Brooklyn’s in the house, and not a gentrifier in sight. I’ve lived in the same neighborhood my whole life, and I’m not going anywhere. Luckily, my family bought the brownstone where we live and run our neighborhood bookstore and café. I manage the store which is called – what else? – the Truth. If it were up to me, I would’ve called it The Muthafucking Truth, but when I suggested it, my mother gave me the belt and grounded me for a week. I think it had something to do with cursing when I was only six.
My mom is Puerto Rican, and my dad is biracial – African American and Italian (like Vin Diesel except he doesn’t try to hide his kitchen by shaving his head.) I’m the middle child of five, and except for one of my brothers who went all right wing on us, we TruthTellas are pretty tight knit. I’m closest to my cousin Chisy (who’s on my mom’s side), my older sister Caprice who’s getting a PhD on the left coast, and my parental grandfather Papa Pesky. His real name is Pasquale but that’s what we call him. Papa Pesky is the one who taught me to say, “I’m Black, and I’m proud.” He may be Italian, but he’s a major reason why I don’t have “tragic mulatto” syndrome or any issues about being mixed so don’t come over here trying to tell me how to identify. Take that shit to Mariah Carey’s MySpace.
Anyway I love my job and could do it forever, but my dream is to become a syndicated columnist. That’s why I’m on MySpace. With ninety million people and counting up in here, I knew there was going to be a whole lot of BULLSHIT so I had to signup and represent.
It’s easier if I tell you who I DON'T want to meet. If you’re a starfucker, Bible thumper, thug, stripper, homophobe, wigga, or a Republican, you need to make like Dionne Warwick and walk on byyy. Revisit this list regularly because I’m sure the longer I’m on here, the longer it will get. Let me tell you now so you can’t say I didn’t give you the heads up. If you send me ridiculous bulletins about ringtones, profile trackers, ghosts or any shit like that, I’m deleting your ass. For real.
© Trina TruthTella -- Yes, that's all text and images on this site
Just wanted to wish you and your family a wonderful holiday season...
had a pic I made for everyone but you don't allow them...
I am going to post 2 seperate pic's on a bulletin!!!
Brooklyn’s in the house, and not a gentrifier in sight. I’ve lived in the same neighborhood my whole life, and I’m not going anywhere. Luckily, my family bought the brownstone where we live and run our neighborhood bookstore and café. I manage the store which is called – what else? – the Truth. If it were up to me, I would’ve called it The Muthafucking Truth, but when I suggested it, my mother gave me the belt and grounded me for a week. I think it had something to do with cursing when I was only six.
My mom is Puerto Rican, and my dad is biracial – African American and Italian (like Vin Diesel except he doesn’t try to hide his kitchen by shaving his head.) I’m the middle child of five, and except for one of my brothers who went all right wing on us, we TruthTellas are pretty tight knit. I’m closest to my cousin Chisy (who’s on my mom’s side), my older sister Caprice who’s getting a PhD on the left coast, and my parental grandfather Papa Pesky. His real name is Pasquale but that’s what we call him. Papa Pesky is the one who taught me to say, “I’m Black, and I’m proud.” He may be Italian, but he’s a major reason why I don’t have “tragic mulatto” syndrome or any issues about being mixed so don’t come over here trying to tell me how to identify. Take that shit to Mariah Carey’s MySpace.
Anyway I love my job and could do it forever, but my dream is to become a syndicated columnist. That’s why I’m on MySpace. With ninety million people and counting up in here, I knew there was going to be a whole lot of BULLSHIT so I had to signup and represent.
