I just got back from Miami…again.

Apparently I can’t keep my ass in DC during weekends this summer and its been like that since May. Anyway…

When I tell you I’m in love with that city, well, that means I’m in love with that city. I don’t even know why. Maybe its the water and the beaches. Perhaps its the scantily clad women walking all over the place.

I’ll tell you what it’s not. It’s definitely not the horrendously asstastic service we got at the KFC on 71st Street in Miami Beach. And it’s not really the weather either which has the potential to both suck ass and blow tushy at the exact same time.

Seriously, how many grown men do you know use the word “tushy”?

I must give a shoutout to my host for this past weekend, the homey, the one and only Go.tdam.n Diva. Okay, so you know how they say its not what you know but who you know?

Dude…she’s like so great to know.

No, no wait…so say you go out of town to kick it with your friends. And they live in some new exciting city. And everybody knows that when you go out of town, the goal is to go out. Let’s just say, hanging with the right people can increase your club enjoyment and and overall Miami enjoyment by like 100 percent. That my friends, is what friends are for. Hell, I need to become somebody just to be able to repay the favor.

I have some good friends, I swear.

As with most trips I take, I leave with a greater understanding of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Well that’s usually because I spend so much time drunk off of my ass that I tend to see things a little differently than I otherwise would. Well, this trip was no different as I gained some very interesting insights of great interest and insight. So let’s just delve right in.

1. Miami has some SERIOUSLY fuckin’ beautiful people.

So we were hanging out at Opium Garden/Prive and I couldn’t help but notice how gotdamn beautiful the women were. The last time I was in Miami, I have to admit I was a little disappointed by the quality of women just strolling about. Hell, one of the first things everybody tells you about Miami is how beautiful the people are. So the first night we went to the club, I was literally just looking around the whole time in amazement…then drinking…then looking.

One could even say that I was excited.

Come to find out, it makes total sense now. You see, I did a google search on Opium and read some of the reviews of the place and the one common thread was that everybody said its hard as fuck to get in there. Unless…

So basically, they select who they are going to let in this bitch. They select the beautiful people (or people they know). I noticed that there wasn’t much of a line, just a big ass group of people waiting to get in the club. Apparently, many of them were waiting to get “picked” to enter. Bottom line: Be a cute woman or be with cute women, it seems as if it will make youre life easier when trying to get into these places.

Hence, the beautiful people. Not that I gave a shit about what it took for folks to get in. Why? Because me and my boy were inside bitches!!!!!!!

2. I think I’m a racist.

Okay, that sounds way worse than it really is so let me explain. We’re in the club and there are all of these beautiful people around. But they’re like 90 percent Latina. Not that I have a problem with that. I love all women. But as soon as I saw a black woman I automatically paid her way more attention that I probably would have outside. I found myself continuously looking for black women. Granted, I was appreciating the shit out of the Cuban chicks in that bad boy. And good googly moogly (that thang is juicy) they were fine, but apparently there is nothing like a black woman in my mind.

To my black women out there, I love you. Act right!

I kid, I kid. (kind of)

3. This comes courtesy of my boy Frank aka The Most Shady: Two bottles does not make you a baller.

Let me tell you a little something about this club here. They have tables all over in there. In order to get priority seating at a table and shit and to guarantee that you’ll actually have a place to sit, you have to order a bottle. The cheapest bottle? I think I was told it’s a bottle of Moet (I think). You know what that’s gonna run you up in there? $270.

So let’s do the math kiddies. Fuck that, let’s give you an example. On Saturday night, we were chillin. We were sitting in the VIP section at a table (and no we ain’t pay for no bottles…we were just cool like that through association). These three chicks mentioned to one of the hostesses in there that they wanted to sit down.

Sucks for them, because them niggas had to procure an expensive as bottle of some shit they probably didn’t want. I’m talking about at least 3 bills on that ass. AND they had to share a table with the cool kids from out of town.

Panama and The Most Shady 4. I just may be getting a little too old to go to the club all the time.

Clubs close at like 5am in Miami. This means that I didn’t get to sleep before 6am two nights in a row. Well color me exhausted and slap my honky tonk. But that doesn’t make me old.

What makes me old is this. I found myself checking out the architecture in the damn club. Like literally looking at moldings and shit. The spacing and location of things. When you’re 18, the last thing you give a shit about a club is what it really looks like. It’s why you can go party in what really are just make shift warehouses and have the time of your life. Now I’m looking at the aesthetics and shit.

Forget that there are scantily clad women shaking what their mother’s gave them all in my purview. Nope, I want to know who did the drapes.

Shoot.

Me.

5. Ft. Lauderdale is pretty cool.

Not much to say there. But it’s like the Miami you take your kids too when you’re too afraid of all the beautiful people down on South Beach. Less crowded, seems more family oriented. I like Ft. Lauderdale…but only if I don’t have a car and my camels on strike rendering me helpless on my quest to get to Miami. I’m young and verile…South Beach all day bitches.

6. Turn off the radio…ah fuck it, just listen to it all the time.

My friend is a major Kelis fan. And being as I’m in the pre-release date album procurement industry, I sent her the Kelis album sometime last week before getting to Miami. Do you know we listened to that album every gotdamn day while I was there. AND…this isn’t to say that I actually WANTED to hear it. I gained such a healthy disdain for that album that you know what I did when I got home to DC???????

I burned a copy and put it in my car despite not liking it very much. Apparently, repetition can make you a fan of anything. Which would explain why I like half the songs I like despite there being very little redeeming qualities to any of them.

Shit my new favorite song just might be “Like You” off that album.

“I don’t just like you/I like you like you…” ~Kelis “Like You”

That’s deep shit. Or not.

7. Oh yeah, I saw Snakes On A Plane.

I don’t care what anybody says, that shit was entertaining. It was the most predictable, cliche, random ass movie I’ve seen in a very long time. And I was entertained like hell.

Unlike Pirates of the Carribbean: Dead Man’s Chest (or as one of my friends calls it, Boo Boo Pirates), which was the worst 3 hours of my life. Okay that’s not true, but at least Snakes was entertaining. Where else will you get lines like this…

“oh great, snakes on crack…”

“time is tissue…”

“I’ve had up to here with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.”

I believed I was cursed out a few times by my friends who went with me to see it. And for real though…there were a whole lot of damn snakes on that plane.

SNAKES ON A PLANE!!!!!

8. I don’t even know how to preface this one except to say it…

This is paraphrased from an actual conversation between me, my boy The Most Shady, and another friend of mine, GAW.

KeyLimePie Panama: I can’t eat at no restaurant that gives bad head, I really can’t.

GAW: I don’t do that, it’s nasty.

KLP Panama: (to The Most Shady) She doesn’t give head. She should move to Utah.

The Most Shady: You will, you’re young.

GAW: I’ll just date men who don’t want it.

The Most Shady: What, you think you’re smart enough or funny enough, to NOT do that????

END TRANSCRIPT.

Can I tell you that I haven’t laughed as hard as I did when he said that in a very long time. Can you say, TSHIRT!!!!

The funny thing is, my boy’s been on a roll. I know this girl who goes to the Harvard of the West who on a recent trip to Atlanta got a grill.

Not a Foreman grill, but one of the Paul Wall, niggas from Houston variety. And it said, “THUG” ON IT.

Dude, she’s like, totally not a thug.

Well, upon finding out this simple fact, he retorted with, “Tell her its okay to be middle class.”

Floored.

Okay, I tire of writing this right now, but let’s just say, Miami is my hotspot. We’re supposed to be going back for New Year’s.

Shit, I might mess around and have to move down there off the no bull.

Oh yes, and I now like Benihana’s as I was forced to go in there and eat. You know, we did a lot of random drinking this weekend…and Red Stripe tastes like creekwater.

Miami…I love it.

For those folks in DC looking for something to do tonight, come out to Bohemian Cavern’s for a little country, for a little bit of rock roll (and then soul to soul). It’s a good time and his royal majesty, the Sexxy one is on the mic handling the hosting duties. Plus, Afi (check her MySpace page right here) is scheduled to be performing along with comedians, Frank Nitty and Derrick Thomas.

Bohemian Caverns
2001 11th Street, NW (at the corner of 11th and U Streets, NW)
Doors open at 6pm.

Babies.

Babies babies everywhere, up to my elbows, up to my hair.

One of the greatest gifts God has bestowed upon humankind is the ability to reproduce. True indeed, there really should be some kind of screening process before two people are allowed to actually procreate…but then again, if that was the case how on Earth would we get some of the asstastic messes of families that we have today. The Whitney-Bobby Brown’s come to mind as do the Jackson’s and the Williamses’. Basically, we need the variety and mess that is some families in order to make the rest of our lives interesting.

Hell, if there was a screening process, there’d be no vh1 Behind The Music specials, and you know how entertaining those are.

Oh, how I digress.

So it seems like many people around me are either getting married or having kids. Funny how it seems that nobody is doing both, it’s pretty much either/or. Long live different value systems!

[***Sidenote: You know how a lot of older generation individuals think that us youth are going to Hell in a handbasket, what with all the out of wedlock births and teenage mothers? Well, I think that if we did some kind of scientific study comparing, say, the 1950's with the current era, we might not find much of a difference in both sheer number or proportion. Do you want to know what the only differnece between then and now was? It's that there is now a soundtrack to absentee daddies and teenage mothers: rap music. Hell, we have songs about being a "babby daddy" and "baby momma" and a lot of the ignorance that used to be contained in the home now has an outlet via Ignant Niggas International (insert random ignant nigga record label here) Records. Yep, the revolution might not be televised, but it sure as hell with have a soundtrack, Jack! ***]

I’m very happy for all of my friends with new children or spouses. I’m just not ready in the slightest to be there. In fact, I’m very okay with the fact that I have no real desire to be married right now. And kids? Umm…no. In fact, let’s talk about this.

I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf of sorts. I’ve discovered the most effective sex-deterrent in history: my nieces and nephews. And no, I don’t mean safe sex-deterrent. I mean altogether sex-deterrent. As in, not gonna happen. As in, stay away from me you baby-harboring Kangaroo! I love my nieces and nephews. They’re the most adorable fluorescent children you’ve ever seen.

Until I have to babysit them and watch them and break up fights and try not to kill them.

So my new leaf is one of total abstinence. To tell the truth, that’s pretty easy being as I’m not much of a manwhore anyway. But there’s something one must realize about my newfound leafage. It has jack shit to do with trying to get closer to my spiritual self or finding myself or any of that other malarkey that so many people come up with as to why they want to rediscover their inner virgin. Nope, for me…it’s pure and total fear.

I, Panama Jackson, am afraid of being a daddy right now because little kids never stop moving/talking/yelling/screaming/running/etc. I would lose my mind with a child at this juncture. And my nieces and nephews are great kids, so I can’t even imagine what I’d do with horrible devil spawns.

This also brings up another situation. See, deciding to abstain for fear of procreating period, not even with some woman I could marry, is bound to cause problems. When you reach a certain age, many women have “needs”, if you know what I mean. Heh heh.

*wink wink* *nudge nudge*

I can just see that conversation now. Hell, I kind of HAD that conversation a long time ago with a woman who was soon to become my girlfriend. At that point I was giong through something very similar. Needless to say, she was understanding but wasn’t really having that.

But have you any idea how I feel right now? At 1118pm Central Standard Time?

I feel like this:

If I’m dating some woman and she decides that she is going to get her some (from me) and isn’t taking me serious…I will just have to break up with her.

Mmhmm.

Shoot. She obviously doesn’t care about me. It’s like a woman trying to get you to have sex raw dog. I might have to jack slap her for that shit. If you think that’s okay, you quite clearly do not care about me or my well-being. And for that you are a selfish asshole who should be shot. But since I live in DC where owning a handgun is both illegal and frowned up (!) I’ll just either kick you the fuck out of my place or leave your spot.

I mean, is it such a crime if His Royal Sexxiness would prefer to just stand on opposite sides of the room and throw little popcorn kernels at one another for fear of potentially bringing a little Panamista or Panamanuel into this world? I think not.

Hell, that sounds like a good date to me!

(Dude, I’m so joking.)

But really, is it a crime if I want to wait? If a woman brought that to me I’d be respectful of it and wouldn’t even question it…UNLESS…she has told me that she’s trying to wait until marriage knowing full gotdamn well that she’s had her back broke more times than the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Because then, I’m just insulted.

At least come to me with a good reason…and that whole, “doing everything but doing nothing shit”? That’s for Toucan Sam and the NBC Peacock.

Luckily, that won’t be a problem for me anymore. My siblings’ offspring have opened up my eyes to the Hell that can be parenting. For now anyway, because I would like to have children, and as I’ve stated before, I have to have a daughter so I can raise my Queen to be the artful Goddess of her skin tone.

Hmm, I hope my wife doesn’t end up hating me…or my daughter.

Yet, I digress once more.

Babies are great, but I don’t think I could handle it right now. And though I’ve been dealing with 3 at a time, even one might require a wee bit more footspeed and reaction time than I have right now. Single with singles? That’s how I get down right now.

Off to the strip club where the women provide all the fantasy and never touch you (in most states unless you go to high priced rooms and that just isn’t my style…)

To strippers!

Cheers.

Women with my well-being in mind.

I call this one part II because I want to say that like a year ago, I wrote another entry that will be just like the one I’m finna write.

So let’s begin.

So a brotha has been strapped down by his employment status for something like two weeks now. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing but I’ll be damned if my job doesn’t go something like this:

Slow Time: Twiddle thumbs and spend all day debating whether or not space travel would actually be possible if you had two paper clips and a bottle of Ajax

Fast Time: Can’t breathe, work pretty much around the clock to include weekends, holidays, and all cultural observation days, lose track of days because working on weekends tends to throw your day-time-equilibrium meter

There is no middle ground involved here.

Speaking of your days being thrown out of balance, that is a very real phenomenon. For instance, I worked both Saturday and Sunday this past weekend. On Monday night, going into Tuesday morning, I had a dream that it was actually Thursday, woke up and thought it was Friday…AND…came about this close to thinking it was actually Saturday and staying in bed.

This same thing happens to me when I take a nap during the day. Apparently I have time dyslexia because I’ve taken a nap before in the day, woke up like 4 hours later and assumed it was the next day and got ready for work. Nevermind it was dark outside and in the summer nobody goes to work when its still dark outside. And nevermind that I learned how to read when I was 3 and knew my numbers as well so I could easily just look at the clock. And nevermind that I could have easily just, I don’t know, turned on the television for further clarity depending on what was on.

Nope. Time dyslexia. It’s a real thing.

All this to say, I’ve been getting straight mollywopped at work.

Hold. Me.

And I have like 3 jobs right now. Which would be 2 outside of my standard employment. I have about one free night a week.

And even that is being used for sleep…kind of.

Add to the fact that I have a damn project I’m working on that needs to be done like 3 weeks ago with a friend of mine that will make household names out of the both of us.

Add to the fact that I actually have a whole lot of shit on my mind right now that I’d like to get out but don’t have the time to do it. Hell, at this point I’ve only been typing for 3 minutes and I feel like I’m wasting time right now.

I’ll probably talk about this a little more one of these days, but I have to give a special shout out to one of my oldest friends in life from Alabama. Some people talk big shit about making things happen. Some people actually make shit happen.

My friend got my ass played on the radio in Birmingham, Alabama. As in yours truly has now gotten official radio burn on a big time radio station. Just thought I’d share since, as we all know…

…sharing is caring.

So…well…umm…err….ah yes.

The main point of this post today was to inform you of the open mic occuring tonight at Bohemian Caverns in Washington, DC on 11th and U Streets.

Clearly this is for anybody in the DC area.

Not people in the Cincinnati area.

Stricly for live men.

Not for freshmen.

Tonight is gonna be heavy on the comedy I presume. We’re thinking of changing up the format to have something like a comedy open mic one night a month. So tonight is looking like it’s gonna be that night. A special guest comedian who’s been in quite a few ghetto movies is slated to perform.

Red Grant

I’m hosting as usual so feel free to come on down and get some laughs in.

Oh…and there is free food from 6-730pm.

I didn’t make that up. FREE FOOD from 6-730pm. I’ve heard that the food there is actually pretty good. I’ve never had it before. I bet I will tonight.

That ninja said FREE!

So if you need something to do on this hot, steamy ass Wednesday evening in your Nation’s capital…come on down to Bohemian Caverns and kick it with yours truly, Panama Jackson.

And yes, I linked myself again.

RSVP ON THE HOME PAGE (WWW.STOCK13.NET) FOR WEDNESDAY, JULY 19TH FOR FREE ADMISSION TO AFTER PARTY BEFORE 10:45 PM BEFORE 5PM. DOORS OPEN AT 6PM. COMEDY AND BAND FROM 6-10PM. AFTERPARTY WITH DJ SOURCE ON THE 1′S AND 2′S FROM 10PM-2AM.

Have you ever been to the club and wanted to straight mollywop the DJ for being hands down the worst you’ve ever heard in your life?

That was me on Friday night.

I’m still pissed about it.

Let me paint you a picture.

A crowd of black people standing still. At 2am. While music is playing. Nary a drunk enough person in sight. People looking at one another in one accord as if to say, “this DJ fuckin’ sucks.”

If you’re young, gifted, and Black (and haven’t committed suicide in New York City in 1979…I’m still bitter about that), and live in Washington, DC, then mayhaps you’ve ventured to Ozio’s on a Friday evening.

Who am I bullshitting? You’ve probably been there more times than you care to admit. I don’t think I’ll be going back there anytime soon.

Since the inception of digital turntables, many DJ’s are now able to just bring a laptop and their turntables to the club and they have their sounds prepared ahead of time. Such was the case with this DJ. He dipped out for a good hour and played his tracklist. And do you know what that means?

It means this dude was playing entire songs. But it wasn’t entire songs you wanted to hear. He was playing 6 minute versions of songs like Jay-Z’s “Big Pimpin”…fuck that…do you know what’s WORSE than that???

Check it.

You know how some album versions of songs fade out and turn into an interlude. Good googly moogly we were listening to interludes up in the club. Standing around like, “why the fuck am I listening to an interlude?”

AND.

He played all the good current shit around midnight when we got there. Ozio’s ain’t close til 3am. Or so I believe since I left at 2 something and slapped the bouncer on the way out.

My favorite song of 2006 is Yung Joc’s “It’s Going Down”. Fuck you. That song is bananas in the club. He played it at midnight. Never again.

In fact, he didn’t play a recently popular song from about 1230am til we left. This dude played Puffy and Mase “Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down” (which I love) but still, folks would rather have heard something a little more recent.

AND.

I hate reggaeton. But I can take it in spurts. For a straight hour though? When NOBODY is dancing to it? El fuckboy needed to be shot.

Who doesn’t play recent shit towards the end of the night? I say who????

Horrible ass DJ’s. That’s who!

Somehow I think Jim Jones was responsible.

Now, prior to heading there me and mi compadres were up in Silver Spring at the Austin Grill. For those not in the know, its a country western spot with killer drinks. They have a live band playing country music. The country music there was 10 times better than the DJ at Ozio’s.

Let’s take it a step further.

On Saturday I went to the Annual White Party that is thrown in DC (actually it was in Nowhere, Maryland). My boy DJ’d that party. That party was off the fuckin’ hook music-wise. Of course, we were all in white so the bougieness stepped up to the plate but it was fun. This is about the DJ though. My boy, knows the concept of the club-banger. He laid it down.

That party? The DJ was on point. And was a good 20 times better than the DJ at Ozio’s.

After the White Party, we somehow ended up in Adams Morgan at The Diner. The music they had playing in The Diner??

30 times better than the DJ at Ozio’s. And I heard Phil Collins “Sussudio”.

Don’t sleep. Phil Collins is the man.

Speaking of which, Bobby Brown’s “Don’t Be Cruel” album? I’m taking a stand. That’s the best R&B album ever created.

Discussion? Buh-ring it.

All this to say, I went to numerous spots this weekend…OOOOH OOOOOH…I forgot.

The nigga’s driving down my street in DC blasting their music as loud as possible?? Way better than the shitty as DJ in Ozio’s.

In life, the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen might be a bunch of sober black people praying for a good song to come on so you don’t have to fake being hype to Kris Kross’s “Jump”. Nostlagia only takes you so far.

It felt like we were being held hostage to the rhythms. Or maybe he was just fucking with us.

All I know is that the DJ tried to kill us.

Everybody mambo!

I want to wish a pre-July 4th Happy 4th of July to everybody who will be out and about BBQ’n watching fireworks and the like.

What will I be doing you ask?

Well, this weekend the Sexxiest Man Alive will be in the M-I-Yayo.

That’s Miami for you Rick Ross illiterates out there.

The Summer of Love continues for Panama Jackson and Associates (that’s my law firm) in Miami as I witness the nuptuals of two more friends of mine. If you remember, one of my boys kicked off the summer in May by getting married in my favorite city in the United States of America (the Beautiful), Atlanta. I really must say that Black love is a beautiful thing. But Black love that decides to get married in Miami and invites me along for the ride and then adds me to the wedding party requiring that I spend time in Miami…

…during a holiday weekend?

Well, that’s the kind of love I can get behind. Any love that ultimately benefits me in the short or long run is okay with me.

I have one more wedding I’m definitely going too (I’m in that wedding as well…props to the homey JK) at the end of September and one that I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make due to its relative location in this hemisphere. But dammit, keep the love going anyway.

2006: The Summer of Love

And…!!!

And another one of my friends got engaged as recently as a month ago and is getting married in October.

With all this love in the air, the question always arises: Panama, you’re 27 now and you aren’t exactly a spring chicken anymore (I’m too sexxy for that shit actually), when are you going to get married?

Panama Jackson = in no rush.

He’s chillin. In fact, I’m straight.

So straight.

I’ve been put in charge of putting together the music for the pre-Wedding BBQ that’s taking place on Saturday (the wedding is on Sunday). And in the process of putting together some music I noticed something.

I’ll bet your just chomping at the bit to know what I discovered aren’t you? No?

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

What I noticed was that it’s fuckin’ hard to make a “clean” playlist of the most popular songs out there nowadays. Now, for this particular event I’m supposed to be spanning decades which is very easy to do given my music collection. Hell I even have a few pre-made playlists specifically for purposes like this. But all of those playlists include music for the older crowd.

By throwing a BBQ with both young and old folks you have to play the new stuff. And boy is some of that shit fuckin’ profane. And vulgar too! This always causes me some sort of moral dilemma (of which I’ve actually talked about before). I know there will be little kids present and older people and I sure as hell don’t want to inundate them with the throngs of bitches and asses that don’t get bleeped out of the CLEAN versions of songs. Luckily, drug talk has become so coded that most people that don’t listen to rap won’t know what the fuck the rappers are talking about in that realm.

I’ve been combing through my stacks and iTunes trying to find clean AND suitable versions of songs for kids from 8-80 and let me tell you, the shit is an exercise in problem solving. Luckily I only have to come with about 4 hours of music. That’s not hard to do at all, but sheesh.

All I’m saying is that you rappin’ ass niggas need to clean up your fuckin’ music. Shit’s just too profane and vulgar.

With that said, I’m really looking forward to going to this wedding and hanging with my boys and turning Miami out. Let’s see, we’ve turned out LA, San Diego, Atlanta (on a continuous basis), NY, DC, Boston, New Orleans, and Las Vegas. I could very well be missing a few cities but you can blame that on the liquor…

…and Jim Jones.

Did I also mention that this will not only be my first time in Miami…but the WHOLE STATE OF FLORIDA!

That’s right kiddies, Panama has never been to Disneyland or DisneyWorld. I lived overseas for a sizable portion of my life so I’ve been to Euro-Disney, but never to the real Happiest Place on Earth. I was so deprived as a child. There are still emotional scars.

So…have a Happy 4th…enjoy yourself.

Relax yourself and envision the gobs of fun that the Killa (me) will be having in Miami with the beautiful people as the Summer of Love keeps on rolling.

It’s a celebration, bitches.

I don’t have any children right now, nor am I exactly looking to bring any litte Panamas or Panamaishas into the world in the near future. But Godwilling, I do want kids.

In fact, I want a few kids. I grew up in a household with 3 sisters, an add-on brother, and a bunch of other folks who might as well have been family. I can’t imagine having just one child. I had way too much fun growing up with my siblings to have an only child who has to create all of his own entertainment. Though, I’m sure he could, Lord knows I did.

True Story: When I was 3, my mother bought me a Playskool My First Hiking Trip Set (or something along those lines). It came with a canteen, a compass, and a utility belt. My mother filled up my canteen with water. Showed me what the compass was and opened the door. Now my usual thing was to just walk outside and play in the grass in front our apartment. Not that day. See, my mother messed up, she ALSO told me what hiking was. So what did Peewee Panama do? He went hiking. There were some woods behind our apartment complex so I moseyed on into the woods to go, ya know, hiking. Apparently I was gone for something like 3 hours causing my father, the police, and the military installation behind our home to be called. Me? I was just out walking around in the woods and drinking the water in my canteen and ya know, hiking. According to my mother, I just strolled up out of the woods right into the house, said, “hi mommy,” then sat down and watched cartoons.

Moral of the story: Parenting can be a bitch.

Anyway, as thoughts of parenthood become more frequent as I get older, I’ve started to have one lingering concern. It is a concern unlike any other concern. I’m not worried about having gay children or anything. In today’s day and age, the more kids you have it seems the more likely that is to be the case with at least one of them. Plus, I’m okay with that.

I’m not worried about raising a black male child. I was a black male child and I came out alright and I know the conversations I’m going to need to have. Plus, I refuse to sugarcoat shit.

Nope, my concern is this: I don’t really want to be cooler than my kids.

You see, I fashion myself to be a pretty cool dude. Feel free to disagree, but also feel free to go fuck yourself.

Mmkay?

I also know that cool isn’t something you create, it’s just something you are. I assume you’re born with it. Like green eyes, only not like that at all.

When you meet people who are cool, it instantly becomes the first adjective you use when describing them. Which is interesting because cool is one of the hardest things to describe in and of itself. What does cool even mean? For real, the next time you are talking to somebody and they tell you how cool their friend is, ask them what makes them cool.

I’d be willing to put money that at some point they end up saying this: “I don’t know, she/he’s just…cool.”

Being as this will be my child, I will assume that he will be going through many phases on his way to discovering his cool. If my child is anything like me, he’ll go through his nerd phase, his awkward phase, etc. The normal things that black children that can read go through.

Yes bitches, my child will be one of the reading black people. But on his way into adolescence I hope he discovers his cool. His ability to just be himself regardless of what else is going on around him. Of course, if that cool involves him wearing all black and lots of metal studs and shit, well…we’re gonna have a talk.

Until I realize that it’s probably my fault for playing so much Led Zeppelin around the house.

Back to the cool. You know, growing up can be very hard. We spend so much time trying to figure out where we fit in with our friends and just the world period that it can take a while to figure out who you really are. With that in mind, I’m looking forward to seeing my children go through all of the phases. But what happens if, and when, my child discovers his inner self and its…

..Urkel.

And all of his friends have pocket protectors and their conversations linger on the newest mechanical pencil and its aerodynamic capabilities.

I mean, I’ll love him just the same. But you better believe I’ll be throwing a football at him all the time. And if he can’t catch, that’s just too bad for him. He’ll figure it out over time. He can cry to his momma all he wants. But…and it’s a simple but…

…what if that’s just how he’s comfortable. Mind you, I’ll be accepting, but I’ll want him to branch out. I suppose I’m more worried about my kids being complete introverts than I am being overly cool. Despite saying that I’m a cool cat and shit, I tend to think I’m more funny than cool. I don’t know how many people would use cool as the first adjective to describe me.

Of course, sexxy would be first.

*ba-dum-ching*

I’m just concerned with the social malaise that could occur if my kid turns into the uber-uncool versoin of Urkel. Because despite what you think, I really do think Urkel was a pretty cool dude. He did his thing, was open and honest and all that. He was alright with me.

Granted, I don’t have any kids yet so this is all moot. And I will love my kids regardless and truthfully, it might be kind of fun to have a really nerdly kid with the taped up glasses. Not sure how that would happen given that any woman I procreate with is gonna be cool as a fan too, but it could happen. Plus, kids like that just have to increase the entertainment value in the house right??

And besides, we all remember Steve Urkel had Stephon in him. So maybe all I have to do is harness the inner cool.

And try not to make my son a ho.

To be a parent…

Today is the day before a holiday I’m trying to get instituted. Since this year June 3rd falls on a weekend, I’m trying to petition the president to have the nation observe it on the first Monday of June every year.

You may have already guessed what day I’m referring to, but in case you haven’t, I’m talking about tomorrow, June 3rd, 2006, which is:

The 27th Annual Panama D. Jackson Celebration of Life, Liberty, and All Things Sexxy…

…also known as…

…my birthday.

Strangely, turning 27 (sometimes referred to as almost 30) doesn’t really bother me or make me feel any older. I don’t know if this is a function of just getting older in general, but I feel just as young now as I did when I was 18. Hopefully, I’m just a little bit smarter and wiser. Or maybe I’m just in denial of the fact that pretty soon my body will begin to fall apart and shit.

Despite having so many friends getting married (4 this summer alone) and friends starting to settle down and begin families, I feel no rush to get to that point. I kind of waiver on marriage sometimes anyway, and truthfully it’s more important that I have children than it is to get married. Specifically, I want a daughter so I can raise my queen. Yes, I am a sap at heart and I want a daddy’s little girl so that I can spoil the living shit out of her. Sadly, I’ve expressed this sentiment to many women I know and they’ve informed me that going into it with that mindframe has the potential to cause major problems between my daughter and wife (assuming I have one) of jealousy. Not exactly sure how I’m going to get around that one…because my daughter…

…you will hate her.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself here because like I said, I’m in no rush to get to that point.

The big 2-7…please everybody go out and have a drink on yourself in the name of celebrating my 27 years of existence on this big ole rock we like to call Earth.

Also, I’d like to give a quick shoutout to anybody who is celebrating a birthday soon or has celebrated one recently. In fact, if you are a Gemini…Happy Birthday.

What’s your favorite zodiac sign?? Gemini!!!

It’s not just a sign, it’s a way of life.

And why tell you today? Because I won’t even be checking this site tomorrow, so I decided to just let you all know today how important tomorrow is. I’m sexxy like that. And I want to make sure everybody knows to take a shot or have a drink for me. I’d like reports back people.

******

My birthday also marks my two year blogiversary. And yes that is corny as the fuck, but I started blogging on June 3, 2004. I knew my birthday was important, but it also signifies the day that I began to take over the world. And I have two other Geminis to thank for that.

And because I feel like saying it, “shower me with your loooooooove…”

*****

I’ve decided that I’m going to start blogging on my MySpace page from time to time too. Call it sheer boredom but what the hell, I still have absofuckinlutely no idea what to do with that damn page. So, short non-sensical blogs it is. At your leisure, and assuming that your employer hasn’t placed a MySpace embargo on your work computer, feel free to venture over to my site, leave a comment, search around or something. Who knows, one of these days I might actually add some real pictures, albeit for a short amount of time…a brotha needs his employment ya know.

www.myspace.com/panamadjackson

******

I might have to recuse myself from the Black Race for a period of no less than 1 week and no more that 1 month for one simple fact.

On Sunday, at the wedding I attended…was the very first time I’ve EVER heard the Rick James and Smokey Robinson song, “Ebony Eyes”.

*hanging head in shame*

I have no clue how this song has eluded me for so long, especially since I’m a Rick James fan. Hell, “Mary Jane” is one of my favorite songs of all time and has been since I first heard it in 9th grade. Granted, I’ve never cared for Smokey Robinson but that’s no excuse. I’ve learned that I’m not the only person who hasn’t heard this song before so maybe I’m taking this a little bit too seriously, but this song is so damn great, it instantly became a favorite. In fact, according to my iTunes tracker, I listened to this song 33 times yesterday at work. It would have been 99, except I put it on a 3 song playlist that played the entire day. I can’t tell you the other two songs I listened to because…

…I’m in the midst of a competition with another blogger to see who can put together the better old school CD. We have to make two 10 song playlists, one slow songs and the other midtempo, and send them to some folks to see which ones they like best. And the other two songs on my playlist are contenders. The only reason “Ebony Eyes” isn’t is because the other blogger was the first person to mention the song to me, so I concede that one.

****

A chick I know said something to me the other day in regards to a situation that has arisen and it got me to thinking. She said, “is that the change you want to make for your birthday?” Now me, being the ultrasmooth sexxy soul brother #2 that I am, I’ve never quite thought of my birthday as a time for change. In fact, for the most part there isn’t too much in my life that I’d want to change right now. That’s not entirely true, there are some situations that have occurred that have me secondguessing or overthinking or whatever, but that’s not really change, that’s more or less getting things that are already there in perspective. But in reality, there are no changes I’d make around this time that would be reflective of what needs to happen for my birthday…any change I make is obviously something that needs to change for my life. For instance, I could stand to be more financially smart, but then again, I operate as if I’m going to be very rich very soon, and am making certain moves to do so…so no real need for change there.

I could stand to eat healthier but that’s something that is always the case. The only real change that would ever need to be considered in my life, given that I live a pretty damn good life, would be the people in it. And I have to say, emphatically, I’m pretty damn lucky to have the friends that I do. Any frequenter to this site has read about my friends ad nauseum. We do trips, we fight, we don’t speak to eachother for a while, we go out to eat, we learn, we support…but we’re always still there for one another and thru it all, for the most part, nobody has to really question that friendship. Yes, there have been some tests. But I’ve never felt like I couldn’t depend on them. Or that I wasn’t significant. I’m not saying I need to get the red-carpet treatment, but I am saying, that with my friends, I know what it means to be their friend. We’re not perfect…like I said, we fight, but thats what happens in a family…a real one.

I’d like to say that I offer them the same thing they offer me. A bottom line level of trust, security, and appreciation. I’m talking the bare minimum. No need for lights, camera, action…just awareness that your friends do actually want to be your friends. Stumbled? Why yes I have (but I’m still not ordinary people…remember, they don’t know which way to go…me, I bought a map), but would I take a bullet for my friends? Yes I would. Two for a few of my boys because I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for them. And this goes for friends I’ve met online as well as friends I’ve known face-to-face, because for me, those lines are very blurry for some people, as I’ve met and kicked it with a sizeable amount of my online friends. And I’m talking major kickage.

To my friends, thanks…I’m lucky…and you are appreciated. And I’m alive for another year to recognize it.

So what’s the point of that little personally reflective monologue up there? There was no specific point…I’m just speaking out loud and being sappy and shit. Lest you forget, the kid teared up at a wedding recently. I’m feeling emotional like The Great Crack Queen, Whitney.

And it was also to see if in the time it took you to read that, if anybody’s car was stolen. According to some people’s figures cars are stolen every few minutes. Those were some long ass paragraphs, if you or somebody you know’s car wasn’t stolen in that time, well, we’re being lied to America!

Alright, enough with the sappy shit.

****

We in room 222!

****

Dammit…I JUST got an email with an evite in it for a cookout coming up in June. These two friends of mine who throw these joints ALWAYS have them on weekends I’m going to be out of town. And I mean that literally. I’ve been to like one of their events because no matter when they schedule it…Mr. Oh So Sexxy! is on his way out of town. Talk about coincidences that are about to become conspiracy theories.

****

To you, Thank you. I haven’t opened them yet. It’s not my birthday yet.

****

Happy Birthday to me…tomorrow! May you eat, drink, be merry without getting married. Hence may you eat, drink, be merry, and non-annulled.

[***This is Panama-length, plus some. What can I say? It was a wedding weekend and I probably won't even really cover half of it. ***]

Have you ever seen a stripper start reading a magazine in the middle of her act?

Like a Jet Magazine?

I have.

And let me tell you, if there is one thing that this world does not need, it’s lazy strippers.

However, not even a lazy stripper could bring down (though it did make me reconsider cosmic signs) the amount of joy and excitement I experienced over the past 5 days. I went back to Atlanta to witness the nuptuals of one of my good friends from college and let me tell you, it did not disappoint.

So, I figured I’d do a recap of sorts, partially for the entertainment value, and partially so I can remember this 10 years from now assuming this site is still up and hasn’t been taken over by the CIA or somebody. Just know that if one day you ever hear me talking about having a drink from Starbucks, well, click the “x” at the top right of your screen because the government is monitoring you.

Before I get to the festivities and the chroniclization of such festivities (and there wasn’t any real debauchery to speak of), I must take a second to comment on marriage and seeing your friends proclaim their love for eachother. Well, let me just say, it brought me to tears. Literally. The most gangsta of all gangstas was boo-hoo’n up in the wedding. Now, I wasn’t really crying, it’s more like I teared up because when the new-wife did her vows…man…there weren’t many dry eyes in the building. I loved seeing them get married, I loved seeing them happy, and I loved how good the two of them are doing together.

Basically, this made for one of the happiest times in my entire life. I was smiling the whole damn weekend. Just…good times. Neither of them read this site, or probably even know it exists, but I really do have to thank them for the fact that their love was able to make me so happy. It just felt good to be apart of it all. That’s that contagious stuff right there.

Well, I feel gayer now. How about you?

Excuse me one moment.

*going outside to rob somebody to retrieve my gangsta*

I’m going to take this day by day and try not to overdo it by being excessively long or anything about this. Okay, I’m kind of lying on that “excessively long” part. And I think I’m going to do this as a sort of “lessons learned” kind of deal. Shall we? Yes let’s…

Things I Learned on Thursday, May 25, 2006

-It’s hot as the fuck in Atlanta, even at 11am. I got off the plane and felt like I had just been hit with an Egyptian camel.

-Camp Creek Parkway is long as the fuck. I didn’t even KNOW that Campbellton Road eventually crossed Camp Creek Pkwy. And do you know why? Because there’s no good got damn reason to ever be that far down the road. Now there building all of these affordable homes so folks are moving out there, but it’s way too far.

-I’m definitely moving back to Atlanta. There are no ands, ifs, or buts about it. Not only do I love the city, but its also like a gajillion times cheaper than any other city I’d consider living, which would be: DC, NY, or LA. Sorry Des Moines, but your city sucks ass.

-It’s never too early to start drinking. Too bad it took us, me and my boy, The Most Shady, about a good 5 hours to actually get our first marital-induced drink. And it took me even less time to feel the repercusions of said drink. Time started to float…

-In Greenbriar Mall, the wings at Abdullah The Butchers are way better than the little wing spot in the back corner by the bathrooms. My boy, CoolBreeze, wouldn’t admit this outright, but he wanted another one of my wings…I didn’t want another one of his. And umm…no brokeback.

-A little short drunk man was going to get his ass WHIPPED up in Dave & Busters. This nigga got a little ignant when he thought I was by myself…even going so far as to tell me that he had his boys with him. Then a few of my boys showed up while I was talkign shit to him. Oh how the tables turned. I am glad we didn’t get into the fight that seemed like it was about to happen. It’s a wedding weekend.

-Patron shots at the bar in the arcade were like 4 bucks at Dave & Busters. Maker’s Mark? 3 bucks. And how do I know this? You friendly neighborhood, Xquizzyt1, was blessing us with her presence.

Let me just say something about your friendly neighborhood, Xquizzyt1. How about she showed up, and all of my friends loved her instantly. Too bad random other dudes did too. Poor guy. Have you ever seen a man’s spirit completely broken. I have. This overly loquacious gentlemen who was trying really hard to rap to a few of my friends before me and X showed up began attempting to deconstruct manhood, the man woman relationship, and other shit when we showed up. Me, I was drunk. So I just sat there and looked around curiously. And since X never met an argument she didn’t like, they went at it.

In what can only be deemed, “How Not To Get Into A Woman’s Drawz In 10 Minutes Or Less”, ole boy actually said to her…”I guess you aren’t what I expected…” El Dumass. She took his pride after that. Kicked it around on the floor. Then right when he went to pick it up…hurled that bitch into the bar. When he was leaving, he just put his head down and said, “bye.” But…

…on the brightside he gave me props when he realized I went to Morehouse. So he wasn’t all bad. He did recognize his superiors.

*evil snicker*

-I also learned that there are some cool ass folks from up in Chicago. But that would be a running theme from the whole weekend as the bride is from Chicago (and Milwaukee or Killwaukee as it was referred by one of the brides cousins or something…a lot of black folks were running rampant this past weekend).

Sheesh this is long already…I’ll try to speed some of this up:

Friday, May 26, 2006

Fuck the things I learned. I’ll just recap this shit.

So after leaving Dave & Busters, two of my friends brought me back to my boys house at like 2am…I don’t actually remember them leaving, but they did leave at some point. That’s how damn tired I was. So what does a supremely tired black man do after being drunk and going to sleep somewhere in the neighborhood of 3-something A.M.??

He wakes up at 756am and can’t go back to sleep. Fuck. Me.

Went to BBQ. Had a Michael Jackson dance-off at the BBQ. That was fun as shit actually. There were way too many dancing negroes…and I was one of them.

Oh and let me say…i HATE the gotdamned Cha-Cha Slide. Hate Hate Hate it. It is a sorry excuse for a group dance.

Oh yes, on Friday, Atlanta was once again…hot as the fuck. I started stripping. Please, put your dollar bills away. Though I did offer to strip for money at the BBQ. Word to the wise: If you offer me money, I might offer to strip. I also might say no.

Here, I must get into how following the cosmic signs is probably always going to lead you in the right direction. This is a story, please have a seat.

Goal: Entertainment for males
Location: As of 9pm, we ain’t have one AKA Sign #1

By 11pm, we were having fun at my boy The Great’s home and had started to get a little nervous about whether or not we were gonna be doing anything. We were drinking, having fun with a few folks. I’d met another person from Panama and a doctor who was moving to Maryland.

1130pm and nowhere to go? Sign #2 to keep your black ass at home.

1135 or something, we get a call to meet on Fulton Industrial at Riley’s. That’s a strip club. Ehh…we don’t want to roll at this point, but what the fuck, it’s for the groom. And he’s our boy. My boy has a spare tire on his car and we can’t go faster than 55 MPH. In Atlanta, that is a severe problem. Shit’s already far as hell, to have to drive it slowly?? Painful.

We get to Riley’s. Ready to party?? NOPE. You see, we aren’t actually going into that club, we’re waiting outside for some dude to show up with some of our own personal entertainment.

Wait time, one hour and some change. Sign #3. Me and my boy, The Great…get ready to roll. We want some Krystal’s (similar to White Castle but better). We start to leave and say fuck it, but we get the call. We deliberate and go against our better judgement…and go with the caravan. Sign #4.

Fuck it…let’s just say that when you go against your hunches, you get lazy strippers in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.

And THEN the spare tire blows out on you on Piedmont Avenue leaving you stranded for like 2 hours while you wait for a tow truck to come get you. And you end up on Piedmont when you were just out in Austell (a long ass fucking way apart) because one of your boys also wants to leave the lazy strippers and asks for a ride.

Me, I drove to fast and blew the spare. Plus, putting 300 miles on that bitch in 2 days will do that to you. Luckily, one of our other friends was still up at like 4 something AM and came to get us from Stone Mountain…

…let me just say I really love my friends. And also, I skipped signs number 5 throuh 100 as to why we should have just stayed home.

GOT DAMNED THIS IS LONG.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Get in at like 6am from the Great Piedmont Car Fiasco of 2006. Wake up at like 10am. Went out to eat lunch with a friend. I also gave this friend a tour of Atlanta of which she had never really seen before. See all these folks think they know about certain parts of the city. I had to take her ass through Adamsville and the real Southwest. Not just driving up and down Cascade. I also took her to Simpson Road and Center Hill. Went through Dixie Hills. Basically, if you ever really want a Westside of Atlanta tour, I’m your man.

Dropped her off. Went to hotel for party. Party was fun. Played spades. Set our opponents, TWO TIMES IN A ROW. On some straight Debo shit. And by the way, I was fuckin’ drunk off my ass. Too much Henny and not enough Coke will do that to you. Especially when you’re playing spades like this:

If you win the book, the other team has to take a drink. If you set them, you tell them they have to do some guzzling. Let’s just say, we were some drunk ass spades players. At about 230, we packed it in…except, I made some phone calls and two of my friends, including your friendly neighborhood Xquizzyt1 and everybody’s favorite Bulletproof Diva came through to hang out at the hotel with us.

And get your mind out the gutter.

They leave at around 4 or something. I really don’t remember.

I get back to my boys house at around 5am.

Sunday, May 28th, 2006 AKA Wedding Day

Wake up at like 9am. Get pissed because I’m up at 9am. Watch the History of Metal on vh1. Head out at 1130am to go to Lenox to do some shopping. Run into the friend I went out to eat with on Saturday. We kick it while she goes shopping. She tried on everything in every store we went into. Lots of fun was had by all. I dipped out.

Went to get ready for the wedding.

Wedding.

Let me just say that it was a wonderful ceremony. I was extremely happy and all the groomsmen and bridesmaids looked good. The pastor presiding…well, it must have been her first wedding because she fucked up more lines than Keanu Reeves doing Shakespeare. No lie…she said this:

“I now pronounce them husband and wife…or I will after they exchange rings. Oh yeah, and then kiss…wait, what else are they gonna do? I can’t remember. This is a wedding right? Fuck it…y’all just do your own thing cuz apparently I’m unprepared.”

Okay, I embellished a little.

The reception was the best party I’ve been to in years. I can’t even explain it. It was that much fun. I sat down for like 2 or 3 minutes in total when the dancing started. Slow dancing, line dancing, soul train lines, ATL dancing, a go-go segment. We had a party. AND an open bar. And we do damage to those.

Hell, I wish he was getting married again this weekend.

After the reception, we kicked it more. Spades, dominoes, late night runs to Krystal’s. Sleep time: somewhere around 3-4 or 5am. I really don’t know when.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Wake up at 730am. Say peace to the groom and tell him to enjoy his honeymoon.

Might I tell you that there is tired. And then there is fuckin’ tired. Bulletproof Diva had a pool party. Me and my boy, The Most Shady, went to sleep there. At a pool party.

Late night dinner, X, came through and hung out. In fact, she hung out on 4 of the 5 days I was there. She’s a trooper that X.

Sleep time at 1230am to wake up and go to the airport at 730am on Tuesday.

All in all, it was a great time, I got to hang out with new friends, old friends, and X all weekend. And I didn’t even really spend that much money.

So cheers to my boy and his new wife for providing a weekend I’ll never forget and here’s hoping that some of you people decide to get married and invite me to the wedding, I promise I won’t let you down.

“…niggas say bitches is trife, bitches say niggas is/we just don’t understand our fundamental differences…” - Talib Kweli, “Love Language”, Train of Thought (Reflection Eternal album)

“…Com, I make righteous bitches get low…” - Common, “They Say”, Be

You know you’re getting old when the first thought you have when you hear lines like that is this:

Was saying “bitch” really necessary??

And not to say that I only care when “conscious” rappers say it, I pretty much think its unnecessary most times. And I also know that in the flow of the songs it fit for spacing and timing reasons (try writing a verse to a beat and this becomes a major issue), but still…

Ah, the quandries of over 25 but not quite 30.

What’s next…will I start questioning rappers (and myself) saying “nigga”??

I remember when my life changed.

I don’t know if everybody experiences life changing moments or goes through events that cause them to really consider life and all of its possibilities or not, but it happened to me.

The problem for me is that the very experience that changed my life is one where somebody else’s life came to an end. And that is something I’ve been dealing with for 6 years now. I only have one real regret in life. But over time, I realize that had I done something different that night, and thereby erasing my regret, I might have ended the lives of two other people. Not just the one person who’s life did end that night.

Today is the birthday of my cousin. Or would be if he was still alive. April 21. It’s a day that for years has pained me, since for the past 5 years, I’ve never been able to get to Atlanta to celebrate his birthday with my family. Everytime I do make it back to Atlanta, one of the first stops I always make is to the cemetery to visit the grave of my cousin, and now my grandmother as well, who is buried right next to him. Just as God intended them to be.

One night, in July 2000, my younger cousin and I went to the movies. We saw Scary Movie . I don’t even remember if it was funny or not. I do remember a conversation my cousin and I had about religion and our upbrining in the church and how we felt at the time. I was 21 and she was 19. The movie was over at about 1135pm. We lived on the Westside of Atlanta, Adamsville to be exact, and we were at Magic Johnson’s in Greenbriar. It takes about 10 minutes to get from Greenbriar to my grandmother’s house. We got there are about 1147pm.

My grandmother’s house has a split driveway. You can either pull into the left side or the right side. I pulled into the right side. Parked. And walked into the basement door. As I was walking in, my cousin, T, was walking out. He would go to our grandmother’s house every day at least once to check on his mother and my grandmother, who would cook dinner for him everyday. You get things like that when you are Grandma’s right-hand man. I hadn’t seen him in about a week, maybe. Which wasn’t normal. Not that anything was up, he would either stop by my spot to see me or we’d meet up at my grandmother’s house to say what’s up a few times a week. We have a pretty tightknit family like that.

T: What’s up folk, I ain’t seen you like a week, cuz. What’s up, you ain’t got love for your cuz no more?

Me: What’s up T, you know good and well I love you man. I’ll give you a call in a day or two.

*dapping up in black man handshake hug*

T: Alright, folk. I’ll holla at you later. Bye momma…

He walked outside.

I started to walk towards the stairs. At this point there is about 10 feet between us. He’s outside, I’m inside.

My other cousin, who is his little sister, is between the two of us. And then it happened. He yelled, “don’t hit me folk!!!”

He was gone.

1148pm.

Shot once in the heart. Died instantly.

I honestly never heard the gunshot. And to this day that bothers me. Everybody else heard it but I didn’t hear it so for a second I was confused at what I was seeing. I didn’t see anybody else’s face. I just saw T laid out on the ground, his car door open…

A total of 30 seconds at most passed between the time I got to the driveway and he was killed. At my grandmother’s house.

Which means that whoever did it, was there when I pulled up and must have been hiding in the shadows of my grandmother’s carport, which is literally right next to the door we walked into.

Do you remember the scene in Menace II Society where Stacey is trying to revive Kaine after he was shot? That was us. We were shaking trying to wake him up refusing to believe he was gone. Little did we know he was already dead. One of the paramedics told me that later that he died instantly. At least there wasn’t any pain. I had to make all of the phone calls to the family because for whatever reason, I was the only person who could hold the phone. There were four other people in the house when it happened. My aunt (his mother), my grandmother, and his two sisters, one of which went to the movies with me. One of his sisters ran into the street and collapsed. HIs mother lost it as well. My grandmother and other cousin, both of who have the strongest relationships with God of anybody I’ve ever met, both cried, and then prayed.

It took about 10 minutes for it to dawn on me.

The person who killed my cousin had every opportunity to kill me. He had to have seen my face and my other cousin’s as well. For all we knew, he KNEW us. I was afraid to go to my grandmother’s house, or anywhere else for that matter for a week.

I could have died that night. Had I made the decision that would have erased my regret, and parked on the other side of the driveway, I would have seen him, and he might have killed me and my cousin in order to get away. He was clearly going to kill somebody that night. He came there to complete a job. He succeeded.

And that changed my life. I don’t really remember my demeanor before it all happened. I know I was still a happy person and that I wasn’t very negative in nature. But now…

…it’s hard for me to get upset or really depressed. I have my moments like everybody else. But losing my cousin like that, and being so close to the situation and realizing it could have been me, well, everyday I’m alive I’m happy to be here. I have quite a few friends who have asked me how I seem to be so happy or jovial so often and why not much gets me down. I nearly alwasy respond: because I’m alive. Life has been good to me. And it took that day to make me realize just how lucky I am.

My family was scared for me for quite a few days. My father in particular. I was leaving for a summer program in DC a week later so it was a very tense week in my neighborhood for me. I was scared. But somehow, I was just thankful to be alive. I feel that way lots of times. I have a weird peace in my life nowadays. Some things suck, but it takes me very little time to get over certain stuff. I realized how much I love and value my family.

I’m just I love life and living. I appreciate every day that I get. Even the people that drive me crazy are appreciated. Not being afraid to live is one of the best feelings ever. Sure I slack at times, but I know that life is grand and that my cousin is looking down on us while he and my grandmother play backgammon in heaven, something I could never play on Earth.

For a good year, I got really nervous at my grandmother’s house. Even today, everytime I walk by the spot it happened, I have to look over and stare for a while. I can’t get the vivid imagery out of my head, and I’m not sure I ever will. It’s part of me now.

I miss my cousin a lot. At least I got a chance to tell him that I loved him. Anytime we have a family function, everybody always makes sure to mention T and make sure we remember him. And because my family is tres ghetto, somebody always shows up with their RIP t-shirt. I myself have two of them.

So every April 21, on his birthday, I make sure to give thanks for his life and remember his death. My life is what it is now because of him.

Always missed, always loved. I remember.

R.I.P. TJY April 21, 1971 - July 17, 2000