Copilots & Homies

A fellow homie and I had a conversation a while back about how nice we were perceived and how we must have this face where people feel the need to confess or the invitation to spill some deep dark story from their past. It was amazing that so many people feel confident to just divulge any secret to us. I wouldn't even utter a word to my family if I was dying and here are people telling me shit, personal shit might I add, and have the audacity to end it off with, "I don't know, I just feel like I trust you so I'm gonna tell you something and you can't tell it to anyone else." Bitch, don't! I'm a fairly good secret keeper if I don't roll with your squad, because hell! Who am I gonna tell?Or if it doesn't have anything to do with my homies. But let me tell you, when you explicitly say "Don't tell anyone", I'm telling my homies. Because I am Scar. They probably don't even know you personally, but that's what homies do. W...

I've got problems. As do all living beings. Even the nonexistent ones reading this. They're not like Kardashian sized problems. Those are issues, not problems. The difference being problems are something fixable and able to overcome and not just mask behind disillusionments of the psyche, and especially the soul. Or Botox. But, fuck it, still #TeamKhloe. So a few of my problems came up during my trip from school to the place of where I reside. My home, yes. My first problem is, I believe, a familial characteristic that I need to, quickly, reign in: eaves dropping (or if you're at the same mental capacity as I, ease dropping). I don't mean to, honest. I had both earbuds on, full blast jamming out to James Bay, but it's like JB had purposely lowered his voice to a careless whisper to allow me to catch the tense conversation going on before me. Especially juicy tales with more drama in it than a TNT show. Or an MTV plot come to think of it. This kid was chatting up w...