I’ve had several people point out my mistaken impressions about the OPP song. At first, I thought my white-girl interpretation was part of the charm, but the email has gotten out of hand so I’m publishing a correction. Below is my favorite explanation from one Gregory Lopez, who seems like a very nice guy:

Re: O.P.P.

In case anyone on the left coast hasn’t made this clear yet, OPP is (and in the case of Naughty By Nature: was) short for -

clean: Other People’s Property

dirty: Other Peoples P*ssy (sorry, it’s an offensive word…)

So, from a conceptual (and non-drunk) point of view, the question “(Are) you down wit’ O.P.P.?” is really “Pardon me Sir, are you quite fond of flaunting your disrespect for the communal bond of a relationship and all that it entails?” and the answer “Yeah you know me!” is really “Gosh, As I examine my past behavior, I HAVE been known to commit transgressions regarding mine and others’ sexual fidelity. Bully!”

-What happened?

-He knocked my drink out of my hand.

-Why?

-I asked his girlfriend to move over a little so she wasn’t bouncing into me.

-And he got pissed? Probably thought you were hitting on her.

-Yeah. He was like, “You givin’ my woman trouble?”

-He actually said, “my woman?”

-Yep. He was right up in my face staring at me. I turned back to watch the show and he kept staring at the side of my face.

-What did you do?

-I put my hand up to my ear and started acting like he was trying to say something and I couldn’t hear him, like, “What? What?”

-Oh man.

-Yeah, so he sort of nudged his nose into my cheek, and all I can think is, “Did you just nuzzle me?” So I started laughing, and that pissed him off.

We head to the Mission for our hangover breakfast. It being mid-January in California, we decide to sit outside. During a pleasant lull in the conversation an older man zips by on a motorized cart. Our heads turn in unison to follow his progress up the sidewalk.

The cart is surprisingly silent, and quick. He stops short, two inches from the heels of a sleepy hipster who is waiting for a table. We wait for the older man to clear his throat, or murmur “excuse me.” Instead he reaches angrily for his handlebar:

BBBRRRRING-RRRING!

Of course, he has a bike bell.

So I read here that the conga line is a dance developed by slaves who were shackled together. I sort of wish I didn’t know that.

(And so I share it with you.)

Hey! I got nominated for a Bloggie for best tagline. I found out when I read it on Josh’s website. Anyway, a big thank you to whoever nominated me. Sally forth, my tens and tens of readers; vote like people who enjoy my tagline! I heart winning things.