I was so young...and dumb.
At least I can admit it right?
I can't even remember how we met, but he was so....grown. No for real. He was working on his Masters and I was in undergrad. A sophomore. So young....and dumb.
We started dating and it was cool. You know off campus house, car....he was so...grown.
Anyhoo, one Halloween he called me up to go the movies. Of course, I agreed. But me and my friends had this party to go to. On this campus, Halloween is like one of the biggest events of the year. The streets shut down. Everyone dresses up. It goes DOWN. Me and a friend I think were going as "the bomb," that year. I know right, what the heck is that. We both wore all black and made wicks out of masking tape. Then we taped to her back Tic, Tic, Tic and then to my back, BOOM! I know so young....and dumb.
I can remember what I wore exactly to his house. I had borrowed this jean skirt from my girl and this sweater. Smelling good, you know playing grown up. I remember he said, "You look cute...you trying to tell me I need to get dressed"?
So, we get to the movies, had dinner...it's now getting late. I'm dying to get to this party because I'm young...and dumb. On the way from the movies, I remember what song was playing. It was Jill Scott. He said, "Are you coming home or going back to campus"?
Did you catch that? The man said, home...not are you going to your house. But he had distinguished his house and campus. But I was so young...and dumb. I was over his house often. Studied there, spent nights there, cooking, hanging out. WTF! I want to smack myself because instead of appreciating what he wanted to build with me....I said, "Back to campus. I got somewhere to go."
I know, I know, you all just shook your heads...ugh.
So like a idiot I don't go home and go party....I think I ended up passing out somewhere....
*sigh*
Things slowed up slightly, because I was so young...(say it with me) and dumb...
I ended up leaving that school and going back to Chicago for a while. As he was building his career, he was in Chicago often and would call me up. We always ended up doing "lunch."
But I was still...okay, okay, you get the point.
Anyway, fast forward to my move to NY. Randomly I decided to look him up. Don't you love google? So we chit chat back and forth via email....I just went back to read them. SMH. I was a fool.
Until...a few months later. I got an email. There were about six or seven other girls names in the email and one guy. It was from him. The letter read, something to the effect of, I haven't been honest with myself, or my family. I have been keeping in contact with you and I have in turn hurt my wife and my children. Please don't contact me, as I will not be contacting you. Some other blah, blah and the damn thing ended with...."No response needed."
I was speechless. I didn't even know what to make of it. I hadn't seen or talk to him in at least three or four years to say the least and on top of that, wife and children? And I couldn't respond, because he left the "no response needed," comment (I use that all the time now--you shut everybody down with that) leaving us no choice but to throw that email in the trash and keep it moving. But as all this was going through my head, and I contemplated how I could bump into him one day so I could ask in person. One thing popped in my head: Why in the hell was there one dude addressed in the email?
342.
What's Your Type?
I've had several "dates" ask me if they would end up on the blog.
Mandee's response to that was, "That's some b!tch 'ish right there. What dude asks if he's going to be on a blog"?!
You have no idea.
I made a random comment to one and his response was, "Trying to find material for your blog"? Funny, I have a whole rap sheet on him. The last thing I need is more material.
And I'm not looking for material....it so happens my life is funny. Or at least I find it to be.It's not a bad thing to end up in my writing, you may even consider it a compliment. It means somehow, some way you have made an impact on my life, whether good or bad and I'm pretty sure the world will find you hilarious. Because I did.
Moving on.
There's the cutest girl at my job. She's hilarious. She started reading the blog this week and finds it funny. Last night before we left work we got to talking about what type of guys I date and it made me think...What's my type?
We've all had this discussion hundreds and hundreds of times. Some people say oh he needs to be this and that and look like this and talk like that. I've said it before too. And then you have the "self-proclaimed" advice coaches who say, throw your list out the window! You can't put a label on the person you want to be with! You never know who you will end up with. And I say to them....Go jump in the lake.
I'm sorry, I may not have a "type" so to speak. But I damn sure have a standard....and another list of things I don't tolerate. I mean sure I've grown enough to be flexible and I've grown enough to know that there is no perfect "man," but I'm sorry some things are important to me.
I've gotten into heated discussions before because one of things on my list is a man who can "match my fly," so to speak. He has to be stylish, he has to have some sense of fashion and it's just something I prefer. Now, that's not a deal breaker. I mean that can always change, or you can change that in other words. But if the world were mine...he would be able to dress himself....well.
But here's the point...we all have a list. Even if you say you don't, you do. And to me, that's okay. Without a standard or measure, you probably will go around dating anything. And I mean that in the nicest way. With a list (not necessarily a type) I think it means you've gotten so comfortable with yourself that, you know who you are, what you like, what you're about and an idea of who you would get along with. That's cool. But don't be afraid if someone who totally doesn't "fit" your mold approaches you. It may be worth detouring from the list.
I must admit, one of the reasons why I'm single is because of that standard. I'm sure plenty of men have approached me or we began to date and I found something that I wouldn't tolerate about them. On one hand I may hinder my own advancement, but on the other I uphold a standard that I for one am comfortable with.
What's your type?.....343
Mandee's response to that was, "That's some b!tch 'ish right there. What dude asks if he's going to be on a blog"?!
You have no idea.
I made a random comment to one and his response was, "Trying to find material for your blog"? Funny, I have a whole rap sheet on him. The last thing I need is more material.
And I'm not looking for material....it so happens my life is funny. Or at least I find it to be.It's not a bad thing to end up in my writing, you may even consider it a compliment. It means somehow, some way you have made an impact on my life, whether good or bad and I'm pretty sure the world will find you hilarious. Because I did.
Moving on.
There's the cutest girl at my job. She's hilarious. She started reading the blog this week and finds it funny. Last night before we left work we got to talking about what type of guys I date and it made me think...What's my type?
We've all had this discussion hundreds and hundreds of times. Some people say oh he needs to be this and that and look like this and talk like that. I've said it before too. And then you have the "self-proclaimed" advice coaches who say, throw your list out the window! You can't put a label on the person you want to be with! You never know who you will end up with. And I say to them....Go jump in the lake.
I'm sorry, I may not have a "type" so to speak. But I damn sure have a standard....and another list of things I don't tolerate. I mean sure I've grown enough to be flexible and I've grown enough to know that there is no perfect "man," but I'm sorry some things are important to me.
I've gotten into heated discussions before because one of things on my list is a man who can "match my fly," so to speak. He has to be stylish, he has to have some sense of fashion and it's just something I prefer. Now, that's not a deal breaker. I mean that can always change, or you can change that in other words. But if the world were mine...he would be able to dress himself....well.
But here's the point...we all have a list. Even if you say you don't, you do. And to me, that's okay. Without a standard or measure, you probably will go around dating anything. And I mean that in the nicest way. With a list (not necessarily a type) I think it means you've gotten so comfortable with yourself that, you know who you are, what you like, what you're about and an idea of who you would get along with. That's cool. But don't be afraid if someone who totally doesn't "fit" your mold approaches you. It may be worth detouring from the list.
I must admit, one of the reasons why I'm single is because of that standard. I'm sure plenty of men have approached me or we began to date and I found something that I wouldn't tolerate about them. On one hand I may hinder my own advancement, but on the other I uphold a standard that I for one am comfortable with.
What's your type?.....343
What Can You Bring?
I know you've been reading and waiting for the next victim on my blog. I decided to break a little bit with some of the great things I've been learning and thinking about. Hope you don't mind!
I know I have it together....well sort of. I've spent the last decade of my life, doing well, essentially whatever I wanted. I've owned a business, traveled, not worked, worked, rubbed elbows with the elite and famous, the list goes on. And I must say, I've been in love. But now that I have been single for the past 2 years or so, I've been really evaluating where I am, and where I want to be.
As I turn the corner on my birthday, I realized a few weeks ago that I know that I need to start preparing for the next decade that I may be blessed with. That includes a serious relationship, husband and maybe even children. And yes, I prefer that order. But I said what am I bringing to this equation?
Well first of all, I thought, I'm college trained, I have my own place, I'm independent, extremely talented,you know. Then I said, I'm very giving, loving and kind and then I said, I have a healthy relationship with God, have very high morals and standards and I essentially think I'm a great catch for the right person. And then...I went to church Sunday and randomly enough, my Pastor, A.R. Bernard said something profound.
He asked, what's the best thing you can bring to the relationship? We all said, love, loyalty, trust, being there...the list goes on. He said, while all those things are great....the best thing you can bring to a relationship is to GET A LIFE!
It's funny when you think about it. But really. You must come to the point where you want to be in a relationship and have a life. That means in every aspect, spiritually, emotionally, physically. All of them. Have friends, have a relationship with God, be secure. You know be your own person. Lyfe Jennings said it, "Don't be a nickel looking for a dime." Because if you don't have a life--you enter into a relationship looking for one and drain the other person. If you have one and they don't....they drain you. You know what I'm talking about. You've been there. Two months later, you're tired of the person (well at least I am, for some reason or another) and you chalk it up to incompatibility. While that may be true also, it could be someone doesn't have a life.
You get into a relationship not to discover a life, but to bring your life with theirs and start a new one....
I know, I know, that's good aint it??
Annnndd here's the kicker....Let's say you're like me, you have a life and you're single...it's probably because--you either don't want to share an aspect of your life with someone or vice versa. And if you are not ready to share an aspect of the "life" you have--then you don't need to be in a relationship anyway....(ouuu that one stung).
He was so right. I'll stop talking to someone because they have fat hands (No, really I've done it before) and couldn't quite figure out why. Truth is, I'm so busy, trying to be "busy" I haven't given anyone a real chance to share an aspect of my life. On top of that--the men that I have dated (some) weren't ready to do the same either.
HmmmMmmmm...*waves church fan* Preach Girl! Preach!
So...I say all that to say. I have a new outlook as I turn a year older. I'm continuing to set up my life, and the next person that I may consider dating, I'm asking one question: "Do you have a life"?
344.
I know I have it together....well sort of. I've spent the last decade of my life, doing well, essentially whatever I wanted. I've owned a business, traveled, not worked, worked, rubbed elbows with the elite and famous, the list goes on. And I must say, I've been in love. But now that I have been single for the past 2 years or so, I've been really evaluating where I am, and where I want to be.
As I turn the corner on my birthday, I realized a few weeks ago that I know that I need to start preparing for the next decade that I may be blessed with. That includes a serious relationship, husband and maybe even children. And yes, I prefer that order. But I said what am I bringing to this equation?
Well first of all, I thought, I'm college trained, I have my own place, I'm independent, extremely talented,you know. Then I said, I'm very giving, loving and kind and then I said, I have a healthy relationship with God, have very high morals and standards and I essentially think I'm a great catch for the right person. And then...I went to church Sunday and randomly enough, my Pastor, A.R. Bernard said something profound.
He asked, what's the best thing you can bring to the relationship? We all said, love, loyalty, trust, being there...the list goes on. He said, while all those things are great....the best thing you can bring to a relationship is to GET A LIFE!
It's funny when you think about it. But really. You must come to the point where you want to be in a relationship and have a life. That means in every aspect, spiritually, emotionally, physically. All of them. Have friends, have a relationship with God, be secure. You know be your own person. Lyfe Jennings said it, "Don't be a nickel looking for a dime." Because if you don't have a life--you enter into a relationship looking for one and drain the other person. If you have one and they don't....they drain you. You know what I'm talking about. You've been there. Two months later, you're tired of the person (well at least I am, for some reason or another) and you chalk it up to incompatibility. While that may be true also, it could be someone doesn't have a life.
You get into a relationship not to discover a life, but to bring your life with theirs and start a new one....
I know, I know, that's good aint it??
Annnndd here's the kicker....Let's say you're like me, you have a life and you're single...it's probably because--you either don't want to share an aspect of your life with someone or vice versa. And if you are not ready to share an aspect of the "life" you have--then you don't need to be in a relationship anyway....(ouuu that one stung).
He was so right. I'll stop talking to someone because they have fat hands (No, really I've done it before) and couldn't quite figure out why. Truth is, I'm so busy, trying to be "busy" I haven't given anyone a real chance to share an aspect of my life. On top of that--the men that I have dated (some) weren't ready to do the same either.
HmmmMmmmm...*waves church fan* Preach Girl! Preach!
So...I say all that to say. I have a new outlook as I turn a year older. I'm continuing to set up my life, and the next person that I may consider dating, I'm asking one question: "Do you have a life"?
344.
If You Were a Man,Would You Date Your Girlfriend?
I borrowed this from Erica Renee on Madame Noire. Interesting Read. What do you think?
According to some men, finding a good woman isn’t as easy as we would like to believe. We often hear complaints, from our girlfriends or even ourselves, about the lack of quality men in the choosing pool. Well, news flash ladies, some men have the same argument. Just because you’re educated, self-sufficient, and consider yourself a ‘trophy,’ doesn’t mean men are as impressed as you think. Actually nowadays, those characteristics are more prevalent than not.
We look at the women around us who are just as beautiful, educated, and self-sufficient as ourselves and think men have it easy. But emotional baggage, gold-digger qualities, over-independence, e.t.c. are characteristics we may overlook but men notice. So yes, your college-educated, independent best friend is both attractive and on the market but what about those qualities that even you as a best friend can’t stand? For the sake of this article, let’s reverse the roles. If you were a man, would you date your girlfriends? Let’s take it one step further, would you even date yourself?
Last week, self-proclaimed bad boy of radio, Michael Baisden raised this question to his female callers: would you date your girlfriends? Many of the callers’ answers were shocking, but more relevant than most of us ‘got it together’ women would like to believe. One woman strongly emphasized that although she loved her friends, she wouldn’t date any of them. The reasons: either they were too independent or not emotionally independent enough. Another lady confessed that most women are sneaky, conniving and looking for a man to ‘save them’ (so much for women sticking together).
In today’s society when most women are financially independent or at least on the path to becoming so, many men have become accustomed to beauty, education, financial independence, etc. What many men are complaining about has nothing to do with the superficial. Instead, it has everything to do with emotional stability, domestic values, and simply knowing how to treat a man.
So the next time you hear a man say that a good woman is hard to find, don’t be so quick to jump on the defensive end. Instead think about your girlfriend who complains about everything under the sun or your friend who is lugging around baggage from a high school relationship that happened years ago. Then evaluate those qualities that you need to work on, not only for a man, but for yourself.
I have to admit...I have beautiful friends, but I'm not so sure I would date them. Then I think to myself and today I realized that there are some things about me...that make me not want to date myself either....But on the other hand, knowing the things that I need to work on is half the battle right?....345
According to some men, finding a good woman isn’t as easy as we would like to believe. We often hear complaints, from our girlfriends or even ourselves, about the lack of quality men in the choosing pool. Well, news flash ladies, some men have the same argument. Just because you’re educated, self-sufficient, and consider yourself a ‘trophy,’ doesn’t mean men are as impressed as you think. Actually nowadays, those characteristics are more prevalent than not.
We look at the women around us who are just as beautiful, educated, and self-sufficient as ourselves and think men have it easy. But emotional baggage, gold-digger qualities, over-independence, e.t.c. are characteristics we may overlook but men notice. So yes, your college-educated, independent best friend is both attractive and on the market but what about those qualities that even you as a best friend can’t stand? For the sake of this article, let’s reverse the roles. If you were a man, would you date your girlfriends? Let’s take it one step further, would you even date yourself?
Last week, self-proclaimed bad boy of radio, Michael Baisden raised this question to his female callers: would you date your girlfriends? Many of the callers’ answers were shocking, but more relevant than most of us ‘got it together’ women would like to believe. One woman strongly emphasized that although she loved her friends, she wouldn’t date any of them. The reasons: either they were too independent or not emotionally independent enough. Another lady confessed that most women are sneaky, conniving and looking for a man to ‘save them’ (so much for women sticking together).
In today’s society when most women are financially independent or at least on the path to becoming so, many men have become accustomed to beauty, education, financial independence, etc. What many men are complaining about has nothing to do with the superficial. Instead, it has everything to do with emotional stability, domestic values, and simply knowing how to treat a man.
So the next time you hear a man say that a good woman is hard to find, don’t be so quick to jump on the defensive end. Instead think about your girlfriend who complains about everything under the sun or your friend who is lugging around baggage from a high school relationship that happened years ago. Then evaluate those qualities that you need to work on, not only for a man, but for yourself.
I have to admit...I have beautiful friends, but I'm not so sure I would date them. Then I think to myself and today I realized that there are some things about me...that make me not want to date myself either....But on the other hand, knowing the things that I need to work on is half the battle right?....345
The Grown Up Baby Boy
Never judge a book by it's cover.
Everything that glitters aint gold and everything shining aint a diamond...You see where I'm going with this right?
He worked in corporate America. Not just corporate America...but a Fortune 500 company, corner office, hell I was intimidated and that's pretty hard to do.
The first thing I ask myself when I meet men that are older, single, no children is why are they single? I mean, they may ask the same thing about me, but my reasoning is legit. There's....usually isn't.
There are usually a list of questions that most people ask right off the bat when they meet someone...Age? Location? What do you do? Children? Living situation? Something along those lines. I never like to judge right away, so I usually cover the age and what do you do section and let the chips fall where they may. Not a good idea.
Let's just skip over all the small talk, the first lunch date, you know blah, blah, blah.
Fast forward to the day he invited me to his office.
Nice. Fun guy, business orientated. I ask him his five year plan. I like.
There was a piece of the five year old plan that had my ears perk up..."I plan on finally leaving where I live and buying something in battery park..." I was stuck on this sentence. I had got wedged in between "finally leaving" and "where I live."
I know, you're thinking what I'm thinking....is he married and still lives with his wife? Does he have a roommate? And why is it finally? Like, have you been dying to leave there but haven't yet. I'm so confused. Before I could get nosy...he suggests that I come out to house for dinner. Ahhh, okay, a chance for me to be nosy.
So it's a nice summer night, you know how I feel about summer nights.
We're driving...we get to Long Island, we get to this beautiful house. No, I mean beautiful house. I'm from the suburbs, where there are vintage mansions, as a matter of fact a friend of mine had a ceiling so tall you could fit another house in the living room. His is nice.
Now I'm thinking to myself why are we entering in through the back door. You know the one next to the garage that leads to the kitchen...and yup...you guessed it. The basement.
Dude. You like a hunnid and two....you live in the basement?
Let's hear this story...
"You know, this is my house, you know, my mom's just live with me."
I don't even want to hear anymore. I'm not judging. Really. Honestly, if I were in my hometown, I'd seriously live with my parents still. No lie. But um, at his age, his stage of his career...you really live in the basement? To date or not to date?
347.
Everything that glitters aint gold and everything shining aint a diamond...You see where I'm going with this right?
He worked in corporate America. Not just corporate America...but a Fortune 500 company, corner office, hell I was intimidated and that's pretty hard to do.
The first thing I ask myself when I meet men that are older, single, no children is why are they single? I mean, they may ask the same thing about me, but my reasoning is legit. There's....usually isn't.
There are usually a list of questions that most people ask right off the bat when they meet someone...Age? Location? What do you do? Children? Living situation? Something along those lines. I never like to judge right away, so I usually cover the age and what do you do section and let the chips fall where they may. Not a good idea.
Let's just skip over all the small talk, the first lunch date, you know blah, blah, blah.
Fast forward to the day he invited me to his office.
Nice. Fun guy, business orientated. I ask him his five year plan. I like.
There was a piece of the five year old plan that had my ears perk up..."I plan on finally leaving where I live and buying something in battery park..." I was stuck on this sentence. I had got wedged in between "finally leaving" and "where I live."
I know, you're thinking what I'm thinking....is he married and still lives with his wife? Does he have a roommate? And why is it finally? Like, have you been dying to leave there but haven't yet. I'm so confused. Before I could get nosy...he suggests that I come out to house for dinner. Ahhh, okay, a chance for me to be nosy.
So it's a nice summer night, you know how I feel about summer nights.
We're driving...we get to Long Island, we get to this beautiful house. No, I mean beautiful house. I'm from the suburbs, where there are vintage mansions, as a matter of fact a friend of mine had a ceiling so tall you could fit another house in the living room. His is nice.
Now I'm thinking to myself why are we entering in through the back door. You know the one next to the garage that leads to the kitchen...and yup...you guessed it. The basement.
Dude. You like a hunnid and two....you live in the basement?
Let's hear this story...
"You know, this is my house, you know, my mom's just live with me."
I don't even want to hear anymore. I'm not judging. Really. Honestly, if I were in my hometown, I'd seriously live with my parents still. No lie. But um, at his age, his stage of his career...you really live in the basement? To date or not to date?
347.
The Bold One
Today's post is simple...but sweet. Well maybe not sweet. But short and to the point.
It was our first date.
He asked me have I ever been to Ten's. I hadn't, I had just moved to New York maybe a year before this date.
It's a summer night. Beautiful. If you have never been out on a New York summer night, I don't know what you have been doing with your life. It's as almost if God has kissed the sky to spread the clouds, sighed in amazement to push the breeze and opened his eyes to light the skyline. If you've got good company, then you've got a great night.
He's funny. Have you realized that, this is an important quality for me?
We ride across the bridge, top down...laughing, mmmmm....I can't complain.
We get to the city and he's like, my boys are hanging out at Ten's we are going to go and have some drinks and chill out.
We park and I get to the front door.
There are stairs and they are covered in red carpet and there's a bouncer standing outside. I haven't looked up yet.
He talks to the bouncer, and opens the door for me.
It's a strip club.
Now, really I'm not uncomfortable. It's cool. I mean, it is our first date. Buttt, I mean hey, good drinks, good company as I said before, and strippers. They are so interesting aren't they?
So I mean it's all good.
I'm one of those chicks that are really cool, and really down to earth. So I'm dancing, throwing his money around. Laughing with his friends. Kicking it.
Mayyybbbeee....I gave the impression that anything goes. I'm sure I did.
Because, we are leaving now...and we get in the car and he asks me did I think this one chick was sexy. I mean sure, in a stripper kind of way. He says okay.
We get down the block and he slams on the brakes, he goes, "Yeah, she was bad. Let's go back and get her and all go to my house."
*blank stare*
He was as serious as a heart attack.
"Bold aren't you"?
FML. Only me.
348.
It was our first date.
He asked me have I ever been to Ten's. I hadn't, I had just moved to New York maybe a year before this date.
It's a summer night. Beautiful. If you have never been out on a New York summer night, I don't know what you have been doing with your life. It's as almost if God has kissed the sky to spread the clouds, sighed in amazement to push the breeze and opened his eyes to light the skyline. If you've got good company, then you've got a great night.
He's funny. Have you realized that, this is an important quality for me?
We ride across the bridge, top down...laughing, mmmmm....I can't complain.
We get to the city and he's like, my boys are hanging out at Ten's we are going to go and have some drinks and chill out.
We park and I get to the front door.
There are stairs and they are covered in red carpet and there's a bouncer standing outside. I haven't looked up yet.
He talks to the bouncer, and opens the door for me.
It's a strip club.
Now, really I'm not uncomfortable. It's cool. I mean, it is our first date. Buttt, I mean hey, good drinks, good company as I said before, and strippers. They are so interesting aren't they?
So I mean it's all good.
I'm one of those chicks that are really cool, and really down to earth. So I'm dancing, throwing his money around. Laughing with his friends. Kicking it.
Mayyybbbeee....I gave the impression that anything goes. I'm sure I did.
Because, we are leaving now...and we get in the car and he asks me did I think this one chick was sexy. I mean sure, in a stripper kind of way. He says okay.
We get down the block and he slams on the brakes, he goes, "Yeah, she was bad. Let's go back and get her and all go to my house."
*blank stare*
He was as serious as a heart attack.
"Bold aren't you"?
FML. Only me.
348.
The I'm Confused
I met him in Vegas.
I had the opportunity to take one of my bestie's, Mandee to Vegas for her birthday. I needed to go for work and I figured it would be nice to take her with as she's in the fashion industry as well.
I can't remember where we all met at, she does, I know it, she's reading this going girl...at such and such...
Anyway, he was French...ahh and I mean like, tall, dark, handsome, accent, fluently speaking French. I live.
We hung out with him and his friends, good times.
On the day he was leaving, his cousin needed to drop him off at the airport, but they were still a little off from the night before.It was major early. He called me up, "Listen, can you guys ride in the car with us to the airport? My cousin will drop you back off at your hotel, he's fine, but it just would be nice to have someone in the car too."
Oh, so you want to kill us all?
We agree.
Randomly, he lives in the tri-state area and we vow to keep in touch.
We do.
We hang out a couple of times and he's cool. Besides the fact that he talks about work every five seconds and I have to drown him out for a full 10 minutes of the conversation, I can deal.
One day he lets me know that an extended family member is having a birthday party, bbq to be exact and that he wanted me to attend with him. Doesn't that sound like a date to you?
Now, I love to bake so I make some brownies, you know real wife type, I put on a sundress, and get ready to smile my way into my future! heh heh heh....
So he comes to pick me up and there's a guy in the front seat. Now...I'm thinking like okay, that's cool you brought your friend. But ummmm he needs to get in the back seat.
He doesn't.
Okay, okay. So let's reassess. This is a group trip, I'm adaptable.
They talk that voulez vous the whole way there. Thing is...I took French for seven years, so I'm not excluded, I'm just kind of like, hmmm I wanted a little pyt. Fast forward and we get to the party, introductions, smiles, you know how it goes and we pick a table outside. The I'm Confused goes around to politic with friends and family and I'm left at the table with the friend....
We are chit-chatting making small talk, but you know how you try to keep it real short so it's like, I am clearly interested in your friend.
So he says how he is in the city and that we should all hang out sometime, kick it, go out. Now, I'm sitting there like wait...am I open game? What is this? You know how you meet a group of dudes and they are all cool? Like it's real chill and it's clear that you talk to one of them, but you are cool with the other ones? No? Me either.
So now I'm looking around real odd like, looking for The I'm confused....time for him to return. ASAP.
The friend goes to find him first and they are in the corner talking....I'm so confused. Am I on a date? Is this just platonic? What's up him and the friend?
I sneak away to call my mom. She was the only one who could assess this situation. Now if you think I'm funny...You can't even deal with her.
She says, "Are they gay"?!?
Aww...dammit Gina! I didn't even think of that. He can't be, nooo, could he? Wait. I replay the afternoon in my head, you know how a video rewinds. But then I'm like nooo, because the friend asks me for my number......I live for "the boys." Wait, is he?
I'm so confused. 349.
The Belly Boy
I keep thinking I'm going to run out of stories. But then I think of some the dumb 'ish that someone does to or with me and I go nahhh...I could do this for days.
I'm walking on campus swinging my curls. It's spring time. Beautiful out. Here comes a baby light skin coming towards me.
He. is. gorgeous. Great smile. Body. Nice. Looks like he takes care of himself...I like. I give him the eye and keep walking.
It comes a time when you can appreciate a cute face and keep it moving.
He wouldn't let me keep moving. He calls me back and I can't resist. We chit chat a little and exchange information.
If you know me, then you have to know that I have horrible phone etiquette. Meaning, sometimes I won't even answer, sometimes it takes me an hour to text back. Sometimes, I will completely forget to text you back at all. It's not that I don't love you dearly, it's just that I'm a little ADD. Once I'm doing something, I'm probably doing a hundred other things too.
I say that all to say, I never got a real chance to sit and text talk to him. We went back and forth a couple of times and then finally we had a lengthy convo.
During that convo, this comes up, he says, "Who you live with"? I respond. "Myself..." His response, "Ohhh, well you need to invite me over."
Really?
Then he says, "Send me a pic of your stomach."
What?
"It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a woman. It's just a pic," he says.
Do I look twelve? I tell him, that I'm not interested in holding my cell phone away from my stomach and sending him a picture. I'm good. He says fine.
Sooo a few weeks pass by and I'm dealing with finals, school stuff, looking for summer work and a plethora of other things on my plate, so I haven't gotten back to him in a minute. One day I'm online, and he's online.
"What's up, we haven't hung out yet, you need to just invite me over."
We back on that?
I ask, "Why do you want to come to my house? What's up with this invite me over"?
"So I can eat you," He replies.
*blank stare*
"Umm no." I reply.
He asks, "You don't want me to? Why not"?
"Umm because I don't even know you."
"Well then, why'd you get my number"?
"Ummm to get to know you," I reply.
"Okay, send me a stomach pic."
*rolls eyes*
"No."
"Fine," and he logs off.
Really? I really want to know what females are allowing dudes to say stuff to them. Like what type of conversations are they having that makes these dudes think it's okay to say that out loud.
I had forgot about the conversation and I remembered that he ran, so one day I randomly text like, "I need a running buddy, what's up"?
He says, "Oh now you need me. lol. You don't need to run."
I say, "I do, I like to eat, it helps keep me toned and healthy."
I had forgot about this one.
"Send me a stomach pic." -_-
Maybe, it's me. But what is it with this sending a pic of the stomach. The only thing I can think of is like 16 year old girls who take pictures of themselves and then send it to dudes after they exchange numbers. But I'm grown. Like does he think that because he met me on campus I'm a young, wild, college thang? Well, I mean I am. but still. I'm not 18, and no where near in the same category, in no way shape or form. Me and those girls are not even in the same tax bracket let alone same mind frame. I'm over it.
"Okay now that's starting to weird me out."
"Why"? He says. "It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a female."
"I am not sending you a stomach pic, I'm not inviting you over, I'm not on that."
"Okay, well we can run next week."
I'm standing there looking at the text and was just like whatever.
Ten minutes later......
"Send me a pic of your stomach."
FML. 350.
I'm walking on campus swinging my curls. It's spring time. Beautiful out. Here comes a baby light skin coming towards me.
He. is. gorgeous. Great smile. Body. Nice. Looks like he takes care of himself...I like. I give him the eye and keep walking.
It comes a time when you can appreciate a cute face and keep it moving.
He wouldn't let me keep moving. He calls me back and I can't resist. We chit chat a little and exchange information.
If you know me, then you have to know that I have horrible phone etiquette. Meaning, sometimes I won't even answer, sometimes it takes me an hour to text back. Sometimes, I will completely forget to text you back at all. It's not that I don't love you dearly, it's just that I'm a little ADD. Once I'm doing something, I'm probably doing a hundred other things too.
I say that all to say, I never got a real chance to sit and text talk to him. We went back and forth a couple of times and then finally we had a lengthy convo.
During that convo, this comes up, he says, "Who you live with"? I respond. "Myself..." His response, "Ohhh, well you need to invite me over."
Really?
Then he says, "Send me a pic of your stomach."
What?
"It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a woman. It's just a pic," he says.
Do I look twelve? I tell him, that I'm not interested in holding my cell phone away from my stomach and sending him a picture. I'm good. He says fine.
Sooo a few weeks pass by and I'm dealing with finals, school stuff, looking for summer work and a plethora of other things on my plate, so I haven't gotten back to him in a minute. One day I'm online, and he's online.
"What's up, we haven't hung out yet, you need to just invite me over."
We back on that?
I ask, "Why do you want to come to my house? What's up with this invite me over"?
"So I can eat you," He replies.
*blank stare*
"Umm no." I reply.
He asks, "You don't want me to? Why not"?
"Umm because I don't even know you."
"Well then, why'd you get my number"?
"Ummm to get to know you," I reply.
"Okay, send me a stomach pic."
*rolls eyes*
"No."
"Fine," and he logs off.
Really? I really want to know what females are allowing dudes to say stuff to them. Like what type of conversations are they having that makes these dudes think it's okay to say that out loud.
I had forgot about the conversation and I remembered that he ran, so one day I randomly text like, "I need a running buddy, what's up"?
He says, "Oh now you need me. lol. You don't need to run."
I say, "I do, I like to eat, it helps keep me toned and healthy."
I had forgot about this one.
"Send me a stomach pic." -_-
Maybe, it's me. But what is it with this sending a pic of the stomach. The only thing I can think of is like 16 year old girls who take pictures of themselves and then send it to dudes after they exchange numbers. But I'm grown. Like does he think that because he met me on campus I'm a young, wild, college thang? Well, I mean I am. but still. I'm not 18, and no where near in the same category, in no way shape or form. Me and those girls are not even in the same tax bracket let alone same mind frame. I'm over it.
"Okay now that's starting to weird me out."
"Why"? He says. "It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a female."
"I am not sending you a stomach pic, I'm not inviting you over, I'm not on that."
"Okay, well we can run next week."
I'm standing there looking at the text and was just like whatever.
Ten minutes later......
"Send me a pic of your stomach."
FML. 350.
The BBall Boo
Finally right?
There's something about an athlete that just gets my juices flowing. Maybe it's the discipline, possibly the determination and dedication or maybe it's the sweat that be dripping all over his booooddddy...Either way. I live.
I had to interview him for the paper. Well I didn't have to. I strategically placed myself in a position to interview him for the paper. His coach said that he was the person to get a story from. I'm down.
So we exchange information and I set up the interview. I have to drag every piece of information out of him. He's humble. I like that.
Real family type, real quiet, you know but firm, strong. He went to Iraq, I asked him about the experience and he said, "It shows you who you really are, some people go cry and hide in the corner and some people get it done, I like to think I'm someone who gets it done." Two snaps in a circle..How yooouuu doing?
Interviews done and of course the next day I get a text. We begin the text conversation. It's cool, you know, he's a good guy.
Fast forward and I had just moved. He met me at the new house. Brought me dinner, put my bed together and left.
Nice.
We are dating now. So at the time, I was traveling for work a lot and sometimes he would come over the night before to hang out before I left. The first time, I had an early flight he just dropped me off at my boss' house so we could get in the car service for the airport. Normal right? She lives like 10 minutes away from my house, no biggie.
Until...One day I needed to leave out at like 5 am for an early flight. He came to visit and I didn't mention the time I needed to be at my boss' house because it only made sense that when I left out he would drop me off right? Wrong.
"What time you gotta be over there"? He asked.
"Well I better leave about 4:45."
"How you getting over there"?
....BBM confused face. "You"?
"No, I can't take you."
Okay, so I decide that I will just take a cab. It was already late and I didn't want to get into the why's and how's.
At 4 am I get up because, I need to leave out. He bids his goodbyes and I get my things together to catch a cab. But I have no cash and I live nowhere near a cash station and it's 4 am. Fine, I figure I can just get cash from my boss when I get to her house. I call the cab company. No cabs. I call another one. No cabs.
It's getting later. Fine. I figured I'd take the train two stops to where there are usually cabs waiting. I get there and get a cab. Mind you it's 4 in the morning. I have a suitcase. I'm pissed. We get to her house. She doesn't have cash. So now I'm like, Mr. Taximan I am soooo sorry. But you have to take me to the cash station. Guess what? My card won't swipe and it's the only one I have. The others I left home, thinking I was going to be living off per diem (daily allowance that the company pays you) and we were going to my hometown to work so I was staying two days later anyway and would be with my mom. FML.
I get back in the cab and have to tell this cab man that I will be back on Sunday and will call him to pick me up from the airport and I promise that I will pay him. God must have favor on me. He agrees.
Now I'm seething mad. I'm on the plane. Mad. I'm in my hometown. Mad. I'm on set. Mad. My boss is shaking her head at me laughing the whole time. My bestie, Misha, meets us at our hotel later that first night, and I'm still mad. They both are like you need to ask him why he couldn't take you and stop walking around mad about it.
Okay, so I get the phone out and get the text together. You know how it goes. You type, ask the girls what to say, how to word it. It's got to be right you know. Nah, Nah, nah, back up, delete, put that in, say this. Nah don't say that, say this, you know. So I get it together and press send. I throw the phone and hide under the pillow. I can't look!
Misha, picks up the phone and dun, dun, dun. It's lit up, "1 New Message."
I inhale. Press view.
"I was tired."
Tired? Tired? WTF. It's 4 am and you can't take me ten minutes away because you were tired??
My boss was like, well now you gotta decide if that's a good enough excuse for you.
It's not.
I don't deal with excuses, especially not I was tired.
I'm over him.
I'm so spoiled.
I'm so single....351
P.S. We still talk to this day all the time....hey, you never know ;).....
There's something about an athlete that just gets my juices flowing. Maybe it's the discipline, possibly the determination and dedication or maybe it's the sweat that be dripping all over his booooddddy...Either way. I live.
I had to interview him for the paper. Well I didn't have to. I strategically placed myself in a position to interview him for the paper. His coach said that he was the person to get a story from. I'm down.
So we exchange information and I set up the interview. I have to drag every piece of information out of him. He's humble. I like that.
Real family type, real quiet, you know but firm, strong. He went to Iraq, I asked him about the experience and he said, "It shows you who you really are, some people go cry and hide in the corner and some people get it done, I like to think I'm someone who gets it done." Two snaps in a circle..How yooouuu doing?
Interviews done and of course the next day I get a text. We begin the text conversation. It's cool, you know, he's a good guy.
Fast forward and I had just moved. He met me at the new house. Brought me dinner, put my bed together and left.
Nice.
We are dating now. So at the time, I was traveling for work a lot and sometimes he would come over the night before to hang out before I left. The first time, I had an early flight he just dropped me off at my boss' house so we could get in the car service for the airport. Normal right? She lives like 10 minutes away from my house, no biggie.
Until...One day I needed to leave out at like 5 am for an early flight. He came to visit and I didn't mention the time I needed to be at my boss' house because it only made sense that when I left out he would drop me off right? Wrong.
"What time you gotta be over there"? He asked.
"Well I better leave about 4:45."
"How you getting over there"?
....BBM confused face. "You"?
"No, I can't take you."
Okay, so I decide that I will just take a cab. It was already late and I didn't want to get into the why's and how's.
At 4 am I get up because, I need to leave out. He bids his goodbyes and I get my things together to catch a cab. But I have no cash and I live nowhere near a cash station and it's 4 am. Fine, I figure I can just get cash from my boss when I get to her house. I call the cab company. No cabs. I call another one. No cabs.
It's getting later. Fine. I figured I'd take the train two stops to where there are usually cabs waiting. I get there and get a cab. Mind you it's 4 in the morning. I have a suitcase. I'm pissed. We get to her house. She doesn't have cash. So now I'm like, Mr. Taximan I am soooo sorry. But you have to take me to the cash station. Guess what? My card won't swipe and it's the only one I have. The others I left home, thinking I was going to be living off per diem (daily allowance that the company pays you) and we were going to my hometown to work so I was staying two days later anyway and would be with my mom. FML.
I get back in the cab and have to tell this cab man that I will be back on Sunday and will call him to pick me up from the airport and I promise that I will pay him. God must have favor on me. He agrees.
Now I'm seething mad. I'm on the plane. Mad. I'm in my hometown. Mad. I'm on set. Mad. My boss is shaking her head at me laughing the whole time. My bestie, Misha, meets us at our hotel later that first night, and I'm still mad. They both are like you need to ask him why he couldn't take you and stop walking around mad about it.
Okay, so I get the phone out and get the text together. You know how it goes. You type, ask the girls what to say, how to word it. It's got to be right you know. Nah, Nah, nah, back up, delete, put that in, say this. Nah don't say that, say this, you know. So I get it together and press send. I throw the phone and hide under the pillow. I can't look!
Misha, picks up the phone and dun, dun, dun. It's lit up, "1 New Message."
I inhale. Press view.
"I was tired."
Tired? Tired? WTF. It's 4 am and you can't take me ten minutes away because you were tired??
My boss was like, well now you gotta decide if that's a good enough excuse for you.
It's not.
I don't deal with excuses, especially not I was tired.
I'm over him.
I'm so spoiled.
I'm so single....351
P.S. We still talk to this day all the time....hey, you never know ;).....
The Are You Serious?
Today was The BBall Boo, but recently I was out with friends and met this guy. We exchanged information and I just wanted my readers to see that it's not just my past that is full of unbelievable stories.
I'm sitting on this couch and he leans over and says, "Hi, I'm Are Your Serious"? Very respectful, a gentleman. Plus, he had a slight referral from one of my friends. I have nothing to lose. He shakes my hand, and says, "I'd like to take you to dinner." I say, "You know you shouldn't meet people in clubs you know, they could be nuts." He replies, "I said take you to dinner, not marry you." Cute. I laugh. He's funny.
We part ways and later on that night, we exchange numbers.
So the other day. I'm chilling, minding my business and I get this text:
"I'm about to leave work, I'm going to call you later in the meantime, what are you likes/dislikes, turn-ons, turn-offs, fetishes, whatever :)"
I'm doing something and if you know me well, I can't concentrate on too much at one time, so I'm not really in the mood for a long chat conversation. So I say:
"That's too much for one text."
Him:
"I know, I prefer face to face, but I have unlimited text :), I will keep it light."
Me:
"Fine. Life.Love.Laughter.Fashion. I dislike liars. Turn-ons, it depends, turn offs, way too much to text and fetishes...none."
So he says, "I see. No fetishes"?
I'm like, "No, I mean I will search 5 stores for candy corn, but um...nah."
So he says, "I was thinking more personal, but I'm the same way with gummy worms."
Hmmm...Gummy worms?
So then...this text comes through, and I quote:
"Great...I love great legs, sexy smile, mean walk, shoe fetish...loooooove asses n a woman who appreciate stimulation in that area....spontaneity..humor, n tree smoke can't bother her...(hope not 2much)"
O_o Pause.
Wait. What? I swear I wanted clarification on that middle section but I couldn't even get into it. The only thing I could respond back was...."Gotcha."
He responds, "Aww...Did I lose u. (honesty..) text was a lot. Not many can appreciate same things, n a person im a gentleman. I just like what I like."
I'm holding the phone looking at the text like....Are you serious right now?
I respond that his likes are his likes and it has "nothing to do with me...."
He goes, "Nice. Quite evasive. Well at least you weren't turned off. I want to know you, something tells me you might just like or are into the same things I mentioned. That would be more than a coincidence."
-_-
Dude. What in the HELL would make you think I would like or be into some of the things you mentioned?? Like for real? Where they say that at??
I'm looking at the phone like I don't know how to take this...I respond...."Oh really, ummm I'm a say no and none of the above."
He texts back, "I wish I didn't read that, but do you think you could get to know someone who liked things that you don't like."
I really don't want to answer. Is he serious? Maybe I'm the crazy one. I mean who says that? Who texts that to someone fifth text into a conversation? Really? Really dude? You just get it all out the way in the beginning hunh? Stimulation? in that area? I might be sick. Matter of fact, I'm done with this post. SMH. 352.
I'm sitting on this couch and he leans over and says, "Hi, I'm Are Your Serious"? Very respectful, a gentleman. Plus, he had a slight referral from one of my friends. I have nothing to lose. He shakes my hand, and says, "I'd like to take you to dinner." I say, "You know you shouldn't meet people in clubs you know, they could be nuts." He replies, "I said take you to dinner, not marry you." Cute. I laugh. He's funny.
We part ways and later on that night, we exchange numbers.
So the other day. I'm chilling, minding my business and I get this text:
"I'm about to leave work, I'm going to call you later in the meantime, what are you likes/dislikes, turn-ons, turn-offs, fetishes, whatever :)"
I'm doing something and if you know me well, I can't concentrate on too much at one time, so I'm not really in the mood for a long chat conversation. So I say:
"That's too much for one text."
Him:
"I know, I prefer face to face, but I have unlimited text :), I will keep it light."
Me:
"Fine. Life.Love.Laughter.Fashion. I dislike liars. Turn-ons, it depends, turn offs, way too much to text and fetishes...none."
So he says, "I see. No fetishes"?
I'm like, "No, I mean I will search 5 stores for candy corn, but um...nah."
So he says, "I was thinking more personal, but I'm the same way with gummy worms."
Hmmm...Gummy worms?
So then...this text comes through, and I quote:
"Great...I love great legs, sexy smile, mean walk, shoe fetish...loooooove asses n a woman who appreciate stimulation in that area....spontaneity..humor, n tree smoke can't bother her...(hope not 2much)"
O_o Pause.
Wait. What? I swear I wanted clarification on that middle section but I couldn't even get into it. The only thing I could respond back was...."Gotcha."
He responds, "Aww...Did I lose u. (honesty..) text was a lot. Not many can appreciate same things, n a person im a gentleman. I just like what I like."
I'm holding the phone looking at the text like....Are you serious right now?
I respond that his likes are his likes and it has "nothing to do with me...."
He goes, "Nice. Quite evasive. Well at least you weren't turned off. I want to know you, something tells me you might just like or are into the same things I mentioned. That would be more than a coincidence."
-_-
Dude. What in the HELL would make you think I would like or be into some of the things you mentioned?? Like for real? Where they say that at??
I'm looking at the phone like I don't know how to take this...I respond...."Oh really, ummm I'm a say no and none of the above."
He texts back, "I wish I didn't read that, but do you think you could get to know someone who liked things that you don't like."
I really don't want to answer. Is he serious? Maybe I'm the crazy one. I mean who says that? Who texts that to someone fifth text into a conversation? Really? Really dude? You just get it all out the way in the beginning hunh? Stimulation? in that area? I might be sick. Matter of fact, I'm done with this post. SMH. 352.
The Block Boo
I almost lost my life. Over a DVD.
For seven months this dude on my block tried to talk to me. The first time I walked past, he hopped out the truck, Louis scarf, money in his hand. Real clown. You know that BK swag? That flashy like Fab, powerful like Jay type. *Rolls eyes*
I'm not even in the mood for this.
The next time he hops out and walks with me while I'm walking the dog....he's....nice.
At the time I was a personal assistant and had to run to my boss' house to drop off something. I walked outside and it is BRICK ass cold outside. I mean it's almost Chicago cold where you sniffle and your snot freezes before it can go up. EW!
He's outside in his truck talking to someone. He stops me. Before he can say another word, I have to use our friendship to an advantage. I tell him I need a ride.
He obliges.
We get to the destination and I'm thinking like...frick...I gotta give him my number now. It would be mad shady if I don't right? (Half of you just said "No"! out loud.)
I give him my number.
So the next day he texts me, he's pretty cool. Good conversation. Funny and he's also surprisingly wise. We have a discussion about school, politics, you know what I want to do with my life....I dig. But on the other hand. He's hood. Please don't make me go into an explanation of what hood is. He just is.
One day I'm doing a client's hair and he calls me like, order me some Chinese food. You're now asking why can't he do it. Well I had the number saved in my phone and I know what he orders and it's just easier to call put the order in and have them deliver it to his house. Random but true. I order it for him and go back to my business. He calls me back. "What you doing"? The same thing I was doing five minutes ago.
*Rolls eyes*
He calls me back. "They forgot my egg roll." No, I did. But I didn't tell him that...."They did, those dangone people man, that's messed up," I replied.
"You paying for this cause they messed up," he laughs. I laugh with him and he goes, "And hurry up before I bust them windows out." I'm laughing, so is he.
My client is not. She looks at me crazy like girl you are too old to be dealing with The Block Boo. I know, I know. She's like oh Lord hurry up and finish my hair for he come down here trying to kill us. We laugh it off. That's hood.
A few weeks later one day we are chilling, you know movie night, real innocent and he brings this DVD over. What's that scary one where that chick is standing over dude and they tape recording the house? You know what I'm talking about. I can't think of the name and don't feel like googling it.
Anyway, a few weeks after that, I'm in the process of moving. You think he offered to help? Nope. So I'm like light weight over him. He's a great friend, really, a great ear to talk to, funny, entertaining. All that. But boyfriend material? Not.
Okay, so I've moved. There's a lot of unnecessary drama in between but I'll save you the drama. He comes over to hang out. Now, this is not my man. We are strictly platonic. We both are well aware of this fact. So I can talk to and be around whoever I want right? You would think yes. He will tell you no.
During the movie, I'm texting on my phone. The BBall Boo (He's tomorrows story) is texting me after I haven't talked to him in forever! So I mean hey, I'm responding. Now I've gotten mixed answers. Some will say--that's rude, some say--who cares. We'll debate this later. So fast forward to my bathroom break. I come back and guess who's going through my phone.
Awwwwhhh dammit Gina! You do not leave your phone around for nosy Block Boo to go through it. Rule number 1. But again, you all already know I do stupid 'ish.
"Who is The BBall Boo"? (Wouldn't it be funny if I really had these dudes saved in my phone under their blog names?? heh heh heh) He asks.
"None of your business," I attempt to snatch my phone back. It's not happening. This dude is like 6 feet, solid and has the vice grip on my phone.
"How you gone be chilling with me and texting some other dude"?? He's pissed.
Now remember I'm flippant at the mouth and he's hood. The next three minutes of the conversation would embarrass not only the members of my church, but every member of my family and probably myself, so therefore, I will just let you know...it got ugly.
Last sentence I remember was, "Get out. I can't deal with you."
He's now offended. "Word? Get out? Okay, I'll get out."
He's moving too slow for me. I set off a firecracker worth of insults and he's shoots them right back. Now I'm screaming "Get Out" and now he's looking at me like I'm crazy. Now his hands are around my throat. "Yo, you're bugging, quit screaming at me, I'm not no little kid."
"Really? You must be or you're really a girl, because that's the only people that phone snoop."
He releases the grip, and puts his coat on. In between preparing to leave major insults are hurled at me because I was texting while he was in my presence. SMH. Only me.
The next day...I get a text. "Where's my DVD, I gotta give it back to my homeboy it's $50 if I don't, it was a rental."
Are you serious right now?
I didn't even respond. He calls me. Not to talk. To ask me for the DVD.
A week later. He's still asking me for this DVD. Now I'm getting death threats over a DVD.
Yep, death threats....
A few weeks later after the smoke cleared. We talk. He thinks I'm rude for texting. I think he's rude for going through my phone. It is what it is.
We're still cool till this day actually. We catch up every now and again....and randomly sometime we laugh and he goes, "Find my DVD." FML. 353
For seven months this dude on my block tried to talk to me. The first time I walked past, he hopped out the truck, Louis scarf, money in his hand. Real clown. You know that BK swag? That flashy like Fab, powerful like Jay type. *Rolls eyes*
I'm not even in the mood for this.
The next time he hops out and walks with me while I'm walking the dog....he's....nice.
At the time I was a personal assistant and had to run to my boss' house to drop off something. I walked outside and it is BRICK ass cold outside. I mean it's almost Chicago cold where you sniffle and your snot freezes before it can go up. EW!
He's outside in his truck talking to someone. He stops me. Before he can say another word, I have to use our friendship to an advantage. I tell him I need a ride.
He obliges.
We get to the destination and I'm thinking like...frick...I gotta give him my number now. It would be mad shady if I don't right? (Half of you just said "No"! out loud.)
I give him my number.
So the next day he texts me, he's pretty cool. Good conversation. Funny and he's also surprisingly wise. We have a discussion about school, politics, you know what I want to do with my life....I dig. But on the other hand. He's hood. Please don't make me go into an explanation of what hood is. He just is.
One day I'm doing a client's hair and he calls me like, order me some Chinese food. You're now asking why can't he do it. Well I had the number saved in my phone and I know what he orders and it's just easier to call put the order in and have them deliver it to his house. Random but true. I order it for him and go back to my business. He calls me back. "What you doing"? The same thing I was doing five minutes ago.
*Rolls eyes*
He calls me back. "They forgot my egg roll." No, I did. But I didn't tell him that...."They did, those dangone people man, that's messed up," I replied.
"You paying for this cause they messed up," he laughs. I laugh with him and he goes, "And hurry up before I bust them windows out." I'm laughing, so is he.
My client is not. She looks at me crazy like girl you are too old to be dealing with The Block Boo. I know, I know. She's like oh Lord hurry up and finish my hair for he come down here trying to kill us. We laugh it off. That's hood.
A few weeks later one day we are chilling, you know movie night, real innocent and he brings this DVD over. What's that scary one where that chick is standing over dude and they tape recording the house? You know what I'm talking about. I can't think of the name and don't feel like googling it.
Anyway, a few weeks after that, I'm in the process of moving. You think he offered to help? Nope. So I'm like light weight over him. He's a great friend, really, a great ear to talk to, funny, entertaining. All that. But boyfriend material? Not.
Okay, so I've moved. There's a lot of unnecessary drama in between but I'll save you the drama. He comes over to hang out. Now, this is not my man. We are strictly platonic. We both are well aware of this fact. So I can talk to and be around whoever I want right? You would think yes. He will tell you no.
During the movie, I'm texting on my phone. The BBall Boo (He's tomorrows story) is texting me after I haven't talked to him in forever! So I mean hey, I'm responding. Now I've gotten mixed answers. Some will say--that's rude, some say--who cares. We'll debate this later. So fast forward to my bathroom break. I come back and guess who's going through my phone.
Awwwwhhh dammit Gina! You do not leave your phone around for nosy Block Boo to go through it. Rule number 1. But again, you all already know I do stupid 'ish.
"Who is The BBall Boo"? (Wouldn't it be funny if I really had these dudes saved in my phone under their blog names?? heh heh heh) He asks.
"None of your business," I attempt to snatch my phone back. It's not happening. This dude is like 6 feet, solid and has the vice grip on my phone.
"How you gone be chilling with me and texting some other dude"?? He's pissed.
Now remember I'm flippant at the mouth and he's hood. The next three minutes of the conversation would embarrass not only the members of my church, but every member of my family and probably myself, so therefore, I will just let you know...it got ugly.
Last sentence I remember was, "Get out. I can't deal with you."
He's now offended. "Word? Get out? Okay, I'll get out."
He's moving too slow for me. I set off a firecracker worth of insults and he's shoots them right back. Now I'm screaming "Get Out" and now he's looking at me like I'm crazy. Now his hands are around my throat. "Yo, you're bugging, quit screaming at me, I'm not no little kid."
"Really? You must be or you're really a girl, because that's the only people that phone snoop."
He releases the grip, and puts his coat on. In between preparing to leave major insults are hurled at me because I was texting while he was in my presence. SMH. Only me.
The next day...I get a text. "Where's my DVD, I gotta give it back to my homeboy it's $50 if I don't, it was a rental."
Are you serious right now?
I didn't even respond. He calls me. Not to talk. To ask me for the DVD.
A week later. He's still asking me for this DVD. Now I'm getting death threats over a DVD.
Yep, death threats....
A few weeks later after the smoke cleared. We talk. He thinks I'm rude for texting. I think he's rude for going through my phone. It is what it is.
We're still cool till this day actually. We catch up every now and again....and randomly sometime we laugh and he goes, "Find my DVD." FML. 353
The Punk
I was dating this dude for a while....and then we broke up. We were young, dumb...you know the rest.
After we broke up, he dated this chick who was more concerned with what I was doing then keeping up with their relationship. Real ignorant like. I guess he got tired of that...because then they broke up.
Randomly, a few months later he asks if I want to hang out....Why do I agree?
Oh yeah, because I do random stupid 'ish.
We're walking around enjoying the summer day. Laughing like the old days. We stop at the ice cream shop. It's picture perfect.
We're strolling along this long block and walking towards us are two figures....He squints his eyes and leans his head forward a little bit. I squint too.
It's his ex...and her friend.
I'm thinking nothing of it, like oh well for you honey, I'm having a good day. I keep walking. Until I look around and this jerk has slid into the doorway of some store. I turn around like what the hell!? I walk back a bit and his ass is leaning real close to the glass head back trying to make sure no one can see him.
They are getting closer.
He says, "Go...Go! Walk that way," he waves his hand but not his arm so no one can see him hiding,"She can NOT see me and you together. For real....we not broke up, we just got back together...her ass is CRAZY! For real...go, go walk over there..."!
Are you kidding me?
I'm standing there shocked with the ice cream in my hands and I'm looking at him with his eyes real wide...this dude is really terrified. I'm thinking like...wait, should I be terrified? Finally, I resolve like you know what. I gotta get the heck out here ASAP.
I walk the opposite way and cross the street. Next thing I know, from behind me I hear serious yelling. I keep walking down the block though and the only thing I could think of to do was to go into this Chinese restaurant.
This is around the time when two-ways were poppin, not cell phones and the only way to contact anybody...is a pay phone. Okay, so now I'm a little nervous...okay I won't lie to you guys, I'm scared. Next thing I know homegirl is walking past the restaurant looking in. She sees me.
I manage to get a quarter out and call my best friend at the time. The pay phone is right at the front of the restaurant and you can see out into the street and whoever is out there can see in, it's a stand off. With glass. "COME GET ME NOW"! My bestie lived in the next suburb over, which isn't far, but it's far enough for me to worry that this chick is going to kill me.
Here I am cowering in the corner by the pay phone. The chick is outside the restaurant with her friend arms crossed, pissed. I think she is deciding what to do with me. I can't believe this. She finally walks away.
A few minutes later, my best friend rolls up like a bat outta hell. Slams on the brakes and hops out like "Deebo G"...I pause for a second. In my mind homegirl is hiding in the bushes and I know it's about to go down. I prepare myself. Instead, my bestie saves me and comes to the door to get me.
We get in the car and she's shaking her head....I'm in a daze...I can't figure out if I'm the punk or him. 354
After we broke up, he dated this chick who was more concerned with what I was doing then keeping up with their relationship. Real ignorant like. I guess he got tired of that...because then they broke up.
Randomly, a few months later he asks if I want to hang out....Why do I agree?
Oh yeah, because I do random stupid 'ish.
We're walking around enjoying the summer day. Laughing like the old days. We stop at the ice cream shop. It's picture perfect.
We're strolling along this long block and walking towards us are two figures....He squints his eyes and leans his head forward a little bit. I squint too.
It's his ex...and her friend.
I'm thinking nothing of it, like oh well for you honey, I'm having a good day. I keep walking. Until I look around and this jerk has slid into the doorway of some store. I turn around like what the hell!? I walk back a bit and his ass is leaning real close to the glass head back trying to make sure no one can see him.
They are getting closer.
He says, "Go...Go! Walk that way," he waves his hand but not his arm so no one can see him hiding,"She can NOT see me and you together. For real....we not broke up, we just got back together...her ass is CRAZY! For real...go, go walk over there..."!
Are you kidding me?
I'm standing there shocked with the ice cream in my hands and I'm looking at him with his eyes real wide...this dude is really terrified. I'm thinking like...wait, should I be terrified? Finally, I resolve like you know what. I gotta get the heck out here ASAP.
I walk the opposite way and cross the street. Next thing I know, from behind me I hear serious yelling. I keep walking down the block though and the only thing I could think of to do was to go into this Chinese restaurant.
This is around the time when two-ways were poppin, not cell phones and the only way to contact anybody...is a pay phone. Okay, so now I'm a little nervous...okay I won't lie to you guys, I'm scared. Next thing I know homegirl is walking past the restaurant looking in. She sees me.
I manage to get a quarter out and call my best friend at the time. The pay phone is right at the front of the restaurant and you can see out into the street and whoever is out there can see in, it's a stand off. With glass. "COME GET ME NOW"! My bestie lived in the next suburb over, which isn't far, but it's far enough for me to worry that this chick is going to kill me.
Here I am cowering in the corner by the pay phone. The chick is outside the restaurant with her friend arms crossed, pissed. I think she is deciding what to do with me. I can't believe this. She finally walks away.
A few minutes later, my best friend rolls up like a bat outta hell. Slams on the brakes and hops out like "Deebo G"...I pause for a second. In my mind homegirl is hiding in the bushes and I know it's about to go down. I prepare myself. Instead, my bestie saves me and comes to the door to get me.
We get in the car and she's shaking her head....I'm in a daze...I can't figure out if I'm the punk or him. 354
The Imposter
I was standing on the couches at what use to be Sol...I think it's Amnesia now, yeah, Amnesia.
He asked me two questions, "What do you do"? and "You have kids"? I didn't think anything of it until the next day he invited me and a friend to come party with him and his friends, because it was his birthday weekend.
Now my friend..was one of those friends that...hmmm how can I put this...thinks her 'ish don't stink...she was also a little more aggressive than I was and when it came time to choose a restaurant, he asked me where I, (see the word I) wanted to go and she goes, "Phillipes." Now I don't really care either way...I like Phillipes, fine with me. He rolls his eyes. He's off her.
We get to the restaurant and I don't even recall how we got on the subject but he's like, "I don't date women with kids." She has a child and is now offended. So she smartly replies, "What's that suppose to mean"? He says, I don't have children so I don't want to be with a woman who does either. She says, "But what if you fall in love with a woman who has kids--" he interrupts, "That won't happen." He turns to me, "What did I ask you when I first met you"? I reply, "Do I have a job and do I have kids." He says, "Exactly, I wouldn't even get involved with a woman who had kids, or who didn't have a job or career path. I don't care how attractive she is, how great her personality is, those are just two things that I don't compromise on. I ask those questions first to deduce if we even need to speak past this conversation. That way I don't waste her or my time." She has nothing to say.
I like him. He's aggressive, sociable, a grown man (so essential), ambitious. This is cool. A friend of mine was getting married in LA, and I was preparing for the trip. He asked me, where I was staying and who I was going with. I let him know I was going solo and hadn't figured out yet. His response? Cool. If you want me to go, I'll go. I figured why not?! Next thing I know, he's calling me from Saks, getting a new suit, booking our room at the Montrose and upgrading my seat and buying his in first class....POW! Real grown man 'ish. Now that I sit and write this and think about it, I've dealt with some really good guys and on top of that a few have been grown men...I know, you're like what the heck does that mean. Well, I also have dealt with some really immature guys and now that I look back at the men I have dated, I'm wondering why I keep giving these little boys the time of day. I'm really selling my self short....
Okay, but everything is not peaches and cream with The Imposter. Moving on...
We get to LA and I'm expecting him to be the same swagged up NYC dude he was in well, NYC. He's dumb quiet in the cab ride. I'm like hunh?
We get to the hotel. He's like let's hit the bar...I can't, I have to go meet my friends. He's like cool, I'm going.
Time for the wedding. We get dressed...get downstairs, he's still quiet. What the heck is going on? Did the plane ride subdue you? What's the deal.
Reception time. Open bar. You do the math. The entire wedding is lit. I'm walking around having fun with my friends (I haven't seen them in years btw), but I come and check on him still sitting at the table every now and again.
I'm over him.
The rest of the weekend is spent in this awkward moment. I can not WAIT to get back to NYC. I don't understand how a couple of hours on the plane stole his identity. Like really, in NYC, this dude is the king of the world. I let him be also. The minute we get around my friends, in a different surrounding all of a sudden I'm dragging my little brother around. Where they do that at?
By the tone in my voice I believe he concluded that I was over him...We have a conversation and I basically tell him flat out, I didn't like his behavior outside of NY, (my have the tables turned). He responds..."I was intimidated a little, I didn't know those people like you did I guess." So that turns you into a totally different person?
I have to admit, I was a little embarrassed. I feel like if you're going to be with someone, shouldn't they be that "someone" wherever you go? Sure, I could have gotten over it, I'm sure I could have looked past it. But really...I don't want my man packing up his swag and only putting it on when necessary...Maybe I'm the one who lost. 355.
He asked me two questions, "What do you do"? and "You have kids"? I didn't think anything of it until the next day he invited me and a friend to come party with him and his friends, because it was his birthday weekend.
Now my friend..was one of those friends that...hmmm how can I put this...thinks her 'ish don't stink...she was also a little more aggressive than I was and when it came time to choose a restaurant, he asked me where I, (see the word I) wanted to go and she goes, "Phillipes." Now I don't really care either way...I like Phillipes, fine with me. He rolls his eyes. He's off her.
We get to the restaurant and I don't even recall how we got on the subject but he's like, "I don't date women with kids." She has a child and is now offended. So she smartly replies, "What's that suppose to mean"? He says, I don't have children so I don't want to be with a woman who does either. She says, "But what if you fall in love with a woman who has kids--" he interrupts, "That won't happen." He turns to me, "What did I ask you when I first met you"? I reply, "Do I have a job and do I have kids." He says, "Exactly, I wouldn't even get involved with a woman who had kids, or who didn't have a job or career path. I don't care how attractive she is, how great her personality is, those are just two things that I don't compromise on. I ask those questions first to deduce if we even need to speak past this conversation. That way I don't waste her or my time." She has nothing to say.
I like him. He's aggressive, sociable, a grown man (so essential), ambitious. This is cool. A friend of mine was getting married in LA, and I was preparing for the trip. He asked me, where I was staying and who I was going with. I let him know I was going solo and hadn't figured out yet. His response? Cool. If you want me to go, I'll go. I figured why not?! Next thing I know, he's calling me from Saks, getting a new suit, booking our room at the Montrose and upgrading my seat and buying his in first class....POW! Real grown man 'ish. Now that I sit and write this and think about it, I've dealt with some really good guys and on top of that a few have been grown men...I know, you're like what the heck does that mean. Well, I also have dealt with some really immature guys and now that I look back at the men I have dated, I'm wondering why I keep giving these little boys the time of day. I'm really selling my self short....
Okay, but everything is not peaches and cream with The Imposter. Moving on...
We get to LA and I'm expecting him to be the same swagged up NYC dude he was in well, NYC. He's dumb quiet in the cab ride. I'm like hunh?
We get to the hotel. He's like let's hit the bar...I can't, I have to go meet my friends. He's like cool, I'm going.
Time for the wedding. We get dressed...get downstairs, he's still quiet. What the heck is going on? Did the plane ride subdue you? What's the deal.
Reception time. Open bar. You do the math. The entire wedding is lit. I'm walking around having fun with my friends (I haven't seen them in years btw), but I come and check on him still sitting at the table every now and again.
I'm over him.
The rest of the weekend is spent in this awkward moment. I can not WAIT to get back to NYC. I don't understand how a couple of hours on the plane stole his identity. Like really, in NYC, this dude is the king of the world. I let him be also. The minute we get around my friends, in a different surrounding all of a sudden I'm dragging my little brother around. Where they do that at?
By the tone in my voice I believe he concluded that I was over him...We have a conversation and I basically tell him flat out, I didn't like his behavior outside of NY, (my have the tables turned). He responds..."I was intimidated a little, I didn't know those people like you did I guess." So that turns you into a totally different person?
I have to admit, I was a little embarrassed. I feel like if you're going to be with someone, shouldn't they be that "someone" wherever you go? Sure, I could have gotten over it, I'm sure I could have looked past it. But really...I don't want my man packing up his swag and only putting it on when necessary...Maybe I'm the one who lost. 355.
The Truth
If you know me, then you know I can get quite flippant at the mouth.
It's really not my fault. It's like I have a low tolerance for BS and stupidity and if I feel you're on either, I think it's my civic duty to call you on it. The only problem is, that as a man, you really don't want this five foot something, will cry at the drop of hat, emotional, feminine, soft, delicate..supple..creature putting you in your place...and especially in public. I had missed the memo.
I can't even recall where I met him. We had been talking for a week or so but he invited me to come hang out at some new spot. He chats me up...but doesn't say much. He's one of those dudes that the whole crew is in the booth and you can tell he's the ringleader. Real CEO type, he invites me to the booth. Needless to say, minutes later, I'm plastered. No, like white girl wasted.
I'm now in the car. I'm now in White Plains. I'm now in this condo. I'm now throwing up.
This guy is dope. Not only does he damn near hold my head up, but wipes my face, gives me water, toothbrush and alka seltzer, but let's me pass out across his bed and sleeps on the couch. Gentleman.
We wake up..he cooks breakfast. Drives me all the way home and I'm now open.
I mean really, there are few men out there, and even fewer of them have manners. Not once did he disrespect me, take advantage or make me feel embarrassed that I can't drink to save my life. Nice.
We go out again and I meet the crew. He introduces me to one of them as his travel agent and says, "Where do you want to go"? I said the first thing that popped in my head, "Turks and Caicos." He looks at his friend and says, "You heard that right?" His friend shakes his head yes.
Two days later he calls me up like, "He couldn't get Turks, we're going to Miami, call off."
Nice.
We're now in sunny Miami. Sun, the crew, Wet Willies, that one Cuban spot with the banging food, The Setai, Nikki Beach. I live.
I was spending the morning tanning, reading a book hanging out at the beach, while he ran around with the boys....This is the life.
Dinner. Prime 112. First of all, you can't even get a seat at Prime 112 and there are like ten of us on the balcony. I'm impressed. Not because of these material things, but more impressed because this is the "norm." Like this is how these people live on the regular. Business trips and vacays. Friends and laughter...I have something to aspire to. Then...it happens.
Now I had already noticed that he had this slightly aggressive manner at times. It was like one of those...you are woman, I am man, there's a difference and you better know it. I had let a couple of comments slip through the cracks, I mean no one is perfect. I don't know if it was the Riesling or his ego got the best of him. But...he said something to me out of pocket at the table. I'm the only girl there and I feel a certain way. In a low voice but not low enough that our half of the table didn't hear me. I say through clenched teeth, "Who the eff you think you talking to"? (I didn't say eff...you know what I said) I continued, "I don't know who the eff you think you're dealing with...I'm not the one." I turn away and continue eating, thinking to myself like yeah...I just put him in his place.
He doesn't even flinch. Everything is smooth and as normal as it was before I said it. We finish dinner, we are all laughing and talking. He even says to the travel agent friend, "You owe us Turks and Caicos"! I'm delighted.
We get back to the room. Still no response, no funny acting, no nothing. Mad cool. Now the next day we were suppose to leave sometime in the afternoon, but I wanted to catch an earlier flight to cover a shift at work. I had mentioned it earlier but didn't think anything of it until he had asked me did I want to take the earlier flight, if so, I could do stand-by and if not he would change it. I say stand-by is fine and we continue on with "living it up." We hang out that night, still no conversation about the incident. Nothing.
The next morning, I pack my things, get ready to leave out. He calls the concierge, has a car waiting for me, because him and the boys are going to leave later, walks me downstairs puts my luggage in the car and says, "I'll call you when I get back."
Cool. I get back to NYC and leave him a message like, "Made it! Talk to you later"!
That afternoon. No call. The next day. No call. I call to check on him. No answer. The next day. No call. No answer. The next day. No call. No answer. You see where this is going? A week or two later. No call. No answer.....After that I stop calling.
I seen The Truth out a couple weeks later and he shakes his head at me. I say, "What's up? No call no answer"? He says...."Shorty, your mouth is crazy. You may not tolerate BS, but I don't tolerate being disrespected."
Salty.
I couldn't even respond at the time. I learned a very valuable lesson that night.
I see The Truth out sometimes and I'm always invited over to the booth, treated with respect and we're actually pretty cool. I saw him last summer and he said, "Look at you all grown up." I laughed. I also, did grown up things and said, "I never got to apologize for disrespecting you, (Miami probably wasn't the first time I said something smart) I was young, pretentious...you know. I do apologize." He was shocked. Impressed. But shocked. He put his hands around my neck playfully and said, "You are a handful....I could have killed you, but you're a good girl. I'm glad to see you all grown up."
A girl walked over to the booth and she sat on the other side of him. She had fresh tan lines. I knew where they were from.
356.
It's really not my fault. It's like I have a low tolerance for BS and stupidity and if I feel you're on either, I think it's my civic duty to call you on it. The only problem is, that as a man, you really don't want this five foot something, will cry at the drop of hat, emotional, feminine, soft, delicate..supple..creature putting you in your place...and especially in public. I had missed the memo.
I can't even recall where I met him. We had been talking for a week or so but he invited me to come hang out at some new spot. He chats me up...but doesn't say much. He's one of those dudes that the whole crew is in the booth and you can tell he's the ringleader. Real CEO type, he invites me to the booth. Needless to say, minutes later, I'm plastered. No, like white girl wasted.
I'm now in the car. I'm now in White Plains. I'm now in this condo. I'm now throwing up.
This guy is dope. Not only does he damn near hold my head up, but wipes my face, gives me water, toothbrush and alka seltzer, but let's me pass out across his bed and sleeps on the couch. Gentleman.
We wake up..he cooks breakfast. Drives me all the way home and I'm now open.
I mean really, there are few men out there, and even fewer of them have manners. Not once did he disrespect me, take advantage or make me feel embarrassed that I can't drink to save my life. Nice.
We go out again and I meet the crew. He introduces me to one of them as his travel agent and says, "Where do you want to go"? I said the first thing that popped in my head, "Turks and Caicos." He looks at his friend and says, "You heard that right?" His friend shakes his head yes.
Two days later he calls me up like, "He couldn't get Turks, we're going to Miami, call off."
Nice.
We're now in sunny Miami. Sun, the crew, Wet Willies, that one Cuban spot with the banging food, The Setai, Nikki Beach. I live.
I was spending the morning tanning, reading a book hanging out at the beach, while he ran around with the boys....This is the life.
Dinner. Prime 112. First of all, you can't even get a seat at Prime 112 and there are like ten of us on the balcony. I'm impressed. Not because of these material things, but more impressed because this is the "norm." Like this is how these people live on the regular. Business trips and vacays. Friends and laughter...I have something to aspire to. Then...it happens.
Now I had already noticed that he had this slightly aggressive manner at times. It was like one of those...you are woman, I am man, there's a difference and you better know it. I had let a couple of comments slip through the cracks, I mean no one is perfect. I don't know if it was the Riesling or his ego got the best of him. But...he said something to me out of pocket at the table. I'm the only girl there and I feel a certain way. In a low voice but not low enough that our half of the table didn't hear me. I say through clenched teeth, "Who the eff you think you talking to"? (I didn't say eff...you know what I said) I continued, "I don't know who the eff you think you're dealing with...I'm not the one." I turn away and continue eating, thinking to myself like yeah...I just put him in his place.
He doesn't even flinch. Everything is smooth and as normal as it was before I said it. We finish dinner, we are all laughing and talking. He even says to the travel agent friend, "You owe us Turks and Caicos"! I'm delighted.
We get back to the room. Still no response, no funny acting, no nothing. Mad cool. Now the next day we were suppose to leave sometime in the afternoon, but I wanted to catch an earlier flight to cover a shift at work. I had mentioned it earlier but didn't think anything of it until he had asked me did I want to take the earlier flight, if so, I could do stand-by and if not he would change it. I say stand-by is fine and we continue on with "living it up." We hang out that night, still no conversation about the incident. Nothing.
The next morning, I pack my things, get ready to leave out. He calls the concierge, has a car waiting for me, because him and the boys are going to leave later, walks me downstairs puts my luggage in the car and says, "I'll call you when I get back."
Cool. I get back to NYC and leave him a message like, "Made it! Talk to you later"!
That afternoon. No call. The next day. No call. I call to check on him. No answer. The next day. No call. No answer. The next day. No call. No answer. You see where this is going? A week or two later. No call. No answer.....After that I stop calling.
I seen The Truth out a couple weeks later and he shakes his head at me. I say, "What's up? No call no answer"? He says...."Shorty, your mouth is crazy. You may not tolerate BS, but I don't tolerate being disrespected."
Salty.
I couldn't even respond at the time. I learned a very valuable lesson that night.
I see The Truth out sometimes and I'm always invited over to the booth, treated with respect and we're actually pretty cool. I saw him last summer and he said, "Look at you all grown up." I laughed. I also, did grown up things and said, "I never got to apologize for disrespecting you, (Miami probably wasn't the first time I said something smart) I was young, pretentious...you know. I do apologize." He was shocked. Impressed. But shocked. He put his hands around my neck playfully and said, "You are a handful....I could have killed you, but you're a good girl. I'm glad to see you all grown up."
A girl walked over to the booth and she sat on the other side of him. She had fresh tan lines. I knew where they were from.
356.
The Yardie
"Gyal, me wann fi hold
Yuh me arms right around ya
Gyal, you give me the tightest
Hold me eva seen in my life...."
Slow whine...slow whine..fast whine..fast whine...Ok, Ok can you guess where he's from?
*Rolls eyes*. He had "tuff swag." "Rude bwoy"...Big tings a gwan my yute....Okay for real now, I'm in Saks minding my business. Folding clothes, walking around looking....cute. You know. It's almost time for my break and then my girl walks around the corner and I see him.
Swag is nice. Body...nice. Accent? I live. They are having a conversation and feel it necessary to go get in it. So I walk over and of course get my introduction. He has a presence about him. I love when a man can stand somewhere and not say a word and you just know he's a man. It's like his shoulders are pushed back, chest out, walk says something, it's just sexy to me. I like being around someone like that too. It's the way he lightly puts his hand in the small of your back sometimes, or walks slightly in front of you to open the door...you know, man "sh!t". Excuse my french.
We exchange information. My God mother is Jamaican and I've been there and around enough of them to understand what they were saying...but his accent was so fresh off the boat, the first phone conversation was:
Yardie: "Wheyyadey"
Me: "Hunh? Home"?
Yardie: "Whahgwan"
Me: "Nothing..."
Yardie: "Melikewhatasaywhenmeameetu"
Me: "What"?
Yardie: "Miwannagyalwhogotekyouaway"
Me: "What"?
Yardie: "Let's go to city Island."
That last one came through like an emergency alert system during a snow storm with no TV, radio and only a crackhead with a bullhorn at the end of the block eating Cheetos. Heard that loud and clear.
He is...amazing. Conversation was great, he was funny, entertaining, 100% man. We dated for a while. Honestly, he's definitely in the top ten. Plus, he used to come shop at my job with me, just because it would help my "commission" and he felt like I should stack my paper. At the time I was in hair school and he would come to drop me off all the way in Bay Ridge just so he could "see my face." Random trips for crab legs in City Island. Movies, trips, companionship...Great guy. Until...
One night, my phone rings...unknown. I don't answer. An hour later...unknown. I don't answer. An hour later...unknown. Now I pick up. No one answers. I put the phone down and walk away to do something else. Come back...Two missed calls. Unknown. From about 8 pm that night until about 4 or 5 in the morning. Every hour unknown calls. Now...if you been in the game for a while. You already know what's up. If not, let me school you. The only person to do some "rahtid" sh!t like that is a woman or a stalker....People. I have no stalkers.
I go to work and low and behold all the way there...Unknown calls. Finally about 11pm 718 something something pops up on the screen. Hello?.....
"Hi...Um, Do you know "Yardie"?
"Who is this"???
"Well I'm trying to figure out who you are, I'm his baby mother and me and his son want to know who the hell you are? I seen your number a couple of times in his phone and I can't figure it out."
"Really? So while you were going through his phone, and then you saw my number a couple of times, did you go to him and ask who I was"?
"Yes...he said he don't know you."
"So what are you calling me for"?
"Because, I seen your number and I'm trying to figure out what's going on between you two."
"But he just said he don't know me. If that's ya man, and your baby's father and that's his phone and you went to HIM and asked HIM who I was and HE told you that HE don't know me. What in your head made you think you should pick up the phone and call me"?
"Because, I seen your number and I'm..."
"Listen, babygirl. We are going in circles. If he said he don't know me, then he don't. Don't even worry about it. If he don't know me, then I don't know him. This is a case of mistaken identity."
"Well, you don't sound like you're from New York. You seem nice, I just wanted to let you know we are together and find out if something was going on. Thank you."
I hang up with this chic and stand there for a minute...I walk over to my homegirl and tell her the story and she has that look like, well yeah, I knew about her....but that's that man's business to tell you. I roll my eyes and walk away. As I'm walking away, the phone rings, it's him.
"Yo, you okay? I'm sorry about that. She went through my phone and seen your numb..."
Click.
I can't stand excuses and more than that I hate a liar. 357
Yuh me arms right around ya
Gyal, you give me the tightest
Hold me eva seen in my life...."
Slow whine...slow whine..fast whine..fast whine...Ok, Ok can you guess where he's from?
*Rolls eyes*. He had "tuff swag." "Rude bwoy"...Big tings a gwan my yute....Okay for real now, I'm in Saks minding my business. Folding clothes, walking around looking....cute. You know. It's almost time for my break and then my girl walks around the corner and I see him.
Swag is nice. Body...nice. Accent? I live. They are having a conversation and feel it necessary to go get in it. So I walk over and of course get my introduction. He has a presence about him. I love when a man can stand somewhere and not say a word and you just know he's a man. It's like his shoulders are pushed back, chest out, walk says something, it's just sexy to me. I like being around someone like that too. It's the way he lightly puts his hand in the small of your back sometimes, or walks slightly in front of you to open the door...you know, man "sh!t". Excuse my french.
We exchange information. My God mother is Jamaican and I've been there and around enough of them to understand what they were saying...but his accent was so fresh off the boat, the first phone conversation was:
Yardie: "Wheyyadey"
Me: "Hunh? Home"?
Yardie: "Whahgwan"
Me: "Nothing..."
Yardie: "Melikewhatasaywhenmeameetu"
Me: "What"?
Yardie: "Miwannagyalwhogotekyouaway"
Me: "What"?
Yardie: "Let's go to city Island."
That last one came through like an emergency alert system during a snow storm with no TV, radio and only a crackhead with a bullhorn at the end of the block eating Cheetos. Heard that loud and clear.
He is...amazing. Conversation was great, he was funny, entertaining, 100% man. We dated for a while. Honestly, he's definitely in the top ten. Plus, he used to come shop at my job with me, just because it would help my "commission" and he felt like I should stack my paper. At the time I was in hair school and he would come to drop me off all the way in Bay Ridge just so he could "see my face." Random trips for crab legs in City Island. Movies, trips, companionship...Great guy. Until...
One night, my phone rings...unknown. I don't answer. An hour later...unknown. I don't answer. An hour later...unknown. Now I pick up. No one answers. I put the phone down and walk away to do something else. Come back...Two missed calls. Unknown. From about 8 pm that night until about 4 or 5 in the morning. Every hour unknown calls. Now...if you been in the game for a while. You already know what's up. If not, let me school you. The only person to do some "rahtid" sh!t like that is a woman or a stalker....People. I have no stalkers.
I go to work and low and behold all the way there...Unknown calls. Finally about 11pm 718 something something pops up on the screen. Hello?.....
"Hi...Um, Do you know "Yardie"?
"Who is this"???
"Well I'm trying to figure out who you are, I'm his baby mother and me and his son want to know who the hell you are? I seen your number a couple of times in his phone and I can't figure it out."
"Really? So while you were going through his phone, and then you saw my number a couple of times, did you go to him and ask who I was"?
"Yes...he said he don't know you."
"So what are you calling me for"?
"Because, I seen your number and I'm trying to figure out what's going on between you two."
"But he just said he don't know me. If that's ya man, and your baby's father and that's his phone and you went to HIM and asked HIM who I was and HE told you that HE don't know me. What in your head made you think you should pick up the phone and call me"?
"Because, I seen your number and I'm..."
"Listen, babygirl. We are going in circles. If he said he don't know me, then he don't. Don't even worry about it. If he don't know me, then I don't know him. This is a case of mistaken identity."
"Well, you don't sound like you're from New York. You seem nice, I just wanted to let you know we are together and find out if something was going on. Thank you."
I hang up with this chic and stand there for a minute...I walk over to my homegirl and tell her the story and she has that look like, well yeah, I knew about her....but that's that man's business to tell you. I roll my eyes and walk away. As I'm walking away, the phone rings, it's him.
"Yo, you okay? I'm sorry about that. She went through my phone and seen your numb..."
Click.
I can't stand excuses and more than that I hate a liar. 357
Me, Mia and The Monkey
Me and Mia sat at the bar of Tio Pepe's enjoying gaucomole and chips made fresh at the table. Ahh, yes chocolate martinis and Mexican iced teas.
"What's the strongest drink you have"? I asked.
"Please send me the chocolate martini"! Mia said with her soft giggle and friendly manner.
"You are so stupid..."
"Girl, you crazy!"
"Ladies these shots are on the house.."
Giggle giggle...giggle...
This went on for hours and we were filled with warmth and laughter, talking about life, love, and fashion. I don't know what it is about two black girls at a Mexican bar, that makes the bartender think he should keep giving us free drinks.
I'm drunk.
We stumbled outside as the cold air brushed passed us, violating the coats that were meant to keep us warm. I already did the set up before my fourth drink. I had met this guy at school and we had been going back and forth in class. Nothing too serious, but serious enough for us to see what was good. I figured now was a good time to put my plan in action. You know, you send him a text..."Whatchu doing"? Then, you throw in the fact that you are about to start drinking heavily. He sends back that text, "SMH....come over here when you're done." You know, "The Set Up."
Unfortunately, my set-up meant that I would have to take the A, and then the 7...who the hell lives in Queens and who goes there drunk? I get to the 7 train and there are no seats...This is not good. I really need to sit down but instead I choose to lean up against the door. My head is spinning. All of sudden, I can't stand up. I can't see. Am I blacking out? No..No...I'm still awake. I need to sit down. I'm like 5 stops away from my destination. I'm not going to make it. I exit at Lowery Street and sit on the steps....Not two seconds later....
"Bllluuuurrurrrggghhh...."
I'm sitting on the platform steps throwing up gauc and mexican iced tea, all over my black suede boots, while everyone walks past me...Not one person asks if I'm ok. Damn NYC. Did that lady just pull her kid closer?? Damn I look like a drunken hot girl. I call him.
"OMG, do you want me to come get you?? Can you make it"?
"Ummm...no...but I'm a try." FML.
I get to the stop and literally the train doors open and he's standing there. I fall into his arms.
"You are a drunken monkey."
I know....and as he cleaned my boots by spraying them with a water hose, and I prop myself up against the garage door and stairs, the only thing I could muster out was..."Patron is not your friend." 358.
"What's the strongest drink you have"? I asked.
"Please send me the chocolate martini"! Mia said with her soft giggle and friendly manner.
"You are so stupid..."
"Girl, you crazy!"
"Ladies these shots are on the house.."
Giggle giggle...giggle...
This went on for hours and we were filled with warmth and laughter, talking about life, love, and fashion. I don't know what it is about two black girls at a Mexican bar, that makes the bartender think he should keep giving us free drinks.
I'm drunk.
We stumbled outside as the cold air brushed passed us, violating the coats that were meant to keep us warm. I already did the set up before my fourth drink. I had met this guy at school and we had been going back and forth in class. Nothing too serious, but serious enough for us to see what was good. I figured now was a good time to put my plan in action. You know, you send him a text..."Whatchu doing"? Then, you throw in the fact that you are about to start drinking heavily. He sends back that text, "SMH....come over here when you're done." You know, "The Set Up."
Unfortunately, my set-up meant that I would have to take the A, and then the 7...who the hell lives in Queens and who goes there drunk? I get to the 7 train and there are no seats...This is not good. I really need to sit down but instead I choose to lean up against the door. My head is spinning. All of sudden, I can't stand up. I can't see. Am I blacking out? No..No...I'm still awake. I need to sit down. I'm like 5 stops away from my destination. I'm not going to make it. I exit at Lowery Street and sit on the steps....Not two seconds later....
"Bllluuuurrurrrggghhh...."
I'm sitting on the platform steps throwing up gauc and mexican iced tea, all over my black suede boots, while everyone walks past me...Not one person asks if I'm ok. Damn NYC. Did that lady just pull her kid closer?? Damn I look like a drunken hot girl. I call him.
"OMG, do you want me to come get you?? Can you make it"?
"Ummm...no...but I'm a try." FML.
I get to the stop and literally the train doors open and he's standing there. I fall into his arms.
"You are a drunken monkey."
I know....and as he cleaned my boots by spraying them with a water hose, and I prop myself up against the garage door and stairs, the only thing I could muster out was..."Patron is not your friend." 358.
Misha and Mr. 300
I have two sets of best friends. One group I talk to more often, the other group I would call and tell them the same story. Shanti and Mia, I love them to death, we've grown a part for different reasons, but the contact is still consistent in some ways. Misha and Mandee I probably consider the closest. We think alike, but not so much that we are not individuals. We have the same standards and levels of expectations when it comes to certain things and I think as friends we are not afraid to check each other. The last statement is the most important. If the friends you have around you are afraid to, are not the type to or would never check you when you've crossed the border, got out of line, look a wreck, sound a wreck, about to make a crazy decision...then you need new friends. "Wounds from a friend are far better than kisses from an enemy."
Now. To the entertainment.
Misha is what some would call, "a diva." I hate that word though. It's like "Heeyy Diva"?! How corny does that sound? I mean diva has been known to cover a multitude of characteristics including, fashionable, trendy, fun, independent, female version of a hustla', you know. But it also can mean, spoiled, stuck-up, high maintenance, well-to-do, pretentious, the list goes on. Now take those characteristics, remove some add a few more, there you have it. Misha. You say toe-may-to I say ta-mah-toe!
Misha is the friend that will end up with a NBA, NFL, MLB player...marry him. Find out he cheated, divorce him and then cut him off for the rest of his life. But not his checks. Don't get it twisted though, she still holds her own. Misha has been on her own since the age of 16 and for the past 15 years she spent them, working, obtaining her Master's and walking around in shoes that some people can't even pronounce. Me and Mandee were conversing one day and we realized Misha has held a steady job since we were 16 probably and she wasn't spending all her money on clothes on shoes. She's about her business.
Anyway, any guy knows, well they should know, that certain things just won't fly when it comes to Misha. Although she is compromising, picking her up and thinking you can swing by the McDonald's is probably not your best option. But, men still try.
He called her up and told her to get dressed."For what"? was her response. Not a "For what" question that is sensible and sensitive in it's manner, but a "For what" because my show is about to come on and I am much more interested in laying in this bed and watching it.
He responds, "I got tickets to the Bulls game, come on, let's go."
After heavy contemplation Misha finally agreed to embark on this "date" despite the fact that she wasn't all that interested in him. Now. Some girls go to sporting events, well in sporting gear. Not a "diva." Jimmy Choos? Check. Gucci? Check. Jeans so tight, you have to sit on the edge of the seat and lean back because otherwise the buttons start cutting into your stomach? Check. She waited downstairs.
He pulls up and actually has on a Bull's jersey. Really? You that into the game? You don't have no plans afterward? No after party with socialites? You got on a jersey? Fine, Misha resolved and got in the car.
"This should be fun. The tickets is like the 300 section though," He says.
A who a, what a? "Did you just say 300"?
"Yeah, but I got binoculars though," He giggles in that way where it's like girl I'm just playing.
*Side eye*
Misha and Mr. 300 arrive at the stadium and all of sudden it passes by them on the left.
"Where are you going"?
"Oh, Oh we not paying for parking I'm a park over here in the street."
Are you effin kidding? I know, you guys are like what's wrong with saving a buck or two. Nah. Number one, United Center is not placed real cute like in the middle of the city where there are bright lights, fancy hotels and hip restaurants. United Center is in the hood...or was. Ain't gentrification a beyotch?
They park in tim-buck-too and make the trek back to the United Center. They get in the building and he says "This way...."
Up the ramp, up the ramp, up the ramp, up the...wait. Are we still going up this damn ramp she thinks. Finally, they get to where there are no more ramps. The 300 section. Oh no, not front row leaning over I can see the lower section. The last row a the top of the stadium and it's like them and some poor man with his son trying to look at the little ants going back and forth on the court.
He pulls out binoculars.
O_o
Now some people would have hung around for a hot dog, grabbed a Pepsi and enjoyed the night. Nope. Misha goes, I'm going to the bathroom. Calls up the homegirl and requests an immediate pick-up from the stadium. STAT. You think she went back to wait? Nope her and those Choo's click-clacked all 100-leven of them stairs and ran to the exit.
Goodnight Mr. 300.
Now. To the entertainment.
Misha is what some would call, "a diva." I hate that word though. It's like "Heeyy Diva"?! How corny does that sound? I mean diva has been known to cover a multitude of characteristics including, fashionable, trendy, fun, independent, female version of a hustla', you know. But it also can mean, spoiled, stuck-up, high maintenance, well-to-do, pretentious, the list goes on. Now take those characteristics, remove some add a few more, there you have it. Misha. You say toe-may-to I say ta-mah-toe!
Misha is the friend that will end up with a NBA, NFL, MLB player...marry him. Find out he cheated, divorce him and then cut him off for the rest of his life. But not his checks. Don't get it twisted though, she still holds her own. Misha has been on her own since the age of 16 and for the past 15 years she spent them, working, obtaining her Master's and walking around in shoes that some people can't even pronounce. Me and Mandee were conversing one day and we realized Misha has held a steady job since we were 16 probably and she wasn't spending all her money on clothes on shoes. She's about her business.
Anyway, any guy knows, well they should know, that certain things just won't fly when it comes to Misha. Although she is compromising, picking her up and thinking you can swing by the McDonald's is probably not your best option. But, men still try.
He called her up and told her to get dressed."For what"? was her response. Not a "For what" question that is sensible and sensitive in it's manner, but a "For what" because my show is about to come on and I am much more interested in laying in this bed and watching it.
He responds, "I got tickets to the Bulls game, come on, let's go."
After heavy contemplation Misha finally agreed to embark on this "date" despite the fact that she wasn't all that interested in him. Now. Some girls go to sporting events, well in sporting gear. Not a "diva." Jimmy Choos? Check. Gucci? Check. Jeans so tight, you have to sit on the edge of the seat and lean back because otherwise the buttons start cutting into your stomach? Check. She waited downstairs.
He pulls up and actually has on a Bull's jersey. Really? You that into the game? You don't have no plans afterward? No after party with socialites? You got on a jersey? Fine, Misha resolved and got in the car.
"This should be fun. The tickets is like the 300 section though," He says.
A who a, what a? "Did you just say 300"?
"Yeah, but I got binoculars though," He giggles in that way where it's like girl I'm just playing.
*Side eye*
Misha and Mr. 300 arrive at the stadium and all of sudden it passes by them on the left.
"Where are you going"?
"Oh, Oh we not paying for parking I'm a park over here in the street."
Are you effin kidding? I know, you guys are like what's wrong with saving a buck or two. Nah. Number one, United Center is not placed real cute like in the middle of the city where there are bright lights, fancy hotels and hip restaurants. United Center is in the hood...or was. Ain't gentrification a beyotch?
They park in tim-buck-too and make the trek back to the United Center. They get in the building and he says "This way...."
Up the ramp, up the ramp, up the ramp, up the...wait. Are we still going up this damn ramp she thinks. Finally, they get to where there are no more ramps. The 300 section. Oh no, not front row leaning over I can see the lower section. The last row a the top of the stadium and it's like them and some poor man with his son trying to look at the little ants going back and forth on the court.
He pulls out binoculars.
O_o
Now some people would have hung around for a hot dog, grabbed a Pepsi and enjoyed the night. Nope. Misha goes, I'm going to the bathroom. Calls up the homegirl and requests an immediate pick-up from the stadium. STAT. You think she went back to wait? Nope her and those Choo's click-clacked all 100-leven of them stairs and ran to the exit.
Goodnight Mr. 300.
The Quick Pumper Nah, nah yall not ready (LOL) Meet:The Singer
I met him at a step show. Ah yes, a good ole college boy.
There he was all six feet something of him and he was strolling along, looking at me, strolling along...looking at me. I look away.
I turn around and there he was. In my face. Tall, handsome, he speaks. There is a large space between his teeth. Not just a minor cute Keshia Cole gap that she covered up. You know what I'm saying? See, some people have gaps that make them unique, you know it's interesting, it's in their characters and then...some people have gaps, like you could get two fingers through it. But that really wasn't my problem. The other half of the equation is he had an under bite. Damn. *Rolls eyes*
I can't directly look at him. Focus. Focus. Look him in the eyes. Fooocccuus. I'm back at the space. Okay, let's try this again...up, up, up, eyes...yes. Yessss! Focused. Math major, summa cum laude, financial analyst. Niiioooooccceee.
Not my type. Well not at that time in my life anyway. (Silly, silly girl)
Me and the girls get invited to IHOP.
Who are we to say no? All 50-leven of his frat brothers and some other people congregate at the local IHOP. We continue to chat and eventually exchange numbers. We talk a couple of times...but I'm not really feeling him. As a friend, sure. A boyfriend...not so much.
We keep in contact for the next year or so, you know off and on, I see him a couple of times at different venues, shows, we speak, very cordial. He's not really pushy, not overly aggressive and then it happens.
"I was wondering if we could possibly go out one night," he says, "I mean we've been keeping in touch for a while now and I find you attractive, smart, funny, I mean we should really go out to a movie or eat soon."
Sigh. I agree despite my reservations.
The date night comes up and he rings the doorbell (2 points), opens the car door (3 points), pulls out my chair at the restaurant (we have a winner ladies and gentlemen), I am impressed. The conversation is pretty cool, I mean we talk about the same things we have talked about before, new things, old things, future things. It's cute. But...I'm still not jumping up to schedule date two.
We leave the restaurant and we are in the car on the way home. As we pull up to my building, he turns down the radio and clears his throat. Here we go.
"So I was thinking, since we've spent all this time getting to know each other, that we make this official. I'm so very attracted to you and I know that I could love you forever."
Wait. Did he just say "love"? He goes on.
"Being in a relationship is difficult but I think that we could really blah, blah, blah, blah, blah..." I'm now calculating in my head how to let this poor guy down without hurting his feelings. He finishes his speech.
I politely let him know that I think he's a great guy and that I respect our friendship so much, that getting in a relationship would just "complicate" things right now. I tell him, let's just chill on this one and that we should remain friends.
Are his eyes glassing over? Are they moist? I'm unsure, but now I'm very, very uncomfortable. I look at my watch, "Well look at the time....I'm going to get upstairs. Early day tomorrow." He replies okay and says that he will walk me to the door. I'm shaking my head a little.
We get to the door and he goes, "We should at least try...". His voice is real soft and he's looking down. I look at him and try and cheer him up, "Who knows, maybe one day hunh"? I give him the playful punch in the arm. This must have been his cue. He starts singing.
I'm so serious right now, it's like this light singing where I can't make out the words, I just look at him singing in this soft, muffled voice, some song. I'm trying not to laugh. My eyes are real wide...mouth slightly open. I stand there uncomfortable for a few a seconds and I say, "Well, I'm gonna go in now." I reach for the door and turn the key in the knob. He's still leaning against the rail...singing. I get in the door and say, "Bye." He's still singing. I say, "I'm going to shut the door now." He's still singing. I shut the door and look through the panel....his eyes are misty and he's still singing. I go upstairs and look out the window. He's there. Leaning on the rail. I now feel bad.
I contemplate for a few minutes if I should go back downstairs. But I don't. I turn on the TV and put my feet up.
A few years later I was taking classes at this school downtown and I met this girl. One day, while leaving class we are chit-chatting and she mentions that her boyfriend was on his was to pick her up. She said I should meet him because he went to the university that's in my suburb. I may know him. Yep. The Singer walks up...FML. He turns his nose up at me and smirks as if I should be jealous that he dates the wack girl from my class. I am not impressed.
But...three months later when she comes in the building with 2.5 carats and a big belly, I understand that God has a sense of humor. 359.
The Husband and Father
Why is it that when I'm walking the dog, I get the most offers to dinner?
A neighbor once told me, "No one recognizes you without Louis, you know"?
Really. I beg to differ.
Anyway, once again, this is around the time I was shacking with my homegirl, suppose to be getting it together but instead flirting with this guy with the Southern plates. I mean he pulled over...and got out. Southern Hospitality at it's finest.
He was....cute. Funny. Interesting. I like.
I ask the inevitable question. "So where's your girlfriend"? He replies, "Around." I continue on my way. He follows behind me and grabs my arm..."Wait, wait. You wanted me to lie? I keep it real shawty." *Rolls eyes* Why is it that men say, "I keep it real," and they think that's an excuse to do whatever, say whatever and behave however they want? As if keeping it real is a license to remain immature. Wait...it just might be. Women allow them to do it.
Moving on.
I look at him and sigh, and of course we exchange information. I should have known better.
I talk to him a couple of times and he has interesting conversation but I don't give him too much, he doesn't give me too much, we keep it real platonic. You know it's like we both know this isn't going to go anywhere but we keep in touch anyway. He suggests that we meet for dinner & drinks. I know I know. I should have said no.
We meet up at this restaurant and the conversation continues to be great and the grey goose keeps coming. I look around. We're closing down the place. Now, I'm giggling like a 5 year old (We should have went to Starbucks) and I'm drunk as a skunk (How drunk is a skunk)? He's nice....but the way he's laughing at me, I realize I'm far more "slizzard" than he.
He knows my living situation and says, "Listen you can hang with me, I have a crib in BK you can stay there,I'm not even going to stay there I have to drop someone off at the airport in the morning so I'm going back to my house." WHAT? I can't even comprehend what he's saying right now. I'm like whatever.
We arrive at the fliest apartment I've ever been to in NY (I'm exaggerating, but it was nice.) I'm not paying attention to anything except when I come through the door I lock every lock on the door like I'm in the projects. You should know, I can't fight and the only thing that was going through my head, is someone gonna bust in (this mystery girlfriend) with five of her friends and jump me. WHY oh WHY do I make these silly decisions?? He's laughing at me...."Shawty, my girl didn't even know about this crib until a week ago, you have nothing to be afraid of." Okay, now...I'm even more freaked out. Because, don't go by me, but if my dude tells me he has another crib somewhere you best believe I'm staking it out. I mean what the hell do you have another apartment for? Oh yeah. Whores. I'm going to be sick.
(Please note: I am not in any shape or form a home wrecker, side chick, the next b!tch...the list goes on. I've cut off friends for less infractions, such as flirting, smiling, looking at or dreaming about someone else's man. Actually, my friend Pinks (mypinkmonkey.com) said one of the best quotes I've ever read, "If I cannot be #1 in your life, I will accept being 2nd to your God, 3rd to your family, 4th to your money, BUT I will NOT sit aside and be humbly 5th to the next B!tch." Enough said.)
I know, I know you're shaking your head. Trust me, I know this is all my doing this time. So we get upstairs and he gives me a tour, you know here's the bathroom, kitchen, etc. "I'll be back in the morning we can grab breakfast and I'll drive you home. Sleep it off." He leaves. I am smacked. Like, can't even lift my head. I pass out on the bed and I'm snoring. You know that feeling where you fall asleep and wake up like, "Where the hell am I"? Yep. That was me.
I sit up and look around...the place looks like a "second" home. You know like the closet isn't filled, random scatterings around. You know. What I do notice is there are Valentino bags on the dresser. Two pair of Louboutins on the floor, some YSL's...I think I'm going to be sick. As any nosy woman would be, I roam around....there's a child's toy in the office area...a child's jacket....more clothes...(men and women's) Am I still drunk? Then there's the mail. I see mail with his name...his name...his name...Mr. and Mrs. his name....his name. Wait. Wait..go back.
Mr. and Mrs. his name? Oh yeah, the room starts spinning. I run back to the room and put my shoes on. I gotta get the hell out of here. I grab the Louboutins and check the size and put them in my bag and go down the stairs. I know, I know....I get to the bottom of the stairs and realize how chicken head that is and put them back. FML. Only me.
I get outside the door. Daylight. Now I'm doing the walk of shame, you know, where the neighbors seen you go in last night and you leave out the next morning with the same outfit. In your heels. Guess what. I don't know where the hell I am. Thank God for the iphone gps. I see the little icon "you are here." Where's the train? oh 6-7 blocks. Head pounding, Shaking my head at myself, mad as all get out because I put myself in this predicament. I get to the train station.
I get back to my homegirls apartment....can't get in. I'm locked out. Don't even ask. I should have kept the shoes......360.
A neighbor once told me, "No one recognizes you without Louis, you know"?
Really. I beg to differ.
Anyway, once again, this is around the time I was shacking with my homegirl, suppose to be getting it together but instead flirting with this guy with the Southern plates. I mean he pulled over...and got out. Southern Hospitality at it's finest.
He was....cute. Funny. Interesting. I like.
I ask the inevitable question. "So where's your girlfriend"? He replies, "Around." I continue on my way. He follows behind me and grabs my arm..."Wait, wait. You wanted me to lie? I keep it real shawty." *Rolls eyes* Why is it that men say, "I keep it real," and they think that's an excuse to do whatever, say whatever and behave however they want? As if keeping it real is a license to remain immature. Wait...it just might be. Women allow them to do it.
Moving on.
I look at him and sigh, and of course we exchange information. I should have known better.
I talk to him a couple of times and he has interesting conversation but I don't give him too much, he doesn't give me too much, we keep it real platonic. You know it's like we both know this isn't going to go anywhere but we keep in touch anyway. He suggests that we meet for dinner & drinks. I know I know. I should have said no.
We meet up at this restaurant and the conversation continues to be great and the grey goose keeps coming. I look around. We're closing down the place. Now, I'm giggling like a 5 year old (We should have went to Starbucks) and I'm drunk as a skunk (How drunk is a skunk)? He's nice....but the way he's laughing at me, I realize I'm far more "slizzard" than he.
He knows my living situation and says, "Listen you can hang with me, I have a crib in BK you can stay there,I'm not even going to stay there I have to drop someone off at the airport in the morning so I'm going back to my house." WHAT? I can't even comprehend what he's saying right now. I'm like whatever.
We arrive at the fliest apartment I've ever been to in NY (I'm exaggerating, but it was nice.) I'm not paying attention to anything except when I come through the door I lock every lock on the door like I'm in the projects. You should know, I can't fight and the only thing that was going through my head, is someone gonna bust in (this mystery girlfriend) with five of her friends and jump me. WHY oh WHY do I make these silly decisions?? He's laughing at me...."Shawty, my girl didn't even know about this crib until a week ago, you have nothing to be afraid of." Okay, now...I'm even more freaked out. Because, don't go by me, but if my dude tells me he has another crib somewhere you best believe I'm staking it out. I mean what the hell do you have another apartment for? Oh yeah. Whores. I'm going to be sick.
(Please note: I am not in any shape or form a home wrecker, side chick, the next b!tch...the list goes on. I've cut off friends for less infractions, such as flirting, smiling, looking at or dreaming about someone else's man. Actually, my friend Pinks (mypinkmonkey.com) said one of the best quotes I've ever read, "If I cannot be #1 in your life, I will accept being 2nd to your God, 3rd to your family, 4th to your money, BUT I will NOT sit aside and be humbly 5th to the next B!tch." Enough said.)
I know, I know you're shaking your head. Trust me, I know this is all my doing this time. So we get upstairs and he gives me a tour, you know here's the bathroom, kitchen, etc. "I'll be back in the morning we can grab breakfast and I'll drive you home. Sleep it off." He leaves. I am smacked. Like, can't even lift my head. I pass out on the bed and I'm snoring. You know that feeling where you fall asleep and wake up like, "Where the hell am I"? Yep. That was me.
I sit up and look around...the place looks like a "second" home. You know like the closet isn't filled, random scatterings around. You know. What I do notice is there are Valentino bags on the dresser. Two pair of Louboutins on the floor, some YSL's...I think I'm going to be sick. As any nosy woman would be, I roam around....there's a child's toy in the office area...a child's jacket....more clothes...(men and women's) Am I still drunk? Then there's the mail. I see mail with his name...his name...his name...Mr. and Mrs. his name....his name. Wait. Wait..go back.
Mr. and Mrs. his name? Oh yeah, the room starts spinning. I run back to the room and put my shoes on. I gotta get the hell out of here. I grab the Louboutins and check the size and put them in my bag and go down the stairs. I know, I know....I get to the bottom of the stairs and realize how chicken head that is and put them back. FML. Only me.
I get outside the door. Daylight. Now I'm doing the walk of shame, you know, where the neighbors seen you go in last night and you leave out the next morning with the same outfit. In your heels. Guess what. I don't know where the hell I am. Thank God for the iphone gps. I see the little icon "you are here." Where's the train? oh 6-7 blocks. Head pounding, Shaking my head at myself, mad as all get out because I put myself in this predicament. I get to the train station.
I get back to my homegirls apartment....can't get in. I'm locked out. Don't even ask. I should have kept the shoes......360.
Starbucks should be the official first date sponsor
Just to take a break from the madness, I decided to post my petition for Starbuck's to sponsor all first dates I wrote this last year or so....and guess what, it still stands. Here ya go:
All those in favor...say "I."
It has come to my attention that Starbuck's should be the official first date sponsor. All first dates should take place here, and in some cases-end here. It is 2009 and it is high time that we stop wasting money and most importantly...my damn time.
Let me explain why.
First of all, most first dates happen where? Dinner. This is a mistake.
1. Not only do you not know if he is driving, you don't know his door etiquette. He may be a honker. You know pull up and honk. When I was younger I couldn't even go out with boys that honked the horn because like my mama told me, "This aint a truck stop, so when he get some manners, you can get in his car." I would literally have to sit and wait till he rang the doorbell, left to go home and call (you know we didn't have cell phones), page him or he left and I had to explain the next day why we missed the movie.
Therefore, if first dates were held at Starbucks....there are hundreds of them, you guys can just meet up! Not only does this clear things up, but you can leave at your own liberty. If things go well--he can walk you to his car and take you home....or to the next spot. No need to call and let you know "I'm downstairs..."
2. Your taste might be tiger prawns and filet mignon wrapped in bacon that night....his might be jack daniels at Fridays. Now....ladies I love my share of jack daniels ribs...I do. I mean I like to eat. But I'm saying, if you walk out the house in your Loubou's and blazer combo and you get in the car with the idea of Phillipe's and you end up Pepe's....you're probably going to have an attitude.
Therefore, if first dates were held at Starbucks, the only money being burned is a cup of coffee and you can assess each others wardrobe in a public location and determine what type of restaurants the both of you can enjoy...if any at all.
3. You do not know this fool's eating habits.
"If you stick your fork one more time in my plate without asking me, I swear you will pull back a nub...If you wanted what the heck I'm eating then you should of ordered it!and I'm saying, Daaammmnnn do you always talk with your mouth full??? and what is that on the side of yo mooouuufff?? Wipe your face man. Ughhh"
You know what I'm talking about.
Therefore, at Starbuck's.....baby if you can't sip through a straw correctly or sip from that little opening at the top of that cup...we need not go any further.
4. The conversation might be WACK. Now I have to pretend to push my mashed potatoes around and look at the people around me...check my phone and occupy my time some other way cause your ass doesn't know how to have a two minute conversation. OVER IT.
See at Starbuck's if I'm halfway through my Java chip and you haven't made me laugh not once....bruh--I'm good.
5. If you tweet something I have said one more time...it's going to be me and you. Facebook does not need to know our every move!!!! Damn. Save something for when you get home. Surprise me with a cute message. Not I get home and I see on the screen "She so cute when she eat, look at how that water dribbled down her chin..." WTH???
A cup of coffee does not last that long, you don't have time to tell everybody in your area and everybody you went to high school with, our business. Thank You.
6. If you can't pronounce it....baby don't order it. It is "Mixed 'Field' (Feeled -Sound it out) Greens and vegetables" Not "Mixed FILED greens...." SMH
At Starbuck's....sure you may not know Macchiato, or Mocha or whatever, but cha know coffee don't cha?
7. You do not know his "likka" level. It could go one of two ways.
a. You looking at this fool like---you only had one glass of Riesling why the hell are you bopping real fast to the slow dinner music...geesh. Now you looking around to see if anybody else notices.
b. He throwing 'em back like your uncle on the back porch with his friends and you can't keep up. Now you sitting there giggling like a bumbling idiot cause you have drank too much.
I'm good. Starbuck's doesn't have a "likka" license. I'll throw 'em back with ya some other time...If there will be another time.
8. "Did you just flinch at the check??? You chose this restaurant not me! Now you have an attitude cause you have now spent up your daughter's shoe money and all we did is eat." Hell I'm mad too!! I ain't even know you had kids...geesh.
We can get all that out the way within the first five minutes at STTTARRBUUUCCKKKS! Most we will spend is $10. If you don't have that....you need not be dating.
9. We been sitting at this table a whollllee hour and 20 minutes and you wait until we dun tee hee heed about everything under the sun and then reveal you stay in your mama's house and don't have a job and borrowed dinner money from your sister?
Sigghhh. I could have been at my house being productive cause unlike u--I got a job bruh.
Once again, if our first date was at Starbucks...I could have left you sitting right in that fluffy recliner with the rest of your tall iced coffee.
10. AND Finally, that awkward ride home where you are real quiet and he's going on and on about his self probably can be avoided..
"Can you quit asking me what's wrong...oh oh oh oh and when will we see each other again?? How bout NOT NEVA? How about that...."
So, I've decided to petition Starbuck's and ask them to become the official first date sponsor for single ladies. You can get all you need to know out of the way, hell you can even show how nice you are and buy his coffee and you can assess where if anywhere this may or may not be going.
Thank You and Goodnight.
P.S. Dating is for the birds.
361.
The Flatleaver
He said everyone always thought he was a famous rapper....and you actually tell people that?
I was walking Louis one day and he pulled around the corner. Now, I had no business what-so-ever because I had just moved back to Brooklyn after my 4 month hiatus in Nashville (Don't ask, I'll tell you later) and was staying with my homegirl for a minute. I feel like if you're going to date, you should be at least datable. Like, have all your "ducks in a row" as my mother would say. But, I said forget it. I need to get out there.
Maybe it was the Range, maybe it was that Brooklyn swag. I don't know. Maybe I was nuts. He called me up and decided that we should hang out. His "homeboys" throw a party on Wednesdays at this spot on 14th street and we should go. I say okay cool. On the way there he has to stop at the car wash (only in NY do they go to the car wash at 12 am), then he has to ride past the house he just closed on but had to let me know--he's "renting" it out because he just got a place in Jersey. So?
Now I guess he mistook me for a lame who doesn't get out much...but I don't know why he thought we would go there and I would not know anyone. We get in and he does his rounds, you know speak to this person, say hi to that one. Oh and I do to. "Hey boo"! "Hey girl"! You know me. He has that stupified look like...."How she know them." Easy killa.
So we get into the booth and he's cordial. Pours me a glass of champagne, and I assume he thought that would keep me company because he went around the room continuing to speak, flirt and be seen. *Rolls eyes* Now I'm chilling minding my business talking to the few people I know, doing the shoulder dance and he comes and goes, well let's be out. Fine by me.
Okay, so we get into this discussion and he goes, "Well I ont feel like going back to BK, we just gone go to my Jersey crib since we right here and I'll take you back tomorrow." Ummmmm....."Scuse me? No...you're going to take me where you picked me up from." This was all in the car and next thing I know we're on 9th Ave going south. I'm like cool, he's gonna take Canal to the bridge.
This mikifiki turns into the tunnel lane. I BS you not. I look over like what the hell are you doing?? He looks and says, "Chill out shorty my crib is right there, you don't got no curfew, I'll take you to BK tomorrow." I'm like "What the eff is wrong with right now"?! We're in the tunnel. Now....once again fear crept in and I was like I'm about to be dumped in Jersey somewhere and someone is going to have to tell this story to my mommy....why me?
So we get to his crib and go into the parking garage. He's going on and on about how he's got a great view from his apartment. He just hired an interior decorator....blah blah blah. I'm like "yeah...my homegirl OWNS a condo in that building right over there." Sukka.
So we get upstairs....the place is...nice. Nothing is furnished except for the bedroom and I'm like I don't give a hell, when you taking me to BK. He goes..."I dunno, once we get up or whatever." I'm like "Hells no. ASAP in the am." He replies, "Well if you trying to go that early you might as well take the shuttle to the ferry." You HAVE got to BE kidding ME.
I finally resolve like fine I will wait untill the morning. Now, you can always tell when somebody ain't never had nothing before. He starts going in about the thread count on his sheets and how his "duvet" really shouldn't be sat on because, "You not even 'spose to really sleep on that cover." I'm looking like where the hell do you think I'm from and where I been?? First of all, are you so bat sh!t stupid that you don't know it's a "duvet," not a comforter and yes, you usually don't use it because it's used to "cover" the bed versus having to go through the complexity of making the bed? Oh and about your thread count or threads per inch you half wit-you say 500....but more than likely you probably have 250 two-ply and they've fooled your ass. Fucker.
Ugh!
So instead of mauling me this jerk takes his jewelry off and passes out sleep on the top of his "duvet." I shake my head. It's now like 5 am I think and I can't even stand the sight of him. I grab my purse. Put my heels and jacket on and go downstairs to the front desk. I ask them when this shuttle comes and how to get back to N Y frikken C. They give me directions and tell me I have to wait till like 6 am to take the shuttle. I sit their seething. I get the ferry....mind you its 20 degrees....I take this cold ass ferry....BTW I only have on leggings and a thin leather because I was trying to be cute...SMH. Get across to lower Manhattan and low and behold the damn train is NOT within walking distance in these heels. I have to get on one of those buses and beg the man to drop me at the 2 train....back to effin BK. FML.
I relayed this story once to my old boss and not only was she infuriated with him but she replied, "He's lucky you not a Brooklyn chic, cause I would've took his car keys, drove that Range back to Brooklyn and text his ass where to pick that truck up from." 362
I was walking Louis one day and he pulled around the corner. Now, I had no business what-so-ever because I had just moved back to Brooklyn after my 4 month hiatus in Nashville (Don't ask, I'll tell you later) and was staying with my homegirl for a minute. I feel like if you're going to date, you should be at least datable. Like, have all your "ducks in a row" as my mother would say. But, I said forget it. I need to get out there.
Maybe it was the Range, maybe it was that Brooklyn swag. I don't know. Maybe I was nuts. He called me up and decided that we should hang out. His "homeboys" throw a party on Wednesdays at this spot on 14th street and we should go. I say okay cool. On the way there he has to stop at the car wash (only in NY do they go to the car wash at 12 am), then he has to ride past the house he just closed on but had to let me know--he's "renting" it out because he just got a place in Jersey. So?
Now I guess he mistook me for a lame who doesn't get out much...but I don't know why he thought we would go there and I would not know anyone. We get in and he does his rounds, you know speak to this person, say hi to that one. Oh and I do to. "Hey boo"! "Hey girl"! You know me. He has that stupified look like...."How she know them." Easy killa.
So we get into the booth and he's cordial. Pours me a glass of champagne, and I assume he thought that would keep me company because he went around the room continuing to speak, flirt and be seen. *Rolls eyes* Now I'm chilling minding my business talking to the few people I know, doing the shoulder dance and he comes and goes, well let's be out. Fine by me.
Okay, so we get into this discussion and he goes, "Well I ont feel like going back to BK, we just gone go to my Jersey crib since we right here and I'll take you back tomorrow." Ummmmm....."Scuse me? No...you're going to take me where you picked me up from." This was all in the car and next thing I know we're on 9th Ave going south. I'm like cool, he's gonna take Canal to the bridge.
This mikifiki turns into the tunnel lane. I BS you not. I look over like what the hell are you doing?? He looks and says, "Chill out shorty my crib is right there, you don't got no curfew, I'll take you to BK tomorrow." I'm like "What the eff is wrong with right now"?! We're in the tunnel. Now....once again fear crept in and I was like I'm about to be dumped in Jersey somewhere and someone is going to have to tell this story to my mommy....why me?
So we get to his crib and go into the parking garage. He's going on and on about how he's got a great view from his apartment. He just hired an interior decorator....blah blah blah. I'm like "yeah...my homegirl OWNS a condo in that building right over there." Sukka.
So we get upstairs....the place is...nice. Nothing is furnished except for the bedroom and I'm like I don't give a hell, when you taking me to BK. He goes..."I dunno, once we get up or whatever." I'm like "Hells no. ASAP in the am." He replies, "Well if you trying to go that early you might as well take the shuttle to the ferry." You HAVE got to BE kidding ME.
I finally resolve like fine I will wait untill the morning. Now, you can always tell when somebody ain't never had nothing before. He starts going in about the thread count on his sheets and how his "duvet" really shouldn't be sat on because, "You not even 'spose to really sleep on that cover." I'm looking like where the hell do you think I'm from and where I been?? First of all, are you so bat sh!t stupid that you don't know it's a "duvet," not a comforter and yes, you usually don't use it because it's used to "cover" the bed versus having to go through the complexity of making the bed? Oh and about your thread count or threads per inch you half wit-you say 500....but more than likely you probably have 250 two-ply and they've fooled your ass. Fucker.
Ugh!
So instead of mauling me this jerk takes his jewelry off and passes out sleep on the top of his "duvet." I shake my head. It's now like 5 am I think and I can't even stand the sight of him. I grab my purse. Put my heels and jacket on and go downstairs to the front desk. I ask them when this shuttle comes and how to get back to N Y frikken C. They give me directions and tell me I have to wait till like 6 am to take the shuttle. I sit their seething. I get the ferry....mind you its 20 degrees....I take this cold ass ferry....BTW I only have on leggings and a thin leather because I was trying to be cute...SMH. Get across to lower Manhattan and low and behold the damn train is NOT within walking distance in these heels. I have to get on one of those buses and beg the man to drop me at the 2 train....back to effin BK. FML.
I relayed this story once to my old boss and not only was she infuriated with him but she replied, "He's lucky you not a Brooklyn chic, cause I would've took his car keys, drove that Range back to Brooklyn and text his ass where to pick that truck up from." 362
The Baller. Sike.
Good thing it's 2010 and we as women know that rims, trims, and chrome mean nothing. Especially when it's on a car.
I can't remember the name of this club in Chicago. But I remember meeting him. The club had let out and of course drunk and hot girls had spilled out of the club, either cuffed up or throwing up. I was neither, but I was quite nice. Here comes dude in his Mercedes truck....rims...spinning. No wait, one wasn't spinning. My home girl ran up and was like, "Wait! One aint moving and reached down to turn the clip on spinners he had." I should have known better.
As we cackled he got out the car and he was....ok. Swagged up. He could work. Clip on spinners and all. So we exchange information. He calls me up the next day and unleashes a tirade of insults on my friend. She's so "stuck up", she's "boogey", she thinks she's "the sh!t". I should have known better.
But I don't and he offers to pick me up and "hang out" for "movie night" the next day. Yep, I should have known better.
He drives to get me (Mind you at the time I was living in the suburbs so I lived roughly 20-30 minutes north of his place. On the way back into the city, I have to listen to 30 minutes of how "he's getting paid." You know making the ends meet and then gluing them together. *Rolls eyes*
I'm expecting him to pull up to a condo on Lake Shore Drive. But no, he pulls up to a studio in the Lincoln Park area. Okay, let's not judge here. But I'm saying, if the ends are meeting and you're balling out of control...a studio in the Lincoln Park area probably isn't the way to prove this. At any rate, we get up stairs and he proceeds to get drinks out the fridge, set up the movie, you know get things ready for "movie night." Now, I hate to come to someone's house for the first time and have nowhere to sit but the bed. Sooooo awkward. But this is the only place to sit. So I sit.
Not for long. He sets the drinks down and attacks me like a bear to honey. I push him and say, "What are you doing!!" (It was much more explicit than that). He looks at me as if I'm speaking Russian and attempts to attack me again. I'm like dude....umm...get the hell off of me. At that moment, the slight cringe of fear crept in, like this fool is crazy, I'm about to be attacked and I'm probably going to be on the news.
He looks and me and says, "Whut"? In that dumb, I'm slow, didn't finish high school, I only speak in one word syllables voice. So I reply that I don't know him from Adam's house cat and that attacking me probably is not going to lead to any "great" outcome. That did it.
He unleashed a garbage bag full of insults...."You f*&kin boogey b!t*h. You're just like your friend, yall think yall are the sh!t, walking around like yall can't chill sometimes, get off that." Yeaaaahhh, ummm I'm a need you to take me home. That didn't go over well either...."B!tch I just picked you all the way up from your crib and now you wanna go home." He got up and grabbed his keys and mumbled off more insults and then, "Let's f&*kin go..." But he went in front of me and damn near slammed the door before I could get out. He pressed the elevator door but I guess it wasn't coming fast enough. He walks towards the stairs as I'm still standing by the elevator with the stunned face and proceeds to tell me, "Let's....f*&kin....go."
Okay, I know what you're thinking. At this point, I should be calling my brothers, friends or uncles to come whip his ass and then get a ride home. Or maybe I should call a cab. One, this didn't cross my mind yet. (Notice the yet) Two, this is Chicago I can't just go and hail a yellow cab. Public transportation? Nope, train is too far to walk to and the buses run like turtles in the desert.
So I go behind him and I'm click clacking down the stairs in my heels and I hear, "Hurry the f*&k up..." This has now become unreal. We get in the parking garage and I get in the car and he's still pissed. The garage was adjacent to the alley and he pulls into the alley. Finally, I snap out of my stupor and read his ass.
"Are you crazy? I came to your wack ass cracker jack box and you're trying to hump me. I don't even know you! You riding around in this Benz with some clip-on spinners, wack ass system thinking you gone bag some (insert explicit word for vagina here). This aint that. Now pull out and take me home." (This was filled with much more curses and explicit insults....but you get the message.)
Next thing I know...."Get the f*&k out," and I respond, "Gladly." He speeds off.
I'm standing in the alley. With my heels. And my purse...and no clue what I'm about to do.
I call the homegirls...they can't hear me because where are they? In the club. "Come meet us at the club girl!!" FML.
I had to call one of my big brothers to come and get me...here I am standing on the corner as he pulls up shaking his head....
He says, "Baby girl....you gone end up with someone real normal...Bright lights and spinners just aint for you...." 363.
I can't remember the name of this club in Chicago. But I remember meeting him. The club had let out and of course drunk and hot girls had spilled out of the club, either cuffed up or throwing up. I was neither, but I was quite nice. Here comes dude in his Mercedes truck....rims...spinning. No wait, one wasn't spinning. My home girl ran up and was like, "Wait! One aint moving and reached down to turn the clip on spinners he had." I should have known better.
As we cackled he got out the car and he was....ok. Swagged up. He could work. Clip on spinners and all. So we exchange information. He calls me up the next day and unleashes a tirade of insults on my friend. She's so "stuck up", she's "boogey", she thinks she's "the sh!t". I should have known better.
But I don't and he offers to pick me up and "hang out" for "movie night" the next day. Yep, I should have known better.
He drives to get me (Mind you at the time I was living in the suburbs so I lived roughly 20-30 minutes north of his place. On the way back into the city, I have to listen to 30 minutes of how "he's getting paid." You know making the ends meet and then gluing them together. *Rolls eyes*
I'm expecting him to pull up to a condo on Lake Shore Drive. But no, he pulls up to a studio in the Lincoln Park area. Okay, let's not judge here. But I'm saying, if the ends are meeting and you're balling out of control...a studio in the Lincoln Park area probably isn't the way to prove this. At any rate, we get up stairs and he proceeds to get drinks out the fridge, set up the movie, you know get things ready for "movie night." Now, I hate to come to someone's house for the first time and have nowhere to sit but the bed. Sooooo awkward. But this is the only place to sit. So I sit.
Not for long. He sets the drinks down and attacks me like a bear to honey. I push him and say, "What are you doing!!" (It was much more explicit than that). He looks at me as if I'm speaking Russian and attempts to attack me again. I'm like dude....umm...get the hell off of me. At that moment, the slight cringe of fear crept in, like this fool is crazy, I'm about to be attacked and I'm probably going to be on the news.
He looks and me and says, "Whut"? In that dumb, I'm slow, didn't finish high school, I only speak in one word syllables voice. So I reply that I don't know him from Adam's house cat and that attacking me probably is not going to lead to any "great" outcome. That did it.
He unleashed a garbage bag full of insults...."You f*&kin boogey b!t*h. You're just like your friend, yall think yall are the sh!t, walking around like yall can't chill sometimes, get off that." Yeaaaahhh, ummm I'm a need you to take me home. That didn't go over well either...."B!tch I just picked you all the way up from your crib and now you wanna go home." He got up and grabbed his keys and mumbled off more insults and then, "Let's f&*kin go..." But he went in front of me and damn near slammed the door before I could get out. He pressed the elevator door but I guess it wasn't coming fast enough. He walks towards the stairs as I'm still standing by the elevator with the stunned face and proceeds to tell me, "Let's....f*&kin....go."
Okay, I know what you're thinking. At this point, I should be calling my brothers, friends or uncles to come whip his ass and then get a ride home. Or maybe I should call a cab. One, this didn't cross my mind yet. (Notice the yet) Two, this is Chicago I can't just go and hail a yellow cab. Public transportation? Nope, train is too far to walk to and the buses run like turtles in the desert.
So I go behind him and I'm click clacking down the stairs in my heels and I hear, "Hurry the f*&k up..." This has now become unreal. We get in the parking garage and I get in the car and he's still pissed. The garage was adjacent to the alley and he pulls into the alley. Finally, I snap out of my stupor and read his ass.
"Are you crazy? I came to your wack ass cracker jack box and you're trying to hump me. I don't even know you! You riding around in this Benz with some clip-on spinners, wack ass system thinking you gone bag some (insert explicit word for vagina here). This aint that. Now pull out and take me home." (This was filled with much more curses and explicit insults....but you get the message.)
Next thing I know...."Get the f*&k out," and I respond, "Gladly." He speeds off.
I'm standing in the alley. With my heels. And my purse...and no clue what I'm about to do.
I call the homegirls...they can't hear me because where are they? In the club. "Come meet us at the club girl!!" FML.
I had to call one of my big brothers to come and get me...here I am standing on the corner as he pulls up shaking his head....
He says, "Baby girl....you gone end up with someone real normal...Bright lights and spinners just aint for you...." 363.
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