So, I recently read Hold My Gold: A White Girl’s Guide to the Hip-Hop World. The mere fact that someone felt I should read it makes my question my masculinity.

Although, it’s not entirely surprising. I have felt myself turning into something of a diva lately. Just last week, I walked into my temp job, found I was scheduled to answer the phone for a paltry thirty minutes and contemplated quitting. Does that make me more or less hip-hop? I don’t know. Like on one hand, Mariah Carey wouldn’t even dignify such an assignment with annoyance. But on the other hand, can’t you see Lil’ Kim getting all bitchy about it, but doing it anyway? So maybe I’m more hip-hop than diva.

But I’m still like a hip-hop woman.

(On a slightly related note, my brother lives in NYC and one time about five years ago when he would tell us stories of New York, I referred to him as “Hip Hop” completely off-the-cuff and the name has stuck with one friend. I completely forget about it, but our friend Erin doesn’t call Eric anything but “Hip Hop.” And it annoys him so much, it’s hilarious. Though he may be faking the annoyance just to entertain me.)

Anyway… My favorite part of the book was the recipes with their simple instructions. Like Lil’ Jon’s for Penne A La Pimp: “heat dat shit up.” Word.

I also quite liked Fat Joe’s Household Tips. For example:

Problem: Your hamster was just diagnosed with a terminal disease.

Fat Joe Sez: Replace his water with Cristal. If lil’ homey gonna go, he gonna go out crunk.

And incidentally, I knew what “hold my gold” meant before I cracked open the book. Such is the level of my hip-hop-itude.