So me and a friend were on the Metro the other day and there was an advertisement in our car for a company called eurAuPair that had a picture of a kid and a young girl on it… And she was kinda staring at it for a while. So I asked her what was wrong and she said, “What does AuPair mean again?” So I told her it’s like a nanny but from another country usually. And she said, “Oh yeah. That’s right. I always get that confused with au gratin.”
Word?
Just admit you had no idea what the word meant before this moment. Cause I mean really, what could you possibly be doing or where could you possibly go that you’re “always” confronted with these two words? Plus I just can’t see a situation in which you could ever confuse the two. Have you ever heard of context clues?…
“Please Mr. Waiter, I’d like to have the steak medium-well, and the potatoes with the young European caregiver sprinkled on top.”
or maybe…
“Sure we’re free to go out with you guys tonite. The melted cheese and breadcrumbs are at home watching the kids.”
AAAAHHHH!!! I can’t stand when people can’t admit that they don’t know things. Who knows everything? I mean, besides Oprah ;) I have much more respect for people who ask questions and ask for help than people who prefer to pretend to know things and marinate in their ignorance. I told her I’d be writing this blog and said all this to her while we were on the train so I don’t feel bad about it. I apologize for the early morning Friday rant, but I had to get that out.
Two posts about LL Cool J this month. Who’dve thunk? But this couldnt be ignored. The Ladies Love was being interviewed on the Steve Harvey Morning Show this morning. They were discussing — among other things – the keys to his longevity and his abdominal muscles. I don’t know one man in my personal life who is comfortable talking about another man’s attractiveness or body, but it seems like whenever I see or hear a man interview LL Cool J, he inevitably ends up complimenting him on his body. I think LL has mind control like Deebo.
Moving on… I said in my previous LL post this month that I have not in the past enjoyed LL interviews. So when I turned on my radio this morning I was excited to put my theory to the test… and I was pleasantly surprised. LL was giving a sort of testimony and pep talk to anyone out in radioland who ever had a dream. He said something like, “There’s no age limit to success. Colonel Sanders started KFC at age 65 and Russell [Simmons], Rick [Rubin] and I kicked off Def Jam when I was 15… If you dream of something do it.”
Go LL! … Maybe I was wrong about you.
But he then added that he also attributes a lot of his success to the fact that he tithes in church. Now, I know that should have really put me over the top — made me wanna renege on all my anti-LL-interview rhetoric. And it did — for about 30 seconds. Because about 30 seconds after LL talked about faith in God and being rewarded for that faithfulness, they played his new single, “Baby.”
Exhale.
I don’t know how many of you have heard this song (I’m sure I would never have heard it on the station I listen to if LL weren’t a guest) so I decided to post some of the lyrics below. I pulled them from the Web so I’m sure they’re not 100% accurate, but I heard it for myself this morning. The ‘important’ stuff is there… Check ‘em out and meet me on the other side:
I Met this little girl, she was off the hook
I got cold chills when her body shook
Hot sex on the platter no need to cook
I let her steal my heart like a horny crook
Had her grinding and winding against my leg
She messin with my head, wanna play in the bed
Sexy pumps on, toenails red
Your bodys a gun baby, pump me full of lead
It hard to hold you when you movin’ vulgar
Peace sign on your eyes like John Travolta
My pulp ain’t fiction, it’s an addiction
To see your booty clap on the floor in the kitchen
Nasty girl, taught me all the lingo
While mama play bingo, she ride mandingo
She dont give a damn if im married or single
She makes me tingle
She likes Hip-Hop and R&B
Her life time goal is to be on TV
She looking for a man that could give her a break
Like Usher or Justin Timberlake
Im really not sure if her breasts are fake
Cuz wit whipped cream on em, they taste just like cake
We drink some beer, inside of daddy’s ‘64
She shot me in the back with cupids arrow
We finish the 6-pac, she push the seat back
Pulled up her dress n she let me peep that
Im Drunk as a skunk, feeling all dirty
Truck stop bathroom at 7:30
Bought her some dessert, give a damn if its early
Head spinnin around like roller derby
Everything about her says you dont deserve me
I hope im worthy
In the back of the pickup, clothes are rip up
She see my chrome wheels, it gets more real
Running and laughing, music blasting
Side over the road, bent over crashing
Mouth all dry, can feel the urge
If you see my mama, dont say a word
The cops wanna know im a word are slurred
Dont ask me officer ask her
Wanna another drink baby she like sure
Wanna hit the club she like I dont curr
She all in the rearview doin her hurr
Hairspray and lip gloss everywhurr
This all happens on an average day
Your life is a trip girl, im here to stay
Never had a girl make me feel this way
Even tho I had to pay
I’m not sure God wants 10 percent of the proceeds from that. I’m just saying.
Never had a girl make me feel this way / Even tho I had to pay
Really??? Had to pay???
Hey LL, Jesus just called. He said you can keep your dime.
Fla. man dials 911, complains his sub had no sauce
2 days ago
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. (AP) — The sauce for a spicy Italian sandwich was apparently a must have for one Florida man. The man, Reginald Peterson, called 911 twice after a sandwich shop left off the sauce.
Peterson initially called the emergency number Thursday so that officers could have his subs made correctly, according to a police report. The second call was to complain that police officers weren’t arriving fast enough.
Subway workers told police that Peterson, 42, became belligerent and yelled when they were fixing his order. They locked him out of the store when he left to call police.
When officers arrived, they tried to calm Peterson and explain the proper use of 911. Those efforts failed, and he was arrested on a charge of making false 911 calls.
So I just got back from a great week at the Funnybone in Virginia Beach. I did a little shopping, a little relaxing, worked with great people in a great room, and the check cleared. You can’t ask for much more.
Also while I was down there, I re-evaluated and re-ordered the must-have characteristics I need in a potential mate.
Here’s the background: Thursday nite after the show I went back to the comics’ condo, which is a very neat, very clean garden style unit. But because its a garden apartment, the front door opens right to the outside. I put the key in the door and then realized that there was a huge flying/hopping ’croach’ thingy (wasn’t sure if it was a cricket or a roach) on the door. I totally freaked because I am paralyzed by bugs. Anyone who knows me well already marvels at how I was able to live in that little basement apartment in the hood for 8 years.
Tylenol PM and Benadryl is how. You’re not worried about croaches when you see unicorns…. But I digress.
I literally was so tired and buzzed all I wanted was to crawl in the bed. But I was frozen. I called the headliner who is a friend of mine and was like, “Could you stay on the phone with me until this croach dies?” He humored me for about three minutes. We talked about how if hell was a personal hell customized for each of us what would be in each of ours… And we determined that mine would be full of croaches and other pests, octopus/pi or anything else with tentacles, that scene from the Matrix when they put that tracker thing into Neo’s belly would be playing on an eternal loop … and there would be black olives everywhere … I HATE black olives.
After he wished me well and got off the phone I still couldn’t go in. It wasn’t a matter of just opening and closing the door really quickly… because I didn’t know if it was a cricket or a roach. How fast was it? That’s need-to-know info. Because where it was positioned on the door if I opened the door it was literally going to BE inside… What to do?
So I called my buddy Dawan. He’ll humor me I thought… Plus he’s in LA so its not so late. He talked me thru it. Told me to break off a piece of the crepe myrtle outside and brush it off the door. But just as I pulled the branch, he was like, “Make sure there’s no bugs on the branch.” I threw it and screamed. I hadn’t thought of that…
Eventually he convinced me to pick up the branch and brush the croach off the door. I did it and I exhaled… but then it ran back to the door at lightning speed.
Roach for sure.
Finally after a while I was so delirious, I just held my breath and chanced it. I got in, shut the door behind me and stood still for like 10 seconds to make sure it didn’t make it in. I was safe.
It wasn’t til then that D laughed at me and said how rich we would be if I had been recording the incident. We’d be Youtube stars. He’s a good friend. The best… But it got me to thinking… ‘Croach killer’ was not on my list of must-haves in a man. Stability, trustworthiness, great sense of humor… All those things are great. But no matter how much I love you, we can’t both be standing on the sofa scared of a damn spider… I need to add it to my list and move it towards the top.
So thanks Virginia Beach for the much-needed priority shift, and the new bit ;)
OK, so I was cruising the net blog-jacking today. But it had to be done. I am not sorry ;)
Fellow comedian Maronzio Vance is in the midst of a vlog war with none other than P. Diddy. He posted this video last week about how Puffy has the ‘reverse Midas touch’ if you will on his artists… He is saying everything any true 90’s hip hop and R&B fan has been thinking for the last two decades. Please stop what you’re doing and watch this now:
Then Puffy, Diddy, Sean John, whatever the hell… posted this reply — which is chock full of bitchassness. Oh Diddy, how did you let a comic bait you?
I’m so mad I’m just seeing this… I need to amend my previous entry. This should be at the top of the list of things that made me smile today ;) Please check out Maronzio’s Myspace page and let him know how freaking hilarious he is. I heart him for this. Can’t wait to see his re-response! Stay tuned…
I don’t play the lottery. Never have. The other day one of my friends told me she plays but only when the jackpot is over $200 million. Now that’s a lot of money, sure, but so is $20 million, $50 million, $100 million… I’m not sure how often the jackpot gets that large, but I do know that when it does, it takes me like 20 minutes to buy a fifth of Jack at the liquor store on the corner. Damn gamblers… Move out the way for us alcholics. But I digress…
I asked my girl why $200 mil was her cutoff and she explained that nearly half of your winnings are taxed. So if you won like $100 million, you’d only get $50 million… etc., etc. as if somehow that wasn’t worth it.
I then punched her in the throat.
Cause like I said, I’m not a fan of the lottery, but if you are and you’ve ever rationalized not playing because you were only going to NET $50 million of your $100 million jackpot, you’re an idiot. You spend 7 dollars to win 100 dollars and I’d call that a success. You spend 7 dollars to win 50 million, sit down and STFU.
This weekend I discovered that white wine is the devil.
On Saturday nite, I did two shows at a theatre in DC with some good lady buds of mine. Before I went up at the first show my fave funnygirl Diana Saez was sipping on a white wine, so in my attempt to appear equally sophistocated I ordered the same.
Glass and a half and I was on my ass. Now I can drink whiskey/bourbon like a champ but this white wine did things to me, y’all. I was super loose and had what - from what I remember of it - was a pretty good set. The cup was sitting on a stool on the stage and at one point during the set I remember talking directly to it. I sang, “WHITE WIIIIINE…” to the tune of Grandmaster Flash’s “White Lines.” I really need to see the tape.
When I got off stage, Diana said something like E, you were great. You should loosen up before you go on stage more often.” And even in my inebriated state, I recognized that that was not a good idea. It did not however stop me from having another glass before the second show.
Oh wow. I only remember snippets from this show — and I remember it like a movie trailer… I know there was a Black guy sitting in the front row. He may have been the only Black guy at the show and I remember asking him if he knew about white wine. I told him that White folks had been trying to keep it a secret from us and that he should order a glass. I then asked another guy in the front row what his name was and I remember he had an accent. I guessed where he was from and then told the audience that the white wine gave me superpowers.
I know, I wish I had been there to see it too.
Here’s the thing folks. I recognize that I’m not nearly funny or famous enough to crash and burn yet, so I’m gonna chill on the white wine for now. But as soon as I make it big, move to Hollywood and buy a mansion, white wine is the only thing me and my beautiful white trophy wife will have in our subzero stainless steel refrigerator. Don’t be jealous.
This was the question posed to me over dinner last nite by my friend Darrel. I almost choked. He went on to explain how Black folks are always talking about our cousins ‘this’ and our cousins ‘that’ and how we make people that aren’t even related to us into cousins… But he couldn’t remember any of his white friends or coworkers ever talking about their cousins.
And as bad as it may sound, I couldn’t either…
I know for a fact that White people have aunts and uncles and grandparents. One of my best friends is White and I’ve actually MET and had DINNER with her grandparents (see how dumb that sounds?) But I literally can’t remember a single conversation where we’ve discussed cousins. Maybe all the White folks I know just come from really small families.
Or maybe White people just don’t put their family’s business in the street like Black folks do. ‘Cause usually when I’m talking to one of my Black friends about their cousins, it’s in the context of a ridiculous story I end up having a hard time believing. “Girl, you won’t believe what my trifling-ass cousin did the other day…” Anyway, so I plead for you, White person who reads this blog, to tell me a story about one of your cousins… or better yet, e-mail me a photo of you with one of your cousins. Help disprove this myth. EJ@erinjackson.net
I see how you could get us confused… what with our chocolate complexions and fondness for Fuschia (rhymes with Rasputia by the way) but I have to say — and you’d better freakin’ agree — that that’s where the similarities here stop.
What are you talking about EJ? Well let me explain. I did a show this weekend with good buds Kojo Mante, Jason Weems and a very funny dude I just met called Adrian Rodney. It was a benefit show in the Lounge showroom at the DC Improv. Two sold out shows and I was proud to be part of it.
First show for me went great. Got the opportunity to do a little more time than I originally planned so I got to work thru some stuff. It was right on time. Second show about a minute into my set, I made a comment to a guy in the front row. Then after his response I told him I wasn’t scared of him because he was light-skinned. And he responded by calling me “Rasputia” — who in case you were confused — is the one on the left.
What surprised me the most is that in the moment I wasn’t insulted at all. I actually wanted to laugh because it was such a specific heckle. He could have called me ‘fat’ or ‘bitch’ or you know ‘fat bitch’, but no… He wanted everyone in the room to know exactly which ‘fat bitch’ I looked like. And I can’t hate on that. Hahaha … What’s more embarrassing?… being compared to Eddie Murphy in a fat suit, or admitting that I saw Norbit? I decided that I would address it and thus began the awkward nature of my set at the late show.
Twice I went to say something else to him but I kept telling myself. You are doing a benefit show for a very sensitive subject. This is not the place. DO NOT engage. But it was hard. About two jokes in I kinda got back on track. But when I got to the section of my act where I usually tell a group of jokes about size and weight and perception I got mad — again, not at his comment — but at the fact that now I didn’t get to be the one to bring up weight so it lost some of its punch. I did two of the jokes and right before I remember saying, “Here come the fat jokes, sir. Sit back and enjoy.” But I didn’t even get to the more clever bits, which are among some of my favorite bits in the act because by that point the topic had been addressed. Oh well. (pokes out bottom lip).
The table and the Rasputia guy enjoyed most of the rest of the set I think - I mean I saw them laughing. But I had to run to get to another event and I couldn’t stay til the end of the show. I’d have loved to talk to him and literally tell him how funny his comment was and how he threw me because literally I was standing there like… Good one. Ha! Anyway, that is what happened to me this weekend. I’ve been a lazy blogger. Trying to get back into the swing.
They’d be unemployed. That’s a given. But even though I managed to hail a cab last nite — 4 cabs actually — I never got a ride home. And that’s just as bad.
Now, of course I’m not new to the concept that cab drivers, chinese food carry outs drivers, etc. don’t always wanna travel to what folks consider the hood at nite, but dammit, if you refuse to enter an entire quadrant of the city, it’s time to rethink your career choice.
I’d been out of my house since 7:30 AM, so by the time I got off stage at about 9:30 PM I was ready to hop in a cab, go home and make myself a turkey sandwich and go to sleep. I was in Adams Morgan and I got a cab pretty quickly…
I got in and shut the door and here’s what transpired next:
Punk-ass cabbie #1: [Inaudible grunt] Where you going?
Me: [Street number, Street name] Southeast.
Punk-ass cabbie #1: NO.
No? Really? Cause I think the answer is yes. That is absolutely where I’m going. But he didn’t move. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t even ask me to get out of the cab. He just sat there. So I flicked him off and got out of the cab.
So now I hail another cab, and here’s what transpired next:
Bitch-ass cabbie #2: [Gurgle]
Me: Hi, I’m going to [Street number, Street name]……………….. Southeast.
Bitch-ass cabbie #2: Sorry, I have to pick someone up by 10.
Me: Then you shouldn’t have stopped.
Bitch-ass cabbie #2: Sorry, No.
Again no movement. Just a No. Once again I flipped him off and got out of the cab. Pissed. To the point of maximum pisstivity… But I tried again.
This time I was picked up by an American Black cab driver. I’m not saying that for any other reason than I figured., “Finally… This brother is gonna understand where I’m coming from. He knows people who live in Southeast. Hell, he may live over there too. Yay!” So I get in the cab, shake it off — ready to tell him about the 2 other drivers who wouldn’t take me home when…
Bald-Uncle-Tom-ass cabbie #3: Good evening, sista
Me: [Exhale] Hi, how are you? I’m going to [Street number, Street name] Southeast.
Now at this point I’ve unclenched my jaw. I’m rolling my neck around, ready to close my eyes for the 20 minute or so ride across the river, when…
Bitch-ass cabbie #3: Awww, hell no. You gon’ have to find another ride.
Alright, am I being punked. Really? What happened to “Good evening, sista?” This time as I was getting out of the cab, I added some colorful profanity to my bird flipping. It felt good to get that out, but I was still standing on the corner with no ride home. I won’t even go into what happened with Cumin-smelling-ass-cabbie #4 cause I think you see where this is going, but suffice it to say I had to go back into the show and wait for it to be over so my friend Jason could drive hella out of his way to take me home. (Thanks, J).
Now I know some of you are thinking, “That’s illegal, EJ. They can’t do that. You should have gotten their permit numbers and reported them.” And I gotta tell you. Each time it happened I thought the same thing. But I was exhausted and in disbelief and each time I told myself… No way is the next guy gonna do the same thing… Now I wish I’d done it, because as my boy John pointed out, D.C. Mayor Fenty is big into cracking down on this type of thing. A letter with the four drivers’ numbers may have done some good.
Also as I was typing the paragraph before last, I remembered the “Looking Ass N***a Youtube clip that I saw on a friend’s blog and it made me smile. Maybe it will make you smile as well. Here is his explanation of the title phrase in case you don’t quite get it… ENJOY!
For those of you not familiar with all the ins and outs of black culture the term, “Looking Ass Nigga” is an insult. It’s like playing the dozens. Here’s how it goes, You think of an insult about a person, and then you say the insult and follow it with the phrase, “Looking ass nigga”. For example, an insult one could spit at Michael Jackson would be a “Ol Chimp Loving Single White Female Looking ass Nigga.”
So me and a friend were on the Metro the other day and there was an advertisement in our car for a company called eurAuPair that had a picture of a kid and a young girl on it… And she was kinda staring at it for a while. So I asked her what was wrong and she said, “What does AuPair mean again?” So I told her it’s like a nanny but from another country usually. And she said, “Oh yeah. That’s right. I always get that confused with au gratin.”
OK so this is random.
Your two cents