The 2nd Time I Got Caught Not Fucking...

I did some crazy shit as a teenager. Not crazy like murdering old ladies or shooting up dope or middle schools- just typical 'man, if my momma ever found out what I did, they'd be reading my obituary in the paper" shit.

Let's take a trip down memory lane to 2001. I was a sophomore in high school, dudes still rocked Girbaud jeans and Bo Jacksons and my best friend, at the time, was Melanie. As a teenager, Melanie seemed cool at the time but as I grew older, I realized she was a just a jealous, bi-polar, psychotic bitch with the tendency to sleep with her friend's boyfriend, husband or daddy. Simply put- Melanie had issues that I was too young to realize but we had fun together. You know how everyone has that cousin that you love going to their house because you do the illest shit but your mother pretty much banned you from going? Well, Melanie was the cousin that I wanted to hang around and do hoodrat shit with and, together, we were rebels that missed a total of 72 days of freshman year hooking school to watch videos and eat biscuits. <---No, there was no weed involved. Someone said that eating biscuits would give us big asses and we wanted big asses soooo... we ate biscuits... like everyday. Don't ask..

Moving on...

After our parents found out that we skipped school damn near half of freshman year, her parents banned us from being friends but just like Romea and Juliet, we snuck around to be friends. sidebar: now, that I'm typing this shit, I'm feeling really gay but I'll continue.

It was March 2001 and my school was out for professional development day or someone burned a trash can- cant remember. Anyway, Melanie had hooked school and stayed home that day so I blocked my number (remember the "you cant be friends with Khaki" rule? Her mom was on that caller ID all day, every day) and called her up letting her know I was coming to get my clothes she borrowed. She told me that it was cool and that she had company but I could still come by.

I walked to her house, knock on the door and she comes down with a Winnie the Pooh nightshirt on and no bra. After the giggles and "girl, who you got up there?" conversation, she locks the door and tells me to wait a minute while she goes to get my clothes. I sit on the chair next to the door and a few minutes later i see a shadow come up the steps to her porch and hear someones keys jingling. Peeping out the window, I see her stepfather who I called BeBop because he looked just like that thing from Ninja Turtles.

Anyway, my heart stopped and I damn near pissed on myself. I knew he couldn't get in because she locked it from the inside but what was I supposed to do? I must've said "fuck!" a million times while I contemplated my next course of action.

After I promised Jesus that I would never be bad again if he let me out of this, I came up with three options. (A) Run upstairs, tell Melanie and we work something out. (B) Not tell Melanie, run out the side or back door and just find out what happened later or (C) just stand there and cry hoping my silent tears would make him go away.

Had I known that Melanie was a crusty bitch that would later fuck my boyfriend, I would've went with (D) Open the door, say "Hi Mr. Bebop. Mel is up there fucking some 23 year old that she just met in the Baltimore chatroom" then bounce but, like a true friend, I chose Option A. I ran upstairs with my soft bottom Mary Janes on and lightly knocked on the door. Agitated, Mel opens up the door and asks "what's up?".

Stuttering, I tell her that Bebop is here.

"Stop playing! Here? Like, downstairs here?" she asks me with her nekkid self wrapped in a sheet. Im willing to bet that her cooch dried right the fuck up as soon as she heard her stepfathers name.

"Yes MUTHAFUCKA and he's going to kick our ass. What are we going to do?".

So, Mel the Brilliant tells us to stay upstairs and try to get up to the attic, which was in her room, while she went downstairs to open the door. We knew her stepfather had to get back to work and that he wouldn't be there long so the best option would be to hide until he left. Bebop was mean like Jermaine Jackson's hairline and Melanie had told me before that he would "abuse" her and they would physically fight while her mother just watched. I didn't know whether to believe her or not but he did look like he killed puppies as a child so I made up my mind early on to not fuck with that man.

So, Mel goes downstairs to open the door and dude is sitting on the bed with damn near no clothes on asking whats going on, who's bebop, how old is Melanie blah blah blah. Basically, all the shit he should've asked before hitting the Hotpocket of some chick he met in an AOL chatroom. I tell him that her stepfather is a mean fuck that's downstairs and if he doesn't get that attic door open we're going to die or he's going to jail for statutory rape. This is when my distaste for short guys developed.

This 5 ft 7 dude is hopping up and down trying to reach the cord to open the attic. I'm thinking to myself that this short bitch isn't going to get it so I have to find somewhere to hide before Bebop hears the jumping and comes up stairs with his machete. In true white girl fashion- I lightly ran to the bathroom, jumped in the shower and hid behind the shower curtain.

Breathing hard with my hand over my mouth, I can hear Melanie explaining to Bebop some bullshit story as to why she was home and him asking her questions about chores. She tells him she did them and that she's going upstairs to clean her room. Thinking the coast is clear, I hop out the shower and run to her room to see her standing in front of the guy and asking where I was.

She says that she doesn't know when he is leaving and she asks us to hide on the side of the bed, under a blanket because he looked like he was about to come upstairs to change his work shirt.

"I'm not hiding under no fucking blanket Mel." I tell her.

The 20-something year old agrees, "Nah, I'm not down with that shit either shorty".

Seeing the tears well up in her eyes and hearing Bebop's footsteps come towards the steps quickly changed our minds and me and ole boy go to the side of the bed and hide under this big ass pink blanket.

A few seconds later, I hear her stepdad come in and I'm shaking like Ali. I know im about to be murdered next to some dude that smells like 15 year old pussy and I didn't even do anything.

"Who's up here?" he asks.

"Nobody- that was the TV." Melanie says with obvious guilt in her voice.

"What was the TV?" he asks as he inches closer.

Flashes of dude on Menace to Society saying "you know you done fucked up, right" went through my head. I could hear him walking closer to us with his work boots and just as I'm about to bust out in tears and deny everything, this muthafucka rips the blanket off of us and says "AH-HA!" like he just solved a fucking murder mystery.

"So, y'all fuckin in my house?!?!?" he asks.

Shaking my head, I stand up and, like a scared bitch, say "No, sir. Not me. I don't even know him.. i just came to get my clothes and then..."

WWWWAAAAPPPPP

I see Melanie go down as her stepfather bitch slaps her into the dresser.

I look at her laying across the dresser and put my hand over my mouth as I visualize this big 6'5 negro slapping me next. I start planning my next move... jump out the window? Nope, I'm wearing Mary Janes and i am not a damn cat. Start crying? Bingo. I start crying... hard.. Chris Brown 2010 BET Awards hard.

He points to us, with these crazy ass eyes and and says "You muthafuckas got 15 seconds to get out my house before I start kicking ass".

Needless to say, both the guy and I jumped across the bed and pushed each other as we ran down the steps. I didn't even make it to the porch step and the rapist was backing up the one-way street with screeching tires.

Scared that she wasn't lying about her stepdad being abusive, ya girl Khaki grew some balls and went back in the house to save her dear friend Melanie. I walk back in and her step dad is telling her mother that he came home and smelled sex and knew something was up and then saw me there and wanted to kick all of our asses and he knew they fucked because the guy didnt realize that he dropped the condom when he pushed me to run down the steps.

I heard that man say he wanted to kick my ass and saw Melanie sitting on the couch covering her face and I lost my testicles and I bitched up again. I asked if I could go upstairs to get my cell phone I left and he told me that I could.

I was brave and determined to save my friend as I went upstairs and scribbled a note telling her to meet me at the the corner of LochRaven and Windemere. Balling up the paper, I went back downstairs and threw it at Melanie before making my break. I ran about three blocks and hid in an azalea bush until I saw Melanie running towards me looking like she just got in a fight with Mayweather. I ask her what happened and she said he found the note, she hit him in the head with a candy dish and ran to meet me.

Before I could say anything, I see his red truck pull up to us....

End of Days: High-heeled Sneakers

They had their run in the early nineties with the canvas chunky heeled, squared toe style and then re-vamped around 2000 in the style of Air Force Ones. Almost ten years later, the high-heeled sneaker has re-emerged in the style of the classic sneaker... the Air Jordan.

I SWEAR on all things good in life that I hate, yes HATE, the high-heeled sneaker. These are the "hoodrats" of footwear and there is nothing cute, sexy, stylish, classy or fashionable about them yet they seem to make their way back to the streets every 10 years or so.

My deep hatred comes from an experience about 10 years ago. It was 1999 and I was beginning my freshman year at Western High School. After years of being a borderline chubby tomboy, wearing baggy khaki's and polo-styled shoes (it was my uniform), the summer after graduating middle school had changed me into this new found hottie with a new body. Ya know how you go on summer vacation as an awkward teen and come back finer than silk?

Anyway, my grandmother was never one to shop or buy anything for us so when she called me and asked what I wanted her to buy me for school, I was happy-yet pessimistic- about requesting a pair of shoes in a size 8 1/2. A week later, I received a package from her that I was sure would be some Reebok classics or flat Mary Jane's that were hot that year (don't front like you didn't wear them with crazy socks). Instead- I pulled out some high-heeled, double strapped, white, soft 'leather-like" sneakers that resembled Air Force Ones. My Uncle K had convinced me to wear them stating that "grandma was really excited about purchasing them for me" and i should wear them to appease her. I listened to my uncle and... well, i wish i hadn't.

I started my first day at Western, an all-girl high school with the most uppity bitches Baltimore had to offer, rocking my jean skirt, jean jacket, white shirt with silver lame roses on it and... them wack ass high heeled, no- name Rainbow sneakers and striped crazy socks. Not gonna lie- I thought I was the shit! You couldn't tell me I wasn't hot shit.

Well, you couldn't but the upper classmen of Western did. All day long I heard snickers and saw the looks as I pranced around the halls in my hoodrat sneakers. It wasn't until I went to the Quad- an outdoor lounge area where Poly and Western would eat lunch- during lunch time that I realized that the looks and snickers wasn't because they thought I was hot; it was because I had made a huge mistake wearing the damn shoes.

Some flamboyant knock-off Uncle K made a statement about my fashion faux-pas that wilted my inner flower. "Who is gonna tell her that she look a hot fucking mess with that wack ass shoes, yo? Damn, you can tell freshman!"The group laughed as I walked back into the building with my head held high stomping like I was Naomi Campbell in a high-end fashion show. I found the nearest girls bathroom and balled up in the first stall and cried to high heavens. I was so damn embarrassed. I went home and chucked them ugly ass shoes right in the trash.

Ever since then, I have despised all things high-heeled that shouldn't be- including, them high heeled Timberlands that Manolo Blahnik and Beyonce had everyone wearing and re-producing.

*sigh* I took me a long time to get over that traumatizing first day but I learned a very valuable lesson NEVER ASK MY GRANDMA TO BUY ME ANYTHING AGAIN!!