Aww, skeet-skeet: Analyzing rap lyrics

I’ll be wearing a hood foreva.

My iTunes is a ridiculous mix of genres from the booty-shakin’ beats of hip-hop and rap to the hipster-take-the-wheel emo tunes and even a tiny bit o’ crooning by some of them country-western folk. I listen to music every. single. morning. as I get dressed and put my make-up on and as I dry my nails (I have a whole nail drying dance that I swear-to-god works – more on that destined-to-be-viral idea later) and now I’m really taking my jams to a whole new level of serious with my uber-long commute to work.

I might dance in my car like only all of So Cal is watching. Haters be hatin’ but my booty be shakin’.

My commute also gives me far too much time to think about the lyrics of the music I’m pop-and-locking to, which has led to me this very moment, where I break it all down for you; the very meaning of the hip-hop lyrics you’ve been wondering about.

Just freaking play along like you were wondering, m’kay?

Now before you go commenting like “Oh that’s not even what they’re saying!” Or, “THAT’S NOT WHAT THAT MEANS!!!” Let me tell you a couple things. 1. *looks around* This isn’t your blog. And, 2. I can certainly be down with O.P.P. (Other Peoples’ Perspectives) but this isn’t one of those times.

I ball so hard m*therf*ckers wanna find me. Let me tell you what, Jay-Z. I haaaated playing tetherball against assholes like you. Don’t ball so hard. It sounds painful. Bitch behave? Oh hell no. That shit you say? CRAY. Provocative? Yes. Does it get the people goin’? Yes. BUT CRAY, Jay.

Now Flo, I know that “sometimes (you) get a good feeling” but most guys do; it usually happens first thing in the morning, for starters. It’s cool. But the whole “giving in’s not an option, gotta get it in” has me all arched-brow over here like, you ain’t sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’ right? You talkin’ about gym time? Knew it. *whew*

I just wish Drake had told us what the motto was a lot sooner. I know he’s only 25 sitting on 25 mil, but crap, it would have been nice to know it was as simple as “you only live once” like, yesterday. I would have done EVERYTHING differently. Skeet, skeet, skeet.

I’m just sorry J. Cole can’t be my man. I got high, I got low, I dropped my thang down to the flo’ and… he’s only here for one night? Bullshit. Get right, get right. And to think I wanted to ride around town in his big ol’ raaaaange, nevermind his big ol’ chaaaaains. Damn they don’t make ‘em like that anymore. *sigh*

Oh, Tyga. I know you were faded/faded/faded/faded when you wrote this ’cause you keep saying the same goddamn thing over/over/over/over again. You spit out random shit like “Scarface” and “Dan Marino” without meaning/meaning/meaning/meaning and frankly I’m going to need Botox/Botox/Botox/Botox from wrinkling my forehead trying to get it/get it/get it/get it.

And lemme tell you something, Lil Jon. When the sweat starts drippin’ down yo’ balls, it’s time for you to get off the got-damn dance floor and air yo’ junk out. That’s funk waiting to happen. I’m all for a guy gettin’ low on the dance flo’ (I ain’t scared, I ain’t scared) but aww, skeet, skeet muthafucker, I don’t want to hear about your wonder cheese.

Join me next time as I dissect Hipster Hysteria, classic rock tunes or possibly some boot-scootin’ country.

Do work, son

Insert golf clap here, I’ve officially been at my new job for two weeks. Just long enough to figure out my chaotic morning and nightly routines and plenty long enough to have my share of awkward moments that only I could create.

Everyone is crazy friendly at this company and I’ve noticed how super proactive they are about introducing themselves in hallways, the kitchen area, anywhere – even if we don’t necessarily work closely together. Taking this cue, a week in I decided to do the same over the cappuccino machine (where I have taught people to make foam, OF COURSE) by introducing myself to a man and telling him which team I work on, how I am new, etc. to which he replies, “I know. We met your first day?”

Riiiight. Whoops. And so we meet again?

There are also a fair share of celebrities and producers and Big Names roaming our office and the building hallways and while I’m not one to usually put faces with names (see above), I found myself a little dumbfounded to run into a producer of a show that sounds similar to Lurvivor mid-stairwell.

No, no. Like, physically run into him.

IN MY DEFENSE, who stops mid-step to text? Fine. Plenty of people. But should they? No.

A few days later color me surprised when the whole Hump Island selection suddenly became relevant in a totally YEAH, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT MEGAN kind of way when a certain Bostonian who likes ‘dem apples’ was roaming the hallways.

People, this is why you don’t laminate your Hump Island choices.

Next week I get to meet the co-owners/partners of the company. I think it’s incredibly cool that they do that sort of thing with each and every employee but really, y’all know me, this is just an opportunity for me to see how far I can stick my foot in my mouth.

But seriously, I’m pretty sure there’s not a whole lot worse I can do with my nervous banter since I checked out my bio on the internal site and, heh/blush/cough/fuuuuuuck, what do you know? There it is, all shiny and shit: a link to this here blog.

*waves hi to my new co-workers*

*shifty eyes*

And on the home front, I’m adjusting – and quicker than I expected which is good. So very good. Going from married to divorced to single mom to single working mom… god, it’s been a roller coaster. But I’m really loving this new ride I’m on and am managing to not worry so much about the upcoming twists and turns; it’s refreshing to just enjoy the thrill of it all.

FRIENDS photo-a-day challenge

I know, I know… I just did one of these catchy little photo-a-day memes. BUT, when my friend and fellow Friends addict Miss suggested we make a Friends photo challenge I couldn’t resist. The possibilities were endless and it was like, can open, worms EVERYWHERE.*

*A Friends addict will totally get that reference.

But, even if you’re not a Friends fanatic and don’t have every line of every episode memorized, that’s OK [But why? Why-why-why?] – anyone can participate and play.

Miss and I used various episode titles as daily themes which you can interpret any way you would like via photograph. [The highlighted words in red help give you more of a general theme for the day.] You can use whatever kind of camera you want – from a fancy DSLR to your iPhone.

Share your daily Friends Photo-A-Day Challenge photos on Twitter and Instagram using the hashtag #FRIENDSpc.

We’re beginning the Friends Photo-A-Day Challenge starting tomorrow, February 1 but you’re welcome to start at any point and go at your own pace.

30 day photography challenge {photos – week two}

I’ve joined a bunch of others – bloggers/Twitterers/Internety people – in a 30 day photography challenge. Some are using DSLRs, some point-and-shoot cameras… Me? I’m doing all my photos via iPhone for fun.

Here are my photos from week two. You can see everyone’s photos here. Or follow the hashtag #TDPC on Twitter or Instagram.

day eight – a bad habit:

day nine – with someone you love:

day ten – a childhood memory:

day eleven – something blue:

day twelve – sunset {the last sunset of 2011, fittingly enough}

day thirteen – with thirteen things:

day fourteen – eyes:

Upcoming week’s themes: silhouette, long exposure, technology, your shoes, something orange, bokeh, faceless self-portrait…

30 day photography challenge {photos – week one}

I’m joining a bunch of others – bloggers/Twitterers/Internety people – in a 30 day photography challenge. Some are using DSLRs, some point-and-shoot cameras… Me? I’m doing all my photos via iPhone for fun.

Here are my photos from week one. You can see everyone’s photos here. Or follow the hashtag #TDPC on Twitter or Instagram.

day one – self-portrait:

day two – what you wore today:

day three – clouds:

day four – something green:

day five – from a high angle:

day six – from a low angle:

day seven – fruit:

Upcoming week’s themes: a bad habit, someone you love, childhood memory, something blue, sunset, yourself with 13 things, eyes.

30 day photography challenge

I’ve seen this on Pinterest and thought it was a fun idea but kinda pushed it off because oh my god, when am I not neck-deep in photos? But then I saw Monique of Razing Mayhem tweeting about it and, well, it’s just more fun to do something like this when others are doing it too. So, here I am jumping aboard the 30 day photography challenge too.

If you want to do it, you can link up here. Day 1 starts tomorrow (Dec 20) and you post your photos the following day (giving everyone time to upload, edit, what-have-you). I will probably post my photos for the week at the end of each week rather than daily – just because it’s easier. Monique also put together a Flickr pool just for this so everyone can share their photos there too. Be sure to join it if you’re participating!

You don’t have to be a professional photographer to play along or even own a fancy camera. In fact, I plan on attempting the daily challenges using only my iPhone just to see what happens.

The Twitter/Instagram hashtag is #TDPC if you’re sharing photos or following along there.

Can’t wait to see everyone’s photographs!

I believe in ____________.

What do you believe in? From the religious to the silly, to the must-have’s and the oh-please’s… Simplified, significant, sweet or straight-forward… Finish the sentence in the comments. And you can answer as many times as you want.

I believe in __________________.

I’ll go first.

I believe in love. Still.

I believe in the importance of amazing friends.

I believe in good coffee.

I believe in the power of telling a story through a photograph.

I believe in making wishes.

Your turn.

Defining sexy

Don’t you roll your eyes at me, but, after reading a magazine and having a book-club-like discussion over a particular article with a friend via telephone (yes, I still have phone conversations every once and a while) we couldn’t help but ponder this little question:

What makes a man sexy?

Now, your answers will range greatly depending on all sorts of variables like: whether you have kids, if you’re married, whether you’ve been divorced, if you’re single, maybe because yanno-yanno it’s been a while, or whatever else is on your mind, but please, by all means, let. it. out. All of it.

An example: Not too long ago I saw a guy at a bar on the dance floor doing the ol’ dice roll dance move. Sexy as hell. Ok, so the dance move wasn’t the greatest. Obviously. But to me, a guy who is willing to get on the dance floor with you? Even Especially at the risk of looking silly? Sexy.

From the serious to the silly to the sexual… On the inside and on the out… What do you think makes a man sexy?

And guys? Same goes for you. What makes a girl sexy?

Go.

Don’t eat Dr. Pepper flavored Jelly Belly’s before class and other things I learned my first week of MMA

If Mixed Martial Arts is 70 percent mental than I am shit out of luck, let’s just face it, because the day they cranked up the heat in the studio I was like “Oh cool, where’s the sauna?” but yeah no, it was just part of the cruelty to see if we couldn’t fog up the windows and mirrors. I, a survivor, went straight into fight or flight mode and wisely fingered “HELP” on the window, backwards even, so all the people who weren’t passing by could see it and come rescue me.

You know what? No one came. And I survived. And if you really don’t want to read any further, that’s the obvious spoiler to this little story: I survived my first week of MMA. But if you care to read on, I’ll just clue you in on a few things I learned along the way – which of course was all via trial and blatant error.

First of all, I’m not a total dumbass because I knew better than to eat before exercising vigorously. And I also knew you should be well hydrated. Give me some credit. So I figured just a big ass handful of Dr. Pepper flavored Jelly Belly’s should do the trick – not too much food for the tummy, a little (fine, a shit-ton of sugar FOR ENERGY!) and well, they’re Dr. Pepper flavored so that should count as hydration. All my bases = covered.

Good god, five minutes into my first class and I was like I HATE YOU JELLAH BELLAH’S! and eying the puke bucket which, as it turns out, you have to sign if you throw up in it. And then if you throw up in it again, you have to add a check mark next to your name. I was able to push aside my feelings of up-chucking in light of feeling the urge to pass out what with all the dizzy-dizzy-swirl going on. But I’m not a quitter – yet – so I was just like “Eh, it’s the florescent lighting! Keep going Megan!” and urged myself to SQUAT! SQUAT! SQUAT! riiiight up until it was time to do pull-ups on the rings and then I said aloud, “Yo’ Megan, now would be a good time to pass out if there ever was one.”

Turns out I carry all my weight in my knees. Pull-ups? Yeah. No.

To no one’s surprise, I liked punching the bag the most [Not to boast, but my arms are pretty built already. People ask all the time, "You work out?" And I'm like, "Nope. I paint my nails." My air-dry system is epic for the cuticles and the guns.] and I now have the bloody knuckles to prove I have anger issues getting out life’s aggression can be good for you! although it’s not very attractive with my lilac nail polish. Switching to a dark purple or red hue will definitely change all that. I’m also going to need to switch to a waterproof mascara because that shit did not hide my tears very sweaty perseverance and by the end of class between my long-be-gone make-up and ratted up hair, I looked like half Don King and half Tammy Faye.

RIP.

But the hair nest was on account of the wrastlin’ I got to do. Well, in MMA it’s called ‘grappling’ but you get the point. Hair-a-flyin’ everywhere, drippy mascara eyes, sweaty armpits… I tell you, it was stuff beauty pageants are made of.

I only made my sifu yell at me once during class and that was when he was making us do some god awful arm exercise where we went from breaking a chain to milking a cow to juggling testicles and I just had to call him on it. “What are we doing? Huh??” I chuckled like NUDGE-NUDGE-WINK-WINK because c’mon! Juggling testicles? It was like the exercise was begging for commentary! When all of the sudden he *BOOMED* “UNBELIEVABLE! Megan!” (and not in the good way).

It was funny! Except my arms don’t think so. Now I get a little pump action going on the lotion and they start pulsing like “please don’t touch me.” So who’s the jackass now? Me. That’s who.

Obviously that’s true because even though I was so sore I couldn’t even sit on the toilet properly the next day (I just had to, like, fall onto it – stupid squats!) I was lured back under false pretenses to Kamikaze Kickboxing by the instructors the very next day saying that blahblahblah lactic acid blahblahblah it’s better to keep exercising blahblahblah it will hurt less blahbla– WAIT. What? It will hurt less? OKAY!

Bull. Shit. They’re a bunch of liars apparently. Liars who get their shits and giggles out of making people squat an unnecessary amount of times (“Get lower! Like you’re sitting on a basketball!” WELL I HAVE A BIG BASKETBALL OKAY?!), overheat in a studio that has a perfectly good air conditioning unit and who think it’s funny, I guess, if you’re so sore you can’t sit on the toilet — one of our rights as Americans thanks to the constitutional amendments, I believe.

There are parts of me that I never knew could hurt because I never knew they existed until now. Like stomach muscles. (I thought you birthed those with your children?) I’ve got bruises everywhere, chipped nail polish and missing hair too. And I’ll be damned if I am not in complete pain from head to toe, knuckle to ear lobe and vagina to elbow.

And here’s the craziest thing of all: I loved it.