Atlanta traffic makes me glad I work from home now. When I carpooled with my sister, it was a battle to move just a few inches. Many drivers would instead crash their cars than let you over.

If you manage to get past your adversary, they will be determined to make you pay. They’ll cut you off, ride your tail, glare at you for miles and find creative ways to say f**k you.

Other drivers don’t want to see you win.

The first thing a tourist asks for when they come to the A is Waffle House. Or The Varsity. Or Old Lady Gang. We are known for our food down here. If you see one Waffle House, best believe there is another one or two less than five minutes away. If you don’t see a disgruntled dude smoking a cigarette outside or the menus ain’t sticky, go somewhere else because the food gon' be trash.

The only places that outnumber Waffle Houses are wing joints.

Chicken wings are a food group in Atlanta. J.R. Crickets is the best-known wing spot in the city, but if you ask any ATLien where you can get some wings, they’ll rattle off at least three to five spots. When a favorite wingman closes shop, issa tragedy, and a mourning period ensues.

Man, we love them strippers. Strip clubs are more revered than churches. Our clubs, alive and dead, have popped up in many a song.

Magic City. Body Tap. Strokers. We are the strip club capital of the world; don’t argue.

Then, there’s Freaknik.

It started out as a party for Black college students, but it quickly morphed into the ultimate lituation that took over the city. Every '90s kid in the A wanted to go to Freaknik when we grew up. The following video isn't remotely safe for work. 

We wanted to twerk on top of cars and throw spontaneous parties on the freeway. When it was outlawed, we were PISSED. They tried to bring it back a few years ago, but the feds weren’t havin’ it. Freaknik was legendary.  

If there’s a function, you’re guaranteed to hear "Knuck If You Buck." Negroes from all walks of life live for that song, from the bougie to hood rich. You can thank Atlanta for this hymn. We’ve spawned many a fight song, and no one has been able to get on our level, hoe.

Anyone who wants to argue can catch these bows and move b***h, get out the way. Before the songs made it to trap brunches, it was guaranteed to be a fight if one of these songs came on at the club or a party. My high school actually banned several songs, including "Knuck If You Buck" because we didn’t know how to act.

Time to get woke, y’all. Gentrification is swallowing up Old Atlanta. We’ve lost the Georgia Dome, and Phillips Arena is now State Farm Arena. Breweries and boutique dog collar stores are taking over what was once the hood. Atlanta has the highest rate of inequality in the country, according to Bloomberg. We're still considered a chocolate city, but that is beginning to change. The Kinder Institute reports that between 2000 and 2010, Atlanta lost 30,000 Black residents and gained 22,000 white folks. 

On top of alladat, white folks don’t want to expand our little transit system that cannot. Every time a measure to expand MARTA hits the ballot, they raise 10 types of hell. Apparently, Black folks are gonna ride the red line with their fine china and a big screen television in their laps.

Our transit is racialized because Black people make up the majority of MARTA riders. This racist editorial from white MARTA rider Melton Bennett sums it up:

"I watch as the African-American passengers entering the train look for seats next to other African-Americans, and I watch white passengers seek out other white seatmates. I see the uncomfortable looks of white people who think the Black kid dressed like a gang member is going to sit next to them, and then the sigh of relief as he passes by," he wrote. 

If you ask some folks what MARTA stands for, they might say “Moving Africans Rapidly Through Atlanta.” By the way, that’s incorrect.

This is a common conversation in Metro Atlanta:

Person: I just moved to Atlanta. There’s nothing to do.

Me: Oh? What part of Atlanta do you live in?

Person: I live in Kennesaw.

THAT. AIN’T. ATLANTA.

Neither is Stone Mountain, Sandy Springs, Smyrna, College Park, Lithonia or any other city not named Atlanta. 

Here’s a handy map to show y’all the city’s actual location.

If your home is not in that area, YOU AIN’T IN ATLANTA. I’ll admit, I’m guilty of this sin. I was born in Atlanta, but my formative years were spent 20 minutes away in South DeKalb. I usually tell people I’m from Atlanta because I’m too lazy to explain where South DeKalb is since I live in an unincorporated area. Nonetheless, I know and acknowledge the difference. I’m trying to do better, and y’all should, too.

Atlanta loves fashion, weave and makeup. Honey, there’s a new nail tech, bundle peddler and booster born every minute. We go through great lengths to look good down here. If you want proof, step foot into Lenox Mall. ATLiens don’t go to the mall to shop; we go to be seen.

Hell, our hometown heroes Outkast made the ultimate “I’m cute” song.

“Wipe Me Down,” we’ll let you finish, but “So Fresh, So Clean” is the best vanity song of all-time.

I love my hometown, good and bad. When I say forever I love Atlanta, I mean it. F.I.L.A, n***a!

Oh, and we’re still full. Please don’t move down here.