Every morning as I commute to work, I listen to the same thing on my ipod: the incendiary Dr. Dre album, The Chronic 2001. I love this album. Eight years I've been listening to it, and for eight years I've been a better person because of it. Asking me to pick my favorite track would be like asking your Nanna to pick her favorite grandchild; she loves them equally and how dare you offend her with such a ridiculous question! (But if you held a gun to my head, I'd pick The Next Episode. Don't tell Xxplosive, he gets so jealous.)
Dre is my nutritious breakfast. He is my coffee. He gets my morning started right. If I'm going to wake up and attack the day, I'd prefer to do it with swagger in my step and a glock in my hand. Some people have affirmations; I have Dre. When Dre tells a few bitches and motherfuckers to akrite, it reminds me not to take any guff from co-workers or clients. I am an intelligent, independent and capable young woman, damnit! I roll wit my shit off safety - for [n-words] that been hatin' me lately and the bitches that wanna break me. So don't ask me to update the marketing binders without saying please, motherfucker!
Sometimes blasting Dre on my ipod can get slightly uncomfortable when I'm on the metro. I tend to listen to my music at the maximum volume level (I know, I know, I'm ruining my hearing, thank you,) so if it's particularly quiet in our car, I'll pause the song and resume it when I get off at my stop. This morning, there were some embarrassing complications, however.
This morning's metro ride was especially packed. Only a thin layer of denim separated a strange Asian guy's manhood from my ass, which is a situation I wasn't thrilled to be in. I was also essentially in a slow-dance position with the older gentleman in front of me, our eyes desperately looking anywhere but forward and into eachother's because this entire situation was already far too meaningful and romantic for 8:30 in the morning.
For some ungodly reason, the metro conductor decided to slow the train down to a slow and painful crawl after we left Dupont. Without the normal screeching and hissing sounds of the metro truckin' down the red line, it became painfully quiet in the car. Nobody was talking. You could hear a pin drop. It was clearly time to pause Dre. I quickly clicked pause on the clicky-controller-thing on my headphones, but pause it did not. The controller had mysteriously broken. I tried again. No dice. I reached into my pocket and took out my iphone to pause it manually. It had frozen. Specifically, it had frozen midway through the song "Ho's A Housewife," which it was becoming apparent the entire car could clearly hear, judging from the looks I was getting. Because my left hand was doing double-duty holding my giant bag and steadying myself so as to avoid making this a conjugal visit with the Asian guy behind me, I could only remedy the Dre situation with one hand (which was proving to be a difficult task.) I had two options: rip the headphone cord out and hope the song will pause rather than blast through my iphone, or just let it ride and accept my fate as That Girl. I chose the latter.
So as the train crawled at a rate of .5mph, I essentially DJ-ed one of the most offensive Dre songs in existence for the entire car. After each offensive lyric, more people started to stare in my direction and I had to look back and shrug like "welp, the man has a point!" Feel my pain:
At the ho-tel, mo-tel, or the Holiday Inn (say what nigga?)
I said if that bitch keep fuckin up (beotch) then we'll fuck her friends
[-shrugs- = fair enough, right?]
I said I dip, dive, what can I say?
Niggaz need to stop fuckin with O.J.
[-nodds head- = when the man's right, the man's right.]
Some niggaz bang blood, some niggaz bang crip
And bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks
I had to dream of hoes, I had to scream at hoes
I seen my hoes in all kinds of clothes
Lil' Almond Joy, I truly enjoy
if you blew my balls, right through my drawers
[-raises eyebrows- = blowing balls through the drawers, frankly that's impressive.]
Come back to the mansion, chill at the spot
From the way she was blowin, I know she does it a lot
[-shrug- = who hasn't blown a lot in their day, right? Can I get an amen?? Lady in the sweater vest, I'm lookin' at you!]
I have a eight-and-a-half, nine-and-three-quarters
The hoe started callin when I started boss ballin
Gimme some head, gimme some ass (uh-huh)
Gimme some cash, pass it to Daz
Pass it to Snoop, or pass it to Nate
See hoes eat dick like eggs and steak
[-eyes widen- = God I could go for some Steak 'n Egg right now. I haven't eaten there since senior year of college.]
It was about when we hit the chorus that the train finally lurched into Metro Center and I ran off the train in embarrassment.
Sucks to be me. All day. Every day.