Q and A with Feyella.
Elle: If the zombie apocalypse happened tomorrow, which weapon would you want to have to fight these brain eaters?
Feyella: E. Other and what would it be? Okay, I’m gonna let my inner tech geek show. I’m a huge anime fan so I’d have to get wicked with a combo attack hitting em with long range ninja stars until I can get up close for the kill with my hattori hanzo sword or unleash some ridiculous super power with a zanpakuto (Bleach style). And I’m back. What were you saying?
Elle: Which would you rather win? An Oscar, a Grammy, or a Tony.
Feyella: Definitely a Grammy. For real, with the mess I hear on the radio sometimes, I know I have at least one hit in me. Come on Dre, Timberland, get at me dogs.
I can freestyle with the best of them
let me give my testament
my skills you’re impressed with them
I’m the real mccoy
What! (drops mic and walks of stage… sexual chocolate).
Elle: What song(s) makes you want to dance around your house and/or brings you back to your teen years?
Any hip hop, R&B, or reggae from the 90s. It doesn’t even matter what it was because in my it was all HOT! Good times, you know when Sean Combs was Puffy and still wearing shiny suits.
Elle: What’s one of your favorite movies?
Feyella: My Cousin Vinny. I swear it’s like an obsession. If it’s on, I HAVE to watch it.
Elle: What kids cartoon or character makes you want to bang your head against a spike?
Feyella: That stupid spud from Bob The Builder. I can’t stand that fool, he even sounds like wino.
Elle: One more thing. Who’s the hottest mama out there who can kick Zombie ass while rapping and gift wrapping Jay-Z and Dre under the table until they go run and cry to their mommies?
Feyella: Why me of course.
Okay I didn’t really ask her that but Feyella mentioned making up my own answers to the questions and even though she was kidding, I couldn’t resist.
Golden Showers bring May flowers?!
Remember being nineteen? Man, I bet you were hotties. I mean, I’d like to think I was. I strutted my stuff with the best of them and treated every day like I was on the runway. I was digging my independence living away from home in the college dorms.
It was awesome.
I was definitely growing into my womanhood and becoming more and more confident every day.
After completing my sophomore year, I was back in NYC for Summer break and of course, to work. As soon as I was back home I hit the pavement searching for job so I could save up for my off campus apartment. For the first two weeks I had an interview every day and I was sharp. Dressed to the nines each time with either a pants suit, skirt suit, or a business casual dress.
I kept my interviews to one per day. I had a limited shelf life for travel during this particular time.
Well, that Summer, I came home with a little bit more than my clothes. Yup. A good old fashion UTI.
I know, most of us have had one or two in our lives, but I was young and dumb. Sometimes travelling way too far for my interview and not stopping for bathroom breaks like I should have.
On one of my last interviews, I was particularly fashionable, wearing a green print summer dress with blazer, and my nine west wedge slides.
There I sat in the interview room awaiting the manager. I could feel that I needed to go, but it wasn’t bad. The manager came in and it was a great meeting. I had anecdotes to show off my experiences and knowledge of this and that, and spoke about my dreams and aspirations of what I would do after I graduated. He was impressed.
Even while I started to uncomfortably shift in my seat, I never broke a sweat and maintained my composure. As the interview went on, I increasingly became more aware of my discomfort. Now, I started to worry … leakage.
Oh good, we’re shaking hands. Finally, the interview was over and of course I head straight for the restroom.
Dodged a bullet that time. I was so relieved. I couldn’t wet myself right there in the interview room.
I headed home as quickly as I could.
After a 45 minute train ride I got off at my stop and began walking the five blocks to my home, only to realize I had to go. Again.
Thank goodness I was close to home so it was no big. I just had three more blocks to go. Besides, I looked sharp and was still strutting my stuff down 103 Avenue in Ozone Park Queens. The fellas, appreciated it too, honking horns and yelling out there windows, yup, “hey good looking” or “what’s up chocolate?”. I kept strutting and smiling, like I was on the catwalk, but inside, I was thinking I couldn’t get home fast enough.
Which was the truth.
I. Couldn’t. Get home. Fast enough.
I didn’t get home fast enough.
So while the dudes were catcalling, I kept strutting, and peeing. Head held high (even though I wanted to cry), I kept walking, and peeing.
So there. What’s your embarrassing story?