My Friends Ain't Shit

My homie--who lives with a baby momma he cannot stand at all--responded to my request, asking for a ride to the airport tomorrow, like so:

Reckon i cain't seein how massa say Iysa gonna b in de hotbox all week onna counta I came in real late last nite, and imma doit again 2nite...

I just wanted y'all to know I'm not the only one in my circle that's missing a few marbles.

*smooches...appreciating my empty bed tonight*
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there but for the grace of Obama go I...

But We Will Survive In This World Of Competition

I want to apologize for skipping inspirational Friday last week; I hope you were able to get through the weekend and this whole week without it. And now it's back so rejoice and yell it from the mountaintops: Jaded is back with more motivation to help you through the tough times!

So let me tell you about my current tough-time situation: some lowlife loser is using my social security number to work illegally in this country. I know, I know, it's probably some poor unfortunate soul that came to America to make a better life for his families, BLAH BLAH BLAH. How about if it's one of Al-Qaeda's cousins going through my garbage or keying into my apartment, how would you feel then? Listen, I get it- many of the immigrants that are here without papers were probably in a bind and needed to leave wherever right away and just want to live life. BUT when you cross the line and do illegal and rude shit like STEALING someone's identity? Yeah, you are now seriously persona non grata. I don't care about your back story, son. I will hunt you down and shut down your whole world.

This is pretty much the last thing I want to deal with right now or ever. I have stories to write, kids to raise, events to plan and a pesky nine-to-five that interrupts my daily, 24-hour nap to worry about. Identity theft is just...UGH.

However this is the world I live in and this is what's happening to me right now and sitting back and ignoring it will not solve the problem. Jean-Pierre Carlos Mohammed Gupta will not be allowed to continue this charade much longer. This latest obstacle is just more proof that one cannot be idle and let life happen. We must grab the bull by the balls and say "HEY! Stop trampling my rose garden you clumsy, uncouth riffraff!"

I'm just going to take a few deep breaths and then dive into the situation. It's what grown-ups do. It's what you should do with your current obstacles, too. Hopefully Bob will help us remain calm along the way.



*smooches...hoping I don't have to kill somebody*
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I've never snapped a human neck but I'm sure I could enjoy it.

It's Not OK To Be Angry On Fridays

Each morning I walk N over to the bus, you know, to make sure some crazy pedophiles don't grab her in the five minutes it takes to walk from my door to the corner. Hey, this is still Brooklyn, however gentrified. YOU NEVER KNOW.

Each morning we hear yelling, scolding and fighting coming from one of the houses in front of the bus stop. Without fail. I mean, I don't know what misery lies behind those doors, but it kind of has me wishing I knew Hebrew or Yiddish so that I can understand what all the hubbub is about. Right now it just sounds like angry gibberish.

N and I decided, last Friday, that there's no reason to start the day like that, especially with the weekend about to unfold in front of you. Like, who does that? And ESPECIALLY as you're prepping for shabbat? Chill, Mordechai. Hug your wife. Smile. H-shem has bestowed upon you another day to make wondrous things happen. Do so, with arms outstretched. Your day of atonement approaches.



Happy weekend, folks!

*smooches...hoping our good cheer spreads around*
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no, seriously, these people fight every. freakin. morning. it's so sad!

Jaded Photographs: July 2012 Edition

"Boystown, Chicago"

*smooches...welcoming you to summer*
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everyone knows that a monkey in a tree is the official sign of the official start of summer.

Bad Writers Make Us Weep

Recently, a friend and I were briefly discussing a "poet" we both know who is just...not that great a poet. Basically his work has not evolved past the pandering-to-women-who-wouldn't-know-real-poetry-if-it-Chris-Brown'd-them-in-the-face stage, but I guess to each his own, right?

Anyway, we were baffled at what appeared to be a scheduled showcase for him, and we were all "WHY?? He sucks!!" But then I reminded my friend that this guy writes what he writes because stupid girls fall for it and swoon and boost his ego about it. To which she replied:

"Girls drop their panties for the least nowadays. That's why we can't do better; [this guy's] poems are why pay equality didn't pass."

And then I died from laughing hysterically. This is my ghost typing. Say hi!

*smooches...trying not to be a snob and failing miserably*
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so instead I'll just embrace my elitist attitude and move on

Some Of My Issue With Cabbies: An Overdue Jaded Rant

Let me let you in on a little secret about me: I have a severe dislike of mediocrity and ineptitude. People who do things half-assed or sloppily or lazily turn me into the Incredible Hulk, smashing shit left and right. Since moving back to Brooklyn in 2006, more often than not, I've experienced many a HULK SMASH moment with this City's cab drivers.

I guess what upsets me the most is this- if I'm about to spend all this extra money for a taxi, I need my experience to be worry-free. If the train acts up well, guess what? You get what you pay for ($2.25). That's to be expected; the NYC MTA is janky and we all know this. But if I'm shelling out well over the cost of a MetroCard swipe for door-to-door service, at the very least I need my driver to know how to get to my destination. BECAUSE THAT'S HIS GODDAMN JOB.

I become so annoyed when I give an address (with cross streets, borough and neighborhood for accuracy) and the driver says "How do I get there?" Sir, are you for real? If I tell you I need to get to East 41st Street and forget to mention it's in East Flatbush and you take me to Manhattan, that's my bad. NYC is a big place and many street names are repeated throughout. But if I gave you the general area then it's not unreasonable for me to expect you to know how to get there.

Here's how it usually goes down when I get into a cab:

ME: Hi, I'm going to [insert random address here]

CABBIE: (repeats address back to me and stares off into space) Ummm, where is that?

ME: [insert borough or neighborhood plus a landmark just in case]

CABBIE: (repeats what I just said and starts to drive off slowly) Ummm...so which way should I go?

ME: Listen, if you don't know how to get there just let me out and I'll find someone who does!

I am not your map or your GPS. Your freakin' job is driving people to destinations around the City so please, for the love of my blood pressure, KNOW HOW TO GET AROUND!

Then, of course, we have the issue of cost. Yellow cabs aren't a problem in that regard because there is a meter and whatever the meter says is bible law. But these damn Gypsy cabs and their arbitrary pricing...I haggle and argue all the time because give me a freakin break! Brooklynites, help me out here: it should not cost $20 to go from Atlantic Center to my neighborhood (Greenwood/Kensington) if it costs LESS THAN THAT to go from my house to Bed-Stuy or Williamsburg! (For you non-Brooklyn folks, Bed-Stuy and Williamsburg are a lot further out than Atlantic Center. Wayyyy further, in fact.

Here's how that exchange goes:

ME: How much?

CABBIE: [insert insane price that I refuse to pay here]

ME: [insert Jaded stank face] I don't think so; get your dispatcher on the line and let me talk to him...

I won't even bother to single out any ethnicity in this diatribe because I think you all consider me racist enough, but just know the depending on what shade of brown I see behind the wheel, I already know some level of bullshit is about to go down and I'll have to come out my face at least twice.

All this drama just to get somewhere on time... It's enough to make a girl buy another bike!

*smooches...thinking this might be what pushes me to drive*
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the issues we suffered with cab drivers this weekend were just too much. TOO MUCH!

Non-negotiables: Men Wearing Fur

I don't care if it is Kanye West or some pimp from East New York, a fur coat looks stupid on a man. There. I said it.

I deserve the best and in my opinion, the best doesn't need to hide behind the extravagant flash of a fur coat. I refuse to be associated with such idiocy!

*smooches...being choosy because I can*
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I'm too cute to settle. y'all know this!

I Refuse To Apologize!

Man oh man! The internet is at it again, starting trouble among the masses. This time via an article written by a black woman apologizing to black men for a myriad of supposed infractions, including opening up her womb to "the enemy" and allowing her degrees to make her feel superior.

First of all, I won't link it here because I'd rather not be associated with what she wrote because I, sirs & madams, am NOT SORRY.

Second of all, get all the way the fuck out of my universe with that subservient patriarchal BULL.

Because let me tell you something: I will not be sorry for my advanced degrees and subsequent feelings of superiority over someone who does not have them. I worked for that. I paid for that. Hell, I'm STILL paying for that! I put in the time, the effort, expanded my mind, immersed myself in an intellectual awakening and I'll be damned if that doesn't make me better than someone who pissed his life away doing nothing in his mom's basement.

I will not be sorry for dating outside my race (on the rare occasions that I did that) because if a guy is good looking and nice and sexy and funny and intrigues me? Well guess what? I'm going to date him.

I will not be sorry for not needing a man in my life to be successful and happy and all that. The bottom line is no woman NEEDS a man. She may want one to complement her; someone with whom to share her life and grow old, to bring forth new life, and that's cool. In fact, that's beautiful! But she certainly doesn't NEED him.

And I won't apologize if black men feel emasculated by black women because we earn more or can support ourselves or are buying our own homes or whatever. Frankly, that's a YOU problem, not a ME problem. And if you're expecting THIS Afro-Latina to jump on that "sorry" bandwagon FOR. GET. IT.

Jaded AIN'T sorry; she's awesome!

*smooches...waving my degrees in the air like I just don't care*
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it's bull like that letter that sets us all back *smh*

What's Your Point Again?

By now we've all been inundated with reports about protests down on Wall Street (and apparently in other NYC locations and states), but I'm wondering how many of us even know WHY they're protesting?

Personally I have no clue why these random hippies have decided to camp out near my favorite Sephora store and Halal food carts, but rumor has it they're mad as hell and they're not going to take it anymore! They are the 99%, GODDAMMIT, and they will be heard!!! About what? Your guess is as good as mine.

I've been to their website and read what I could but still, all I've learned is that there are lots of unemployed degree-holders in these streets and that corporate America is a mean ol' poopie-faced meanie.

Whatever it is that's got these unemployed Harvard grads' panties in a bunch, it can't help that they appear to be rather disorganized. I even asked around and I got the same answer- they're not doing anything other than sitting in and occupying a public space. How are you protesting for MONTHS and don't have an actual plan of action? Didn't you go to school? ISN'T THAT WHAT YOU KEEP BITCHING ABOUT- your over-priced education that no one forced you to take out loans for and now you don't feel like paying back? Then put something on paper! What are your demands, Blake? What are you going to do if those demands aren't met, Tristan? What exactly do you want Wall Street to do to get you to shower and quit ruining the sacred WTC money machine memorial so that King Bloomberg can continue to pimp us out to tourists from Omaha, Becky?

"...they are as a whole uninformed about things. And not addressing the real issues- racism, sexism, classism- because they are too busy beating on drums." -The F#$k-it List

That's what this protest is missing- a clear plan made up of possible solutions to the real problems affecting our economy. Until there is one I doubt the Wall Street fat cats will take them seriously. You're not hitting them where it hurts, crazy hippies, so they'll continue to step over you after the market closes, down some sushi & beer on John Street, run to catch the PATH train and head home to their fancy NJ estate.

And you will continue to be the butt of every joke.

*smooches...99 percent sure you haven't occupied shit, hippies*
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call me when the protest gets real; I have a couple of vacation days I can take & a tambora I can borrow from N.

And shout out to Russell "Blood Diamond" Simmons and Kanye "Imma Let You Finish" West for standing with the hippies in solidarity. For a couple of hours before they flew off in a private jet and feasted on Taiwanese virgins. #sarcasm

"...You Got To Pick 'Em Up Just To Say Hello..."

"Ray J is why you don't fuck with short men. They have fragile feelings."
-Smarty Jones



I am not a gossip blogger and discussing celebrities is not my shtick because, frankly, everybody and their momma has a gossip/celebrity blog where they all talk about the same boring red carpet event and they all go to the same listening parties and they all mix and mingle at the same happy hour with B, C, and D List celebrities and write about it on the same day.

That's not what we do here. On this blog, we make fun of people, and "I PROMISE YOU" this is the only reason I'm linking this radio interview with Brandy's little brother and wannabe singer, rapper, actor, star Ray J.

Apparently he got into a scuffle with another has-been, rapper Fabolous, and then called into The Breakfast Club to stomp his feet, hold his breathe and kick and scream until he could get an extra cookie for dessert or some such bullshit. Click here for the audio.

Oh Ray J, you delusional tiny, tiny man. I get it. Kim K is BALLIN' right now with a tallllllll drink of slow bus water and didn't even bother to pay homage to your penis. And now you feel like the joke of the internets. I get it. It's okay. Here, have a seat. Let me get that cookie for you...

*smooches...thankful for the late-morning chuckle*
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dude needs a hug and some anger management. STAT

New Age Bitches.

In this age of Twitter and Facebook, a new phenomenon has emerged among the penised species, which one eFriend promptly labeled "New Age Bitches."

Here's the thing: I reveal a decent portion of myself on this blog and on twitter, so I suppose those on the receiving end of my tomfoolery might get the impression that we're homies. Sir... listen here and listen good- just because we exchange some jabs or harmless flirty comments here or there does not mean A) you will ever see me naked or B) you can talk to me any old way. Shit like that will get you eStabbed in these eStreets.

And frankly, unless we've met in person or someone I know can vouch for your character, you're no friend of mine and therefore not to be trusted. Point. Blank. Period. (c) Tamar Braxton

Where the BITCH part comes in is the behavior exhibited by these "men" when they are called on their BS. Straight up tantrums & pouty-like nonesense that I barely even tolerate from my 11-year-old daughter. SIR... please go THATAWAY ------> with all that, because no one here at the Jaded Empire has any fucks to give.

I bring this up because recently one twitter follower "took all his toys and went home" after I called him out for being inappropriate in my DMs (direct messages, for you Twitter virgins... it's like a private chatroom/message space). Listen, I know I'm inappropriate, too, but there are limits. There are lines that shouldn't be crossed. And in my opinion, he crossed it. Fuck his couch!

There are no regrets on my part; he's just one less fool to distract me during the day. But I write this to warn all of you about New Age Bitches. They're out there. They look & sound just like everyone else. They're funny and knowledgeable about some obscure stuff that you thought no one knew but you. You almost feel like, "Hey, if you lived here we could grab a beer and make fun of hipsters on the block."

But as soon as you lightly graze their ego their true nature rises to the surface and you realize: THAT'S WHY they're single and use social networking media...they're one of THOSE...

*smooches...hoping this isn't a pot-kettle situation*
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I don't throw eTantrums over trivial stuff- do I? at least not real ones, right? RIGHT?

Pinkies In The Air, Everyone

Call me a snob if you want, but I consider a good writer to be someone who understands that a subject needs a predicate, and then proceeds to take those subjects and predicates to weave a colorful and engaging dialogue with their reader.

It doesn’t have to be Shakespeare or any of those other Dead White Men we loathe to love. I’ve been known to indulge in “chick lit” and genre books on occasion. However, they were all great storytellers with a decent grasp of the English language and knew how to properly manipulate it in order to write a good story.

Enter your cousins and their “hood” novels.



First, I will go on record as stating the obvious: I don’t like urban fiction. In my opinion, those books pander to their audience and perpetuate a belief that one can just put any old bullshit on paper and call it literature. "As long as people are reading SOMETHING..." is not a good enough reason for me to be okay with these books, because it matters what they are reading. It matters a lot. That said...

Recently, the description to one of these Street Lit books was brought to my attention. It read:

Book #5 will not be a novel but 40 short chapters of grown woman shit about love, life, relationships, friendships, infidelity, stupid shit we do, shouldn't do, and why. NO PhD, NO statistics, NO round table, NO degrees. Just a Brooklyn chick w/a lot to say.

REALLY?? This is your book jacket copy???

When I was a kid, it was "cool" to be dumb; kids who did their work and earned good grades were teased. How can it be that DECADES later, grown-ass folks are still living with that mentality? Am I supposed to be impressed by this author’s lack of credentials? Does this make her tome more authentic? It saddens me that this is supposed to be a selling point. I can almost picture an unsuspecting young lady picking up this book and thinking, “Finally, someone’s about to keep it REAL!”

There’s nothing wrong with tales of urban dynamics and struggles, and certainly I can appreciate a fun, airy look at myself and the people around me. I mean, who doesn’t love an easy beach read to pass away a leisurely afternoon? But there’s a fine line between infecting the population with ignorance and enlightening them with a good read. And street lit is teetering on the wrong side of it.

*smooches...hoping this motivates me to get writing again*
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I mean, there's no way I'm allowing THIS heffa to outsell me!!

"And Cue The Applause..."

I know it's not Smarty Jones' birthday, and it's too soon for Christmas, but K & N just HAD TO gift her this wonderful video of their latest dance routine in response to the COON Smarty's daddy is cookin' for Thanksgiving.

K suggests the whole family watch the video together as they eat.



*smooches...chock full of Jazz hands*
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I laughed so hard putting this together it's almost criminal!

Come Get Yo' Cousins Vol. 2: MY EYES!

Here go your cousins again, roaming free in the streets of New York sans guidance and giving me migraines. Will the torture EVER stop?



You see Suzy back there behind Jose? She's having a bachelorette dinner with her bitches, and apparently felt it was appropriate to wear a crown of Peni (pronounced "peen-eye", plural form of penis. Deal with it). I was NOT amused. And neither was Jose!



You'll be gentle? Really? I'm sure that's what Dahmer said to HIS victims, too. *makes the sign of the cross* The devil is a LIAR!!



What in the short-pant-ugly-socks-bright-shoe HELL is going on here?? And did he buy that vest in a size too small? I can't...

*smooches...almost fed up with people*
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but they give me such good blog material so I can't be mad!

Come Get Yo' Cousins Vol. 1: Subway Assaults

I don't enjoy making fun of people. Really I don't. I used to but these days I'd rather use my powers for good instead of evil.

But your cousins won't let me BE.

Exhibit A:


Cousin Becky was wearing this atrocity in the middle of winter. Please take her shopping for some taste.

Exhibit B:


Cousin Jasper was not just Pretty in Purple, he was rockin' a Don King salt n pepper 'fro and carrying a WALKMAN! Please get him a stylist. From the year 2010.

I ain't got time for your relatives...

*smooches...rinsing my eyes with saline solution*
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why me, Baby Jesus, whyyyyyy? I swear, man, the MTA brings a fresh new hell for me every time I board a train...