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September 03, 2004
Zero Carb Catfish...
Tampa. Is. Off. The. Chain.
I went home to see my family in Florida. I spoke at my alma mater (can you believe I can actually say that?) and then I extended my stay so that I can catch up with my wonderful parents. They’re still wonderful, yes they are, but fuck, Tampa is interesting to put it mildly. A long long time ago, when I was just auditioning to be on that damn Real World, MTV played a clip of me begging them to just “get me out of Tampa.” I caught a lot of shit in my “hometown” for saying that, but I meant it. I put hometown in quotes because I don’t really think I have an actual hometown. Do other military brats feel this way? It’s so much hotter to say, “Yeah, I lived in Japan, the Philippines, North Dakota, spent some time in Tampa, New Orleans, a little time in Brazil, Jamaica, straight up Botswana. You know I just love traveling and shit…” See how much cooler that sounds as opposed to, “Yup, raised in Valrico, man.” I say both depending on my mood. Now after visiting Valrico for four long sober days, I’m like get me a banana cognac bitch. Translation: It was cool.
Here, I offer snippets of some of the shit I saw and heard or said. Changing names to protect folks, of course.
“Do you remember John Smith? Tall, regular white dude. Well, he’s a registered sexual offender. Yeah. Little kids. Crazy, huh?” (This, after being told I ought to look at all my high school friends' mug shots on this database on the Internet.)
“How the fuck is it zero carb catfish if it’s breaded in pork rinds?” (About fried catfish at the best steakhouse in Brandon. Fried, I said.)
“So does she do promotion for a bathing suit company or is that her outfit on a hot Wednesday evening?” (Yes, she was wearing a bikini with heels at the fucking club, entire ass cheeks exposed as if this was normal.)
“Um, there’s an empty 40 oz. Corona bottle and a maxi pad floating around my feet.” (We were in a 96 Civic, driving through a flood.)
“No, no, you have it all wrong. It’s not that I don’t care. I was just a little uncomfortable when that lady was in my personal space repeatedly saying ‘Murky, murky, murky!’” (After trying to explain that I wasn’t a superficial bitch for wanting to leave the nursing home I visited after a good half hour. It’s just that I wasn’t used to walking through seas of non-ambulating old people. You know, it’s just not something I see every day. Is it flattering that my headshot is hanging above some old woman’s bed autographed? Yeah, I guess.)
“Yeah. Since we came up with the tagline ‘Dealers of Speed’, all of the crankheads come up here asking us if we have anything.” (An answer to my question which was simply, “Dealers of speed?” in a motorcycle store parking lot that belonged to a good high school female friend.)
“Well, when you look at her mug shot, you’ll see what she’s been doing the past ten years.” (A comment made after I inquired about a high school friend of mine who was in a very elite gifted program.)
“No. What happened was that bitch threw a CD case at me and fucked my tooth up.” (My brother telling me how he lost half his front tooth.)
“Well, he can get into the club because he’s wearing dress shorts. Your friend is just wearing shorts.” (The two men I was squabbling with the door guy about were wearing the same exact pair of shorts. One happened to have his on with slip on hirachi sandals with his shirt tucked, and the other with Nikes and an untucked tshirt.)
“She told everyone at a party that you got a boob job.” (A former classmate telling all of Valrico and Brandon and Tampa that I have fake tits. For the record, these is mine fool. So eat shit rumor-starter.)
“Y’all gonna lie on the pavement just like that? You need a pad or something?” (My father throwing my old school Care Bears sleeping bag to me and my niece Kera as we tanned by the tool shed in the backyard for four and a half minutes before I decided it sucked out there.)
“He has a kid now. His legal middle name is Part 2.” (!)
“Do you want to go to Walmart?” (A suggestion for fun plans one fine evening.)
“We buy broken gold.” (A sign outside the local hot spot pawn shop.)
“Closed for renevations” (Handwritten sign outside the only sushi place I’ve ever seen in Brandon.)
And just so you know, my father is still rocking his gold Shorty nameplate. Looking cute in his red sneakers rolling around in his white Z. And he TiVo’d one episode of Dave Chappelle and while I was there, I watched him watch it three times. He loves the skit where Dave goes, “I’m gonna piss on you…” The man literally falls side to side on his leather couch. In his own little world. Wiping away tears and shit. As for Mercy, we spent at least an hour discussing all her bargains from a recent JCPenney shopping spree. “Meleesa, dees one, you don’t beleeb. Nine dollar!” She’s basically the cutest, most precious lady you’ve never met. Can my parents please have a reality show or what? Who’s smart enough to do that? Comedy Central, Bravo, A&E – get on the train already. What about you Simon & Schuster, Penguin Putnam – when are you coming strong with that book deal? I’m tired of this less than rich bullshit. Give me all the checks, okay.
Fucksticks. That’s all I can muster for now. Plus, I just got back from Las Vegas five minutes ago. That’s another story for another day. All I have to say is Lil Jon is straight up crunktastic, a really good, fine person. As I type this, I am wearing the hottest red Lil Jon panties. His face is on the crotch and the word “Wuuuuut!” is on the butt. You can buy them too if you’re smart. Check MerchDirect every five minutes until the official merch is up. It will be well worth it, I promise. Yeaaaaaaaaaah!
P.S. If you have a better list of celebrity sightings than mine, you can punch me in the throat. Ahem: Anna Nicole Smith, looking both fabulous and drunk like crunk drunk, being carried out of Body English in Vegas by her bodyguard in a yellow evening gown. Fucking awesome. Bushwick Bill promoting his latest album at the Magic Convention. He's a real person and everything. Nicole Richie buying hella Shirley Temple DVDs at Tower Records. Boom blam, how you like me now Sam?
Posted by melissah at September 3, 2004 10:26 PM