Well, It’s Official

Last month a scenario that I knew was coming had finally arrived: My student loan payments were now more than my rent.

Unlike my behavior earlier in the year when I was first alerted that I would be abruptly making payments the size of mortgages in the South, I did not spazz out completely. I didn’t even curse as much as those who know me best would have expected me to. Don’t get me wrong, this shit still sucks. It also still feels like another distraction that prevents me from fully focusing on the work that would get me to the place where these sort of things will no longer bear that great a burden on me anymore.

I know that in the end, it is up to me that to achieve my dreams. I realize that sleep is a luxury people with my levels of ambition can’t always afford to enjoy. And yes, I know that I believe I can fly, that there ain’t no mountain high enough, and that age ain’t nothing but a number. Wait, I’m confused now.

Anyway, naturally with the higher the payment comes an even bigger workload and far more stress. I currently have some other really big burden on my back right now, but I won’t bother you with the details. I’ll be fine. I always will be.

I do want to say this, though: I’m still going to end up in the higher tax bracket that I belong in.

I hope it doesn’t take much longer, but it’s coming.

When that glorious day does come know that I’m going to shade the shit out of Sallie Mae, and more importantly act a true damn fool on that fucker of a financial institution, Citibank.

The week after my final check clears I am flying to South Dakota and staging a cut up of epic proportions outside of their corporate headquarters.

I’m going to show up dressed like a Saudi Royal and then proceed to stand on a crate with a megaphone and yell at those sum’bitches like a Black Israelite.

I’ll also have a BBQ pit out front and have random sympathizers join me in tossing ribs at the front door.

Later that day, I’m going to call out the big girl background dancers I hope will follow me around full-time in the future and hold a twirk off to Lil’ Wayne’s “Did It Before” and Beyoncé’s “Green Light.”

It won’t be all fun, though, because I’m going to curse and curse and curse.

Curse about how those assholes wouldn’t work with me despite my great efforts to be as responsible as possible. Curse about how flat out disrespectful they were to me at the beginning of the year. Curse about all of the people they’ve fucked over out of greed.

Oh and yes, I’ll curse myself out yet again for even turning to them to fund my education. But don’t trip: I’ll be directing much of my anger at their punk asses. Hopefully, I’ll have a camera crew there, too. I’d much rather show out with an audience.

If profanity offends you please skip the following sentence: I’m going to yell, “Fuck them! Fuck them! Fuck them! Drop dead, bitch ass Citbank! Fuck them!”

And then I’ll hit my dougie.

Don’t worry: I don’t want your sympathy, pity, or shade (some people are assholes, as evidenced by the piece I wrote about my plight for The Root in 2009). Just know that I’m going to pay it off and then I’m going to act a natural fool to spite these loan shark-like corporations.

Now as you were.

P.S. I’m going to start a scholarship fund, too. I have a heart.

Uh, I Thought We Discussed This Already?

My mama has a lot to do with me resisting the urge to place a choke hold on a select number of people in recent weeks.

This year continues to be one of immense highs and lows. While I’m certainly maintaining my composure to bad news that tries to eat at the good a lot better than I was earlier in the year, I still sometimes need to reach out to my mom in order for a much needed reality check. And encouragement.

Our relationship has seen its own highs and lows over the years, but in the past few it’s been consistently on the up and up.

That is, after we kind of got over the hump of me telling her I was gay.

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I Got A Plan

This is the face of a man with a plan. Well, a man with a plan that’s come across an increasing number of forces trying to disrupt it. Be it financial institutions I hope eventually fall to their knees in a slow and agonizing death or people so pathetic that they’re unworthy of my piss.

So yeah, things have been frustrating yet my excitement and hope for the future are still very much in tact.

What has me so giddy? Alright, I’ll tell you a little bit about it but you have to promise to keep what you read on a public forum as secretive as you can. Wait, unless you’re telling someone who could be of assistance in achieving set plan. If that’s the case, tell everybody…even the mayor. Deal?

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So I Finally Met The Queen…

If you’ve read this blog for a while then you know Beyoncé is my beloved Lord and gyrator.

You also know that I’ve long felt like I was the only one I knew who hadn’t met the Queen. I would run into the other members of Destiny’s Child through work or just being out, but every time I was supposed to meet Beyoncé it fell through. My unlucky streak ended on Saturday after I finally – finally, finally, finally, finally – met her.

I have been smiling ever since.

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Better Me, Fitter You

By now you’ve realized that when it comes to making note of certain holidays or traditions, I’m either a little late or a few days early.

But whenever I do decide to chime in, it usually feels like perfect timing once it’s released.

After last week’s manic-themed blog post about Satan’s henchmen (i.e. the private student loan industry) deciding to soil my life day by way of a ridiculous hike in my student loan payments, I think this entry about my plans for 2011 is right on schedule (even if it is on CP time).

You know, given this isn’t a real option.

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Feelin’ It

I have never felt more defeated in my life than I did yesterday.

Yesterday, I started my day with a phone call that quickly resulted in me spending two hours of my life crying on the phone with two separate student loan companies. I do not like to cry. Ever. As I broke down over the phone I admitted to myself and out loud that I felt humiliated.

Not only that, I felt less of a man and I honestly haven’t the slightest idea how to move forward. After those phone calls, I honestly just wanted to give up on everything.

And when I say give up, I mean really end it.

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How Rihanna Made Me Rewind

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Normally when I watch a Rihanna performance I’m left with one of two feelings: Regret or optimism.

Meaning I either regret wasting minutes of my life watching her dully sashay across the stage and/or pay tribute to 7^th grade talent shows, or I find myself slightly encouraged that maybe just maybe she’s improving as a performer.

The first Rihanna performance I saw on SNL definitely gave me the feelings of the former. She sounded bad on “Only Girl (In The World).” On the track itself, Rihanna sang the song with such veracity that I was left with the impression that she had grown legs as a singer.

Last Saturday, Rih-Rih made me wonder if she had already gotten those legs amputated.

To her credit, though, the second time she took the stage was much better. She managed to match the vocals on “What’s My Name” and the laid-back feel of the song actually complimented her style of performing.

But, there was something else that stuck out to me about this performance and I almost didn’t want to admit it. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to say this without sounding like a horrible version of a gay man.

Then I thought about it: I’m already considered one. Or as Luvvie put it about a week ago to me, “an inconsistent gay.”

I guess that means I might as well come out and say it: I wanted to have sex with Rihanna after watching this.

I can imagine how that sounds to my readers:

Probably something like that. I’m sorry, guys. We like honesty, though, don’t we?

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I Know, I Know

I had so many ideas for posts planned this week, but work got in the way. It got in the way of a lot of things — including sleep (more than usual).

So, yes feel free to curse me out. But, in the meantime I have two pieces for you to check out.

The first is my thoughts on the “It Gets Better” campaign for The Root. You can check that out here.

I also wrote a piece on the purported rising cynicism among young voters. While in hindsight, the polls I cited could be misleading, I think the notion of more people becoming turned off to be true. That’s here.

Now, if I still have your attention (I know some of ya’ll were like forget you, fool…until your next update) I would still like more feedback on a previous entry.

I’m working on something (not as slowly, but just as surely) and I’m trying to gauge interest in how readers to respond to things more at length at personal. I have an idea already, but more feedback would be really helpful. As in, would you want more, more in detail, and on and on.

It’s lengthy, but hell, it would make up for what I didn’t type Tuesday-Thursday, right?

Okay, so go here. Thank you.

Accepting Where My Piece Blows

In yet another sign that I’m a horrible gay man, I had no idea that today was National Coming Out Day. Actually, I had no idea such a day existed so I imagine that makes it even worse.

I guess this manufactured holiday you only discover through social media is a day people deep in denial about the natural order of their sexual eruptions step forward and say, “I’m here, I’m queer but I’m just getting used to it.”

Uh, welcome to the fold, ya’ll?

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Nice Guys Finish Shirtless

Can I tell ya’ll about the girl who vomited all over me the other night? If so, come closer to the screen but be sure to hold your food.

Last Friday after a festive happy hour, I was in the mood to twirk something. Or in the case of me living in a city that’s Top 40 hell, two-step every half-hour and hopefully do at least a dip or two by 1:45 a.m. when the club lights are turned on.

So I left the restaurant that we’ll refer to as doucheland (minus the great folks I was with, naturally) and headed off to gay world to meet with a friend. While waiting for that friend to find parking, I saw two girls try and carry their drunk ass friend.

As I was on the phone conversing with “Satana,” I watched these two girls struggle like hell to carry this poor foolishly drunk woman to their car.

They seemed to be moving fine albeit very slowly until drunk person tripped in her high stiletto and hit the ground.

Hard.

I mean, it was if she got shot in the head by a sniper snuggled on the roof across the street the way she went down. The poor person almost cracked their skull on the cement block. I felt bad for her.

I got off the phone and walked over to see if she was alright.

Mistake number one.

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