Thursday, December 26, 2013

The art of falling off.......

Anyone that follows me on Facebook is aware of the fuckery in my stats. Some for humors sake, but all in all centered in honesty. On a cold fall day in late October like the cheap psuedo writer I am I walked into Starbucks with my laptop, and enough change for one birthday cake pop, and a venti blond roast. While walking in I noticed a ridiculously huge billboard promoting a performance by Ashanti in a casino up north. My initial response? To jump on my laptop and post about how her upcoming Ho-Chunk Casino performance was the ultimate fall off. girl has officially fell all the fuckin way off. Even shook my head and giggled a little bit. About six weeks later I found myself asking to punch out early so I could find an outfit to see Ms. Ashanti in all her glory. Needless to say I had to eat my fucking words and suppress my childish hater-filled giggles. Even if she had fallen off she convinced a self-proclaimed non-fan such as myself to pay my hard-earned money to see what she had in-store. Hell I really only wanted to hear her sing, "The Way That I Love You". Yep I paid fifty bucks to hear one song LOL. Not bad for a chick who had fallen off. Which made me ask....really what does it mean to fall off? Who makes that decision? Do we really know another's struggle?  

    Well first what does it mean to "fall off"? Falling off is the term used for someone who was at the top of their "game" (dope, entertainment, sports, etc). Top dog. The best. The most popular. And fast forward is a footnote. Now when their name is brought up it usually is followed by, "What happened to them?" I classify plenty as a fall off: Allen Iverson, and 50 cent to name a few, but what they hell do I really know?

   One day while being messy with my ex's new girlfriend we somehow found ourselves in a HER end initiated Facebook inbox argument. I was being asshole me. Antagonizing the hell out of the girl merely because I could. She contacted me asking me about the "relationship" between me and my ex knowing that he was man handling her snatch while he and I were still together. She deserved what pain and lies she received and I found a certain amount of humor and vindication in her hurt and anger, so I replied with responses that only added fuel to the fire. I was winning messy bitch points at their finest until she responded with a message that read: Who the fuck are ain't got shyt. You're just a waitress. In hindsight I could've  told her that I have never made less than $35,000 a year as a waitress, that I have never had a bill late unless it's because I'm just irresponsible and it's pretty easy for me to make 175 in tips, not work a full eight hour shift and still find time for her "boo" to face dive on my clitoris. Instead I moved onto other insults.

   Days later...that convo still bothered me a bit. Not because of the sheer messiness of it all, but because I felt as if I had fallen off. Had I? Nope. I'm still doing what I want to do, how I want to do it, and taking care of home with it. But it bothered me that a woman who didn't know anything about me outside of what my lying ex had told her and what she learned while lurking on my social media sites had made a twisted assumption about me. Suddenly it became bigger than her. Who else felt like I was nothing because of my job? Shiddd I make good money!!! I wanted to somehow prove that...till reality hit. What was making me feel a need to show someone who meant nothing to me the balance in my checking account? Did it really matter what anyone thought? If I had fallen off in no way would she be of assistance to pick me up. I had to reprogram my mind. She had no real understanding of me or my life. An outsider looking in and seeing very little of the picture. No different than the judging I was doing of others. Which probably meant I too had no fucking clue what I was talking bout.

  On a freezing cold December 7th night I ran all over the city completing the ultimate concert outfit, and creating the perfect face of makeup. I got ready for the concert while listening to my best of Ashanti mix. My cousin and I got in the car and drove a painstaking, scenery lacking two and a half hours and bounced up and down with teenage excitement the entire time. When she hit that stage I jumped up and screamed like everyone else. I closed my eyes and drifted back to past hurt when she sang, "Rain On Me", damn near cried when she belted out, "The Way That I love you". And somehow magically knew her new unreleased tracks. When the lights went up and everyone left the theater I was reluctant to go. Not bad for what I classified as a fall off. As I did the math...she managed to pack that theater making no less than $20,000 that night. My $175.00 a day doesn't compare, but just like myself she damn sure hasn't fell off. If that's what it means. I can take that. Hell sign me up for one right now. Or I can erase it from my vocabulary altogether.


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