an old note..but one of my favs...enjoy ;)

Somewhere along the line, I've actually noticed I have a lot of single friends. Strangely enough, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Ever notice how sometimes u can really get along with some ppl and as soon as they get into a relationship, u hardly see them again? Not single friends.They're not bounded by a mate who wants to spend "quality time" with them conveniently on one of those rare occasions my social gland starts acting up and I'm actually in a liming mood.Nor are they caught up in the hype of this Valentine's Day nonsense when u have free reign of all the watering holes within (reasonable) driving distance since, on that day, all the other rummies are trying to get their liming visas stamped for the rest of the year.

Ah, liming Visa.

I think the main reason I really cherish my single friends is because as I settle onto each plateau in my life, everything eventually becomes constant and unchanging. Single friends are much more dynamic. U get to critique their latest passing fancy and thrash the old one. U get to say cool things like "he's not good enough for u babes" and "why are you selling yourself short for that bitch, man..fuck her sister and post it on youtube!" , which is slightly more entertaining than talking about whatever it is couples talk about with other couples...I wouldn't really know, I just zone out and txt a single bredrin to meet me there so I have a REAL drinking buddy besides that moustache sitting at my table who keeps his balls in his wife's purse.

Single friends fuckin' rule!

Can't buy me...


Plain and simple. U can roll in ur million dollar ride and still drive like an inconsiderate asshole. U can sport the latest brands or the best Armani suits and not know simple etiquette. U can have the cushiest job and keep ur corner office like a pig sty.
Class isn't ur status in life. It's not knowing the difference between a dessert spoon and a soup spoon. It's ur comportment, ur mannerisms, ur's how u treat others. When will ppl understand this?

The measure of a man is by the virtue of his character, the goodness of his deeds and the size of his heart; and I'll admit, I'm no saint.I spurt the occasional cuss-word (and trust me, those occasions are pretty frequent). I pick my nose in traffic, fart when I think no one will hear it and occasionally take a quick sprint on the shoulder when I'm 30ft from the turning lane and the clown in front is too busy on his mobile to notice the lane is moving.

These things don't make me any less of a person. I give what I can, when I can. I take the time to greet the janitor or the doorman. I put my trash in my pocket 'till I get to a bin. I stop traffic for pedestrians to cross. I rescue baby seals from poachers and save dolphins from dragnets...okay, maybe not the last part, but u catch my drift, right?I'm no role model. I'm just ur average joe with an average flow, doing his part for the benefit of his fellow man. Are you doing yours?


Laundry is one of those things that you either get completely right or wrong. Nothing smells worse than wet laundry left overnight in the dryer. Then there's the ninja mission of trying to get to the basement without anyone seeing you in clothes you should've abandoned years ago. Stuck wearing that rainbow bright T-shirt you never quite knew how you got, luck always has it that you bounce into that chick you've been looking to bang.

Let's not forget the looks of disgust you get while transferring the rancid pile back to the wash. The ever pervasive scent diffusing throughout the room. Yes...laundry is truly delightful experience that I increasingly look forward to every week.

One day I will be a laundry pro, until then I'll keep a watchful eye on girls I catch seeking a peek through the crotch of my pj's.

P.S. ladies, I'm huge.

As a Trinidadian male in his twenties living in New York, I make it my business to get out and meet women. Pussy is a powerful thing: strong enough to force me out of the comfort of my warm room, possibly shave, throw on some good threads and hit the cold, expensive, unforgiving, concrete jungle known as the city. All in the prospect of tail...or maybe, though unlikely, someone girlfriend worthy.

Women in NY are completely different to those in Trinidad. The likelihood of an arbitrary lay in Trinidad is as realistic as Manning's vision 2020. It'll take your typical middle income 'beta' male months, if not years in some cases, to get into a Trini girl's panties. After months of the same old shit (Zen, 51, Morvino, Movie Towne etc) the poor son of a bitch will have nothing more than an empty wallet and an elephantiasis sized case of blue balls to show for it. His aspiring conquest will end in gross dissapointment, the prospect of vagina nothing more than a frugal dream. Left with only a Sunday Punch and Palmela to comfort him he'll once again cry himself to sleep wondering where it all went wrong.

Take the same guy and throw him in NY, perk up his style, teach him some game and he'll be rackin' 'em up. Most women in NY are nothing more than a WYSIWYG plethora of makeup, Louis Vuitton and broken goods funded by daddy's credit card. Instant gratification is the name of the game and if you play your cards right you'll come out a winner. Play'em wrong and they'll suck you dry for all your worth financially and emotionally.

The emphasis on conservative Catholic and Hindu religious traditions in Trinidad has reinforced the notion of: "make him wait". Logic like that will turn your potential nice guy boyfriend from:


The socialite logic for these girls is one of 'brakesin' d bull', as we say back home. Trinidad is too small too be promiscuous; your slutty reputation will get you known as the village bicycle faster than you can say Dana Alleyne.

If you've lived in Trinidad for most of your life, you've come to terms with the fact that you'll see the same fucking people at the same fucking places week after week, year after year until you die. Think Bill Murray in Groundhog Day except with no sex.

Despite being Trinidadian, I'm often taken for your typical American dude. Needless to say my accent has assisted in establishing the divider. Openers are helpful for any situation when approaching a woman but often irrelevant if she hears my voice. It's a nice ace in the hole that has procured numerous nights of

This is all well and good of course, but grows increasingly trite when searching for a woman of substance. Most NY women I've met are corporate driven slaves. So caught up in a mans world and rising to the top they forget what it is to be a real woman. The rat race comes at a price as they abandon their feminine sensibilities and replace courtship with happy hour and In like manner, desirable traits and skills like cooking and cleaning, are acutely and conveniently labeled as the sexist expectations of a misogynistic pig.

The other half are emotional shipwrecks. The pump and dumps who's past relationships have left them in shambles. They're so busy compensating with huge Prada sunglasses, eyeliner and blush they forget to fix the real problem. When it comes time to get to know them, conversation is often dull and hollow leaving little to be desired, much less a second date.

I feel no sympathy for women swayed into bed by the exotic nature of a foreign voice and some travel stories. Shit, she's enjoying the sex as much as me and at the worst gets a good story to tell her friends. If anything I commend American girls for giving it up as compared to snobby, spoiled, trini girls. I praise them for at least thinking for themselves. Edit: they let the O.C., Sex and the City, Vogue and MTV do that. But hey, as crazy and fucked up as city girls are, at least they put out. As beautiful and wife worthy as Trini girls can be, too many are anal about sex.

Even if it's for all the wrong reasons I can't help but prefer these City girls, at least for now. Shit, I'll pretend my name is Carlos and blurt arbitrary phrases in Spanish like, "No pantalones danza en me casa, ahora, ahora!!" if that's what gets me laid. Does it bother me? Fuck no. In a world of burgers, pizza and tacos I'm the callaloo, the exotic outsider that offers so much prospect. I'm that breath of fresh air she's been waiting for in a city of guidos, emos, meatheads and posers. I'm the worldly traveler full of class and culture. As the infamous DCB might put it, I'm winning the game of life.


Copyright NY3NE 2008