To say I’m a hip-hop fan is an understatement. I’ve worked for several hip-hop magazines and interviewed a number of artists. I’ve been to so many hip-hop concerts that I honestly couldn’t tell you an exact number. I never really considered myself a superfan of anybody though. I like a lot of artists, but I never thought of myself as someone who’d cry, faint or yell at the sight of someone. I’d like to consider myself pretty chill around all artists — give or take a momentary childhood crush.
The only exception to this rule happened one time, and I have to blame it on a pair of 3-inch heels. I was strolling around at work with these bad ass shoes on, thinking I was extra cute in my matchy-matchy outfit. I turned the corner of one hallway, happened to glance over at a random guy walking by and my heel turned. He paused, wondering if I was going to fall. I did not. I caught myself in place — and just reached both arms out in “flying” formation. But something was wrong. This wasn’t going to be like one of those other times I turned my ankle in heels. This felt different.
I slowly walked to my destination, turned around and hobbled back to my desk. I sat down and thought, “My gawd, I hope I didn’t twist my ankle.” Then I started laughing hysterically, thinking of the time I scared the bejesus out of my grandfather.