It ain't bougie if you almost died and you're just celebrating life

Mastering the art of not giving a fugg about anyone's 21-person BVI girl's trip pics on da Gram, building a business while broke, and going to school (are you tired of me talking 'bout my school shit yet or nah?) is hard work. It's free effing labor though.

If you let what others seem to be doing in their seemingly fab online lives get to you, you could wind up in a depressed state. With hard liquor without a glass 'n shit. Therefore, allow me to save you from myself yourself.

An older relative of mine, cool as hell, by the way, decided that we ought not to be Facebook friends any longer some four or five years ago because she couldn't take the trips I was always posting about. What she didn't know was that dem trip statuses were mostly gig-related. I used to write for travel agents. I used to be a travel agent. And I've also written for a pretty major event promoter who has arguably been responsible for nukkafiying NBA All-Star Weekend for about 20 years now.

Dateline, April 2005: One day in Daytona Beach said promoter stopped by my suite for a meeting. I swear it was a legit meeting; we are about that coin. Somehow, things turned into a game of show-me-what-you're-working-with. I'd warned him I had no azz at all but he thought otherwise. But that's not the kicker though. To date, he has the biggest dick I've ever seen in my whole life. It was that moment that I've learned why he is literally cocky. 

Now that I've finally gotten that off my chest...

During those early days of my writing career, I was sharing a two-bedroom apartment in Queens. I'd felt robbed as a youth when my parents decided my siblings and I had seen one crack pipe too many on the playground of P.S. 156 so I came up with the bright idea of returning to my roots as a 20-something. Big mistake. The GW Bridge was at least $10 at the time. It's $15 today. FIF.TEEN. To drive over a bridge! Everything was higher than Carolina, from gas to Pepsi. Food and clothing was and is still bearable though, but what good are those things when you are one paycheck and one sometime-y Long Island sugar daddy away from being homeless?

You just never know what's behind the social media posts, G. G, as in Cousin G, who thought I was jet-setting my azz off so much.

I know a woman who recently lost her father to cancer. She herself is a cancer survivor, who'd share her journey best way she knew how, with an almost-bald head, and hospital selfies captioned with the fuckcancer hashtag. When she was having good days though, she and her hubby showed how much of a true jet-setting couple they are. And if you didn't know her nor her story, you'd swear she was boujie AF. Her updates are full of bougie things for all to see, while you're making payment arrangements to Duke Energy. Bougie looked like her life.

And I'm here for it. Because she is a survivor, not a statistic.

She's also still grieving I'm sure. She and her father had the type of relationship many women with daddy issues would rightfully hate on. Be mad at ya daddy though.

Before you swear off social media (again) remember that things are half "they" post to be in these virtual streets. But if in fact, someone is living better than you, congratulate them. Chances are, they've effing earned it.