2011 DMV Awards: Coonstastically Coonerific! Pt2

        So if you read my other blog post 2011 DMV Awards: Coonstastically Coonerific! Pt1 [<~Click here to read] then you already know what happened, but you don’t know how I feel about it.

        Outside of me being pissed that i took the time to prepare for the event, that they didn’t have a place for me to sit, and that I didn’t get to perform ….partially due to the fact that I was running for my life….I was soooo embarrassed! I know this shouldnt be a white black thing, so I will make it a white , black, nigger thing. When I walked into the hotel I was praying that there was no one from my job within a 50 mile radius of this place. Judging by the attire and attitude of people hovering around the entrance this was not the crowd that I would ever be caught dead with. Call it judgement but later activities would prove me correct. There was a veterans seminar going on upstairs and there was a sea of elderly white people dangling over the balconies to catch a glimpse of all the ill-dressed “coloreds” with the cameras flashing and red carpet affairs. One friend even told me that an elderly white woman told him that she was happy that the “next generation was doing something so positive”.  Another gentleman was over heard saying, ” …looks like good, clean fun.” This is what an on-looker thought of the 1,500+ people who showed up to supposedly celebrate one another.

        I was outraged that even from the jump things were not done properly. Black people, we have GOT to raise our standards up higher than what we continue to allow to occur. The line for the registration was at the bottom of the escalators and could have been around the corner where the “pat down” was located. There weren’t any efforts to place proper signage to alert the people as to which line to get in for wrist bands, etc. And if I were to go back, there should have been a dress code for the award show. It should have been church or temple attire to enter this event. Something about wearing different clothes will make you act better for just a little while longer. I felt like I was walking down the streets of Southeast DC, not that I would…..and not that everyone is Southeast is horrible….but it certainly didn’t feel like an award show. EVERY man should have a suit. Call me stuck up if you want, but that should be a goal for every man to save up to buy at least one suit. And this award show would have been the proper place to wear it. Hell, slacks and a button up would have sufficed…anything but the street attire that allowed street activities to occur.

       There was a taste of greed in the atmosphere as well. There were more people in that room than what that space would/should have allowed. I heard that the tables were sold for $500 a pop. Now I am all for making a profit, but fundraise, get sponsors, something! There were too many people walking between the tables than sitting to watch the show. The atmosphere was more on profits than true performance and celebration. I wouldn’t have started the show until everyone was seated and made to respect what the event was about in the first place. This is why people get to behave so poorly at events like this and then come uptown to my event and get their feelings hurt when I show their asses how to properly behave. This shit has GOT to stop.

       The program, aside from misspelled words and names of invited performers, was more about advertisement than to direct and guide the show. Now I know that is where the sponsors go, but how was the show suppose to be ran? Someone could have easily taken a church program and used that outline. I didn’t know which performer I would have gone after or which category I may have performed after. It was all so disorganized.

        But at the root of it all….I had to ask myself if these were my people. The answer, no. My people don’t do things like this. My people know how to act when at home but especially when out in public amongst mixed company. MY people respect one another and even when they disagree they do so in a contained manner. No one should ever know the disagreements that occur inside of one’s house. I finally understood why people who leave the hood sometimes choose to never look back. For once I saw it. I understood the motive behind their actions. I didn’t want to be associated with these people. I wanted to find all footage that had me on it and burn it. I was ashamed to be the same shade of skin as these people.

        I was ashamed that black men felt the need to assert their “manhood” by beating someone up. I couldn’t believe my eyes at the sea of innocent people who were hurt because they thought that being a man meant to jump another person who looked just like them. Looking over the banister of the second tier, I couldn’t tell who the victim was, who the help was, or who the fighters were; THEY ALL LOOKED ALIKE! They looked alike, they looked alike, GOT DAMN IT NIGGAS, YOU ALL LOOKED ALIKE!!! The only thing that separated you was where you resided, who your friends were and that you had different mamas, but I be damned if someone told me that they could tell the difference between these males.

        I am sitting here in my office fighting back tears. I saw older ladies get hit , females being tossed to the floor and thrown on tables to be moved out of the way. I saw a black teen come out of the hotel and film a girl’s mother crying and laughed because he thought it was funny. How is THAT being a man? How is THAT showing pride in who you are and where you come from?How did any of that make sense? The aftermath damn near resembled an earthquake or natural disaster. Broken tables, bottles shatter, chairs turned over, articles of clothing left behind and in pieces….this is something that one should never have to see; something that one should never do to YOUR OWN PEOPLE!

       And maybe I just don’t get it, the hood mentality, but the truth of the matter is…. I don’t want to get it. NOTHING is ever that bad that you have to physically fight to prove your point. I know what it feels like to want to pin a bitch to the wall for talking out the side of her high-yella mouth and trying you…trust me, I do. But I also know what it feels like to refrain because I had nothing to prove to her. Me stomping her ass was a given. Everyone knew I would win that fight and I would come out looking like a bully rather than a strong woman who put this bitch in her place. I know what it feels like to be ostracized by those who claim loyalty to her and her lies in the shadow of something that only she and I know occurred. I know how it feels.Trust me, I know how it feels to have some one verbally come at you and you just stand there and take it. I’ve been disrespected before in a ballroom full of people. And you better believe that my first instinct was to SLICE THIS BITCH UP! But his own actions , my knowing I did no wrong, somehow was enough for me to leave it alone. I even changed my opening speech from “Taalam Acey said it best, there’s a market for niggas” just because I didn’t want people to think that I said it specifically for that nut. It hurt, yes it did. To be attacked whether someone felt I earned it or not…it stung. But just as I could scream that there was a more tactful and respectful way for those dummies to handle themselves, there was a better way for me to handle myself….and I believe I took the higher road. Because when it is all said and done, my life moves on. So what he bumped into you…. your life will move on. So what he is from a different hood than you… so what! YOUR LIFE WILL MOVE ON!  YOUR LIFE WILL MOVE ON!!! None of what happened was worth what occurred.

       Call me stuck up if you want… I don’t give a FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! The only difference between me and these people are the fact that I KNOW BETTER. I had a hard childhood. I wasnt given shit. I literally/metaphorically fought my way through some situations. The difference is that I never once put myself or others in danger to assert myself. When you know better, you do better. So at what point did black people stop knowing better? At what point did beating each other become the norm? At what point did it become okay for people to be smiling and grinning and filming outside of these occurrences? Why wasnt anyone who wasnt hurt upset? Why weren’t they running to the police to nip everything in the bud?I just don’t get it.

       No one will want to come to this award next year, if there is a show next year. No place worth coming would want to host it after what happened this year. And some of these places will be weary to rent out their space to other black organizations looking to build a successful foundation all because these coons decided to act an ass. And no one is willing to tell who started the fight. No one is willing to speak. You better believe that if this effected ANYTHING that was near and dear to me… I would squeal. AND LOUD! I would point out people in the YouTube vids. I’d get the guy who stole the bottle of liquor and admitted to it. I’d slow down every tape and point out the performers who were just on stage before the fight broke out. Yes, your officer…the dude in all black with the locs throwing the chair is apart of the group named ( insert group here).  I’m not afraid to stand up for what is right. The sad thing is… I shouldnt have to be the only one.

P.S. You can tell the high-yella heffa & the nut I said it. I have already said it to them… so go ahead… be a nosey motherfucker and start something up. Its old news. You’ll be the main nigga that my blog was talking about… constantly trying to keep shit going. My opinions are just that. So nigga…..do you.

       Also, tune in tomorrow to read my blog 200 Men Said….Let aMan be a Man[<~Click here tomorrow]. Even though it deals with relationships…. how appropriate that it follows after this blog. It wasnt scheduled, but the universe works in mysterious ways.

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*

2011 DMV Awards: Coonstastically Coonerific! Pt1

        You might have seen nigger before, but you aint NEEEEEEEEEEVER seen nigger like this! Yes, I said it.. and what!  What am I talking of, you ask? Well, that would be the 2011 DMV Awards. No, not the Department of Motor Vehicles, but the DC, Maryland, and Virginia Music Awards. TRUST ME when I tell y’all that the only way I could describe this event would be “Coontastically Coonerific”.  WARNING!!!!!!: This is a LONG ASS BLOG POST!

        Let me give you some back history. I was introduced to the coordinator of the event a month or two ago at an industry event party hosted by an amazing diva. I thought that this would be an amazing opportunity to bring poetry to a different demographic who may never travel to where I reside in order to be enlightened by Spoken Word. I even heard that there was a category for Best Spoken Word Artist. Now, this was news to me because I had never even HEARD of the DMV Awards before this moment. So how could there be an award for us when no one I knew was even aware that they were even NOMINATED? Yes, you read that correctly. My #1 ace called several people who were nominated in the poetry category and they were oblivious to the fact that they were even nominated. WTF? So was it a front? Who did they give the trophies to? Just…yeh. So after several conversations I got my big brother on the performance list as well because I thought that it would be good for this group to see a black male performing poetry as well. We were promised emails to give us performance details, when we would go on, directions, etc…..and we NEVER received them. This…..should have been a warning sign.

       So, word on the street to people who I had come in contact with had already warned me that the DMV Awards was full of niggery. After having asked the coordinator, and I quote, “What is the dress code? Is it DC Club trendy or BET Honors?” To which he replied, ” WOW. That’s your call. I’m going for the shock value.” WTF kind of Tom Foolery is that? After hearing that, I was prepared to walk into the prestige kingdom of Niggerdom. I had got my hair done the night before, picked out a mature and sophisticated outfit that would make me one of the few women with the most amount of clothes in the building.

        Upon walking up to the Hyatt-Regency of Crystal City, I could already tell we were in the right place due to the mounds of black people outside dressed in next to nothing. Yes, the fellas were in nothing more impressive than what appeared to be basement party dance-off gear and the females were dawning dresses made for an Uncle Luke video primed for BET Uncut. I am a straight woman who couldn’t take my eyes off the asses of these females whose dresses were inches from the cracks of their asses. I mean, here we were in 40 degree weather and these bitches were wearing Cooch Couture! Women of all ill shapes were set up by other ill-figured bitches. I saw more saggy breasts than a maternity ward at Jackson Hospital. I immediately knew that I wasnt suppose to be there do to the array of ass that was on display. Now having been a chronic sufferer of Donk Deficiency myself, I was a little out of my element…but I digress.

        The press was there in abundance, and so were the hoodrats trying to get their attention. I mean, nominees were taking red carpet picks with their make-up artists. WTF? Where they do that at? (Pardon the preposition ending, but you know what I mean). Judging by the looks of this Flava Flav colored woman dawning Golden Arches colored lipstick… I be damned if I would claim her as my make-up artist, yet alone have her in my red carpet photos. Yes, I had finally entered nigger activity.  But NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING prepared me for what would follow.

        Upon entering the ballroom, being pat down for weapons, twice, …..

       Sidebar: In the line to get pat down for weapons, a guy pulled out a WAD of $100 bills the size of a Double Quarter Pounder and placed them on the table because he was told to empty his pockets. Now, stereotypically…a guy dressed as poorly as he, white-tee, jeans, sneakers, sunglasses inside of a hotel at night-time, and unkempt facial hair and locs, one would suggest that he wasnt suppose to have that kind of money….legally. Secondly, nigga, we are at a hotel for an award show…why the fuck do you have that kind of money on your person? I was prepared to rob you my damn self.

        Now, I found a woman who was assisting with the show and asked where were the performers suppose to sit. Do you know that this woman had enough nerve to ask me if I had purchased a table? WTF!!!! Trick, I was invited to perform for YOUR SHOW, performers don’t purchase tables or seats. You reserve seats for your  performers and presenters and everyone else should purchase a seat. After temporarily sitting at a reserved table, I finally planted my ass in a chair that was propping open the ballroom doors and that is where God had intended me to sit for the remainder of my time there.

        One would think that this was more of a club atmosphere than an award show. People were constantly walking throughout the crowds no one was really paying any attention to anyone that was on stage and half of the winners weren’t even in the building to accept the award. See how helpful reserved seating would be? Niggers parading with bottles of champagne, logo tatted shirts, and drunk niggers galore were everywhere. There was no respect in the room. So the inevitable was bound to happen….and it did.

        After calling for an intermission, I saw people at the front of the room turn around and point to the back of the room. Now, as a black person, it is innate that if ONE person runs, you all run. So when I saw the finger point to the back of the room  my inner hood pounced into survival mode. I turned my head and saw a chair raise up and immediately land on this guy. I took off my 4 inch heels, hooked the corner and was out into the lobby running from the foolishness that was occurring just feet away from me. So apparently this fight broke out: (View at 1:32)

        Yes, THIS is what happened at an award show. Source Awards on repeat. At 3:29 you hear a hood chick proclaim how people were leaving their things and how she had on $100,00 worth of jewelry on. Say it with me now..>WTF?! Why would ANYONE in this place have on a hundred thousand dollars worth of jewelry on? They may have…but I doubt it.  And you immediately see a guy, ON CAMERA, admitting to stealling liquor out of the hotel after the fight broke out. Now I cant say this enough but WTF?!!!

       After the first 4 fights broke out I was in the lower lobby. I witnessed the employee worker get his face damn near ripped off, I saw him pass us with napkins dripping his blood across the lobby floor. HE WAS AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER!!! I saw an older woman who was a vendor sitting at her table get pushed and hit once. SHE WAS AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER!!!  There I was standing there, barefoot, in the lobby of a hotel with a sea of madness surrounding me and not knowing what to do next. I raced all the way upstairs and out of the hotel to be faced with Virginia Police Department decorated in riot gear. Nothing says game over like a VAPD pointing an AK 47 in your face telling you to keep it moving.  If there wasnt foolishness inside, there was bound to be some foolishness outside. This had “accidental police shooting” written all over it.

        We hopped back in my truck and we left with more than 25 police cars blocking any route back to the hotel. There was even a police SUV, a few streets over, with his lights off waiting to catch any more of the madness that may have trickled away from the hotel. What baffled me is the fact that 6, count them SIX, of the guys even recorded in this video in neon yellow shirts were covered in blood, ripped shirts, and bloody faces walked right out the front door of the hotel and passed by the cops. Now, if I were a snitch…. I would have brought attention to them. I would have said, these are the same motherfuckers who were JUST performing on the stage prior to the intermission. But I guess that would go against the hood code, right? Well damn it…. I aint from the hood.

        Read DMV AWARDS: Coonstastically Connerific Pt2 [<~Click here in a moment] to read my lessons learned through this.

       Also, tune in tomorrow to read my blog 200 Men Said….Let aMan be a Man[<~Click here tomorrow]. Even though it deals with relationships…. how appropriate that it follows after this blog. It wasnt scheduled, but the universe works in mysterious ways.

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

*Click on Title and scroll down to read comments or to leave a comment.*~

Lyrically Speaking: Waka Flocka-No Hands

Second Edition

        Like Waka Flocka at all of his paid performances, I am at a loss for words. I mean, I will make an honest attempt to give some form of props in the middle of this mess….but no promises.

        Waka Flaka’s No Hands is a very trendy and catchy beat and chorus that has teens from DC to Japan screaming “Look ma, no hands” and even though I have been guilty of bobbing to it in my own house and subconsciously learning the lyrics thanks to constant rotation on the radio, I wouldn’t want anyone else learning it. Hypocrite? Yes, and rightfully so. I’m old enough to know what the lyrics of the song mean. I wish I could sit a class down and deconstruct these lyrics. It’s the teen group that I want to stop from bobbing to this, because the girls are the first ones to jump up and prove to the boys that they are the best “No Hands” chick in the building, and the boys continue to think that treating these girls as such is what the girls want because they aren’t showing them otherwise.

        I remember when Hip-Hop use to make us think, you to get you amped up to do something, but now this rap stuff is for no other use than to degrade and get your head bobbing in the club. Being, indirectly, from the south you would think that I was proud of the south’s musical (lack of) achievements. I mean, the Stanky Leg and No Hands should be enough to make me rep’ my city….right? Not so much. Okay…enough of my banter… lets look at these lyrics. The same lyrics that get bleeped out on the radio and make it sound just a little bit cleaner than what it was ever intended to be……those edited lyrics are WAY better than what is said.

Chorus:

Roscoe;Chorus:]
Girl the way you’re movin’
Got me in a trance
DJ turn me up
Ladies dis yo jam
I’ma sip Moscato
And you ‘gon lose dem pants
Then I’ma throw this money
While you do it with no hands
Girl drop it to the flo’
I love the way yo booty go
All I want to do is sit back
And watch you move
And I’ll proceed to throw this cash

 

        Fiiiiiiiirst off! Roscoe has a daughter. I keep trying to tell people how this whole ” I will corrupt your sons and daughters while I protect my own seed” mentality is a bunch of bullshit! Some lil boy is going to grow up thinking that this is how to treat a woman, therefore making his daughter’s chances of finding a decent man who doesn’t want her just for her money slim to impossible!!! I can’t shout this enough. So he is telling you that this is your song & you’ve got to take your pants off BEFORE he’ll give you any money. Okay… on to the king of stupidity.

Verse 1:

Waka;Verse 1:]
(Waka, Waka, Waka, Flocka, Whoa, Whoa)
All that ass
In yo jeans
Can Wale beat
Can Roscoe skeet
Long hair she don’t care
When she walk she get stares
Brown skin or a yellow-bone
DJ this my favorite song
So I’ma make it thunderstorm
Bud, want it, Flocka, yea
Blowin’ ,fuck it, i dont care
Chests’ flyin’ everywhere
Got my partner Roscoe, like bruh
I’m drinkin’, help, can’t you tell
Booze help me hit them 15 steps
I’m fuckin’, well i’m tryna hit the hotel
With 2 girls that swallow me
Take this dick while swallow
Pay moscato got her freaky
Aye you got me in a trance
Please take off yo pants
Pussy pop on her handstand
You got me sweatin’
Please pass me a fan damn!

        After the “Shawt Bus Shawty intro……(Waka Waka Waka Waka). Ummmm…. So, he doesn’t even want to sleep with you. He just wants to ask if his boy can beat it and then can his OTHER boy skeet it? Classy! I mean…this should have all the girls out on the dance floor dancing like coons, booty tooted up in the air! And one wants to beat it…..sooooo is the other sitting in the corner holding his skeet? Or is he beating himself while the other beats and then they tag team WWE style while one now skeets on her and the other contains his skeet because that wasnt apart of the contractual agreement? Okay… I thought too much into that, but why say it if it doesn’t make any logical sense? So…further in the verse you are only good enough to suck him off because he doesn’t think you’re quite fuckable material because you might get pregnant and he doesn’t want that. And the first southern grammatical stab is “Chests'” ….pronounced by Waka as “Chest-is” LMAO!!! You showl is edjumikated. And I think he had a bout with schizophrenia in the middle when we asked himself if he wanted bud…and then answered himself. But….next!

After a flare of the chorus again……..

Verse 2:

[Wale;Verse 2:]
(Aye, aye, Wale, uh)
She said look ma no hands
She said look ma no hands
And no darling I don’t dance
And, I’m with Roscoe, I’m with Waka
I think i deserve a chance
I’m a bad mothafucka
Gon’ ask some mothafuckas
A young handsome mothafucka
I sling that wood
I just nun chuck ’em
And, who you wit
And, what’s yo name
And, you not hear boo, I’m Wale
And, that D.C. shit I rep all day
And, my eyes red cuz of all that haze
Don’t blow my high
Let me shine
Drumma on the beat
Let me take my time
Nigga want beef we can take it outside
Fight for what broad
These hoes ain’t mine
Is you out yo mind
You out yo league
I sweat no bitches
Just sweat out weaves
Where our tracks
Let me do my thing
I got 16, for this Roscoe thing
But, i’m almost done
Let me get back to it
Whole lotta loud
And a little backwood
Whole lotta money
Big tip I would
I put her on the train
Little engine could, bitch

 

        I know this is just a song, but she was proud enough to show her mother how she does it without hands? I wish I would!!! My mother would hop up from the grave and pimp slap me with the withering hang of my ancestors if I EVER did that in front of her. I’m still afraid to do stuff in my own house in fear that her spirit can see… & I am grown! lol. Nunchucks are weapons…..domestic violence is not cute metaphorically or literally….NEXT! Ummm what the fuck does “You not hear” mean? Is that suppose to be “you can’t hear” or “havent you heard” or am I bugging? Nope, not bugging… he did graduate from PG County public schools. I know… I live here…lmao! And just in case you thought that he would protect your honor after you gave up the ass…. think again! You hoes arent his! lol And just when you wanted frequent flier miles… he plans on straight up Amtraking your ass…..am I making my point?

And last but definitely not least:

Verse 3:

[Roscoe;Verse 3:]
(Roscoe Dash, let’s go)
R-O-S-C-O-E-Mr. shawty put it on me
I be goin’ ham
Shawty upgrade from baloney
Them niggas tippin’ good
Girl but I can make it flood
Cuz I walk around
With pockets bigger that are than my bus
Rain, rain go away
That’s what all my haters say
My pockets stuck on overload
My reign never evaporates
No need to eleborate
Most of these ducks exaggerate
But, i’ma get money nigga
Everyday stuntin’ nigga
Ducks might get a chance after me
Bitch i’m ballin’
Like i’m comin’ off of free throws
Cuz the head of the game
No cheat codes
Lambo, Roscoe
No street code
And your booty got me lost like Nemo
Go, go, go
G-gon’ and do yo dance
And, i’ma throw this money
While you do it wit no hands
(GO!)

 

        My hoe has a first name its, Y-O-U-S-A; my hoe has a  last name, its B-I-T-C-H! lol. SO between ham and bologna, he only deals with basic bitches. No steak, no filet mignon, hell….not even turkey? This is a classy negro ladies… he will spend the best on his bitches! And I think that he happens to have a fetish with Ducks…..dont go to Disney World and leave him alone with Donald. Trust me…..the water metaphors are freaking me out. And he might not even really like women because he really only talked about himself through the whole verse. Was this to redeem himself for even being apart of this fucked up coonery in the first place? At least he spoke the best English in the song. COONSTATSTIC!

        I tried to find some praise in there… this is how I really feel about this song. Bounce if you must….but this is just HORRIBLE! Okay.. I’m done. Until I get some liquid courage in my system at a private house party and I begin to jam to this. What? I wanna do it with no hands…I’ve been practicing Yoga. lol

Double Negative Error Count

R&B: -6      Rap: -2

 

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~