part one
then this fool comes in with what has to be the most ridiculous shit ever.
"nikki," he starts off slowly, like he was about to release some real shit, "i just want you to know it wasn't your fault we never got together."
my face shriveled cuz his words were the equivalent of a fart into the wind blowing right at my nose.
for real though...did he just say what i thought he said? did he just say that i'm not supposed to blame myself for him not choosing me? i almost laughed in his face at that one. now mind you, i've pined for many a trife negro in my lifetime, but even i have my limits. i generally refrain from pining after guys overly confident in their game cuz they think the sistas are too stupid or enamored to figure out their lines are trite, insincere, and used for the express purpose of getting at the 'glorious down under'.
i shifted in my seat as i contemplated what i should say next. my first impulse was to respond with an indignant "nigga, please..." but that would have ended this conversation prematurely and i was thinking about how disappointed my blog readers would be if it ended so soon. i decided to play along. a flower of vacuous confusion bloomed upon my features, its petals folded within the lines of my furrowed brow.
"really?" i asked as i dampened the gleam in my eyes just enough to color them insecure, "are you sure?"
fitz looked a bit nonplussed by my sudden shift in mood, but he quickly recovered his arrogance as he slid closer to me and placed his arm across my shoulders. i sat on the shiver of revulsion trying to make it's way up to where he was touching me.
"of course baby," he said in a soft, placating voice, "it had nothing to do with you. it was me."
okay, there was an opening right there. i could answer him with a "as if there was any doubt" but again, i had to hold my hand close to my vest to see what this nut was gonna toss out onto the table next.
"i'm so glad it wasn't my fault," i uttered, my 'relief' swishing through the words as i exhaled shakily, "i was afraid you'd stop talking to me because i wasn't good enough for you..."
he crooned, a sad look on his face as he said to me "not at all..."
can i say it took everything within me to not roll my eyes right there in his face? this was almost too good to be true. i was tempted to look around for the camera letting me know i was on one of those shows where actors do outrageous shit to see how the victim of the prank reacts. his speech and manner had 'cue card' written all over it. i stepped up my method acting.
cue my faux self-deprecation
"me? i was shocked you even took my number back then," i said, "i know i was a bit uncouth..."
cue his really bloated ego
"yeah, well i saw a diamond in the rough..."
sidebar: now truth be told, i was beautiful ten years ago too, although i wasn't as assured about it as i am today. i had a gig and my own spot and was handling mine though, so i knew i had the goods. meanwhile this cat, while charismatic, wasn't working and was living with roommates. back then i didn't hold a brotha's unemployment against him. i figure he was just oppressed enough by 'da man' to where it made his search for gainful employment a difficult task. these days i tell a mofo to bounce with that boosheet cuz bur.ger kin.g is always hiring.
cue my faux appreciation for him taking pity on my piece of coal black ass
"a diamond? truly?" i exclaimed as my eyes widened and i looked at him wearing a mask of hero worship over my sarcasm, "was i flawless enough for a platinum setting?"
sidebar: um, so the mask slipped just a little and an edge of the sarcasm was peeking out from under it. he looked at me a bit skeptically, as though he wasn't sure if i was being serious or not. i leaned into him and placed my hand on his thigh cuz i figure if my hand was close to his penis he'd be so busy thinking about the possibilities he won't see my performance for the fake shit it was.
of course that maneuver worked.
his smile broadened and he leaned in...
cue his weak ass attempt at wooing me
"you know, i thought about you alot over the years..."
cue the faux fragile smile unfurling from my lips like a bud opening beneath the sunshine of his regard (while the roots of my disdain burrowed deep in soil made up of his bullshit)
"i don't know what to say..."
"don't say anything..."
sidebar: now in dramas this is when the guy is cued to lower his head slowly, his lips inching closer and closer to hers as the air around them ignites in anticipation of the burning kiss to come. however, this was a sitcom...
cue punch line
"fitz..." i said softly as i watched his lips get closer and closer, the smell of henn and ass hovering around us like a sour cloud of liquored up buttcrack.
"hmmm?" he was looking at my lips as he whispered.
"what the fuck are you doing?"
"shhhhh...don't talk...just let it happen..."
and then right before his lips touched mine i had my hand up, palm in his face. all i needed was the sound effects for a car coming to a screeching halt and it would have been the stereotypical 'indignant black woman putting the brakes on a trife negro' moment in a movie centered in 'da hood', featuring an all-black cast with at least one rapper.
"dude..." i stood up and looked at him, laughing at his stunned expression, "...get over yourself."
jeru the damaja's voice echoed in my mind as i turned and strutted away from him
"with all that big willie talk, hop, you're, playin yaself
with all that big gun talk, bop, you're, playin yaself
with all that rah rah rah, you're, playin yaself
you're, playin yaself, you're, playin yaself"
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
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