, that guy that tries to be different so people can pay attention to him, because otherwise he would be irrelevant. Oh yeah, you know him…This is the case with the Cowboys fans from DC. You know, the bammas with the big ass Cowboys’ flags outside of their car. They are begging for attention, even though the attention is usually negative. They don’t care though, because it makes them feel like someone is interested in them, when really us Skins fans think you are fucking idiots. Am I right or wrong? Yeah, you feel me…Am I breaking some ground here?

Hey people, look. I understand that we live in a free-ish, kinda democratic country. That means that we should be able to choose which team to root for, right? WRONG!! We all know that this really isn’t a democracy, so you don’t have all the rights that you think you should have. You have been bamboozled! Sorry to inform you.

I apologize for this long post, but just let me leave you with this one point. Love yourself, because when it is all said and done, you are all you have in this world. My couch is open if you want to talk about this. Moses knows that I’ve had to stretch out on a couch or seven to be the disturbed person that I am today. We will try to find your positive attributes, and I will help you focus on bringing those to the forefront. Then, you won’t need to beg for attention because you will get it without saying a word (or putting a dumb ass flag on your car). Let’s bring you back home. And if you don’t think that you need my help, then do us all a favor and jump off of the Reunion Tower. As my man Hal McRae says, “Now put that in your pipe and smoke it!” One…

-Contradiction

Random Thought #1 – Women and Shit

Disclaimer: This post is not about me. It is about a “buddy” of mine. I have plenty of room in my closets…so much room, that I can probably have a breakdancing competition in any one of my closets (real talk, as the young kids say). And if you believe this disclaimer, then you are crazy.

I have about 10 random thoughts every minute, but only a few of them are worthy of being posted on this blog. As much as I claim to know everything, I am guilty of being stumped every now and then (believe it or not).

This is a question for the ladies out there. What is it in your genetic makeup that makes you unhappy until you fill up every single inch of your/our home with shit things? Is it to piss us off? How many grocery bags do you need to hold on to? How many Victoria’s Secret, Macy’s and Linens N’ Things bags do you need? Do the bags become valuable after your favorite stores change their logos? Do you keep all of your old ass clothes to remind you of when you booty was smaller (cuz it sure isn’t fitting in those jeans ever again)? Or maybe the clothes remind you of when you were in a better relationship then your current one? I’m not even going to get into the shoes and handbags!!! What kinda fuckery is this?!

What makes it OK to go to Target the day after Christmas to stock up on marked-down Christmas ornaments when:

1. You didn’t use half of the ornaments you bought on December 26 of last year?
2. You had an extremely hard time getting your coat out of the closet to go to Target because the closet was filled with shit that no one needs?

I can remember visiting a family member in NC (sorry cuz) a little while ago, and she had little knick-knacks and statues EVERYWHERE!! I knocked over two miniature statues on my way to use her bathroom, and she got pissed. I literally had to tip-toe throughout her house in fear of my footsteps causing things to fall over. And she’s a big girl, so I don’t know how in the hell she doesn’t break something daily.

Lastly, why make a trip to Costco for meat when you were hardly able to close the freezer when you left the house? Why does a household of two need 15 jars of spaghetti sauce? Holy shit!

And ladies, don’t get mad when your man comes home late from work for no apparent reason. Please don’t get mad if he would rather chill with his boys then come home to you. Yeah, I know you IM’ed him all day about all of the nasty and sick shit you would do to him when he got home. But, don’t get mad. He is probably tired of looking at all of your shit nice things. Or maybe he just feels like your shit is suffocating him? I’ve never suffocated before, but I’m sure asphyxiation is not the way to go out. How can you blame him for wanting space? After all, you probably ignore all of the crap that you have that serves no purpose just to ask him about some old socks of his? “Why do you keep these old socks anyway, baby? Why don’t you just get rid of them?” WTF is that about?

So ladies, tell me what this is all about…please. Maybe your plan is to open up a thrift store. No? OK, then maybe (just like with 95% of the stuff you do) it’s just game. I’ll have to admit, y’all are the smarter species and most of you all have game. Maybe you suffocate us with the intent on us coming home late so that you can have your time to do whatever (i.e. talk trash about us to your girlfriends, or get down with you thug ass ex-boyfriend who could care less about your borderline “hoardish” ways). Or maybe this is just my “buddy’s” situation. Discuss…

Prince, KLB and the Bucket List

“If ur Last December came what would u do?
Would anybody remember 2 remember u?
Did u stand tall?
Or did u fall?
Did u give ur all? Did u ever find a reason y u had 2 die?
Or did u just plan on leaving without wondering y?
Was it everything it seemed?
Or did it feel like a dream?
Did u feel redeemed? In the name of the Father
In the name of the Son
We need 2 come 2together
Come 2gether as oneDid u love somebody but got no love in return?
Did u understand the real meaning of love that it just is and never yearns?
When the truth arrives
Will u b lost on the other side?
Will u still b alive?In the name of the Father
In the name of the Son
We need 2 come 2together
Come 2gether as one In ur life did u just give a little
or did u give all that u had?
Were u just somewhere in the middle
Not 2 good, not 2 bad?

In the name of the Father
In the name of the Son
We need 2 come 2together
Come 2gether as one”

-Prince

These lyrics were really on my heart this morning. Actually, I probably listen to this Prince song 3 times a week. Recently, I lost a friend of mine that I’ve known since 7th grade to a heart attack. Gone, just like that at 27! She really lived her life to  the fullest, and she tried to meet every single person on the planet during her brief time with us lol. I also lost a teacher from middle school and high school suddenly who was taken way too soon.

 It seems as though some people feel that they won’t be here long, and they try to cram everything they can in the time that they know was allotted for them. That’s deep!

I wonder if Kindra knew that her days were numbered. For those of you that don’t know, Kindra Latrice Butts was my best friend. She died a few years ago from heart issues also at the age of 24 (I think she was 24). Here one day, gone the next. Yeah, that one right there messed me up bad. A few months before her death, Kindra and I were beefing about God knows what; probably just normal, friendship bullshit. For those of you that knew her, y’all know that that woman was stubborn and that she could hold a grudge (LOL!). But for some reason, she was the mature one and decided to make amends. We began hanging again (popping that 1738, hitting j’s and laughing our damn lungs out on). She had alot of issues going on with her, but she kept pushing on with life like things didn’t affect her. She was trying really hard to finish her Master’s, and only death could’ve stopped her. Soon thereafter, I got the worst phone call ever. I would’ve been even more devastated if we were having some petty ass beef when she left us. I wonder if she knew…

All of the death around me reminds of this new movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman (aka Crazy Joe aka Batman) called the “Bucket List.” I haven’t seen it, but the commercials tell you what you need to know. Basically, these two old dudes somehow find out that they don’t have much time to live, so they travel the world, skydive and do all types of other white people stuff. Very interesting. What’s on your Bucket List? Here’s a little bit of my bucket list (let’s say I have a year to live):

1. Travel to South Africa, Egypt, Brazil and The Netherlands
2. Write my book on God knows what (maybe that should be the title….hmmmm.)
3. Have 3 or 4 ménage à trois (I’ve almost had two, but I probably talked myself out of both of them)
4. Take a cross-country trip in a tricked out Winnebago and interview all of the crazy people I meet in the flyover states.
5. Get a band, and perform in front of a club filled to capacity (I’m black, which means that I know how to sing and dance).
6. Record an album.

I’m sure there’s more stuff to add to my bucket list, but I can’t think of anything right now. What would be on your list?

-Contradiction

My Addiction

This is a shot-out to Sunshine, LetaMae and Young Rainbow (the most important contributors to my addiction). You all were wayyyy too much fun to see on a regular basis, although I indulged quite a bit (which is why I have lower back problems to this day). Sing along if you will…I miss you all.

“Addiction”[Chorus]
[Kanye (Female Voice)]“Why everything that’s supposed to bad make me feel so good?
Everything they told me not to is exactly what I would
Man I tried to stop man I tried the best I could
But (You make me smile)What’s your addiction? Is it money? Is it girls? Is it weed?
I’ve been afflicted by not one, not two, but all three
She’s got the same thing, about me, but more, about us
She’s coming over, so I guess, that means, I’m on drugs
Just let me peek now, I mean damn, I’m so curious
She’s got a lover, so the lies, and the lust, is a rush
Time’s of the essence, I need, you to be, spontaneous
Roll up the doge, henny and c-c-c-cola, then I’m co coming over
Cuz its ne-never over [Chorus]
[Kanye (Female Voice)]Why everything that’s supposed to bad make me feel so good
Everything they told me not to is exactly what I would
Man I tried to stop man I tried the best I could
But (You make me smile)I see the emotion in your eyes, that you, try not to show
We get the closest when you high, or you drunk, or you blow
So I pour the potion, so we could both get high, as we could go
Then I’ll get the lotion, and do something to me, when your thighs is exposed
There’s no turning back now, I mean I don’t mean to impose
Not now but right now, I need you to undress, and then pose
I’m into that now, catch a vibe, when the doors, get closed
Roll up the doge, henny and c-c-c-cola, and I keep co coming over
Cuz its ne-never over

[Chorus]
[Female Voice (Female Voice)]

Why everything that’s supposed to bad make me feel so good
Everything they told me not to is exactly what I would
Man I tried to stop man I tried the best I could
But… (You Make Me Smile)

(You make me smile with my heart)

[INSTRUMENTAL]

[Chorus]
[Kanye (Female Voice)]

Why everything that’s supposed to bad make me feel so good
Everything they told me not to is exactly what I would
Man I tried to stop man I tried the best I could
But… (You make me smile, With my heart)

I just wanted to ask you
Just wanted to um
Let how would I put this uhh
Let’s say all your friends
Remember the one
You said if you ever she would be the one
Ok, Ok, Ok (You make me smile with my heart)
I was thinking, hypothetically
I mean don’t take this seriously
Don’t take me: I mean just
Uhh not credibly
I’m feeling incredibly
I mean let it be
Just let it be
I mean you, her and me (You make me smile with my heart)
I mean you, her and me
Maybe, Baby, Baby
You know I was just kidding
Unless you gon’ do it

(You make me smile…)”

Oh yeah, I’m feeling that…

The first 14 years (get to know a brotha)

Let’s see…I am a complicated man. No one understands me but my woman (who am I kidding, she thinks I’m an asshole, and she probably won’t be around much longer if she has any sense at all). I was born in this great nation’s capital, and spent the first half of my life in the gulliest of the city’s quadrants (Southwest). I was raised by my mother, but I didn’t turn out gay like she expected. I earned my keep by mimicking Michael Jackson for my mother’s friends, and I made a little money by catching pigeons for Chinese restaurants (aiight, I made that last one up, but my mother did appreciate my mean Moonwalking game). My father wasn’t around, which doesn’t happen much in the inner city for some reason. Just kidding. I don’t think I grew up with one kid that had their Pops around. I didn’t get a chance to see a father in action (in real life) until the age of 10, when they pulled me out of Amidon Elementary (go Warriors) and put me in the whitest school in America for free (The Potomac School, which was out in the ‘burbs in Northern VA). Naw, seriously…they even had a Maypole. We didn’t have Maypoles in SW.  But anyways, they put me up in that joint free of charge, much to the dismay of my Conservative friends that were paying $10,000 a year for their brat ass kids to go. 

But yeah, everybody had a Dad! Wow man! For the first years of my life, I thought that every black woman somehow made babies on their own after ummmm 1975. Negroes had daddies back in the day, but I assumed that somehow science changed things for my generation. They had some reason to believe that I was smart, so they dressed me up in some bullshit uniform (oxford shirt and some khakis) and sent me on my way to  learn how to get into an Ivy League school (which never happened). Fuck. I could’ve been selling rocks like my friends.

This was first time in my life that I spent extended amounts of time with “Da Man” and his offspring. I learned alot of their logic, which was much different from the logic in SW. Apparently, “Da Man” and his offspring look down upon black people that beat them up for saying shit like:

“Hey, Outblandish can I touch your hair. I’ve never seen anything like it. It looks like pubic hair!”

Where I grew up, thems was fightin words (no questions asked), and you were looked down upon if you didn’t put your shoe on a muhfucca for saying that your hair looked like pubes. Needless to say, I was asked to leave the school  after a couple of years because I was getting into too much shit with “Da Man’s” offspring. Plus, the roaches in my house used to eat my homework, somy grades weren’t all that great either. Soon thereafter, my mother somehow moved us to the ‘burbs. No, not the white ‘burbs where the whitest school in America was. Don’t get carried away folks! My mother handled her business, but she wasn’t Jesus. No, we moved to the suburbs east of the city (PG County to be exact). It is supposedly the best county in America for black folks, which doesn’t say much for the state of black affairs in America. It’s worse now then what it was when I moved there in ‘93 though. I think most of the county is fucked to all hell, but what do I know (I pretend to be bourgie very often, which often screws with my view of black people and niggas). PG County has been the setting of many of my stories, and for that I’m extremely thankful. 

I’ll post (maybe next week) about the last 14 years of my life…stuff like being in love with a lesbian, breaking my leg and temporarily becoming a semi-promiscuous connoisseur of heterosexual (and lesbian) sex. I like to think that I have given up my whorish ways, but who am I kidding.

-Contradiction

Welcome friends and enemies…

As many of you know, I used to write back in the day when all of my time wasn’t consumed with fattening the pockets of ”The Man.”

(Is this guy my boss? No, but then again somehow he probably is).

Anyways, I am starting a blog (well, obviously). I don’t work as hard as I used to at my real job because I’m jaded and I’m mad gully ( a great combination), so I have more time to think and make fun of people. All of you have heard at least one of my stories, and most of you have folded over in laughter with some of the random things that happen to me on a daily basis…..like that time I had to elbow-punch out this bamma that was following me to the Metro. Or what about the time the chick picked up her steak at dinner on our first date and gnawed on that bitch like the king of the fucking jungle? Her silverware was clean as the Board of Health (It was our first and last date, but the sex was impeccable!)

 My closest friends (you know who you are) have cried (or pretended to cry) with me through alot of my pain, and alot of you guys respect my opinions on life (God knows why). Maybe because you are as crazy as I am, or maybe because you have nothing better to do. Just kidding…..I think. Anyway, I love y’all more than you know. 

The blog will consist of random musings on (race issues, religion, politics, sex, love, hate, cars, best places to eat, music, people with Bluetooth devices, the origin of stereotypes aka facts, ingenious youtube clips, Dallas Cowboys fans, Uggs, the next Olympic sport of people-watching and other tomfoolery), some of my classic stories (random sexual encounters, relationship crap, working for “The Man,” family stuff etc.), book reviews (I do be reading), album reviews, a little poetry (cuz I’m deep like that), tales from my Metro ride to and from work (the ride into the office is much more interesting for some reason), tales from my barbershop and run-on sentences. I’m really doing this for me to document the insanity that is my life, but it would be nice if you all would take a look at it also…and leave comments to make me feel cool. I will be writing a book one day on God knows what, so maybe this will be a good start. And I encourage my friends that know how to read and write to start a blog also.

I am having one problem though: I can’t figure out a name for my blog. Good start huh? I would like for you all (at your earliest convenience of course) to shoot me an e-mail with your thoughts on what the name should be. The winner gets dinner on me at Georgia Brown’s because I know how most you all loooooove fried chicken and collard greens (sorry, but it is true). If you don’t like collard greens, I will make a special request for parsnips cuz I’m considerate like that. (I personally think that collard greens are disgusting, but if you don’t like fried chicken  then you are a waste of time…so don’t bother; that is if you aren’t a vegetarian or vegan on some shit like that). I will buy drinks too…..but you will have to pay for your own. Sike. Think long and hard. There is fried chicken and a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 (Orange Cream flavor) in it for you. Times a wastin’. Oh yeah, and if you don’t live in the DC area, then you are SOL until you bring your happy ass down to the home of Mambo Sauce. Or, if you fly me to your town and let me camp out at your crib, then I will be glad to buy you some chicken and/or parsnips and maybe even a cold 4-0 of Steel Reserve.

 If you think that one of my stories is about you, it’s not. Don’t flatter yourself. I probably made the whole thing up anyway. And if you are in the story, you name will not be used….EVER. I’ll even change names and locations to protect your perfect and untarnished name cuz I’m nice like that. Plus, only like three people will probably read my blog anyway, so chill aiight.

-Contradiction