Browsed by
Tag: nerd

aaaaaaaahh pussy control (girl anthem or douchebag guide?)

aaaaaaaahh pussy control (girl anthem or douchebag guide?)

Comments 0 Comment

for those who’ve never heard the song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bvok-HrCd6Q
Now, an attempt to translate the lyrics into “closeted midwestern white person” (translation in italics).


Good mornin’ ladies and gentlemen (“What hotel number is she in?”)

good morning, ladies and gentlemen

Boys and motherfuckin’ girls (“319, 319” “Cool”)

boys and girls

This is your captain with no name speakin’
this is prince

And I’m here 2 rock your world  With a tale that will soon be classic
and he’s going to shake up your preconceptions with a soon-to-be classic story

About a woman U already know
we all know a woman like this.

No prostitute she, but the mayor of your brain
no, not the woman who holds your pants, but the one who holds your brain

Pussy Control (Are U ready?)
And her name is Pussy Control.

Aaah, Pussy Control, oh
Aaah, Pussy Control, oh

Our story begins in a schoolyard
Once upon a time at a school

A little girl skipping rope with her friends
There was a little girl having a fine time jumping rope with friends

A tisket, a tasket, no lunch in her basket
Tisket Tasket is a popular jumprope rhyme. And a common target of bullies is a lunch box. she did not have lunch in her basket, just schoolbooks, so nothing to give the bullies. “lunch in her basket” could also be a sexual innuendo, saying she was a virgin while everyone else was sexually active. And this caused a fight because being a virgin is bad news in these parts.

Just school books 4 the fight she would be in
One day over this hoodie
hoodie: see hood rat. “slutty, druggie girl from the hood”

She got beat 4 some clothes and a rep
this fight got her beat up for her clothes and reputation.

With her chin up, she scolded “All y’all’s molded
When I’m rich, on your neck I will step”
she did not let this get her down – “You will all be proven wrong. When I’m rich and you’re still a bunch of druggies from the hood, I will crush you like a bug.”

And step she did 2 the straight A’s
Then college, a master degree
And to keep a promise to herself, she got straight As, went to college, got her master’s degree.

She hired the heifers that jumped her
And made everyone of them work 4 free?
and instead of hiring the gals who beat her up for being a virgin and making them work for her for free, she did not

No! Why?
So what if my sisters are triflin’?
They just don’t know
If these gals are lazy, lying, no good busybodies, its not their faults.

She said “Mama didn’t tell’em what she told me
‘Girl, U need Pussy Control'” (Are U ready?)
It’s their mothers’ faults for not telling them to put themselves and their self worth ahead of what others are pressuring you to do (like, but not necessarily always, losing your v-card, among other things that could lower self worth).

Aaah, Pussy Control, oh
Aaah, Pussy Control, oh

Verse 2
Pussy got bank in her pockets
Before she got dick in her drawers
True to form and following her mother’s advice, PC got herself an awesome personal and professional life before she turned to find love.

If brother didn’t have good ‘n’ plenty of his own
In love Pussy never did fall
If a man didn’t have a similar outlook on life, PC did not want anything to do with that. Good n plenty is a psuedonym for male genetalia.

And this fool named Trick wanna stick her
Uh, talkin’ more shit than a bit
An idiot named Trick wanted to bed our lovely PC, talking himself up like a true douchebag.

‘Bout how he gonna make Pussy a star
If she come and sing a lick on his hit
He’s going to make PC a star if she comes to sing a little part on his song. (Also suggestive for her having sex with him.)

Pussy said “Nigga, U crazy if U don’t know
Every woman in the world ain’t a freak
U can go platinum 4 times
Still couldn’t make what I make in a week
So push up on somebody that wanna hear that
Cuz this somebody here don’t wanna know
Boy, U better act like U understand
When U roll with Pussy Control” (Are U ready?)

And PC replies, “Dear successful African American, you are downright nuts to think that every woman wants to sing for you (aka have sex with). You could go platinum 4 times and I would still make more money than you! (aka, I have more respect for myself than you do). So go talk to some other person who wants to hear you talk that douchebaggery talk, because I sure don’t want to hear it. Do you understand? I have standards. You are not it.”

Aaah, Pussy Control, oh
Aaah, Pussy Control, oh

Breakdown
(Are U ready 4 the best Pussy U ever felt?) {x2}

With one more verse 2 the story
I need another piece of your ear
There is one more verse left, so keep your ears open.

I wanna hip U all 2 the reason
I’m known as the Player of the Year
I want to let you know the reason why I’m known as the dude of the year who has sex with women and leaves them by the wayside.*

Cuz I met this girl named Pussy
At the club – International Balls
He met dear PC at International Balls

She was rollin’ 4-deep
3 sisters and a weepy-eyed white girl drivin’ a Hog
PC was with 4 other girls that night: 3 black chicks and a white gal on a HD.

I pulled up right beside her
And my electric top went down
He pulled up and buzzed down his electric top on his car

I said “Motherfucker, I know your reputation
And I’m astounded that U’re here
I fear U’re lonely and U want 2 know
A 12 o’clock straight up nigga
That don’t give a shit that U’re Pussy Control
Well I’m that nigga, at least I wanna be
But it’s gonna be hard as hell
2 keep my mind off a body
That would make every rich man
Want 2 sell, sell, sell (75, we need another.. 85, 85 here, sold!)
Can I tell U what I’m thinkin’ that U already know?
U need a motherfucker that respects your name”
Now say it, Pussy Control (Are U ready?)

he’s heard of PC and he’s amazed that she’s at this club given her reputation. He believes that she’s gleaned all she can out of her personal and professional development and has come to the uncharacteristic club to find  love, which she can do along with her personal and pro development, but hasn’t been able to find the right guy. Part of this may be due to her reputation, and perhaps when it comes down to it, she wants a guy who has a similar respect, but doesn’t let it cloud all his decisions, especially in the bedroom. Could the 12 oclock be a reference to Cinderella? He’s that successful African American, or at least he’d like to be if it’s all right with PC, but it’s going to be hard to focus on her brain and personality when she’s got a rockin bod*. he thinks he knows what she’s thinking. She wants a dude who will respect her name: Pussy Control.

Aaah, Pussy Control, oh
Aaah, Pussy Control, oh

And the moral of this motherfucker is
Ladies, make’em act like they know

U are, was, and always will be Pussy Control (Are U ready?)
Peace and be wild (Aaah, Pussy Control)

The moral of the story? Ladies, when it all comes down to it, we are all pussy control if we want to be.
Peace out.

Say what, huh? (Oh)
Oh no, don’t U think about callin’ her a ho (Are U ready?)
U juvenile delinquent
Best sit your ass down
Talkin’ about Pussy Control
Huh, can U dig it?

What are you saying? You are thinking about calling her a derogatory name? You criminal. Sit down. You are talking about pussy control!

Aaah, Pussy Control (Are U ready?)
Oh (Are U ready?)

Aaah, Pussy Control (Are U ready?)
Oh (Are U ready?)

 
for the most part, this is a pretty decent girl anthem. but then we have to think that this is prince, so there are a couple questionable parts as noted with the asterisk.
*first of all, he wants us all to know why he’s the player of the year. apparently he hooked up with pussy control and she lost the v-card to him. player is a negative term in this sense; did he love her and leave her? was she ok with it? i feel like we need a followup from PC’s perspective. or is he using player as a casual term to let you know this is how it’s done and not in its true sense?
another thing i had trouble with is how he’s saying he can be the man who PC is looking for, who respects her for her personality and her self and her worth, but it’s going to be SO HARD to focus on that and not sex because she’s got a rockin’ bod. way to objectify. yes, people are hardwired to be sexual beings, and visual attractiveness is what gets us to take notice of people. but he knows of her, he knows her reputation, he knows that she’s looking for a certain type of man – is he just putting up a good front? does he see her as a sexual conquest? or does he see her as the person she wants a lover to see, and not just another mark on the bedpost?
in the end though, prince tells us that every woman has the capability and the need to be pussy control. we all need to put our self worth above finding a man.
even the name of the song/heroine is questionable. does it show that if a woman is the one who controls her sex organs, she will control herself? or is it how a man can become in control of her sex organs?
i’m torn. is this a pro-woman, you get ’em girl anthem, or is this the ultimate underhanded way of informing men that in order to get in the pants of that hard to get girl, you need to be interested in her mind. and that’s how you get in her pants.
either way, there’s no way i can’t sing along to this.
thank you to urban dictionary. without it i wouldn’t know what a hoodie was or triflin.

in which a few things are discussed

in which a few things are discussed

Comments 3 comments

1. i finally made it to the running room downtown. since i had a long weekend, and it was sunny, and it wasn’t -31 outside, i decided to unhermit myself and get out. i stopped at the running store while on my quest for corn-syrup-free mini eggs (which, sadly, resulted in NOTHING…i may have to spend an arm and a leg on amazon) and was pleasantly surprised! i got a poly wicking long-sleeved high-collared shirt for $10, and, the biggest coup of them all, a city bike trail map! promptly went home and input a bunch of maps on mapmyrun. nothing quite at 6 miles yet, but when the time comes when i can run outside without threat of biffing it on the ice, i will find a way. april 10k here i come! (…in last place, according to previous years’ results, but oh well…)
2. remember michael perry? the author from wisconsin who writes things that make me want to cry, they’re so beautifully written? well, he does tours throughout the area of WI and eastern MN, and since i’m actually more in the area than before, i checked out his schedule. he has a “clodhopper” tour that only costs $12 and is in northfield next weekend. alas i would be going alone, so i passed in hopes that when i have more peeps in the area, he would tour again. then i saw a WRITING WORKSHOP. omg, i nearly peed myself from excitement. so, i signed up, and the weekend before i run a chip-timed 10k, i will be in zumbrota listening to MP talk about writing processes and publishing tips. maybe he’ll sign something and i can brag to my father.
3. remember when i mentioned participating in a move it campaign through work? it’s the beginning of week 4, at which time i should be running 70 mins once this week. bleah! but that’s not why i mention it. they have extra credit stuff each week, and this week’s was, try a fruit or vegetable you haven’t eaten before. easy enough. i got a papaya, minneola and pummelo.
fruit(i’m actually thinking i’ve probably had papaya before in some weird canned fruit salad, but i’ve never had fresh.)
ok, so papaya is boring, minneola is an orange and a pummelo is a grapefruit. not very exciting! but i also got some bok choy hanging out in the fridge so we’ll see how that goes when i cook it. maybe with some bacon. you can’t go wrong with bacon. too bad the extra credit activity isn’t “eat more bacon.” i would excel.
4. peace out!
 

hashtag

hashtag

Comments 1 comment

Neil Gaiman flooded my twitter feed with a bunch of retweets of answers to his questions through a year (it was some sort of collaboration with Blackberry – they probably gave him a phone – using the hashtag #keepmoving). It was fascinating reading what others wrote in their 140 characters. so, I thought I’d give it a try. Limiting this to 140 characters for each answer, hopefully.
Why is January so dangerous?
January’s icy sidewalks and hypothermia set in quickly if you’re not careful.
What’s the strangest thing that ever happened to you in February?
One year my husband actually got me roses for Valentine’s Day! That was pretty strange…
What Historical figure does March remind you of?
Why does March elicit snippets of war leaders? Winston Churchill.
What is your happiest memory of April?
April is always a happy time for me because the sun is out longer and the days get warmer.
What is the weirdest gift you’ve ever been given in May?
Perhaps the gift of clarity over a friendship’s parting ways.
Where would you spend a perfect June?
A perfect June is spent in the garden with my fingers in the dirt and grassy knees.
What is the most unusual thing you have ever seen in July?
I saw a flying jackalope in July once. It’s now sitting on my shelf.
If August could speak, what would it say?
I imagine August as an overtanned, greased up, over botoxed woman lying out in the sun next to a pool with a drink in her hand. Any noise would be whargarbl because of the botox.
Tell me something you lost in September that meant a lot to you.
I lost the thrill of the first day of school.
What mythical creature would you like to meet in October?
A banshee.
What would you burn in November, if you could?
If words were rubber, I would burn them like a Friday night drag race.
Who would you like to see again in December?
My uncle Squire 🙂 And Santa Claus.

repost: books that are falling apart they've been read so much

repost: books that are falling apart they've been read so much

Comments 0 Comment

Originally posted Oct. 15, 2006. Inspired by a suggestion from Jane.
These are the best kind of books.
New books are nice. You walk into the bookstore, all ready to buy a book that you’ve been thinking about the whole way there. Maybe you know what you’re going to get; maybe you don’t know. You walk into the bookstore and already you’re at ease. You become completely relaxed because the one thing you can totally rely on to be there in times of need, surrounds you.
Maybe you walk to the history section, the fiction, the cookbooks, the maps, the tech, the mental health, and the religious, whatever. You know what your mood is wanting. The rows of books await you. You slide your fingers along the spines, some shiny red, matte black, white letters jumping out, calling your name to read them. After minutes of poring over titles, authors, jacket flaps, you decide on a book. Perhaps you’re finished. Perhaps you go to another section and find something else.
You walk to the counter with your prize in hand; there is nothing like acquiring a book. New, used, falling apart, borrowed, the feeling is the same. It’s an anticipation of filling your head with something new.
The bag is crisp and you grab the handle, walking out of the bookstore with confidence that you’ve chosen correctly.
That night, you open the book. Its pages are full of words waiting to be read. It smells like paper – new, old, musty, crisp. However it smelled before, it now smells like book.
You read it and you love it. You read it again. And again. You decide that you don’t need a bookmark and start dog-earing the pages, or you turn the jacket flap in to mark your spot so many times that the edges become ragged. Something strikes your eye and you make a note with your pencil; it’s your book! You can do it! It’s so well read you know the story by heart, and still you read it often.
Soon it’s falling apart. Pages are accidentally ripped out from when you jumped off the bed when the cat shoved her claws in your thigh. Once while reading it at the table, you spilled hot chocolate on the pages. You’ve read it so many times, that there are dog-ears on every other page. You forgot it on the porch railing one evening and it rained that night, then the next day you left it in the sun to dry, and its pages got all crinkly.
But you can’t throw out a perfectly good book. It’s a travesty to throw out a book. It’s wasteful and shameful and honestly, abhorrent – you don’t throw out a friend. So instead, you place it on your bookshelf in a spot of honor. You know that it will be worth something to someone eventually. They will read your notes and become enlightened; they will see the coffee stains and realize this book was loved with a passion. But you don’t want it to die.
So you go to the bookstore again, and you walk carefully to the aisle you purchased your first copy in. you stare at the spine, knowing that you are replacing a friend. Maybe to help, you buy a paperback instead of a hardcover, a 10×7 instead of a 6×4. You grab the copy quickly to ease the pain and scurry out of the bookstore, hoping no one will see how anguished you are at buying a book.
Every time you read your new copy, you glance at the old one, resting, peacefully retired on the bookshelf. Its spine watches you softly as you start the process all over again.

tweedileedeet

tweedileedeet

Comments 0 Comment

know what i like about twitter? i follow an eclectic bunch: authors (gaiman, mckinley, etc.), comic artists (jeph jacques), star trek nerds (wilw, brent spiner), nerds in general (hank green), and THEY ALL KNOW EACH OTHER.
hank will tweet wil, wil will tweet jeph, mckinley retweets maureen johnson, gaiman tweets hank. it’s like this super secret elite famous-person club and i get to watch!
hm. that makes me a creeper.

endings

endings

Comments 3 comments

i just finished reading “gone girl”.
i loved the story and the mystery, the writing, the twists, the occasional word i had to look up.it reminded me of reading “the time traveler’s wife” in that these were both books where i had to read every single word so i didn’t miss a thing. i want to know what’s happening in the next paragraph but i don’t want to skip this paragraph to read it! aahhh #firstworldnerdyreaderproblems
(that’s my definition of an engrossing book.)
but, reading this book made me realize how important an ending is to me when i read. my mom likes happy books; i like books that have a definite, resolute end to them. “gone girl” did not have that sort of end, and that’s the only reason i would knock a star off any sort of review. if you don’t mind a wandering, filmy sort of ending, then you will love this book. even with the wandering, filmy sort of ending i really liked this book.
*mutters something about the journey not the destination*

a tale of woe

a tale of woe

Comments 1 comment

remember way back when, when i realized how awesome the library was again? well, when we moved, i was in the middle of reading a book by michael perry, whose writing makes my heart hurt. of course i had to return it right in the middle of the book, and of course i had a second book, which i had been waiting on the reserve list for for months, come in for me today.

on the plus side, when i went to check out the rochester library, they had two copies of the perry book on the shelves! TWO! i waited in line for a month to get that book up in STC. thing is, in order to get a library card, you need proof of residence, and i have NO IDEA where my lease is right now.
but, i called the library, and i can use my great river regional card to check out two items until i have proof of residence. they just hold the card until you come in to get your rochester card.
so, i’m off to the library after work instead of running. i haven’t run in a week and probably won’t run for another week 🙁 i hope i don’t lose it. (it’s ok – once january rolls around, nothing is happening, so i should be able to buckle down on running. half marathon?)

some stuff

some stuff

Comments 0 Comment

because sometimes instead of microblogging, i just want to blog.
here’s an interesting article about “dark social”, which has been around forever (well…in internet terms). even though people are screaming about social media being the new google and main contributor to site traffic, guess what? site traffic is still mostly from unknown sources, aka, you type it in, someone emails/IMs it to you, you had it bookmarked. otherwise known as, even though Facebook has been around for 8 years, we’re STILL reading emails. and IMing. and bookmarking stuff. which has been around pre-web2.0. WEB1.0 LIVES. not only am i a kindle luddite, i’m becoming an internet luddite *sigh*
anyway. here’s a picture for you too.

in which there is a bike, and a little autumnal talk

in which there is a bike, and a little autumnal talk

Comments 1 comment

About a month go, I found a bike at Goodwill for $15. I’d been thinking about getting a bike for quite some time; the last time I owned a bike, I was 14 years old.
I shoved the bike in my trunk and took it home. After a new seat, raising of the seat and handlebars, and a good dose of WD40 (not to mention a frantic phone call to my brother when the handlebars seemed to have broken), I had a decent bicycle for a total investment of $35. It wasn’t the best bike out there, nor would it beat any land speed records, but for what I needed it to do, it was great.
After tooling around St. Joe a couple times, I had a sudden thought: I spend half my week a mere 50 miles from the best biking trail in the state. It’d been years since I’d biked the Root River Trail, but I knew the best time to do it was in the fall. So I did the next logical thing: I called my dad.
My dad’s bike very well could be the only bike a thief would pass over to steal mine, but it served the same purpose – it gets him around on two wheels. Growing up, he had been the one to drive us to the southeast corner of the state, back end of the vehicle filled with bikes, and set out from Fountain or Lanesboro for an afternoon of biking the trail. So when I called him and explained my idea, he was more than willing.
Now one point of the excursion, of course was to take a bike tour; the main point, was to see the leaves in all their splendor. Unfortunately, it’s been a pretty cruddy year for leaf exposition. The drought, along with the early spring, made for very odd leaf-viewing opportunities all across the state. As it was, we scheduled our jaunt the weekend before the normal peak viewing.
The day before, the wind howled all day; wind speeds were 2-30 mph, and I just groaned at the thought of all those leaves breaking their arborly restraints. But I hoped for the best. I borrowed a jacket from my aunt (highs in the upper 40s-low 50s) and zipped to our rendezvous point that morning.
And so we took off from Fountain, the trailhead (depending on who you believed), on a slightly windy, chilly Friday late morning. The sun was out, but it did little to cut the chill when we started pedaling the asphalt.
I remembered nothing about the trail since the time I’d been there before. I knew it had been a while since I’d biked it, but I thought I would remember something – no. But it was ok, because that made it an entirely new and lovely experience.
The trees were mostly bare, but there was an occasional pocket of color bursting from the brown, slumbering deciduous or the dark green pines. Leaves littered the trail from the previous day’s housecleaning, and they made a satisfying crunch under my bike tires. Once we came upon a section of trail that was entirely covered leaves with not a trace of asphalt peeking through – a yellow leaf puddle.
And all around us were the trees, devoid (mostly) of their dress. The crowded the trail, creating a tunnel for bikers. Once in a while, the branches overhung the traill, and I can only imagine how lovely it would’ve been with yelloworangered leaves overhead. And then some sections were spooky, with skeleton branches looming black overhead against the blue sky.
On the first leg, the trail hugged a hill so that one side of us opened to a great expanse of horizon as the trees allowed. We were able to see smoke rising from Preston, about four or five miles south. During those times when there was a considerable slope to my right, I made sure to keep my eyes on the road.
Fountain to Lanesboro is almost 12 miles, interrupted only by a few roads, a few farm fields, and a few old railroad bridges, one of which was a truss bridge (with a steel top on it). We passed a cattle farm and hear low moos and rustling of animals. A crop farm was nestled in a low valley, hillsides securing it in its place. Past relics of farm with pastures long gone to seed spotted the trail, driveways where machinery sneaking over the trail to the fields the only reminders. It seemed intrusive to coast past the fields, especially when it cut into a field with only the dirt driveways the get across, then I remembered this was a railroad long before the current farmers were even born.
And if there was a moment I forgot this was an old railroad, there was soon a bridge to remind me. The old ties still straddled rivers and roads and low spots, and I raised my rear on entrance to the bridges as the bike rumbled over the ties. Often we’d stop on the bridges, peering over the tall sides to what lay below.

The day slowly warmed, and by the time we were closer to Lanesboro than Fountain, the air had probably warmed a good five degrees – but I was still glad for the borrowed jacket and my stocking cap. It was deceptively decent out when we stood still on the bridges, but once back on the trail, the wind cut through the warmth.
A little warmer and a large chunk of the trail behind us, the sides of the trail rose as we biked through a slab of granite. Then our downhill descent became a plateau and then an upward climb. After 10 miles of descending into the valley, now it was time to work for our destination.

And work we did – a few more bends and one interruption* later, we rounded a hill and there was Lanesboro, its entrance a truss bridge over the river itself. We coasted over it and parked our bikes (sans locks) an hour and a half after starting. My legs were a little jellyish, but it didn’t last long. Soon we were  regaling our journey to Paul H. at a local eatery.

The lack of leaves was a disappointment, but leaves do not an adventure make. The company and nostalgia alone, even though I remembered nothing of the trail, were worth the journey.
*We got stopped by a Minnesota Monthly photographer taking photos for next year’s trail edition. Look for a bright red jacket in the mag next fall!