Monday, December 15, 2008

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 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 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.


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.


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.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

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...


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."


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."


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."


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."


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."


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."


ut oh...

curiosity + boredom =


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