Indigo Trail of My Thoughts

membrane [begin]

2009-08-08T06:20:00.003-04:00

"membrane - A membrane is a layer of material which serves as a selective barrier between two phases and remains impermeable to specific particles, molecules, or substances when exposed to the action of a driving force. Some components are allowed passage by the membrane into a permeate stream, whereas others are retained by it and accumulate in the retentate stream..."

saturday, august 8 6:23 a.m.

i've been lying in the bed since 5 a.m., my phone the lone light in a room drunk on darkness, the low hiss of of the oxygen gliding through the tubes curled around my face, a plastic mustache containing my next few breaths.

i have to pee.

yet my body is a book of throbbing torment unwilling to unfold from it's position of semi-comfort where the stinging pain of unforgiving skin has left it imobile like a chalked silhouette of a dead drive by victim on my bedsheets.

i have to pee.

my breathing, once an assumption of normalcy because i was 37 and relatively healthy, is now faltering as i contemplate the long walk from my bedroom to the bathroom...a skippable 25 feet away a few months ago, now feeling like the 100 yard dash when tethered to a 40 foot tube connected to an oxygen machine.

i really really really have to pee...

the light from the phone is out and i'm a puddle of punk curled into the covers, willing my bladder to wait a few more hours so i don't have to maneuver through a maze of manufactured facial manacles meant to maintain my breathing as i trip to the toilet. i squeeze my thighs tightly, as if the pressure will somehow crystalize the urine until the sun rises. i begin rocking, hopeful i can just use gravity to shove it back up whatever tunnel it came from, another strategy that usually works but as the past few months have shown me, my body has become another vessel and therefore, old strategies no longer apply here.

SHIT.

it's becoming a bit drastic now. my breathing is escalating in distress because now i really have to pee and i don't have much time to get there before i'm peeing on myself. i reach for my phone and hit the side button to light the way, point the light down to make sure i'm not gonna step on my breath, and fight the tears pushing their way through my eyelids as i swallow from the pain of the scabbed wounds biting my body like open mouths silently feeding upon me.

you cannot pee on yourself...you CANNOT.

my shuffle falters into a waddle as i fling open my bedroom door and make my way to the bathroom in a black hole that evidently soaked up every last bit of light in the universe.

i hope the door is open or there's gonna be one loud bang in about 3 seconds...

i whip up my gown and fall upon the toilet just as i lose control of my bladder...

and.now.i.can't.breathe...

see, another thing i learned...one doesn't have to be able to breathe to pee.

this is sooooo not how i anticipated the monumental moment when i would decide to begin writing again...

have the panties become too tight?

2009-04-13T11:38:00.002-04:00

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'

2009-02-11T01:32:00.010-05:00

"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]

2008-12-15T19:43:00.003-05:00

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]

2008-12-03T20:10:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-28T14:00:00.003-05:00

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

2008-11-20T00:01:00.005-05:00

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'

2008-11-17T12:00:00.003-05:00

"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

2008-11-11T10:00:00.002-05:00

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)

2008-11-04T13:15:00.002-05:00

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?

2008-10-28T12:25:00.006-04:00

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...

2008-10-24T01:53:00.002-04:00

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

2008-10-09T13:30:00.007-04:00

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?

2008-10-01T21:00:00.002-04:00

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

2008-09-29T18:20:00.001-04:00

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

2008-09-23T09:54:00.007-04:00

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...

2008-09-11T09:55:00.007-04:00

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

2008-09-08T18:10:00.015-04:00

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'

2008-08-28T07:36:00.000-04:00

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?

2008-08-25T15:01:00.006-04:00

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)

2008-08-21T11:00:00.010-04:00

"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

2008-08-18T10:28:00.004-04:00

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]

2008-08-12T16:06:00.002-04:00

"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

2008-08-11T16:49:00.011-04:00

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]

2008-08-08T10:35:00.004-04:00

[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*

2008-08-05T15:33:00.009-04:00

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...

2008-08-03T10:29:00.007-04:00

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?

2008-08-01T14:51:00.000-04:00

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

blessed
scared

happy

sad

content

discontent

hopeful

old

young

jaded

naive

tired

rejuvenated

sexy

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

SHIT...

*smh*

silly

serious

starved

unattractive

appealing

unwilling

proud

determined

spiritual

tenacious

clever

clumsy

loved

loved
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

2008-07-28T07:37:00.016-04:00

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...

2008-07-17T13:21:00.005-04:00

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...

2008-07-14T11:45:00.001-04:00

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...

it's the fucking principle...

2008-07-10T21:14:00.005-04:00

for the last week i've been trying to set up utilities in my new spot. initially it was with a ho-hum attitude. i mean, how hard could it possibly be to have gas, water, electric, internet, phone, and satellite/cable hooked up?

evidently this shit is harder than it was to free mandela, cuz i've had nothing but problems since i began this endeavor.

first off, is it just me, or is at&t quietly re-establishing itself as a monopoly again? someone please explain to me how the fuck at&t can buy bellsouth when it was forced to relinquish "bellsouth formerly known as at&t's southern regional office" twenty-five years ago because the government determined it was a monopoly?

so if a pimp is forced to give up his hoes cuz pimpin is against the law and the hoes change their job titles to "independent pussy contractors" and do their biz for a few years before the pimps buy them back, is the pimping no longer considered illegal? according to the government's logic, it shouldn't be. i'm gonna use the same logic when i buy back the weed the police confiscated from my back yard during the drug raid last week.

mind you, it wasn't a big deal with me until i was attempting to set up my local phone, internet, and satellite tv service. when that at&t/bellsouth deal initially went down a few years ago, i was slightly perturbed, but not truly disturbed. no, it wasn't until i was adding up the cost for my services that i took offense with at&t and their "hiding in plain sight" monopolizing tactics.

initially everything appeared to be aiight. i'm at at&t's website, and i'm starting to get excited cuz i see they've got the "bundle deal"...i can order the phone, internet, and tv service for one tidy lil sum. as a chick who hates having to pay bills, this was perfect for me.

first step is to choose the services i want...

local service - i choose the basic deal at 17.95 cuz all i want is local. i don't need all that bullshit stuff like caller id, call-waiting, *69 (okay really...what the fuck is caller id for then?), call-forwarding (i have a mobile phone...why in da hell would i EVER use this?!?) hell, the only reason i have local service is for the fax machine.

long distance - who needs that when i've got a mobile phone that gives it to me for free? i click "no"

internet - the fast but not the fastest shit at 37.95 cuz i want the streaming video. my flatscreen is attached to both the cpu and tv service, so i'm gonna check out online movies from netflix.

tv services - the ONLY reason i'm going with the 49.99 package is cuz it comes with the nfl network.

i get giddy cuz now i'm actually making some headway into getting prepared for the move next week. i click on the "purchase" button...

and these bastids tell me i have to purchase long distance.

what? hol up...why da hell would i need long distance if i have a cell phone that gives it to me for FUCKING FREE?!? that'd be like me buying dick when i have a boyfriend at home (meanwhile men everywhere are buying pussy in the streets with wifey at the crib, but i digress...)

i click on the long distance option just to see how audacious at&t is gonna be...i actually had to blink a few times, cuz i was sure i was seeing things.

they have a long distance plan alright...a TWO DOLLARS A MONTH AND TEN CENTS A MINUTE long distance plan.

what the fuck? oh, i get it...the two dollars is payment for the dry stick they plan to shove up my ass...and the ten cents a minute is for the actual shoving of said dry stick up my ass...got it.

oh HELL TO THE DOUBLE NAW THE FUCK THEY DIDN'T.

okay, i'm not getting at&t. i'm just not. it's the fucking principle of the damn thing.

only now, because of the damn near fucking monopoly they've got over atlanta local phone services, i can't find enough competitors with comparable rates. ironic...slavery ended over a century ago and yet i'm now enslaved to the price-fixing tactics of at&t. fugga dat. this runaway slave here is bouta escape over de hills into comcast territory...

GIVE US, US FREE, GAWTDAMNIT! GIVE US, US FREE!

mourning noon and night

2008-05-19T14:34:00.001-04:00

everyday.

i think about you everyday.

everyday.

i think about you every day.

when i laugh i feel like i've stolen the mirth straight from your mouth and the thought of it just rapes the joy from the sound.

i stare at my hands for hours and remember the last time i touched you. i was rubbing lotion into your hands, desperately trying to massage a message into your fingers.

hold on, granny

just hold on...

i look in the mirror and see you in the tilt of my eyes, the fullness of my lips, the lone dimple in my left cheek.

it's just not fucking ENOUGH.

shadows aren't enough. i don't wanna wait for your whispers on the wind anymore. they're not enough.

i don't wanna just remember you were here. it's NOT ENOUGH.

i don't wanna stare at pictures and think about how beautiful you WERE or how funny you WERE or think of you in any form of past tense.

i don't wanna watch law and order criminal intent and remember how much you hated the lead detective because he was a self-righteous know-it-all.

i don't wanna think about brooklyn and be reminded you're no longer there.

i don't wanna watch the mets knowing that in a brownstone in bedstuy you're not laying on your bed listening to the exact same game.

i don't wanna look at your phone number i still keep in my cell phone and know when i call it you won't pick up.

what i want

what i WANT

is for YOU to be HERE.

laughing at me as i try to convince you the braves are gonna win the world series

telling me you ain't 'studdin' me after i crack on your mets

complaining about aunt cheryl while i roll my eyes and say to myself "damn, i can't have a conversation with you without cheryl all up in it..."

grinning wickedly at me after you beat me at a game of conquian, then saying "well some coons can, and some coons can't!" or "deal the cards, joe, my fingaz soe!"

calling me a punk cuz i won't go to the bathroom at night when i'm at your house cuz i'm afraid of the mice

what i want more than anything is to be held in your arms and squeezed until i can barely breathe. you're the only one who can give hugs like that.

i wish i had spent more time with you as an adult. it's like most of my memories of you come from when i was a kid. i didn't appreciate you enough when i grew up. i just assumed you would always be around. you were just too crafty to get caught up in dying. now i'm thinking back at how i played myself cuz you died and now i'm sitting here in front of a fucking computer monitor pouring my grief into a few keystrokes like this exercise is gonna be enough to pull the the pain from my heart. writing this entry ain't gonna take me back in time to when you were alive and i was smarter and knew to spend more time with you with the understanding that tomorrow ain't promised. all this entry is doing is making me feel more like a fucking idiot for letting all that time go by without calling you or visiting you. it's reminding me of how much i'm going to always miss you.

and how every day

every.FUCKING.DAY

i have to live with the empty feeling of our unfinished reel.

for right now...

2008-05-07T15:49:00.002-04:00

for right now...

i don't want a man in:

'tween my legs

my mind

my bed

nothing personal and i ain't looking at the other team, but right now i'm too cynical about the whole love thang and it makes no sense to invite some cat into my life when the most i have to offer him is laughter in the face of his love.

part of me mourns those mornings of moans melting from the multiple bones, the sounds of sex slicing through the silence in rhythm with strokes of precision...

shit, i'm getting worked up just typing that...

anyway, part of me mourns that. in fact, a rather large percentage of me mourns that. being completely nikki, damn near 100% of me is protesting as i type this out.

unfortunately, the last few years have been one long goodbye to all the parts of me i thought i valued most. now i've gotta spend the next few months reclaiming those parts of me i'd so carelessly discarded, and i can't do that with a man around, even the casual sex ones. fact of the matter is, sex is no longer casual to me. i am no longer aiight with the one night fuck. even when i say to myself "i'm good with just fucking dude" there's that part of me saying "if only i could have more"

really, ain't too many women out there who are truly cool with just fucking. it's hard for us not to tell dude all we want is sex without whispering in our minds "for now" i don't know how folk can have sex over and over and not get emotionally caught up in it. i know I can't do it.

so no casual sex, which means no "friends with benefits" which means for right now, i'll be content with my battery-powered friend and my fingers...actually, i'll be faking that contentment, but you get the idea...

five confessions of a hip-hop head

2008-04-21T08:24:00.007-04:00

i've been checking out mtv(secondary channels) for the last few weeks as this month they've been celebrating the 20th anniversary of yo! mtv raps. saturday morning i was planted on the couch with a basket of recently laundered clothes sprouted between my legs. in between moments of folding clothes i found myself jumping from my seat so i could pop-lock to planet rock or wop to paper thin or just sit there and swallow big daddy kane's godiva goodness while my ears sucked on the hard candy of his cadence, savoring his lemonhead lyrics from sugary surface to sour soul.

now i've been a hip-hop head since the beginning and being from the "bk of the ny" brings with it additional pressure as one is expected to have a certain level of knowledge and taste regarding hip-hop, especially old school hip-hop. as a teenager, i was more sensitive to the unspoken rules of the game. however, now that i'm older, i'm thinking i can pop the top off of the long-held secrets regarding my fandom of hip-hop music. many of the coming revelations will probably shock you, appaul you, perhaps even make you wish for my immediate death. all i ask is that you bear with me as i reveal but a few of the confessions i've been re-visiting lately...

1. i never liked digable planets and especially hated rebirth of slick - cool like dat. the video struck me as so obviously cultivated and packaged like spam being sold at saks. everything was placed 'just so' in order to create this image of 'cool', even down to the riff. it was the equivalent of the "recipe for 'evolved' rap"...

"If one wants a neo (code:pseudo) hip-hop group who will generate lots of buzz for not rapping about gangstas and drinking and partying, here's what you need:"

three rappers who are asthetically pleasing. one must have locs, one must be a female so as not to piss off the women libbers even though she'll be used primarily as a covert sex object, which means she can't wear a bra or be a fat/nasty. one must be just ambiguously sexual to appeal to both sexes (i think butterfly was that too...)

abstract lyrics should be "mystical" (code: nonsensical) enough for folk to exclaim "wow, that was DEEP!" to friends even as they ask themselves"what the fuck do they MEAN?!?"

video should be produced in black and white cuz it's cool when it's in black and white and ANYBODY can do it in color...(wish i knew THAT shit when i was too ashamed to tell my friends my folk and i still had a black and white television during the first george's presidency. could have saved myself a whole lot of grief...)

songs must have a jazz riff cuz jazz is 'thinking man's music' and if we want to at least give the impression we're elevating the masses, we must start with the riff, even if the rap is crap.

as you can see, i just never got into them.

2. 60% of the flow/lyrics in the song self-destruction was garbage.

the three top flows on the joint:

doug e fresh - he stepped out of that wack ass riff and created his own beat, sans music. best thing he could have done, and even though lyrically he wasn't bringing anything new, his flow was number one as far as i'm concerned.

heavy-d - you KNOW lyrically he probably was the tightest cat in the bunch and he's another one who had the smarts to put in his own riff.

mc delight - short yet powerful.

the three weakest flows on the joint:

just-ice - i'm sorry, but whenever i hear his rhyme, punctuated with him talking about "IT'S TIME I RELEASE" i'm thinking dude bout to take a shit. i keep waiting for him to grunt before i hear the sound of something splashing into water.

daddy-o and wise - come on, you plugged your own shit in the rhyme? this is about self-destruction of the black community and all you got is some babble followed by a plug of your song "all that jazz"? tacky bastids...

d-nice - lyrically he was pretty much on time, but do you remember the video? why was he looking into the camera like that? i thought someone had a hand up his ass and was moving his mouth like he was a puppet.

3. when i saw mc serch dissing mc hammer on that 3rd bass song, i wanted to kick his ass.

no, it wasn't because mc serch was a white dude trying to take out a black dude. it was because he thought that by dissing black dude it would somehow make him 'blacker'. i was and am insulted. see, it's shit like this that had bill clinton misunderstanding what 'being black' entailed. he thought it was an address (thanks to dick gregory for that one). someone should have told serch 'being black' ain't a belief either.

4. i always thought doug e fresh was the cutest but i preferred slick rick in bed.

and i know i'm not the only one. doug e fresh might have had the tight hair cut and nice lips, but slick rick had a nastiness about him all the girls wanted to know about. he had that "i'll lick you all over and love it" look in his eyes. you think i'm playin? listen to some of his lyrics. the thing is, he wasn't making sexual promises or anything. however, through his storytelling, you could tell he'd come raw when necessary.

5. rakim is living off of past glory.

yeah, i know this last one is gonna get me killed. so be it. that dude hasn't put out anything relevant in almost twenty years. for real, how long we gonna be like "oh, that next rakim joint is gonna be DA BOMB!"? he's like that old football player who invented the boot-leg pass...significant contribution no doubt, but the invention was fifty years ago and yet we still seeing this cat at conventions collecting checks for the old shit cuz ain't nothing new to report.

aiight, that's all i've got for now. no doubt i'll be hearing cries of outrage now.

full circle

2008-04-16T16:03:00.007-04:00

written in my journal at age 12

"...if he's light-skinned, he must have brown eyes with thick eyelashes, nice lips, and be really, really smart...oh, and his first name must start with a 'k...'"

because you know, i had my idiotic moments...
___________________

i don't know what made me look him up.

maybe it was because ever since i'd taken this new job with a university down the street from where we both attended high school, i've been cautiously treading down memory lane, my adult's insight the light guiding me through the morass of my adolescent past.

maybe it was because my brother and i had just discussed him maybe a week beforehand while reminiscing about all of the "yella" boys i crushed on in elementary school. (turns out every last 'boyfriend' i had from that era was some varying shade of either 'yella' or 'durty red').

maybe it was because i was sitting in my apartment last week asking myself if the ties had been permanently severed between me and the people who populated my 'wonder years'.

i really have no idea.

all i know is that i was sitting there on a networking site typing his name into the "search" field with that "i wonder what he's up to" inquiry cascading from a suddenly active volcano of curiosity. when his vital stats popped up on the screen i blinked in shock and stared. in fact, i was sitting there for about thirty seconds, the sentence "no friggin way...NO FRIGGIN WAY!" whispered in pubescent giggles through my mind over and over again.

i actually felt kinda foolish. i mean really...i'm on the other side of thirty and i'm sitting here at my desk at work damn near squealing because i'd found the guy i dated for all of a few weeks back in elementary school.

thing is, this was no ordinary joe. no, this is the guy i sighed over in elementary school, asked about through high school and not quite so nonchalantly inquired about during college. he was the guy i wrote about years later as an adult from memories held intact like dried flowers pressed within the pages of my mind.

he was the prototype against whom all future 'yella brothas' were measured.

now don't get it twisted...i wasn't sitting by the phone waiting for him to call me for decades or anything sad as all that (although when we broke up i swore i'd never get over him with all the melodrama a nine year old could drum up). i actually dated guys all colors of the spectrum from "midnight hued" to "when he gets cold his skin turns blue hued" and i've fucked my share of the male population of the eastern coast of the united states of america. however, when it's all said and done, the brothas just the right shade of sun-soaked saharan sand always made my heart trip just a bit more than the others and it truly began with this cat. it's as if i saw a little bit of him in every last one of the subsequent ones. i guess that's what comes from the first love that didn't occur from afar.

did that make me biased? shit, who really cares?!?

anywho, my breath was squeezing through my lips in a nervous whistle when i clicked "send" and sent him a request for me to add him to my list of contacts. i got mad with myself then. shit, i haven't seen this cat in over twenty years. in twenty years i'd been through all kinds of shit...rape, college, abortion, miscarriage, marriage, separation...in other words i'd lived a life and then some, so why the fuck was i sitting here getting all nervous/giddy about it?

i think there's still a little of that adolescent girl residing inside of me...

the one who checked her breath to make sure it didn't stink before she talked to someone

who checked the mirror to make sure her glasses weren't crooked

who slathered her lips with petroleum jelly so her lips never looked dry and cracked (although they did look like hamhocks drowning in their own lard, but i digress)

the one whose smiles were crooked and covert, timid glee leaking from lips only after a pointed joke punctured her insecurity

her laughter was silent because she was afraid she was laughing inappropriately and she thought the sound of her unbridled glee was too uncouth for the environ outside of her bedroom...

when i look in the mirror these days i almost forget that little girl, but whenever i step back into the time when she made up most of me, i have to stop myself from outwardly cringing. it's almost as if all of those emotions were shallowly buried, easily exposed with the lightest of tread across their surfaces.

so what made me look him up when he comes directly from that time i try not to think about?

in the end, i think it's cuz my mind just got tired of running away from that era. it saw that the past wasn't as traumatizing as it intially believed it to be and perhaps i wasn't the only one who thought her childhood was a time for constant discomfort within her skin.

maybe it's cuz now i'm old enough to realize and appreciate that little girl for who she was and how she contributed to who i am...

the woman willing to voice her opinion even when it's unpopular

the woman who is pretty damn comfortable with doing and being on her own and not 'waiting' for someone before she can 'live her life'

the woman willing to try new things and not censor her movements because it's not in line with 'the image she's supposed to project at this stage in her life'

the woman who pulls the scabs of her vulerabilities from her spirit and doesn't hesitate even though she knows that by doing so she'll be exposing herself to the infection of sometimes painful self-reflection

the woman who laughs long and loud and with genuine joy

the woman who makes damn sure she practices good dental hygiene and carries a tube of chapstick on her at all times cuz one just never knows...

so after the talk with myself, reminding myself that all pieces of my past created the finished puzzle of this singular person i am now, i calmed my ass down.

i mean, he's just a regular brotha, shit.

written in my blog on april 16, 2008

"oh.my.god. he actually said i was smoking hot! i think my face is gonna crack from this big ass grin on it..."

because evidently idiotic moments have no age limitations...

nikki been offline

2008-02-12T14:56:00.000-05:00

moved to the new spot, broke the laptop on the way. awaiting a new one. my blog is looking like an empty train station right now. i hope everyone is aiight out there.

twister

2008-02-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

mother nature can be a bitch sometimes...

i was sitting at my momma's kitchen table on a sunny summer saturday morning, leaning back in a chair with my hands crossed over my growling stomach. the air was caked with the aroma of frying pig and pancakes and i had just finished licking my lips in anticipation of getting at some breakfast. mom loaded my plate with flap jacks and bacon before placing it in front of me. i rubbed my hands gleefully, jabbing my fork into the stack and lifted a syrup soaked piece towards my mouth, i heard her inhale deeply before letting out a bereft sigh.

ut oh...

"i know you don't want to hear this tanya, but..."

i froze.

the sunny summer day evaporated behind the sullen sound of a repeating refrain. my fork slipped from suddenly numb fingers to clatter like thunder against the side of the plate. i bent my head over my food in an attempt to ignore the clouds of gun-metal gray forming over my confidence.

"you're 35 and single..." she began, her reign falling upon my shoulders first as a soft mist of concern before deluging me with a downpour of maternal disappointment. my appetite was washed away in its wake.

"with no man on the horizon..."

i shrugged as the words slid from my shoulders to fall into pools of self-recrimination upon the table. i stared at the cloth and picked up my fork, gripping it like it was the lone limb of a tree clutching the earth with desperation as the whirlwinds tried to rip its grip from the ground.

"and in a minute your eggs are gonna be too old to fry," she finished with enough sarcasm to lay bare the remaining terrain of my composure.

fuck. THIS.

i carefully placed the fork on the table and stood up, my body battered from the baring of my vulnerability. slowly i made my way to the counter, opened the cabinet, and pulled out a large plastic container and lid. making my way back to the table, my face was void of the bitter debris remaining from the her harangue. i averted my gaze as i picked up the plate and dumped its contents into the container.

"where are you going?" mom exclaimed as she watched me seal it with the lid. i ignored her as i gathered my keys and made my way towards the front door.

"i thought you were staying for breakfast!" she sputtered to my retreating back. i turned to her as i opened the door.

"i came for the food, mom." i stated quietly but firmly, "not the fuss."

then i walked out the door, slamming it behind me.

mother 'nurturing' can be a bitch sometimes...

(to be continued)

i wish

2008-01-17T10:27:00.000-05:00

...he was an ass, then leaving him wouldn't have felt like i was kicking a puppy.

...this situation was salvageble, cuz then i wouldn't have to be starting over at an age when folk are popping third and fourth babies.

...i'd been in love with him, cuz then i could have walked away feeling more than relief and impatience.

...i knew myself better back then, cuz then i wouldn't have been with him in the first place.

...i had known what passive-aggressive behavior was, cuz then i would have recognized his moves as quietly manipulating instead of thinking "he loves me enough to let me be me."

...i'd known the difference between 'good' and 'right', cuz then i would have dismissed the hype around 'good brothas' and spent my efforts on finding the 'right brotha'.

...i hadn't listened when people said "you marry your best friend", cuz really, sometimes folk are just meant to be friends.

...i'd believed more in myself, cuz then i would have listened to my instinct when it was telling me i was making the worst decision of my life by saying "yes".

...i'd faced my issues of intimacy earlier, cuz then i wouldn't be setting up an appointment with a counselor to address them now, after i spent years in a relationship that wouldn't have existed if i'd faced my issues prior.

...i hadn't listened to the people shoving my biological clock in my face and telling me "you know, you don't have alot of time left if you're trying to have kids", cuz then i would have told them to all go fuck themselves instead of convincing myself that i loved him enough to spend the rest of my life with him.

...i had known loving him like a friend wasn't enough to love him like a lover, cuz then i wouldn't have beat myself up for not feeling the emotions needed to make a lifetime commitment.

...i had known my soul well enough to recognize her mate hadn't yet arrived, cuz then i wouldn't have lied on my wedding day when i vowed that it had.

...i'd loved myself enough to know that the love he gave wasn't enough, cuz then i would have had the courage to say "i love you, but no."

...i hadn't looked to the internet to fill the emptiness brought on by my lonliness, cuz it provided me with too easy an avenue for escape into what was basically a fantasy world of my own making, thus preventing me from addressing my real-world issues.

...i didn't wear my wounds for everyone to see, cuz then i wouldn't be surrounded by men who think they can 'save' me (for themselves no doubt...)

i hope...

this insight takes me to places where i no longer have to look back with empty wishes.

no writing, only reading...

2008-01-14T15:08:00.001-05:00

in order for me to catch up with my folks, i'll be doing only reading of blogs for the next two weeks. i miss all of you and now that my life is starting to level out a bit, it's time to get back to peeking through your bedroom windows. all i ask is that you don't run around naked because after all, i'm still quite horny (when does that EVER change?!?)

i'll get back to writing when i get back to it. in the meanwhile, thanks for sharing your lives with me. i'm gonna really enjoy reading about them!

back to the basics for the moment

2007-11-08T08:12:00.000-05:00

i find it necessary to be a little selfish. i've been blocked for the last few weeks, and it's a direct result of me losing my focus. without me even realizing it, i had turned into a puppet. this blog used to represent my selfish moments of expression, when i could write about whatever was on my mind without thought caring about what others thought.

somehow i got away from that. the more people who read my blog, the more pressure i began to feel about what i was exposing about myself. it's not your fault, really. i think everybody suffers from this every now and again. however, i know i can't allow it to continue. so in an effort to loosen the bricks forming the block in my mind, i'm stripping my blog to the basics and turning the comments off. i'm not sure how long this will last in terms of time, but it will last as long as necessary for me to find my freedom again.

i have no idea what i'm gonna write from here, but i'm excited about it!

ending is delayed

2007-10-19T09:19:00.001-04:00

i'll post it on monday. wanna make sure it's just right. DON'T CUSS ME OUT. have a great weekend!

why u wanna go and do that? pt. 2

2007-10-18T00:20:00.000-04:00

click here for part one (or just scroll down to the next entry ya lazy bastid...)

four weeks later, i was on my way to fingaz's apartment for the first time for a night of dinner and discussion. as i pulled up and parked, i winced at the less than affluent landscape greeting me when i got out of my car. the scattered bones of broken bottles protruded from the ground, bleeding beer onto the asphalt. a decaying car sat disemboweled and abandoned inbetween the white lines of a parking space a few feet from me like the skeletal remains of a murdered rape victim exposed in a shallow grave. piled next to its final resting place was a piquant mountain of rotting perishables. someone's attempt at a tombstone for the dearly departed dodge neon?

"here lies the remains
of a car whose owner thought leaving
the keys in the ignition while
she ran into the store for some cigarettes
was a good idea..."

even lojack can't guard against that kind of stupidity...but yet again, i digress (sorry chele).

anyway, the area looked like a cemetery for sobriety and security. now, i'm not a snob (for the most part) but i do prefer a guy who lives in a spot that won't have me fearful i'll be killed by a stray bullet shot from the gun of some twelve-year-old seeking initiation into the neighborhood gang. i ducked unconsciously, anticipating the need to protect myself from the invisible projectile headed towards me in the murkiness. the streetlights provided threadbare fluorescence, their silver filaments sticking upon the cloak of night like burnished balls of lint.

the hallway leading to his front door was gaping before me, a gingivitis sufferer yawning beneath an orthodontist's inquiry. the planks beneath my feet were gritty and uneven, two by fours discolored and cracked like rotting teeth. urine stained diapers lay embedded in the spaces between them like plaque. a bulb was suspended from the ceiling above me, an enflamed uvula emitting the off-white glow of infected illumination upon faded red enamel paint falling in flakes from the walls.

needless to say, i wasn't impressed.

i folded my upper lip over my nostrils as the stench of sour living stuck to me like flypaper.

gingerly stepping over a rusted bicycle, i made my way to his door, wiping my shoes on the welcome mat extending from his front step like a tongue. i gathered my body into a semblance of confidence before pulling the knocker. fingaz answered about 30 seconds later, standing there in a white wife-beater and a pair of jeans hung low from his hips.

"your hall has halitosis," i said in a weak attempt at cleverness.

"hunh?" he responded in confusion, letting me know i'd failed miserably.

"never mind."

his eyes were roaming over various parts of my body before finally settling upon the slightly ironic twist of my lips.

"dude, you gonna invite me in to dinner or devour me out here?" i asked, both flattered and irritated. his lips formed a small smile as he stepped back, opening the door wider.

"welcome to my abode," he said, bowing as he swept his arm behind him. i stepped across the threshhold and glanced around, quickly quelling my horror. it was definitely a bachelor's pad. i was standing in the living room where his couch took up most of the space. it was up against the wall, a mangy mongrel of matted brown wool, wide padded shoulders, and short pine legs, squatting low like it was about to drop a log. it looked pungent and flea-bitten and rabid.

no way in hell i was gonna sit on that couch.

i walked further into the room and almost thanked the lord aloud when i spied a plastic chair next to the mutt, i mean, couch. sitting down, i turned my attention to the rest of the decor, squinting my eyes in covert dismay at the black lacquer glass-topped coffee table sporting faux gold accents, a pimp's lean, and chinese tatoos. moving my gaze to the carpet, i clenched my mouth before it could fall agape. it looked like the head of a lice-infested child with its bald spots exposed between tufts of textile. not.a.good.look. luckily the lighting in the room was purposefully reduced to a weak glow, concealing most of the flaws behind a heavy application of shadow.

the walls were bruised, bare, and stabbed with holes, assaulted with the deadly weapons of metal tacks and picture frames. while it was obvious he didn't give much thought to his furniture, his electronics were another thing altogether. a huge plasma screen television hung from the wall to the right of me and there were speakers perched like crows in every corner of the room. directly to the left of the television was a receiver and multi-disc player, along with a tower of cds and dvds. my gaze fell upon the black box standing upright in the middle of the floor in front of the television, a shrine to hours of mindless activity.

"ps2...of course," i said knowingly. fingaz smirked.

"of course."

there was a scent wafting in the air...you know...the common smell found in all bachelor pads. it's the odor letting you know you're just one vagina in a long line of meaningless fucks...

"it smells like ass in here," i stated as i tilted my head upward and sniffed exaggerately, catching a wiff of cologne, "no...let me take that back...it smells like ass that's been splashed with 'farenheit'."

he played along (although to be fair, i wasn't joking).

"i've got some dirty drawers in my bedroom," he replied dryly, "wanna see?" (hopefully he was joking...)

"i'm sorry. it wasn't meant as an insult," contriteness colored my words, "i'm just sayin...every single guy i know has this same smell in his apartment."

"it comes with the cable," he deadpanned as he stepped around me and headed to the kitchen. a bark of laughter escaped my lips, ending in a hiccup. he turned to me with a brow lifted in inquiry.

"sometimes when i laugh, it ends with a hiccup." i said by way of explanation, shrugging nonchalantly. he nodded as he pulled two glass tumblers from his cabinet.

"you want anything to drink?" he asked, "i've got water, kool-aid, coke, wine, and henny."

"what kind of wine?"

"red."

"what kind of red wine?"

"the kind made from grapes fermented into an alcoholic beverage."

smart ass...

"i'll take a glass of that then."

how come dry wit makes me wet? that's a phenomena i've yet to figure out...

anyway, i was wet and we hadn't even eaten dinner yet. dinner turned out to be pizza ordered from da hut, with strawberries and cream for dessert (and no, that's not code for carnal activities ya nasty bastids). throughout the evening fingaz and i kept volleying barbs back and forth and i was enjoying myself thoroughly. he had a keen mind and as that's one thing guaranteed to make me wanna drop the grannies, i was ripe and ready by the time the midnight hour rolled around. meanwhile, i had to play it cool. eventually we were sitting side by side on the floor, paper plates pushed aside, ps2 controllers resting in our laps, a tumbler of wine in our hands. i was a bit lit and my whoremones were battling against my better judgement.

"it's getting late," i began with the statement certain to get a guy to speed up his action with a quickness, "i should be getting home."

he shook his head and smiled slyly, a devil's look in his eyes.

"it's still early. you don't have to leave now," he followed the script to a tee, adding seductively, "better yet, you don't have to leave at all..."

"nah," i continued with the farce, "i've gotta be somewhere in the morning."

fingaz stared at me intently. then he leaned over and plucked the tumbler from my hand, moving in to kiss me before i could say another word. his lips were...so very soft and warm, like the space beneath a down blanket on a winter morning. he slowly traced my lower lip with his tongue, painting illustrations of passion upon my mouth. i gasped as i opened my mouth eagerly and welcomed his invasion, slanting it beneath his like a droughted flower thirsty for a drop of rain. all of my senses overwhelmed me except for my common sense which had passed out an hour before, somewhere between the fourth and fifth glass of wine. the heat between us was building to an intolerable level as our hands began feverishly feasting on the form of the other. we ended up supine upon the floor, his body cloaking mine as i was pressed into the remnants of the rug. it was then i was briefly snatched out of the moment as the smell of dog shit hit my nostrils.

is that the carpet?!?

i quickly rolled us over until i was on top of him, pouring myself into him until we were a writhing mix of sipping lips, undulating hips, and straining grips. our clothes became cumbersome, muting the flames of our ardor like kindling that smoked but refused to spark. eventually the kiss ended with me slowly nipping his lips, unwilling to break the contact completely. we held each other closely until our breathing evened, then stared into each others eyes as the silence around us magnified the sound of our heartbeats.

it was time...

i rolled off of him until i was in a sitting position, dropping my chin to rest upon my drawn up knees. he stood up and held out his hand. i thought about refusing for all of a millisecond before i placed my hand in his. he pulled me up and led me to his bedroom...
_______________

pt. 3 tomorrow (don't be mad...it's too damn long as it is!)

why u wanna go and do that? pt. 1(conclusion tomorrow)

2007-10-17T00:54:00.000-04:00

[i finally got around to finishing this story so i've gotta repost the beginning so you can understand the end...]

i couldn't believe it.

this mothafucka was lying to me all up in my grill, just like a scene out of one of those hood flicks where the brotha is standing there telling his girl "it ain't what it looks like" while his dick is standing at attention and glistening in the wind and some chick behind him is frantically pulling up her cum stained g-string panties with that 'this heffa look like she gonna beat the shit outta me' look on her face. it was positively surreal.

"i'm telling you, you dreamt that," he continued, his face straighter than baby girl's bang after a hit with the hot comb. meanwhile, my own expression was a nappy do of tightly coiled features, from the angrily braided brow right down to the cynically doubled-twisted lips sticking out from 'tween twin cheeks puffed with indignation. he was standing there in his boxers, his arms crossing his broad chest, the chest i had just a few hours earlier kissed over every inch with my lips. he looked damn sexy...and guilty as fuck.

"for real dude...i don't EVER dream about shit like that..." i replied, incredulous that he was continuing with this farce. if i had known the brotha was willing to boldface lie like this i wouldn't have fucked him in the first place. wait, i'm lying. i would have fucked him, but i wouldn't have stuck around long enough for him to have an opportunity to boldface lie to me.

it was three in the morning, way too late/early for us to even be having that discussion. certainly it should have been too early for him to straight up lie like that. i mean, the most effective lying takes place between the hours of of 7:30 a.m. and 1 a.m. when people fabricate plausible excuses for not going to work or come up with that effective bullshit line to make the booty call go down without incident. instead he was in that black hole of time when negros say ridiculous shit like "we don't need no condom" or "that's just my momma calling me". you know, when lies that have little chance of convincing a person with half a brain are uttered nonetheless.

i sighed deeply and waited for him to answer me, my mind drifting back to when i'd first met him a month before...
_________________

it was a friday night in july. a warm breeze made its way across my body like a lover's tongue, licking my skin and plastering my clothes to my body. candice and i had been to a club damn near every weekend since june, but we had yet to visit this spot. i stared at the building, noting the disheveled bricks making up the old building we were walking towards. it didn't look like much, but i was excited cuz i'd heard it was the most popular friday night spot in atlanta for us black folk. i could already hear the music from the live band kissing the air around us as we stepped in line and waited for entrance.

"what's the name of this place again?" i'd asked candice.

"'rollers'," she'd responded casually, as she glanced around her at the other people headed in the same direction.

pulling out my i.d., i looked up and into the face of one of the security guys at the door. i stopped mid-motion, caught up in the brown depths of his eyes. well looky here...

i placed my stare at his feet and climbed the mountain of his form with my eyes, finding a foothold on his thick thighs before leaping over the bulge between his legs, landing at the flat terrain of his stomach. i walked the rest of the way up, stopping to appreciate the scenery his broad shoulders provided before crawling up a thick neck. i took a leasurely stroll through the field of his soft lips, admiring the curve of his nose before finally ending at the oasis of his eyes.

now i could have said some really corny shit like "make sure you frisk me real thorough-like" but then i'd have had to supply the cheesy porn music. i can almost hear it...the gutter-grown guitar puffing out smoky notes to hover like rings in the air while the sleazy saxaphone skeets sound onto my eardrums. *shudders*

but i digre...uh, sorry chele...i mean, i've been led astray from the initial topic of discussion.

anywho, so dude was fine and gainfully employed, ergo he had potential. i handed him my i.d., my eyes still climbing his rugged terrain with a slow thoroughness. he frowned as he stared at it.

"just call me nikki," i replied before he could open his mouth and mangle my name. looking up, he smiled at the purposeful purr of my voice. his wireframe glasses sat on his cheeks, an attractive addition to an already damn near flawless facade.

"i'm 'fingaz'" * name has been changed to protect the guilty.

i leaned over slightly and sniffed him covertly. lavender and clove with a hint of cedar...cool...no baby powder, which means he doesn't have his balls coated in that shit.

"no baby powder," i murmured as i inhaled deeply.

"what?" he asked confused.

"uh, nothing," i said quickly, my face a mask of innocence.

candice, who had walked into the spot before me, stepped back through the doors and looked at me with that 'i can't take yo ass nowhere' look on her face.

"you ready?" she asked impatiently, her voice almost drowned out by the live music blasting through the opening. fingaz was definitely appealing but there were too many fine brothas up in the cut for me to be latching onto the first one at the door.

"yeah," i said as i turned to fingaz and held out my hand for my i.d.

"i'm gonna hold onto this," he said, his voice all dark and smoky like a jazz tavern with deliberately low lighting. it brought to mind miles davis sitting on a stool on a stage bathed in blue light, his lips seducing the notes to 'round about midnight' from the mouth of his trumpet while the burning butt of an unfiltered cigarette dangles precariously from the edges of a plastic ashtray placed next to his right knee. (sometimes my imagination gets too specific with shit...oh well). he tucked my i.d. in his shirt pocket and smiled devilishly. i lifted a brow at that.

"what for?"

"so you can't leave without talking to me."

a slow smile spread across my face as i took on the meaning of what he was saying and tucked it into my mind for comprehension.

"alright then..." i finally said nonchalant-like, although i'm sure my cheesy grin let him know what the deal was. so candice and i stepped into the pool hall and headed toward the stairs to get away from the crushing crowd. i tugged at the mini-skirt i was wearing, conscious of the open face of the steps which would give anyone standing beneath them a clear view to the granny panties i was wearing that night (hey, YOU might not mind the feeling of satin floss cutting into the crack between your sweaty buttcheeks but i ain't the one for that shit. i've got a big ass with a big crack. it was hot and the panties were cotton. 'nuff said.)

anyway, so candice and i are now upstairs chillin and checking out the brothas. meanwhile, my mind was on the cat holding my i.d. in his front pocket. i started cataloguing his features in my mind...about 6'2 give or take an inch, 220 to 230 lbs all in the right places, broad shoulders, nice tight ass, sculpted legs slightly bowed, full lips brushed with a mustache, high cheekbones, seductive brown eyes, a smoothly bald head, and skin dark and rich like a chocolate truffle. sheeyit!

"er, i'm going back outside," i said as i turned to candice. she smirked, a knowing look in her eyes, but said nothing. i sauntered down the stairs and through the front door, pulling out my cell phone as i did so. i used the patented 'call someone and play like you didn't really walk out there just to talk to that cat' move. i strut about ten yards away from fingaz (ever mindful of the fact his gaze was no doubt focused on my ass) and flipped my phone open, scanning the list to see who i could call.

the person i would usually call when using this particular maneuver was in the pool hall, so i had to go to tried and true number two - my brother. i quick dialed him as i turned and made a covert glance in fingaz's direction. he was staring at me. i dropped my gaze to the sidewalk and pressed the phone to my ear. of course swad would pick this night not to answer his damn phone. i hung up before it went to voicemail and started scrolling down the list of folk in my phone book. by this time fingaz had walked over and was standing next to me. i saw his dark shadow break up the concrete grey of the sidewalk and lifted my head to look at him. the devilish grin had returned.

"you know you came out here to talk to me so you can end that call now."

oh...it's like that?

i shook my head, rolling my eyes as i flipped my phone closed...

repost - ten signs you're addicted to your battery-powered friend

2007-10-10T08:25:00.002-04:00

[reposting is really helping me to get myself back into blogging rhythm so here's another one.]

there was a time when i simply couldn't get enough of my dildo. i masturbated twice a day everyday and was aiight with it cuz i was single and had no prospective dick on the horizon. eventually though, i had to take a step back and check my behavior. turns out i was addicted to the damn dildo.

so in an attempt to help out sistas everywhere who might find themselves in a similar situation, i've devised a list of symptoms for the 'dildo addict'. hopefully you don't see yourself in any of these things as i did. if you do, i'll pray for your salvation. LOL

1. you've named your dildo.

now this isn't to say that you shouldn't name it. it's only a problem when you take longer than five minutes to name it, like you actually put more effort into naming it than you would in naming your firstborn. i came up with the name 'stroker ace' after ten minutes of trying to find a name that was both witty and apt. i wanted the name to sound melodious when i screamed it at the height of my orgasm, which brings me to the second symptom of 'dildo addiction'...

2. you call out its name at any time during your masturbation session.

uh, it's an inanimate object. it's the equivalent of yelling out 'sofa' after finding bliss within its cushions or exclaiming 'car' after it saved you a couple of bucks on gas. if you can't get a response from it, then you don't need to be yelling out its name. when i did it the first time, i had to giggle at myself for doing such a ridiculous thing. after i did it again, i had to wonder if i should be institutionalized.

3. you dream about it at night.

i'm not just talking about dreaming about it laying on your nightstand. i mean having sex dreams about it and waking up with bedsheets drenched in your cum. i mean dreaming of marrying it and having little mini dildos to be sold off later at an adult toy store and actually mourning the loss of your 'children' as they're being sold into sex slavery. if you've dreamed of being impregnated by your dildo, it's definitely time to put that sucka on the shelf for a while.

4. you have to fantasize about it in order to get horny enough to orgasm...during sex with an actual human being.

sure it's the perfect lover in alot of respects. i mean, except for the low whirring noise of the vibrating mechanism, it's relatively silent. it won't be giving you grief a week later when you haven't called it, won't be blowing up your cell phone with stupid inquries about where you are and who you're with. it won't cheat on you and it doesn't mind being under your complete control. all that said, it's still only a penis shaped instrument made of rubber. it's rather limited in what it can do, and there are times when you don't want to have to use your arm to get off. that's where live dick comes in. of course there are risks. live dick could be carrying an std, but that's what condoms are for. live dick could be attached to a cat who will end up bugging the living shit out of you about when you two can get together again. live dick might even be small dick, which comes with its own set of problems. either way, live dick can stroke you deeply and thoroughly and hit you at angles your dildo just can't. oh, and live dick is attached to a body you can hold close and lips you can kiss to your hearts content. those attributes make it the naturally superior choice between the two. if you can't see that, put the dildo down. NOW.

5. you fiend for it when you're away so you keep it in your bag at all times.

i was so nose open over 'stroker ace', i was forced to carry it everywhere with me cuz it seemed like my clit was forever calling out for it. i almost had to slap the bitch silly when she whined to me about how lonely she was and how she just wanted it to stroke her for a second, until she didn't feel lonely anymore. her voice was in my ears, pleading for me to bring stroker to work with me. i ultimately relented, but i wasn't happy about it. one time i actually had to leave a meeting because the pull was so strong. i grabbed stroker and headed for my car, where i had at it for about five minutes. mind you, i was amazingly relaxed afterwards, but i'm sure somebody smelled the scent of sex on my skirt...

6. you treat it like a human being.

when 'it' turns into 'he', that's the beginning of the end. when you envision introducing 'him' to your friends and then watching them grow green with envy after viewing 'his' obvious perfection, then you're close to the end. when you start contemplating ways of inviting 'him' over to your parents' house to meet mom and pops, the end is right before you. anything else like buying 'him' clothes, telling 'him' you'll pay his bills, and/or cooking 'him' what you perceive to be his favorite dish means you've jumped off the deep end. let's not even BEGIN to address what's wrong with you if you start TALKING to 'him'. your sanity has left you and you are now officially a crazy mothafucka.

7. your clit has overdosed on its presence.

overdosed as in 'it hurts to close your legs cuz you been shaking the shit out of your clit'. there is such a thing as too much exposure. if your dildo sees more of your clit than your boyfriend would (if you had one), then it's time for an intervention. i remember times when my clit hurt so bad i considered having the damn thing removed. then there was the time when i had to fake an orgasm with a fuck buddy because my clit was so sensitive, every time he stroked it felt like my clit was being scratched with sandpaper. you do not want this to happen to you. if you feel your clit becoming overly raw from your constant dildo action, stop yourself before you do permanent damage.

8. you try to give it oral sex.

there is no joy in sucking a penis-shaped piece of rubber. there just ain't. there is no pre-cum to lick off of the sensitive head. there are no veins pumping with life to trace with your tongue. there is no heat to feel on your lips or in your mouth. there is no responsive stick jumping and throbbing as you engulf it down to the base. there is no scrotum to take in your mouth before humming. there is no warm cum to swallow. all you've got is a cold, vibrating piece of rubber. if you find that appealing, you might as well just stick a shoe in your mouth.

if you've experienced any of the aforementioned symptoms, it's time for you to drop that dildo and seek counseling. in the meanwhile, stay away from cucumbers, zuchini, thick writing utensils like jumbo sharpies, tv remote control pads, staplers, sixteen or twenty ounce bottles, or any other elongated item that might give you the uncontrollable urge to stick it up your twat.

cuz i'm telling you, staples hurt like FUCK when you're pulling them from your pussy lips. at least, uh...that's what i've heard...

2007-10-05T14:06:00.000-04:00

a letter of apology

2007-10-03T15:47:00.000-04:00

dear v

i've been meaning to write this letter for the longest time, only i've been too afraid because i know i have much to atone for. this is a letter of apology for all of the times i could have done right by you and didn't.

i think we started off on the wrong foot. the first time i met you was when that guy pointed you out to me and being so young, i had no idea who you were. i didn't know he wasn't supposed to touch you. i just did what i was told. it wasn't until afterwards when i told my brother the guy had put his hands on you that i realized i should have done a better job of protecting you. that experience left me feeling as if perhaps i shouldn't associate with you at all. you became dirty to me and i did everything i could to put thoughts of you out of my mind. i figured if i stopped thinking about you, you'd just disappear, but that was impossible. i mean, i had to use the bathroom so i was wiping you dry at least three times a day.

the next time i became aware of your presence, i was in a rather awkward position, remember? i had just finished perusing through some of my uncle's magazines when all of a sudden you came at me with demands i was ill-equipt to handle. i wasn't sure what you expected of me and ultimately became frustrated as you became more and more insistent. finally i took matters into my own hands, clumsily attempting to quiet you as i sat sprawled out on the bathroom floor of my grandmother's apartment. i didn't even know if my efforts would amount to anything but luckily, whatever it was i did seemed to calm you, even if was only a momentary reprieve. from that point on, our relationship changed. where once upon a time i was numbed to your existence, i suddenly couldn't move without being made aware of you.

my teenage years were littered with furtive minutes of fingers feverishly fondling the patched peach fuzz on your face, my attempts at getting a grip on your urges ultimately leaving both of us dissatisfied. my friends told me i couldn't handle you on my own, that i needed someone else to assist me in assuaging you. meanwhile, i still had bad memories of that guy and his hands and how he assaulted you and i just couldn't do it. little did i know i would again be unable to protect your interests.

in my defense, all i can say is i had no idea fred would behave as he did. i really thought he was a decent cat. looking back, i see the signs that should have clued me into his true nature, but i was only nineteen at the time and up until then had been relatively sheltered from the ills of the world. when i first met him, he had such a beautiful smile and i remember thinking to myself nobody with such a beautiful smile could be a bad person. that night he abused you, i never saw it coming. one minute we were watching television, the next minute we were arguing and he was tearing into you, bashing your face in with his 'night club' until all that was left was a landscape of raped innocence. i remember how you wept blood that night, your tears smeared all over his bedsheets, your lips swollen and cracked from the lashes of his brutal strokes. i touched you with my eyes closed, afraid i wouldn't recognize the feel of you. i cried for the loss of your pristine visage and then closed my legs, hoping to compress the distressing disfigurement into something whole again...only you weren't coal i could squeeze into a diamond 'tween my thighs.

over the succeeding years you were an open wound i carelessly bandaged with inadequate strips of casual copulation, unaware i would never find a salve of absolution within that kind of intimacy. you were there through it all...the crabs that that clung to your hair like lice, forcing me to shave you down to the skin...the foreign phalli choking you with their reckless invasions before belatedly retreating, the remains of their skeeted seed staining your terrain with shame...

you were always there, even when i wasn't. during those episodes, i could erase myself until you were all that was left, all they could see. i forced you to engage in scene with barely familiar partners, ad-libbing a bogus depiction of passion while they flubbed their lines of token pokes. i made you converse in faux contractions even when their actions left you bereft of satisfaction.

i'm not even sure when i stopped that kind of behavior. i guess it just became easier for me to go back to the tried and true method of handling your needs on my own. by this time i was older, so i was educated about various toys i could use to help you get what you wanted without all the bothersome stuff that came with actual physical intimacy. i thought you'd be fine with that considering all of the things that had happened before, but it's obvious you are no longer tolerant of this limited form of coupling. sometimes i hate writing about what i yearn for because i know you're just sitting there waiting for me to acknowledge what you've known all along...

our happiness is intertwined.

there, i admit it. i can no longer pretend you are not a porthole to my soul. i can no longer deny that when i allow for indifferent invasion of your domain i am also allowing for that same army to conquer my spirit. there really is no such thing as casual sex where i'm concerned. those past seminal experiences have heightened the importance of intimacy for me. i can joke about previous encounters and re-live those moments where i danced between laughter and tears with my bedmates, but i know i can no longer separate the act from the reaction. i can no longer just let a man thrust himself within me and trust i'll be aiight with no afterglow.

i deserve that afterglow. both of us do. i will settle for nothing less.

i will cherish you because i know in doing so, i also cherish myself. i ask that you be patient during this time because it means i'll have to continue the solo act of addressing your needs. i can't even promise you it'll be worth the wait because i'm still human, still learning how to trust, still discovering what it is i truly want. however, what i DO promise is that i will never again willingly allow anyone to disrespect you.

thank you for sticking with me through the highs and lows. i love you like a petulant sister.

nikki

p.s. my patience wants me to let you know she's wearing thin. evidently you've become insatiable as of late. i told her you just doing you, but the chick just won't let up. i think she still blames me for her dwarf-like stature. damn...sounds like another letter is in order, huh?

dating/sex myths debunked

2007-10-01T13:22:00.000-04:00

myths are supposed to make the dating scene easier. i should be able to just look at a guy and based upon what i see, become instantly privy to intimate details regarding his dating/sexual habits. romantic comedies like coming to america should give me a realistic view of romance as it applies to my life. i should be able to walk out of my door and bump into a mullet-wearing african prince who came to america for the express purpose of marrying me and making me his princess.

but it just don't go down like that.

i don't know how many times i've been unpleasantly surprised to discover the myth i've accepted as truth is indeed a cruel falsehood. therefore, i have taken it upon myself to provide this public announcement entry hoping it will guide you around the pitfalls that come with believing dating/sex myths.

1. all black men have big penises.

if you've been reading my blog for a while you've already read about my encounter with the mini penis. well, he's a black dude. now it's a strong possibility the guy was born with partial nephritis, as his penis was unnaturally small in proportion to his 6'1, 210 lb body. however, in all likelihood he's just like millions of other black males out there. he just ain't packing the part. meanwhile, it's extra important for us women to be mindful of this particular untruth as there are brothas out taking advantage of our ignorance. they're getting dates and promises for sex based on the myth alone. they're gaining access to quality coochie and too many of us women are forced to not only put up with the puny pinky-like appendages, but we end up pissed off and writing entries about it, putting all our biz out in the streets.

2. all white men have small penises.

this is simply untrue. i've seen enough porn to verify this one (along with my own personal experiences, hehehe). plus, you can't tell me ger.ard butl.er has a small penis. no really, even if his is microscopic, don't tell me. he's too damn fine not to have a big penis.

3. black women don't suck dick.

i'm so sick of dudes telling me black women don't suck dick. we DO. if a black woman told you she doesn't suck dick it's probably cuz she doesn't wanna suck YOUR dick. she's probably smelling your balls through your tighty whiteys and fighting off nausea. have you even bothered to check down there to make sure your penile area is up to sniff? maybe she has seen your penis and finds it unattractive? you might have an ingrown hair or some other liquid secreting bump on or around your penis and who wants something smelly and/or ugly and/or bleeding in their mouths? certainly not me. if you want us to suck your dick, scrub the entire area, keep the hair groomed, and make the penis as pretty as possible. getting it circumsized if it hasn't been already isn't too much to ask. if you think it won't make a difference, consider this...jewish men are always smiling and it ain't just cuz they get to take offa work every other week for religious holidays.

then again, she might just be telling you that so you won't be expecting much. that way the act will be seen as a gift and better appreciated. remember how you play stupid at work so folk won't give you banal shit to do? same strategy here...

4. if he treats his momma like a queen, he'll treat you like a queen.

that ain't true cuz there can only be one queen, which means you're gonna be the peasant. if that dude has his momma on a pedestal, it guarantees you won't EVER be able to cook as good as his momma, clean as good as his momma, or take care of him as good as his momma cuz he probably living with his momma. while she's getting all the royal treatment like spa packages and dinners to expensive restaurants, you're left with a wooden stick with balls on the end and a coupon to ste.ak and sha.ke. fuck THAT. what you want is a guy who only treats his momma 'aiight'. he doesn't call her a bitch or smack her in the mouf, but he thinks she can be bitchy sometimes and he probably thought about smacking her once or twice but had the self control to prevent himself from doing so. he buys her stuff for her birthday but he spends more money on a prostitute. in other words, he's comfortable with the idea of lavishing attention and money on a female while also understanding that the woman who gives him sex is way more important than the woman who gave him life.

5. we all look the same with the lights off.

that's some bullshit. ugly ain't ultraviolet. you sit in the dark long enough and your eyes are gonna adjust. you'll be able to make out ugly cuz it glows. if you wanna know for sure where your own looks fall on the scale, turn off the lights. if you notice a phosphorous glow to your features, don't fret cuz knowing's half the battle. meanwhile, don't come looking for me cuz my looks are pitch black (and no, that is not a cloak i'm wearing, damnit.)

6. if he has a big penis, he's a good lover.

this is the kind of shit you might hear from a dude with a big dick:

"do you know how many women out there would kill to be stroked by this huge penis? hell, you needs to be glad i'm showing you attention at all."

"i don't do missionary, baby. either you on top or you out the door."

"what? you said something about stroking it a certain way to hit something called a 'g' spot? shit, i've got a big dick! i've hit spots representing the entire alphabet at least 20 times already without having to make one friggin move."

"DAMN girl! you told me you wanted me to get all up in dem guts, then when i do you curling up on the bed like a punk and complaining about how much the shit hurts. oh HELL nah..now you getting blood all on my sheets!"

"huh? you want me to eat your pussy? for real? look chick, i don't eat pussy. i've got a big dick. that's all i need. if you want someone to eat you out, call a dude with a little dick to do it."

only thing is...

7. if he has a small dick, he knows how to (or will willingly) eat the coochie.

is a lie too.

cuz if he has a small dick and he finds himself in the presence of naked vagina, he ain't wasting his time eating it when he knows this is probably the last time he's gonna see it this close for a while. thing is, women aren't stupid. if we're with a guy who can eat it out and he's got a small penis, that dude's gonna be eating it out ALL THE TIME. he might NEVER get a chance to stroke it. and seeing as dudes aren't stupid (most of the time anyway), they will withhold skills for the sake of achieving their own agendas. remember that strategy you use at work to avoid doing extra shit? works for them too...

8. if he's driving a luxury car, he's making money and that means nice stuff for you.

no, what that could mean is that he's barely making ends meet cuz he's paying a hellacious car note and insurance bill which in turn means alot of ramen noodle casseroles and nights where he says "let's just stay home and watch movies", which in turn is code for "i don't have enough money to cover gas, let alone movie tickets, and with your greedy ass i'll end up paying twenty bucks at the concession stand so we staying at the crib."

better yet, it could mean he saved up his money so he could rent that luxury vehicle for the weekend with the express purpose of finding gullible chicks like you who are easily enamored by leather seats and woodgrain dashboards. if his car or truck is notably absent from his driveway or apartment parking lot the following weekend, don't act surprised cuz you've been warned.

9. just because the male bought the female a dinner that cost over $200 per person doesn't mean she has to sleep with him.

oh yes the hell it does. you know good and damn well if the tables were turned the female would be looking at the dude like "i just paid two hundred bucks on your meal, buddy. you betta get naked, get down on your knees, and eat this coochie and you betta not stop until i tell you to or your tongue falls off, one or the other."

so if he put out loot for the grub, best to just get naked, lay back, turn off the lights, and hope he don't glow in the dark...unless you need the light to help you locate his miniscule penis.

10. you can tell when he's gay.

many times you can tell, but just as many times you can't. short of finding him with a dick up his butt or in his mouth, you're pretty much left to either asking him straight up if he's gay or checking the phone book on his mobile. if he's got an inordinant amount of male numbers in his phone, i.e. a ratio of like four guys for every one girl, then you're probably dealing with a guy who bats from both sides of the plate and he's probably only in your dugout for appearances sake. now there are some guys who are are heterosexual and actually have alot of frat brothers or athletic teammates, which is why this myth isn't completely true. meanwhile, if a single dude has like fifty males in his phonebook and only three or four females, i'm deducing he's gay until i ask him outright (and best believe, i'm gonna ask).

11. sonny from 'a bronx tale': "Alright, listen to me. You pull up right where she lives, right? Before you get outta the car, you lock both doors. Then, get outta the car, you walk over to her. You bring her over to the car. Dig out the key, put it in the lock and open the door for her. Then you let her get in. Then you close the door. Then you walk around the back of the car and look through the rear window. If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so that you can get in: dump her."

cologero: "Just like that?"

sonny: Listen to me, kid. If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so that you can get in, that means she's a selfish broad and all you're seeing is the tip of the iceberg. You dump her and you dump her fast.

addendum from me: cuz best believe, once she realizes you still driving a car with manual locks, she's dropping your ass like the people's elbow, dude. come on...you can find an affordable car with automatic locks! and don't get it twisted...i'm SHALLOW, not SELFISH. those are two TOTALLY different things right there...

repost - the double standard of entering and exiting

2007-09-26T20:19:00.001-04:00

[while i gather my thoughts for my next confessional, i figured i'd post an oldie. i'm sure most of you have read it, but there may be a new reader or two who hasn't. anyway, this is also something to remind me of the candor i wanna re-capture when i write, as i've noticed how effective i've been at censuring myself lately. here's hoping i knock myself out of such foolish behavior. anyway, that's my problem, not yours...]

i had just farted. and it wasn't the kind of fart where you go "whew! that didn't smell too bad..." no...it was the kind of fart that make you say out loud to yourself "DAYUM, that shit STINKS!", which is normally not all that bad when you're by yourself.

i was on the elevator at the time. luckily, i was also by myself, which was why i thought it was aiight to let it out, cuz my stomach started cramping and i really couldn't hold it in much longer. after scrunching up my face in distaste at the straight up rankness that had just been emitted from my ass, i backed up to the wall, hoping to escape the smell. then i forgot...farts follow. that smell followed me straight to the corner of the elevator.

and then the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

and he was standing there.

malik!

oh.my.god.

malik had just recently been hired and was working in the mailroom. the mailroom at my job is also known as the only place where a black man can find employment here and there was no denying the straight up, bonafide beauty of the black man standing in front of me at the entrance of the elevator.

the same elevator where i had just a minute ago let loose the kind of fart that smelled like something had crawled up into my ass and died.

i cringed inwardly as i watched him step into the elevator.

"wassup," he said, his eyebrow lifted in query as he watched me plant my ass firmly against the wall. i nodded with fake confidence, too embarrassed to say anything else, cuz i knew in a second he was gonna smell the fart of all farts.

turning to hit the button to the floor he was getting off on, i heard him take in a deep breath. i was facing his back when the moment came.

the moment when the air from the dead animal in my ass made it past his nostrils to burn the lining in his stomach.

i saw his shoulders stiffen and his frame become ramrod straight. i pressed my ass even more closely to the wall, as if the damage hadn't already been done. damn you asshole! this is all your fault!

now i've had various body parts fail me in the past during crucial moments. dry vagina during sex, blurry eyes while driving, hands that drop expensive vases on the floor, forgetting which floor i lived on...these things i was used to. but my anus had always been the one part of my anatomy that had never let me down. until now.

in the past, my "a-orafice" had come through for me like a champ, like the time when i ate a four omlette breakfast with a glass of prune juice (my grandma, y'all) and then had to make it through a four hour funeral with no bathroom in sight. that day, she was like fort knox! she was bolted down between buns of steel and she didn't let SHIT out.

then there were the numerous times when i had to fart while i was giving presentations. for some reason, whenever i'm about to do a public speaking engagement, gas just suddenly forms in my ass and i have to fart. i know it has to do with my nerves, but damn...how da hell does that happen???

anyway, so as i said, my "a-orafice" had my back when it counted, but not on this day. on this day, i was standing behind the finest brotha in the building, realizing he hadn't taken a breath since he first got on the elevator, knowing that whatever play i thought i was gonna get from him had vanished into thin air, the fart having killed it.

that was the longest minute of my life. we both held to our places in silence. he never turned towards me and i never pulled my ass from the wall as i stood in back of him. when the doors finally opened onto his floor, he practically jumped out of the elevator. he didn't even say goodbye.

but as the doors closed, i could hear him gasping as he tried to catch some air after holding his breath for the entire elevator ride.

i frantically started flapping my arms around, hoping to disperse the heinous smell still sitting in the air like a dirty ass on a clean couch. by the time i reached my floor, my arms were killing me.

the next time i saw malik was three weeks later at a department function. he saw me coming and discreetly turned to walk in the opposite direction.

i learned a lesson there. guys have no problem sticking a dick in your ass, but they have little tolerance for anything coming out of it.

just curious...

2007-09-24T13:25:00.000-04:00

how come i have to go to high-income white neighborhoods in order to get some decent produce? what, poor and/or black folk don't eat vegetables? what's worse is that the prices are the same. i pay ten dollars for ten pounds of pears in the high-income area just like in the hood, only i don't have to sift through 100 pears for ten minutes to find four pears worth eating.

damn, can a sista get a friggin apple that doesn't look like it was given 30 lashes for talkin sass to de massa? is it too much to ask for a cucumber that's not soft enough to fart when squeezed? can someone hook a sista up with lettuce that ain't so brown it looks like it's got more melanin in it than i've got?

how come the only time racism generates marches is when it occurs in small southern towns? where is al sha.rpton when i need someone to march in protest of the fact that i'm the token negro working at a major university in a metropolitan city who's gonna hit the glass ceiling in about a year? where da hell is jesse when i need someone to rhyme about the unfair treatment i get at the gig on the daily?

"i'm not here to cause a commotion
i'm here cuz nikki deserves a promotion
stop 'humpin around' and 'don't be cruel'
or i'll bring mister 't' here to pity da fool!"

where in da hell are these guys during my job interviews when the interviewer is looking at my neatly coifed locs, dreading the fact i sought out a job at his company while glancing at any cracks in my resume in search of the perfect excuse to justify not considering me for the position? shit, i'm tired of that whole "redneck in the pick up truck is the racist" bullshit. turn that radar on and you'll find more than a few among the college-educated, northern born and residing, never slept with a relative, hil.ary cli.nton supporting, 'evolved' folk living outside of the south. i'll give it to the ones residing south of tha mason-dixon...at least you see the noose coming. much better than having the shit hiding behind 'politically-correct' banter...

...or residing in the hearts of the folk who think they're not racist cuz they've never called a black person 'ni.gger' even as they've tossed a resume into the wastebasket cuz the name on it was 'iesha jackson'.

...or existing in the minds of the folk who breathe the sigh of relief cuz they've got a token brohem (probably the lone black teamate from the high school basketball squad) stashed in the closet to whip out on those occasions when simply saying they've got a black friend won't clear them after saying something stupid like "my folk didn't own slaves so i didn't benefit from slavery."

how many times i gotta be that token brohem who gets invited to dinner parties thinking i'm gonna enjoy myself only to find out i'm the showpiece for the 'friend', the 'ask jeeveka' white folk come to for answers to perplexing questions like...

"why aren't more black people upset about michael vick killing dogs?" [dude, young black men are being killed on the daily over bullshit and i'm supposed to get weepy over some dogs? when the death of a dog begins to mean the end of the black community, get back at me and THAT'S when i'll be more upset about it.] or

"how do black people feel about barak obama" [he's a black dude running for president. shit, i fear for his life!] or

"why do black women seem so upset about stuff?" [probably cuz folk keep asking stupid questions like this one]

why is it the only time i've ever seen a white man defer to a black man in terms of his knowledge of something is when i saw it on 'remember the titans'? how come i never saw any of the white doctors on 'er' defer to pratt about anything that didn't involve gang violence and black patients?

how come in the midst of all that shouting in jena, nobody bothered to come up with the funds to get the kid out of jail on bail?

why is it david bowie can send ten grand to the jena legal defense fund but masta 'nigga' 'p'lease can't send a red cent when no doubt at least one of those six has either bought his cds or supported his music and they probably don't even know what a david bowie is?

why did i get an email telling me to wear black to support the jena six and nobody bothered to include the address of the defense committee so i could send money instead?

Jena 6 Defense Committee
P. O. Box 2798
Jena, LA 71342

what is a march gonna do for those kids other than generate a bunch of t-shirts and signs and hoarse, pissed off black folk? it damn sure ain't gonna change shit in jena cuz when the marchers bounce, those kids and the racist folk who reside there will still be there.

when did this harmless list of questions turn into a rant?

a lesson for the early bird

2007-09-12T22:30:00.000-04:00

"Stop pushing me!" whined sperm one (s1), as his body was slammed up against the cervix wall.

"i'm not pushing you! you're getting in my fucking way!" growled sperm two (s2).

"You're really not being fair about this..."

"fair? this ain't no stroll through the park, dude. we're all competing for the chance to hit up an egg. hasn't anyone talked to you about this yet?"

"I'm perfectly aware of the task at hand," s1 responded frostily, "Meanwhile, must you shove me like this? It's not as if the eggs are going anywhere!"

"do you not see all of the other brethren around us? dude...this is a fucking RACE. get in the game!" s2 yelled impatiently, "better yet, just step aside, cuz it's obvious you don't have what it takes to fertilize an egg anyway..."

"insulting me is totally uncalled for," s1 replied indignantly.

"do i really look like i care?"

"you should! i'm pretty sure the creator would NOT appreciate your unsportsmanlike attitude."

"look...i'm trying to be nice about this because you're one of my folk, but really...you're working my last nerve."

"ahem...I'm also pretty sure we do not have nerves..."

"it was a figure of speech!" s2 exclaimed with exasperation, "i swear, you are soooooo not fertilizing that egg. you're a fucking moron."

"your vocabulary is absolutely stellar. i've no doubt if you were to fertilize the egg the ensuing child would be equally as stellar at things such as assault and battery of the english language, the family pets, and an inordinant amount of unsuspecting females," s1 said sarcastically, "Meanwhile, if you bothered to look around you, you'd realize we're both in first place."

s2 angrily turned his attention towards s1.

"the only reason you're still around is cuz you're hanging onto my coattails, punk."

"we don't have..."

"shut UP. SHIT!" s2 exclaimed before focusing his efforts on his task.

they swam frantically up the uterus until they got to the fallopian tube.

"there they are!" s2 exclaimed excitedly, sensing the cluster of eggs ahead of him, "now step aside punk and let a real sperm handle this!"

s2 then deliberately crashed into s1, propelling him into the wall of the tube as he scrambled ahead towards the first egg in his path.

"YOU BASTARD!" s1 screamed in his wake.

"aren't we all!" s2 yelled back, snickering as he raced forward, sure he was about to penetrate that egg at any second.

"you best slow ya roll playa," came the words, evidently from the egg. shocked, s2 came to a screeching halt right as he was about to poke her.

"you TALK?" s2 said, his surprise tripping the words, "nobody told me you eggs could talk!"

"this coming from the sperm who speaks despite the fact he has no mouth," egg replied dryly.

s2 thought about that a moment. how did he talk? he attempted to scratch his head in confusion, then realized he had no hands. he remained silent as his embarrassment grew. thirty seconds later he still hadn't figured out what to say. egg's patience broke.

"let's just say we find a way to communicate to each other and leave it at that, k?" gritted egg, annoyed at s2's obvious lack of intelligence.

s2 gave a sheepish laugh, then bristled. what the fuck was he embarrassed about? he didn't come here to make small talk. he came here to get up in dem guts.

"just so you know, i heard that."

s2 stiffened.

"heard what?" he asked innocently.

"'get up in dem guts?'" she quoted before adding disdainfully, "you can't be serious."

"you read minds too?!?"

"technically, you don't have a mind."

"oh shit, not you too..." s2 groaned.

"i'm saying," continued egg matter-of-factly, " you can't expect to just run up into a sista without some form of courting."

s2 was speechless. what the fuck? did this chick...

"not chick," egg interrupted his thought, "EGG, dude. EGG."

does this EGG really expect me to woo her?

"yes," she replied to his thought, "i expect you to woo me."

s2 was incredulous.

"what kind of wooing could you possibly expect from a sperm?!?" s2 asked exasperately, "ain't no candy or flowers or jewelry anywhere up in here!"

there was a thoughtful pause before egg finally responded.

"how about some poetry?"

s2 felt as though he was living someone else's nightmare. surely i'm not here in front of an egg being thwarted from my life's mission because the chi..uh, EGG wants me to quote her some poetry? really, this is too much.

he glanced around her, noticing the other eggs sitting there ready for the poking.

man, fuck THIS. i can get with one of the other...

"none of us eggs is gonna give it up without at least a little bit of poetry, dude." egg said in response to his unspoken intent. the other eggs moved in agreement.

"you've GOT to be JOKING."

"no, i'm not," egg said stubbornly, "so if you want to get up in THESE guts you best represent."

s2 knew when he was beat. he sighed heavily as he glanced dejectedly at the other eggs. SHIT.

"whatever, dude. just hop to it," said egg, "and be quick about it cuz your brethren will be here any second."

s2 suddenly sensed the other sperm speeding through the uterus. desperately, he tried to come up with something, ANYTHING that would pass as a poem.

"roses are red," he sputtered frantically.

"oh HELL nah," egg said.

"GOTDAMNIT!," s2 bellowed angrily.

"try again," egg responded, unmoved by his frustration.

s2 began to quiver nervously. think! THINK!

AHA!

"there once was a man from..."

"for real?" egg interrupted again, disbelief lacing her words, "that's all you got?!?"

"HOLD ON DAMNIT!"

s2 could sense the other sperm entering the mouth of the fallopian tube. he took a deep breath...

"say baby...can i be your slave?"

"is your name darius?" asked egg derisively, "cuz if it ain't, that shit right there ain't original."

that was IT. s2 had had ENOUGH.

"look here chick, egg, or whatever the fuck you call yourself! i really don't need your permission to do what i gotta do, so either you let me have at it or i'm gonna just take it and ask questions late..."

"OUCH!" exclaimed egg in surprise, "THAT HURTS!"

that's when s2 noticed a tail slithering into egg from behind. s1 had snuck in the back door when nobody was paying attention.

"thank you ever so much for the diversion," came muffled words from inside the egg.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!" s2 raged.

s2 heard s1's snicker as the transformation began. before the process was complete, s1's final words echoed mockingly...

"stellar vocabulary as always. unfortunately, you should have known when to speak and when to shut up, because the wordy sperm only gets 'shit' in return, idiot."

blogger's den, week 1

2007-09-11T11:55:00.000-04:00

week one of fantasy football in blogger's den made for many close match ups, a few blow-outs, and one ralley from behind in the fading minutes.

cleveland steamers (king or 'ddot') was thoroughly trounced by yours truly. he talked much smack all week long which ultimately prompted me to shoot him a quick email in the wake of my aformentioned victory:

i am sorry for your loss...

i knew your pride pretty well. we used to work together on stuff. although i knew it'd been suffering from morbid obesity for a while and death was immiment, i had no idea it's existence would be taken away from us so violently, nor could i have imagined it would be at the hands of an entire squad of fantasy league football players. i remember advising it to recognize the dangers of extending itself too far but you know how reckless your pride could be. despite it's moments of bloated behavior and impulsive nature, i appreciated your pride for what it was and am sad it is no more.

it will truly be missed.

my sincerest condolences

nikki

sweet, sweet revenge...

el deguello was just as impressive in his first victory, aided in part by peyton manning's performance on thursday vs. the saints. truthz tried to rally at the end but couldn't overcome the fact she picked adam vineteri in the first round of the draft (yeah girl, i'm gonna be harping on that move for the rest of the season).

atl hitmen (my buddy herb) pulled out a win against the boo boo roughriders (my cousin lamount). lamount (known to you long-time readers as 'little man'), needs to work on his trash-talking skill, paying particular attention to his spelling and grammar. i don't know what they're teaching him in school but the boy is 14 and should know how to spell 'sorry'.

black socrates and funkytown phoenix were going back and forth with the lead all weekend and went down to the wire as both guys had a few guys in both games last night. in the end though, funkytown's cornerback adrian wilson proved to be the difference maker as his eight point performance put him over the top for good.

morris brown (dex) ended up losing to a guy who didn't even bother to set up his defense (the bullies) and frankly, i'm appalled.. and perhaps even a bit ashamed.

lock and load made a flurry of last second pick ups and drops prior to his showdown with morgan state bears . unfortunately, his efforts proved futile as the bears, despite piss poor play from starting quarterback phil rivers (-.25 points), found a way to squeak out the victory. that has to burn just a little bit...

and finally, in what involved the most trash-talking between opponents, bad attitude eeked out a victory against my darkhorse pick for league champion, aquababie. i gotta give my girl aqua props cuz this is her first year and she's already picking up players like a pro.

standings after the first week. please note i'm in first place (as is the natural order of things).

monday-musings

2007-08-20T12:04:00.000-04:00

finally made it back after an extended stay in "i-don't-feel-like-writing-a-GAWT-damn-thing-ville". now i've taken up residence in "aww-SHIT-i-gotta-read-ALL-these-fucking-blogs-land"

i hope you folk have been doing aiight out there. hopefully when i get to your spots i'll only be reading about good shit like love and babies and ice cream and puppies.

how come everybody thinks just cuz i live in atlanta that i have insight into the michael vick situation? look, i ain't in that brotha's head. i have no idea why he would do the shit he did if he did it. i don't know if he's innocent or guilty. i don't know if he's gonna do jail time. i don't know if he'll be back in the nfl. i DO know that i'm tired of hearing about it.

fantasy football is again on. i've got eleven slots filled and need one more player to even things out, so if you're down, hit me up.

my dad and i argue over the stupidest shit....

dad - "what are you doing here? aren't you gonna go get the ice?"

me - "yeah, just let me get my money."

dad - "i thought you were already at the store. you could have been there and back by now."

me - "i was outside with 'swad. mom just told me two minutes ago that i needed to get the ice."

dad - "well get on with it then and stop looking pissed."

me - "well, i'm no longer that teenager who was all eager to run errands for you folk just so she could get a chance to drive the car."

dad (to the hostage audience of my aunt and her husband) - "see, this is what we were just talking about, ain't it?" (to me) - "that's the damn problem."

me - "that ain't a problem for me. that's a problem for YOU."

dad jumps up, cuz at this point he's pissed.

me - "what are you doing?"

dad - "see, you're gonna need me before i need you."

me - "what are you taking about? are you going to get the ice? i told you i'd go get the ice."

dad stomps towards the door in a huff.

dad - "just wait. you're gonna need me one day!"

me (to his retreating back) - "so basically what you're telling me is that if i need you one day, you're gonna deny helping me...over a bag of ice."

mom, 'swad, aunt and uncle laugh.

dad grumbles, then slams the door on his exit.

yeah...good times...

hopefully i'll never need his kidney or something, otherwise this bag of ice will come back to haunt me.

so i'm at this club on friday enjoying my solitary dancing when all of a sudden i feel a thumb thump up against my ass. i turn, and this little guy is standing there.

him - "wanna dance?"

me - "i already am."

him - "wanna dance with me?"

me - "are you gonna try to stick your finger up my ass again?"

him - "that wasn't my finger."

me - "oh? then no."

it was obvious from thump there was no future there...

what do you do when your cousin's man is checking you out? well in my case, i basically tried to make him think poorly of me so he'd stop looking at me on the sly. initially it was difficult because i'm rather perfect, but i had a fool-proof plan. all i had to do was question his manhood and the brotha was looking at me like he wanted to kill me. i am generally allergic to dimming my own shine, but my cousin has been through alot. last thing she needs is her man pushing up on her cousin.

why are people getting excited about pre-season success? i mean really, most of the guys in those games will be bagging groceries by september. the dallas cowboys have been undefeated in the preseason for the last three seasons but haven't won a post-season game since '96. in other words, call me when the real season starts.

for real though...had these four college kids been white, i'd have heard about this shit on the national news. as it is, i hear about it from someone online...go figure.

what?

2007-07-17T07:34:00.000-04:00

gotta go on hiatus, that's what. i'll be back in august.

what makes a tragedy?

2007-07-09T13:12:00.000-04:00

for three years, three months, and give or take three or four days there has been two of us trying to make this shit here worth one more minute of existing within it.

but i'm tired of existing. it ain't worth it just to 'be' no mo.

..........i want to...........
cuz simply being ain't synonymous with
being free, and
simply being don't guarantee i'm
being me, and
simply being means me only
seeing my dreams
instead of
being my dreams

and somewhere during the construction of 'we', i've misplaced the blueprints to 'me'.

used to be
being with you was a rush...lust thrusting blushes into us, brushing up against breaths left panting in erectness, a deluge of flames flooding our bodies until we were burning from pore to floor. our urgently uttered 'mores' ignited higher fires that culminated with carnal combustion before we crumbled exhaustedly into a heap of smoldering embers, broken 'damns' crumbling from our lips in breathless hushes, the debris of our bodies left floating in the afterglow.

now it
trickles like a fickle dick faking ejaculation just to end the copulation with a dry, disgruntled cunt.

used to be
talking to you was a feast i was eager to partake of. i savored your consonants simmered in smoky syllables, nibbling on your succulent murmurs marinated in sincerity until they were so tender they melted right off of your lips. then we'd finish the meal by feeding each other honey-dipped endearments, sipping after-dinner whispers until we were drunk with fascination.

now it's
gnawing on gristled exchanges passing for palpable rations.

what's worse is that maybe what used to be never was.

maybe i've manipulated the remains of these memories like a scientist trying to re-write history, dating the origins of the fossils to a place and time of passion when they were really found in complacency. perhaps the bones we now pick with each other are so brittle because we created this from mind-made materials, determined to mold it into what we wanted it to be instead of letting it evolve into what it was supposed to be.

was it me who embellished our moments together with seconds made of paste?
was it me who encrusted our kisses with explosives?
was it me who sewed significant sentiment into our caresses?
was it me who beaded our breaths with need?
was it me who doctored our desire with devotion?

was this really not a divine design but instead fabrications threaded together in my own mind?

i can speculate about our past until blue hues flush my face of saner make-up. it won't change the fact that in the midst of this break down, the clear message is we should break up.

cuz whether or not our past was fashioned from magic, the fact is, i mourn the time lost more than i more the loss of 'us'.

and that's what's truly tragic.

when an idle mind goes too far...

2007-07-02T11:52:00.000-04:00

it started off harmless enough, really.

i was laying on the couch in the living room, a bowl of cereal cradled in one hand, a spoon full of soggy fruity pebbles fisted in the other hand while making it's way slowly towards my mouth. on the television was one of my favorite movies of all time, cars.

so what if i'd just seen the movie a week ago. so what if i've seen it perhaps 20 times. that's what happens when you've got the h-bo channels. how many times have YOU seen excalibur?!? yeah, i thought so...

i'm quite familiar with all of the characters, from the hot shot ligh.tning mcq.ueen to the sarcastic town attorney sally porsche to the rusted tow truck 'mater...i could go on and on but i'm already writing too much on this topic as it is.

anyway, i'm sitting there, slurping on fruity pebbles (cuz you know the damn things get soggy as soon as they hit the damn milk), watching cars and enjoying myself. next thing you know my mind starts wandering into adultville where rational questions are asked despite the fact that i'm watching a cartoon.

questions like:

1. where are the sexual organs? i sat there for ten minutes trying to figure this out. the only protruding part i can think of is the antenna and if that's the sex organ, the female cars are being left woefully dissatisfied. it would seem quite obvious (at least to me) that the muffler is the anal cavity, but where is the um, other cavity? i have no idea. maybe they only perform anal sex, which brings me to the next question...

2. how do they reproduce? there are no humans on this planet, so i'm really clueless. there was a vague reference to a 'manufacturer'. is that their god? if so, that still doesn't explain how they reproduce. i mean, if they've only got anuses, they couldn't possibly give birth, could they? i can't imagine someone giving birth out of her ass. perhaps the baby cars just magically appear on the garage doorstep of some couple, deposited by the car stork. maybe the cars manually produce themselves, like humans and the cloning thing.

3. why are there so many men and so few women? 'lightning' ends up in rad.iat.or spri.ngs, a town consisting of eight male cars and only three female cars, one of them too old to get her biz on. this would lead me to believe either the two females are exhausted because of the sexual demands placed upon them or the guys are getting busy amongst themselves. i detected a closer than platonic relationship between the hippie van and the army jeep. it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for the hippie van to get the army jeep high and then just turn the dude out. also, anyone can see the fire engine is gay cuz he likes flowers. hetero guys don't like flowers unless it's given to a female in exchange for forgiving him for some dumb shit he just tried to get away with.

4. where were lightning's parents? this is supposed to be the greatest day of his life, and they're nowhere to be found?!? see, this kinda supports my theory that perhaps there is a car lab somewhere where cars create other cars and just send them on their way. this would also mean there is NO sex taking place, as the only reason folk have sex is to create babies. and if this is the case...

5. why are these cars so damn happy?!? hippy car done put something in the gas cuz ain't no way they could be that happy without sex, even the anal kind *shudders*

6. why the black chick always gotta own some kind of eatery? come on, we know the car that owned the gasoline station was black. if she had a neck, she'd have been rolling it everytime she spoke. they made her just sassy enough, made her chrome grill just voluptuous enough, so that black folk knew we were represented. well thank you di.sn.ey. now you can go back and correct ta.rzan cuz you know he is black, too.

7. why didn't they put the black chick car with the italian car? we all know italian cars LOVE black cars (although i won't complain about her being hooked up with the latino. gotta love those lowriders...)

8. how come the imported asian cars are depicted as obnoxious and mean-spirited? then again, ninja cars wouldn't have worked with this storyline, so i guess asian folk should be glad the stereotype for them has expanded to include something other than that of buffoon, exotic sexual whore, zen master or martial arts expert.

9. why does 'mater have buck teeth? don't you get that from sucking on your fingers? 'mater didn't have fingers. did he get the buck teeth from sucking on too many antennaes? was he really the town whore?!?

10. why couldn't lightning have won the race THEN gone back and gotten 'the king'?!? what, did that make him more honorable than the average car? hell nah. he did that for sally cuz he wanted to impress her. then again, why would he want to do that? they don't have sex, so what else is a chick car good for? they've already got 'mater to polish off the antennaes.

i am sure i'm not the only one who has ever wondered these same things while watching this movie. i encourage you to provide your answers to these burning questions so that we all may be able to sleep better at night.

the makings of a fucked up day

2007-06-18T09:19:00.000-04:00

i woke up this morning panicking cuz i can't find my driver's license. i've looked everywhere...can't find it.

i need it cuz i'm going to a conference tomorrow and i'm renting a car. can't get on the plane or rent the car without my driver's license.

can't get a replacement license cuz the offices are closed today.

sat down on the couch and my water bottle spilled and put a big assed water stain on my ass.

too late to change clothes.

got in the car, turned the key in the ignition, and the engine light comes on.

and stays on.

looked in the car for the license. it ain't there. for once my car is fucking clean, so of course it ain't there.

got on the expressway and almost get hit by a greyhound bus.

got off of the expressway and get stuck behind a marta bus.

pull into the driveway at work and notice a really good looking black dude standing outside damn near right in front of my parking space.

so of course i've got the water stain on my ass and a crunchy look on my face and i've gotta walk right in front of this dude to get into the fucking building.

this dude ain't never been around when i'm looking cute. now he wanna be around when i'm both looking and feeling jacked.

come into the office...someone stuck a pile of 200 copies of some program brochure that has to be folded for the conference.

hand-folded.

by fucking HAND, people.

by MY fucking hand, people.

got a pile of work on my desk that has to be done before i leave, none of which is nearly as important as me finding my fucking license.

trying to leave here early cuz i still gotta get a pedicure and do my hair cuz of course the place where i was supposed to get my hair done on saturday never bothered to call me back to give me directions to the fucking place (that's another story...i mean why you gotta call me back with directions anyway?!?)

got serious gas issues. i think it's because i'm panicking, but it just won't stop, and it's the silent killer kind that don't just dissipate.

no, these farts CELEBRATE entry into the world by hanging in the air, waiting for someone to pass them a drink so they can party all day.

i left my office so that i could take this gathering of gas from my ass to another location.

had to come back cuz fifteen minutes later i was still farting.

can't open a window so i'm stuck at the fart party.

just found out the hotel i'm staying in doesn't have internet access of any kind. what the fuck is this? they got me staying in a cave?!?

now i'm taking a chance that if i check in one day earlier, the people at the resort where the conference (not the cave mentioned above) is taking place won't kick me out. yeah, right.

got this email from a co-worker this morning, sent last friday:

"my whereabouts for the next 2.5 weeks!

...and it won't be here!!

I'll be in New Zealand until 1 July and will be back in the office on 5 July. I will check email occasionally, but will have no cell phone service.

See you on the 5th.

anne"

because evidently she mistakened me for someone who gives a shit where she's gonna be for the next 2.5 weeks. why would i ever wanna know where she gonna be?

anne, have i ever given you the impression i was curious about where you went when you weren't here? HELL no.

as long as you ain't here, i could care less where you at. you could take a vacation up your momma's ass and i wouldn't care so long as you didn't come back with photos of the trip. i have no interest in viewing images of the inside of your momma's anus.

another co-worker just informed me i gotta get to the airport three hours ahead of time because evidently the lines are so long they're leading out of the terminal.

so basically this means i'll be in line twice as long as i'll be on the damn plane (flight is 1.5 hours long).

what is 'y' class? does this stand for 'why the fuck did i book a flight on an airline that would dare place me in between some chick who equivocates sitting next to me with us being bff and an obnoxious child the mother refuses to discipline with anything more harsh than a 'stern talking to' which is comprised of her basically spending the entire flight begging the bad ass devil's spawn to "sit down please and stop smacking the nice black lady"'?!?

is nikki gonna have to choke a kid? if he/she smacks me, i will be that stereotypical angry black bitch all folk fear and choke the SHIT out of that kid and then smack the mom in the mouf for not keeping her kid in check.

shit...still farting. this is gonna be a problem...

still can't find my driver's license. this is ALREADY a problem.

this day can only get better, right?

three is all of me

2007-06-12T09:57:00.000-04:00

television ain't telling nothing but the truth.

i mean, all black women are sarcastic and angry chicks with an adversion for people seeing their va-jay-jay's during labor. you know, the chicks who despite being surrounded by oversexed beautiful people, are somehow the only folk in the entire ensemble who don't want or need sex cuz they're married (as though marriage has stopped other folk from screwing around).

or they're successful, then unsuccessful, then straight up unstable chicks, who despite having money and a hot body and good friends around them are so preoccupied with the task of finding a man to save them from their unfulfilling lives that they end up drunk on the side of the road after having crashed their sports car...

or they're among the chicks whose occupation is to stand around looking sweaty and sexy or draped over some guy with her ass in the air, wearing shorts so tight the video director keeps yeast infection medication on the set next to the prop bottle of cristal. the perks include giving blowjobs to rap artists who already wear a permanent tattoo of saliva stains on their balls, standing around in three inch heels wearing nothing but a bathing suit while the men around them rap about fucking hos like them, and telling documentary filmmakers how they see this as merely a stepping stone to better things like working on shows where they get to play the love-starved black chick who can't get her shit together or the average sidekick black chick who gets to watch while everyone else get the ass and attention while she gets the sarcastic one-liners. better yet, she can become a celebrated authoress who ends up on oprah. come on, tell me that ain't the bomb gig...

and you're right! all black men are doctors or cops and they all date women who aren't black. but can you really blame them when their choices are the crazy chick who'd probably end up stalking them, the asexual angry chick who would slap his hand away if he attempted to touch the va jay-jay, or the skanky chick with dried cum stains encrusted in the corners of her mouth and enough yeast between her legs to be an oven at a wonderbread factory? shit, i'd be dating the asian chick too.

that's aiight though, cuz every now and again the black chick will end up with a cute white guy, so long as she's so light-skinned and european-featured she looks like a white chick with a tan. oh, and she has to have an accent and she can't be from america.

really, we need to be thanking television for it's sensitive and accurate portrayal of black women in our limited facets instead of getting pissed off and saying stupid shit like "black women are woefully underrepresented on television overall and damn near non-existent in series that don't require us to break into song or crack a fucking joke." or "out of the 28 new shows in the fall lineup, only THREE shows have a black woman as a part of the regular cast."

cuz as you can see, all we really need is three.

creating new sex, dating, and relationship blog

2007-06-08T09:08:00.000-04:00

i was a part of one last year before it was discontinued. i'd like to start a new one. this time the focus won't be on just bad sex, but on good sex and all the sex in between, along with good and bad dating experiences and relationship moments. i'm looking for folk who wanna be a part of it.

you won't be getting paid. this is for us to share stories. it's a chance for you folk who have a story to tell but don't think your blog is the place to tell it. there will be no censorship. you write it true to you.

if you're down, hit me up via email (i know some folk might wanna do this incognito, so i don't wanna put 'em on blast).

passive aggressive folk can kiss my natural black ass

2007-06-07T09:45:00.000-04:00

if you're one of these people, i don't like you. nothing personal, but i have an aversion to folk who can't just say what they mean and mean what they say and be accountable for what they do. if i gotta figure the silence out, then you gotta go. if i gotta look at your actions (or lack of) to get what you too scared to say, i have absolutely no use for you whatsoever.

do you even know if you're passive-aggressive? well if you're wondering, ask yourself if you:

just stopped calling or picking up the phone, hoping he/she will 'figure it out'

instead of telling someone you're mad at him/her, you let it simmer and manifest in your actions, doing shit you know will irritate him/her, in order to 'punish' him/her. THAT'LL SHOW 'EM!

don't actually say you don't wanna go with him/her somewhere. you drag your feet about it beforehand, then make him/her fucking MISERABLE when you're there, hoping he/she never asks you to go there with him/her again.

blame someone else for your foul behavior, using childish terms like "you made me do it" or "if only you hadn't done that, i wouldn't have had to do this..." or the classic "it just happened...i couldn't help it! you just made me SOOOO upset!"

lied because the truth would make you look bad.

let a person irritate you to no end, then instead of telling that person you would prefer they behave differently, you go and rant to your friend about that other person's behavior and how much it irritates you.

dislike a person at work or a person who is a part of your group of friends, so you bring up discussion about that person under the guise of being concerned for his/her well-being, when really all you're doing is looking for opportunities to diss him/her on the sly by using sarcastic remarks or uncovering his/her dirt by using slick lines like "well i heard such and such about her, but it can't be true because she's such a great person!". doing that shit all the while hoping everyone will eventually turn against him/her.

say some really foul shit about someone to his or her face, then cover that shit up by saying "i was being sarcastic" or "it was a joke" when you know you was being dead serious.

during arguments, you deliberately behave in a way that you know will make the other person question his/her sanity by using twisted logic cuz you're so fucking clever...

you: i'm not saying you're crazy. i'm saying crazy people do the shit you do.
him/her: but that sounds like you're saying i'm crazy.
you: you said that, not me.

you know that's some bullshit, right?

if you see yourself here, don't be mad at me. i wasn't doing this shit to single anyone out, but i damn sure did it to let any potential friends/lovers know ahead of time what i refuse to put up with. (and i've done some of this shit too so i ain't untouchable, but grown folk grow out of kiddy behavior).

don't say you weren't warned.

hell if i know...

2007-06-01T11:23:00.000-04:00

as many of my longtime readers know, i had stepped away from regular blogging for a few months. i'm thinking it was a combination of cynicism, grief, and lack of inspiration that did it. things got a bit hectic late last year. between offline impending loss and internet drama and the larger audience, i started to feel as though i was losing sight of why i chose to blog. in the end, i do it because i love to express myself as creatively and candidly as possible. i absolutely love writing, all of the little things that make it possible...from sitting in my car and looking out the sunroof to witness a beautiful sunset and thinking to myself "how would i write that into existence for someone who couldn't see it?" before i turned off the radio and drove in silence, putting together phrases to describe it.

what does the sun taste like? is it a peeled orange i pierce with my teeth until the pulp bursts and the juices squirt and dribbles down my chin? or does it taste like lambent rage? a bitter fruit of smoldering vexation burning a path of acrid hatred down my throat before settling into an intolerant ulcer in my stomach? could i suck on it until it was flaccid and empty of sunlight or anger?

if i touch it, will it pebble like an erect nipple? does it weigh substantial like a scrotum if i hold it? if i run my fingers over it, will it secrete heat?

how come i'm always think about sex?!?

or when i'm talking to a friend on the phone and i exclaim "he did WHAT? oh, i GOTTA write about that..." and then i've got all kinds of scenarios in my head on how i'd re-tell this story about the guy who got married but went to his ex-girlfriend hoping the ex would rent a car for him, this despite the fact that brotha don't have a valid drivers license...and he's served time for drug trafficking...and he plans to use the car to go out of town for 'business'...i mean, YOU CAN'T MAKE THAT SHIT UP.

or like last night when i checked lebron and his masterful play against the pistons. i thought of all kinds of things while watching him...

what is that brotha feeling right now? is it a combination of desperation and fear? did he make the conscious decision to break through that wall to take those shots? did he consciously decide to take the game into his own hands, to put his team on his shoulders to lead them to victory? or was he just driven by ego? is he spilling over with adrenaline? is he choking on the fear he won't be able to come through?

i started looking at him abstractly, a form haphazardly illustrated with lines both fluid and furious, racing across a backdrop of blurred images exploding in sound, shadows trying to impede his progress with flaying arms and focused fingers. it was like i had stepped outside of the moment and into the emotions and the words that would describe those emotions.

that make sense?

shit it rarely does to me, so i would understand if it makes no sense to you.

writing is more than an activity for me. it's like i've eaten the experiences and the enzymes breaks them down into molecules of moments before the esophagus massages the messages to the surface in preparation for the stomach where they're then bathed in awareness. as the molecules are further broken down into consonants and vowels and pulled into my bloodstream, they form the nutrients that will ultimately feed my imagination, becoming platelets of sentences that will later spill from various orafices throughout my body in clots of creative expresson (or phrases of fecal matter, depending upon whom you ask...)

i don't just see or hear the words, i feel them, taste them, touch them like they were something i held in my hands and brought to my nose to inhale before rubbing them against my lips and licking off the letters, swallowing their intent.

i don't know how the words come or why they come or even if they're supposed to come, i'm only glad i've got at the very least the eagerness and patience to stroke them until they do.

how come i'm always thinking about sex?!?

i really need to find a new word to use other than 'come'...'occur' maybe?

thankful thursday

2007-05-31T09:11:00.000-04:00

time for a moment to acknowledge being thankful for:

god for straight keeping me here.

mom and the relationship between us that's finally filling that hole in my existence i didn't even realize was there.

those moments when the words unfurl from my fingers without coaxing of any kind. i still don't understand how it happens, but i'm glad for it.

ella fitzgerald, duke ellington, and the live version of let's fall in love. she blows those notes right through my marrow.

a sun that continues to rise everyday even though its shine sometimes reveals dark souls

jaygee for inspiring me to step into my thoughts one at a time and reacquaint myself with how i've furnished them. beautiful writing, brotha.

those who recognize that while debate is necessary in the exchange of ideas, ultimately it ain't fated to fix shit. only action does that.

a comfortable bed on a warm morning where i could breathe despite the smoke from the wildfires clogging up the air.

light traffic on the way to work today, which allowed me to truly enjoy listening to my stev.ie ray vau.ghn.

the ability to forgive. it really is the greatest gift i could give to myself.

all the readers old and new who continue to drop by. you taking the time to stop through and read me is one of the best blessings i receive each day.

so what are you thankful for today?

you da one...

2007-05-29T13:10:00.000-04:00

i want you.

i hope you have no idea how badly i want you.

i keep my ardent eyes cloaked in indifference whenever you're around, forcing remoteness to control my perusal of your anatomy even as my desire takes digital images of every inch, pocketing your perfection to later put up in the shrine of you in my mind.

"you're staring, nik" you'd said to me last week while we were hanging out at the park.

"nah, i'm just woolgathering, luv" i'd answered, having purposely placed my attention elsewhere so that you couldn't find the boldly rendered illustration of my willingness to surrender on the canvas of my visage. i raised my face towards the sun, hoping the direct heat woul dry the pant faster.

"well that guy thinks you're staring at him." you answered, unaware i was trying to dress 'that guy' in your appeal so that i could finally stop whatever the hell this was affecting me. unfortunately for him your allure is tailor-made. i mentally snatched it off of him in frustration.

"shit," i'd muttered as i glanced up at the magnolia tree branch above us and wished i could lynch this attraction, just wrap a rope of common sense around it's throat and strangle the fucking bastid until it's neck was snapped by the gravity of the situation.

then i'd turned to you and laughed, stashing my need deep inside the sound, a forced carefree guffaw veined with infinitesimal cracks borne of a crumbling composure. you'd looked at me carefully, as though the sound was leaking something you couldn't quite make out. i'd prayed you wouldn't poke your sharp discernment through it and shatter it into fractured weeping.

i'd averted my eyes. it's best to keep the windows closed.

cuz i want you

but i ain't ready for this

repost - collab series...craig who?

2007-05-25T09:08:00.000-04:00

[i had to repost this because i'll finally be picking this one up next week so i gotta get folk caught up...have a great weekend everybody!]

part one of the series...

flava in ya ear (remix) - notorious b.i.g., craig mack, rampage, ll cool j, busta rhymes...betta known as "the song where biggie murdered craig mack on his own shit"

"Baaaaaaaad Boooooooy...Come out and plaaaaaaaaaaaay...
You know we had to do a remix right?" - SHUT THE FUCK UP PUFFY

damn, but that boy almost ruined yet another song with his unnecessary appearance on the shit.

then that beat dropped twice...

"Uhhhhhh, Uhhhhhh,"

and then frank white dropped this little gem...

"Niggas is mad I get more butt than ash trays..."

and the shit became an instant classic before biggie had said another fucking word. in fact, not only did it become a classic, it became BIGGIE'S classic. think about it...when craig mack came with the original, talking about some uniblab shit, it might have seemed clever at the time, but when that remix dropped and biggie said he got more butt than ash trays, you know you was like "what original"? with a flick of the spit, biggie stole craig's shit.

it was like eminem fucking up jay-z's shit all over again. (although for the record, jay-z's verses on renegade were tight...just not as tight as eminem's...)

the production was perfect. the beat layered with a few notes was as simple as it gets, just spare enough so the listener could really hear the luxurious lyrics being layed down on the track, the silver platter on which the feast of urban flava was displayed, a cornucopia of carefully concocted courses for the conscious to consume.

"Disappear...vamoose...you're wack to me,
Take them rhymes back to the factory,
I see,
The gimmicks...the wack lyrics,
The shit is depressing...pathetic...please forget it,
You're mad cause my style you're admiring,
Don't be mad...UPS is hiring,
You shoulda been a cop...fuck hip-hop,
With that freestyle you're bound to get shot"

it was almost like brotha was talking to craig mack.

and speaking of him, was it just me or did you also notice how craig mack was relegated to second-class status on his own shit when he was forced to come in after biggie? i mean, if it's your remix, at least let a mothafucka hear your voice at the beginning so i know it's your shit. either hit me at the beginning or the end, so i know you were the finale, which means you were the cat everyone was waiting to hear. meanwhile, the song went straight from puffy's inconsequential chatter to biggie's venomous verse to...

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH here comes the Mack!

Word up don't rap no crap you bore me,
Wanna grab my dick...too lazy...hold it for me,
I'm straight that great plus the heads straighten dreads,
I'm everlasting like the toe on Pro Keds..."

WHAT THE FUCK?

it was one of those moments where i wished my cd player had a fast forward button. if you think about it, this remix was basically how puffy played craig mack during his tenure at bad boy records. puffy was the pimp and biggie was his prize bitch. biggie fucked while craig mack sucked.

for real though...what the fuck did he mean by

"I step on stage girls scream like I'm Keith"

keith who? keith richards? keith sweat? keith murray? keith david? david keith? i mean, i'm gonna scream differently for keith richards than i would for keith sweat.

i have no problem with the lyrics making no sense if the delivery makes me forget it (see ll cool j later in this post), but it sounds like the listener is supposed to know of which keith he speaks. mack's delivery was aiight, but not good enough for me not to wonder who the fuck keith was.

i think the next cat was supposed to be the next 'big thing'. rampage's first misfortune occurred when he named himself after a woman's clothing line. i hear his name and instantly want to go shopping for a new mini-skirt. anyway, he did a good job with his appearance in the video. really, the only thing i remember about his appearance was how everyone was acting like he was gonna blow up when his shit dropped...and how it didn't hit.

and then there's ll cool j's contribution to the collab. aiight, remember this song came out right when ll was really making moves on the charts with hit after hit. he was at his most successful, most sexy, and everything that dropped from his lips was considered genius at that time. he wasn't yet todd smith...he was still that sexy mothafucka from farmer's with a mouth that made a sista wish her pussy lips were permanently fused to it.

maybe that's why he didn't say one comprehensible thing in his verse. he had somebody sitting on his face.

"Heesheeee,
Uhhhhh...blowticious,
Skeevee [mmmmmm] delicious,
Gimme coos coos love me good,
Uhh damn,
Hollis to Hollywood but is he good?,
I guess like the jeans...Uhh,
Flava like praleens,
Sick daddy iaaamean?"

no baby, i don't have a fucking CLUE what you mean, but you said that shit so sweetly, so sexily, so sensually, like you were fucking me doggie-style while you said those words, like you were licking on my lower lips when you said "mmmmm delicious". frankly, ya fine ass could have been speaking in yiddish and i still would have thought you were talking to me in dirty french.

actually, he cleverly dropped a couple of references to his popular songs at the time "hollis to hollywood", "jingling baby". wait a sec...that was more like blatant advertising, like product placement of tampax tampons in a chick flick, only his flow was a flood and bled through the dome, scattering a sonant splatter upon brain matter. he could get away with bullshit lyrics because the sistas were fantasizing about being fucked by ll. picture craig mack saying some shit like that. who is really fantasizing about craig mack being in between her legs talking about "mmmmm delicious"? i mean, mack has some nicely thick lips and he might actually be able to handle his biz down there, but the package isn't necessarily conducive towards a sexual fantasy.

by the time busta rhymes stops through with his frenetic phonetics, my mental clit was still reverberating from ll's lascivious licks, so i really didn't even hear him. turns out that's a good thing cuz yet again i was forced to babble my way through his shit.

"Hey...HEEEEEEYYYYYYY..Hey!" babble...
"Hey...HEEEEEEYYYYYYY..Hey!" babble...

more babble...then

"Now...don't you get suspicious,
Grant your wishes everytime,
Breaking dishes when I bust a rhyme..."

and more babble right up into the chorus.

which just goes to prove my theory about busta not making sense on a collab = instant classic.

actually, the more i read the lyrics for this shit, the more i realize biggie was the only stand out performance in it. however, the combination of one stellar verse mixed with a bunch of average lyrics and a couple of well-done deliveries, grounded by one tight ass riff, made for a classic collab.

either that, or it's really just about frank white. i'm cool with that assessment, too.

repost - mack daddies don't get old, they just marinate

2007-05-24T08:18:00.000-04:00

[i'm reposting this as i get a grasp on work. it's from a little over a year ago. you know, i wonder what happened to this cat...]

today i'm walking into the grocery store and i reach down to pick up a "only in here to get a few things" basket when i i hear this cheery baritone voice to the back of me. i turn around and glimpse an older black gentleman waving goodbye to one of the employees of the store. i didn't see much of his face, and really wasn't trying to, as i wanted to get in and out of the store, so i turned quickly after grabbing my basket and headed inside.

later, as i'm driving home, i notice an older man walking up the steep hill in front of me. he was rocking a gray-haired afro, a dark blue windbreaker, faded jeans and what looked like brand new, ice white sneakers. he had somewhat of a limp to his step and was moving with care, a couple of plastic grocery bags held in his right hand.

now i know it's not safe for a woman to stop and offer a ride to a stranger, especially a male stranger, but this guy was struggling and i couldn't let a brotha go out like that, so i pulled up beside him and rolled down my window.

"you need a ride sir?"

he turned to me and his face broke into the kind of smile that made me think the sun was envious of its shine. i mean, that had to be one of the most genuine and beautiful smiles i've ever seen on a human being. his teeth were gleaming white and straight, and he had a dimple in his right cheek. this old dude was handsome.

"sure!"

he walks to the door, opens it, and gets in. i pull off and he starts talking.

"you live around here or are you just visiting?" he asks.

"i live right around the corner, sir." my parents always taught me to be respectful of my elders. meanwhile, he was having none of that...

"oh, don't call me that!" he exclaimed, his voice colored with chagrin. "my name's john. call me john."

"okay sir...i mean, john."

as i continue driving, i cast furtive glances his way, wondering if i made a mistake by picking this guy up. i mean, he looked harmless enough, but so did ted bundy. what serial killer do you know wears a t-shirt with his favorite occupation emblazoned on it in red letters? i immediately started berating myself for underestimating a brotha just cuz he's older and reminded me of one of my uncles.

meanwhile, john gathers his bags in his lap, all the while giving me his life story.

"i've been retired for two years now...thirty-four years working for ups...now i'm just cooling my heels and taking it easy...live by myself with no woman and no kids..."

he's staring at me with "the look" on his face. you know the look i'm talking about. the "you look good enough to eat...with your legs on my shoulders while i do it" look.

and that's when i realized that mack daddies never retire.

from there, i was mentally scrambling, trying to figure out what i could say to him to let him down while preserving his pride.

"wow!" i exclaimed uncomfortably, "no woman, huh?"

"no."

"oh."

"make a right up here at the light, then a left at the first street on your left."

silence.

"i'm sixty-four years old and i've never been married." he restated.

i just look ahead, making sure i followed his directions.

"so..." he starts, "do you have a man to keep you warm at night?"

mack mode in effect, i think to myself. i glance at him quickly.

"yes...i've got a man."

"is he good to you?"

why is that always the next question? are brothas always looking for sistas to rescue from bad relationships? i mean really, what is he gonna do if i am in a bad relationship? go and kick the brotha's ass? is he gonna "make it all better?"

"yeah, he's good to me."

his face fell in disappointment.

"see where that white car is?" his finger pointed past the dashboard. "my house is right there."

i continue driving towards the car, wondering to myself why a sixty-four year old man actually thought he stood a chance of catching the coochie of a woman half his age. i mean really...if i were the sixty-four year old woman catching a ride home with a man half my age, would i stand a chance? funny how that double standard works.

"where are the single women around here?" he asked me, frustration threaded through his questioning gaze.

now i could have said "they're at the clubs" but does he really need to be at the clubs? how did he expect me to answer that fucking question anyway??? i just shrugged.

as i pulled up next to the white car, he grabbed for his bags and opened the door. before getting out, he turned towards me and grabbed my hand. he placed a kiss on the back of it and looked up into my eyes. i froze.

"too bad you have a man." he said softly, the baritone of his voice vibrated off of my skin.

then he let my hand go, stepped out of the car, and walked towards his house.

i just sat there. shit, but the lips that had just kissed my hand were warm and firm and for a second there, i felt a sexual shock to the system.

on the drive home, i wondered what a sixty-four year old dick would taste like.

he tried to call dibs on the pussy...

2007-05-22T12:31:00.000-04:00

aiight, it's a wrap. i'm gonna have to cuss this fool out in front of his peoples.

i've been professional.
i've been accomodating.
i've been friendly.
i've been firm.
i've been succinct.

i've been everything i thought i needed to be in order to let him know i wasn't interested. meanwhile, he said he'd accepted my answer, but his actions are telling me a different story.

case in point - it was last wednesday and i was walking into the hallway in front of my office with my co-worker art. art, an older caucasian gentleman who also happens to be a really cool dude, had just taken me out to lunch and we were shooting the breeze when i looked up and noticed african dude kingsley (from here on known as a.d.) was standing in my office evidently writing out some kind of note to me. a.d.'s friend was standing just outside of the doorway and art paused to greet him as i squeezed past a.d. to get into my office.

"oh, i was just writing you a little note," a.d. said as he saw me sit down. he handed me a sticky sheet. glancing down, i read what he'd wrote.

kingsley was here to see you.

i look up and he's wearing the crooked grin. you know, that grin that reminds one of a painting that's hanging just slightly askew on the wall. i wanted to tilt his face to level that smile, but i knew touching him would be a big mistake.

"cool." i replied as i placed the note on my desk and went into my 'i'm too busy to talk to you right now so get the fuck up outta my office' move. for those of you unfamiliar with this highly effective strategy for ridding yourself of office pests, i'll lay down the steps for you:

1. furrow the brow and look around your office, pausing for a second or more at the piles of paperwork strategically placed around the office. in this case, i always make sure i've got a stack of something next to my desk as a prop.

2. say something like "man, i've got so much work...". be sure to do it with a hint of both determination and frustration in your voice. this balance is important, cuz if you look too frustrated you'll come across like you're overwhelmed and underskilled, which is never a good look when you're at the gig.

3. look at your monitor with intense concentration. make sure you've got something complicated and hard to discern on the screen cuz you've gotta make it seem like not only do you have alot of work to do, but that work is gonna require all of your mental faculties, thus making conversation with someone impossible. in my case, i usually keep a window of programming code open. nobody around here knows that shit.

4. during the first three steps, do not acknowledge the person's presence in your office. you want him/her to feel as though he/she's interrupting you while you're in the middle of something.

now 99% of the time, these are all the steps you need to get someone out. meanwhile, i don't know why i even bothered to go through the moves with a.d.

"so you were on lunch?" he asked as my heart sank at the realization i had to step up my tactics.

5. answer only in monosyllabic words, preferably 'yes' or 'no'.

"yup."

he stood there watching me. silence swirled around the room, occassionally punctured with the sound of my fingers on the keyboard. i waited for him to start his exit.

"you went to lunch with him?" he asked, sounding irritated. 'him' being art. i continued staring at the monitor before me, trying really, really hard not to roll my eyes.

"yup."

"where'd you two go for lunch?"

gawDAMNIT.

"'uncles'," i finally answered after internally debating if i should just kick his ass out for forcing me into answering with a word more than one syllable long.

"where's that?" a.d. asked, determined to squeeze more out of this exchange. i finally looked up at him with barely veiled patience. SHIT. now he got me using SENTENCES...

"it's offa 14th street," i replied reluctantly.

"oh YES. i know of that place."

i turned back to the monitor. at this point, art had stepped into the doorway of my office, intent on continuing the conversation we were having when we were interrupted. before art could even open his mouth, a.d. was talking again.

"i heard they make great sandwiches."

the sigh escaping me was loud and long and i was barely holding on to being civil. i could feel art's eyes on me as he took stock of the situation.

"i'll talk to you later, nikki," said art after a moment, uncomfortable as he glanced up at a.d. and noted the proprietary look on his face. i was looking at a.d. too, and getting angrier by the second.

"aiight, art," i grounded out, "i'll talk to you later."

a.d. remained standing there, watching art leave before turning his attention back to me. i was squinting my eyes, thinking about how to end this conversation as abruptly as possible without causing a scene.

"i thought you didn't take a lunch," his words, woven with accusation, blanketed the space between us.

"i generally DON'T," i replied with a defensive stab through the blanket, "art kept asking though and i figured it better to just go than to keep saying no."

oh boy. THAT was a mistake.

"so all i have to do is wear you down..." he concluded, a smirk on his face.

"but art is STRICTLY a friend," i added quickly, "he's not trying to make moves on me."

a.d. raised an eyebrow.

"you don't know that," the smugness in his voice making me bristle. damn, can't a man take a chick to lunch without having designs on her?!? and come ON...ART? i can't even imagine it when i'm drunk.

"dude. you're seeing things," i replied disbelievingly before adding on the sly, "and how's your wife?"

a.d. looked perplexed at the shift in the conversation. then he slit his eyes and replied with a knowing grin.

"she's doing fine."

it was time to wrap this shit up.

"good for her," i said, turning back to the computer, "i really need to get this work done."

he stood there for a moment, staring at me with goodness knows what look on his face. then he leaned over and focused his attention on my phone.

"is that your office number?" he asked innocently. i saw him checking out the digital face on my phone where the office number was displayed. aw SHIT. now i could lie, in which case he'd call it and confirm the lie, or i could just tell the truth. i figured i'd give him a little bit of both.

"yeah," i answered in truth, then added the lie, "but i don't take personal calls on it."

he looked as if he didn't believe me. at this point i really didn't give a shit, cuz the man was acting like he had dibs on the pussy and i had to check him before his behavior got more out of hand than it already was.

"look..." i began as i speared him with a determined look, "you really need to stop trying to make this situation more personal. you're married, which means you're off limits to me. there are plenty of sistas out there willing to get down with you regardless. you should focus your attention elsewhere."

he looked on calmly as i went through my little speech. once i was finished, he planted that crooked smile on his face before responding as he backed out of the doorway.

"i only want to be your friend," he said placatingly, his hands in the air as a form of truce, "but i'll give you more time to think about it. bye, nikki."

i shook my head in disbelief. once he was gone, i had to acknowledge that the situation now requires a heavier hand. this shit is bordering on stalking for real.

any suggestions on how to fix this? i'm REALLY partial to cussing his ass out in front of his co-workers. i generally don't go for such dramatics, but i'm thinking this is the only way the brotha will step back.

dear blog crush...

2007-05-21T13:49:00.000-04:00

reading your blog is like engaging in an optical orgasm of literal imagery, casting quivers of yearning across my experience. your metaphors are sensual and diaphanous, lace edged intent covering my consciousness like satin panties pulled close over pussy, bare of pubic hair. i luxuriate in the warmth of your tightly woven stories, your fantasies enfolding me in a cocoon of craving from which i later emerge, transformed from an insect empty of sensation to a butterfly who's wings are made more beautiful by the intense pigmentation of your emotions.

at times i find myself lingering within the libation of your imagination, sipping from your similes until i'm drunk on your liquered 'likes', laping up the remnants of your lush language of longing like an inebriated labrador looking for that last drop of elixir.

can i be intimate with your thoughts?

i would love to be intertwined with your mind in a bed of inspiration. i'd take your erect intellect between my eager efforts and milk it until it exploded, coating my cerebrum with the seed of your ideas. your ejaculation would only intensify the strength of my creative outpouring, taking me to heights of insight i've never known. afterwards we'd spoon, thoroughly exhausted after a night of nonstop intercourse between artistic intellects culminating in sheets drenched in brilliant concepts.

you know you want it, too.

so stop playin...