Great Expectations

Hello, all. I’m back. Yes, I neglected you for an entire week. I’m sorry. I had things to take care of like trim my nose hairs and eat newborn babies (with the arrival of the Spring Equinox, it is Caribbean-Canadian tradition that several babies be sacrificed and consumed between buns and slathered in ketchup. Oh wait… that’s hotdogs. I was probably at a barbeque). The brief lovely weather Toronto had last week has left me in a chipper mood despite the heartbreaking 4 degrees Celsius outside today. It may be for that very reason that I have lately been having a lower tolerance to people who fucking whine too much. The sun is goddamn shining, bitch! Crack a smile; it won’t kill you.

We’ve all done it. Cried about first-world problems.

“My mobile phone with an 8MP camera, a dictionary, a virtual circus, and the ability to raise my kids is on the fritz! It won’t access Facebook because there’s no WiFi! My life is ending!”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!!! My otherwise super-loving boyfriend won’t answer my texts. It’s been ten whole minutes!”

“Oh, God. I ate too much. I gained 30 lbs. But I’m going to keep over-eating and everything I put in my mouth will be bullshit. And then I won’t exercise except moving my mouth to bitch about my life.”

“Oh noooooooo! I didn’t get to go to Disneyland this year! What will Mickey and Minnie do without meeee?”

Trust me. They're fine without you...

Every time anyone spouts this hog shit (including myself), all I can think is, Jesus Christ. Meanwhile in the Congo…

I don’t mean to use third-world countries to prove a point. I don’t like comparing because those nations have different histories which surface their issues today (i.e. colonialism is a big part of why we’re rich and they are in huge debt…). It seems that in Western society we cry for shit all the time and think the world owes us a mansion with an expensive car. We intentionally look for shit to be upset about. Yeah, I said it.

Generation Y is fucking spoiled. I have serious doubts about the world’s future if we don’t grow the fuck up real fast and start actually working for what we get. Instead, we have been conditioned to seek hand-outs at every corner whilst charming the world with our renowned genius and charm. Having mummy and daddy pay all your expenses to drink and party and make a damn fool of yourself is in no way honourable. And then you have the gall to open your stink-ass mouth and complain because you failed your exams for which you didn’t study!? Two words: Fuck you.

Motherfucker, work with what you’ve got. Don’t be a dick. If shit’s not going your way, we live in a world bursting with opportunity. Change it. Even if you’re part of a marginalised community, you can change it. However, you have to work. If you’re too fucking lazy to work, then shut up. I don’t want to hear you whine about fuckery.

Of course, this is much different from someone venting to a friend because they have actually had it hard and it is clear they did not cause that bullocks upon themselves. For the rest, I have zero pity.


I’ll Get Shot

Oh, man. Thank God it’s Friday. It has been a long-ass week. All I want to do is snooze.

So I feel that lately I keep coming across the same… catch-phrase, if you will, when having what I thought to be casual to semi-intelligent conversations. It has quite sadly come to my attention that people are even more daft than I thought, to the point where I’m not even fucking sure how they made it this far in life.

People ask me all the time where I’m from because I have a slight accent, depending on how comfortable I am in the situation. I have no problem telling them that my very Jamaican grandmother took care of me when I was young, setting Jamaican inflection patterns in my speech. This is usually when the person gets really excited. “Oh, that’s so cool! Jamaica! I’ve always wanted to go there, but I’m afraid. I’ll probably get shot because I’m white.”

He plans to shoot her later

I’m never sure whether to be pissed off or feel bad that they’re so stupid. You think you’re going to get shot in a place where a lot of black people live because you’re white? What the fuck kind of troll logic is that? No, I change my mind. You must be extremely fucking idiotic to come up with that piece of trash to tell me. I feel like shooting you for real when I have to hear that nonsense.

Let me first make something very clear. White people have been living in Jamaica by choice since colonial times. If the black, Indian, and Chinese people there wanted to get rid of them, it would have already happened. Trust, they already did it to McDonald’s.

Secondly, I’m not sure why in God’s name you have this idea that black-concentrated populations are the equivalent to a modern-day gas chamber for white folk. Do you think this is the Holocaust? Seriously, I’m not playing. Why do you think that your mere, insignificant existence in the world is going to bother every black person so much that their reflex would be to kill you? What makes you so important? I’m sorry. Black people probably have better shit to do than kill and torture white people who come to their neighbourhoods. I certainly cannot speak for all people who share the phenotype, but I know I enjoy activities such as playing video games, working out, and reading books. But no doubt my primary life concern is to quench my white blood-thirst and fuel racial tension.

Thirdly, do you not think it is possible that this could happen the other way around? Oh wait…

Fig.1 A traditional African carnival cruise to the Americas

All shits and giggles aside, the question still stands. I have lived in primarily white neighbourhoods my whole life and have yet to have the Ku Klux Klan burn crosses on my front lawn and hang me from a tree. I don’t live in fear that it will happen, either.

Fourthly, in regards to Jamaica specifically, as a third-world country it gets a lot of its income from tourism. Shooting tourists is a terrible idea. Now, I’m not sure which countries you’ve visited, but clearly you’ve had some fucked up experiences if you think that that’s going to happen on vacation. If you’re white, they’ll probably treat you better because they know you have money. Dumbass.

I hope that clears up (mainly) white concern for being shot in areas where black people live. These places can be dangerous (just like any other) but your risk of getting murdered increases if you don’t mind your own fucking business, are a drug dealer, a gang member, a police officer having to bust people, and when you say dumb shit like, “I’ll probably get shot because I’m white.”

Never Before

You know that awkward moment when you’re walking down the street with your best friend when, suddenly, a man holding a bunch of bananas and a box of cookies stops you and says, “Excuse me. I’ve gotta be honest… Would you like to buy some bananas?” No? You must live a sad and sheltered life, then.

New experiences are fantastic. They’re so fucking great, in fact, that it’s innate for people to want to tell others about them. No big deal, right? Wrong. Sharing with your friends that you drunkenly made out with a carved pumpkin on Halloween is a lot different than confessing your life story to a complete stranger. Trust me; I have experience. As the complete stranger who wants nothing more than to shoot themselves in the foot as some random drones in their ear.

A friend of mine convinced me to go clubbing with her and a group of friends one night. I don’t know why the fuck I went. As a woman, being in a nightclub is the worst experience ever. There’s always some creepy guy who dances like a dog in heat following you the whole night, some annoying-ass girl you’ve never met trying to make friends with you because her (intelligent?) friends ditched her there, and several drunk and skimpily-clad girls vomiting in all over the washroom stalls so it’s impossible to pee. By the end of the night you just want to tell everyone to wipe their ass with barbed wire or Falcon Punch them in the crotch.

I digress.

About halfway through our magical and unabashedly drunken evening, a guy approached me and asked me to dance. My logic was that he was wearing a really cool fedora and maybe he would give it to me later, so I said yes. Like a fucking fool. As we danced we made small talk and I mentioned that I really liked his hat, so he let me try it on (mission: halfway accomplished). Two minutes later, he leaned in and said in my ear:

This is fun. I’ve never danced with a black girl before.

Bloody. Fucking. Shitcakes. Are you new? How am I even supposed to respond to that? You don’t tell a girl that you have no fucking clue what you’re doing. “Hmm… I’ve never worked with this model before but I’m sure that if I just use my wrench and tweak…” No, dumbass. Just no. Do you go to your goddamn job interviews and tell them that sort of shit? Yes, everyone lies on their resume but you don’t just straight up say that you have no experience and expect to get the job. How in Jesus’ name do expect me to take you seriously at this point?

The thing is, this was not the first or last time I’ve had some idiot admit that he wants me to be his black girl fix.

I want to fuck a black girl. I’ve never fucked a black girl before. I know I’m no black guy but…

I’ve never dated a black girl before. I think they’re just so much more spirited than white girls.

I’ve never liked a black girl before. I think you’re the first. You’re really pretty for a black girl.

Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to be flattered? Not only is the stupidest man in the room trying to talk to me, but he also thinks that he should win an award for it, too! I do not give even an eighth of fuck that you haven’t had whatever experience with my race before. What makes you real dumb is the fact that you assume it would be so different from whatever the fuck you’ve experienced that you couldn’t keep your lips firmly pressed together. You just had to blab away and ruin it with, “I don’t have the credentials.” Well, then peace out, motherfucker! I’ll find someone who does. I assume dating human beings still counts as having the full credentials. If not, I don’t know what the fuck kind of weirdness you’ve been up to.

As for the fedora guy, I should have hijacked his hat.

Let me demonstrate to you all the ways…

People talk a lot of shit. That seems to have been the theme of my weekend. People speak too much and think too goddamn little. It’s a real shame, too, because that usually means the difference between enjoyable conversation and a moment awkward enough to make Kanye West look like he was in the right telling Beyonce she had the greatest music video of all time. One of the easiest examples is demonstrating.

Demonstrating is when some freak show of a human being decides that they need to interrupt my fucking day and show me (to prove to themselves) that they are or are not something. Because God enjoys trolling my life, randoms come from far and wide to demonstrate to me that they aren’t racist. As if that’s my problem.

On Saturday night, I went out to the bar (a rarity in my social experiences as of late) with a few friends after our performance. It was great; we had drinks, some laughs, and a strange old man offered me free cake (I politely declined). We were at the point of deliciously inebriated when one of the servers approached our table. He looked at me.

“You know what? People can be so stupid.”

“Oh, really?” I said as if I had no clue that he was about to say something dumb. “What happened?”

“Well, I was just downstairs talking to this group of guys at this table. All of them were white and there was one black guy.” He paused for effect, or very possibly because the tumour in his brain slowed down his thought process. I stared at him blankly, waiting for him to finish. I figured the faster he finished his demonstration, the faster I could get back to my rum and coke.

“So, I told them this joke and it goes like this: What do you call a black man with a PhD? A doctor, you racists! They all stared at my and one of them said that he didn’t get it. They’re so dumb right? I mean, the obviousness of why the joke was awkward and…”

Hold up. These people are stupid after you tried to demonstrate to them? Let me break it down for you, homeboy. Your prejudice is no one’s problem, and it is especially not mine. In fact, the more you try to prove to me you’re not a racist, the more you look like a racist. Oh shit, I fucked up! Let me just go saunter off to the nearest black person and have them validate my feelings. Do you think that I’m going to be interested in your stupid black joke because I’m black? Let me be clear, then. I don’t give a fuck!

Tough love for: Dumb Women

Hello, dear readers. It is with regret to inform you that your regular blogging experience at “Days In The Life of the Socially Awkward” will be interrupted due to absurdly high motherfucker and estrogen levels in the author’s life. Many apologies in advance for this letter.

Dear dumb women of the world,

What the fuck? Why do you go by the amount of men who hit in you to measure your self-worth? I am fucking tired of hearing, “No man wants me! I’m fat! I’m ugly! I’m not witty! I’m not smart enough (that last one might be true…)!” Dumb bitch. No man wants you because you’re too busy wallowing in self-pity for anyone to love you. Fuck, I’d drop-kick your stupid ass, too, if I had to deal with all that goddamn whining over and over. How about you shut the fuck up and love yourself first before trying to get some man to love you? Take up a hobby! Try a frigging sport! Go out with your friends! No one is going to see the unique and brilliant light that is you if you can’t. Change that shit. Don’t be dumb.

Dumb women of the world, why do you hate your bodies? “I wish I had bigger breasts.” “My nose is too big.” “I hate my weight.” Listen, fools, I have said it a billion times and I’ll say it again. Comparing yourselves to Heidi Klum, Natalie Portman, Victoria Beckham, and all those other bony-ass women out there is only going to give you ONE thing: a pain in your ass. I’m sorry, but you need to fucking learn that not everyone is shaped liked that and all sorts of bodies are attractive. I goddamn well know I will never look like Penlope Cruz and I’m ecstatic I won’t! You know why? 1) She’s a white lady (yes, Spanish people still fall under that category; Spain’s part of Europe) and I’m a black lady so our bone structures are completely different. 2) I appreciate my juicy-ass thighs. It means I can kick dumbasses in the mouth really hard. 3) We are different people. End of story. And for those of you who are still crying about your weight, my answer is: then do something about it. Put down the cake and step on a fucking treadmill, honey. It’s not rocket science. You can’t be pissed that you don’t feel fit if all you do is munch potato chips and watch Much Music. If you can’t do that, then firmly close the whole in your face because I don’t want to hear about it.

Dumb women of the world, why are you so catty towards each other? I honestly believe this is why it’s easier for me to get along with men than with women. Sure, men can be bastards and pull dick moves. However, I am not talking about them. The way I see so many women governing themselves makes me want to up-chuck all over their fake tans and clip-in hair. Your friend pissed you off? Tell her and work it out. Don’t talk behind her back. How in sweet Jesus’ name is that going to solve anything? C’mon. Logic, ladies! Unless you are in high school or absolutely high off your face, there is no reason for you to be acting like that. You love drama too much. Cut that shit out. It’s not cute. Not even a little. And another thing, stop complimenting each other in order to get one back. “Oh you’re so pretty!” “No, you’re so pretty!” Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t a compliment supposed to be genuine? What gets me every time is that these same idiots get pissed off when the person actually takes the compliment well (“Why, thank you! That’s very nice!”) instead of complimenting them back. Jesus Christ, go buy yourself a self-esteem like you do your fake-ass friends.

Dumb women of the world, stop wearing clothes that don’t fit/ are uncomfortable. You look like an ogre. If you’re a size 10, don’t try and shove your shit up in a size 6. How is that even comfortable/ possible? Don’t try and “be” a smaller size/wear something sexy if it’s not going to work. Unless you are a clown, I don’t see the point of trying to fit up into tiny-ass things. Be a grown up and stop wearing kids clothes. You can be sexy but if it’s 30 degrees below, you are clearly outside your goddamn mind to set foot out of your house in some tiny-ass dress. And then complain about being cold. Either fucking suck it up or modify your outfit! Dumb bitch.

Dumb women of the world, I still love you. In fact, I’m friends with some of you. But you really need to stop this nonsense. You are disgracing our gender and have the entire world laughing at you. Now, I can forgive you this time but eventually a girl is going to lose all reason and slap a bitch. Just stop. Be you without the dumb.



Where Are You From?

You know what I freaking love? Eating. If I found a magic lamp with a genie inside it, I’d wish for an endless supply of food and fuck the other two wishes. What more could I possibly need? And you know what the best part of it is? My sexy-ass thunder thighs would be weapons of mass destruction! Think about it. Some dick loses all track of their fucking sense and tries to attack me. What do I do? Break their goddamn neck between my thighs, of course. KO, bitch. I win. *Swaggers off into the sunset*.

Anyway, my best friend, Laura, and I enjoy going on lunch and dinner dates at Jack Astor’s. Being the foodies we are, we go about once a month (possibly more). One Friday evening (at approximately 6:15pm) we decided to go have dinner. Unsurprisingly, Jack’s is busier than Don Cherry’s jackets on Friday nights so we ended up sitting at the bar to order food.

After we placed our orders, this older gentleman who was seated on my right started talking to me.

“Hi! How are you?”

I didn’t really think anything of it. He seemed like he was just trying to make friendly conversation so I responded.

“I’m great, thank you! How are you?”

“Oh I’m good! I don’t come here often so I am just trying it.”

“Awesome! Well, I hope you enjoy your time here,” I smiled sweetly.

At this point, I thought the conversation had come to a close and turned back to Laura who was sitting on my left. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me. Where are you from?”

“Here. Canada.”

“You’re not Canadian!!!”

But wait. I thought he just asked me where I was from. Now all of a sudden he doesn’t like my answer so I have to come up with something different? Actually, I’m from the native tribe of *series of clicks* in Madagascar. Mind you, this man had a very thick Eastern European accent so I wasn’t sure who the fuck he thought he was trying to bully me out of being Canadian. Well, that’s when Laura lost her shit. I mean full-blown white girl pissed.

Yeah, she's that cute, too


I was so afraid of what was going to happen next, I nearly shat my pants.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. But she’s not Canadian. Did I offend you? I apologize,” he said as he slid his hand down my lower back.

Lord have mercy, cheese and crackers. If Laura didn’t have it in mind to kill this man by shoving a jack-hammer in his ear before, she damn fucking well did now.


Meanwhile, I had my face buried in my hands praying that Chicken Little was right and the sky was indeed falling. Or at least that the building would collapse on top of me. I couldn’t believe that by 6:45pm I already had some guy trying to feel me up in a family restaurant and my food hadn’t come yet. Poor service is what’s going to ruin Canada if you ask me.