…and we’re back! Sorry for the interruption in programming. Life started getting real so I’ve been away for a while. I have some type of cold right now though so I’m temporarily home bound. I had a choice. Slowly fade to black as I watch reruns of Martin or write. I actually chose to just watch Martin, but my bladder made me get up so I was like hey why not head over to the reading corner and do something semi-productive. Maybe writing will take my mind off this old man cough and the fly that’s hunting me in my own home. I feel insecure at the moment.
So recently I was thinking about life. All types of things inundate my brain when I’m out for a walk by myself. I feel like most of it is pretty sane, but I could just be trying to convince myself that my level of normalcy is higher than it actually is. Come to think of it, when I did the adjective thing on FB, two people who’ve never met one another described me as “different”. Albeit a compliment from both, it made me realize that you really can’t hide strangeness, lol. But I digress.
One this episode of Flashe’s Awkward Archives, we shall account a few epic fails where I’ve gracefully played the protagonist (or antagonist, depending on your worldview lol). My favourite stories usually include me falling in some kind of way. There aren’t many times where I’ve fallen because, you know, I’m a swan and everything, but when I do fall, I FALL HARD. You know my motto- “Go hard or go home.”
1.) Broken and Contrite Before the Lord….. Literally
A few years back, I was invited to a quaint family church in Port Arthur to witness the beautiful baptism of one of my little cousins. A few of us got to make it out to cheer him on during the life-changing event. This being an important step in one’s Christian journey, it should be a sacred and celebratory time. But it just wouldn’t be something I was a part of if something ridiculous didn’t happen. My other cousin, her friend and I chose a row toward the front so we could have a good view of the service. Here’s the thing- maybe you remember me describing the church as “quaint”. That’s a euphemism. It was old. This means the wooden pews were the same exact ones in the church that Harriet Tubman attended. Now, I am a deliciously voluptuous woman. So is my cousin. So is her friend. All 3 of us aligned the same archaic bench. I feel like you can guess where this is going. At this point I am sitting in the middle of the row. I turn to my cousin and say, “Missy, is it just me or is this bench getting really low?” So low that my crossed legs were almost flat on the floor. We were all concerned, but nobody wanted to disturb the service. Too bad. Before I knew it, I hear “crack, crack, creeeek….SNAP, BOOM!” Yup, in the middle of the service the bench BROKE. Of course EVERRRRRRRRYYYYBODYYYYY turned to look at us! My cousin and her friend were closer to the ends of the pew so they escape with minimum injuries to their bodies or egos. Me, on the other hand, I was LITERALLY sitting on the floor. An usher rushes over and “discreetly” tries to help me up. He failed. To try to lighten the situation, we all snickered with the people around us. Oh but it gets better. The First Lady of the church rushes to our aid…..NOT. She came back there alright. She came back there to SCOLD us for being too loud!!! Y’all know me. In my head I said, “LADY, if it wasn’t fo yo old raggidy church this wouldn’t be happening!” But I held my tongue for my little cousin’s sake. My big cousin and her friend then tell me they are going to the restroom. I move to the end of the row of the ultra broken pew and wait….and wait…and wait. Them heffas never came back! I got a text to meet them outside. I reached into the rubble to retrieve my purse and awkwardly sashayed out (in my pointy red stilettos, no doubt). I’m still pondering sending that First Lady a really mean letter expressing my saltiness at her blatant disregard toward my sore wrist butt pain.
2.) Child’s Play
If you know me pretty well, you know I am pretty reserved. Ok, not really but I do try to come off as such to solidify my identity as an adult. When I’m with children though, all bets are off. Those germy little buggers turn me into a different person. I more or less forget about the adult world around me when I’m interacting with them… unless they get disrespectful. I become an adult again QUICKLY. Anyway, I’ve been caught making strange animal sounds, skipping (and I’m not in an elementary school gym), turning cartwheels, and making funny faces with arms flailing in the air all for the sake of the mini people. Children have been found suffocating themselves in my hair and sleeping between my boobs. It’s a strange relationship but oddly it works quite well.
Two of my favourite kids are the Devine children. We’ll call them J and S so Ngozi won’t say I exploited her children on the Internet lol. Well, one day they were sitting in their highchairs when I got ready to leave. Of course I forgot my purse since I don’t need my wallet or anything. When I return to Casa de los Devines, I see them sitting there spaced out as they wait for dinner. Here’s my opportunity to entertain. I decided to do a run/ballet leap combo (I can see you. Wipe that smile off your face). Although the house is drenched in hardwood flooring, I didn’t imagine this going wrong in any way since I was completely barefooted. Why am I always so gravely wrong. Before I continue, I need to take a moment to raise your sympathy level. I was feeling sick hence why I was leaving early. Let that touch your heart. Ok, moving forward.
I prep like Usain Bolt and then take off in a blaze of glory. Eh, more like Yohan Blake. He’s cuter. Don’t look at me like it’s not true. So, I’m going and going and I get ready to leap. What I hadn’t calculated was how dangerously close my take-off foot was to the plastic circle Gozi put under the highchairs to protect her beautiful floors during meal time. I went airborne alright. Too bad I wasn’t upright. I slipped into a perfect horizontal position and then the unforgiving force known as gravity reached out and pulled me straight down. In this moment, as Ngozi ran toward me concerned and laughing at the same time, I did what any other self-respecting adult would do- I lied there perfectly still, wondering how my life had reached this low.
The good news in all of this is the kids were thoroughly entertained. #NailedIt
3.) Ridin’ Dirtay
In this account I don’t fall, but it’s only by God’s grace that I didn’t end up on the news, or worse, COPS. If you’ve seen my car, you are fully aware of the pride I have in my POTUS tint… tint so dark it could hide President Obama himself. In fact, I actually gave him a ride to UT’s campus one time. He said parking was too expensive and he’d already gotten a ticket for having his meter sticker on the wrong side of the windshield. It was my reasonable service to my country. Congress still owes me gas money though so they need to do something about the debt ceiling cuz I want my money.
Bueno, last Thanksgiving break I was traveling down Highway 73 trying to get back to PA. Now in the past I was one to exceed the speed limit. I’m ashamed to admit it, but MJ’s hit “Speed Demon” was written about me. I’m changing, I promise. So, with my new found respect for speed limit laws (or probably me just not wanting issues with the law in my new car), I made SURE I wasn’t speeding. I knew the speed limit to be 70 mph on this particular stretch so I set cruise control to 70 on the dot. I see a State Trooper stopping someone, but don’t flinch because I’m good- not speeding, no warrants (separate but interesting storIES), updated car insurance. NOTHING could get me pulled over. Why do I keep being so painfully wrong?! The Trooper takes off and looks like he’s about to do a U-turn. Lo and behold, I see light in the rear view mirror. Me being me, I move over because I think he’s trying to catch someone else! Nope..he’s after me and my car, Chula. Not my baby!!! He says that he stops me for speeding. I say I was going 70. He says the speed limit is still 65 in Chambers County. Imagine my face. I am tired from driving from the H and I have to get home and cook then drive to Beaumont for Bible Study. I did NOT have time for this and it was written all over my face. I say to him, “If that’s the case, then yes I was speeding so we can move on to the next step.” Again, if you know me, when I get real, I get REAL. He starts asking all types of irrelevant questions.
My response: “Sir, is this the proper line of questioning for a routine traffic stop? To be honest, you are perturbing me right now. Why do you need me to get out of the car? I’m letting you know now- you do NOT have a search warrant, therefore you will NOT be searching my car.”
I get out and we go back and forth. Then the real reason for the stop surfaces: he suspect me for drug trafficking. DRUG TRAFFICKING.
I. Just. CANNOT.
My response: “What in the world?! Do I look like a drug trafficker to you?! I teach HIGH SCHOOL SPANISH.”
Him: “Well ma’am, if you could tell me what a drug trafficker looks like you’d make my job a lot easier. I don’t mean to perturb you.”
Did he just get snide with me?!
Me: “At the end of this I’m going to need you name, badge number, and the name of your supervisor…. no I didn’t go to school in Houston…. I went to THE University of Texas at Austin.” Translation: Don’t mess with me. I’m an educated Black woman and I know my rights!!!
At the end of this foolery fest, he let’s me go with a warning (duh..). I was so HEATED. But a few weeks later it hit me. I had not been racially profiled. He couldn’t even see me. I’d been ethnically profiled based on my ASSUMED ethnicity. Not only was I driving a car with barely legal tint, but my license plate says “CHULA”. That explained why he didn’t come after me immediately. He turned after he read my plate. I still would have reported him for negatively profiling my Latina life, but not long after I walked by the car I said, “Gah, this does look like a drug dealer’s car.” Hypocrite.
Stayed tuned for more #EpicFails and other adventures in the Charismatically Awkward Life of Flashe Gordon! Believe me, there are plenty. I wouldn’t be me without these life hiccups to keep me on my toes. Hmm, no wonder why I always need a pedicure.
-Funkmaster Flashe (thanks Jess for the cool DJ name!)