I’ve accepted my fate: I will never become a famous hip-hop artist.

With the recent announcement that rappers Ludacris and Rick Ross will perform at Syracuse University’s Rock the Dome concert, I started contemplating my own future in the rap world. Despite my freshflows and street style, I’m beginning to realize that a successful career as a hip-hop mogul might not be in the cards for me.

This disheartening realization began as I blasted Ludacris’ throwback hit ‘Area Codes’ while cleaning my room one afternoon. For those unfamiliar with this song, Ludacris explicitly discusses the various area codes in which his hoes are located. Somewhere between gleaming with pride that Luda mentioned my own area code and questioning if that pride should be replaced with shame, I started thinking about the different area codes in which I myself have hoes.

The results were appalling.

It seems as though I am lacking two crucial ingredients in the recipe for becoming a star rapper: copious amounts of hoes and a variety of area codes in which they reside.

I frantically searched my ‘Inspirational Rappers’ iTunes playlist for reassurance that my rap career wasn’t over before it even started, but I only discovered how deficient my recipe for hip-hop success was.

For example, I spend numerous hours chilling on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a marathon of ‘The Big Bang Theory.’ However, I hardly spend any time chilling at the Holiday Inn. In fact, I have never once chilled at the Holiday Inn.

Similarly, the more money I acquire, the better my life is. Whether it comes from a day of babysitting or a few hours at an unmentionable night job, obtaining additional cash never fails to brighten my day. But it seems my affinity for a full bank account contradicts a fundamental rule of the hip-hop world: the acquisition of money creates conflict. Or as Biggie would say, ‘Mo money, mo problems.’

As I sulked over my hip-hop shortcomings, I counted my many concerns. With this, things started to look up. Although earning money wasn’t causing the necessary problems I needed to become a rapper, I realized that my life isn’t perfect. Good news! I have 99 problems but an expletive for a female is not one of them, just like Jay-Z.

I looked around at my newly cleaned room and realized that I am so fresh and so clean, just like OutKast. And I don’t like the smell of roses too much either.

I don’t know how many SU students have caught their boyfriend or girlfriend cheating, but I can guarantee one thing: When those cheaters were caught red-handed, it wasn’t with me. I feel you, Shaggy, I feel you. It wasn’t me either!

And one thing I know for sure is when it’s the freakin’ weekend, I am definitely about to have me some fun. And I will probably be sipping on coke and rum, asking everyone, ‘So what if I’m drunk?’ while I’m at it, a la R. Kelly. Well, not exactly like R. Kelly —that’s just creepy.

Suddenly, my dreams were back on course. I can be the next big hip-hop star. No, scratch that. I will be the next big hip-hop star.

I simply needed to take a step back from focusing on my flaws and realize all the things I have going for me. There are no reasons not to follow my dreams. Not even a geographical lack of hoes should hold me back.

If there’s one thing to learn from my near-career-ending crisis, it’s this: Just because you are a sorority girl from Texas, it doesn’t mean you can’t become the next Ludacris.

Emmie Martin is a sophomore magazine journalism major. Her column appears every other Thursday. She would like to thank her homies for putting up with her Ludacris jams and extend an invitation to anyone interested in being one of her hoes. Email her at esmart01@syr.edu and follow her on Twitter at @emmiemartin.

Published on January 25, 2012 at 12:00 pm