Saturday nite- I painted my toenails HOT pink and embellished them with rhinestones. I greased up my legs w/ liquid bronzer - sucked in my stomach and cranked my bra straps up a few notches. Earlier in the day I had given myself a killer blow out so my hair was fierce. I recently colored it an extremely deep burgundy red and when the light shines off of my dome - I enjoy many compliments:) I generously applied a layer of MAC lipglass - and I was rocking the 2 1/2″ heels so you know I was looking like an eclectic Amazon in all of her glory. Narcissism at its finest.

The funny thing about is- I really wasn’t going anywhere extra special. I just felt the need to get jazzy w/ it. I hadn’t been out for awhile so I decided to hit up one of my favorite lil’ spots call THE RED SEA. It’s not a major club, rather a restaurant/bar/juke joint. But I love the music and it’s one of those places where I can go and feel comfortable. Ya know?

Armed with colorful language and charming personality - I stabbed out into the nite solo. I was smoking one of them funny cigarettes that I enjoy so much. I came - I entered - I got tore back off of the Hennessy and Hypnotic . . . Red Alize and Heinekens. Then the D.J. got to playing Bone Crushers - “I Aint Never Scared.” Too much liqour and Bone Crusher creates potential for someone to get hurt up real, real bad. People get a little bit too pumped up and forget it’s just a song. It’s a deadly combination, roughly compared to a Eminem and 50 Cent concert in Detroit. Aight!

Have you ever seen a stripper with dreads? I hadn’t, until the other night. She doesn’t work for the RED SEA but she was pretending to be a hired “go-go” girl. She was working it and twirking it. She was breaking it down on the stage and letting everyone see her thong -thong -thong -thong -thong! WHOA! But who am I judge? It was funny though!

So, I came alone - but I hooked up with some of the homeboys and we decided to ditch the RED SEA and head over another joint named the DINKYTOWNER (because it’s located in a area called DINKY TOWN). And that’s where i stumbled onto something lovely.

Unbeknownst to me - JESSICA CARE MOORE was in town to do a show @ the University Of Minnesota. Afterwards, she graciously came on down to the DINKYTOWNER to do a live set w/ her band and some other cats. She was gripping the mic -sporting NEON pink ADDIAS - terry cloth wrist bands - ripping shyt like a militant Power Puff Girl. She was DOPE! And I was glad I fell off into the spot, right on time.

Jessica Care Moore has worked with literary and musical artists Nas, Ossie Davis, Mos Def, Gregory Hines, CeCe Winans, Anthony David, Roy Ayers, Gil Scott Herron, Sonia Sanchez, Steve Harvey, Cedric The Entertainer, Patrice Rushen, Nikki Giovanni, The Last Poets and many more. She is one of the returning stars of the new HBO Series Russell Simmons presents: Def Poetry Jam and has been featured on BET’s, NYLA, The Ed Gordan Show, Teen Summit, The Today Show, and many more.

Fortunately for me, I had my cheap Target brand disposable camera. I must’ve got to snappin’ photos while she was performing. I got a few pics of her band too. When she finished her set, I approached her and asked her could I get one more pic (one of her not performing). But being the typical woman, she said she didn’t want to take any pictures because “her hair is fucked up”. lol! She was real cool. Since I’m not the stalker type, so I didn’t stay up in her grill all night, but she did tell me to email her the pictures I took when they are ready.

I’ll make sure to post them on Saucy Dame too.

I slept all day Sunday.

Um . . . Bone Crusher & Biz Markie w/ no shirt on = NOT CUTE.

*Image credit = perception2020.com

*Singing* I can’t deny it I’m a bus rider - Ya’ll don’t wanna fuck with me - my bus pass doesn’t come free - why everybody looking at me?

So . . .
I’m rushing - rushing - rushing - after a loooooooong and tedious day @ the office/cubicle. I hop on the bus - pay my fare - and make way for a semi-clean seat. The bus is in motion . . . I crack open a “Sister to Sister” magazine - attempting to make time zoom by a lil faster. I’m reading and riding - riding and reading - steadily the bus moves further and further away from downtown Minneapolis. When, suddenly it occurs to me . . . something aint right?

I scan my surroundings: I observe people chatting quietly. A few people are reading books. The air conditioner hums softly in the background. The bus driver announces each stop as he approaches it. Everyone on the bus is Caucasion, except for me. Based on this observation, I felt it was necessary to get the bus drivers attention.

Angelique: Excuse me; is this the number 22 bus?

Driver: Yes, but it’s an EXPRESS (code word for “We don’t stop in the hood, we roll straight to the suburbs”) bus and I make limited stops. I’ll be getting on the freeway soon.

Angelique: Oh? Could you let me off here, please?

The doors whooshed open and I got my tall-yellow-hurried ass offa the bus.

Now, I thought perhaps I might be going in the wrong direction. Normally my bus riding experience is completely different.

Usually:
I wait in a long line just to get on the bus.

Before I can get to my seat - (If I can find a seat) - the driver bolts off and my body is jerked into the aisle, causing me to reach for my balance. I pray that I don’t topple over someone’s double-wide stroller that’s blocking my way.

The bus is hot and funky. It usually smells like yesterdays MD 20/20 and reefer coming off of someone’s clothes.

Some ghetto individual is talking in surround sound on their cellphone and sharing all of their personal -ghettoish - business with the world.

There is always someone that gets on the bus - but doesn’t have their fare. They waste everyone’s time by pretending to look for the fare that they don’t have. Or they stall the driver just far enough to get where they are going. Or - they flat out beg for a ride. The hustle-a-free-ride techniques can get very creative. Wasting my precious time, nonetheless.

I have the opportunity to learn several different languages: Does anyone on the bus speak the Kings English anymore? Foreigners play dumb like they don’t understand how much the fare is.

Somebody needs his or her diaper changed.

I get eyeballed by some loser of a scrub and “mean-mugged” by some chicken head.

Personal conversations are out-of-control. And I’m not trying to hear about whose “coochie” smell like . . . whatever -whatever- whatever, etc.

Some sorry soul missed his/her EXPRESS bus and is trying to look out the window - like they aren’t scared and uncomfortable. I bet they will be on time at the bus stop tomorrow.

Basically - I have seen, heard and smelled it all. And it’s really a damn shame.

Last summer I had a lil scuffle on the bus, which resulted in me having a dislocated shoulder. I had a KUNG-FU GRIP on a chick’s neck. Thus, my arm was pulled out of its socket. I’M NOT BRAGGING. I AM ASHAMED that I let some heifer steal my sanity. My mother certainly did not raise me to cause a disturbance on the bus and “show out” like a clown. But I had to smack a chick dooooown. There was red and black hair weave (hers -not mine) all thru the aisle.
I think the “PO-PO” have me on video tape. Nuff said on that topic.

Obviously - I need a car. But if I had a car, I wouldn’t drive to work because I don’t want to pay outrageous parking fees. And, the traffic is too thick during rush hour. I’m sure I would be a product of road rage. I don’t live in the heart and soul of the “hood” but I still have to ride through it. Using public transportation as your means to get around, definitely keeps a person grounded. But I am a hypocrite – because I’m not interested in dating a person that doesn’t have a car. I salute all bus drivers across America! I personally could not transport the public 8 hrs a day and still be sane. I know for a fact that someone would get knocked the $%&* out!

Presently Minneapolis and the surrounding suburbs are preparing for light rail transit. They are spending millions of dollars to get the project launched by Fall 2004. I’ll be the first to let you know what type of experience riding the “train” will be.

Niggaz.. betta grab a seat
Grab on your dick as this bitch gets deep
Deeper than the pussy of a bitch six feet . . . - Lil Kim

THE FACTS:
I am 6 feet tall - a size 18 -and I wear a size 11 shoe. On most days I wear boots/shoes with 2 to 3 inch heels. I am busty - bossy- and bold. My clothes and language are colorful. I don’t talk loud - but my voice tends to carry. No matter where I go - I never blend in and I am always noticed. And for these reasons - I just aint to good at being sneaky. And because people are so very aware of my presence - I am ultra aware of theirs. I can peep out everything about a person in 2 seconds flat. Yes- the air is madd clear up here in the land of the 6 foot amazons.

YESTERDAY . . .
All of my life I have been a measuring stick to the male gender. Through out elementary - middle school and high school - young- bird chested - boys would come stand next to me - shoulder to shoulder - hoping they had gained some height on me over the summer break. “I’m almost as tall as you, Angelique” . . . almost.

In high school I dated college guys because they seemed to be less intimidated by me. I was tall and “developed” and for this reason I believe my attitude was more mature than the average teenager. I intimidated high school boys. I guess they figured because I am tall I would to be some big-bully-lady of rage -type bitch. They must of thought I’d be able to kick their ass if I didn’t like the way our dating process was flowing. I’ve always been know for my take no bullshit attitude, but I am just as tender and sensitive as the next female. I don’t consider myself to be “man-ish” in any form of fashion.

TODAY . . .
Not much has changed. Men are still intimidated by my height and size. When I open up my mouth and get to politic’n on some real and diverse conversation - the intimidation grows. As soon as they learn I can do pretty much anything they can do - it’s really over with. Brothas get to running for the hill - streets - they baby momma - the welfare office. . .

I’m familiar with the mentality. And I do not take it personal. I know that I am tall and beautiful inside and out. Or at least I strive to be. I know one day some fearless soul is going to come along and have me purring like a kitten. He will recognize that my height does not challenge his masculinity and I am not a threat to his “manhood”. Until then - I will continue to keep shopping for more stilettos and checking these weaklings. Besides - I feel like a big doofus most flat heeled shoes. It just aint me.

SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE:
One thing I have noticed is that is the tall basketball playing brothers that don’t want to give me any action. I don’t get that? I have some theories but it would require to much time to break it down properly. Short men on the other hand generally don’t have a problem approaching me.

SHORT MEN:
Short men adore me. I guess they feel I’m a challenge. Their bodies may be frail and small - but the ego and determination are of large proportions. They appreciate my beauty. They want to be cradled in my arms, while they nuzzle my bosom. They want me to talk to them like a baby and give them advice. In the bedroom - they want to break me down - but I just can’t picture myself twisted up in a pretzel - sweating and moaning and calling some little mans name. From my experience, the same things they want from me - they can’t give in return. I can only withstand so much oral pleasure before I was some rough a rugged - manly - ass smacking - hair pulling type shit. I can’t be unleashed if I feel like I’m lying in the bed with my son! That would feel just plain ol’ wrong. I can’t ride you little man! My 6 foot frame will crush you and you will never ever been the same. This may be Fantasy Island - but I’m not in need of another Tattoo.

It is not that short men aren’t attractive. I see plenty of fine men that are shorter than me. It almost makes me wish I could shrink down to size and maybe I would find my soul mate. I’ve met some shorter men with great personalities and the mental capacity to keep me intrigued. But that height and weight difference always lingers in the back of my head.

Maybe I’m missing out? Or . . .maybe not.

THE BOTTOM LINE IS:
When meeting a potential suitor, I envision a teeter-totter in my head. If I am on one end of the teeter-totter and he is on the other - are both sides balanced? If his legs are dangling high in the air - like Michael Jackson’s baby’s legs were hanging over that banister in Berlin. - then I can’t fuck with him. Period.

It’s a cold world, huh? Just like I’m not approached for being considered too tall or too fat, I’m rejecting brothers for being to short. I guess that’s the way it is. I’m just trying to get in where I fit in.