I have a great arsenal of friends in my life and I cherish them deeply. However I think its important to note that for the most part I didn't like any of them immeadiately. I'm a bitch and so are most of my friends. This doesn't mean we go out of our ways to be mean to people, but we don't deal with the falsehoods people constantly evoke. We live in the honest. That means that I'd rather have you hate me about something I was truthful about than to feel your wrath about a lie. That's just how we roll. But this tough exterior matched with a no nosense nonchalance is a bit abrasive at first glance.
Take for instance 2 of my besties, Jemima and Naimah. We're the closest of friends and I consider them ride or die, but whenwe first met, they were downright cold. We were in the same afterschool program in the 7th grade and on the first day, I came an hour late. I waltzed in with my handbag that didn't contain books or writing materials and sat my ass down. I made it just in time for math class--one of my favorite subject. In order to make up for my extreme lateness, I started to answer every question. Well apparently prior to my arrival, both Jemima and Naimah were the brains of the class and they didn't like the new bitch encroaching on their territory. So like they do in the animal kingdom, they began to attack. Now how do girls attack? With their minds. Jemima and Naimah rotated their chairs so that instead of facing the blackboard their chairs now faced me on the opposite side of the room. For the remainder of the class they mean mugged me and everyone felt it. This continued on for a week until our teacher, Mr. Boulis, made us join the same group. Turns out we had a lot in common and we have been friends ever since.
For most of my friends I have a similar story--extreme dislike at first followed by extreme love later. I thought that we were all just a product of our environment. We all grew in Brooklyn and NYC is the place where the weak are eaten first. However, when I studied abroad, I learned that bitchiness is a global trait.
My paris amis are all people whom I never thought I would be friends with. I didn't want to be associated with any of them. Mitchell I hated because during the orientation months prior, he kept asking stupid questions and wore a really pink shirt. I made a mental note not to be anywhere near him when I landed in Paris. Loni was my roommate when I first arrived and gave me a bad taste in my mouth. I had heard wondeful things about Josephine but when I met her she barely said hi and tried as hard as possible to leave the breakfast table. Bitch. Joy had a mean face on and looked like she was already bored of everything. All of these people annoyed the shit out of me by the end of the second day in Paris and its more than 2 years later and I still consider them my best friends. Its funny how you never know where your life will take you.
So I guess my point ( if I have one) is how much importance we give first impressions. I based entire relationships on a cursory glance and it seemed that I was wrong most of the time. Yet it doesn't seem that I don't still judge people by their book covers. They say how you dress and act are a representation of who you are and I believe that's true. But what if I misunderstand what you're representing. I look at your all black ensemble and I think that you're a melodramatic goth when really you're a chic new yorker or a beatnik. How much work does it take to get past the facade and get to the meat of the matter? Probably a five minute conversation. Definitely less than the length of a train ride, yet we never invest. It makes me kinda sad to think there are countless people who would enrich my life but I'll never find out because of a faulty first impression. Especially when I have friends I wouldn't change for the world.
Showing posts with label naimah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label naimah. Show all posts
Friday, March 4, 2011
Thursday, November 18, 2010
i miss who we used to be....
So I know it seems that all I do is party and somehow manage to squeeze in a couple of hours of sleep during my heavy libation-influenced schedule. For the majority of the summer, it was exactly that. Party Sleep Party was a motto that I had established to sum up exactly what I wanted my last real summer to be. After graduation, I knew that come Autumn, I would have to settle down and start living my life as a certified adult. Getting your diploma doesn't mean you're done. It's all about "commencing" your life and other stupid, dumbass phrases that valedictorian use to hide the shame and fear that all graduates experience. So before I embarked on the repetitive journey of boredom, fatigue, and nausea that is adulthood, I decided to have a farewell party that just happened to last four months.
And you better believe that those four months were awesome. Sure there were ups and downs, but when I look back on it, I think that I was living my life every second of every day. But once September rolled in, I decided I needed to re-evaluate my current predicament. I looked around and my fellow graduates were off to their fancy pants nine to fives or registering for classes at their graduate schools. Some were studying for GREs, MCATS, and other acronyms that I have no idea what they stand for. Bitches traded their Uggs for trousers! And where was I? I had not accomplished anything this summer, besides gain weight and get a tan. Neither of which were going to help me in the long run (Skin cancer is no joke kids. Layer that sunscreen). So I decided to be proactive. I got an internship at a film/television production company. I also started working more hours at my part-time job at a New York University office. I was finally planning for my future. Sure my grandiose goals of beings a screenwriter/actor/director/
For the first time in months, I had adopted a rigid schedule. There was no more "Hey, there's a party in DUMBO. Open Bar, you down?" I was a member of the party on weekends club; the club I vehemently despised during my summertime high. Members of this group are so unhappy and are lacking of spunk during the weekdays, they muster up the small bit of energy they have left to come party on a Friday/Saturday night. These people can be easily identified by the flip flops they don, the stringy hair, and the lack of hygiene they seem to possess. I hate these people. During the summer, I never partied on weekends. I was the girl who was down for a Tuesday party session. I went out every Thursday and my Wednesdays would commence with trivia at 8pm at my favorite bar and end with me eating hard dough bread in my bed at 6am (that story I will save for another time, but let me warn you, it is EPIC).
Now if you asked me to catch a drink after work on a Wednesday, I would have to respond "Oh no, I have a pilates class". Oh yes, in my attempt to grow up, I got a gym membership. I've got to take care of my old, creaking bones. Soon I'll be taking vitamin supplements and carrying hard candies in my purse. Wait, I already do those things. I have officially crossed over to the dark side, where all my enjoyment will come from people giving me their seat on the bus and disciplining other people's children. What was supposed to be a graceful entrance into adulthood that should have spanned over two years, turned into a mental hijacking that developed in less than 3 months. It was this realization, coupled with a phone call from my bestie Bridget, whom I hadn't seen in months, that set me off. She basically said " I miss who we used to be. We used to go out every night". I miss who we used to be as well. I wanted to enjoy life again. The apocalypse is waiting in the wings and instead of carpe diem and other latin phrases that have been immortalized on t-shirts and mugs, I have been squandering my youth. I don't want to wake up and be forty with kids and realize I never lived to the fullest of my abilities. I want to get shit-faced. I want to make out with random guys and regret it the next morning. I want have that Sunday walk of shame, wearing hooker heels, and copious amounts of black lace, while my face is creased by the faux pillow I slept on the night before. I want to go home with make up running down my face and devouring a falafel, while children are on their way to school. Sure these things might not get me far in life. They probably would put me in a jail cell. But hey, that's why your best friend's mom is a police officer (Hey Bev! I need Bail money).
So in the spirit of regaining my summertime high, I decided to plan an awesome dance party. I wanted all my friends to come out and dance till the wee hours of the morning and be so elated that they'd be singing show tunes on the way home. I sent out the Facebook invites, the emails, and shitloads of text messages. It was supposed to be a girl's night out, but somehow the boys made it through. No worries though, because the more the merrier in this kind of scenario. I wanted to go to Arlo and Esme, because every time I've been there, I have had a good time. We pregamed at Julianne's place and we (Julianne, Kayla, Doreen, Sonia, Allen, and myself) tracked down two cabs and headed to the LES. However, when we got there, the bouncer said they weren't letting anyone in for another hour. Are you kidding? In another hour, I'll be sober. Fuck that. So we went to some weird hookah bar, where my gay night-life lover (again I'll save him for another story) got us in. Soon after arriving, the fumes and the seedy atmosphere got me and we had to bounce. Now I should mention, my entire party was pretty buzzed. I had been drinking with Sonia, my fellow intern, since 7pm, and I hadn't eaten since 3pm. A recipe for awesomeness. Seeing the momentum was slowing, I suggested we all head to Darkroom. On our way we ran into Melissa and Harold and our gang was almost complete. However when we got there, there was a muthafuckin line! WTF? This night was going to be disastrous.
Now usually in moments like this, if the universe sends me signs that the night is going to be a shitshow, I heed the commands of nature and get my ass home. This time, howbeit, I was too determined to beat Mother Nature at her own tricks. Here's a lesson to all you kiddies reading this at home: Nature always win. Why I forgot this principle can be attributed to the amount of ethanol coursing through my veins. Luckily, I knew one of the bouncers there. When I tell you I used to go out every night, I mean it. There are certain members of the night life community that I have built relationships with regardless of what bar they work at that specific night. So my dude let us in and skip the stupid line. Thank the heavens. We get in there but the DJ is whack. The sound system sounds like they boosted it straight out of an elementary school auditorium. Fuck it. As long as he plays my song, what do I care?
We start dancing and then Naimah calls me and tells me she's outside. So of course I go and get her so she doesn't have to wait on a stupid line. Once I'm back on the dancefloor, Doreen tells me her boo, Dave, is outside and if I could get him in. Sure, why not? I get out into the breezy, chill air and cannot find Dave. After playing hide and go seek for five minutes, I finally discover him and get him in as well. While I was gone apparently the interior dancefloor bouncer (as if they pay him) says they we can't put our jackets down. We either have to hold them or pay coat check. According to him, I can't even dance next to my jacket. So this prick, who doesn't realize that we're the reason anyone is in his club, is trying to tell us what to do. Party Foul Number One. At the same time when I'm giving him the brush off, Doreen tells me that Allen, Julianne's boyfriend, got kicked out of the bar. Apparently he had a conversation with the DJ and the bouncer felt that it was inappropriate. Yes I know that sounds farfetched but we were all drunk. If Doreen had told me that Allen farted chickens on the Bouncer's lap, I would've pulled out my barbecue sauce and bib that says "Where the beef?". So don't judge me!
Since I'm such a good friend, I hightailed it outside to be joined by Dave who is trying to debrief me on the situation. After talking to him for five minutes, I used my Sherlock skills to assess that he knew nothing. So we left Julianne to decipher the drama and returned into the bar to be greeted by several cops. And I mean several. Like at least seven. Now in my younger days, police officers showing up to your party meant hiding the liquor and sending out the most sober of the bunch to explain to the law enforcers their need for a warrant to search the premises. Basically, "party dun!" And apparently the DJ agreed because the music stopped and the crowd filtered out. Now my gang remained because 1) we're cool like that and 2) Allen was MIA. Julianne returned to the bar sans Allen, who apparently had been wearing my coat. Yes, folks, we were so inebriated that my frilly looking coat seemed appropriate for him to wear inside out. I can't blame him. This night was my idea. So in my frustration I asked the Popos what the problem seemed to be. The female copper replied "Nothing. We're waiting for the music to start again". Typical, even the police officers have more fun than me nowadays.
Eventually the music did start again and $3 shots were offered to the masses. Nonetheless, I was done. I wanted this night to be about regaining my youth and to be one for the history books. I wanted this to be the night when we're thirty and old, we would look back on this night and recall the days when we "lived". This was not that night. So I accepted defeat and took a cab home that cost me fifty bucks. I crawled into bed without food in my belly but enough alcohol to kill an elephant, or at least sedate him for two hours.
Maybe I can't go back to those blissful days of summer, but I don't think I have to start wearing muumuus, cleaning the dishes barefoot, while watching Maury. There has to be some middle ground where I can salvage my youth without destroying my future. There must be somewhere where I'm not at the starting point of nascency but I'm not yet at the finish line of decrepitude. It has to exist. And I think I know where it does. Somewhere between Sunday and Saturday---here I come Wednesday.
And you better believe that those four months were awesome. Sure there were ups and downs, but when I look back on it, I think that I was living my life every second of every day. But once September rolled in, I decided I needed to re-evaluate my current predicament. I looked around and my fellow graduates were off to their fancy pants nine to fives or registering for classes at their graduate schools. Some were studying for GREs, MCATS, and other acronyms that I have no idea what they stand for. Bitches traded their Uggs for trousers! And where was I? I had not accomplished anything this summer, besides gain weight and get a tan. Neither of which were going to help me in the long run (Skin cancer is no joke kids. Layer that sunscreen). So I decided to be proactive. I got an internship at a film/television production company. I also started working more hours at my part-time job at a New York University office. I was finally planning for my future. Sure my grandiose goals of beings a screenwriter/actor/director/
For the first time in months, I had adopted a rigid schedule. There was no more "Hey, there's a party in DUMBO. Open Bar, you down?" I was a member of the party on weekends club; the club I vehemently despised during my summertime high. Members of this group are so unhappy and are lacking of spunk during the weekdays, they muster up the small bit of energy they have left to come party on a Friday/Saturday night. These people can be easily identified by the flip flops they don, the stringy hair, and the lack of hygiene they seem to possess. I hate these people. During the summer, I never partied on weekends. I was the girl who was down for a Tuesday party session. I went out every Thursday and my Wednesdays would commence with trivia at 8pm at my favorite bar and end with me eating hard dough bread in my bed at 6am (that story I will save for another time, but let me warn you, it is EPIC).
Now if you asked me to catch a drink after work on a Wednesday, I would have to respond "Oh no, I have a pilates class". Oh yes, in my attempt to grow up, I got a gym membership. I've got to take care of my old, creaking bones. Soon I'll be taking vitamin supplements and carrying hard candies in my purse. Wait, I already do those things. I have officially crossed over to the dark side, where all my enjoyment will come from people giving me their seat on the bus and disciplining other people's children. What was supposed to be a graceful entrance into adulthood that should have spanned over two years, turned into a mental hijacking that developed in less than 3 months. It was this realization, coupled with a phone call from my bestie Bridget, whom I hadn't seen in months, that set me off. She basically said " I miss who we used to be. We used to go out every night". I miss who we used to be as well. I wanted to enjoy life again. The apocalypse is waiting in the wings and instead of carpe diem and other latin phrases that have been immortalized on t-shirts and mugs, I have been squandering my youth. I don't want to wake up and be forty with kids and realize I never lived to the fullest of my abilities. I want to get shit-faced. I want to make out with random guys and regret it the next morning. I want have that Sunday walk of shame, wearing hooker heels, and copious amounts of black lace, while my face is creased by the faux pillow I slept on the night before. I want to go home with make up running down my face and devouring a falafel, while children are on their way to school. Sure these things might not get me far in life. They probably would put me in a jail cell. But hey, that's why your best friend's mom is a police officer (Hey Bev! I need Bail money).
So in the spirit of regaining my summertime high, I decided to plan an awesome dance party. I wanted all my friends to come out and dance till the wee hours of the morning and be so elated that they'd be singing show tunes on the way home. I sent out the Facebook invites, the emails, and shitloads of text messages. It was supposed to be a girl's night out, but somehow the boys made it through. No worries though, because the more the merrier in this kind of scenario. I wanted to go to Arlo and Esme, because every time I've been there, I have had a good time. We pregamed at Julianne's place and we (Julianne, Kayla, Doreen, Sonia, Allen, and myself) tracked down two cabs and headed to the LES. However, when we got there, the bouncer said they weren't letting anyone in for another hour. Are you kidding? In another hour, I'll be sober. Fuck that. So we went to some weird hookah bar, where my gay night-life lover (again I'll save him for another story) got us in. Soon after arriving, the fumes and the seedy atmosphere got me and we had to bounce. Now I should mention, my entire party was pretty buzzed. I had been drinking with Sonia, my fellow intern, since 7pm, and I hadn't eaten since 3pm. A recipe for awesomeness. Seeing the momentum was slowing, I suggested we all head to Darkroom. On our way we ran into Melissa and Harold and our gang was almost complete. However when we got there, there was a muthafuckin line! WTF? This night was going to be disastrous.
Now usually in moments like this, if the universe sends me signs that the night is going to be a shitshow, I heed the commands of nature and get my ass home. This time, howbeit, I was too determined to beat Mother Nature at her own tricks. Here's a lesson to all you kiddies reading this at home: Nature always win. Why I forgot this principle can be attributed to the amount of ethanol coursing through my veins. Luckily, I knew one of the bouncers there. When I tell you I used to go out every night, I mean it. There are certain members of the night life community that I have built relationships with regardless of what bar they work at that specific night. So my dude let us in and skip the stupid line. Thank the heavens. We get in there but the DJ is whack. The sound system sounds like they boosted it straight out of an elementary school auditorium. Fuck it. As long as he plays my song, what do I care?
We start dancing and then Naimah calls me and tells me she's outside. So of course I go and get her so she doesn't have to wait on a stupid line. Once I'm back on the dancefloor, Doreen tells me her boo, Dave, is outside and if I could get him in. Sure, why not? I get out into the breezy, chill air and cannot find Dave. After playing hide and go seek for five minutes, I finally discover him and get him in as well. While I was gone apparently the interior dancefloor bouncer (as if they pay him) says they we can't put our jackets down. We either have to hold them or pay coat check. According to him, I can't even dance next to my jacket. So this prick, who doesn't realize that we're the reason anyone is in his club, is trying to tell us what to do. Party Foul Number One. At the same time when I'm giving him the brush off, Doreen tells me that Allen, Julianne's boyfriend, got kicked out of the bar. Apparently he had a conversation with the DJ and the bouncer felt that it was inappropriate. Yes I know that sounds farfetched but we were all drunk. If Doreen had told me that Allen farted chickens on the Bouncer's lap, I would've pulled out my barbecue sauce and bib that says "Where the beef?". So don't judge me!
Since I'm such a good friend, I hightailed it outside to be joined by Dave who is trying to debrief me on the situation. After talking to him for five minutes, I used my Sherlock skills to assess that he knew nothing. So we left Julianne to decipher the drama and returned into the bar to be greeted by several cops. And I mean several. Like at least seven. Now in my younger days, police officers showing up to your party meant hiding the liquor and sending out the most sober of the bunch to explain to the law enforcers their need for a warrant to search the premises. Basically, "party dun!" And apparently the DJ agreed because the music stopped and the crowd filtered out. Now my gang remained because 1) we're cool like that and 2) Allen was MIA. Julianne returned to the bar sans Allen, who apparently had been wearing my coat. Yes, folks, we were so inebriated that my frilly looking coat seemed appropriate for him to wear inside out. I can't blame him. This night was my idea. So in my frustration I asked the Popos what the problem seemed to be. The female copper replied "Nothing. We're waiting for the music to start again". Typical, even the police officers have more fun than me nowadays.
Eventually the music did start again and $3 shots were offered to the masses. Nonetheless, I was done. I wanted this night to be about regaining my youth and to be one for the history books. I wanted this to be the night when we're thirty and old, we would look back on this night and recall the days when we "lived". This was not that night. So I accepted defeat and took a cab home that cost me fifty bucks. I crawled into bed without food in my belly but enough alcohol to kill an elephant, or at least sedate him for two hours.
Maybe I can't go back to those blissful days of summer, but I don't think I have to start wearing muumuus, cleaning the dishes barefoot, while watching Maury. There has to be some middle ground where I can salvage my youth without destroying my future. There must be somewhere where I'm not at the starting point of nascency but I'm not yet at the finish line of decrepitude. It has to exist. And I think I know where it does. Somewhere between Sunday and Saturday---here I come Wednesday.
Monday, November 15, 2010
marriage vows
I love celebrating my friends' birthdays. I think it's really awesome to be able to let someone know that you care about them and were happy that they caused their mother unbearable pain and ripped her vadge open to let out that shrieking bundle of joy, you now call "bestie". I have a shitload of friends (not that I'm bragging or anything. Okay maybe I'm bragging just a little. Suck it ) and I don't get to spend as much time with each and every one of them as I would like. But birthdays are mandatory. If you miss one of your biffles bdays, you might as well excommunicate yourself. You will never be forgiven. Friendship bracelets will be recalled and you will be deleted from facebook albums. I'm not kidding.
The strict rules of birthday festivities almost got me in hot water this year. I am a huge comic book/cartoon fan. Everyone knows this about me. I don't play games when it comes to my favorite shows. I used to wake up at 3am every day to watch old school X-men the animated series (this was before DVR) and I have every episode of The Justice League:Unlimited saved on my television set. Unfortunately, it just so happened that we (meaning Naimah, Psycho, Josh, Nathan, Bridget and I) bought tickets for the midnight screening of The Last Airbender on the day Melissa wanted to celebrate her birthday. Now Melissa is one of the Wives. The Wives are the group of girls whom I consider more than friends; they're family. We've taken a vow to be there for each other till death do we part. And believe me, sometimes we want to kill each other. But a vow is a vow and I'm stuck with these bitches forever. The sad thing is that I'm glad that I am.
So Melissa saw our desperation and decided to do something different for her birthday. Instead of the typical club-drunk-mess-fest we tend to plan come our anniversaries, she wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise. What the french? Who does that? Of course I did the research and though the site's description sounded awesome, the reviews were anything but. It was supposed to be Latin music with carnival dancers and food and drinks. The crowd was supposed to be in their twenties and ready to mingle. Basically it wanted to bring the islands to the shores of New York City. My thought to that is, isn't everyone is New York from a fucking island. We're all immigrants here. Whatever. Even though I was hesitant about spending fifteen dollars for a cruise on a Thursday evening, I was down to go as long as I made it to that midnight screening.
So off we went. Myself, Harold, Psycho, Josh, Nya, Bridget and Melissa boarded this shady boat and immediately I knew that this was going to be a long boat ride. There were forty year old women who were trying to pass for twenty with their skimpy outfits and ridiculous makeup and there were men who were trying to pass as non-perverts. Both groups failed. It was set up as that typical eighth grade dance, where the girls are on one side and the boys on the other. In all honesty, I didn't want to be grouped with either side, so we chilled in the middle. We decided to take a look around the boat and see if it was more fun downstairs. Nope. Not a chance. Since there were more chairs on the bottom deck, the "older " (and I do mean older) group settled down there, resting their orthopedic-crocs ridden feet and staring blankly at the New York city shore.
Once we returned to the upper level, we realized that there was no salvaging this party. Unfortunately, we were on a moving boat. That is precisely the reason I hate boat rides. Somebody else dictates when I can leave and I'm not down with that. I'm not about to be left last while someone else decides who gets life vest a la Titanic. You better be sure that I'm not going to be playing with the string quartet as the boat goes down. I'm going to fashion myself a raft out of one of the gross looking men's polyester zoot suit and sail myself to safety.
While I was content with making fun of the others on the boat, we could see that Melissa was a little upset that her birthday wasn't the shindig she expected. So what did we do? We danced of course. Whenever one of our girls is in the dumps, we immediately do whatever it takes to cheer her up. So we started busting a move in the middle of the dancefloor and was winding it to the same 6 songs the DJ decided to play over and over again. For three and a half hours we danced the night away while men that wear sunglasses indoors and faux-gator shoes, oogled at us and attempted their lame pick up lines. And we actually had a good time. We had more than a good time. Psycho was dancing away commenting that we always take him to the strangest places. Josh was doing his best Russian White Boy dance that involves a little bit of Saturday Night Fever on sedatives. Bridget was swinging her braids back and forth and probably cut part of my lip with those razor like extensions. All in all we were having fun. But you better believe that when that boat docked, we were the first ones off the boat. C'mon we had movie to go watch.
We hightailed it to Union Square where we found Naimah waiting in the front of the line with snacks galore. Yes we skipped everyone in line but when you're rolling with a six foot, 300 lb gangster named Psycho, people don't really fuck with you. Nathan and his wifey joined us as we entered the theater and picked our seats. We settled in and I had Psycho on one side of me and Josh on the other. Now I need to let you know that this evening was a long time in the making. I love the series, Avatar: The Last Airbender. I've seen every episode at least 12 times and that might be a low estimate. When I heard that it was being made into a live action movie, I had my reservations. Then when I heard that M. Night Shymalan was the director, my anxiety increased. However Psycho was the one that declared that Shymalan was going to be brilliant with this adaptation and I was going to eat my words when the movie finally came out. Now this was a good year before the movie was released. So we made a promise that on the opening day, we would attend a midnight screening together and assess the film directly after.
So finally the lights dimmed in the theater and the mood is set. We all put on our 3D glasses and silenced our cell phones. Well all of us except Naimah who has managed to pick up her phone during every movie I've ever seen with her. Bear in mind that I've known her since the eighth grade and I see every comic book/cartoon movie with her by my side. It's been a lot of "Yo, Imma hit you up later. I'm at the movies with Steph right now". You can't tell her anything so I don't even try. But if you're reading this Naimah, you know I'm right.
Needless to say the movie was shit. And not like it was the shit, more like it smelled like shit. Nothing was right. Except for the fact that the first lines that the actor playing Aang recited sounded exactly like the cartoor version of Aang. Weird. Nonetheless the racial undertones by having the evil Fire Nation being played by all Middle Easterners, and having the Water tribe be White people did not go over very well. The fact that the story line was rushed and there were inaccuracies riddled throughout the screenplay didn't help matters either. Sadly the thing that made everyone upset was the pronounciation of certain characters. Since when did Sokka becoma Soca? Uncle Iro is not Uncle Eroh. And Aang is not Aahng. I'm sorry if the cartoon prounounced these tradtional names wrong, but if you'r going to take the liberty and change the racial dynamics of the film, at least let us retain some semblance that we're watching something akin to the show we all loved. And we paid to see that piece of shit in 3D, but the only thing that was in 3D were the subtitles. Really? Really Shymalan? You think I care that you can bounce off words on a screen. Most people don't come to the movies to read and you're not improving the literacy rate in this country by letting me know the correct spelling of an IMAGINARY LAND. FUCKTARD!Sorry I'm still a little upset. Needless to say, Psycho and I didn't need to have a discussion about the film. About three quarters in the movie, He got up from his seat and started yelling "BOOOOO!!!! BOOOOO!!!!!!!!". The entire audience looked back at this giant a bit scared of what he might do next, and then they broke out into applause. They all agreed. We spent that last quarter of the film chatting up everyone else in the theater about how M. Night deserved to have Appa, the magical flying bison, throw him from the highest mountain straight into fire nation territory.
It's kind of weird. What I expected to be a horrible day, dancing on a boat with nekkid carnival dancers and skeezy old pedophiles, turned out to be an awesome time. On the other hand, what I wanted to be the best cinematic experience ever, turned into one of those moments that I loathe myself because I spent money on that bowl of shit. Sometimes your intuition about something is so off base, but you've got to try everything to see what really works for you. However in both instances, I realized that i will try anything as long as I've got my friends besides me. Regardless of where we end up, I know I will have an awesome time with them. That's why I fucks with them---till death do us part.
The strict rules of birthday festivities almost got me in hot water this year. I am a huge comic book/cartoon fan. Everyone knows this about me. I don't play games when it comes to my favorite shows. I used to wake up at 3am every day to watch old school X-men the animated series (this was before DVR) and I have every episode of The Justice League:Unlimited saved on my television set. Unfortunately, it just so happened that we (meaning Naimah, Psycho, Josh, Nathan, Bridget and I) bought tickets for the midnight screening of The Last Airbender on the day Melissa wanted to celebrate her birthday. Now Melissa is one of the Wives. The Wives are the group of girls whom I consider more than friends; they're family. We've taken a vow to be there for each other till death do we part. And believe me, sometimes we want to kill each other. But a vow is a vow and I'm stuck with these bitches forever. The sad thing is that I'm glad that I am.
So Melissa saw our desperation and decided to do something different for her birthday. Instead of the typical club-drunk-mess-fest we tend to plan come our anniversaries, she wanted to go on a Caribbean cruise. What the french? Who does that? Of course I did the research and though the site's description sounded awesome, the reviews were anything but. It was supposed to be Latin music with carnival dancers and food and drinks. The crowd was supposed to be in their twenties and ready to mingle. Basically it wanted to bring the islands to the shores of New York City. My thought to that is, isn't everyone is New York from a fucking island. We're all immigrants here. Whatever. Even though I was hesitant about spending fifteen dollars for a cruise on a Thursday evening, I was down to go as long as I made it to that midnight screening.
So off we went. Myself, Harold, Psycho, Josh, Nya, Bridget and Melissa boarded this shady boat and immediately I knew that this was going to be a long boat ride. There were forty year old women who were trying to pass for twenty with their skimpy outfits and ridiculous makeup and there were men who were trying to pass as non-perverts. Both groups failed. It was set up as that typical eighth grade dance, where the girls are on one side and the boys on the other. In all honesty, I didn't want to be grouped with either side, so we chilled in the middle. We decided to take a look around the boat and see if it was more fun downstairs. Nope. Not a chance. Since there were more chairs on the bottom deck, the "older " (and I do mean older) group settled down there, resting their orthopedic-crocs ridden feet and staring blankly at the New York city shore.
Once we returned to the upper level, we realized that there was no salvaging this party. Unfortunately, we were on a moving boat. That is precisely the reason I hate boat rides. Somebody else dictates when I can leave and I'm not down with that. I'm not about to be left last while someone else decides who gets life vest a la Titanic. You better be sure that I'm not going to be playing with the string quartet as the boat goes down. I'm going to fashion myself a raft out of one of the gross looking men's polyester zoot suit and sail myself to safety.
While I was content with making fun of the others on the boat, we could see that Melissa was a little upset that her birthday wasn't the shindig she expected. So what did we do? We danced of course. Whenever one of our girls is in the dumps, we immediately do whatever it takes to cheer her up. So we started busting a move in the middle of the dancefloor and was winding it to the same 6 songs the DJ decided to play over and over again. For three and a half hours we danced the night away while men that wear sunglasses indoors and faux-gator shoes, oogled at us and attempted their lame pick up lines. And we actually had a good time. We had more than a good time. Psycho was dancing away commenting that we always take him to the strangest places. Josh was doing his best Russian White Boy dance that involves a little bit of Saturday Night Fever on sedatives. Bridget was swinging her braids back and forth and probably cut part of my lip with those razor like extensions. All in all we were having fun. But you better believe that when that boat docked, we were the first ones off the boat. C'mon we had movie to go watch.
We hightailed it to Union Square where we found Naimah waiting in the front of the line with snacks galore. Yes we skipped everyone in line but when you're rolling with a six foot, 300 lb gangster named Psycho, people don't really fuck with you. Nathan and his wifey joined us as we entered the theater and picked our seats. We settled in and I had Psycho on one side of me and Josh on the other. Now I need to let you know that this evening was a long time in the making. I love the series, Avatar: The Last Airbender. I've seen every episode at least 12 times and that might be a low estimate. When I heard that it was being made into a live action movie, I had my reservations. Then when I heard that M. Night Shymalan was the director, my anxiety increased. However Psycho was the one that declared that Shymalan was going to be brilliant with this adaptation and I was going to eat my words when the movie finally came out. Now this was a good year before the movie was released. So we made a promise that on the opening day, we would attend a midnight screening together and assess the film directly after.
So finally the lights dimmed in the theater and the mood is set. We all put on our 3D glasses and silenced our cell phones. Well all of us except Naimah who has managed to pick up her phone during every movie I've ever seen with her. Bear in mind that I've known her since the eighth grade and I see every comic book/cartoon movie with her by my side. It's been a lot of "Yo, Imma hit you up later. I'm at the movies with Steph right now". You can't tell her anything so I don't even try. But if you're reading this Naimah, you know I'm right.
Needless to say the movie was shit. And not like it was the shit, more like it smelled like shit. Nothing was right. Except for the fact that the first lines that the actor playing Aang recited sounded exactly like the cartoor version of Aang. Weird. Nonetheless the racial undertones by having the evil Fire Nation being played by all Middle Easterners, and having the Water tribe be White people did not go over very well. The fact that the story line was rushed and there were inaccuracies riddled throughout the screenplay didn't help matters either. Sadly the thing that made everyone upset was the pronounciation of certain characters. Since when did Sokka becoma Soca? Uncle Iro is not Uncle Eroh. And Aang is not Aahng. I'm sorry if the cartoon prounounced these tradtional names wrong, but if you'r going to take the liberty and change the racial dynamics of the film, at least let us retain some semblance that we're watching something akin to the show we all loved. And we paid to see that piece of shit in 3D, but the only thing that was in 3D were the subtitles. Really? Really Shymalan? You think I care that you can bounce off words on a screen. Most people don't come to the movies to read and you're not improving the literacy rate in this country by letting me know the correct spelling of an IMAGINARY LAND. FUCKTARD!Sorry I'm still a little upset. Needless to say, Psycho and I didn't need to have a discussion about the film. About three quarters in the movie, He got up from his seat and started yelling "BOOOOO!!!! BOOOOO!!!!!!!!". The entire audience looked back at this giant a bit scared of what he might do next, and then they broke out into applause. They all agreed. We spent that last quarter of the film chatting up everyone else in the theater about how M. Night deserved to have Appa, the magical flying bison, throw him from the highest mountain straight into fire nation territory.
It's kind of weird. What I expected to be a horrible day, dancing on a boat with nekkid carnival dancers and skeezy old pedophiles, turned out to be an awesome time. On the other hand, what I wanted to be the best cinematic experience ever, turned into one of those moments that I loathe myself because I spent money on that bowl of shit. Sometimes your intuition about something is so off base, but you've got to try everything to see what really works for you. However in both instances, I realized that i will try anything as long as I've got my friends besides me. Regardless of where we end up, I know I will have an awesome time with them. That's why I fucks with them---till death do us part.
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