Part 2: NABCAS Presents True Life: I Did Crack

Shortly after Kingsmomma leaves my hotel room I realize that I reeked of alcoholic and pants rubbing sin. I remember telling Rock that I was drunk and needed a shower. He agreed.

I ended up stripping and did the slow foot stumble into the glass shower almost hitting my face on the wall when I tripped over steam. This is when I realized I was super drunk and that Rose wasn't my friend but a pink enemy seeking vengeance on my body and soul. Not only did I choose to lounge in the shower like I was chillin on a sofa with my legs sprawled out but I also decided it was a perfect time to wash my hair.... with bar soap. That skinny ass leftover hotel soap. Sample soap.  Was there shampoo and conditioner provided by the four- star Hilton hotel? Well, yes but I like for my hair to be matted and tangled with flat bar soap when I'm drunk and fancy... and a drunk mind will have you washing your hair with anything that suds or inviting people back to your hotel room even when you have someone there waiting for you. As drunk as I was, I would've washed my hair with Tide or beer piss if it was available. You know what else a drunk mind will have you doing? Washing your ass and face with the same shampoo you failed to use on your head leaving your skin feeling like you just soaked in Epsom Salt and dawn dish detergent. Listen folks, when you're drunk everything that doesn't make sense makes perfect sense. Don't Drink and Drive, Shower, Fuck, Teach Children, Breathe, Live !

Feeling like I just ran through a car wash with toxic shit now seeping though my pores, I take my time getting out of the shower and stumble to the bed where Rock is laying. Now, these parts are a little foggy.

I remember climbing on top of him and telling him that I was drunk and wanted to vomit. That right there was that disgusting sexy talk that only a wife could say to her husband and still make him hard. So, right now I'm dizzy. Rock now has two heads and is starting to look like a Boondocks character. The room is spinning and I feel like I'm going to meet that 22.00 pasta I inhaled a few hours before. Theres music playing from my iPod "Love" playlist and a scene replaying  in my head:

Me: Yo, the last time I drank Rose I got soooooooo fuuuuuuuuucked up

Kingsmomma: Champagne doesnt really do that to me but I'll try it

Me: I'm serious dude. That shit will get you everytime
Kingsmomma:  Uhhh i doubt it

slow-fast forward both of us grinding on random 21 year olds, stumbling on the streets, hailing a cab and listening to Biggie in said cab with a Punjabi driver nodding his head.

I roll over on my side and Rock brings me a trash can. Even with his teenage voice and Connecticut accent that I always find so funny, he sounds comforting. I remember him telling me that I just needed to throw up and that i shouldn't be embarrassed about throwing up in front of him. I remember telling him that I'm not embarrassed I just cant throw up.After advising me to put my finger down my throat and me declining his offer to put something down my throat to throw up, he pulled my hair back, got back in the bed and we spooned while listening to music.

Somewhere between R. Kelly and 112, Souljah Boy comes on. Now, there are about 200 songs on that playlist. All of them are baby makers and here comes Souljah Boy's She Got A Donk out of the blue. Only during a time that two of the craziest bloggers end up in the same bed together would a random ass song magically appear on my playlist. Do I turn it off? Nope. What did I do? I did what every girl, your mother and grandmother included, does when that song comes on... I backed it up or did some drunk variation of backing it up. Yup, Ms. La'Docker did random booty popping Tip Drillish dance moves in the bed. As I'm writing this, I realize that I always pick the worst and most random times to booty pop which usually ends up in some embarrassing or blogworthy situation. File that one under Blogworthy.

"Donk" is where things got spicy and, unfortunately, I cant remember everything BUT I'll give you the following tidbits that I do remember and/or have text confirmation that it did happen.

Things that Khaki Vaguely Remembers About Doing Crack

• Breaking my Pretty Woman rule and kissing Rock allllllll in the mouth. He liked it.
• Both parties getting Facetime and even as a sloppy drunk I gave a pretty decent performance. No teeth or hands! BOOM!
• Rock Somebody did some questionable and pause-worthy shit that they didn't even pause on before doing it while someone else didn't even fight it. As a part of our marital agreement, I can not disclose the act that was performed.

• Rock has a mean stroke game and the perfect sized "junk". Mean as in pretty damn good and perfect sized as in it wasn't so big that I'd have to ball up and take the D like a champ or too small that I'd want to punch him in the neck and make him sleep in the hallway. If I was sober, I would've went to sleep with a Coke and a smile.
• Nobody came... at least i don't think i did. I know he didn't... I think. Wait, he did... once per her his text but I don't know... FML.
• I must've said "i gotta throw up" about 100 times and never actually threw up or attempted to. In fact, someone  kept stroking while I muttered my threats of puking.
• Rock uses some "regla" ass condoms. Yep, he doesn't use any of those fancy wrapper condoms... unless he saves those for the Cholas and Rosie Perez look-alikes.
• Changing positions often and feeling like Troy from Crooklyn when she had that dream about sniffing glue. I was floating through the air while the room moved around me. No bueno.

That pretty much sums up the non-experienced teenage like sex which ended with me having my head in a trash can after my final threat to puke. I still didn't puke and ended up going to sleep.

The morning after: Butt ass naked, I wake up and run to the bathroom where I kneel over the toilet and grab it like I'm about to make love to it for the last time. Rock walks over and tells me to throw up. Of course... I don't. I get back in the bed and he leaves to find me water and breakfast. After some time, the best husband in the world returns with a big ass waffle and a bottle of water which I'm sure cost him more than he should've paid.

We got dressed and checked out of the hotel before getting a cab. I gave him a hug and a kiss, got in my cab and 5 minutes later opened the cab door and threw up. It was THE best vomit ever. I felt like i had just gotten head by a human rattlesnake while gumdrops and raindrops fell on my head. Shit was superb.

On my bus ride home things started to get clearer and a feeling of failure came over me. I felt bad and not because I just had what felt like 18 gallons of "drank" trapped in my system but I felt like I didn't rep for all of the black girls that get traded for the Peeta Ricans and border jumpers. That night was for the Tamikas and ShaQuans that Kobe skeeted on before marrying Vanessa. This was for all of the black baby mamas of pro athletes with J-Lo lookalike wives. I started questioning the authenticity of my vagina and head game. Were the blogs I write about me being a sex goddess all bullshit? I admit I cant sext and I don't masturbate, but was I capable of bad sex? Would Rock think I was a bad "lay"? Did I care what he thought? Not really because he did questionable shit but it was the principle. I take pride in being able to make a mans eyes roll in the back of his head like he's Rick Ross on a plane. I enjoy popping my collar after a night of heavy breathing and leg spreading and I just didn't feel like I gave him the Khaki Experience. It was like he paid for a Michael Jackson concert and only got "the brothers" or he expected Cirque Du Soleil and got the Universoul Circus with Uncle Tyrone shucking and jiving with a Rottweiler dressed as a lion to Frankie Beverly and Maze's Before I Let Go. This was my "See what you missing fucking with them Ez's?" moment and I failed miserably.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

STOP THE RECORD! What am I talking about? Rock did get the Khaki Experience-- sloppy toppy, drunk doggy style and all. I'm unpredictable... and memorable. Thats is THE Khaki Experience.  

So ladies and gents there you have it, my admission to doing Crack. It was the first and last time I will ever do a fellow blogger unless you're Nightfall, NC17 minus the girlfriend or Simone Dior minus the vagina.  I have no regrets and I would do it again but someone went back to Peetas.

Questions? Comments? Drop em down low.

OH... and YALL better stop rushing me to post  :-)

aaaaaaaaaand I hate blogger for being assholes and not posting all of my pics.

NABCAS Presents True Life: I Did Crack

Due to random and not-so-random people visiting my blog,  some details of this post was changed to protect the reputation of individuals mentioned.

It was a long (maybe) time ago and doing Crack was not planned. Everybody told me I should try it...and you know how peer pressure is. Never one to back down from pressure, i did it. I did CrackRock.

Right next to my love for Converses and those fat ass burritos from Chipotle there’s a really, really small almost doesn’t exist space that holds my love for blog hubby, Sir Rock-A-Lot. He’s the oodle to my noodle, the Section to my 8 and the apple to my bottom. He’s Rick James and Im Teena Marie. We’re like this :crosses fingers: Definition of Black Love.

So what happens when you put all of that Fire and Desire in a hotel room after a night of drinking and pants rubbing???  I can barely remember it so I’ll try my best to recapture the night I did Crack or as yall know him- Rock. Like every story that involves trollopfication and blog fornication, there will be 3 parts. My story (which is probably the most truthful that someone who was drunk and cant remember how i got home from the bus station can get), his story (the most accurate without the details that admits he did the unthinkable) and the story we don't want our family or children reading.

It was some months ago and I was visiting friends in… uhhhhh York, New so I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to meet up with my nappyheaded love for some marital bonding. I know you guys don’t care about what I did before Rock showed up to my room so I’ll skip the boring details of shopping and eating overpriced Olive Garden food.

Approximately 4 hours had went by when I got the phone call from the front desk telling me that there was a suspicious young black man with an incorrectly spelled white name attempting to pick up a key to my room. After confirming that Rock wasn’t a drug dealer or DVD bootlegger hustling the Kevin Hart movie, the concierge (that’s fancy talk for front desk. They don’t have those at the RedRoof Inn hoodrats. Step yo hotel game up!) gave him the key but not before collecting his information and alerting the security staff.

So Rock, the confident almost arrogant little troll that he is, opens the door and he walks in like he owns the place or helped pay for the room. My first thought when I saw him: Damn, I should’ve smashed when I saw him in Miami. Smelling like a newborn puppy, was the love of my bloglife with his fresh sharp cornered shape up, health insured smile ,shoulder length dreads, cargo shorts and a pair of 200.00 foamposites or “dopes” as well call them in B-more.

I think we hugged before he pulled out his gift to me. That’s right ladies! My husband knows how to treat a lady. From his hoebag, he pulls out a bottle of wine. Now, before you start Awwww’ing and patting him on his back let me point out that the bottle of wine was the size of a 20 ounce bottle of Pepsi. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve assumed that he got it out of the soda machine but, nonetheless, he bought me wine. Sample sized wine… but wine.

I clown his baby bottle of wine and we end up on the plush king sized bed. I'm wearing my hooker dress that barely passed the bend over test and he couldn’t keep his hands off my khakis. Let me say that the hubby has soft hands… like he either beats off a whole lot or has a thing for lotion… which could mean that he beats off a lot. Regardless, he’s got nice hands and lips (as KingsMomma pointed out later). Anyway, I remind him that I'm about to hit the club with KingsMomma and I’d see him later. I could tell he wanted me... even though Im black. You see- Rock only dates Ez-girls. Hernandez. Fernandez. Sanchez. You get the point. If they dont wear jeans with no back pockets and high heeled jordans, he aint checking for them. My man has got a thing for the Goya. I'm not proud of that but I accept him for who he is. Sellout... and all.

KingsMomma gets to my hotel, they both tell me my dress is short, I take a few pics and we roll out to the club. Two bottles of Rose, about 4 mixed drinks later and a dizzy cab ride later, KingsMomma and I stumble back to the 23^rd floor of my hotel. It's probably about 2 or 3 Am and I walk in to the room and fall onto Rock – who is on the bed listening to my iPod. He’s washed that outdoor puppy smell off of him and is wearing a pair of pajama pants. Let me remind you all again that I’m SLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZZZZZZZZZZARD. Im Charlie Sheen. Im Amy WINEhoused (RIP). Im Ned the Wino drunk. KingsMomma is sitting on the leather ottoman just as drunk.

I tell Rock I missed him and stumble to the bathroom. Peeing with the door open and thongs around my ankles, I hear Rock get out of the bed and walk over to the bathroom and KingsMomma says “let me see yo dick” or "pull out yo dick" or something like that.

Rock says something like “ya’ll are wasted/drunk/plastered/fucked up etc” and tells me that KingsMomma asked to see his dick. Too drunk but not drunk enough for a threesome with two nappyheaded bloggers, I think I told her she had to go. A part of me wanted  him to pull it out so I could see if he had reason to be COCKy but I also couldn’t let Kingsmomma see if I was about to get played or not. Know how embarassing that would be to brag to your friend that you were getting D'd down just to have them see that the dude was working with a Slim Jim?!!?  

Kingsmomma realizes she’s cock blocking and gets up from the ottoman and then before she can stand up straight, she falls. Hard. Rock helps her back up and she leaves to “go home”. Please note: She didn’t actually go home. She told me she was going home but I knew she wasn’t going home… She had the look in her eye. The look that makes babies and gets people herpes.

I think this post is long enough……….. Part 2 coming soon :)

Want a good laugh... and to see someone call me a hoe?

Check out one of my favorite bloggers (waves to NC17) post on women that sleep with their ex while their with someone else. His post is hilarious but the comments are even funnier. Someone called me a hoe... then someone used the word whoremonger and... its just what i needed to get through my day and get my blog posts up again.

and BOO to "whoever" is coming from Black Girls are Easy checking out old ass posts about Groupies and whatnot. Folks tryna stab me with my own knife :)   Shout out to Blogger Stats



Til we meet again...

106 & MLK Presents Drink My Bread

Its ya girl Khaki La'Diaz - here with Waka Rocka Flamin.  Terrance, well, Terrance couldnt be here today; he's getting vajazzled.

Anyway, im here with half of the nappyheaded sensation, NappyHeadedBros, Rocka to premiere the new video from their highly anticipated album Tales from the Bros: FatBitches, Shrimp Ramen and Abortionversaries. Rocka, its nice to have you here... looking all fly in that... in that... what is that?

Its Goochie, ya know. All Goochie erethang, all day, ere day- from the roota to that toota... but uhm real good- real good to be here.

Right, right...So, Rocka, tell us what we can expect from the new album.

Music good... I mean, good music real good. I do good music so you know?

Great??? Any collabos?

Nah, I mean music good cuz thats what im sposed to do so ya know i not need nobody on this joint but the bros which was good ya kno?

Yeah, I guess so. So, you didnt work with anyone but the bros...

Well, der was me, Lefleur... and yeah music real good tho. My other boy on this one jawn i got... uhm "Wished it tasteded like Ramen". Shit be like "Nahman... you lied when you said it tasted like Ra-man... ate da pussy like a wish sammich like braman... you straight tricked me bitch and im tired-man"

Word? Ok, ok... so tell me bout the first single "Drink My Bread". Its getting a lot of buzz in the streets.

I mean drinking bread cool. Nah, i mean, its good. Yea, drink my bread. I tell bitches to drink my bread because i drink... and well, ya know. Nah, i need a do over

We're live Rocka but its OK- lets go ahead and premiere your newest single "Drink My Bread".

Yeah, uh, dis our new song... and Im going hard in the mufuggin paint yaherdme? Drink My Bread... 106 &  MLK... oh Lets Do it.

Support Hip Hop and the Fight Against Illiteracy by Posting This On Your Blog.

What you just say?

I dreamed about my post on lemons and had prepared myself to blog about it this lovely Thursday morning but, alas, the 'Lemons' post has been delayed.

As usual, I hop on blogger and I start reading some of my favs. I see that the hubby is talking shit about monkey suits and whatnot but I can’t read it because his blog is considered porn by my job. Then Dai is being all mushy an’ shit about love and growth and... just being Dai. Freckles and her sparkly dress and fancy ass cake is next. Finally, I read Ms. UglyCleanBroke87's blog and that damn post about lemons went right out the window.

You see, there takes a certain level of oomph for me to crank out an ill-mannered post about bullet holed women and after reading the last blog, the energy meter plummeted to zero. I no longer wanted to criticize "aint shit" women- sue me!

UCB87 (yeah, I shortened it) wrote an interesting blog about Obstacles. Go head and click that there and make sure you leave a comment too. For those that are too lazy to read the post here’s a quick excerpt:

This isn't the first time I have heard about and/or witnessed women my age testify about "fighting against the odds," and it is another one of my pet peeves. I try not to judge anyone who got "caught up" back in high school and had a baby or two or three, or four, but I get pissed off when these same women turn around and act as if they are supposed to receive a gold star for a decision THEY made. They moan and groan about how hard it is to juggle having kids, working full-time, AND going to school, as if someone put a gun to their heads and made them pop those babies out.The point I made when talking to my mother is that I don't understand people who talk about having kids, as if the kids are an obstacle they have had to overcome. When I think of an obstacle, I think of something that you had no control over something that came into your life unexpectedly. Overcoming an obstacle would be someone that was hit by a drunk driver and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of their lives, yet they went on to win a gold medal in the Special Olympics. Unless you were raped and got pregnant, you consciously made the decision to conceive that child, and you made the decision to carry that child for nine months and bring it into the world. In other words, it's no one's fault other than your own that you have to get up at 6am every day to get Lil' Ray Ray ready for daycare.

… Bottom line: To the young mothers out there, you do NOT deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for changing diapers during the day, and studying College Algebra at night. If this offended anyone, you're welcome.

I commented on that blog and then saw that it was getting a little long so I decided to just write about that instead. Sorry to all those that would rather read about me shitting on mudslides. Next time, I promise.

I'm not going to lie- I was a bit irritated by the post. Don’t get me wrong, I dig UCB87 but… something about this post just aggravated the shit out of me. I wasn’t offended- just annoyed.

It’s no secret that I’m a young mother. While I will never call my son an obstacle, I will say that being a mother and raising my child is an obstacle. Anyone that’s a single parent can tell you that continuing an education or just living life, in general, is harder when you have children and you’re doing it alone.

ob·sta·cle
noun \ˈäb-sti-kəl, -ˌsti-\
Definition of OBSTACLE
: something that impedes progress or achievement

There are people out here that didn’t expect to end up raising a child alone as a single parent. However, with determination, strength and motivation, they pushed through those long courses while still raising a child when folks probably told them they could'nt do it. I have friends, that are single parents, and I see them struggle everyday. Yes, they made the decision to keep their child as opposed to having an abortion but does that mean that they deserve to struggle or their accomplishments mean jack shit because they made that choice? Should they not be applauded because they did what a lot of other women wouldn’t do and finished up their education?

Until you’re a single parent you can not begin to understand what single parents must go through in order to finish up school and still ‘take Ray Ray to daycare’, on the bus, in the rain, with 4.00 in their pocket because they can only work part time if they want that nursing degree. Until you’re a single parent, you can not know how it feels to wonder how you’re going to buy textbooks for yourself and notebooks for your child or trying to make a 4:30 recital when your exams end at 4 and you're 40 minutes away.

As I commented on her blog, I commend all the single parents out there that push themselves to finish up school while raising a child. I praise them for sacrificing and not giving up on heir dreams and goals. I commend them for not taking the easy road and settling for Section 8 Housing and checks from “da welfare”. I don’t expect anyone to pat me on my back and say “good job on raising your son” but damn if im going to shit on someone else because they overcame, what they considered to be, an obstacle. Im not going to rant and say “ you ain’t special because you raise your kids and go to school”. As a matter of fact, I’ll stand up right now and will say to all the mothers and fathers out there taking care of their children by themselves, folks over 25 with no children or car working a bullshit job with no benefits, senior citizens with limited income, and anyone else that continues their education “Good Job! Rock out with your cock out” (I just always wanted to end a post with that LOL).

Speak on it.

ETA: Award Recd- For real, though? Same trick twice?

Scroll down for award info-

I'm having one of those days. :kicks up feet and lights imaginary black and mild [bet yall didnt know I used to smoke those things- Khaki hoodrat shit]:

It's crazy because i haven't been personal on this blog in a long time. Mostly because I've become extremely busy these last few months but another reason is that my life is so damn boring now. With a full time job, part time hustle, kid and stress, I havent had time to do much of anything. Last summer/fall, i was trolloping, staking out niggas' cribs and doing hoodrat shit with the bunnies. Those were the good ole days :puffs imaginary blunt: Since November, I've been chill- focusing on my work, my health, education and getting money. I haven't had time to get to know anyone or hang out with anyone besides the folks that visit the blog and the real life friends :waves to Kia, Dani, hubby Rock, the Reeseter and Kwei: thus no interesting personal blogs.

.....
The rest of this blog was moved to the ALL THE SHIT I WANT PRIVATE blog.

It IS a SMALL world after all....

I've been having a serious case of bloggers block... OK, I'm lying. I've just been lazy as shit. Today was no different and I had no intentions on posting my blogs on my teenage hoodrat shit or plus-sizedness simply because of lack of motivation. Then a wonderful thing happened!


I'm sitting at my desk and I see my Gmail account flashing to let me know I have new mail. I clicked the link and saw a name I didn't recognize but a blogger name that I did. I'm like a kid at Christmas when it comes to texts, emails, phone calls... pretty much anything that lets me know that someone wants to talk to me. wow, i cant believe i just admitted that.



Anyway, I read the email that said:

Was going through my vacation pics and thought you'd like these 2 pictures.

Along with the "khaki, does it really taste like v8 splash?" emails, I get these messages all the time from readers and commenters that know I'm appreciative of any fuckery but this one was special and needed to be posted because... well... look at the pics and you'll know why. If you don't why my endorphins started to go out of control causing me to feel all gay inside, then you don't know me and should refer to the tags.









My heart smiled and I laughed so hard as I saw this little blessing in her mono-kini and borderline pregnant gut and drumstick legs not giving a damn about her stature. Then... I squint my eyes and I'm thinking to myself "Damn, that sort of looks like Shortie". Of course, I couldn't see her face but it cant be that many cocky, black 3 footers with that build walking around. So I text my "uncle" and ask him if he's spoken to Shortie lately and he tells me that he hasn't because the last time they spoke she gave him an attitude and called him a "triflin fag" before hanging up on him.



sidebar: See why I wanted to hide her grabbers from her? She's straight rude for no reason. She get all types of government assistance, midget scholarships, has one of those adaptive cars with the post office truck gear shift, and acts like the world owes her something because her mother did crack and her daddy stuttered causing her pollypocketness. Bitch please! I don't go to pity parties because I don't have shit to wear. Fuck outta here with the woe is me- why don't you have a step stool if you knew i was coming?- you think I can try out for Americas Next Top Model petite edition?- none of my shoes have high heels bullshit. Waaah fucking Waaah! Embrace your midgetnism that gave you that donk! Some folks eat 423 biscuits a year just to get a speedbump and you were... Let me compose myself.... :breathe:



Anyway, I send the pics to my uncle and an hour or so later he texts me back "Yup, Kita said that's her. Where you find those pix? 'Elves gone Wild'?".

Holy Midgets Batman!

I haven't been this excited since the last Good Times marathon. Thanks again Kingsmomma for making my Thursday!

You asked: Rock's Answer to Busted White Women with Fine Black Men

Lechuga empezar.

Let us begin. Wait for it......C'mon Son. You can laugh. It was funny.
Time and time again I am asked the question, "Why do attractive black guys go for big fat white women" or "busted white girls?"

My response? It's not that handsome black men are all off shagging white sea-walruses, but rather that you all tend to look past those with model-hot caucasian girlfriends and call them race traitors.

Ever heard this one "Ohhhh, he look's like the type that likes white girls"? I've never heard that said about a black guy dating Kiko the big white Orca. Go ahead, call him a race traitor...oh you won't? That's because you're a hater and wouldnt dare hate on the Idris Elba looking dude with the white dimepiece hotter than you. You'd get embarassed. Congratulations, you know your role, but still have enough "strong black woman" in you to hate on the low hanging fruit. Get em'!!!!

Now that that's been said, the truth is this: A lot of well to do black men are dating alabaster slum pigs. In my personal opinion this could be for 1 of 3 reasons.

1.) Low Hanging fruit Syndrome: it takes less work to woo a girl who is not used to getting wooed.

2.) Hook a brotha up syndrome: If you notice, a lot of these fine brothas (no homo) who can be found with the female version of the stay puff marshmello man are really jus deadbeats. Some are broke ass deadbeat dads, some are lazy jobless fucks, and some are just using her "I'm so fat I get social Security Disability at age 25" money to finance their own drug trade. Bet you never seen a fine black lawyer with a melanin deficient chubby chunker...Unless she was a doctor. WHo am I kidding. There are not fat chick Doctors.

3.) Love.... I almost wanted to replace this one with "maybe he used to be a fat white giel syndrome" but I'll be nice.

Other theories include "she gives good dome because it reminds her of twinkies, creamsicles and other food", "she knows how to cook syndrome", and the tried and true "F**king with Puertorican girls has altered my ability to distinguish between thick and Fat syndrome."

Careful fellas, your Captain Ishmael asses may be one slippery slope away from sleeping with Moby-Twat. Ladies, if he's so fine, stop chasing Jay Z lookin dudes with money. Let the real dudes know, before its too late.

Bitches with kids?

I wasn’t going to write today but after reading one of my guilty pleasures' post on quitting bitches with kids, I felt compelled to write about the very same topic.

Today, I read one of the most... blunt, stereotypical and borderline ignorant opinions on women with children that I have ever read in my life. While some things made me giggle and I always admire honest opinions, the post still irritated the hell out of me. You hear of men and women not wanting to date someone with children for fear of baby daddy/baby mama drama all the time so that doesn’t surprise me especially since, in a lot of cases, that seems to be the norm.

The two other reasons had me saying "hmmm, this muthafucka is either an idiot or trying the shock jock shit to get hits" and led me to this question: Are there really men that won’t date women with children because (1) most women with children "aint shit" and (2) because the child is a constant reminder of previous sex without prophylactics?

I’m really sitting here wondering if my son, who means more to me than any man, is a red flag or a negative indication that I am an "aint shit bitch" that should be avoided. Do men look at my kid and say “she must be a ho” or “I like her but every time I see lil nigga I see her sexin some dude raw”?

Again, I recognize that some people are going to see having a baby daddy/mama as unavoidable drama and I would never date a guy that was a terrible father to his own kids BUT I can’t say that I would look at any man or woman as someone's leftovers or damaged goods simply because they have a child. You look at someone’s kid and only see them as a creation of unprotected sex??? Nigga, please.

In a country plagued by high divorce rates, teenage pregnancy and an immeasurable amount of children born out of wedlock, I find it very difficult to place a stereotype on, what seems to be, most of the women in America. I, unlike most of my friends, grew up in a two parent household where we all shared the same mother and father. My parents were married for almost 30 years and in the "hood" that was unheard of so I always got the "damn, yall all got the same daddy?" question from kids in school.  I’d meet guys in college that would tell you outright that they would not wife a girl with kids or would have some immature outlook on a woman with children. Ironically, the same men that deemed women with children as hoes or sluts were the same ones, at graduation, thanking their mother for single handedly raising them to be the men that they were today.

After my son's father and I called off our engagement and decided to part ways after a 4 year relationship, I was fucked up inside. The normally happy and confident Khaki morphed into a depressed and insecure version of me. I felt that no one would want me... I felt unattractive and, most of all, I was upset with myself for becoming a 'statistic'. I knew that there would be a lot of narrow-minded men that would overlook who I was as a person once they found out I had a son. That troubled me for a while until I met someone that told me this: There is nothing else more attractive than a woman that can balance a home, career and motherhood on her own. That statement changed me and its something that I will always remember.

I don’t believe that most women that have children "aint shit". There are many successful, cultured, intelligent, beautiful women that work and take care of their children without a man in the household. I admire single mothers and single fathers and I do not pass judgment or make asinine assumptions about them either. I respect any man that could find that much love in his heart to not only love and accept a woman’s child but also become a father figure to that child. Unfortunately, yes, there are a lot of fucked up baby mama/baby daddy situations out there but not everyone lives under such circumstances. My past relationships and my son are apart of me and has contributed to the woman that I am today but they are not the sole meaning of who I am as a woman.

I can not change anyone’s views and I don’t try to. Any man that would overlook my character and not want to date me because of my child wouldn’t pass my list of requirements anyway so a fuck I do not and would not give. I respect preference and detest ignorance.





Please speak on it....
Let me add: I still like Nappyheaded Bros... all of em... even the one that wrote the post Taka Flacka Flame <--- yes, still homo.

30DQ2PS- Attempt 2; Sexting-

Long title- eh.<-- had to shorten it.

Moving on... I'm quite serious about this whole learning to phone sex/sexting thing. For some strange reason, I am bothered by the fact that I'm not "sexy". Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a nice looking woman and with this Kanye Workout Plan on full effect, I've blossomed into a better, more fit version of me. I like sex... a lot... sometimes more than I think I do and I have the sexual appetite of a heroine addicted rabbit. However, even with all that being said about my physical appearance and my extreme desires to always want to smash, I have come to realize that my points in the sexy category are damn near non-existent.

Those who have read my post on Monday about the 30 days Quest should be familiar with what I am referring to. To those that haven't read, go head and play catch up.

Tuesday... I thought about it... I took some of the advice given to me and I put aside the giggles and convinced myself that sexting would probably be better practice for me. With text messages, the other person doesn't know that I am laughing on the other end... or watching Good Times. So, hubby :waves to Crack: takes it u upon himself to help me out.

The rest of this post was moved to ALL THE SHIT I WANT PRIVATE blog

if you ever get tired of reading the same shit...

Its not often that I come across a blog that can make me laugh out loud almost daily and give a well-written point of view on everything from strip clubs to trannies while using words I haven't seen since the college, but when I do, I like to shout them out.

You've probably seen my husband, Rock, in the comments section mentioning my panties or saying something else off the wall but, trust me, him and the other blog contributors at NappyheadedBros have a whole lot to offer.

For a good laugh from an ivy league hoodlum, check out the Nappy Headed Bros!*

*Warning: This blog is not for close minded folks with no sense of humor. Read at your own risk.*

Khaki's 30 Day Quest to Phone Sex: Attempt 1- FAIL

As you all know, my husband lives in another state and because of this we have to find alternative ways to express our sexual feelings since the distance is keeping him from actually slurping up my V8 splash on the usual nightly basis.

just kidding... the Rockstar- who I affectionately renamed Crack- "joked" about phone sex last night and it led me to wonder... how do you do it and why havent I done it before?

Truth be told- I'm a jokester. I talk good game but I'm not into shit like phone sex and I don't even masturbate. :insert frown face: Pathetic, I know.

I have a weird, teenageish-mid twentyish, couldn't-call-the-school-to- get-anyone-out-of trouble, sometimes raspy voice that doesn't seem to be phone sex worthy.I can type pussy in 32 languages but cant say it pay-per-minuteish. There's nothing "sexy" about my voice or the way I speak. I dont do all that talking in the bedroom. None of that, "fuck me daddy", "deeper, harder, faster" type shit. I'm not one of those girls that can call a dude and make his dick hard when I say cum. From time to time, I can be quite vulgar but that's usually through the mouth of my alter ego- Khaki La'Docker. So, here I am- almost a quarter century years of age- and I have never had phone sex. There! I admit it. Take my "Nasty" Card and toss it in the trash with my repossessed Black Card because i never completed the pre-requisite "Phone Sex" course.

Anyway, after my textversation with Rock- i started questioning if I deserved to be this self-proclaimed sexual being. Right, i actually started questioning myself just because I never made a dude :ahem: nut from verbs and nouns. Not me... I will not stand for failure.

Determined to phone sex it with someone, i started brainstorming. How do you do it? What are you supposed to say? Do you moan and pretend to finger smash yourself? Do guys really get off on it? Am I supposed to have an accent? How do you know when you're finished?

I sat at my dining room table with a pink glittery Hello Kitty notebook on the Sabbath and scribbled my fantasy phone sex call for the fantasy man or homegirl that would attempt to hear me pant and moan like Bridget the Midget without laughing.

After 45 minutes sad minutes... SMH- Attempt 1...

:phone rings:

Guy: Sup shorty?

Girl: :moaning:

Guy: hello?

Girl: Im here... give me a second...

Guy: Sure- you ok?

Girl: No... :moaning:... I need you

Guy: :clears throat: what do you need?

Girl: I need you to finish what I started... I just got out of the shower... Im all alone... and I'm :moaning:

Guy: :unzippening pants: what are you doing?

See, then I got stuck for almost 10 minutes. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Is this even going right??? Im no Zane or Katlynn Lasalle. Shit, I'm not even the Cat in the Hat. I can barely stop giggling like a school girl with a busted out LA Gear :snicker: but I move on...

Girl: I have on your Spongebob t-shirt and no panties <---I thought I should've taken out the Spongebob part but I also thought it gave my dialogue character. Eh-

Guy: uh huh...

Girl: and Im tracing my thighs with my fingertips wishing it was your tongue drying the rest of me off

Guy: for real?

Girl: Mmmhmmm... I love it when you cover me with your thick, sticky, day old spit and <---- ok, re-write

Girl: Mmmhmmm... I miss your tongue wandering all over my body until you reach...:moaning:

Guy: Until I reach where, baby?

Okay, now I feel like a fag. I'm lost. This shit is clearly not for me but I don't want to give up.

So, help me out blog fam... I'm giving myself 30 days to be a pro at this. Thoughts, advice... examples ;)

ETA: Pubes, Poop, Pu$$y and other things that dont begin with P

I've been reading a lot of male-ran blogs lately (shout out to Rock, NC17 , YEBM and Nightfall) and their commentary regarding women have given me a lot of insight on what the opposite sex feels about women. From Rock's phobia of "portly" black women to YEBM's bitter feelings about women and Valentines Day*, I have discovered that men have  totally different perspectives from us.

So, I have a few questions for men and I want to know the opinions of my female readers.

Question #1

Amber Rose or Reggie Bush?:


The rest of this post was moved to ALL THE SHIT I WANT PRIVATE  blog

Confessional Monday... LOL--- Told you I was gonna do it ;)

Seems like these are all I'm blogging about lately.

Anyway... this confession came about while I was driving on a road trip with two fellow bloggers on Saturday. I never intended to say anything because it wasn't that serious and this was just a random ass thought.

The rest of this blog was moved to ALL THE SHIT I WANT PRIVATE blog.

New Banner!!!

I LOVE IT!!!!!! Shade over at eighty vii did a wonderful job of making my banner in 9 seconds. Check her out... her blog is dope and her graphic design skills are even better!


Thanks Shade!!!!

From My Comments Section...

Taken from previous posts' comment sections.

NEED YOUR ADVICE okay..like you always keep it realso my boyfriend ...we have had this on and off relationship for THREE years...but since summer we ve been going stronghe recently reveiled to me that he wants to get into The 'PIMPING' Buisness..girl..I DIEDokay. like seriously. i m a modern and liberal young woman but i was raised with strong-ass christian values and i dont know how to accept his decision or if i should or how i can even talk to him..I'm so angry and mad. please help me

Dear MsOfficialNne

Thanks for cruising through my blog and I totally appreciate it! When I first read your comment, I thought you were a friend playing on my blog because I failed to believe this was a real question for two reasons...

(a) Your BOYFRIEND has told you that he wants to be a PIMP (not a drug dealer which would be more understandable and realistic; recession, ya dig?) and you didn't run faster than Caster Semenya

and...

(b) You used strong a$$ and Christian in the same sentence. LOL

Then i did some research and saw that you were a real person and had a real question so I'm always down to give advice.

I'm not too informed on the world of Pimpdom and I've only actually seen a few examples of pimps including Katt Williams and Don Magic but I'm pretty sure that I have never seen a pimp with a girlfriend that wasn't a hoe. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that girlfriends start off as hoes and then "graduate" to top hoe. If my assumption is reality- how do you fit in to your boyfriend's "quest for hoe-sess"? As a partner??

With that said, I see that you have two options-

(1) Accept the fact that your boyfriend is aspiring to be a pimp and if his "business" actually succeeds he'll be doing pimp shit like smacking bitches, hustling pussy and saying shit like "where my money?" on a daily basis. Imagine yourself as Bonnie and Clyde with you sitting next to him while he calls his hoes "hoes" and "bitches" and demands them to fuck for duckets. If you're a ride or die girlfriend, you can even be a business partner by recruiting bitches, taking them to their appointments for coochie checks, stocking up on Rough Rider condoms, flat ironing his hair to that silky straight perfection that pimps desire and walking up and down the hoe stroll with a fanny pack collecting your 80%. Keep in mind that you will have to master the "pimp slap" if you're going to be his right hand man. Gotta keep these bitches in check, ya dig? Sounds good right? No... well, then you have option #2

(2) Accepting the fact that your on-again- off-again boyfriend of 3 years has been just that for a reason. There is something that makes you leave him and something that makes you come back. More than likely, you leave because he's a dick and you come back because of the dick and fear of being lonely and without him. I could be wrong but I doubt it. Know that you did all you could do for your relationship and move on to the next dick.

You have to decide whether or not you can deal with your significant other degrading women and hustling ass for a living. If you can, go with option one but don't come back here asking for advice on how to successfully pimp because I have no clue.

Assuming that you noticed my sarcasm in Option 1 and chose to go with Option 2- GOOD FOR YOU.

If I were you, i'd talk to my (insert air quotes) boyfriend about his entrepreneurial intentions, confirm that he is serious about it and then bounce. It seems to me that he hasn't thought this plan out or he probably just saw Hustle & Flow too many times and got caught up in the moment. That "Whup that Trick" song had me wanting to push bitches for gas money when I heard it too--- beat is ridiculous.

Also, Ms. Official, for someone that was raised with a strong Christian upbringing you should know that being a girlfriend to a Pimp is not what God intended you to be in life and, to be quite honest, your boyfriend sounds like an dollar store douche for even coming at you with that fuggery. Nobody aspires to be a damn pimp and the ones that do don't ask their girlfriends to tag along.

So, to answer your question- no, don't accept his bullshit.

Deleted Comments stay in My Inbox....

Shoutout to Eaglebird for coming through, leaving a good comment and then erasing it. Shoutout to GMail for saving the comment in my inbox so that I can, copy, paste and answer to his comment on my blog. YAYYYY - everybody wins. LOL

Eaglebirds comment:
Good post its very informative about your standards on dating..But I got a couple ?'s for you,you aint got to answer them tho'.

What if they dont have there shit together completly but working hard towardsbettering themselves,and there drive to succeed still show through reguardless of any hardships or struggles they may endure do you still blow them off if they showing true effort?
And when you do find your well put together robot I mean mate how you going to expect them to fully trust that if times were to get rough for them they can count on you for support(not to take care of them but be selflessly in there corner)if the relationship was based on just the status quo and representation of your future helpmate?


Where have real geniune love between two people beyond relitives and lifelong friends go,and why do we always have to be in relationships is that the sole meaning of life,is it everyones destiny to find there soulmate,why cant males and females ever be just freinds without one or both wanting to hump on eachother,why do lightskin girls almost always perfer darkskin guys,can we as humans ever be at a happy medium as whole,does a significant other define the meaning of the others self being and identity,if a grown ass man ask a lot of dumb ?'s does that really annoy alot of women?

Sigh...
LOL j/k. I like these questions because they're honest and well thought out.
this is the thing- I think you may have gotten the wrong idea by my post or perhaps I gave off the wrong idea. I'm not this high-maintenance woman that only goes looking for Mr. Businessman. However, I am also not some woman that goes looking on the corners for dopeboys. With that being said, if introduced to a guy that I saw had potential and goals, I wouldn't be completely adverse to dating him but I would be very careful with that person.

I've dealt with these men that claim that they had aspirations to be better when in fact they were users and opportunists. I love a man with goals, aspirations and a strong desire to succeed; I'm just careful, now, to not get myself involved with men looking for someone to upgrade them.

Also, I am not looking for a robot or the perfect man and i hope no woman is looking for Mr. Perfect. If I happen to find a guy that's right for me, I would be supportive of that man regardless of his future circumstances. Again, I'm no tack head looking for someone with Donald Trump money so it's not about the materialistic things that can be given to me.

I guess the point of my blog was to address that men and women need to evaluate themselves and examine who they allow or want in their lives. In order to do that, we must determine what we want in a spouse and consider what we have to offer to that person.

In regards to your other questions- I think i will do posts to them. Thanks for the future topics. LOL

Poll

Question- Do you follow blogs to get people follow you? Don't lie- i know some- if not most- of yall do.

I, however, do not follow blogs unless they interest me and I read them. Dont get me wrong- i dont always comment but i do read ya material.

So, yeah- ya'll follow to be followed?

In all honesty... Honest Scrap Award

and the award for honest scrap goes to Ms. Khaki LaDocker over at Not All Baltimore Chicks Are Stupid.

Blog crowd stands and applauds.

*raises award and wipes lonely tear* Oh my god... I cant believe it. I never thought in a million years that I would be the recipient of this award even though I received one a few months ago. Imma keep this real short before Kanye comes up here and interrupts my speech n shit. Anyway, I would first like to thank Reesey Cup for always sending me awards and giving my something to blog about. Lastly, I just wanna thank erebody out there who supports my idiotic views, sarcasm and constant bitchiness. **

The rest of this blog has been moved to ALL THE SHIT I WANT PRIVATE blog.

Opinions...

just like assholes- everybody got one.

I take this blogging shit kinda serious. I log on, jot whatever's on my mind, review, spellcheck, might post a pic then I "PUBLISH" and I'm relieved of whatever thought was residing in my mind for however long I held it in. Sometimes- you all (my lovely readers) will post a comment- usually in agreement sometimes just advice and, on rare occasions, I'll get some negative feedback. In any event, I appreciate all of your comments, suggestions, advice, feedback etc because, although your comments are not the sole reason why i do this, it's definitely motivation for me to express myself through blogging.

Now for why i said that...

I follow a lovely blogger- Stacie- and a few days ago she blogged about her smoking weed during her pregnancy. While i don't agree with recreational usage of drugs during pregnancy, I found her honesty honorable. I can admire someone who can recognize their faults and bad habits and reveal them to the world. That is what blogging is about. Not everyone can blog about the hottest trends, makeup and Beyonce. Some choose to talk about their lives and use the web as an online diary- like me.

So, after reading her post I felt it necessary to say how I felt about her posting on her habit. Again, i mentioned that I valued her honesty and was praying for her and her baby. Another poster, anonymously posted that she was a "dummy". *insert blank look here* Eh... that's comes with the territory of blogging. Now, I saw the "dummy" comment and I thought that if someone came to my page and called me a dummy, i would be highly upset and would probably go on a curse-filled rant. HOWEVER, with that being said, if i make a post acknowledging my ignorance or idiotic behavior, I will not fault someone for agreeing with me. Catch 22?

Well, Stacie didn't take that "dummy" comment too well and did what i probably would've done- a curse-filled rant complete with calling her readers "bitches" at the end of said rant. She's entitled to do that- shit, it's her blog and her anger, while a little over the top, was understandable.

but I guess I'm writing this post now to say this... don't take what people say so damn seriously. I put myself out there for the world to see. Most of the people that read my blog may not agree with my over usage of profanity, sleeping with a married man, and all the other sin-filled things I do in my life BUT what I write is a small percentage of who I am. At the end of the day, (i hate when Keyshia Cole and Frankie say that over & over again) I AM ME and THIS IS MY GA'DAMN BLOG. If I didn't want ya'll feedback, I'd block commenting. If you don't want to read it, there is a little X a the top right corner- feel free to use the mouse to click it. I'll wait.

For those that didn't click the X and are still here... I don't take offense to anything that ya'll say. I look at it as people being people and saying how they feel and I cant do anything but appreciate and accept that. I've read things that may have not been directed to me but may be my exact situation and I said "fuck it". I'm going to Rocko this shit here I call life and do me and I kindly advise you all out there that blog and read to do the same. You don't want people calling you dummies an' shit- block comments and don't request people to give you the "good and bad" or else folks will give you the good and bad. Getting yo blood pressure all high because of anonymous posters in virtual world is not what's up in '09 and it just shows that you agree with whatever it was that was said.

With that- I'm out like dykes and I dare somebody to come to my shit and call me a fucking dummy

P.S- I am aware that in very, very rare occasions there are people born without assholes. However, even they still have opinions. No Offense.