Friends, Family and Potato Salad

I hope everyone had as great a Fourth of July as I. There is just nothing like good food, family, cussing, spades, movies and a nap. The fire works was a bust. One of my sister’s friends went and bought some, but since it is illegal to pop them in city limits I decided that I would not be apart of it. (That’s a $2,000.00 citation). Anyway, Manny was afraid of the loud noise. He told me to take him and the house and then told me I was scared too and was to stay in the house with him.

As you can possibly guess, I made the potato salad. Over eight pounds out the gold, delious delight. I had never made my world famous potato salad for my family before and they were all impressed. I don’t know why they were in such shock. Trust me when I say that I don’t volunteer for anything that I ain’t good at. Sure last Christmas my eggs came out green (really, they did). Can I help it if I like to experiment. Why would you let the man who doesn’t like eggs cook them in the first place?

Anyway, this is my short, belated, Fourth of July wish of goodwill.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Don't Hate on the Pimp Nail

What you know about the pimp nail?

You don’t know jack about the pimp nail, that’s what! Let me tell yall a little story. When I was younger, much younger, my mom would cut my nails; toes and fingers. I use to fight against it all the time. Not because the initial cutting hurt, but because she always cut them too short…To the quick; and if you’ve ever had your nails cut to the quick you know what an irritating sensation that can be. It is because of my mom that I began to bite my finger nails and she is also the reason that I don’t like cutting my finger nails, period.

Anyway, to stop my mom from doing the deed for me, I developed the bad habit of biting my nails (both my fingers and toes). As I grew less flexible I neglected my toe nails all together and just concentrated on biting my finger nails. After all, the toe nails could be hidden by shoes and socks. Of course, since I was not biting or cutting my toe nails they grew extra long. I am talking about to the point that my big toe would cut a hole through both my socks and my shoes. I had the holiest foot wear in town. It was actually very embarrassing, and if I’d cared anything about being popular I probably would have done something about it. But I had a fuck the popular people mentality back then. Still do, actually. LOL

When I was in my early twenties, right at twenty actually, I decided to stop biting my nails. I just wanted to see if I could do it. Well, it is hard as hell to break a bad habit so I thought I’d start off slow by no longer biting my pinky nails. Thus grew the pimp nail, which most people (including myself) associate with drug dealers. But trust me when I say that I was never into trends and plus I think I had mine long before the pimps, thugs and crack heads got theirs. I was well ahead of my time.

Anyway, eventually I stopped biting my nails altogether, except for my thumb nails. I never stopped biting those. Mainly because, as you all know by now, I still suck my thumb (and am not ashamed). Funny thing about allowing my finger nails to grew…Once I did, my toe nails didn’t grew as fast. Nobody believes me when I tell them this, but it is true. And when they do get too long, to the point that they are cutting hoes into my socks, now I use my pocket knife to cut into a corner and cut those babies back. (Am I a hillbilly ass negro or what?)

Anyway, I never knew how obsessed people were with the length of a brother’s nails until I stopped biting mine and just let nature take it’s course with them. I mean, other than motherly figures who would always look at my fingers and tell me that I needed to stop biting my nails, no one ever paid any attention, whatsoever, to the length of my nails. However, once they started growing I would always get comments, if I was in a position where people could my hands.

“Why you let your nails grow so long?” was the common question.

“So my toe nails will stop growing so long,” was my quick and honest response. “That and because I stopped biting my nails.”

“Why don’t you cut them.”

“If I was going to cut them I might as well bite them. I don’t do nail clippers.”

“Why don’t you have them manicured?”

“Because I don’t want to have them manicured. Look at my nails, do these look like the nails of a person who cares what his finger tips look like. They eventually break on their own anyway.”

The truth is, if you see my nails when they are all of a significant length you can tell that I don’t care one way or another about them. There is dirty underneath the tips, because it is hard as hell to keep them clean. And they are all of various lengths, because they are not grown for fashion or show. They grew because that is what nails do. Just like they break because that is what nails do. Leave me the fuck alone.

Anyway, every now and again I get so sick of people asking me about the length of my nails, I gnaw them down to a more sociably acceptable length (the length you see in the picture), all but the pimp nail.

I love the pimp nail. First, because it signifies my individuality on the police department (That and my on again off again soul patch). The truth is, the police department has very strict guideline on facial hair and the length of one’s nails. I am in violation in both regards, but screw them. I got to be me, and since they won’t let me get the dreads I crave…..

Besides, the pimp nail has many uses. It can be used to clean the dirt from under your other nails. It can be used to pry that annoying bit of food loose from your back teeth (uncouth, I know, but it can be done nonetheless). It can be used to loosen a screw. I can be used to get deep into that itching ear cavity. It can be used to scratch or reach that ever elusive booger. I mean, the list goes on and on.

So, you can see why I can’t do without the pimp nail. I just can‘t.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.

Boy, I bet yall are sick of learning thing about me, huh? LOL

This Is Not a Movie Review

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I Love My Friends

As I have probably said in the past, I have a small, close net group of friends, two of which I have known since I was eighteen (they are the two that I trust the most). These are a group of people that have been there for every major event I have ever experienced in my life; birthdays, holidays, graduation and art shows. Through sickness and health till death do us part…It is like a freaking marriage, I tell you.

Sunday, we went out to celebrate the births of two of my friends. I am happy and looking forward to this event, because I enjoy it when we all get together and plus I know that I have given each of them the gift that they want and can use. Finally I got someone to listen to my request and tell me exactly what it is they would like for their birthday.

Let me explain. I hate to shop! Hate it with a passion. I have a get in/get out mentality, much like the way I approach sex (just kidding). I don’t even like to shop for my damn self, so you can image how I feel shopping for others. I know my friends, but I hating trying to guess what they would like and can actually use. To me the whole purpose of a gift is for it to be practical, and when I say practical I mean something that the person wants. Now, each and every one of my friends know I hate to shop and yet they normally refuse to give me the heads up on what they would like as a gift and I am left to my imagination. I can normally get a great gift but I have to venture through the whole damn store looking for something that I think fits the personality of that friend. That shit sucks. That’s why I never give their happy asses birthday cards. It is their punishment for making me spend undue time at the Mall, Targets or Wally World.

Any, the planning of the actual day we could all sit down and break bread together was not easy. Luck for me I am not a part of the planning of any birthdays. I won’t do it, don’t ask. Just tell me when and where and I will be there. Do I have to work that night? Probably, don’t worry about it. I’ll be there. See? I’m easy. But one of the friends works weird hours and the other one, well she has hated birthdays since we turned twenty-six. They depress her, but we manage to talk her ass into being a part of this little thing we like to do for one another.

We went to a Mexican food restaurant and had a grand ole time. Nobody can make me laugh like my friends, except for me. I make myself laugh like crazy, but that’s just because I am the funniest person I know. However, they do what they can. They had me in tears. We talked about events. What new is going on in each other’s lives. Get updates on what is going on in the lives of the people who could not make it. It was great. I left there with a smile in my heart and on my face and with the knowledge that I have some of the best friends on the face of the earth.

After dinner with friends, I went over my mom’s to see mom and nephew, before I change into my uniform and head off to work. I love my nephew, but yall know that, huh? He is such a ball of energy. He is all boy, as the old folks say. He is strange little bugger though. I was sitting in my mom’s room, talking to my aunt on the phone when he come over to me, grabs my hand, licks it and runs off laughing. NASTY LITTLE BASTARD! (Don’t be offended by the term, I honestly use it as a term of affection. Just ask the people who I work with.) Anyhow, he thinks this is the funniest thing in the world, mainly because he likes the grossed out reaction he gets. I’m telling you, this boy has the weirdest since of humor. I keep asking my little sister what the hell they are teaching him.

On a less gross point, he and I were in the dean area and he was jumping about and stuff. I am trying to look at television, Richie Rich, but watching him be hyper all over the place. Then I notice him as he does a tumble. I DIDN’T KNOW HE COULD TUMBLE. I was impressed. I get to thinking that I have not tumbled in a long, long while so I want to show him that uncle can do it too. So, I get down on all fours. Tuck my head under and push myself over with my legs. Up and over I went! My nephew was over joyed. “AGAIN”, he shouts, in pure joy.

Like hell I will, again. When I tell you that every joint and muscle was cussing me out once my body came to rest, you had better believe it. I never knew how much muscle control and shyt you had to use to do a simple tumble.

“Uncle too old to do it again, Manny. I’m sorry.” LOL. And people want me to have a kid of my own. Just spending time with this boy is going to land my happy ass in the hospital.

-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.