Cold Ryders Anthem

For about a week now, I've had a nasty cold that traveled from my throat and into my chest before finally taking root in my nasal cavities. Yesterday I had to stop for cough drops on my way to work, and whilst standing in line at the trusty Duane Reade, I was struck by inspiration. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Cold Ryders Anthem - rapped to the tune of, obviously, the Ruff Ryders Anthem by DMX.

Cold Ryders Anthem

Cough!
Drop!
Sneeze it out, get out that snot,
Whoooa,
Nooooo,
That's how cold ryders roll
(Repeat X2)

Sickos wanna sneeze, sickos wanna hack
Then sickos go see doc, sickos want refund/
All I know is pain (cough)
All I feel is rain (snot)
How can I breathe right, with this shit in my face?
I resort to Nyquil, these fliuds move in sinus,
I didn't know what black snot was:
New York pollution, wildest/
My boogerz is with it,
Blow my nose? Shoot a free throw
Into my trash basket,
You fuckin' right I hit it!

What the fuck nose 'gon do, when it runs up on me?
Fuckin' with the wrong bitch, it's no match for mint tea,
I'ma have to show boogerz, how easily I blow boogerz,
Into tissue, or toilet paper, 'cuz my New York ass is broke y'alls/
Nothin' I can't handle,
Break snot up and discharge it,
Ball it up in a hankie/
Just 'cause I can't stand it,
Make some tissue capes, float them onto waste,
Making art of slime? Another day in the life...

Cough!
Drop!
Sneeze it out, get out that snot,
Whoooa,
Nooooo,
That's how cold ryders roll...
(Repeat X2)

Is y'all readers crazy?
Can't believe you made it here,
To the second verse of this, a rap song 'bout a cold/
Nose is acting up again, 'scuse me while I spit and 'choo,
You know I'm tryna push out this shit
(Yeah, I know, I'm pitiful)
That's how illness gets round,
Sickos don't cover mouths,
Spewing germs into air, just don't give a shit man/
Oh, they think it's funny, but they don't know this honey,
It's about to get ugly, when I Dial their face/
Like a motherfucking phone!

Ew, my snot's now green,
Probably an infection, something like Gangrene,
Yeah, I did rhyme "green" with another "grene,"
What? It's my song, and I'll do what I want/
Cuuuhhhh hkkkrrrrrrkk kkkch cccchhhh,
Sorry had some phlegm,
Fuck yo, this shit's gross, like my face is pure ooze,
I'ma grab tissues, it's all about those napkins,
Bitches talkin' Kleenex, but I prefer some Puffs Plus...

Cough!
Drop!
Sneeze it out, get out that snot,
Whoooa,
Nooooo,
That's how cold ryders roll...
(Repeat X2)

Please direct all inquiries to imahotcelebrity@gmail.com

I've always had sort of a weird curiosity about celebrities' personal contact information. Like phone numbers, e-mail addresses, AIM screen names, shit like that. I mean, you know Beyoncé has an e-mail account. I'm sure Jay be all up in her inbox with sweet nuffins all day long. So, inspired by my creepy curiosity about these things, I decided to come up with a list of possible e-mail addresses for all my favorite celebs. I'll start with the most obvious ones.

Lady Gaga
theartistformerlyknownasstephaniegermanotta@gmail.com

Beyoncé
HBIC@gmail.com

Trey Songz
sexpatentnumba69@gmail.com

Britney Spears
fanmailgoeshereyall@gmail.com (this redirects from icantbelieveistillhavefans@hotmail.com)

Mariah Carey
finallyfoundtrueluvxoxo@gmail.com

Weezy
hollatyaboy@gmail.com

Miley Cyrus
isecretlyhatebeingacelebrity@gmail.com (also redirects from ihatetwitter@gmail.com)

Rihanna
fuckyouchris@gmail.com


Leave your suggestions in the comments.

Throwback Thursday: A dedication to the South

I am going home to the dirty dirty tomorrow, and I could not be more excited. I felt much better when I woke up this morning, much more like myself, which naturally means I'm in the mood to listen to some hardass, gritty Southern hip-hop. This includes but is not at all limited to Three 6 Mafia, Trillville, Lil Scrappy, Bone Crusher, Outkast, Ludacris, Rich Boy, T.I., Gucci Mane, Weezy, Young Joc, Pastor Troy and Crime Mob.

I don't understand why I love this music so much, but I'm sort of beyond analyzing it. The first single I ever bought was B.I.G. ft. Puff Daddy and MA$E "Mo Money, Mo Problems." At the time, I was a 12-year-old white girl growing up in the suburbs, and now I'm a 23-year-old white girl living in Harlem. After listening to this shit for nearly 12 years, it now reminds me of home. It reminds me of driving around bumping the bass at full volume, or going to the club and dancing until I was drenched in sweat, eating greasy food at 4 a.m., then going home and washing the cigarette smoke out of my hair. It reminds me of this one night my friend M (who helped introduce me to a lot of this music) and I went to the grittiest club in Birmingham, a place we had no business being, and I tragically lost my Blackberry. Because sometimes you just throw too hard, nomesayin.

So now, the first in a new series I'll call Throwback Thursdays: a song I used to bump loud and often as I drove around the South. 'Cuz there ain't no place like home, y'all.



And nothing says home like booty dancing, high school drum lines, college football, heavy bass, slurred speech, accents, sippin' on whiskey sours, dropping it, thick air, thick women and the men who love them. Fuck. Yes.

Trey Songz: A Reverse NYC Mad Lib

Moving to New York meant I had to sacrifice my most favorite pasttime: driving around bumping terrible/amazing hip-hop and rap music. Since I bought my first CD single in the sixth grade - that's right, it was "Mo Money, Mo Problems" by Notorious B.I.G. featuring Ma$e (OMG, remember him?!?) and Puff Daddy - I've been obsessed with hip-hop and rap. I may as well come out of the closet now: I have a notoriously flippant taste in music and an inborn weakness for a bangin' beat, and I couldn't be prouder. There's nothing quite like cranking up the bass on some Beyoncé, Weezy, Gorilla Zoe or Jay-Z, putting the windows down, bouncing around like a fool and pretending like I can actually sing or, worse, rap.

No driving also means no radio listening, which is equally sad. I'm not hip on all the new bad music, y'all. I don't get my daily dose of T-Pain, Soulja Boy Tell 'Em, The-Dream or Jamie Foxx; I do, however, listen to Pandora at work, and it was there that I recently heard, well, a song by Trey Songz. Question: what exactly have I been doing with my life up until this point? Just now, I almost typed "hard" instead of "heard," which would have been an incredibly appropriate Freudian slip.

He just released a new album called "Ready," and I'm listening to it live as I blog. I feel inspired by the tracklist, which is, um, somewhat suggestive, so in honor of all the brilliant lyricists who came before him and all those who will come after - innuendo completely intended - I present Trey Songz: A Reverse NYC Mad Lib.

So last night I went to my friends' new apartment for her housewarming party, where she served pink Panty Droppas. We were talking about her new building, and she was like, "Yeah, it's so weird! Before I even had my own mailbox I realized that all my Neighbors Know My Name. Creepy."
"Yeah," I agreed. "But not as creepy as this one time when my upstairs neighbor came up to me and said, 'I Invented Sex. Holla If You Need Me.' Ha, like anyone who smokes that much could invent anything, much less sex."
She laughed a little under her breath. "Weird. But Does He Do It right? That's what really counts."
I shrugged and took a sip of my drink. I decided I needed a cig and made my way downstairs to the sidewalk. Outside, I met a charming British man, also smoking, who told me he was an astrophysicist. Or something.
"I Need A Girl," he daringly confessed. "You know, one who can share in my Jupiter Love."
"Um, what does that mean exactly?" I asked.
"You know, that One Love," he clarified. "I'm already a Successful lover of planets. I spend all my time, quite literally, in the clouds. I just want to meet someone who makes me want to be right where I am, here on Earth."
"Be Where You Are?" I asked.
"Yeah, you know. Just right here."
Despite the obvious fact that he was a bit odd, I fell for him. Our eyes locked and I was Ready To Make Luv. I forgot all my past Love Lost, and decided right then that in honor of his lust for the cosmos, we would have Black Roses at our wedding.
"I have to tell you something," I confessed.
"Oh? What?"
"I'm an ear, nose and throat doctor. Not exactly romantic for someone who studies Jupiter for a living."
He smiled, took my face in his hands and said, "That's fine, dear. As long as you stay on Yo Side Of The Bed."
I smiled. "OK then. Say Aah!"
As he opened his mouth to kiss me, a guy drove by in a Cadillac and a huge puddle splashed onto my party dress. "Hollalude!" He shouted.
Ugh. What is it with strangers in New York saying holla?! I wondered.
LOL :)