Author Archives: blindfated

Flossing on some hoes!

Originally written on 12/11/14…

Flossing on some hoes.

So….Anyways

I was talking to this male stripper this morning.

Dancer.
Performer.

A dude that sometimes dances for money, in less clothes than normal.

Anyways.

I really had always heard the phrase “Flossing on some hoes”. So I’m all like hey Ja Rule, Puffy (or piddy, p diddy, puff daddy, sean puffy p dids combs, why the hell has he changed his name so much)…and other rapper folks/community….Hey what the hell does this mean?

I’ve always been naive about rapping terms, always messing up lyrics. Sometimes I don’t hear very well. Or understand maybe. Lots of times. Constantly confusing 50. I guess. I know there’s a glossary out there for this stuff, but I’m not in to it.

I’m so damn real about this that I learn this shit on the street. At 7 AM, from male strippers. Glossaries for rap tunes need to be life lessons, told by youngsters.

(Side thought, Xavier’s school for gifted young hipsters who know about rap tune terminology. Why do hipsters know about rap?)

Anyways.

When I asked that question. Literally no rappers answered. But this guy, this dude, and he was a dude, answered…
So flossing on some hoes is when you rub your penis in-between, around and on a butt. Up to and including a butthole. Not limited to females or males, or none hoes.
Can a female floss on some hoe without a penis? I really just don’t know. I think there’s a lot to learn here…
This explanation could be wrong. But source seems reputable.

Anyways.
I’m not in to this. Flossing on some hoes. Not my thing. So I left and went to work and apparently drove down a one way street the wrong way for 3 blocks. Apparently when you’re downtown and a ton of streets are one way and you’re only seeing the back of the traffic lights, you’ve made a poor decision.

Poor? Or more convenient?

I was getting a coffee and left in a hurry.

Anyway.

Narnia.

Corporate restrooms…. “Using them”

Originally written 12/3/14

Why not.
Observation.
Damn it.

So. I Went to the bathroom to pee. Just pee.

Grabbed a stall, thankfully someone was already using the urinal. “Using it”.

Corporate / Public restroom urinal description.
No privacy. Divider wall means nothing, definitely not a blatant reminder to stop looking around like there’s lost treasure. The damn thing is covered in so much pubic hair its like people deposit it there like there is some higher power asking for offerings…Sacrifices even, because no one, no damn body has that much to spare in the time needed to pee at this thing. Horrible. Puddles. Yeah “s”. Multiple puddles of pee underneath/directly in front of these damn things. Why. Why the hell. I like to think of people using urinals get just as excited to spin the wheel on the price is right. My favorite thing about my current buildings urinals is that there is no flushing, it just magically drains. But sometimes, sometimes it doesn’t. And people still use it. And that’s fantastically disgusting and mind boggling.

Anyway. I don’t use urinals. I have a long story, probably not that long, involving a truck stop in Arkansas as a kid, and that’s why I don’t use them. I should pen that soon.

Anyway.
After I pee’d, I left the stall. Went to the furious hand waving station. Yeeessss bang your hands around in to the faucet and granite counters trying to find that sensor that squeezes a teaspoon of water out and won’t turn back on for at least 5 seconds.
So much damn fury.
Damn automated faucets.

Anyway….

So really, what I wanted to talk about was. I saw a man go from one stall to another. The stall directly beside mine. And in to the stall I had just used. Pants held up with his hands. The door shut. He exclaimed “yeah there we go”, happily.
I love a good bathroom story. They always seem to confirm my worst fears. I don’t care for public restrooms. I don’t care for interacting with one another in said area, or really even near said area. A picture says a thousand words. But watching people do shit, quite possibly…literally….maybe…shit, in the bathroom just kills me on a daily basis.

Narnia. It’s tons of Narnia.

Master of awkwardness achieved

Originally written 12/2/14…

This morning. 4 in the A.M.

I was sleeping.

I woke up to the sound of laughter. Then more laughter. Then yelling. Then some more laughter. Then at least 4,223 curse words.

I go to the window and observe 3 dudes outside regaling one another with tales of how “hard” and “how much gangster shit people don’t even know about going down in downtown Charleston, SC”. “Charlotte isn’t shit”.

I think. To myself. Then out loud to my dog. “Man it must be a hard knock life…down there with all those pastel town homes and basket weaving folks, fresh affordable seafood, and cobbled roads.”

Dingo Marvin (my dog), gives no shits about this conversation and lays back down.

These dudes keep talking.

I put pants on (gotta have pants). Go outside, stand on my porch. Mean mugging these dudes from 25 feet. They all look at me. But keep talking about how hard it is in basketweavingtown USA.

Couple minutes.

I move to stand about a foot from these dudes, and say nothing.

Blank staring.

5 minutes.

They explain,”crazy ass you’re weirding us out”.

They leave.

I go inside.

Master of awkwardness achieved.

Narnia.