have the panties become too tight?

before i continue with this entry, a quick update on the happenings in my life over the last few months:

1. got a gig in the atl with old employer
2. postponed move to ny until after i get my degree (1.5 years or sooner if i hump it and double the class load)
3. living with the 'rents until september. let's just say i have plenty of new stories, most of which are both distressing and funny...mostly distressing.

aiight, so i'm back at the blog and wondering what took me so long to get back. why am i having this aversion to writing on my blog after years of steady writing (aiight, mostly steady writing.) i was telling a friend of mine how i've become straight up scared of coming here. it's like putting on weight and being afraid to see one's self in front of the mirror cuz you just know you're not gonna be happy with what you see.

have the panties become too tight? am i no longer able to fit into the confines of my blog? maybe that's the problem. i used to see this blog as a way to free the inside of me. now i see it as a cell caging my creativity. i try to figure out why and have a number of theories:

1. it's just not intimate anymore. think back to the time you went to your favorite watering hole and thought to yourself "man, i love this spot...not many folk here and i can just be me...". then you start hearing other folk speaking on your spot and you get a bit scared cuz you don't want it getting all crowded with folk who can't appreciate it. then UT OH...your fam and close friends hear about it and suddenly you realize that time you got on stage and sang to strangers will never happen again because you know one day you might look out past the lights and see a familiar face staring back at you with that "oh HAIL nawl, this fool is up here looking crazy! WAIT TIL I TELL [insert name of fam or friend most likely to fuck up your reputation] about this shit" look on his/her face. crazy to a few folk is harmless. crazy to many means being possibly institutionalized.

2. some of the people i used to talk about now know about the damn blog. see, this is what happens when you have blog folk as friends on facebook. worlds start crossing and next thing you know folk just 'happen' to find their way to the blog...kinda like the nosey neighbor who just 'happened' upon the buried corpse of a victim in the backyard of the serial killer she says "always seemed so quiet...never thought he'd be capable of murder although he DID seem a bit strange now that i think about it. i mean, who makes coffee dressed in only tighty whities? not that i saw it personally but i heard it from someone in the neighborhood..." i think what freaked me out most was finding out one of my blog friends is actually a facebook friend of my very very first love ever. like, how do they even KNOW each other when they aren't even living in the same damn state?!? the world became smaller and in doing so, let me know i'm not as anonymous as i thought i was. scary thought. i get the feeling one day someone's gonna read the blog and recognize themselves in a story and it's gonna be like that scene in 'the best man' when taye digg's character got the beat down (not that it would ever happen to me cuz i'm not self-sacrificing like him. i fight dirty.)

3. i am constantly editing shit in my head. by this i mean, even before the words hit the screen i'm revising that shit in my mind. i can't just flow no mo. it's like there's a mental detector at the entrance to my mind's eye and all ideas are frisked for imperfections before they're allowed to exit. my creative process is currently existing under military rule and nothing is allowed to leave without all of it's expressions in check.

4. i never finish a story and now the blog is littered with the tombstones of tales who died prematurely because i psyched myself out of finishing them because i wanted the endings to be perfect or didn't know how to continue the telling. if you've been around from the beginning, you know the pattern. i'm good for one or two entries, then nothing. i know alot of it is because i'm putting so much pressure on myself. again, it's me trying to perform instead of me just writing. then there are the readers who tell me almost immediately after i start a story "shit, i don't know why i'm even reading this cuz you're not gonna finish it. LOL" they're right.

so what do you suggest i do to get my blog back? is it even possible at this stage in the game? do i shut this shit down and try again elsewhere or do i just shut this shit down period? ANY insight is appreciated as i'm sure many if not most of you have gone through the same thing.

the danger of 'safe'

"I'm telling you its like therapy..[blogging] Keeps me from hitting the pipe...and you can quote me on that one...lol" - mr. slish

aiight, i will.

he, along with others, have been actively trying to snap me out of my silence. it's been a difficult time for me, not simply because i now find myself unemployed for the first time in almost a decade, but also because i find myself at a crossroads. in the past, when i heard folk say that, i'd be like "what in the fuck does THAT mean?!?"

now i know.

it is at this moment on my mortal timeline when i am paralyzed, my future forked into prongs of possibilities, my present knifed into shavings of indecision, my past spooned into a bowl of listless existence.

this moment when i realize all of the experiences prior to now were merely preparing me for the monumental decision i will soon have to make, the decision which will ultimately determine where my life moves from here.

at this very moment, this crossroads of a moment, i'm writing in my blog and i'm not even sure what happens next.

the writer in me wants to orchestrate the happy ending where i get the dream gig, the perfect man, and the 1.5 kids. at the very least i wanted to be able to come back here and say to you with confidence and perhaps a bit of smugness "hey, i got the job i've always wanted and now i'm moving back to ny where i'm gonna finally began living the life i've always wanted to live. this is the next and better stage of my life!"

instead, all i've got is "shit, what the fuck do i do?!?"

i will probably be offered a gig when i call the hr person back tomorrow. yay, right? the thing is, it means staying in atlanta. now, i've been planning to move to new york since october, even going so far as to travel up there to interview for a few gigs, including the dream gig. in fact, i was told early last week that i was on the short list for the dream gig, and that i'd be contacted as soon as a decision was made.

well, it's been over a week and i've still not heard anything. meanwhile, i might have the gig in atlanta.

and who in his/her right mind turns down a job in THIS economic climate?

even if by taking the job she basically has to readjust her dreams to not include the one place she's been trying to get back to basically since she left it as a child? even if taking the job means taking the safe route?

i've found that for me, 'safe' is dangerous.

'safe' has a way of starving a life of meaning until it's left a stale skeleton emaciated from a diet of empty memories.

i spent over a decade living the 'safe' life, marrying a man who lacked the significance to pose a threat to my heart, but he was the 'good brotha' everyone told me i was supposed to marry.

just like i'm hearing now how i'm supposed to take this job in atlanta because it means saving money and living in relative comfort without any personal challenges because seriously, it'd be hard for me to struggle in atlanta. i will always have a place to live, always be able to find affordable housing, and despite my complaints, will always be able to get a date.

easy.

'safe'.

meanwhile, moving to new york won't be easy or safe. if i go up there without a guaranteed job, that means living off of my severance and last check while i looked for work. it also means no unemployment check because that gig i'd be turning down? it's with my former employer, just in another department.

so it's short money i gotta stretch over the long haul and i might not get a job off the bat. then i'll be living in an old brownstone that in alot of ways is falling apart. no creature comforts, a mouse or two dashing from corner to corner in the darkness, and despite the relatives living in new york, no real support network.

hard.

unsafe.

i know what you're saying right now..."nikki, what the fuck are you thinking? why is this even a debate for you? girl, you betta take that damn job in atlanta and buy a few plane tickets to new york to visit!"

the scared part of me wants to do just that. it wants to take that job and breathe a sigh of relief and get back to work and not worry about bills being paid. that's the same part of me who whispered "sure, he doesn't do much for you, but he's steady and he'll never hurt you..."

that's the same part of me who has dictated my moves for pretty much my entire life.

then there's the other part...i don't even know what to label it yet cuz frankly, it's voice is rather foreign to me. it's the one saying "fuck it! aren't you tired of having folk dictate to you how you should choose the less challenging and worrisome path? they can't live your life for you! yo, just do the damn thing and handle the challenges as they come. believe in yourself! stop doubting what you can do!"

i haven't heard this voice in a long damn time. it was buried under all the pillows covering the path i was walking until i hit this crossroads. my feet never had to touch the ground. i never felt the pinch of a pebble embedded into my heel or the sting of a twig cracking under the weight of my walk, its fractured carcass slicing my skin until i bled into the dirt.

i never felt the lush blades of grass tucked inbetween my toes...

the problem with cushioning is that it can prevent one from experiencing both the blissful and painful moments that define a life with meaning. it muffles the desires of the spirit because usually seeking fulfillment of those desires means getting rid of the cushions altogether. it requires stepping out on faith, which is basically stepping forward with the hope the path is headed in the right direction, regardless of how it's paved. some folk would say that's dangerous.

'safe' is dangerously absent of faith. on the surface, i can convince myself that in choosing to take the job with the worry-free life i am saying i have faith everything will turn out as predicted because of the 'safe' nature of my choice. however, there's nothing truly safe about it. it is in fact mislabeled. it should be called 'stagnant'.

and is it really having faith or just knowledge based on pre-existing patterns suggesting the outcome will be exactly as it has always been? like, how much faith does a person have to have in the certainty 2+2 will equal 4?

in my mind, faith means hoping in the face of the unknown. it means moving forward into the uncertain future with the hope that so long as i keep moving purposefully, the outcome will prove favorable.

faith is rooted not in the equation but the question...

"will i succeed? will i fail? who knows?"

it thrives in the declarative...

"i sure as hell won't know until i go..."

and real safety lies in always keeping the faith...

speculations and observations of weekend happenings pt.1 [private dick]

date: friday, december 12

place: the 'rents

9:35 p.m. - "he's probably gay," i said with supreme confidence.

thirty seconds prior:

me: so where you headed?
dad: to a celebration for a co-worker.
me: what kind of celebration?
dad: he just got his ph.d.
me: oh snap...is he single?
dad: yes.
me: is he gay?
dad: i don't know...

so i employed my equation, known as 'bi, fag, or he am straight' theory:

[(black male + unattached) less than 40 years of age but greater than 30 years of age] + atl resident(ph.d. x self-sufficient) - butt ugliness = 75% probability the cat suck dick better than i do.

9:40 p.m. - "oh, then he's gay," i replied with certainty to dad's female co-worker

thirty seconds earlier:

me: dad tells me you two are headed to a celebration.
her: yes. one of our co-workers just received his ph.d.
me: dad says he's single.
her: yes.
me: is he gay?
her: wow...i don't know...

see, cuz [(black male + unattached) less than 40 years of age but greater than 30 years of age] + atl resident(ph.d. x self-sufficient) - butt ugliness/ a female's inability to determine if a man is attracted to women despite close daily interaction with said male = the only thing left to determine is whether he's a top or bottom.

9:50 p.m. - dad and co-worker laughed, then tell me i don't know what i'm talking about cuz i've never even met the guy. i shake my head in pity at their obtuseness.

sure enough...

date - saturday, december 13

place - the 'rents

10:21 a.m. - "what i tell you...my equations NEVA fail," i uttered with smugness to dad after he related to me the events of the previous night at the celebration where:

1. dad and female co-worker were greeted by co-worker's 'friend', a blazing cat who took their coats, led them into the living room, introduced them to everyone else, then proceeded to hover over them as the unspoken co-host of the gathering.

2. the number of biologically unaltered females in the spot was scarce, consisting primarily of the guy's mom, cousin, and three female co-workers. conspiciously absent was the clingy, possessive sista shooting daggers at anyone trying to move in on her prize. in atlanta, a straight, single, successful black man is required to have one of these on general principle, if for no other reason than to squash the whispering among his homophobic relatives. if there is no clingy female, there should be a high number of either potentials or past pussies in the place to keep the men folk happy. and yet...

3. none of the men there complained about the lack of female tail. i don't know where you're from, but where i live, when the women aren't in attendance, the straight men bounce.

4. 100% of the men there were particularly well-dressed in that 'i pamper myself' kinda way. not that this a clear indication of sexual preference, but when coupled with the fact that none of of the men were pissed off that they'd gotten all dressed up for a sausage party, the answer becomes self-evident.

5. 3 out of 4 men in attendance at some point during the night complained about his weight. 'nuff said.

"will you stop asking all these damn questions, nikki? i get it! he's gay!" needless to say, dad was over me asking so many questions about the gathering. i was out to prove my point, though.

later that evening...

9:30 p.m. - i'm at a christmas party where the guy in question just so happens to be in attendance. having never seen him before, i wasn't sure where to point my gaydar, so i just did a broad sweep of the spot. i began with the room closest to the entrance where there's a game of spades taking place. i do a quick scan of the cozy room after hugging my girl gia who was sitting in one of the seats at the table.

was it the black male observing the game from the couch? i sure hoped not, cuz he's got some really nice dreadlocks and even though he's a bit on the skinny side, he's high yella and i've always had a thing for the yella fellas. the light from the lamp next to the couch reflects off of the band choking the second finger on his left hand. hmmmmz...that's a tactic used by many gay men to discourage women from approaching, so it doesn't mean he's straight. however, as i slide my gaze away from him i can feel his eyes tip toeing over my form in that "i'm faithfully married but can appreciate a nice display when i see one" sideways glance.

straight...

i'm already sipping from a glass of 'nice' on ice, my scrutiny now on the people at the table, where the lone other male was sitting. he was also wearing some pretty nice locs pulled away from his face. his huge nose was prominently featured on an otherwise unremarkable countenance, like vegas erected in the middle of a blank nevada desert. across from him was an older female suffering from the same facial makeup. obviously his mom.

my gaydar was detecting an unidentified object in the area...

i frowned as i returned my focus to 'suspect dred' at the table cuz he's not dressed spiffy at all. in fact, he was looking downright bummy. i take stock of the audience packed into the room, the females vying subtlely (and not so subtlely) for his attention. meanwhile, a gay man isn't gonna be too concerned about dressing well if he's going to a party full of women. why dress up the food if you don't want anyone there to request a serving?

homing in on the coordinates...

gia introduced me to him and after the perfunctory hello, i'm dismissed from his vision. that's understandable cuz after all, he's playing cards. i give him the benefit of a doubt because some cats are just into cards like that.

i sit down in a seat close to the table and watch the game. it's obvious the four folk are skilled, so the room is surprisingly quiet in a house full of festive folk. the hand is a highly contested one, as the mom/son team bid eight books to end the game with a flourish and the opposing team took the bid personal. his momz had misplayed a card earlier and lost them a book, so i was pretty sure they were gonna get set. having won the previous book, his momz drops her card onto the table to begin the last go round.

king of diamonds. m

my girl gia pushes her card to the center of the table, her card landing ontop of the king.

queen of diamonds.

everyone held their breath and remained still, as if movement would somehow fuck up the balance of the outcome. 'suspected dred' held onto his card a bit longer than necessary, whether for dramatic effect or cuz he knew he didn't have shit. then he slammed his card onto the table with authority.

three of hearts.

wtf?

gia's partner looked at the three cards on the table and barked with laughter. her card flew across the table to land onto the pile of cards.

three of diamonds.

i closed my eyes as gia groaned.

"damn" she muttered.

"GET UP FROM THE TABLE!" a masculine voice yelled from in front of me. my eyes shot open cuz the voice sounded kinda hot.

"great game," i said to no one in particular. i look at 'suspect dred' who at this point is texting fiercely over his phone, the lone single male in a room full of beautiful and eligible women...

a room full of beautiful and eligible women who were damn near preening in front of him as he continued to ignore all of them?

evidently the clouds of desperation had rendered their gaydars ineffective.

i mean, even the married guy was flirting with us. i smirked and turn off my gaydar.

sighting confirmed.

"congrats on your ph.d.," i said to 'suspect dred' as i got up to go get something to eat.

"thank you," he mumbled, his attention still focused on his task of texting.

"i'm headed to the kitchen. anyone want anything?" i asked the room.

"yeah, bring me back a guinness will you?" requested his momz in a voice that sounded deep and demanding, the vocal equivalent of a guy pushing his girl's head towards his crotch. i stared at her in obvious confusion. i'm sayin though...she sounded LIKE A DUDE.

"uh, sure." i wasn't sure if i should address her as sir or ma'am. this brought to mind that episode of 'friends' where chandler was trying to determine if he should call his recently sex-changed father 'mom' or 'pop'. not saying she'd had surgery, but that voice was fucking with me, and it didn't help that she'd sat in her chair with her legs spread like she was *this close* to grabbing her crotch to shift something around.

yes, the guy was gay, but he was good folk, so i ain't hating. however, am i wrong for being glad he wasn't my type? i mean, there's NOTHING worse than finding a guy attractive only to discover he's gay.

straight up...don't hate on me, gay men...but i wish all of you mofos were ugly as FUCK. makes life way easier for me.

pt 2 in a few days.

unfamiliar jism pt. 2 [prattle battle]

part one

to recap:

1. it's friday, i'm bored, and suffering from the plasmic punctuation.
2. i've just received a call from a guy, but not just any guy...the dreaded "maybe if i talk to him long enough i can convince myself he's interesting" guy.
3. our drivel skirmish has begun with him asking me about my plans for friday night.

why yes, it is a combination worthy of dry heaving, but then that'd make for a really short entry (which, judging from some of the comments in the previous entry, would be considered an improvement...)

but guess what?

this is MY blog, damnit!

so get ready for the long, drawn out, and probably unfinished version of the story.

aiight, so the battle has begun and i've gotta figure out a strategy that will:

1. get me off the phone in five minutes or less

2. let him know i'm not interested in him 'like that' but am open to hanging out with him so i am exposed to his cute and less boring friends...without looking like sup.ahead da chickenhead.

3. get me off the phone in five minutes or less

so important, i had to say it twice.

my maneuvers include:

the truth: "nothing planned. gonna just chill out here."

the whole truth: "gonna spend my night beneath the covers, squeezed into a painfully tight fetal position while i bleed for eve's sins all over the bed."

or nothing but a lie: "actually, i'm waiting for you to ask me out, as i've thought of nothing but you since we met a month ago."

without much thought, i go with an abbreviated version of the truth, coupled with my first tactical error.

"nothing planned," i say in response, "what's going on with you?"

rule number one in keeping a conversation short:

NEVER, EVER ask a question requiring an answer other than yes or no. it's the equivalent of "thank you sir may i have another?!?"

my intellect is bent over, awaiting its cerebral spanking.

"i've been out of town for the last three weekends so i'm enjoying being at home," he answers, then pauses...thus leaving himself vulnerable to my counterattack.

the bomb falls from my lips, it's descent tailed by a whistling noise as it drops from the sigh...

"cool."

this monosyllabic word annihilates even the most colloquial of opponents. when coupled with just the right amount of emotional indifference, it will not only completely obliterate a thread of conversation until it's little more than the burning embers of intented delineation, it also provides a route of escape for those seeking to be emotionally unattainable...folk like me. in fact, i've used that one more than a few times over the past year, to almost 100% effectiveness:

guy i was fucking who caught feelings during said fucking: "i love you."

me, as i swallowed the panic and urged him to keep the hips moving: "cool."

or

crazy cow (better known as my boss) after she told me i was doing a great job: "by the way...i know we just hired you, but we've been forced to do a departmental reorganization, which means your job is probably gonna be eliminated."

me, reminding myself to put on latex gloves before i strangle the bitch: "cool."

or

physician's assistant during a recent doctor's visit: "here's a topical cream for immediate relief, but you're gonna have to shave all that off in order to get rid of them all."

me, after cursing the guy who caught something else in addition to feelings, with his fast ass: "cool."

or

ex hubby: "my mom is dead."

me: "cool!"

aiight, so the last two were complete falsehoods and perhaps one shouldn't exclaim out loud how cool it is that her wicked witch of an ex mother-in-law is dead, but you get my drift...

anyhow, so i've just dropped my atomic bomb of conversation killers, cheezing into the phone in silent glee as i await erection of his white flag (that is not my pet name for his penis), ala "aiight, well i just called to [insert nonsensical blabber...just get off the damn phone already.]

breath is bated...

as i wait...

then he states...

"so you didn't do much talking last time we spoke. tell me about you."

DAMN DAMN DOUBLE DAMN!!!

he resorts to the most low down dirty, filthy, heinous, devious tactic in the history of repartee combat, a nimble inquiry piercing through my indifference until it exposes the most vulnerable part of me...

my ego.

i try to maintain my distance but i'm growing weaker. his curiosity has cut into my apathy, bleeding it of sarcasm until my response is soaked with the arrogance gushing from my exposed vain.

"hmmmz..." i begin even as i realize my plans for escaping from the cell of this conversation will be nixed for at least an additional thirty minutes (and that's with the abbreviated version where i only speak in acronyms).

i hear a sinister laugh and think nothing of it as i continue talking about all things nikki.

by the time i finish (or run out of breath, it gets blurry there towards the end...) it's 37 minutes into an exchange that was supposed to have ended 32 minutes prior.

"i dig you," he says at the end of my tale, "you seem like an earthy sista."

earthy? what da hell he mean by that?

"what da hell u mean by that?" i ask, my question straddling the fence between offense and inquisitiveness.

"i mean you sound like you're down."

what, down by law? [only atliens will get that reference]

"am i being recruited for a gang or something?"

okay, so i am being purposefully obtuse. really though...who says shit like "you sound like you down" unless they're talking about something foul? the word 'down' has all kinds of nefarious dealings attached to it: down-low, crackdown, downfall, rundown, breakdown, facedown...none of which inspire giddy goodness in a person, feel me? (actually, 'facedown' has potential for greatness in theory, but it's tied moreso to death than sex).

he laughs. i squint my eyes in distrust as i again heard that whisper of menace in his voice.

"no, of course not," he tacks on the end of the chuckle, "i mean you are down to earth."

"oh."

what do i say to that? that's unbelievably trite of you? might as well have said "girl, you deep." like i'm a pot hole or something.

"so i take it you don't have any immediate plans for tonight," he states, thus guaranteeing his election as mayor of obvious town.

"nah, not really."

"aiight," he says, "i have an idea. it'll allow us to get to know each other real well."

skepticism grabs my adventurous nature and tries to pin it down but i have too much time on my hands...tactical error number three billion two hundred twenty-one in this battle.

"okay, i'm in. what's up?"

"let's play a game of truth or dare."

"what?"

ut oh...

curiosity + boredom =

'DAAYUM! YOU GOT KNOCKED DA FUCK OUT!"

with one battle ended, a new one begins...

unfamiliar jism

it's friday night and i'm dangerously bored.

i'm simmering within the debris of my most recent disagreement with redrum regarding his desire to visit. it's not that i don't want him to stop through. however, i already have one houseguest and she is being quite the bitch. she'd shown up early and unannounced a few hours prior and while i am begrudgedly grateful at her arrival, she has come, as always, with weapons drawn. as soon as she stepped through the door she was stabbing me in the stomach, which in turn left me bleeding all over the place and too short-tempered to play the 'whatever it is i am to him' role with any level of enthusiasm. i am NOT in the mood for entertaining anyone else.

so needless to say, i am no more hospitable when the phone rings shortly after i hang up with redrum. i check the caller id...

kirk? the name sounded vaguely familiar...

who is...OHHHHHH

i'd met him a few weeks back at candy's superhero/super villian themed halloween party. he'd come as "i'm too lazy to come up with something original so i put on this deer hunting outfit, grabbed a bow and arrow, and am calling myself 'guy with arrow'". meanwhile, aunt flo had me feeling bloated so wearing my original superhero outfit had been out of the question. for a second i'd contemplated dressing in red, covering myself in tampons, sticking an open can of tuna in my purse and going as 'the crimson bitch' in protest of my monthly visitor's presence, but i'd talked myself out of it at the last minute.


i instead opted for a mini skirt, three inch heels, and a breast-enhancing blouse with two knitting needles holding up my loc'd french bun and a ball of yarn dangling from my waist. i was calling myself 'knit chick'.

i might not be able to apprehend the bad guys with a golden lasso, but i could embarrass them to death by forcing them to wear really hideous sweaters i created like the ones cosby always wore on his show.
alright, alright...my shit was weak but it was the best i could do on short notice (and with very little imagination).

anyway, so it was at this party where i met kirk, an attractive cat colored in columbian coffee tones with a nicely-muscled frame tucked into his deer hunting outfit. i hadn't really been checking him too hard that night as i'd spent much of the time eyeing the chocolate fountain and fighting with that flo heffa, who'd had me *this close* to shoving my mouth beneath the cascading chocolate and drinking it straight from the source.

"hey there."

i was lying naked beneath a fudge downpour as chiwetel ejiofor ran fresh strawberries over the tips of my breasts before feeding them to me one at a time...

"ahem."

"ooooh chiwe! say my name again baby! i love it when you say my name in that stiffly british accent of yours..."

"um, who's chewy?"

i opened my eyes to find my face precariously close to being drenched in liquid chocolate.

pulling up in embarrassment, i wobbled on my three inch heels as i made eye contact with the man attached to the voice interrupting my fantasy. as stated, he was attractive, although i was still dismayed. flo + chocolate = ignoring men no matter how good they look, at least for the first day or two.

"what?" i responded with a mixture of irritation and inquiry. he did the requisite head to toe look without missing a beat. for once i was hopeful he wouldn't notice da girls in their perky glory cuz i was quite eager to get back to my chiwe fantasy. i tried de-emphasizing the bounty, but it was an effort equal to trying to wipe clean one's ass with a blade of bluegrass.

"who is chewy?" he asked again, his eyes no doubt detailing my drawn brows and frowning mouth.

"ever see the movie 'kinky boots'?" i answered with a question.

"that sounds like porn," his sentence fell into a whisper as he stepped in closer, his gaze sharpening upon my features, "is it a porn flick?"

oh good lord...

"no. it's this british comedy with..."

he took one more step towards me, which was placing him about 4.3 inches outside the boundary of my personal space and about 2.2 inches away from a kick to the crotch.

"whoa, cat," my hands came up and landed on his chest. his broad, dieseled chest.

whoa, caaaaaaat...

i began purring on the inside as i commanded my hands to cease with their exploration.

"what's that noise?"

or maybe it wasn't on the inside. horrified, i dropped my hands and turned toward the table to get myself something to eat. flo had me acting like a horny fool and i had to get a grip on the whoremones before i turned into one moaning whore right there in front of everybody.

"this food looks soooo good!" i exclaimed with only a sliver of a fracture in my delivery, "i don't know what to eat first!"

"the little pigs in the blanket are pretty good," he said as he pointed to the tower o' lil swine swaddled in lil dough squares. i dropped a few of those on my plate and made my way down the table, grabbing anything that looked like it was edible. the food was stacked like jenga blocks on my paper plate. i found a place to sit and slid my mountain to a spot on the table in front of me. dude sat down next to me.

"looks like you're hungry."

if it's facetiousness then he gets a point cuz i love a lil sarcasm. if he's making a harmless declarative statement then he loses a point cuz beginning an initial conversation by stating the obvious usually means the guy lacks the abilities necessary to run with it to the end zone.

"are you being facetious?" i asked all hopeful like a child begging for confirmation of santa's existence.

"what? NO," he declared, sounding sheepish, "you have alot of food on your plate, though."

i deducted the point in disappointment and shoved a piece of swaddled swine into my mouth.

just ONCE i'd like to get a decent present instead of always being left to entertain myself with the dimmest bulbs on the fucking tree.

during the time i was eating, he was talking, primarily about himself, but i wasn't really listening. i kept assessing him on the sly as he continued on, looking for something physical to make up for the complete lack of mental i was detecting with this cat. i mean, i was hungry, but i wasn't thirsty, feel me?

for those who don't know, nikki's scoring system is as follows:

mental attributes = up to ten points

physical attributes = up to ten points

boyfriend material = (mental + physical) > or = 15

this pretty much guarantees i won't be dealing with a butt-ugly dummy over the long-term as a guy cannot score lower than a five in either category if he wants to be my boyfriend.

OKAY, OKAY...before i get a bunch of you commenting on the hideous idiots i've dated in the past, i'll admit there are exceptions. if the guy's penis is between eight and ten inches long, he gets two points, which can be used to get him to the fifteen point total, which in turn means a guy can score as low as three in either category and still have a slim chance at splitting the uprights. however, any guy scoring lower than five in the mental category is only ever eligible for fucking friend status. i'm less hesitant about dating an ugly guy cuz at least i know his looks won't change for the worse. once you've hit ugly on the scale, there's nowhere else to go but up. however, i shouldn't be forced to cohabitate with a dumb guy over the long haul cuz the chance of procreating with the fool increases over time and i do not want to have to live with the guilt of populating the world with dumb folk.

i mean, look at what it's done to barb.

luckily for her, there's nowhere to go but up.

and i deduct if the penis is over ten inches long. i'm not looking to get stabbed in the guts. these internal organs are here for a reason and i prefer they remain intact thank you very much.

but i'm digressing...

the thing is...the penis size can't be determined upon first meeting a guy unless i've just given the guy my price list for sexual acts, thus meaning i'm gonna have to resort to the less reliable method...the 'sight test'. i hate the sight test because for one, it means i'm gonna have to find a way to stare at the package long enough to determine a mere guesstimate of the size without being obvious. for two, some men have sight sensors on their penises, thus giving them the ability to know when someone's trying to make contact with the third eye. i don't know how many times i've looked at a man's crotch with the stealth of viet cong, only to glance up and find said man watching me with the "GOTCHA!" grin on his face. for three, it requires i get in close to the crotch of a guy i don't know, which brings its own set of hazards, none of which i need to smell out here.

after convincing myself i was doing it for womankind, i took a deep breath and held it as i dropped a piece of food on the floor and bent over to get it and a gander at the goods on the way up.

his camouflage outfit proved extra effective at hiding the prey from my detection.

another disappointing development.

so i was pretty much stuck listening to him big up himself and losing ground with every word uttered. now i've come across my share of self-absorbed fellas and while by and large the practice of talking only of one's self to the exclusion of others is not a good look, it's tolerable if the guy has an interesting story to tell.

too bad this guy's story was about as interesting as watching a roach crawl across a wall...you're mildly curious in watching where it's headed but only cuz you know you're gonna kill it before it gets there. i painted my face with feigned fascination and settled in for the torture. the only thing saving him from a toothpick stabbing being the looping image in my mind's eye of him writhing on the ground like a roach wrapped in raid after i saturated his face with mace.

i'm sure you're asking yourself why i would bother conversing with him after it was obvious he was not appealing to me on any levels. come on...a single female in atlanta would have to be a lesbian to turn away a single guy. like the leg bone connected to the hip bone, he's the asshole connected to other potential bones, although a sista gotta be careful in the atl cuz sometimes the asshole is carnally connected to the other bones. not that there's anything wrong with it, but i'm not trying to battle my man for the bottom position.

anyway, so at the end of the night we exchanged numbers.

at which point his image was deleted from my memory card.

flash forward to friday. once i remember who he is, i am prompt with hitting the 'ignore' button on my phone, sending the call to voicemail.

he is prompt with calling me back a minute later.

now see, on any other night i would have just hit 'ignore' again, cuz if he's calling me right back, his move reeks of desperation and i don't dig that odor.

unfortunately for me, i am dangerously bored.

so i let it ring another two times, roll my eyes, and pick it up on the fourth ring.

"hello?"

"hello, nikki?"

"yes," i answer, "who is this?"

"it's kirk. we met at ya girl candy's halloween party a month ago."

i let a second pass while i pretend to search for a memory of him.

"oh yeah...you're the fellow rattler. so what's up?" the sentence sounds way more enthusiastic as i type it than it sounded when i said it.


there is a pause, no doubt while kirk notes my lack of emotion at his calling. my mind is now stepping over the fragments of our initial conversation, the jagged edges cutting into my conscious until it's bleeding remembered agony.

"i just called to see what you were up to on a friday night."

i stare into the phone and wonder how rude it would be if i just hung up on the guy. i could play it off like i had phone trouble, which would then make it easy for me to avoid his calls from that point on cuz 'phone trouble' is the visa of all excuses...u can use that shit everywhere and folk just gotta accept it.



but i am dangerously bored...

and he appears to be harmless enough...

a combination that can only bode well for the folk looking to laugh at me in the next installation...

u stoooooopid

the folk who read me regularly know i'm usually very VERY forgiving when it comes to folk and fallibility. however, even i have my limits. sometimes you just gotta call it what it is...

Rapper gets 20 years after writing shooting song


DUBLIN, Ga. – He shot a man twice and felt so good about it, police said, a rapper wrote a song describing the shooting and calling out the victim by name. A judge sentenced 25-year-old Rico Todriquez Wright Monday to spend the next 20 years in prison after his victim mentioned the hip hop confession to police.
Chad Blue, 28, told police he had known Wright before the September 2006 shooting, but that the men weren't friendly. He testified companions egged Wright on as he chased and shot his victim in the thigh and groin.
Later, Blue told police he recognized Wright's voice on a CD, rapping "Chad Blue knows how I shoot."
Wright was sentenced to 20 years for two counts of aggravated assault. He will spend another 20 years on probation.
_______________________

i am without words. too bad he wasn't.

changes a brewin'

"If you knew that you would die today
Saw the face of god and love
Would you change?
Would you change?

If you knew that love can break your heart
When you're down so low that you cannot fall
Would you change?
Would you change?"


i had a few moments of clarity this weekend...

1. i'm not ready for a serious relationship. i thought that was what i wanted...and then he said he wanted to be in a serious relationship with me...and a day later i was looking for a way out of it. evidently i AM the kind of sista who can have casual sex. ut oh...

2. i was casually watching good morning america saturday morning when a segment came on about the signs letting you know you're about to be laid off. i wasn't even fully paying attention to it until they began going through the list and i found myself saying stuff like "wait..my boss isn't really looking me in the eye anymore...and she IS in alot of meetings now...and my list of new projects has kinda stalled...

and then the instinct kicked in and i decided to call my boss to find out what the deal was. turns out they might be eliminating my position. now to be fair, she mentioned it to me in a brief discussion about three weeks ago. here's how it went down:

boss: we are extremely happy with your performance since the last time we spoke on it. you still have a few improvements to make, but overall you're progressing wonderfully.
me: thanks. i appreciate the praise. i've been working really hard to get adjusted to the demands of the position. [we both get up and i'm turning to leave...]
boss: oh yes. one more thing. the associate directors are meeting about reorganizing our department and there is the small possibility that your job might be eliminated.
*crickets*
[i turn to her in slow motion, not sure i heard her right.]
me: wait, are you saying i could be out of a job? when?
boss: well, they're going to be meeting about it at the beginning of november so we should know something by the end of the first week in november. i don't think you'll be affected but i really have no idea how this is going to play out. don't worry about it, though. i'll let you know what transpires.
when i got back to my office, i sat there kinda stunned but i didn't worry, because she said not to worry, right? idiot.
three weeks later and i hadn't heard anything and frankly, hadn't even given it any thought until saturday morning and that segment. after calling my boss, she spent 45 minutes trying to explain to me what happened and why it was looking likely the position would be eliminated.

here's the thing, though...i left a pretty cushy job at another local university to take this gig. i was two years away from being vested, had a shitload of vacation and sick time, was getting my degree on their dime and pretty much had my run of the place. i took the new job because it was more money but also allowed me to get a degree with a pretty prestigious private university for free. when i took the job, my boss told me she had to get special permission to give me the money she thought would be necessary in order for me to leave my other job.

that was eight months ago.

i left a job i'd been in for eight YEARS for a gig that might not last me eight MONTHS? okay, folk. you know i was fucking HOT.

but i played it cool. i asked her how long she thought i would have. she said something about making sure i had time to find another job. i asked her how much time that would be. she didn't know. turns out the salary they gave me they could no longer afford because of budget cuts. in fact, she said they will probably have to change the job to part-time to stay within the budget. she kept stressing the fact that she didn't know for sure if my job would be eliminated or not. the fact that i even had to call her ass to get the heads up on it let me know she would have preferred i be the clueless worker who kept busting her ass and going above and beyond job requirements in order to keep the department running. she doesn't want the worker who knows she's about to be let go. you know that chick...the one who is no longer invested in the department, who no longer stays late or comes in early, who now happily takes all breaks and spends her free time (and perhaps some of her not so free time) looking for a new gig.

unfortunately, that's what she now has.

i was rather dejected after i got off the phone with her. i was talking online to my girl lee at the time and when i got off the phone i told her what happened. three minutes later she had the name of a person i could call regarding a job and a link to where the open positions would be posted. i've been thanking god for bringing her into my life for the last year and times like these remind me of why i should keep thanking him.

then my brother called and i began thinking perhaps things were being orchestrated a certain way for me. i mean, 'swad NEVER calls me before noon cuz he's usually asleep (he lives in cali). this morning he calls though. he's in new york to oversee the replacing of the roof on the brownstone so he's up. i told him what happened and what i was doing in preparation of the possible job elimination. i was sounding sad and scared when he said something to me that changed my mindset entirely.

"i don't know about you, but i'm excited for you! do you know what that means? you can go WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO! you don't have to stay in atlanta! you could move to cali or new york or peru! who says you gotta look for a job in atlanta? you could move to new york, live in the brownstone for free, and go to school if you wanted."

the more he talked, the more i remembered things happen for a reason. i COULD move out of the state! hell, i have no husband, no kids, and no significant debt. i was so busy worrying about what i was losing, i didn't even think about what i was gaining. i'm gaining the opportunity to begin anew somewhere else. i've been wanting to move back to new york for the last four years but it wasn't a possibility while i was still married. it is now, though. the brownstone is paid for, so all i'd have to pay for is utilities and that would be covered by the tenant renting the apartment upstairs. sooooo...i'd be living there for free.

and what's the downside again?

well, actually there are some pros/cons...new york folk will have to help me get this part together:

pros:
no rent/utilities to pay for which means the job pays for eliminating my $2300 debt and putting me through school if i choose.
closer to family
more creative and cultural opportunities, including more material for my writing in addition to everything else.
will be able to personally oversee renovation of the brownstone, even take on some of the projects myself, which is exciting cuz i love me some hgtv and diy network
volunteer opportunities galore...might even be able to make a significant contribution in my immediate neighborhood! right now my immediate neighborhood is comprised of affluent folk (not that there's anything wrong with that, but i do feel a bit removed from reality at times).
relatively inexpensive and extensive public transporation system. i won't have to drive everywhere
socially, i don't see how it wouldn't be an improvement over atlanta in every way that matters to me.
the new york blogger scene is HAWT. i'm ready to meet some of them already!
it's new york...'nuff said.

cons:
it's an old brownstone, with old brownstone issues like the possibility of mice, no dryer and an ancient pipe and electric system. i've been living upscale for a while now and i have to admit to being a bit spoiled. it's gonna require an adjustment for me.
what's with the whole parking on alternating sides of the street? they don't have that nonsense in atlanta...
and speaking of which, how much will i have to pay to have secure parking for my car?
closer to family
it's cold as a corpse's clit up there! i'm used to mild winters and that'd pretty much be over.
safety...actually, i'm not sure about this one. 'swad says the area has improved from when we were shorties watching gun battles go down on the corner (i'm gonna have to tell that story one day).
ghosts. the house is full of them. not sure if i'm mentally able to handle living so in a place so flooded with my family's past.


by saturday afternoon i had hashed out a tentative rough draft of my list of goals over the next 3 months:

1. update the resume.
2. look for a new gig.
3. get car fixed (was in a car accident about a month ago...the same day i was set to give a presentation breaking down the importance of my job but missed because of said accident...how's THAT for timing?!?)
4. see all pertinent doctors so i can get all my shit checked. on the slim chance i'm not employed by the time i move, i gotta make sure i have no serious health issues to contend with.
5. figure out what stuff i'm taking and what stuff i'm putting on craigslist to get rid of.
6. formulate a 'bare minimum' budget to find out the absolute minimum amount of monthly income i'll need to generate in order to live in new york.
7. finish all work projects which includes building two databases from scratch. (my pride won't let me completely slack at work, no matter if i'm out of a job or not.)
8. figure out what to do with my current sexual situation. he jokingly suggested he move up there with me. then he realized i wasn't laughing. i think when he gives it serious thought, he'll realize we're better off as just sexual partners. at least, that's what i'm hoping.

so in the end, change is good. it always is, so long as a person sees it as a chance to become empowered, not left helpless. i won't become the victim of the outcome. i'm gonna be the victor because i choose to initiate that change.

and if you wanna say a few prayers to help me along the way, i won't be mad at it. :)

election meme

1. where were you when you found out obama was elected president?

in a family friend's basement laying on the couch, by myself. it was an election party, but right before word went out he was the president elect, most of the folk left. the remaining folk were upstairs watching it in another room. i didn't want to be up there cuz they were rowdy and i wanted to hear the coverage.

2. what time was it?

10:59 p.m. eastern standard time

3. what was the first thought that went through your mind when you found out?

wait a minute...did i just hear that right? five minutes before i was staring at the television and obama was sitting on 207 electorates. then i blinked, and dude had 297. it took a minute for my mind to register what i'd just seen.

4. what network coverage were you watching at the time you found out?

CNN

5. who was the first person you hugged afterwards?

my mom. she ran down the stairs and we hugged while she was crying. i was still too stunned to cry.

6. who was the first person you spoke to on the phone?

my brother called me. we literally just sat on the phone in silence, every now and again one of us would mumble in awe "i can't believe this..."

7. know anyone who voted for the first time in this election?

believe it or not, my 76 year old grandmother voted for the VERY FIRST TIME in this election. i was shocked when my mom told me, because grandma grew up during the time when black folk were fighting for the right to vote, so i'm thinking she would have immediately began voting after the voting rights act went into effect. unfortunately, she was one of those folk who didn't believe in the process and felt disenfranchised. i learned during this election that there were ALOT of older folk voting for the first time.

8. name one person you wish were alive for that moment. what would that person have said?

my granny. she was a cynic and no doubt would have been disbelieving right up to the end but when he won, she would have said "that dude won it! that dude won it! that's a bad dude!"

9. give one aspect of obama's message that resonates with you.

the idea that there could actually be unity within the united states. not unity in that individuality is eliminated, but unity in that everyone is working towards the goal of becoming a better nation of people. his message of bi-partisan cooperation. i'm feeling that.

10. when did you vote? how long was the wait?

i voted the day of, early in the morning. my wait was approximately twenty minutes.

11. was your state red or blue at the end?

mine was red, but my city was blue. however, the rural counties ultimately made the difference, the bastids. it was the closest georgia has been to being a blue state since clinton ran in 1992.

12. when did you truly believe obama would win?

i didn't truly believe until they said he'd won. yes, i'm too cynical for my own good. however, given america's history, i have every reason to be.

13. what will you do/are you doing to aid in spreading the message of change?

i am stepping up my efforts in volunteering within my community. i've slacked off in recent years and i think my inactivity has contributed to the feeling of helplessness i was feeling.

14. what do you think will be obama's biggest challenge during his first few years in office?

i think it's gonna be hard for him to get support across party lines, at least on a significant scale. think about it...if he's successful, the republicans might never get another person in office because the idea of unity will always be associated with the democrats. then again, that's a pretty cynical view...maybe it won't be that hard...

15. what does his win mean for black people?

not a gawtdamn thing unless his win is a catalyst for ACTION not just AWE. sure, little brown babies will now see a brown face in the the most powerful position in the world. however, whether they truly feel empowered will be as a result of the efforts of the folk whose faces they see everyday. expecting his win to eliminate the pervasive self-hatred and helplessness within underserved communities is like expecting a band-aid to heal cancer. however, there is no denying the positive impact of seeing brown faces in the white house running the country instead of just the kitchen. i'm just hopeful his election won't be permission for folk to sit back and wait.

16. did his win confirm racism is a non-entity in america?

HELL nah. however, it did confirm at least in my mind, that racism can BECOME a non-entity in america...i think.

17. do you think he'll be elected for a second term?

i don't know...i mean, tyrone willingham was only given three years to turn around notre dame before he got the boot. folk might not have alot of patience with obama. despite the fact that the current state of america was eight years in the making, folk might actually expect obama to flip shit in less than four years. however, i'm hopeful the american public is smart enough to realize it'll take longer than four years to get america back in shape.

18. do you know anyone who voted for mccain/palin? if so, who was it?

this guy i dated briefly. i'm not a hundred percent sure cuz it has been some months since i've spoken to him and he was pro-mccain prior to palin being chosen as his running mate. however, he, being an economist, felt mccain's tax plan was more realistic than obama's. and yes, that was one of the reasons i ended our association. actually, let me stop fibbing...it's the only reason i broke up with him. i mean damn...mccain? SERIOUSLY?

i'm not tagging anyone cuz i just made this thing up. feel free to answer the meme in the comment section or on your own blog.

no, you really don't know..(a repost)

given the monumental day, i figured i should repost this, as no doubt the next president feels the exact same way, and i'm hopeful that today's events will be the catalyst in spreading this mindset among the folk who still feel hatred or pity towards themselves and/or their situations.

"I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all. I do not belong to that sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal. Even in the helter-skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seen that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more or less. No, I do not weep at the world — I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife." - zora neale hurston

i will never apologize for being who i am, nor will i apologize for other folks insecurities regarding my existence. i'm black and i'm proud and if you feel threatened by that, that's on you. i'm not here to take away from you, i'm here to build my own. i don't covet what you have because i know i'm responsible for getting what i want. i know my own value. i won't let you define me because that ain't your job or your right. i don't need you to validate me. please know my first priority is checking myself and my folk before i even CONTEMPLATE checking you. i don't measure my shine by yours as there's enough light in the world for all of us. loving me doesn't mean hating you, it means LOVING ME.

LOVING the black woman i am with the thick legs i got from my granny and birthing hips i got from my momma and the unadulterated coffee brown beauty i got from africa

LOVING how i rock it loc'd and laugh at those attempting to mock me

LOVING my soupcatcher lips that can strip the flesh from a chicken bone or suck the moan right out of a man

LOVING how i can 'speak to my peeps like dis' or 'expound in exacting vernacular to them like that'

LOVING that i can 'write about folk fucking' or 'compose prose on the comparison of his strokes to the soft petals of a rose'.

LOVING my skin's ability to ward off weapons of destruction, bear invisible tattoos of past hurts encryptions, yet still be so magnificent as to surpass all words of description

LOVING my BIGNESS - my ideas, my aspirations, my laugh, my ass

LOVING the baggage i discard one piece at a time

LOVING the sense of empowerment that comes with knowing that no matter what you say or do, I control THIS ri'chea.

LOVING the rainbow reflected in my soul...my blue moods, my red rage, my green experience, my yellow fear, my black thoughts

LOVING what makes me uniquely nikki

and not ONE of you mothafuckas can EVER take that away from me.

is he?

i really think my dad is stepping out on my mom. i've got all kinds of scenarios in my head of how i'd confront him with it, but the truth of the matter is i can't really say shit. i mean, if i tell him i know, then i'd feel bad if it's confirmed and i don't tell mom, and i can't tell mom cuz that's between husband and wife. on the other hand, he's the worse liar in the world and i'm SOOOO over with him trying to come up with new lies to tell (or worse, thinking the old ones can be recycled when they didn't work the first damn time he told them...)

mom's been out of town for the last two weeks and it seems like dad has been extra liarful lately...

dad leaving a message on my mobile: hey nikki (pause) i'm gonna be going to the movies tonight. i'll give you a call sometime later tonight.

now here's the thing...if i were doing dirt, i'd call someone with the place i'll be which includes a time at which point i'll call them back so that they don't call me. he was smart there (besides the pause, which is suspect...i mean, do you have to think about the fact you going to the movies? you either going or you not, right?)

so dad calls later that night (quite late for a guy who went to the movies around 6 p.m.) and i'm like "wassup, dad."

dad: i'm gonna be heading to the okefenokee swamp tomorrow. i'll be there all day.
me (after giving the phone a hard side eye...yeah, i got that from opinionated diva): really? what you going down there for?
dad: i'm gonna be taking photos.
me (now adding the side 'oh really now' smirk to my face): oh. you going with newburn? (that's his photography buddy who he hasn't hung out with in YEARS...)
dad (after a pause of about three seconds): yesssss. i'm going with newburn.
me (after waiting for him to add "yeah, that's the ticket!" to the end of that statement): okay. so you gonna call me when you get there, right?
dad (now trying to catch up with his daughter who he evidently thought was fee dee hut da eee dee yut): well nikki, we won't be near any phones.
me: dad, are you serious? you do have a mobile phone. you're calling me from it now. (when you could have just called me from the HOME phone, seeing as you're trying to imply you're HOME.) if i tried to go on a trip and not call you to let you know i got there safely, you'd have a fit.
silence...probably while dad tried to come up with something else to say. didn't think it would be this fucking difficult, did you daddy?
dad: well i'll be leaving pretty early in the morning.
me (after saying to myself "what the fuck does that have to do with anything?!?): um, okay. and when you get there, just call.
dad: okay.

i spent the remainder of the night stewing on that, cuz my instinct is telling me his ass is lying. next day rolls around, i get no phone call from dad. i call him early afternoon...no answer. later that night, i get a call from him. now, i want you to guess what happened:

a. there was no phone signal at the swamp, which is why he didn't call.
b. he didn't go and his phone was somehow misplaced for an entire day....which is why he didn't call.
c. he comes up with some elaborate reason he didn't go and doesn't even bother to explain why he didn't call.




me (so cynical at this point i don't even wanna hear what he come up with): hey dad.
dad: hey nikki.
me: so how was the trip?
dad: well, we didn't go. something happened to the van and [insert ridiculously elaborate tale about a van, a chick he mentioned by name who was evidently going with them (but was never mentioned prior to that moment), a few other women who i think were added to the tale cuz it was beginning to sound like he was going somewhere with just the one chick and he had to cover his tracks, three french hens, two turtle doves, and a father who's up a shit creek with that bullshit lie he pulled literally out of the crack of his ass. oh...and absolutely no mention of newburn...]
ten minutes later...

me: so you didn't go.
dad: no, but we're gonna go to helen, ga tomorrow.
me (after rolling my eyes cuz really...i want to be like "just stop. you are truly insulting my intelligence here...): so you're gone the whole day?
dad: yes.
me: well call when you get there.
dad: okay.

next day comes and goes. i don't speak to him until the day after that day(monday), at which point he tells me he went to helen, ga, then to the movies. i'm shaking my head the whole time. whateverz.

on tuesday, i called him to ask what movie he'd seen. i said it was cuz i was going on a date later that night and wanted to know of a good movie to check out. really i just wanted to see what he'd say.

me: you left a message saying you went on friday and then you told me yesterday you went on sunday. so what did you see?
dad (after another fucking pause): i saw the rocket. that movie about ernie davis.
me: really? who's in it?
dad (and i quote): i don't remember. that black guy. you know who i'm talking about.

at this point, i am NO LONGER ABLE (also picked up from opinionated diva). i cut the convo short and get off the phone.

OMG...MY DAD IS ONE OF THOSE MEN! reality is a bitch...

aiight, so here are some questions:

1. do you think he's cheating? i mean, it's not like i caught him with his pants down, but his lying is beyond atrocious.
2. have you ever had to deal with a cheating parent? what did you do?!?
3. if you haven't dealt in it before, what would you do?
4. how do you continue to be around someone who obviously cares very little about the damage he's causing to the family?

the battle continues...

the beginnings of the battle can be read here



"listen to me, nikki. there's a reason you don't feel right about this..."

"STOP THAT!"

"i know you're a bit weak right now..."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"but don't ignore me just because you don't like what i'm telling you."

"ARGHHHH!" pussy screamed, "I'M GONNA KILL THAT BITCH!"

she charged straight towards her target with murderous intent, but was restrained moments before she could reach her.

"and whatever you do," after a quick glance in pussy's direction, instinct rushed to finish, her consonants crammed into a bloated plea, "don'tlistentoyourpussy! she'stheonewho gotyouinthismessinthefirstplace!"

then with a smirk thrown at pussy's crunchy visage, she scooted to her chair where she made a tired slide into the hot-pink microfiber folds of the plush cushions. once seated, the protective shield auto-activated, her glass of red kool aid rising perfectly chilled from the left arm, a krazy straw gangsta-leaning against the lip. she reached for her refreshment, her attention on pussy, who was now dancing with rabid grace against brain's restraining arms, her mouth emitting an empty menace at once absorbed by the protective shield. instinct shot her the middle finger, then pressed a button on the right arm of the chair, putting it into reclining position with a simultaneous massage action. pussy and the others vanished from instinct's view as the force field around her went opaque.

"AAAHHHH!" instinct sighed in relief, "i loooooooooove this chaaaaaaaair!"

she settled into the ergonomic curves, offering another silent thanks to the anonymous benefactor who sent it weeks ago. the time following the arrival of the chair had been the equivalent of world war lll. prior to that there had been months of relative peace as nikki dated a number of men, none of whom inspired enough emotional or physical investment necessary for internal conflict. a fragile truce had been established between brain, pussy, and instinct during this time. heart had been sent away to fortify her defenses shortly after nikki began dating following her divorce. heart, after years of living a functional existence, had been eager to bask naked on nikki's sleeve and soak up some male attention. unfortunately, she was unnecessarily bruised due to premature exposure. dating is a brutal business and heart was simply too weak to be an active participant, at least during the initial stages.

so brain, instinct, and pussy had held down the fort. all was well until the first major skirmish...the guy who was the really good kisser but couldn't hold a conversation with both hands and a bucket. pussy had witnessed potential in his soft lips and was already anticipating him working them over her. brain on the other hand had fallen asleep on more than one occasion during nikki's attempts to maintain a conversation with this cat.

nikki, desperately sifting through discarded topics to recover something worth discussing, had latched onto the (usually) tried and true conversation saver with guys.

"so, i remember you saying earlier you enjoy watching sports," she began with marginal excitement, "i'm a HUGE nfl fan. what about you?"

"definitely not," he replied, the words draped elegantly in his disdain, "i don't get off on grown men tackling each other over a ball. i prefer [indistinguishable cuz at that point, nikki had tuned his ass out.]

"THAT'S IT," exclaimed brain over his babble, "HE'S GAY."

brain stormed from the area, her exit wiping all semblance of intelligence from nikki's face. nikki blinked, her lack of cognition shooting blank looks into the sudden silence.

"uh..."

"oh SHIT. nikki sounds like an IDIOT," pussy panicked, "if she doesn't get her shit together i'm NEVER gonna get fucked!"

she turned to instinct, who was lounging on her then mildly uncomfortable plastic folding chair, kool aid in her left hand as she watched the theatrics with surprising indifference. instinct lifted her brow in response to pussy's pained perusal.

*silence*

pussy's stare was now twisted from profuse pleading. instinct became confused. this wasn't typical pussy behavior at ALL.

"surely you don't expect me to do something about it," instinct yelled in disbelief, "my work here is already done and i didn't even have to put down my drink!"

and then it happened.

pussy's lips began trembling.

her facade fell in pubic misery to the floor.

there was some loud sniffling...then...

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"oh my god," instinct watched in complete shock. pussy was wailing like an infant. her normally beautiful face began to resemble asshole with her lips all dry and brittle and pursed so tightly instinct was sure they would implode into themselves.

the glass fell from her fingers to crash on the floor as she jumped up from her seat.

"I'M GOING TO GET BRAIN!"

instinct ran from the room to retrieve brain. pussy watched her leave.

"what a dumb broad," she muttered as she turned to the controls and flipped on the mic.

"nikki...here's what you need to do..."

instinct caught up with brain, grabbed her without speaking, and began dragging her back to the control room.

"you ain't about to leave me there by myself with that crazy heffa," instinct was mumbling to herself, her steps hurried with worry, "you're gonna FIX THIS."

"what the hell are you talking about?!?" brain questioned, her irritation evident as she snatched her arm from instinct's grasp, "who's the 'crazy heffa'? oh NO. WHAT DID NIKKI DO?!?"

"it ain't NIKKI! it's PUSSY!" instinct shouted in exasperation, as she turned to face her. "see, i can deal with her bleeding, you know, cuz it has nothing to do with me, right? but then that chick started PLEADING..."

brain gasped in horror.

"it gets worse."

brain stood frozen in anticipation.

"that heffa had the nerve to WEEP!"

"GETDAHELLOUTTAHERE!"

brain begin running towards the control room at a frantic clip.

"oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit!"

"i know! that's what i said!" instincted gasped in breathless bursts from behind her.

brain and instinct crashed into the room just as the monitors show nikki kissing the guy.

"OH SHIT!" instinct and brain both bellowed.

pussy was leaning against the control panel, contentment contorting her features into pre-coital bliss.

"yeeeeeeeessssssss" pussy moaned, the creamy contents of her mouth dripping onto the floor.

"damn," instinct and brain both turned away from the disgusting sight of pussy slobbering all over herself. brain pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and reached behind herself to blindly offer it to pussy.

"PLEASE clean that up."

"really, that has go to be the nastiest thing i've seen in bodily functions," instinct said.

"you must not get out much," brain answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

brain and instinct decided to ride it out, primarily so they could shut pussy up, if only for a little while. unfortunately, they'd forgotten how messy she could be. instinct retreated to her chair, ultimately being forced to stand on it so she wouldn't mess up her keds with that creamy shit all over the floor. brain, after years of having to wade through folks bullshit, was already wearing a rubber suit along with a pair of thigh high thick-soled, stain-proof boots.

things were going well for the most part. instinct and brain kept themselves occupied while pussy tried to get her rocks off. they didn't dare leave the room for fear pussy would have nikki do something crazy like declare her undying love for a football-hating loser. it's one thing to kiss him, but to declare any kind of affection would have been blasphemous.

brain was doing a crossword puzzle when she felt pussys presence in front of her. brain looked up. pussy was no longer happy.

"you're right. we gotta get away from this cat pronto."

brain was perplexed.

"what do you mean? weren't you just enjoying this guy and his kisses?"

"that was then, this is now. get nikki out of there."

brain gave pussy another strange look, then got up and walked to the control panel. she flicked on the mic.

"nikki, he hates football. get the fuck outta there."

instinct, who was caught up in her x-men comic book, looked up just as brain sends the command to nikki.

"what's up?"

"pussy said we gotta get nikki out of there, so that's what i'm doing." replied brain.

instinct cast a suspicious look at pussy.

"what happened, pussy," she asked as she crossed her arms, "you put us through all these fucking changes and now you ending the game prematurely? what gives?!?"

pussy didn't answer for a minute, still stewing over the fact she wasn't gonna get laid. when she was calm enough to speak, the words were pushed through clenched teeth.

"nikki felt his crotch."

"oh. NO." brain moaned, "dude sporting a wee wittle wee wee?!? isn't this cat like 6'2?!? how he gonna be that tall and have a little dick?!? that's false advertising! tall = big dick. shit, it's right there in the anatomy books!"

"maybe we should get nikki interested in the short guys again. their dicks weren't tremendously long but a few turned out to be the thick tree trunk kind," instinct chimed in.

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?" pussy exclaimed. "it's not that he had a small dick! y'all know i ain't that damn shallow!"

brain and instinct both looked at her like she had grown a second head. pussy bristled.

"oh come on!" the words burst from pussy's lips after a few moments of disbelieving silence, "nikki had her hand down there for about three minutes before she found his balls. y'all know that's a DEALBREAKER for ALL OF US!"

brain ran to the control panel to find nikki fishing for a way to extract herself from the situation.

"my goodness. is this woman COMPLETELY HELPLESS without me?!?"

she turned on the mic and yelled.

"JUST TELL HIM YOU'RE A LESBIAN!"

instinct and pussy fell out laughing.

nikki was confused for a minute, then came up with the brilliant way to get rid of the football-hating loser.

"i'm so sorry," she stated with care for his feelings, "but i just remembered i'm a lesbian."

then she grabbed her purse and got up to leave, remembering at the last minute to put a butch pimp to her gait.

back inside, brain was cringing.

"that was NOT a smooth outro. see, this is what happens when we don't work as a team."

instinct and pussy nodded in agreement.

"i think we should make a pact here and now to work together," brain began in earnest, " otherwise, we're gonna have nikki looking bad and then she's gonna be unhappy and when she's unhappy, we ALL suffer."

so it was on that day instinct, brain, and pussy made a pact to work as a team to ensure nikki's happiness.

things went well for about a week.

and then nikki met redrum and suddenly all bets were off.

questions to be answered in the next episode:

1. where da hell is heart? is she coming back?
2. who sent instinct that chair...that seems kinda suspicious
3. will redrum be enough to satisfy everyone or will pussy be the one to rule the day yet again?!?

idiot in bold

this has been one of those surreal weeks i keep thinking isn't really happening because shit is too crazy for it to be reality.

for the record, i'm required to tell you folk my celibacy is officially over, at least for the time being. he made a point of looking at the blog this week to see if i would mention the fact that he blew my back out, so here's the requisite "he blew my back out" statement.

aiight, back to regular programming...

so as i said, this week has been one of those crazy weeks. it began with the 'blow out' session sunday morning, followed with an immediate case of 'catching feelings' ignited by the intense nature of said session along with the fact that nikki really hadn't had it put on her like that in...okay, to tell how long is to really tell on myself, but safe to say it had been more than a hot minute...try hot decade...

so i caught feelings...was thinking about this cat all day sunday, into monday morning, into monday evening enroute to the roots concert...

5:12 p.m.: i'll be at the roots concert tonight so u won't be able to reach me 4 a few hours. starts at 7:30.

5:57 p.m.: oh. uh-huh

5:59 p.m.: i knew that was coming. that's why i'm taking photos

6:09 p.m.: flirting & out & about - ok then

6:12 p.m.: i told u how i felt about u. that hasn't changed. however, i can't bank that u feel as strongly as i do. i can't cut myself off based on 'maybe'.

6:42 p.m.: oh, so guess u still want 2 see others then.

6:44 p.m.: HELL nah. not even a little bit.

6:48 p.m.: well then, just don't date other guys and/or accept their advances and it'll be all good!

7:02 p.m.: i had no intentions of doing so. however, you're asking me to place alot of faith in this situation when u aren't even sure u want to be with me.

[okay, what's taking this mofo so long to answer me?!?!?]

7:35 p.m.: enjoy the show then & u be good!

[nice sidestep, shawty...]

7:38 p.m.: i'm always good

7:38 p.m.: i mean BEHAVE!!!

7:39 p.m.: i always behave

so now i'm at the concert venue, lounging in a chair, nursing a second pale ale and simmering on all the signs from the weekend letting me know i done fucked up by fucking this cat...

when the unthinkable happened...

7:53 p.m.: u thinkin bout me?

8:06 p.m.: it's obvious you aren't as into me as i'm into u so i'm gonna let u do u. it's aiight. i had a great time this weekend. thanks for that.

8:15 p.m.: what the f u talking about? why folk always gotta be jumping 2 conclusions? can i get a minute 2 breathe here?

8:19 p.m.: i am being totally unreasonable, i admit it. however, it's quite simple. if i was still making myself available romantically to others after this weekend, u would question my sincerity. either u feeling me or u not. there shouldn't be doubt there.

8:21 p.m.: i worked today. i am trying 2 nap 4 a bit now. please chill! please give me a minute here!

8:22 p.m.: u said it yourself. u know early if u want to be with someone and u don't waste time. i don't want to get hurt. i like u too much.

8:25 p.m.: i like u too! i didn't mean like a day or two. i meant i know after a few months of dating someone.

8:30 p.m.: okay. that's cool. like i said. i know i'm being unreasonable. i don't fall often but i do fall hard. i'm sure you're protective of your feelings too. no one wants to be open for rejection. i rather just end it before that happens.

8:33 p.m.: u wanting 2 end it already so u don't get hurt???

8:37 p.m.: i don't want to end it. i'm sayin it's hard for me to be cool when i feel so vulnerable towards u. i'm sure u have ended a situation before if u thought they were just hanging onto u until something else showed up.

8:42 p.m.: u just hanging onto me until something else comes along? what?

8:45 p.m.: no. i'm saying that if u felt that was the case, u would end it before u were rejected. in my case, i have no guarantee you're not dating or pursuing other women, so i have to wonder if i'm the one u r holding onto until something better comes along.

8:52 p.m.: of course i'm feeling u!-geez- can i get a minute to breathe here? i'm tired. call u tomorrow.

9:24 p.m.: of course i'm feeling u-geez-can i get a minute to breathe here? i'm tired. call u tomorrow.

9:26 p.m.: i got the message. i'm stepping back so u can get your moment to breathe. talk to u tomorrow.

aiight, a few questions of an immediate nature popped into my head after this exchange:

1. what in the FUCK were you thinking?!? you have NEVER engaged in the act of tipsy texting! you laugh at OTHER PEOPLE who tipsy text!

2. WHERE IN THE GAWTDAMN DID YOUR SWAGGER GO?!? come on...the sex was spectacular but ain't no friggin way you should have let it steal your swagger so easily. this cat got you acting like jill scott in 'insomnia'...changing you from a woman of substance into a woman sheer from insanity!

3. really nikki...why did you fuck him? i know you said you just wanted to take the edge off of the horniness but THIS is the reason you don't do casual sex. if it's bad, you can walk away. however, if it's good...he gotta beat you off with a 'get up offa me bitch' stick...after the pepper spray and taser don't work.

4. what you gonna say to him later? i suggest it be something along the lines of "some chick just grabbed my crackberry and started texting you. by the time i got it back from her, she'd said all kinds of crazy shit to you. i would apologize for what was said, but it wasn't me, so no apology is necessary, right?" if that doesn't work, tell him you have multiple personality disorder cuz you damn sure acted like a crazy heffa.

5. do you even want him like that? sure, it wasn't just the sex that made him appealing. so dude is smart, well-read, funny, quirky, and you have all kinds of things in common on top of the fact that he's highly sexual. look how he got you acting? is he bringing out the best in you or the worst in you? it looks like he got you feeling more than a little insecure about yourself, and that ain't NEVER good. NOBODY gets that kind of power, sista. you betta recognize and hold firm to your beliefs about yourself. if this is how things are gonna go, then no matter how good the sex is or how many things you might have in common, you gonna have to bounce up outta there.

6. do you like yourself right about now? i'm guessing that's a no. go back to question number five and think about that one again...aiight, now reflect on it ONE MO TIME.

7. you're talking to yourself AND answering. NIKKI, YOU ACTING CRAZY! this means you're probably dealing with what is commonly referred to as cocaine dick, an adicktion affuckting alot of females (unfortunately administered by only a small number of dick dealers being reused among the chickenheads). the only known cure for this is to run in the opposite direction AS FAST AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE.

8. what in da hell is 'this'?!? what is there to end when there ain't nothing started?!?

later that evening dude (from here on known as redrum cuz he had me flipping over killer dick) and i spoke on the tipsy texting incident and ultimately laughed about it, albeit in that slightly uncomfortable way, kinda like when a friend tells a joke that's offensive instead of funny but you don't wanna call him/her out on it so you give the weak laugh hoping he/she see it wasn't funny without you having to tell him/her so.

we still don't really know what's up. he gets jealous if i'm talking to other guys, but he isn't ready to 'make this official' and frankly, neither am i. on the other hand, he doesn't want me dating other guys until we know what's up with us and i'm not much of a fan of the 'wait and see' thing. man...i long for the days of emotional detachment when i could literally love 'em and leave 'em cuz i knew from jump i wasn't gonna let myself get close.

i can't even say i didn't see it coming. i'd been playing with fire for months. there was no way i was gonna keep working myself up before my defenses would melt beneath the heat of that need.

so now i gotta deal with the repercussions of my sudden move. we'll see what happens. in the meanwhile, i'll just sit back and savor those moments from this weekend past when i finally experienced physical intimacy and contemplate how i cheated myself, cuz it would have been so much better had the emotional intimacy been there, too.

i wonder if we can even get that now.

honestly?

thanks to one of my sistas in crime, ms.behaving, for giving me an award for doing what i'm supposed to do. i wonder what sperm donor is gonna get the 'taking care of his kids' award cuz he sent the baby momma some money for diapers.

The rules that accompany it are as follows:

# When you receive the prize you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back.

# Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or more) that you find brilliant in their content or design.

# Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing they were prized with ‘Honest Weblog’.

# Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize (optional).

# List [if you can and or dare] at least ten honest things about yourself.
# And then, pass it on.

aiight...here goes:

1. as soon as i uttered the words "i do" during my wedding i knew i didn't mean them. i spent the rest of the day and subsequent four years trying to convince myself i did.

2. when i heard whenever you're around by jill scott, i swore she was writing about me cuz i was once emotionally unfaithful to my ex towards the end of our marriage. sure i was unhappy and it was pretty much over, but there really is no excuse for that shit. i wondered if i'd ever consider myself to be trustworthy again.

3. i was secretly hoping he would cheat on me so i would have a reason to leave. one time i even checked his email account hoping he was corresponding with another woman and was disappointed when i realized he'd been faithful.

4. i haven't had an orgasm during actual intercourse in over a decade. before? sure. afterwards? no doubt. during? no.

5. speaking of which...there was a hiccup during my ten months of celibacy. i just don't count it as sex cuz it only happened once and was the equivalent of a person being presented a bowl of sand as the first meal after fasting for a year. therefore, i didn't have sex. i had 'what the fuck was THAT shit?!?"

6. looking at how miserable my parents are in their marriage was actually one of the catalysts for me ultimately leaving my ex. married almost 30 years...that's supposed to be an accomplishment, right? i don't care what nobody say...if i've been incarcerated for almost 30 years, ain't shit to celebrate.

7. i masturbate almost everyday. the only time i go longer than five days without masturbating is when i'm on my cycle.

8. i have never ever made love while on my cycle. i was recently offered sex during that time of the month and when i told him i was on my cycle, he was like "and? that's some of the best sex EVAR!"

9. sometimes i feel like being nola darling and keeping a few men around to satisfy all my needs instead of spending so much damn time looking for the one guy who only satisfies most of them.

10. after i was raped, there were a few years i was sexually confused because i thought i wasn't attracted to men. then i slept with a woman and my attraction to men was suddenly restored.

*whew* that was relatively painless...NOT.

here are the folk i pick for the honesty award:

la
ladylee
terry
mike
honey
aquababie
amadeo
que
eb
diva
hawa

hop to it folk.

why you wanna go and do that pt. 3

part one
part two

as we made our way to the bedroom, the falsetto notes of a lover's lust made melodic thrusts 'tween the sighs of a tight silence.

"...six on a thursday night 'n u be jonesin' babe
for a brotha to hold u tight 'n keep on goin' ..."

"maxwell?" i asked without expecting an answer as a smirk shaped my lips, "damn, fingaz...you got this down to a science, huh?"
his chuckle was a gutteral sound scratching the air around us.
"uh, i'm serious," i deadpanned in response, feeling like the lone discordant note in an orchestrated song of seduction.

here's the quandry, folk...on the one hand, i do expect my lovers to be relatively experienced when it comes to sex and its variants. however, the skill of the truly experienced lies in the ability to make it all look as though it occurred spontaneously. i can recall a few times when i went to a brotha's house for dinner and next thing you know i was on my back with my legs in the air and the only thing i remember before that moment was being kissed senseless. i couldn't even be mad at it. all i could do was admire the skill necessary for him to get me from arrival to bent over and butt-ass naked before my mind caught on. it was literally like i was just walking along, tripped on a hairy crack, and landed on a dick.

unlike the guy sitting there wearing jeans but no underwear, his hand on the condom in his pocket, a burned cd of 'skrait fuckin' slow jams set to go when the cd player detects a sista's panties are at 90% saturation, and red or blue lights on a dimmer switch triggered by the the sound of her bra being unclasped. it's kinda like when i'm driving on a highway in the backwoods and i see a billion signs on the side of the road warning me about "mabel's sex imporium up ahead" and there's the continual image of this blowsy white chick with a bad bleach and boob job skeeted onto a huge billboard like semen onto an intern's dress. then i gotta see that same shit for the next hundred miles until finally it's at the next exit and all i wanna do is go and burn down the spot so the crabs won't spread.

in other words, seduction should be subtle, not something to beat me over the head until the only reason i've acquiesed is because dude has knocked me unconscious with it.

and come on...'til the cops come knockin? dude might as well have played 'we be strokin' for all the subtlety the song provided.

"'guy who evidently took notes on seduction from the movie 'american pimp' next...should we exit?"

i could actually feel my pussy drying up like a puddle of water beneath a desert sun.

and then we arrived at the intended destination. he opened the door to the bedroom...and i stopped cold.

"'bedroom reminiscent of an infected prostitute's twat' in next two feet"

it was like walking into the folds of an enflamed vagina. every last inch of it was drowning in various blushes of red. the room was dominated by a king-sized platform bed placed dead center like a distended vulva while the carnal glow of a blood-red bulb cascaded down the walls before staining the black satin sheets with its plasmic splash.

edit...it was like walking into the folds of an enflamed vagina during aunt flo's visit.

not.a.good.look.by.HALF.

i sniffed in covert bursts, sure i would get a wiff of some topical medication meant to get rid of a pesky std or the rotting odor of a discarded tampon.

"so evidently," i stated in a matter-of-fact tone after a full minute of my gaze creeping across every inch of the room from the scarlet curtains to the cardinal carpet, "you dig red."

he winked at me.

and then i hear this whirring noise.

that is NOT what i think it is...

my gaze shot towards the bed as i squinted fiercely just to be sure i wasn't seeing things.

the bed was...

VIBRATING?!?

"'infested prostitute twat with vibrating dildo shoved into it'...straight ahead."

"fingaz," i quelled the gasp sitting at the back of my throat, "that is NOT a vibrating bed."

"actually, it's not."

i breathed a sigh of relief.

"it's a cra.ftmatic," he finished proudly.

*crickets*

did he just say...

i began shaking...

oh.my.goodness. my nipples hardened into painful points. i crossed my legs to squeeze out the desire that had sprung with sudden intensity in between my thighs.

folk, you don't understand...

this bed is made for fucking. period. now i'm sure the commercials advertise it as an adjustable bed perfect for old folk with bad backs looking to get a good sleep. meanwhile, it's quite obvious this bed should be marketed to the folk with bad backs who like exotic sexual positions but not the back strain that goes with them (that would be me). do you realize how many positions can be accomplished with this contraption?!?

as far as i'm concerned, a cra.ftmatic bed should be just as essential to sexual activity as condoms.

my decision to bounce was no longer so easy to make.

let's run down the list of pros and cons, shall we?

cons:
his game was the fred flinstone feet of finesse.
that bedroom had me thinking about my time of the month.

pros:
his genes had delivered a pretty sizable package to the front of his pants and i was ready to sign for it.
his was the bed i'd been dreaming of fucking on for at least a decade.

a split decision...shit.

i ran my hand reverently over the mattress, my mind still muddled as to what i should do. however, i knew it was important to play down my excitement until the votes had been tallied.

"nice bed," i muttered, straining to keep the awe out of my voice, "where'd you get this? it must have cost a fortune!"

there was a slight pause before he spoke.

"um," he began, hesitance in his stance, "i inherited it from my gran-gran after she died."

i snatched my hand from the bed like the sheets were on fire.

"wait a minute," i said, "is this the gran-gran you told me passed away at home?"

he nodded.

"so you're saying..."

"yes," he interrupted, the words dropping from his lips like timed bombs, "she died on this bed."

*crickets*

*grasshoppers*

*frogs*

there simply aren't enough insects/amphibians to list how much silence was encompassed in the subsequent moments as i digested that bit of news. saying i was speechless would have been the understatement of the century. i was feeling like the infant who had yet to discover the existence of words. my mind was blank. all i could do was stare at him in horror with my mouth slightly ajar.

"y-your g-gran-gran...," i gulped the bile down, the words falling like corpses into a grave silence. he nodded in slow motion, as if by doing so my mind would be able to better understand the implications.

my glance ran from his face to the bed and back again. there was a new addition to the 'con' list and it was pretty huge. i mean, i have never to my knowledge fucked on a bed where someone else had died. frankly, i had a few questions for fingaz:

1. how in da hell could he sleep on the bed, let alone FUCK on the bed his gran-gran died on?!?
2. wait...that's about it.

so i asked straight up, cuz i thought it was the equivalent of boinking on top of a corpse.

"dude," i whispered with a shiver, "how could you..."

"fuck on gran-gran's bed?" he finished for me when it was obvious i was having difficulty stitching the inquiry to my lips.

"um...yeah..."

pause

"well," he began with a sigh, "i try not to think about it. i just remember gran-gran when she was well, not when she was sick."

shiiiiit. speak for yourself, buddy.

if there was such a thing as a clit retreating like a turtle into its shell, i'm thinking that's what my clit did. there was just no getting around the fact that he expected me to fuck on top of a grave. fuck all the 'pros'. somebody had died on that bed and i wasn't 'bout to get on it. i could get the death cooties or something.

FUCK DAT.

GROSS BASTID.

i turned to leave.

"i'm sorry, but i can't do it." i said as i practically ran to the living room. i was stuffing my feet into my sandals and grabbing for my keys at the same time. i wasn't even gonna say goodbye. shit. this mothafucka was crazy! he reached for me just as i opened the door.

"WAIT!" he burst, his fingers wrapped around my hand on the doorknob, "you can't leave like this."

"yes da hell i can!" i responded, a shiver splintering my spine.

and then this fool pulled me back to him, nestling his dick right in between my butt cheeks as he wrapped his lips around the skin on the side of my neck. he began nibbling with sensual intent. i squeezed my eyes shut, my toes curling as i felt the moist pressure of his mouth...and then his tongue...SHIT. his dick lengthened until it felt like a small tree against my back.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

"let's make happy memories on that bed," he whispered into my ear as his teeth tugged on my earlobe gently. i could feel myself getting wet again, my clit throbbing terribly. i sighed with resignation.

damnit, i was about to fuck this cat on a deathbed.

"sista too horny to know better than to get the fuck out...right here..."

part four will come eventually...LOL

the truth about cats dating dogs

you two have been talking on the phone religiously for about a week now after meeting online and now the first date is set. you're a bit nervous because you really like this guy, even though you have a few reservations about him you choose not to acknowledge because he's cute according to the pictures you've seen of him. plus, he's been so attentive (well, as attentive as a guy on the phone can be). after all, he texts you a few times a day to find out what you're doing right before he calls. that means he cares what you're doing, right? so what if during many of the conversations he confuses cynicism with callousness. that means he's got an 'edge', and that goes ever so nicely with his high level of intelligence. so what if his curiosity about you doesn't extend much past asking questions he knows will make him sound as if he cares, i.e. "how was your day" or "what you doing"? if he wants to know more about you, he'll ask eventually, right? (one guy actually told me that recently when i asked him if he had any questions for me. needless to say, he didn't make the cut).

see, these are the kinds of things folk ignore, yet they're the most glaring evidence when it comes down to figuring out why first dates don't extend into second dates or relationships end early. dating again has provided its share of rejection as well as rejuvenation for me. the nikki from about fifteen years ago would have been sitting by the phone after the first horrible date, eagerly waiting for mr. bonehead to call. the nikki of today sees the signs way ahead of time and while she's still a bit slow with acknowledging incompatibility, it's only cuz shit...she's ready to fuck already...

so after some time in the field, i've come across some self-evident truths that need to be recognized. they're put in the easy to decipher "if...then" scenarios...

1. if the guy likes to make generalizations about the entire population of the human race, then he's probably a close-minded asshole. my most recent first (and last) date began quite dubiously with the following exchange:

him: people are stupid.
me to myself: i really hate when folk say shit like that...
me to him: how so?
him: people don't want the truth. they say they want the truth, but they can't handle the truth.
me to myself: i really like that scene when the judge was like "and the witness will address this court as Judge or Your Honor. i'm quite certain i've earned it." my panties were a lil wet after that...
me to him: what do you mean by that, colonel jessup?

he was not amused.

the point is, i still ended up making out with this guy, even though one of the first things he said to me on the first (and last) date had me thinking he wasn't 'the guy'. why? um, haven't you been reading? NIKKI IS READY TO FUCK.

wait...the OTHER point is that dude:

a. made a sweeping generalization and called everybody stupid.
b. he pulled out that 'truth' shit, which always irks me. when i eventually asked him what was the truth according to him, he gave me the blank stare.

meanwhile, the close-minded asshole STILL got to taste the nikki lips. i have simply GOT to be more discriminating...

2. if he says he's 'selective' when it comes to women, then it's best to assume he's talking about the women he selects to be his girlfriend/wifey, not the women he selects to fuck. col. jessup told me he had high standards when it came to choosing his women, i guess with the delusion that i would somehow feel better about myself because he had chosen me to date. when the petting got to the stage where the question of sex came into play, he was like "my animal instinct is taking over."

me to myself: what are you, a transformer?
me to him: i'm attracted to you, too. however, you know i don't do casual sex. you told me you were selective.
him: i am, but sometimes my animal instinct just takes over.


me: aiight, bumblebee.


again, he was not amused.







the thing is, i should have seen that one coming because of the conversation we'd had about a day prior to the date:

me: you know, some women out there are naive enough to believe that when a guy invites her to his house at night, he's not gonna rape her if she says no to sex. they shouldn't be punished for being naive.
him: but the odds are he's gonna try her if she's there. she shouldn't be over there. it's almost like she's asking for it if she is.
me: so you're saying men don't have the wherewithall to control themselves? that's utter bullshit. if that's the case, i should never be alone with a guy ever cuz i might get raped.
him: if she doesn't want him trying to fuck her, she doesn't need to be at his house alone with him.
me: so folk can't kiss cuz kissing is automatic foreplay to fucking.
him: i'm saying the odds are against her not getting fucked.

there are like fifty billion clues right there in that one exchange, yet i still found myself at his house on my back with my bra unfastened.

speaking of which...

3. if he was the one who unfastened your bra yet doesn't at least offer to help you refasten it, then you're dealing with a selfish and/or non-attentive lover who will not listen to you when you say "move it a lil over there" and/or will fall asleep as soon as he's got his, whether you get yours or not. this one simply cannot be overlooked. it's the equivalent of a guy telling you he just shaved off all his pubic hair to get rid of the crabs. act like you know and respond accordingly (which is the equivalent of getting the fuck OUT of there). as i stood in col. jessup's bathroom straightening my bra, i berated myself for allowing it to get that far when the misgivings had pricked my skin until my attraction for him had bled out.

4. if, after the date and make out session, he says "i'll call you." then it's a 99.9% chance he's not gonna call. come on, you know what's up. if a guy is still interested, he'll be like "call me when you get home." shit, he might even call you as soon as you leave from in front of him. however, when he says "i'll call you" what he's really saying is "don't hold your breath." that's what col. jessup said to me and i knew that was the last time i'd be seeing him. what's so funny is that i actually felt bad he rejected me, despite the fact there had been numerous moments throughout our association where i was practically smacked in the mouth with our incompatibility. in fact, i was sure i wouldn't want him to call me. however, i wanted to be the one to reject him, not vice versa.

which reminds me...

5. if you're thinking during the phone/online conversations that you're not a good match, then don't let his physical attractiveness (or your horniness) cloud the issue by meeting him in person. i don't think this is applicable to all situations, but there are times when what a sista needs to do is walk away. phone conversations happen for a reason. there is a high level of information exchanged...desires, beliefs, ideas...all crammed into conversations for the purpose of either confirming or denying compatibility. don't dismiss that info and bank everything on the actual meeting just cuz he's cute. when you hear that voice in your head say "well, that's not cool but i can live with it i think..." or "i'm gonna change his mind about that..." then you already working from a deficit. just know you won't be able to live with it and you won't be able to change his mind. if you meet in person and the physical attraction is strong, you'll have even more incentive for getting with a guy you know isn't right for you. physical attraction doesn't equal compatibility.

as i lay in my bed at the end of that night, having already deleted col. jessups number from my phone, my ego stumbled through the many potholes of my poor decision-making that day, leaving it both chagrined and bruised.

but perhaps a bit wiser.

and me a whole lot hornier.

reclamation of september 11 for its original purpose...

dear lil bro,

loving you hasn't always been easy. being thirteen months apart in age didn't automatically make us close as kids.when you first hit the scene, all i knew was i was no longer gonna be the center of attention and i was having none of it. i can admit to this now that we're adults...yeah, that was me hiding your diapers in the trash. i loved to watch you cry out in discomfort cuz you were waiting for someone to change you. it made my lil toddler heart leap with joy. plus it had the double benefit of making you stink so much, no one would want to hold you. yes, i was a nefarious lil thing even at the age of two.

you have to admit it though, you deserved it. you were just too damn cute for your own good. i used to hate looking at you because i had to begrudgedly admit you were one of the cutest kids on the block (behind me of course). you had that smooth dark chocolate skin and those big ole baby cheeks that made you look like you were always blowing bubbles. i used to look into those soulful brown eyes of yours and think to myself "i really wish i could kill you and get away with it..."

yeah, you were adorable and i couldn't STAND yo ass.

well, let me rephrase that...i didn't really like you, but for some reason i had a really big issue with other people teasing you. remember when you were in first grade and i had to kick that dude ricky's ass because he called you midget cuz you were so short? never mind the fact that i laughed when he said it (i thought everything that boy said was funny). when i saw you burst into tears though, i think i blacked out or something cuz next thing i know, i'm standing over ricky's sprawled ass on the grass and he's got a busted lip with blood all on his shirt. i'd had a crush on ricky, too. you were ALREADY cock-blocking a sista.

and it was sooooo your fault i got those thirteen stitches in my leg at seven. i know it was my idea to put the hamster cage in the bathroom so he could watch us take a bath. however, i'm pretty sure i wasn't the one who suggested leaping over said cage into the bathtub. you better be glad i didn't get a spanking for that. that's the only thing that saved you from feeling some serious big sister wrath.

remember when i was molested and you blamed me for it? yeah...not cool. however, you were only six when it happened so it's not like you knew any better. unfortunately, it took me a number of years before i got over the guilt from that and it took even longer for me to trust you with my spirit again.

thank you for apologizing for it when you got older.

then there was the time we were running down that really steep hill and i tripped over a rock and fell and cut my hand really deeply. i was all dusty and crying and bleeding...and you were laughing your ass off. you told me you were laughing at spi.derman...i still don't believe yo ass.
i used to hate/love how you'd fall in love with a line from a movie and then commence to repeating that sucka for at least the following six months. i hated it when it was "braxton...get out the car...go home..."(r.i.p. richard and robert) and loved it when it was "HOLY MOLY! IT'S THE KILLER!" (r.i.p. scatman) or "redrum...redrum...redum...redRUM...REDRUM! REDRUM!" (you know that movie STILL scares the shit outta me).

no, it was not a good look when you kicked me in the head and knocked me unconscious. mom and dad took you out of karate class after that. i really enjoyed being able to truly terrorize your ass for the next eight years without any fear of repercussions from you after the 'rents said you couldn't hit me no matter the circumstances. that was like being able to commit all kinds of crimes and having a 'get out of jail free' card to bail me out every time. sweeeeeeet.

your favorite phrase to me when we were growing up was "IMMA TELL MOMMA!" and yo ass would tell, too. meanwhile, you were right there with me doing the dirt, but i was the one who got in trouble cuz i lured you into doing the dirt with me. i felt, even at that age, that i was being treated mightily unfair. come on, you should have gotten the strap for being so fucking gullible! folk shouldn't be rewarded for being sheep led off the cliff.

i still get hot when i think about that time you told mom i was up the street kissing marcus. damn, a thirteen-year old got NEEDS. marcus was the love of my life that week and it was soooo not a good look when mom came and snatched my fast ass out of his driveway. it took me WEEKS to live that one down at school.

then again, turned out marcus couldn't kiss worth a shit, so i guess you helped me out. good lookin', kid.

you were good for looking out when i was still the young girl growing into her body. i remember you giving the mean mug to all those dirty old men and filthy young men who were eyeing me as i made my way down the street. you, still about a foot and a half shorter than me, barking like an angry lil puppy and snapping at their feet if they dared look at me like 'that'. you were such a fearless little thing and so very protective of me.

i know you didn't really like it when i beat down those two guys who were messing with you on the basketball court when you were eleven, but surely you didn't expect me to sit back and let them push you around, right? i mean, i was all for knocking you around every now and again just to keep shit honest, but that's a right reserved to big sisters! meanwhile, i still can't believe i took them both out, but you started whimpering and it was a wrap. next thing you know, i'm stomping them both in the ground like dust. luckily i didn't have a crush on either one of those ugly mofos.

and then there was the christmas of my fourteenth year i wasn't supposed to get not one gift because i had gone behind mom's back to be in the class play after i'd been caught forging my report card. i was sooo not looking forward to that morning and the propect of finding nothing for me under the tree. i remember waking up that morning and finding the teddy bear you bought me with your own money, just so i would have one gift on christmas. it was indeed the only gift i got that christmas and it is the most treasured gift i've ever received. i will be buried with that bear right next to me, u hear me? BURIED WITH THAT BEAR.

that following summer you shot up five inches and surpassed me in height had to be the darkest summer of my entire LIFE. i remember looking down and no longer seeing your face...then the slow and painful climb of my eyes up your suddenly taller form. that smirk on your face made me wanna punch you right in the mouf. my heart sank as i realized my days of pushing you around were officially over. i can still hear you and mom laughing at me cuz i was crying at the fact you were taller than me.

when you told me you were following me to famu, i was both ecstatic and full of dread. you are NOT an easy person to live with and that year we lived together was no exception. i have never lived with a higher maintenance man in my ENTIRE LIFE. when you called mom to whine cuz i wasn't cooking for you, i thought you were a punk. there was plenty of ramen noodles and pinto beans and tuna in the cupboard. you should have stopped that whining shit and made you some ramen pinto tuna casserole or just drink alot of water. that's what i did. you did the next best thing though...got you a girlfriend stupid enough to cook for yo ass instead.

no, i totally didn't appreciate your cock-blocking tendencies re-surfacing then, either. wally and i had been dating for a year before you got there, so i wasn't sleeping around. there was absolutely NO need for you to confront him and tell him he didn't need to be sleeping with me and that he snored too loudly. then you had to tell mom, who told dad, who suddenly wanted to drive down to beat wally's ass. i was SO GLAD when you moved out.

when you graduated from college, it was like i was walking across that stage with you. i thought about all the men in our family before you who hadn't gotten their degrees and all the boys after you who then knew a college education was obtainable because of you. i know for a fact you are the reason most of our younger male cousins have gone off to college. you are the bridge between dreams and reality. all of our family alive, dead, and yet to be born, thank you for that.

as adults we have cultivated our relationship to where now it is the strongest bond i experience in my life. you are my confidant, my cheerleader, my moral compass, my spiritual guide. you love me unconditionally and listen to me faithfully and without judgement. let's not get it twisted...you still get on my nerves every now and again. sometimes i shake my head at you cuz ain't nothing else i can do.

meanwhile, if you ever doubted it, here's the real...you are the person in the world i would die for happily and without reservation of any kind. my love for you shows me i have the capacity to love unreservedly and selflessly and constantly. your love for me shows me i am deserving of all the things i dream of.

you're my buddy, my ace, my lil bro.

i treasure you.

happy birthday, 'swad.

stones and glass houses

he's 30+, lives at home with his parents, plays video games daily, and owns a 100-pound silicone doll with three fuckable orafices, who he refers to as his girlfriend.

that mothafucka is PATHETIC.

i was introduced to this guy while watching the documentary love me, love my dolls on the b.bc ame.rica channel last night. for the first five minutes, my mouth was completely agape while my stomach turned just a bit. it was difficult for me to wrap my mind around the image of a guy putting makeup on a doll's face, brushing its hair (while referring to 'it' as 'her') and saying things like "she's laying in bed asleep...we had a really satisfying morning session you know..." while the narrator says "he had to exchange her 'awake' face for her 'sleeping' face". i was real quick to label each and every guy as a pathetic, anti-social loser who was probably doing us women a favor by shoving his penis into artificial pussy. i mean, would YOU want a guy like that fertilizing your eggs?

but then, isn't it a relief to see someone you perceive as being 'worse off' than you are? the guy with no feet looks at the cat with no legs and thinks to himself *whew...at least i've got my legs!*

on the one hand, that's definitely the positive way to look at things. the focus shouldn't be on what one doesn't have, but what one has, right?

however, there are times when that kind of thinking can make one positively obnoxious. many of us (me included) sometimes fall into the pattern of seeing other folk handle their dilemmas in a way we judge to be 'pathetic' or 'desperate'. i mean, my situation is bad, but it ain't THAT bad, right? shit, i might be a divorced and relatively embittered chick with no trust in many of the males around her and doubting her worth, but surely i'm not as bad as the guy sticking his dick in a chick with no clit who can't twitch in response, right?

meanwhile, the advantage of being one of the guys in the documentary is the fact that the challenges are tangible. folk know exactly what they get if/when they get with these dudes. however, there is a portion of the remaining population of folk who sleep with, nuture, and hold on tightly to, the spirit sucking companions from past relationships.

instead of seeing the doll sitting in the chair and knowing she's got some work ahead of her, many of us get the guy with issues we need an enigma machine in order to decipher the code in his behavior..."okay, so he didn't call when he said he would. does that mean he's trying to end it without saying anything or is he just really busy?...that's just what eric did to me, right before i found out he was cheating on me!"

or the sista a cat can't figure out without a book of translations..."she told me nothing was wrong with her yet i can feel her rolling her eyes at me when my back is turned so now i gotta walk on egg shells all night cuz i know something is wrong but she acting like it ain't...that's the same shit nicole used to do..."

shit, at least with the doll i know who the enemy is.

as i think back on the guy who was massaging his doll's feet and how i derisively laughed at his barren task, i am reminded of all the times i've fruitlessly fondled foolish fantasies, fully expecting an erection of perfection to appear before me.

how different are we really?

another one said it was just easier to hold onto his doll girlfriend because he wouldn't be lied to or cheated on or have to work at feeling comfortable.

probably just as easy as it's been for me to hold onto the anger and resentment fueled from previous relationships where i was lied to, cheated on, and never found emotional comfort.

one of the guys said he was too ugly to get the kind of woman he wants. his skin was terrible, his teeth were jacked up, and his looks were just totally unappealing (his words, not mine). so in his mind, it made sense to take his destiny in his own hands and find him something that would provide satisfaction in his otherwise unsatisfactory existence.

how many times have i said to myself i wasn't smart enough or beautiful enough or good enough for happiness? shit, even if i didn't say it, my actions were telling on me cuz i would do things like remain in emotionally unfulfilling relationships or unhappy situations because i believed i wasn't 'enough' of whatever i needed to be in order to actively go after my dreams or be in something better. i found satisfaction in my inaction. as long as i wasn't dreaming, i wasn't responsible for changing anything.

being back on the dating scene has provided almost daily skirmishes with the words meant to pummel at my esteem. rejection has a way of making one second-guess her appeal, even when it was obvious the brotha was not 'the one'. i've fallen into the old habit of wondering what it was missing from my attributes instead of seeing it as just the wrong match. i've actually said to myself recently that it must be something about me that was making him act that way towards me. can you believe that shit?

i was straight up trying on his issues like i was ready to purchase those mofos...checking myself from various angles of lonliness, bargaining the price of my pride for a chance to choke myself within the fraying cloak of his insufficient affection.

funny how his issues were tailored to fit me, so long as i was still wearing my own...

anyway, so further into the documentary is one guy who has eight dolls and the potential for a living, breathing girlfriend (lbg). eventually he would introduce lbg to his dolls. lbg was creeped out, but she said she had no problem with it, so long as he didn't desire sex with the dolls over sex with her.

a week later, she broke up with him.

i think on the times i've introduced the man in my life to my issues like they were valued relatives i wanted him to embrace...then got mad when he was like "um, nah." i mean, how dare he not want me and my distrust of men and intimacy issues!!!

then i think on the times when i've rejected a guy because he wasn't as flawless as he appeared to be from afar. i got wind of his less than positive attitude or emotional distance and he was removed from the rotation without further notice before i even found out why or for that matter, realized that he had other qualities which made the emotional investment in him worth the effort.

another guy in the documentary stated his dolls were used as a 'stop-gap' of sorts...the in-between pussy found while one in search of a more meaningful relationship with an 'organic female' (i am not making that phrase up...). he said it took the desperation out of the search cuz he was having sex, so he could look for a girl for something other than sex. in other words, the doll was his cut buddy.

now who can't identify with THAT?

i've had 'stop gap' relationships where i dealt with guys cuz i didn't want to be alone, even though i knew they weren't gonna be 'the one', no matter how long they were around. i went out on dates, kissed them, fucked them, and the whole time i was thinking to myself "if only someone better would come along so i can stop fucking with this guy..." sure, it takes the desperation out of the search, but how ready could a sista possibly be for 'the one' when she still got the smell of 'the other one's semen on her breath?

in the light of a gray morning made bleary from doubt's reign, i was humbled by the parallels found in the existences of a bunch of 'silicone girlfriend fucking' guys to that of a celibate sista dating in the atl.

yet another reminder that one should never point at another with the silent relief that "at least i'm not THAT cat..."

the quest for happiness is a universal one and i can't belittle someone else just cuz i don't get down with the path they're taking to get there.

cuz i damn sure respect that journey.

when i almost wish i had been 'that chick'

if only it had been...


don't...

my pleas were shriveled whispers of feeble weeping dying on the whine.

don't leave...

i was lying in a puddle of my own pride, wrung from me as i reached from supine position to grab at the shadow of his pant leg.

don't leave me...

sniffles squeezed from my nostrils, yanking at the line of snot sliding towards my upper lip. i continued lying on the floor, my cheek pressed to the carpet, each breath wretched from me in choking gasps, my swollen gaze stitched to the area of his exit.



instead of...

me: "i'm out. left the key to the front door on the kitchen table."

him: "aiight."

me: "bye"

*whew*

i wouldn't feel as though the years with him was an existence void of emotion.

i got a divorce for THIS shit?

friday, august 22
10:11 p.m. him - i see you
me: SHIT, olegirl! rell is here! *furtively glacing around*
olegirl: who is that? is that the guy you met at dudleys?
me: hell yeah.
i look around but don't see him.
10:13 p.m. - where u at
no answer. i'm beginning to get perturbed. then i'm thinking he's not there and he's just fucking with me.
10:31 - u a lie. what am i wearing?
11:05 - white shirt, blue jeans
shit! he IS here...*furtive glances graduate into bursts of frenzied searches*
11:07 - arizonas
now i'm basically looking every cat in the face like i'm trying to decipher the code in his conduct. a few of them mistook my intent look for interest, which led to a few abrupt words exchanged along the lines of "um, i'm looking for someone...no, not you." 'perturbed' is now full blown irritation.
11:11 - did i look u in the mouth earlier?
olegirl: is that him? i turn and see this well-dressed cat, brown-skinned and relatively non-descript in looks for the most part but he had a certain swagger. i shrug.
11:16 - if i did i don't know. forgot what u look like. LOL
11:17 - nah i walked by u and ur girl
i had to think back...i remembered only two guys walking past our table. one was the cat with the swagger. the other was...the only way i can describe him is by saying he was a wide load sporting black clothes and a chain dangling from his pocket. he was standing relatively close to our table, the sweat glistening from his brow and sliding down from his temples in rivulets. dude just looked hot and moist, but not 'horny vagina hot and moist', this was 'hairy asscrack after a long workout while wearing tight polyester shorts hot and moist'. i was not impressed.
me to olegirl: oh SHIT. you don't think THAT'S him do you?!?
olegirl just snickered. aiight, irritation was evolving into mega pissed. i wanted this shit over.
11:20 - brown pants?
11:37 - u don't remember me
11:40 - okay. when did i see u last? a month ago. how was the lighting? dark. don't be insulted. i wear glasses for a reason.
olegirl gets up to go to the bathroom. while she's gone, a guy walks in front of me. he glances at me for more than a sec, then looks forward. i'm thinking "that's rell..."
me: rell?
dude doesn't answer. stupid me thinks he just doesn't hear me.
me: RELL?!?
i tap the guy on the shoulder. he looks at me like "oh shit...should i know this chick?"
me: are you rell?
dude: errr...i don't think i'm the person you're looking for.
now i'm REALLY pissed cuz not only am i feeling ridiculous, i just accosted a decent looking dude and he's looking at me like i'm crazy. dude gives me one last 'yous a crazy bitch' look before he melts into the crowd. olegirl comes back.
olegirl: i saw you when you stopped him. i tried to get back to let you know he wasn't the guy.
me: how you know?!?
olegirl: rell doesn't have a mole on his face.
me: oh my goodness! what if rell saw that shit go down?!?
we both laugh at the miscue. a part of me is seething though cuz this fool got me on the lookout. i HATE the idea of a cat looking at me from some clandestine spot. i've been stalked before. NOT a good look. i am now officially fed up.
11:49 - why don't u just come to the table and stop playin
11:50 - i left.
WHAT?!?
11:52 - why would u not stop and say hi? really rell.
11:53 - cuz u wuz chillin nik
11:56 - fa real. games are 4 kids. u gonna tell me u see me but not stop through? what kind of shit is that?
11:56 - i walked right by you
11:57 - and didn't stop. what were u waiting for?
11:57 - u mad?
11:59 - any other time u don't wanna be bothered
11:59 - yeah, cuz we been talking on the phone almost a month yet yo ass can't stop and say hi. u gotta send me texts talkin bout you see me. that's some bullshit.
saturday, august 23
12:00 a.m. - lets get up tommorrow. stop by.
12:02 a.m. - nah. u want me to stop by your house when you couldn't stop by my fucking table? nah. fuck that rell. do ya thing papi. out.
me to olegirl: PLEASE tell me this ain't the norm. EVEN IF YOU GOTTA LIE. olegirl just shakes her head.

next day me and olegirl are at phi.pps plaza buying shoes when i get a text.
4:43 p.m. - can we chat about last nite?
*beer face* when i see who sent it. getdafuckouttahere. then i'm thinking perhaps i was too hard on the brotha. i mean, i definitely don't wanna be that sista who doesn't give a brotha chance to explain himself.
4:50 p.m.- sure.
me to olegirl: you will never guess who this is.
olegirl: PLEASE don't tell me it's that tired brotha from last night.
i nod. we both sigh. a minute later the mobile rings. i look at olegirl and roll my eyes before answering.
me: hello?
him: so what's up? you mad?
me: i'm mad at myself for putting up with that shit last night for even a minute. i let it distract me when i should have been having a good time. [and perhaps a little embarrassed that i ended up accosting some cat who wasn't you]
him: here's the deal, nik. i was there with someone.
me: WHAT?!? *rolls my eyes HARD* so you're telling me you were texting me while you were on a date with someone else?
*crickets*
olegirl, who hears my side of the conversation, lets out a groan that sounds like "i told you these brothas ain't shit."
me: why didn't you just say you were there with someone? you know that's tacky, right?
him: come on nik, you not mad are you?
me: my god. are you serious?
him: i'm sayin...now you know why i couldn't just stop and say hello.
me: dude...why in da hell were you texting me while you were on a date?
him: i wanted you to know i was checking you.
me: this is the part where i say i feel special cuz you made the effort to tell me you were 'checking me' when you were with someone else? my god, why am i still talking to you?
him: what can i do to make it up to you?
me: you're not my man, so ain't shit you need to do other than to lose this number. i ain't desperate enough to fuck around with a cat like you. peace. * i pull the phone from my ear and shake my head disbelievingly.*
me to olegirl: can you BELIEVE this fool?!?
olegirl: get ready, cuz there's more where that came from if you're dating men in the atl.
*pause*
me: perhaps i need to look into carpet munching...

folk tell on themselves (just listen for it)

"i had no idea he/she was like this..."

how many times have you heard this from a friend or even said it yourself? you've been in a relationship with this person for months/years, yet when the break up happens, you're flabbergasted at how shit went down. the person you were with 'turned' into this creature you think you don't know.

hell, i said that very same thing to myself after my marriage imploded. i was like, "damn...i didn't know the cat had it in him". thing is, even after fifteen years of 'knowing' him (eleven as friends), i never paid enough attention to the things about him that clued me into what he was capable of. in my case, i interpreted his actions based on who i thought he was, not realizing i should have let his actions determine my interpretation of him.

frankly, it's a rare thing when the 'having no idea' turns out to be true. perhaps if the folk involved haven't known each other long it's applicable, and even then there are clues offered but can be lost behind the brilliance of the sensations found in a shiny new relationship. i mean, when it's new, folk want to get past the part of getting to know each other and get straight to the mental intimacy which is the prelude to physical intimacy. sharing inner thoughts and life experiences with each other is the fast way to get to the sex and especially in the beginning, the attraction is enough to make folk impatient to get there.

marathon phone conversations, texting from sun up to sun down, emails throughout the day...these have become the new ways of gaining the 'know' on someone real quick-like. words are suddenly more important than action. dude might not have taken you anywhere, but you talk to each other every day on the phone so his interest is believed to be genuine and his intentions are considered honorable. many of us color the 'wanted ones' with ideals they haven't earned, all cuz he/she took some time out of his/her day to text a few words or make a phone call, actions that require little to no effort and frankly, take about as much time as answering correspondence at work.

the point is this...if the words are being used for the monumental task of defining one's character as it pertains to the relationship, then give them the proper scrutiny. alot of this stuff comes over time (which i strongly recommend), but with the warp speed at which folk are meeting and getting together, it's even more important to recognize the intent behind the words. i mean, the actions can't speak louder when there simply isn't a large enough inventory of actions to interpret. the clues are there, we just gotta listen out for them and not get caught up in the extraneous shit like maneuvering to get into the pants or making the person the sun in one's universe cuz we're so very tired of floating out in space alone.

with this in mind, i figure i'd discuss one of the biggest tip-offs in the history of communication. here's the scenario:

she: so how do you feel about a woman making more than a man in a relationship?

he: honestly?

*SCREECH*

okay...first off, why even begin a sentence with this unless there's a tendency to tell a lie? how ridiculous it looks for a person, when solicited for an answer, to begin with "honestly" as if giving the listener the option of either hearing the truth or a lie. whenever i get this from a guy, i'm instantly on guard, especially if he uses that term alot. i want to just say to him "no, i prefer DIShonestly please..." the speech pattern suggests he/she has to constantly delientate the information communicated into catagories of truth and lies, like he/she's a waiter serving you what he/she wants you to have instead of what you ordered.

when someone uses the terms 'honestly' or 'truthfully', it can mislead the listener because hearing them almost gives one the sense that he/she is being given the key to the person's most innermost thoughts and secrets. i mean, don't you just wanna lean over in a conspirative manner when he/she says that to you, like "ooooweeee! he/she's about to tell me some deep, unknown tidbit about him/herself!"

unfortunately, it's actually the opposite. he/she is either:

a. looking for time to formulate a lie that can pass as the truth or
b. giving you the truth, but it's that rare nugget the person offers knowing it's harmless enough not to offer any actual insight into his/her character or sabotage his/her chances at getting in by making him/her look bad.

i don't think it's done with malicious or self-serving intent most of the time. protective gear is in place when folk meet each other and it doesn't come sliding off just cuz there's an affinity there. sometimes folk want to give all the right answers cuz they fear disagreement will upset the "we're perfect for each other" vibe going on. sometimes a person's self esteem is so low he/she might think if the truth is known the person is gonna bounce.

whatever the reason, best to recognize the tendency early on so you can decide what you're gonna do. some folk are fine with mates who don't tell the truth initially cuz they know how to get the truth out eventually. some folk like the fact that they've got mates who aren't forthcoming with everything because it lends an air of mystery to the situation and they get to 'crack the code' so to speak, thereby making the relationship even more meaningful.

however, if you're not into putting in that kind of work and want the truth with no chaser from jump, it'd probably be in your best interest to step away from the one who uses those terms judiciously. otherwise, be prepared for the end and the reason for it. (hell, some folk just in it for the sex and don't give a shit about the truth anyway...)

random musings monday

saturday, august 16
12:01 a.m. him: where u at?
12:05 me: arizona, over by ston.ecrest. where u at?
12:10 him: can i come over ma ma?
12:12 me: i'm not at home
12:17 him: can i come over ma ma?
12:19 him: can i come over ma ma?
12:20 him: can i come over ma ma?
12:30 ole girl, who just so happened to be out with me [from parking lot to me in the restaurant]: i am so tired of the not so complexed non complexities of life that really don't exist
12:31 me: PREACH (although i really didn't know what the fuck she was talking about, but figured she was ranting and needed some positive reinforcement)
12:39 him: we gon get up tonight?
12:43 me: NO
12:51 VID 00004.3gp sent to a different him: me right now [email with video attachment of band we vibing with outside]
1:17 original him: u my peoples?
1:24 me: what does that mean?
1:26 original him: nik i like u, i want u to be safe
1:30 me: im safe
1:32 him: U love!
1:36 me: U drunk!

alright gang, pop quiz:

1. at which point did original him pretty much guarantee he won't be getting any ass from me? u get a cookie if you guess correctly.
2. why do folk text when they're drunk? isn't that the equivalent of operating heavy machinery while heavily medicated? at the very least it's like jacking off for ten minutes before you realize you got your hand on someone else's dick
3. isn't 'not so complex' and 'non-complexities' the same damn thing?

what i'm beginning to realize is that navigating the dating sea means every now and again running into icebergs of idiocy.

okay, what fool thought it was a good idea to hold a live draft on saturday at 10:15 p.m.? did i join a league full of guys living in their parents basement, plastered to computer chairs encrusted with old ejaculation? who da hell is gonna be home on a saturday night for a live draft?!? if i hadn't bitched about it, i'd probably have been stuck with rex *that mofo's a* grossman as a starting qb. *shudders*

if a guy tells you he:

1. will drive you to charlotte in his car and
2. pay for the entire weekend (to be fair, we would have been staying with mutual friends so he wouldn't be paying for a whole lot)

is he being completely honest when he says "i just wanted to hang out as friends"?

kat came and picked up assassin yesterday, leaving me with one less cat to get rid of. she says she's gonna stop through to get le tigre at the end of the month. in the meanwhile, le tigre has gotten really needy and whiney. i'm not sure if it's because his in-house piece is gone (assassin was a female) but imma have to remind him my leg isn't a pussy and i'm just not all that sympathetic to a man's needs right now, even the four-legged ones.

so i'm exiting my spot yesterday afternoon and i run into blade next door. recap on blade:

1. he's black
2. he's relatively attractive (although not really my type)
3. he's got a bit o'money to burn (convertible sedan bmw in driveway)
4. he's educated (and just enrolled into school to get his ph.d.)
5. he's a snappy dresser (aiight, this one here is a stretch. last time i checked him he had on an all-white outfit with some fire-engine red gator shoes. he brought to mind casper floating over his own entrails.)
6. he's gay *le sigh*

and turns out, he's got excellent taste in men. he drives up with his newest dick in a box, a tall bottle of kahlua complete with broad chest, bald head, and salt/pepper goatee. i didn't even play it off when i was checking him. dude was dressed nicely casual in a soft green cotton polo top and loose fitting jeans that did nothing to hide the slight bow to his legs. then he spoke and it was like he was pouring his voice into the air and serving it to my ears. for the first time in my life i was mourning the fact i wasn't naturally attached to a dick. he was:

1. educated
2. fiscally comfortable
3. witty
4. fione

after making small talk with the two of them, i got in my car, backed out the drive, and drove away. the smile i had bricked to my face crumbled into dust as soon as they were out of view.

really, it just fucking sucks to be a single straight black sista in da atl. *smh*

email from hipdoc:

With the start of the new year I thought we should sit down and discuss the last several months and the future. When this week are you free?

cynical me read it like:

you're a new piece and i thought you should sit on my lap and take dicktation. i'm assuming your services are free?

my responding email:

I’m available today from noon to five, tomorrow from noon to 1 p.m., and the remainder of the week between 3-5 p.m. Let me know what works for you. [it took me ten minutes to send that email because i spent 9 minutes, 30 seconds fretting over the word 'available']

i think i'm gonna request a chaperone for this meeting, cuz i would really hate to get ethnic on this cat if he tries something.

ended the weekend on the phone with peii. gawtdamn that cat is just sexy.

aiight, so perhaps it doesn't suck all that much to be a single straight sista in da atl...

couples therapy [the end of the beginning]

"There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose dick was so long he could suck it.
While wiping his chin,
He said with a grin,
'If my ear were a cunt, I could fuck it.'"

the silence punctuated the ending of his recitation like a hand smack halting a recalcitrant child's temper tantrum. he stared at me with a combination of accusation and fury, igniting my indignant embarrassment until i was pooling into the seat cushions of the chair, desperately trying to disappear inside the fibers like a stealth stain.

"this is the kind of crap she's reduced our relationship to," he continued, turning to lee with disgust. she was bent over her writing tablet, scribbling who knows what. i shivered nervously, grabbing for the retreating strands of my dignity until i had pulled my spine straight.

"really," i began hoarsely as i cleared my throat of the knot in it, "it's not as bad as all that."

he humphed.

"maybe not in the beginning," he shot back, "but now it's just a clusterfuck of incoherent ideas punctuated with a plethora of profane language."

what da...HELL nah...

"hold up one fucking minute...you acting like you don't know me," i bit out from between clenched teeth, my fury boiling over, exploding into an yelling tirade "it's not like you went to bed with snow white and woke up the next morning with eric cartman. this has been me from DAY.FUCKING.ONE, DUDE."

he looked over at lee, a triumphant expression on his face, "the more you open your mouth, the more you prove my point, nikki."

the scratching sound of lee's pen racing across the paper dropped into the sudden silence like fingers across a blackboard. she was bent over her notepad as the silence became obese, its bloated notes of nothing almost smothering the skinny ticks heard from the wall clock.

what could she possibly be writing?!?

i began wringing my hands nervously, squeezing my fingers so tightly the knuckles popped. the acid in my stomach was expanding into fists punching cramps into my abdomen.

not now. please not now...

"go ahead, nikki"

i bristled as i felt his lips close to my ear.

"when you get nervous, first thing you do is wring your hands," he uttered smugly, "second thing you do is-"

"do NOT act like you know me like that, cuz you DON'T," i whispered vehemently. i stiffened my body in preparation for the upcoming battle. he watched me closely, as if my every movement was already scripted in his mind. i ran my eyes over to lee's form, still pulled over her pad, completely oblivious to our exchange.

"so now i don't know you," he countered dryly.

i gave him the finger and turned away from him.

"why are you trying to fight it?" his question tapped me softly in the back.

"will you PLEASE shut up?" i implored as quietly as i could.

"you might as well let it go before you hurt yourself," he responded on a low note.

"man, FUCK YOU," the explosion of words from my mouth coinciding with the loud noise and flesh rotting smell exploding from my ass. i tossed a sheepish glance over my shoulder as lee's head snapped up at the interruption.

he just lifted his eyebrow knowingly before shaking his head slowly.

"no," he finally said on a tired sigh, "fuck YOU, nikki. stop acting like i don't mean anything to you, cuz i DO."

*sniff*...lee's nose was angled in direct line with the odiferous missle fired. she inhaled, then stopped cold as her face folded into fury.

"oh HELL nawl..."

"i'm sorry," i interrupted quickly as i waved my arms in the air to disperse the smell, "just a lil nervous..."

lee twisted in her seat to reach for the tiny fan on her desk. she flicked on the switch. the soft whirr from its tiny engine inserting itself into the pauses of the conversation while its elfin wind tried to haul the gargantuan bag of sulfurous compounds toward the window. she turned back to us, her glance dancing with irritation from his face to mine.

"well," she finally began after a moment of silence, "it's obvious your relationship is no longer smurfy..."

"ya think?" i said sarcastically as i shot him a hot glare. he humphed again, which was really beginning to bug the shit out of me.

"really, nikki," he countered in disgust, "you're acting like you didn't bring this on yourself."

i gasped in pain from the direct hit. "bu-but i DIDN'T!"

*ahem*

the sound of lee clearing her throat was but a dull knife merely denting the animosity in the room.

"yes you DID!"

*AHEM*

"NO.I.DIDN'T!"

"YES.YOU.DID!"

"AHEM GAWTDAMNIT!" lee roared before jumping up to lean over both of us. the sound of her pad and pencil crashing onto the floor smacked us into stunned silence.

"see," she muttered before bending over to angrily to snatch the items off of the floor, "you fools got me using the lord's name in vain and i ain't HAVING it! do you hear me?!"

she pierced me with the anger in her eyes. i opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. lee using the lord's name in vain had indeed scared the words right out of me.

oh shit. she's PISSED.

"pick your lip up offa the floor," lee said a minute later as i remained there, frozen. i closed my mouth and carefully leaned into the back of my chair, my eyes scanning her warily. he was looking at her with a mixture of fear and admiration, the bastid. lee took a deep breath and glanced down at her notes.

"okay," she said, "let's try this again."

"IT'S ALL HIS FAULT!"
"IT'S ALL HER FAULT!"

a simultaneously screamed song of accusation.

lee's eyes closed on a wince as she brought her hand up to wearily pinch the bridge of her nose.

"good LAWD"

random musings monday

friday, august 8, 2008, 10:32 p.m.
him: so you just leaving work?
me: yeah
him: so you on your way to my house?
me: why would i be headed there?
him: so we can talk and chill

fifteen minutes before that...
him: i can't lie. if you came over here, i can't say i wouldn't be trying to press up.
me: that means i can't come over.
him: NOOO...i'm not saying i WOULD press up. i can't promise i won't try. what can i say? i'm attracted to you.

ten minutes before that...
him: i'm just sitting here in my boxers
me: why you telling me that for?
him: no reason

10:33 p.m.
me: dude, how i look coming over your house this late? this ain't 'social call' time of day. this is 'we fucking' time of night.
him: what, you don't trust yourself?
me to myself: i remember this exact strategy being used in june of 1991....

june, 1991:
different dude: what, you don't trust yourself?
me to myself: what, he think i don't have the self control to be at his house and not fuck? I'LL SHOW HIM.
me to him: hell yeah i trust myself. you ain't got it like that.
me to myself the next morning as we lay there in bed: shit.

august 8, 2008 10:33 p.m.
me to him: um, no. i don't trust myself.

is it just me or did that favre situation play out like favre was the whiny bitch trying to force her husband to divorce her? frankly, i've never been on the love boat with that cat. i remember an interview a few years back when favre said something to the equivalent of "i'm not teaching aaron rodgers shit. that ain't my job." funny how that particular side of favre was nicely swept under the rug like it was just his moment on the rag. whateverz.

i'm trying to decide if i was just subtly hit on by hipdoc. here's the exchange...u tell me what you think:

hipdoc: do you have any cute friends who wouldn't mind dating a married doctor?
*slow blink while i digest what he just asked*
me: huh? uh, heh (that 'heh' was done in complete discomfort)
crazycow: we're venturing off tangent now...

okay, so he asked me during a team meeting, but i had to wonder. i mean really, what married dude even jokes about that unless he's feeling the room, ya know? so of course i'm of the mindset he was testing the waters. he had that kinda laugh on his face, like "i'm joking but only if you're uncomfortable with the question" look. i had a hard time even looking at him after that cuz i didn't know what to make of the question. then the new it guy (from now on known as 'chaun, which is short for leprechaun cuz he's a relatively petite irish dude) casts this sly glance in my direction like he was interested in the answer but didn't want to give himself away. the thing is, he's recently married and new wifey is pregnant (the circumstance precipitating the nuptials). what da hell he doing looking at me like that? damn, i know black women are a relatively new addition to the whole interracial buffet but that doesn't mean we come on the 'dick-down for a dolla' menu.

this weekend became surreal as soon as i got a text at 9:37:47 a.m. on saturday morning from peii: "oh my god! bernie died!"

first thought: "this must be a white thing cuz i don't get this cat's sense of humor at ALL."
second thought: let me check the 'net (cuz nikki still without cable and local television access)
so i pull up the net on the crackberry and there it is..."bernie mac dead at 50". was in shock then and am still in shock now. i think it's times like this when i'm glad i don't have easy access to television. i didn't get to voluntarily drown myself in the mourning movements found on the channels. you know, when folk do the retrospectives and talk about how great the guy was and how everybody's gonna miss him, etc., etc. it's easy to get depressed about it when you see it over and over again.

i haven't watched a lick of the olympics. even when i was at the 'rents house on sunday. i'm just too cynical a fan now. it's hard for me not to believe folk ain't on some kinda performance-enhancing drug. marion jones passed all her drug tests during the olympics but it has now been proven that she took drugs. bottom line...when you mix sports with world politics, it's not just about winning, it's about proving one's way of life/political ideology is superior to another's. therefore to assume countries are dilligently keeping their athletes clean when they aren't sure other countries are doing so is unrealistic. i just hope the u.s. basketball team wins the gold, otherwise the u.s. will have officially had it's scrotum removed.

i've noticed more than my fair share of blog hook ups over the last few years i've been blogging. it's actually quite cute to see fellow bloggers make their way towards each other romantically. it gets ugly when shit don't work out and then links and pictures quietly (or loudly) disappear from blog rolls and/or the requisite "things just didn't work out" blog entry. frankly, i prefer not reading about that shit at ALL, but folk get giddy so what you gonna do? it's their blog, they deserve to write all the mushy shit that can be rended from their gushy lil hearts. i would just suggest that when it ends, please be just as willing to divulge how that dude/chick fucked up as you were to talk about how wonderful he/she was in the beginning. i want all the bitter "that negro got a little dick" or "that chick's coochie smells like a sewer full of dead bodies" or "when we fucked, i had to pretend he was someone else in order to get mine off." kinda details. this last one is especially satisfying if dude wrote how great the sex was for both of you on HIS blog.

as the reader, i at least deserve that payoff after having to read all that other sappy shit for months.

when i first began blogging, i was easily infatuated by good writing. if a brotha knew how to turn a phrase he was turning me out at the same time. i found myself placing all kinds of undeserved platitudes on cats. if he was a good writer, he was suddenly a deep and textured person full of integrity and good will who was kind to kittens and kids, paid all his bills on time, and was the most attentive lover who just so happened to have the biggest dick EVAR. after being in the game for three years, i've realized that blogs are just like anything else absent of significant offline contact...they're mirrors reflecting only selective images and can never be given weight when attempting to discern the true nature of a person's character. it's easy to confuse confession with intimacy on this thing. for example, i could tell you about my farts and cellulite but that don't mean you know me. that just means i got candid and told you about some shit other folk might not talk about.

fa real though...if you met a guy at a club a few days a week for six months, would you assume you knew everything about that cat just cuz you talked to him for six months? would you be ready to get exclusive and give him access to the coochie? would you assume you know that cat and you tight like that just cuz he told you about his hemorrhoids?

no matter how a relationship begins, somewhere in that mix there has to be experiences shared before a relationship gets real. if it wasn't important, folk everywhere would be married to blow-up dolls and dildos.

the hazards of living on borrowed time [repost]

[i decided to repost this because i'm standing at a crossroads as i think many of us are...perhaps a catalyst is in order...]

*originally posted 5.2006*


we interrupt our regularly scheduled 'roots' programming to bring you a slice of reality...

death has struck upon my family's door once again. yet again, no one saw it lurking outside in the driveway, standing in its charcoal cloaking with its scythe in its hands. when the doorbell rang, i thought it was a friend stopping by for a visit. i was wrong. or was i?

either way, we had no way to prepare for it.

one of my best friends lost her father yesterday morning after a violent attack left him incapacitated following a stroke brought on by the attack. the reasoning behind the attack? inconsequential, cuz nobody deserves to go out like that.

our families were really like one big family. the kids grew up together and for a while, her father was like another father for me. i didn't see him much after her parents divorced but i still thought of him as a father figure. when i found out he died, i was in shock. i still am, really.

this will be the fourth funeral i attend this year. the fourth. in the previous four years i've only attended ONE funeral.

you ever feel like the more funerals you attend, the closer death is creeping towards YOU? i can't help but feel this way. i think it's because death has never really been all that far away from my family. my dad was killed when i was three. my mom was diagnosed with lupus when i was nine. i've always felt a sense of impending loss, like my life and the lives of those around me was really on borrowed time.

like every day at dawn i had to renew the loan of the seconds making up the span of my lifetime.

"hello! welcome to the the time bank. how can we help you?"

"i would like to borrow some time, please."

"time? what kind of time?"

"uh, the kind that will allow me to live longer. DUH."

"don't take that tone of voice with me, miss. you're a RISK. we might never see the repayment of our time before you kick the bucket. after all,

1. you're black, which means you're more prone to hypertension and other ailments that can cut your time short.
2. you're female, which means you're more likely to have your time stolen by heart disease than a man.
3. you're a bon bon away from being a fat cow, which means you're more likely to get diabetes. you know...that one there steals more time from our bank than people realize."

"hold up! i am NOT a fat cow you...you..."

"ma'am, i wouldn't finish that if i were you...YOU are here requesting a loan for time from US, remember?"

"yes, yes. just give me the damn time and i'll be on my way."

"before my bank is comfortable with loaning you this time, we need to learn a few things about you first."

"this is a black thing, isn't it? you're gonna turn me down cuz i'm black. you racist motha..."

"of course this is a black thing, ms. indigo! being a black female places you at a higher risk for all of the things mentioned previously as well as HIV. we could very well be wasting our time by loaning it to you. "

"whatever, dude. i won't even get into the discussion about how inherent socioeconomic inequality as established by a history of racism in america has contributed to my higher risk status. i don't have time for that. just tell me what you need so i can get my time and get out of here. as you can see by the hourglass right here, i'm down to a few granules..."

"ahhh yes. okay, let us get on with it then, shall we? what is it you plan to do with this time?"

"what do you need to know that for?? as long as its legal, which it is by the way, you don't need to know what i'm using it for."

"madam, it is our right to ask because it is our time you are seeking to borrow from us."

"uh...then can i get back to you on that one? i haven't really thought it out. right now i figure i'll just use it to stay alive for another day or so."

"but what do you plan on DOING with this 'day or so'? you cannot simply WASTE it! that would not be a good investment for us..."

"wait! i don't plan on WASTING it per se...more like just using the time to uh, figure out what i wanna do with the time i'll be requesting from you in the future."

"let me see if i understand you correctly...you are telling me you desire this time to contemplate what you plan on doing with the time you think you shall be getting from my bank in the future? what kind of bull-cocky is that??"

"bull-cocky? wait...is this an american bank? what american says bull-cocky???"

"do not insult me, miss indigo. as i have said previously, you have need of us more than we have need of you."

"not necessarily...if not for folk like me, your bank wouldn't even exist."

"this conversation is going off on a tangent and i have not got all day."

"DUH."

"i find no humor in your demeanor. let us review...you are going to use the time we loan you to figure out what you are going to do with future time. time that you are not even promised to have. that sounds like a wasteful endeavor to me, miss indigo."

"look...i'm almost OUT of time. if you don't hurry up and give me the damn loan i'm gonna die, therefore making the loan totally unnecessary!"

"hmmm...just one more question..."

"WHAT?!? what do you need to know??? am i a good risk? NO. i eat junk food and don't work out as much as i should. i'm a nico-nut and i don't get enough sleep at night. emotionally, i'm a wreck and have contemplated suicide on numerous occasions. i drive like a maniac and will dive into the deep end of a pool despite the fact i only know how to doggie paddle. i drive like a lunatic and work in an office building with asbestos in it. i have no clue on how to protect my heart from being broken and i'm always leaving my emotions out for people to trample upon. i have an addictive personality which means i'm a bottle of thunderbird away from being an alcoholic. i'm a braves fan, which guarantees i'm gonna get fucked up the ass without protection every damn year. now...ARE YOU SATISFIED???"

"just one more question, miss indigo."

"*sigh*...what?"

"do you want to live?"

"what kind of question is that you silly bank...GUY! of COURSE i want to live. that's kinda why i'm HERE BEGGING YOU FOR MORE TIME!"

"what you speak of is not necessarily living. what you want is to borrow time for the purpose of thinking about living. why ask for more time when you waste it on thinking about what you're going to do instead of using it to go out in the world and actually do it? what is the point of having more time when you spend it so carelessly? obviously it is not valuable enough to you for you to even make a request for additional time. am i concluding correctly?"

"that was more than one question, sir."

"ms. indigo, stop avoiding the issue. this is a matter of the utmost importance."

"whatever. isn't planning important, though? i mean, i can't act if i don't have a plan."

"yes, but how much time do you spend planning, miss indigo?"

"mister bank...whoever the hell you are...all i want is more time. that's all. my request is simple. why are you making this so difficult???"

"because, ms. indigo, our time is the rarest resource on the planet. it cannot be reproduced so we cannot expect to have it returned to us in its original form. we loan out time because it is what we do, but there is little, if any profit from it."

"what do you mean by that? you're a BANK. what kind of bank would exist without profit??"

"i said we make very little profit from it, miss indigo. time does no good in the world if it is not spent with great care and it is only when it is spent with care that we see the benefits from it. unfortunately, out of all of the time we loan out, only a small percentage of people actually use time to their advantage and the world's benefit. we have had to find a way to stay afloat with the efforts of this group of people, but i fear we will reach a point where we will no longer be able to loan out time and will instead be forced to loan out furniture."

"in other words, you need me, too."

"yes, miss indigo...we need you."

"I TOLD YOU! alright, alright! i'll spend it wisely. i'll eat healthier. i'll be more productive with my time. i won't waste it with people who don't value it. i'll try harder to protect myself from hurt. now GIVE ME THE DAMN TIME!"

"ms. indigo, please control your temper. here is the agreement. please read it carefully and sign and initial at the bottom."

i, _________________, do hereby promise to pay back the amount of 86400 seconds in quality time with my family and/or volunteer work with a worthy charitable organization. i can also pay back this time in the act of taking care of myself and using each moment to help me reach my goals. if i fail to honor the terms of this agreement, i will burn in the fires of hell forever.

"don't you think that last part is just a bit harsh, mister bank dude?"

"i do not make the rules, miss. i just enforce them."
_________________________________________

every morning i meet with that cat. every morning i sit with pen in hand, pondering whether or not i will commit myself to honoring my time by spending it wisely. i'm hard-headed. sometimes i have a sense of entitlement that has me believing i got plenty of time while at other times i have a sense of impending doom that has me believing i'll meet death with my next breath. or maybe it's that i know i don't have much time but i care too little about it to do anything about it. either way, death is out there in the shadows and i won't be able to elude him forever and he ain't delaying his introduction to me as i continue to waste time sleeping through life, dreaming about what i'm gonna do.

death is creeping closer still. i gotta stop taking these sleeping pills.

the pubic enemy*

what the fuck?!?

"And now something has happened..."

hol up. that is NOT what i think it is!

"Suddenly, she's been distracted..."

*frantically grabs for the hand mirror*

"By something that has been attracted..."

*clumsily shoves the mirror in between her legs* OUCH!

"She poked and poked and smacked at it..."

*knees and elbows pop as she contorts herself to get a closer look*

"Then she broke down and she scratched it..."

this...*grunt*...betta...*huff*...not...*growl*...be...GAWTDAMNIT!

pause...then disbelief

*blink*

"Now, I think you understand..."

*crickets*
.
.
.

IS THAT A FUCKING GRAY HAIR?!? OH SHIT! I'VE GOT GRAY HAIR ON MY PUSSY?!?WHERE ARE THE FUCKING CLIPPERS?!? WHERE ARE MY SCISSORS?!? WHERE'S THE NAIR?!? OH SHIT! I'VE GOT FUCKING SAM ELLIOT'S HEAD STUCK BETWEEN MY LEGS!!!

"happy 37th birthday, nik...AHHH!!" screams the hair suddenly.

*pluck*



*also known as 'when getting birthday tweezers is better than getting birthday sex...'

the story in his visage...

this is the stream of thoughts flowing through my mind as i studied his photo on my phone...


i admit it...i began with his mouth (i'm a lips kinda girl)...

his smile was slung low, sexily suspended from his lips like unbuttoned jeans hanging from angular hips, the tantalizing shadow of his teeth gleaming through a slightly parted mouth.

that smile conjured carnal images...disheveled bedsheets littered with limbs left limp after "loving long time"...deft fingers lingering lovingly within sweaty clefts as his tongue laps languid lines of leisurely persuasion across lush landscape while my lips implore him for more with moist messages massaged into his skin from scrotum to erect peek.


that smile seduced silence into sighing sounds of 'the little death'...breathless 'yes's pressed deep into the mattress of a squeaking bed ...my asscheeks clapping from the slap of his hands as he gasps in response to the grip of my lips when he slides inside between thighs spread wide, riding wild before retreating to skeet upon my back...then the afterglow lit from our giggles of exhausted laughter as we play back the soundtrack to our back fracturing sex.

in other words, that smile was positively explicit...

i suddenly wondered what i'd find in his eyes...

what in the hellanta is going on 'round here?

today is my birthday. i'm 37. i feel...

blessed
scared

happy

sad

content

discontent

hopeful

old

young

jaded

naive

tired

rejuvenated

sexy

horny

horny

horny

horny

*sigh*

sorry, got stuck...

bloated

mature

child-like

introspective

empowered

ready

waiting

active

impatient

patient

enlightened

jealous

envious

desperate

insecure

confident

prolific

complex

simple

horny

horny

horny

horny

SHIT...

*smh*

silly

serious

starved

unattractive

appealing

unwilling

proud

determined

spiritual

tenacious

clever

clumsy

loved

loved

loved
thankful

thankful

thankful

thankful

thankful

my life has changed in so many ways from the last birthday, 100% of it good. i can't believe it. 100% of it good, folk. i got my health, my fam, my love for self and life, and folk around me who love and uplift me. there really is no other gift i could ask for.

except for some back-breaking sex, but that ain't happening *le sigh*

i'm working on that one... :)

the crazycow and pokey show

date: friday, july 25, 2008
time: @9:30 a.m.
place: crazycow's office

crazycow was seated across from me, her desk separating us. i had just settled myself into a highly uncomfortable chair and crossed my legs, notepad resting on my thigh, pencil poised above the lined paper. i take a deep breath, open my mouth to begin the discussion about the upcoming events for next week, when out of the blue she blurts out

"nikki, are you depressed?"

mouth agape, i'm looking at her, just a bit pissed off i was interrupted before i can get a word out.

now there are a couple of questions running through my mind. 1. what the fuck does this have to do with our current discussion? and 2. see number one. i stare at her with a slightly bewildered frown before speaking.

"um, no?"

"well, i had to ask because you don't smile as much as you did when you first began working here."

i literally had to hold down the sarcastic smirk trying to get a grip on my lips. did she really just say that to me?

now there are a couple of questions/thoughts running through my mind. 1. is smiling profusely part of my job duties? and 2. when i first took this gig, i didn't realize i'd be working for pyscho-bitch, a disappointing development guaranteed to wipe the smile off of gotham's joker.

i'm holding the pencil in my hand a bit more tightly, fishing for a way to respond to her statement.

"um, i didn't realize i was smiling less," i began carefully, "but no doubt if i AM smiling less it's probably because i'm deep in thought about the things i'm responsible for around here."

now she's looking at me intently...actually, it was kinda intense. i felt like i was being thoroughly dissected from loc'd head to crimson-tipped toes.

see, this is what i hate about working at a school of medicine...folk are constantly on the search for things to find wrong with mofos.

last week i made the mistake of telling one of the professors my stomach was acting up a bit. before i could even continue with my statement, she's deluging me with questions trying to determine what could be upsetting my stomach.

"how long has your stomach been feeling like this?" asked the professor (from here on known as pokey) as she transitioned seamlessly from colleague to attending physician.

"uh..." i answered, taken aback by the sudden change. i squirmed in my chair.

"lean back," pokey commanded as she reached over and began digging her knuckles into my abdomen.

wtf?!?

"is it a queasy feeling or a cramping feeling?"

"uh..."

"does this hurt?" she asked after each invasive poke. i felt like the intimidated third-grader being harassed by a much larger bully, only i couldn't retaliate by slamming her in the head with my rusted scooby-doo lunch box. instead i was forced to sit back and take the abuse.

if by 'this' you mean the way you're bitch-slapping my cervix, then yeah, it hurts

"no," i gasp outloud as i felt what surely had to be her hands rearranging my liver.

"just a second or two more," pokey responded, preoccupied with the task of sticking holes through me with her suddenly talon-like fingers, "i want to make sure i'm not missing anything."

i'll be missing some internal organs if you keep this up

"no problem," i winced as i respond hoarsely, my mind retrieving the chapter in the employee handbook regarding inappropriate touching. unfortunately, there's nothing in there addressing the non-sexual physical examination of a fellow co-worker for medicinal purposes.

i really must talk to someone about that...

"have you been vomiting any?" she asks as she pulls her hands of death up offa me. i could feel all my bruised and violated internal organs curl up into fetal positions to await questioning by the police and the administering of a rape kit.

"no," i begin, "i mean, when i say my stomach is acting up a bit, i mean it's just..."

"do you think you might be pregnant?" she interrupts me.

silence.

please tell me there's something in the employee handbook stating explicitly how inappropriate THAT question is...

"not unless it's divine conception," i responded slightly aghast.

"who is your regular physician?" she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly, "do i know him/her?"

"i haven't chosen a doctor yet."

"have you eaten anything out of the ordinary lately?"

does cum count?

i laughed internally at that little joke. i haven't had a dick in my mouth since...actually, it's too far back for me even to remember.

"no," i sighed dejectedly.

she stood there a moment, brow furrowed, her eyes focused sharply on the ceiling as she mentally went through the symptoms to come up with a possible diagnosis.

"it doesn't sound like anything serious," pokey said slowly after a moment, "but just to be safe, i'd recommend you schedule an appointment with your physician."

it was then i realized i really should have been quicker on the draw. when i initially told her my stomach was feeling a bit off, i was gonna add "but no doubt it's just gas cuz i had milk earlier today."

however, i just didn't have the heart to tell her i was slightly lactose intolerant after all that work on her part. hell, she felt as if she'd just saved a life. let her have her moment.

sooooo

back to friday and my boss and her diagnosis of depression...

"are you sure you're not depressed?" crazycow asked.

"should i be?"

"i just want to make sure i'm not missing anything," she said with compassion, "i know you're going through a pretty overwhelming time right now."

let's see...i've been recently poked thoroughly by someone without benefit of an orgasm before having my sanity questioned by a certifiably insane person...there is absolutely NOTHING right with this picture...

"nah," i replied with an inward sigh, "everything's cool..."

really...no wonder folk are always talking about what's wrong with them. i mean, in the place where folk are TAUGHT to be doctors, folk are so busy focusing on what's wrong with people they lose sight of what's right, ergo, the answer they come up with is to continue medication/office visits to address the symptoms (what's WRONG) instead of finding out what keeps folk healthy (what they're doing RIGHT) and coming up with solutions to END disease. i could have sworn doctors were supposed to be empowering healers and not 'perpetuators of dependence upon pharmacuticals and purveyors of the helpless mindset of seeking short-sighted solutions by addressing only the symptoms.'

then again, i'm probably just feeling the residual effects of having my internal organs shifted around. i AM kind of tired of shitting out of my nose...

da beggin bastids...

it's 5:45 in the morning and i'm sitting at the red light pissed off cuz i'm sitting at a red light at 5:45 in the friggin morning. now to be fair, it's my own damn fault. i made myself get up so i could get to the gym cuz i knew i wouldn't be able to go later (dental appointment) and i've been dedicated to maintaining my schedule...but that's another story.

anyway, so it's 5:45 a.m. and i'm slouching in my seat, tiredly rubbing the sleep from my eyes as i await the turning of the light from red to green. the sun is still an hour away from rising so outside the car it's armpit dark. i'm always extra aware of my surroundings when it's that early in the morning. it's not like killers take off between the hours of 2 a.m. and 7 a.m. ya know? meanwhile, as i'm sitting there, i notice a shadow moving towards the driver side window of the car in front of me. my heart skips a beat as i immediately straightened my spine and strain my eyes to get a better look.

"what...is that...GET the fuck outta here!"

i rub my eyes and look again.

then the aberration turns and heads towards me. as my headlights slowly reveal the form floating to my window, i gasp, then quickly hit the button to close my window.

"dude, it's 5:45 in the fucking morning," i yelled, my words splattered upon the window in a muffled mess, "what the fuck you doing walking up on me like that? you could get cut the fuck up for some shit like that!"

a mothafuggin beggar? at 5:45 a.m.? what, is this a full-time gig for this cat? does he clock in? who VOLUNTARILY gets up at that time of morning? does he thinks he's gonna get funds from me on some ole "looky, he's up early...that's a hard worker for ya..." bullshit?

and what is he doing stepping up to my window when it's night outside? that's not just a no-no, that's a HELL no-no. that usually has car-jacking written all over it. i mean come on...don't he know better? first it's dark AND it's early as shit? the sun hasn't risen, hell, the birds ain't even chirping yet. they're still snuggled in their nests chillin and i'm at a red light being bothered by a homeless dude wanting money?

inopportune moment + irate audience = cuss out/grievous injury/murder.

he better be glad i wasn't packing anything more serious than a black.berry. he would have taken one to the gut fa sho.

this situation was reminiscent of another one...

it was like 3 a.m. and i was in bed with kufdub, tucked closely against his body as we floated in the afterglow of a long bout of carnal activity. my cousin had been calling nonstop for two hours...the first hour was to my mobile phone until i turned that shit off. then he was blowing up the home spot. i actually began to get a bit worried and my fear had me finally reaching for the phone.

"dante! is something wrong?" i questioned breathlessly as my heart beating double-time, "who died?!?"

"damn nikki," dante responded petulantly, "it's about time you answered your phone!"

i began hyperventilating a bit as kufdub grabbed my hand and squeezed lightly.

"DID.SOMEONE.DIE?!?" i screamed into the silence.

then a pause.

"naw girl," dante answered sheepishly, "nobody died. whatever gave you that idea?"

i pulled the receiver away from my face and stared at it with a mixture of fury and incredulity. i could feel kufdub's silent chuckle reverberate through his body.

"he needs money," kufdub mouthed against my neck. i rolled my eyes hard before placing the receiver back to my ear.

"dante," i growled, the anger squeezing each syllable, "please do not tell me you've been blowing up my phones cuz you need some money."

then a pause.

"well...now that you mention it..."

"dude, really. get out of here with that shit."

*click*

inopportune moment + irate audience = cuss out/grievous injury/murder.

he better be glad i wasn't close enough to kick him in the nuts, cuz i would have...twice. once for interruping my gawtdamn afterglow and once for getting me all worked up and scurred.


now there are some common features between both of these beggin bastids:

1. they're both black men. i refuse to believe being a black man has anything to do with this, but i gotta wonder...

3. they were both dumb enough to ask me for money after scaring me, then pissing me off. i think this has more to do with...

2. they're both broke.

being broke evidently makes many folk behave stupidly, which does nothing to assist them in their occupations as beggin bastids. therefore, my contribution to the betterment of mankind is as follows... i've come up with a list of dos/don'ts guaranteed not only maximize return on begging efforts, but to alleviate the aggravation many of us feel as a result of being assaulted by folk asking for our hard-earned funds.

i am hopeful this list will equip beggars with the tools/knowledge necessary for them to succeed at the endeavor of requesting funds (or at the very least, prevent fools from stepping to my car before dawn's crack is exposed.)

look for that in the next entry, whenever that is (see, i've learned my lesson. i ain't promising that shit tomorrow).

characters are welcome...

it's been a hot minute since i've put my meandering musings to blog. in that time, there have been a number of tremendous changes in my life, all positive. because i don't want folk to get lost, here are a list of players in my current saga:

da fam
mom - beautiful and loving woman who gave birth to me...currently operates as a functioning alcoholic. she'll be the one offering truly insightful pieces of advice in between her moments of insobriety (and a few during).

dad - the man who stepped in to be my dad after my od (original daddy) died...currently on the outs with me because he doesn't know how to discuss politics without getting his scrotum in a twist.

teef - lil bro, younger than me by 13 months but thinks he's older than me by 13 years. likes to drop wisdom bombs but doesn't always smell them for himself.

da friends
ole girl - best friend and confidant. currently single and looking, which means plenty of stories, most of which are funny with a few heartbreaking ones in between.

crack - he cracks jokes, cracks heads, and fucks crackheads.

whoa - big-willy man-ho fucking around on wifey. as a female i check his ass for what he's doing. as his friend, i love him unconditionally.

low? - attractive male friend we all think is taking it up the ass in the dark, cuz he hasn't had a steady relationship with a sane female since the first network run of fam.ily guy.

da co-workers
lessaclue - she thinks pregnant single females are bad role models yet wonders why the computer tech guy with the single pregnant sister won't have lunch with her. 'nuff said

cassidy - butch lesbian who's married with a kid and is the genuine article when it comes to being progressive, but gets insulted when she's mistaken for a man. (i'm thinking it's the combination of minimized tits, buzz cut, and dockers clothing, but i could be wrong).

hipdoc - 40-ish jewish emergency med doctor with an earring in one ear, chingy on his ipod, one ob-gyn wifey and two roving eyes for the ladies.

da stable
peii - he's sexy, he's funny, he's smart, he's "something new" (and yeah, that means exactly what you think it means).

d'ex - the guy i left six months ago after being with him on/off for ten years. fluctuates between bewildered and embittered but is ultimately a good dude.

ease-z - the charismatic childhood crush who flirts with me in the hopes of getting in between the legs in between declarations of undying love for his girlfriend.

da rest
le tigre - big tabby cat i'm watching for two months. i'm thinking he was sired by tony the tiger, cuz the cat is fucking huge.

assassin - other smaller cat i'm watching for two months. never knows he's around until he's damn near up on me.

crazycow - 60ish chick living next door to me. just met her yesterday and she's already telling me we share a wall and she hears voices at night coming from my loft. i can forsee all kinds of drama ensuing here.

blade - gay black dude on the other side of me. i haven't met him yet, but i'm putting him on the character list because i've heard he's rich and has a bunch of cute boyfriends, which means i'm gonna be pissed as shit when i see all those fine eligible men in his spot who only have a taste for salty balls.

no doubt you'll get to know more about these folk as the months go on, as i've got plenty of stories to tell...