And I'm Spent.

It ain't easy being the Queen...

I'm tired this morning. And I already see what kinda day this is gonna be. My emotions are dictated by what I have for lunch... and my lunch is weak today. I dont even think Jeffery Osbourne can save this wack ass lunch. So I have nothing to look forward to.

Well uh, back to the lecture at hand. It's not easy being the Queen. Yesterday was shit. First, the issue with my soy sauce and the lab coat. Then I hit 4 traffic jams on 3 freeways trying to get to the salon. Then, once I got there, I spent a hot ass 3 hours at the salon getting my hair curled because my beautician double booked my 3:45 slot. So I'm all starving and falling out under the dryer, which was set on HELL, by the way. So I dont get home until like 7:45. I GOT OFF WORK AT 2:30!!! Then I finally make it home and ---DUH DUH DUUUUHHHH--- there is nothing to eat at the house, and my brother ate the brownie with my name written on the tupperware. A cuss fight ensues, and pops gets mad at ME! So I leave and get me some more food, and now everyone wants to share the love with Misty. Well not so. You will not use the Queen for her mighty, mighty ATM and trips to Tams #21. No siree!

And it don't stop there, either.

All the little baby hoodroaches hate me now. For all those not up on hood politics, its tradition that during the summer a female hits like, uh, say 14 that she has to create mass spectacles of herself (with overly exadurated loudness, dancing, etc.) so that the new baby thugs (and some of the perverted old ones) will look at her. My momma effectively stomped this phase outta me, so I never had that chance. Which is why I am now the Neighborhood Queen *extends scepter*. It looks like the damn Soul Train tryouts on my corner when I drive up. Like I said before, the baby thugs like me. From what I gather from the Compton Neighborhood Watch (BKA DopeFiend Patrol/ Nosy Old Bastard Mafia..BOOOOOO), the baby hoodroaches parade on the corner where I live, loud and ghetto as you please, while the little baby thugs play basketball in the street and talk shit to anyone listening. Then around 3:10 or so, their fun is shut down. Why? Because my ancient 25 (well in 2 months, shut up) year old ass rolls up in the drop 'stang and shuts the shit down.

Now here is the funny part. It's not intentional that I'm shutting down the baby hoodroaches. I want them to shut up... sure. Who doesnt? But I know the drill, and I'm trying to step my "OG bitch" ass outta the light so the little hoes can shine their way. But damn, I can't help who I am and the fact that I'm employed (hey, a sista with a job is the shit in my neighborhood. I'm a hot commodity, dont let no one tell you different). What I don't get is, by the time I get off work, I look like hell on fire. Hair (be it curly or straight) is everywhere from the wind or the AC, which ever one I'm using. My face is perpetually scowled up (from cussing everyone out from the 60 West, to the 605 South, to the 105 West, all the way down Central Ave). I'm slamming doors and cussing if someone is parked in my spot in front of my house. So I don't look sexy, I don't appear nice. But the little niggas like it. I know why though. They figure, "get a woman like Misty, you'll NEVER have to get a real job!" Anyway, back to the baby hoodroaches. These little Bitches-In-Training hate the sight of a real bitch. They start talking shit (under they breath of course, their big sisters have told them about that "skinny bitch Misty". They all hate me, but they ain't gonna test me. I got backup they ass don't wanna see. I don't even have to lift a finger. Its good being the Queen. These little hoes stand around, tormenting my puppy "Brownie", making her bark all loud. Then when I go next door, they really get mad because they like my homeboy. Also because I'm decked out in full hood-regalia (cut-off shorts or sweats w/ a wife beater, flip flops or some Nikes with the footsies w/ the little pom pom on the back). They act like I can't wear that shit just because they've finally grew enough ass to wear it. They should quit trippin and take lessons, shit.

You'd think I was done, wouldn't you?

Well I'm not, but Carpal Tunnel Syndrome says I am. Yes, I admit, I'm Carpal Tunnel's bitch. And since I hate those hand braces, I'd better comply. However I will be back, because I got it like that. Well sometimes, anyway.

Editor's Note:

If you heard the rest of "Nuthin' But A G Thang" in your head upon beginning the second paragraph of this post, You, my dear friend, are THE SHIT. Yes, you are. Be proud of your hood roots. Hood niggas of the world UNITE!

Aiight, thats it for real this time.