In middle school, I was REALLY into rap. I wore Cross Colours. I wore Karl Kani. I had African beads that I wore and made my mom buy me a black angel Christmas ornament for the tree (which she wouldn’t let me use, so I hung it from a shelf in my room).

This went on in high school too, and at one point this guy Jeremiah I knew who lived in one of the “bad” urban parts of Pittsburgh was going to help me join a gang. This was my ambition, to run away from my big house and wealthy family in favor of living on the streets and engaging in knife fights.

My therapist at the time said it was my way of “rebelling” against the fact that my family were constantly trying to buy my love. REALLY DO YOU THINK SO? You mean it’s not normal for a teenage girl to want a grill and a tear drop tattoo?

Fifteen years later, and I’m sitting here typing this post in an oversized t-shirts and a pair of Henry’s jeans, because I’m about to attempt to “do the Douggie” for my friend Alyson.

Actually, I already did it but that asshole Alisha hit “photo” instead of record. She got a nice still of me in my thug-stance though.

I’ll be back in 30, my brosefs.