She Gave Me The Keys

A Peek

2011-10-02T22:31:00.002-04:00

Way before I was hitching a ride through the world wide web - hell, before I even had a real computer to call my own, I had blank book that a friend gifted me. She worked in the card and gift shop next-door to the music store where I held a sweet part time gig.

Back then, I hadn't a clue that I would develop a "knack" for the wordings. All I had were instances where I found myself being "creative". The moments (a.k.a. breaks between distractions) were rare. Even rarer still, were the times I actually wrote in this book. Well...tonight, I stumbled upon said book and decided to share an entry (a.k.a. me, thinking I'm saying something)...

QUESTION

excuse me.

miss.

can I talk to you for a second?
i just want to ask you something...

are you her?

(why?)

cuz i'm him. and you know...

out in public
we can be them
and in private
it
can
be
just
US.

My Block

2011-06-18T22:50:00.001-04:00

When I look back on my childhood years and cruise neighborhoods that I have no connection with whatsoever it dawns on me that my block wasn’t like too many other blocks. There were 4 girls on my street and about…no wait…there were 5 girls on my street…I forgot about Rosemarie…the Italian girl. Damn…she was something indeed. Hmm? Oh right, right…back to what I was saying…5 girls and almost 20 dudes. The bulk of us were within the same age range. We did everything. We played two-hand touch football and wiffle ball in the street and tackle football in the park with no equipment. (Dumb, I know.) We hung out on the steps on the corner. We hung out on stoops. We went swimming in my pool…but not everybody and not all at once. We made efforts to stop using profanity by punching in the arm, anyone who cursed. We rode bikes together. We did freestyle tricks in the street. We all went in the house promptly at 3 o'clock on Saturday afternoons to watch the Kung-Fu flicks for an hour. We did everything - except go to the same school. I went to a Catholic school and they went to public schools. Around the time of junior high and on into high school, their focus was primarily on getting girls to do nasty things with them in someone’s house while their parents were away at work. Now, I’m not going to lie to you and say that I didn’t have any type of desire to do the same thing. I did. But I had some strict parents and a whole lot of NO experience and NO inclination as to how one even commences a mission of such magnitude. So all I could do was listen to exaggerated stories of boasting and adolescent sexual prowess. Always listening and never speaking. I was the quiet one.

One summer, the next door neighbors’ niece and nephew came to visit for a few weeks. Her name was Daya. She was my age. She was from Maryland. And she was really cute.

I don’t remember how we got to talking. I’m 99.9% positive that it was she that initiated the conversation. At an early age, I had the art of “ignoring a girl but at the same time being completely aware of every move she made” down to a science. I was good.

Now even though she started things off, it was me that asked her to the movies. She said yes and that Saturday we caught a matinee. It was a little bit of a walk, but it was a beautiful summer day so all was good. We headed out around noon passing my boys across the street on the corner. At this point, they’ve all said something to Daya in the previous days so they all knew her. Not one of them asked us where we were going because they all assumed that we were likely only headed to the corner store. Little did they know (and me too for that matter) I was headed out on my first date.

We talked about everything. She talked and I listened. I talked and she listened. She told me about her dreams of being a singer. She even sang for me on the walk back. She had the most incredible voice. I showered her with compliments but at 13 there was but so much my limited vocabulary could convey to her. Luckily for me, it was more than enough.

Now, if you were to ask me what movie we saw, I'd have to be honest with you. I haven't a clue. Something PG rated. Or maybe we were daring and saw an explicit PG-13 flick. But all in all, we were gone for about 4 hours…maybe more. It felt like an eternity in boy years. By then, my boys were somewhere else on the block doing boy things. I could see them out of the corner of my eye nudging each other with elbows, staring with facial expressions that read, “Oh snap”. My face? Texas Hold' Em Style. Even though it's nothing for me to pull it off now, back then it felt like the most difficult thing.

Fast forward an hour or two later. I was in the house watching some TV when my parents came home. They told me that they saw the girl from next door on the corner with the boys from the block. I guess they were just looking out for me and didn’t want me to get my hopes up with her. But I knew what I was doing. Everything that I knew and enjoyed to do now with a woman all started from that one summer’s day.

It was all I needed.

"We conversated, made her laugh, yeah you know me bro.
Even though I know the steelo, she wild sweet, yo"

Mos Def - Ms. Fat Booty

Windex

2011-05-28T15:39:00.001-04:00

There are some of you that have asked me why I don't write anymore. And others that wanted to know when I'm coming back. To be clear, I haven't stopped writing, I just stopped posting. And while that's good news for me, I realize that it's not the greatest for you. With that being said, I will make it a point to find something share-worthy and post for you all. Promise.

Let This Be a Reminder To You

2010-01-25T22:59:00.012-05:00

On Monday, October 29, 2007, I posted a blog on myspace. And today, January 25, 2010 I revisited that piece...

Today, like a handful of other days spread throughout a calendar year, I locked eyes with a woman. Usually, no longer than a second, this passing glance lasts. But today it was double that. Today seemed like so much longer than before. These two seconds felt like two minutes' time in the span of four steps. See, these eyes are familiar eyes. These eyes, I recognize. We see each other, exchange the briefest glances and that be all.

Today...

Today, I wanted to stop her and tell her something. Explain myself to her. See...this woman...I had the biggest crush on, back when Henry and I were roommates. I mean...I didn't so much as blink when I saw her. I don't know what exactly she had on me, but she had it – in a lockbox in her pocket…the one that rests on her right hip.

We used to reside on blocks that were in close proximity to one another. Sometimes we'd share a trolley car ride downtown on our way to work. Sometimes, she'd walk on my block right past the entrance to our building. If I was fortunate, I'd spot her while sitting in the bay window taking in the sounds of the melting pot that was my neighborhood. And if I was lucky, I'd be on the front step when she stepped by and shared the same space as me like a new millennium around-the-way-girl.

I used to get lost in her essence. The poetic motion of her walk rendered me speechless. The flow of her hair on a cool summer's day made time stop around her. It's silly to think about it now, but I know how serious it was at the time.

So back to today…

I wanted to stop her. Really, I did.

With politeness and smoothness, I wanted to apologize for the gazes, say sorry for the stares. And with sincerity in my eyes and just a hint of innocence, tell her that I didn't mean any harm from my schoolboy crush on her.

I want to tell her. I always plan to tell her but I can't. A good friend of mine asked me why when I told her the story. I told her that I really didn't know. Up until today, I was chalking up my hesitance to nerves. But that's not what it is. I don't want the fantasy to die, I think. She's been placed in a special location in the recess of my mind. I only visit that spot when I see her. I spend an hour there for about 30 seconds. To talk to her is to chance that she's nothing like what I pretend that she is. That's a chance that I'm not willing to take – not now anyway…and maybe not ever.

[end]

Yo
Just when I think that I forgot you
I hear that song that we used to rock to
Just when I think I'm gettin' on without you
Somebody passed and asked me about you

Was in the back of the cab the other day
Swear to God I saw you walking pass the other way
My heart rushed, my face flushed
Tell the driver hit the breaks slow the pace up
Wait up, it wasn't you
Realized it's a mirage I was running to
Damn. Can the affects of love and time
Cause the mind to trick the eye?
I wonder how you gettin' by
And are the stars still in your eyes
But you still just get the five
You break the bank to spend the time
I reminisce of shifting time, to when you was mine
Mos Def (Reminisce - Bilal featuring Mos Def & Common)

Fast forward nearly 27 months and you'll find me in a Thai spot waiting for my lunch order. I'm engrossed in a gmail conversation and while awaiting a response, I decide to look up from my phone and actually seem normal for a change. And while it feels a little odd at first, my eyes adjust to the light and the stiffness in my neck diminishes quickly.

It's abnormally warm outside today. 60 something degrees to be close to exact. The torrential down pours of the morning have taken a lunch break as well. Most women dressed for what greeted them when they awoke...rain. One woman sashays by the storefront window with the skirt and heels on, calves flexing and all with every step. Damn, spring is going to take it's time returning to these parts. This is just an evil teaser. And one woman earned more than the usual casual glance.

She was across the street, walking that same walk that I wrote about more than two years ago. And in no less than 10 steps, she brought me back and reminded me about romance. She reminded me to savor the possibilities. See, so many times, dudes just want to see it through, sprinting for the finish line. And while there's nothing wrong with that - for the most part, I do think more time has to be spent in the steps. How you feel in between point A and point B. Because that right there is what it's all about. Don't wait until the love strikes to start daydreaming. Being in the like is special too. Trust me.

Our connection lies in a life before
For us to meet again was divine law
So I can't describe how deep I dug her
Now only in memory can I hug her
I reminisce y'all

Common (Reminisce - Bilal featuring Mos Def & Common)

Everything I jot on the left reads right.

Family

2010-01-21T11:28:00.004-05:00

(Note: Please excuse me if this piece lacks fluidity. I'm finding myself having to walk away and come back to this. I've never really spoken on such a personal level before.)

I ran through a number of titles for this but could come up with nothing better than Family.

For those of you who don't know, my family is from Haiti. My parents were born and raised in Port-au-Prince. I grew up in Jamaica, Queens and went to an elementary school abundant with Haitian-American kids. I had friends that I would throw around Haitian Patois (or Kreyòl)phrases with. We were all like Family.

A long time has passed since grade school but thanks to Facebook, I managed to reconnect with a large number of my Family that I hadn't really seen since we all signed each others' uniform shirts on that last day of our eigth grade year. The smiling faces all looked the same, familiar like Family always does. But now, after the tragedy that struck, I know my Family hurts just as I do. And like them, I watch the footage and see the pictures...in pain.

My mom...is broken by it all. Every child she sees is like one of her own. Every body in the street is like someone she knew personally or was related to...Family. My dad hides his emotions and stays strong for her. When I speak with her, I carry myself the same way. For her. And when we exchange our heart felt 'I love you's' and hang up, it's different story. See, I could always gauge how much hurt my mother feels. When the crime in New York (Queens, especially) was too much for her to stomach, I knew her pain and never told her what I had to deal with on a daily basis on my way to high school. So you could probably imagine how much greater this personal pain was for her. Especially since she still hasn't heard from her sister who had recently returned to Haiti to see Family.

And now, my sister who is just a couple years into her residency at a hospital in Pittsburgh, called me at 2 this morning to tell me she and her best friend (who is also a doctor) from college have arrived safely in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic and were en route to Haiti as part of a Medical Mission. So, once again I put on my father's bravado telling her to be safe out there and to keep in touch all the while, tucking away yesterday's video footage of a little boy who was pelted with rocks. He stood there after being carried to safety, dazed and confused, not realizing that it was blood from his own head that he repeatedly wiping from his eyes and face. It hurt so much because he's Family too.

So here I sit, praying for the safe return of my Family in Haiti trying to make a difference, for the safe return of my Family that found themselves in the middle of the difference and to the Family who will forever be different.

And for everyone who has extended any kind of prayer, words of encouragement, thoughts and well wishes...THANK YOU ON BEHALF OF MY FAMILY.

False Start

2010-01-12T09:25:00.001-05:00

So...this was supposed to be the third installment of the Seconds series, aptly titled 300 Seconds. But it seems that it wasn't meant to be. At least not yet. See, yesterday after my lunch break I ran into my unplanned lunch companion by the elevators. We exchanged the customary Happy New Years greetings and she made sure to let me know that she would most definitely see me in that room on Tuesday.

Today is Tuesday.

She didn't show. I ate my lunch. I left. My usual M.O. a.k.a Modus operandi.

I got to my desk thinking that maybe, just maybe, she's trying to bait me. I mean, it's possible. I don't really put much more than I usually put past people nowadays. And if I stepped outside myself, I'd have to say that it's a clever little plan.

On several occasions, she's managed to explain and verbally map out for me, the exact location of her desk. I listen with feigned concentration but it never really mattered because I never really thought it mattered. I didn't have any intention of going to her floor and "stopping by" for a brief conversation for all others within earshot to hear. It was never that deep for me.

For her? I assume, a different story. But I dont know for certain. What I do know is that I don't well on the standardized tests that are placed before me by them. By them, I mean those certain women. The one with a game handy. One for you to join in, unbeknownst to you. And unbeknownst to her and a few women prior, I fail tests on purpose (shoutout to Henry). Long story for another blog.

So maybe it was a false alarm (on my part) or maybe she's extremely busy. Either way, this is a status update of sorts. Nothing thrilling. Nothing excited. Just regularnessicity.

Everything I jot on the left reads right.

200 seconds

2009-12-15T23:33:00.003-05:00

If you read my 100 Seconds blog then you know about my lunch time story. If you haven't, please get familiar with it because the part two was something else.

The next day, I had it in my head that I was going to be more prepared for the next go 'round.

My first plan was one of evasive action. Don't judge me. I figured if I didn't see her, I didn't have to put my best foot backwards to keep her impromptu advances at bay. And what better way than to show up to lunch an entire half an hour earlier than the day before.

At the stroke of 1 pm, I grabbed my lunch and paper and headed two floors down to the lunchroom. Emtpy. Completely. Yesssss. So I find a seat, lay my paper on the table, open up my container and get ready to enjoy my lunch. But before the aroma can hit my nose, the door opens and...

"In she came with the same type game..."
Mos Def, Ms. Phat Booty

"You've got to be kidding me," I say to myself while keeping the poker face.

She made an apparent b-line for my table and before I could get out my generic salutation, she places her book and lunch on my table and then proceeds to ask me if she would be intruding upon my lunch if she sat here.

"No, not at all," I tell her. Lying.

My lunch time break is my time. My cherished time. I don't eat at my desk because I need the disconnect. I don't skip lunch because I need to eat. I don't spend my lunch talking because I'm eating. Is she infringing? Hell yes. So why don't I just tell her so? Because I'm not rude. [Thanks, Mom.]

She removes her pocketbook and bag from her shoulder and places them on the third chair at the table. She removes her coat and has a seat. I'm folding my paper and setting it aside while this is all going on so I don't notice her absurdly tight blouse until she sits down.

She's come prepared this time. See, the day before's ensemble was nondescript. I know this because she crossed my line of vision several times and we had a conversation and all I remember was that it was dark. Her blouse was black and so snug that had it not been for the protection my glasses provided, I would have been concerned for the safety of my eyes. The top two fastened buttons looked like they were holding on for dear life. As a matter of fact, at some point the second one merely gave in and released its grasp on the fabric, revealing a white camisole underneath. I successfully keep my eyes averted as she runs through another battery of questions.

In order to not have this spur of the moment (that being my moment, not hers) lunch seem one-sided, I ask her questions as well but the majority are ones that she's already asked of me. I say majority because I didn't inquire about her lunch the way she did mine. The whole "trading recipes" thing isn't something I do. And judging by what little she had brought in that day, it was for the best.

Somehow or other, she volunteered me to cook her something and bring it in. Yeah, I hope she was kidding because that not something I do either.

Truth be told, there are a lot of things I don't do for most people and a few things I do for a few.

Already knowing that she brought her B-game*, I wasn't too surprised when she just so happened to find it necessary to run out of the room momentarily, giving me a full show of her hip-hugging skirt and knee-high boots. I smirked a little.

Fast-forward through some more small talk and we have her standing at the table while holding a conversation with female co-workers at the next table as she takes the longest time possible to get her coat on for her 2 o'clock meeting she had to get to in the main building.

She leaves after stating she'll see me the following day - a statement I found peculiar, to say the least. I tell her okay, not knowing any other response to give.

The next day came, and I never saw her. Didn't see her for the rest of the week, actually. It was just my lunch and I. Just like I like it.

Everything I jot on the left, reads right.

*A-game isn't really possible when in a corporate environment unless both parties have consented. Otherwise, there's that whole sexual harassment suit ordeal. Ugly.

Ramblings On

2009-12-15T02:34:00.002-05:00

We are all genius.

Did you get that? If not, let me break it down so that it may forever be broken...you, me, him, her, them over there by the window...all of us. Genius. Trust me. You may not see it in you. But someone else does. You may not see it in him. But he does. Really. It's that simple. The concept is a basic one, that holds truth.

But there's a catch.

This isn't one of those motivational blogs. I mean, if it motivates you then so be it. I've said things in the past that have gotten reactions I didn't make plans for so I'm not complaining.

Where's the catch, you ask?

For those of you that just know that so and so (or hell, maybe yourself) has never ever ever once displayed any type of genius – you may be absolutely correct. But get this, just because you never witnessed it, doesn't mean it didn't happen. And just because it hasn't happened, doesn't mean it won't. So on and so forth.

I have my own ideas of what I believe my genius to be. There are those around me who have their ideas of what they believe my genius to be too. And then there are the people who are close to me who know what my genius is whether I choose to believe it or not – because you know they always tell you. Without fail. And if you place these lists side by side, you may very well find some similarities. I've never asked so I don't really know. What I do know is, I've been in relationships* where she (the woman formerly known as the significant other) was unaware of my genius. We're talking about my genius list. Not hers.

On the one hand, I can take the full on blame for not purposely "exposing" that side of me. Or I can point an accusing finger and say it was all her fault for not noticing. And even though, that's normally not something I would do, I have to straighten the index on this one. Because what it boils down to, brass tax and all, is that I've had women that I was close to for years – emotionally, physically and spiritually – who knew less about the true essence of me than women I've just recently made acquaintances with in the past few. That has to mean something.

Why didn't she see me? That's the question for the ages. The one that will most likely never be answered. The one that resurfaces whenever someone recites from their list for me.

So, in my usual long winded way of getting to what should have been a brief statement (take this very sentence, for example), I would say to stop for a moment and listen to who is pointing out your genius to you. Not the genius on your list, but the genius on theirs. They just might be on to something. (But don't ask them, though. They're just gonna say yes anyway.)

And as far as the vice versa thing goes, I can't say for you to find someone else's genius. I don't really think it can work like that. As far as I can tell, you just....see it.

Everything I jot on the left, reads right.

*Note: I may have made it plural to protect the not-so-innocent party of whom I speak. May have. I'm clever like that.

100 Seconds

2009-12-08T23:40:00.002-05:00

100 seconds is what I asked her to spare over chat via the keys of my smart phone. I felt the urge to share some thoughts I had on the mind earlier and I was in a sharing mood. With the dramatic pauses included, I estimated it would take about that long.

I was keeping myself entertained during my lunch break because for one, the exchange had my interest and two, my food was lackluster at best. But that's what happens when I cook a meal that I had no intentions of eating that night, for the sole purpose of having it for next day's lunch. I mean, visually, it would have made your mouth water – and it must have because this is kind of the segue.

So, I was just sharing a feeling of mine over IM when a co-worker came into the lunch room. I rarely see her – anywhere in the building. Not in this room, not by the elevators, not in the lobby and not on this floor either – so naturally, I flashed her a smile as we exchanged the usual cordials.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothing much. How are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"I'm not bad. Welcome back."

[The laughter went here]

After the chuckles trail off, I return my attention to my phone and chat partner - but not before noticing how she took in the whole scene that was me, in one fluid eye movement. She took in the black slacks, the black shirt with gray pinstripes and the gray v-neck sweater as well. She concluded the scan at the black spectacles. Like I said, fluid.

When precisely, she took inventory of my meal, however, is beyond me. In between conversation with her girlfriend, she made a trip to the microwave, a trip to the ice machine and somewhere else in addition to that. I only knew the extent of her observance when I got up to throw out the under-seasoned food that she asked if I cooked myself.

"Yeah, I did. If I don't cook, I don't eat."

She laughs in a nature that I've witnessed before so I didn't notice that I was either auditioning, interviewing or filling out an application. For what job? I wasn't sure. The next question was in regards to breakfast and whether or not I ate it once I got to work. I answered that as well – oblivious. Meanwhile, my phone is on the table, next to my newspaper, fork and napkin. Every line my IM buddy sends me after reading my thoughtful words, causes my phone to vibrate. I can hear it. I want to get back to it but I apparently wasn't through with my verbal paperwork.

Then it happened.

The most blatant sign snapped me out of my trance. It happened so fast but played in slo-mo. She was flying through a barrage of questions and somehow worked it over to working out and what gym I went to – when she threw me a look that I may not always get but I'd most certainly never forget.

I was standing there adjusting my sweater when, as if she was waiting for any hand movement in the vicinity of my waistband to take place, she puts my nether region right in her sites. It lasted an instant but it was too long to add the word brief before it.

I didn't see it coming but I definitely saw me going. I realized that maybe it was that season and I needed a refresher course on survival skills. Either way, a retreat was in order. So I back step while concluding the conversation, get back to the table, grab my phone, pack my container up, fold my paper and exit stage right, never passing go. I reply to the lines awaiting me on the screen, before I get on the elevator to return to my floor and back to my desk. My lunchtime chat friend doesn't make mention of my absence because ironically, I was only gone for 100 seconds.

What's with the questions?

2009-09-14T16:56:00.008-04:00

“Really?”

“What?”

“I’m saying. You’re just gonna sit there and act like – Oh okay. Fine.”

“What?” she reiterates, trying her best to keep a straight face.

“Nothing. Do you know what you’re gonna order? I’m hungry.”

“Girl, don’t be like that! I was just messing with you! Sheesh.”

“Hmm, what? I really am hungry. What are you talkin’ about?” she states matter-of-factly never looking up from the lunch menu.

Laughing, “See. Can’t nobody joke with you when you wanna know something!”

She sucks her teeth. “Whatever.”

“Brat.”

“Heffa.”

She gasps, “You name calling now??”

“You started it.”

“Yeah, but I was telling the truth,” she retorts.

She gives out a boisterous laugh, covering her mouth to muffle it. She looks around the restaurant at the other diners and whispers, “How ‘bout you tell me something else?”

“Something like what? Oh what – you wanna know about last night or somethin'? Girl, you know I am not the one to kiss and tell.”

“Bullshit. Do NOT make me create a scene up in here. This is your favorite spot, not mine. I’ll do it. I will get you banned. They’ll have your picture taped in the reservation book and everything,” she playfully threatens.

“Ew, you so evil! Fine. We had fun last night. Happy?” she says rolling her eyes.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. But you always have fun with him. Something’s different this time. We’re at your favorite eatery. You’ve had this goofy look on your face since you sat down.” She raises an eyebrow, pauses for a moment before raising the other and exclaiming, “You GAVE HIM SOME, didn’t you??”

“Girl, keep your voice down or you will get me banned!”

“Oops. Sorry,” she says, not at all appearing apologetic.

“Whatever. Since you must know, yes…we took it to the next level.”

“And?” she asks impatiently.

“And what?”

“How was it?”

She closes her eyes as if revisiting the most intimate moment of that encounter. Her head barely turns left and slightly down as she briefly bites the inside of her bottom lip. But just as fast as she closed them, she opens them. She stopped herself short of a full shudder so the entire gesture lasts a short second.

“It was nice,” she says with her best poker face to date.

“Oh shit. He made you…,” her whisper trails off.

“Yes,” she emphatically replies. “More than once,” she adds, gleaming, beaming and glowing all at once.

Insert comfortable silence.

The waiter walks up, pen and pad in hand. “Are you ladies ready to order?”

end.

Is it fair to say that over the span of several years, that spine-tingling, sweat-producing, heart-pounding incredible sex between the same two consenting adults will eventually diminish to good sex or worse, the equivalent of going through the motions with occasional glimmers of what once was? And if so, is it an irrational notion to just walk away (i.e. cold turkey) before the “legacy is tarnished” (a.k.a. not like it used to be)?

Homonyms

2009-09-01T11:43:00.000-04:00

I type. Sometimes I miss the keys.
I write. Sometimes I miss the Keys.
My life. Sometimes I'm Mister Keys.

-- Sent from my Palm Pre

Drain

2009-08-31T01:56:00.000-04:00

I'm like the Jay-Z of blogs when I'm in the shower. I come up with some good material. Poignant. Deep. Touching stuff. I'm stopping the list here but it really continues. Half a page. Easy.

Back. So I'll have my next work all laid out in my big organ - but I shower late. Crazy late. Like right now, it's 1:54AM. I work like regular folk so I'm not about to turn on a computer and type out a damn thing. Bed.

-- Sent from my Palm Pre

An Eye Out

2009-08-18T11:43:00.002-04:00

Little do she know...all her words put on display, come to me. Finding refuge on my hip. There for me to read, wherever and whenever. Little do she know...I'm never not watching. I wouldn't liken it to stalking. Judging by where I stand with her, it's like an absentee father who was never seen, presumed a deserter, but come to find out has kept up to date...up to speed...newspaper clippings and all...a personal collection of all accomplishments recorded. But I ain't her daddy. Analogy aside, nowhere near any scenario like that. Little do she know, what's she's been doing lately warms my heart.

I watched her move.

-- Sent from my Palm Pre

It's like...

2009-08-16T01:43:00.000-04:00

..I'd been in my own lane...moving with no destination in sight...in a tunnel with no end in view...and the only thing I'm certain of is me missing you.

-- Sent from my Palm Pre

fUGGedaboudit!

2009-04-02T12:34:00.008-04:00

It’s Spring time, everyone. And it’s about damn time, I say.

Now…because there are so many blogs out there that have taken on the tasks and responsibilities of commenting on criticizing on other people (mainly folks they don’t know)…I try and stay in my lane and only blog about all situations regarding myself (a man, dammit) and women.

With that being said, I’ve really, really held off on getting on this topic because I realized (circa Myspace) that I tend to really go in on some things that really get my goat (still don’t know what that means, but it fits) like flip-flops. For those that didn’t know me years ago, the reaction and subsequent tirade was sparked by a female wearing flip-flops in the club. And no, it wasn’t the end of night so the suggestion that her feet must have really been hurting something terrible does not apply. It wasn’t even midnight. On top of that, she had the audacity to match them to her outfit. I looked down at her feet and then I looked at her and I...

*Breathe Darryl. You’re going back to a place that you don’t want to return to. You promised, man! Now focus...*

Okay, okay, okay. So…this time I’m going at it with a different approach. I want to start off by thanking the female masses for losing their individuality and following the lemmings. From the bottom and top of my heart, thanks a million. Thanks for not questioning the internal fashion sense that I assumed you possessed and jumping on the bandwagon. With all sincerity, thank you very much for that. While you and your BFFs are hanging out just knowing you’re too cute, I don’t even see you.

Instead, I see the woman (yes, singular) that’s doing her own thing.

And there’s not many who catch my eye.
We both wear Gucci, she match my fly
She Got Her Own by Ne-Yo

And now it's oh so much easier for me to spot her. Before, thin-slicing* was difficult. Now, not even. Now, I can find my compliment.

So keep justifying the ugliness by telling me how the inside feels. And I’ll keep not hearing what you’re really telling me. Instead, when you finally decide you want to actually look like an effort was made and wear the sharpest shoes (if that will ever happen again) and wince in pain an hour in to wearing them [picture me shaking my head at the sight of you trying to hide the discomfort]…I’ll wait for your justification this time and let you realize that you’re the picture in dictionary next to

con·tra·dic·tion
Function: noun
Date: 14th century
1: act or an instance of contradicting 2 a: a proposition, statement, or phrase that asserts or implies both the truth and falsity of something b: a statement or phrase whose parts contradict each other 3 a: logical incongruity b: a situation in which inherent factors, actions, or propositions are inconsistent or contrary to one another

Because if your first validation was truth, your logic will have you rocking the sasquatches all-of-dee-time.

My question is: What happened to you? Back in the day, you used to know how to _______ but now, all you do is __________________.

Fill in the blanks.

*Thin-slicing refers to the ability of our unconscious to find patterns in situations and behaviour based on very narrow slices of experience. blink - The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, page 23.

Twitterpated

2009-03-24T11:49:00.003-04:00

Nah, really...it's a word. Not allegedly made up like some of my other words. My accuser knows who she is. For real, look it up.

So I'm going to try something new. Well, it's new to me at least. I've been noticing that there's been a bunch of things that I want to comment on or mention right on the spot. I haven't been able to do that. And by the time I'm able to do any such thing, the moment has passed and it's taken the inspiration right along with it. ENTER TWITTER. I got myself a Twitter account and I'm going to call it like I see it. If I see something that gets my goat, I'm going to twit it (Is that right?). If I see my crush on the train, I'm going to twit it (I think if I say it enough times, it will sound right). If I see anyone I've blogged about...you get the picture.

Now as much as I'd like to start like right now...I'm going to wait because, well...I don't have enough followers yet. I'm hoping that all of you that have Twitter accounts will follow me and my daily musings. I put a link in the upper left side of the screen to follow me. Hopefully, it works. If not...allow me to reintroduce myself... My name is Darryl, Mr Keys if you're nasty.

Dirt McGirt

2009-03-23T14:46:00.003-04:00

(aka Porn flicks, Undercarriages and Overhead Part II)

Fourth grade. Back in class after recess. We’re all a little rowdy and rambunctious. We’re 9 and full of food. Not to mention we’ve just been running around the school’s yard for a minute. So yeah, we’re a little sweaty too. The girls from jumping the double dutch ropes and the boys from playing tag, catch, Frisbee, football and anything we could make up rules for.

Miss McGillicutty (that name has always been funny to me) asks Louis to hand out the ditto sheets for what we’re about to learn. Meanwhile, my mind is elsewhere. I’m not thinking about anything and noticing nothing…simultaneously. That is, until Louis reaches the top of my row to hand us the new sheets. Appearing to look at something but not really looking at anything, he stops mid-step like he had a notion of some sorts. He lifts his right heel and swings his knee out to the side. His finishing move was a slight dip and shake…affectionately known as the shimmy. I hadn’t mastered the poker face yet. He saw me looking him in bewilderment.

Louis being Louis said, “Don’t you hate it when your nuts stick to your leg?” Me, being the hell confused, said nothing.

“I don’t even rock with you like that, kid!” is what I would have said had I not only been nine years old. I did smirk some, but that was about all I managed to do. It didn’t matter much to Louis because he handed me the paper and kept it moving.

Fast forward to an unseasonably warm winter’s day last month and you would have found me in my own predicament. Since I’ve been an active member of Manscapers Unite, things are different. There’s a learning curve and additional measures must be taken when rocking the “turtle shell” (see Part 1 for clarification) down there. For one, Johnsons® Baby Powder and Shower to Shower®…they’re your friends. And like a good friend, they should not be neglected. Now when I say neglected, I mean unutilized…or else the Louis moment will rear it’s ugly head (no pun).

So there I was, enjoying myself a beautiful spring day in February. Jacket folded and tucked into my gym bag, making some stops in stores and such. I found myself in an aisle of a clothing store and even though I didn’t stop mid-step like Louis did, I was still in that very same boat some decades later. Now, I’m gonna tell you like this…for the ladies reading this…it’s not a comfortable feeling. I guess…and I could be way off base, but…it’s something like having your panties bunch up and take refuge in your butt. Like, if you have to continue about your business then you do, but as soon as you get the chance to handle it, you will. ASAP. Yeah, it’s like that. Now luckily for me, I don’t have to go to the same lengths to rectify my situation. Meaning, I don’t have to drop my trousers and separate the two parties. Normally, I could just shimmy and keep it moving, but because I’m so out of practice [read: a proud grower of pubic hairs since puberty], I need to shimmy shimmy, ya…which entails a deeper dip and a quicker shake…one with more snap to it. And although, the situation is remedied, it’s very temporary.

There are only three* options at this point. One being to sit still long enough that the two parties have been separated with a timeout, thereby reducing the...uh…clamminessicity. The other is powder yourself. But let’s be real…that’s just not happening anytime soon because if you were somewhere with powder handy, you wouldn’t have to do the move to begin with.

The third option...well that's the easiest and the most popular choice. Just suck it up.

*Note: ALL of this can be prevented completely by wearing briefs. But really...briefs?

Standard Standard

2009-01-23T16:56:00.003-05:00

Girl meets boy on Thursday night

Boy was high, girl fly like kite

They hold hands until next day

Boy then lets go, hit his way

Boy rules butt, brags to his boys

Erection brings bad boy joys

Boy thinks of that big fat back

Big black fat love, big black fat

Girl calls boy to stand him up on Saturday

-Q-Tip on Saturday- By De La Soul

Boy is at a club with his comrades. Girl is at a club with her clique. Maybe it’s the same club. Maybe girl sees boy and vice versa. Maybe they dance and make loud talk simultaneously. Or maybe they link up at the bar. Maybe he likes her. And maybe she likes him back. Maybe there’s some serious connectivity happening. Maybe they text their respective entourages that they’ll be leaving the club tout suite. Maybe they arrive somewhere and talk naked.

So now, you might be thinking that this is going to be a blog about the “one night stand”. Like maybe, since I tend to always write about a real life situation, I’m going to tell you a funny story about one that I had in my life. Au contraire, my readers…this is about…

The Morning After…

“I know she think that I just think she some kinda ho. I don't give a shit bout givin’ it up on the first night...that just lettin’ me know. She know what she want outta life...what a hell of a way to goddamn wake up... ooh that shit was good! Ooh maybe she'd get me some breakfast. She so goddamn sweet, sweet as she wanna be... Ooh I just - ooh I wanna lay in her hair. You can't fall for it. Don't fall for it, Ice Cold.
(ICE COLD!!!)

Maybe I’ll just roll over and lay on her booty. Yeah naw naw naw naw, just lay and be cool. Be cool, Ice Cold.

(ICE COLD!!!)

But what if she - what if she - what if she – what…if she's… the one...”

-Andree 3000 on The Morning After, from The Love Below

Now wait. Before you can really finish that thought, in comes the twist. See, the other night, my satellite television was tuned into Damages. I couldn’t really tell you how it was because I wasn’t really watching and really only half listening. I did see, however, the part where boy and girl had got their busy on and the next morning, she was up and at ‘em…while he sat there in the bed thinking to himself, “Yeah, that was nice” when she yanked him out his daydream and said, “Don’t be here when I get back”. I was like, “Damn”, smiled and finished with a “That’s so sexy.” I’m not even gonna hold you…I wouldn’t mind being told that. Not in the least. I, for one, think it’s badass. My feelings would not be hurt in the least. Yeah, sure I can do some inward reflecting to pinpoint why I find this to be so but instead, I’m going to give you generic guy reasons.

1) It eliminates that “morning after awkwardness”. No need to lie and say, “I’ll call you” when maybe…just maybe you’re not. Come come now. We’ve all watched enough movies and shows to know that maybe there’s going to be some regret involved. If not that, then maybe some embarrassment will rear its ugly head. And more times than not…a great deal of all this rests solely on the shoulders of the first sentence or two uttered from dude’s mouth.

2) It’s power…taking control when it’s not expected. I.E. a turn-on. Remember Robin Givens in Boomerang? Yeah, like that sexy. Just her part, though. Not Eddie Murphy’s. That scene was the perfect example of a role reversal if there ever was one.

3) It’s what he would have done…but couldn’t…because if he did, he’d be called all types of names. Names that would be preceded by all types of profanity.

So now, we have a situation that’s okay for women but not okay for men. And I’m fine with it. You’ll never hear me or hear about me uttering those seven words to a woman on my way out the door. But the next time you all bring up a tables-turned-type-scenario (Ironically, there’s not one that I can think of. Go figure), best be-lieve I am going to milk the hell out of this one right here….because honestly, it’s the only one I got.

But I’m thinking…

Public Service Announcement

2008-12-17T12:52:00.004-05:00

Okay. First, a disclaimer from the author of this blog...

Allow me to apologize in advance to any person or persons I inadvertently offend with what you are about to read. You have to know that this not my intention. Something has been weighing on my mind and I need to talk to you all. I know that this is an extremely touchy subject and there is a possibility that some of you will be made to feel uncomfortable...for that I'm sorry.

With that being said, let's get right into it. Gas. That's right. G-A-S...as in belching, bloating and flatulence...specifically from you women. You might be laughing now but some of you front like you don't have any - ever. And that's some bull nuggets.

First, we're going to go back…to the beginning. To where it all started. To that pivotal moment where you let one out by "accident". Whether you burped and said, " Ooh. Excuse me" in a surprised and puzzled manner or you farted and said, "Oh my God! I am SO sorry" or the classic line, " I can't believe I just did that. I'm so embarrassed".

Yeah right. I call bullsht.

See, you got away with it. You knew that we were smitten with you and you capitalized on that fact. You knew that it was a gamble but the odds were in your favor. You figured that in all of the newness and puppydogism, of all the things you could potentially get away with…passing gas was one of them. And you were right. You let one slip and silly us, we thought it was funny and cute. Why? Hell if I know.

But you know what's not cute? The way you all took it too far. Me? I'm considerate when it comes to the flatulent. I don't let the silent ones go in front of you. I send mines out with an announcement. Surprise smells are no fun. I learned that when I was in high school and my German Shepherd would walk by and leave a little silent killer behind as I watched television. That's the kind of tomfoolery I reserved for my boys. The look on your friends' faces when they caught a whiff of the end result of the McDonald's (or better yet…those beef patties with cocoa bread) you ate for lunch is like nothing else. Now when I say you took it too far, I mean just that. It's like your sphincter can't stay shut. Months after you've gotten too comfortable with your male friend, your boo, your snookey bear, your boyfriend, your husband, your sweetheart…you're letting them fly. Sometimes, there's no acknowledgement. No responsibility taken for the crime. Baby, men have been farting all their lives. We know a fart when we hear it no matter how well you think you're muffling it. Then in all of your audacity, you throw us THE most disgusted look when we let one out the chamber. And then, as if part of your master plan, you have us feeling bad for something that should come as no surprise from us. So much so, we actually sit in your presence with all types of cramps and pains and such from holding them in longer than humanly possible as to not nasally offend you.

So let's compromise. I'm not suggesting you hold it in like you did before you realized that there was a loophole in the system...a virtual glitch in the matrix. All I'm saying is maybe do the ladylike thing on occasion and act like you have to run into the other room to get something…you know, like you were doing all those times you acted like you had to run into the other room to get something.

Thanks for listening.

Porn flicks, undercarriages and overhead

2008-12-02T15:20:00.006-05:00

Funny story. When I was just taking up running, I went in when it came to having the right equipment. The shoes, the aerodynamic looking long sleeve shirts and even the biker shorts [the knowledgeable term: compression shorts] looking things that you wear under your running shorts. So there I was, getting my run on. Looking cool while doing it. All is good…until I had a snag. No, literally a snag. It seems that the compression shorts’ seams were situated just perfectly enough to catch on to a hair or two from the underside of it all while I was mid-stride. Needless to say, I didn’t hesitate in separating the two parties immediately while simultaneously making a note to make sure that I never have to experience that unpleasantness again. Asterisk and all.

Later that evening, I stood in front of the full-length mirror with the cheap trimmers in hand. I stood there and just hesitated. Rapidly moving little blades powered by electrical current are not any of my choices of things I want in the area of my groin. I never imagined a time where I’d find myself in that scenario but there I was. So I flipped the switch, took a deep breath and got to work. For those of you who don’t know, that area is the most sensitive skin on a man’s body – bar none. Needless to say, I maneuvered with a surgeon’s precision.

So then, one day, I was watching an adult movie (I've been known to view a few. I'm a man dammit. See the 6th sense for clarification) and I noticed two significant things. One, there was no storyline. Just some small talk after a staged situation and then it was straight to business. No complaints from me at the time, because I would have fast-forwarded through all of that filler anyway. I'm just saying.

The second thing I noticed was…there was quite a bit of hair…missing. I mean, I know it’s the thing now for the female stars to have the Brazilian thing going on whether it be the “landing strip” or “back to the essence” but either I’ve been really, really oblivious to it or it’s a somewhat recent (when I say recent, I mean the last some odd years) occurrence that the dudes are doing the same. Now chests shaved, stomachs shaved and backs too…I know about that. But down there? All gone? I find myself taking pause on that latest trend. In my wonder years, I was a kid that could not wait for the hairs to sprout down yonder. For me to go back to that look is not something I see myself doing - ever. I mean, trimming the underbelly of the beast was for practical purposes. The land above the beast’s dwelling is a totally different thing. On a weekend morning after getting your moonlight on, a man likes to sit in front of his television in his shorts, boxers or pajama pants and get his Al Bundy on. To find nothing there but skin and stubble is not my idea of solace.

“Well, that’s gonna be a problem – I laser. It’s like a turtle shell down there.”

Dennis, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, ‘Manhunters’ Episode

Later that evening, I found myself in front of that same mirror holding those same cheap clippers. This time, however, I paused not from fear but because I was surveying the land. I knew damn well I wasn’t going to do my best military barber impersonation down there. I had land somewhere in the middle because what I was noticing was a patch of land with no boundaries and no neatness. I had to tip-toe the line between getting too involved in the process and doing my part since women go through the regular task of having things presentable. It’s the least I could do. And the could do, I did…with some impressive results. So here I am, writing to you all…proud…to be a manscaper.

the 6th sense

2008-11-24T23:26:00.003-05:00

Okay. The feedback that I’ve received from my last blog is that I should have went for mines, gone in, got me some, went in…or whatever apt, colorful phrase you could think of. On the one hand, I am a gentleman with gentlemanly ways. But on the other hand, I’m a man, dammit. So don’t, for one minute, think that I didn’t want to go for mines, go in and get me some. The very basis of animal attraction dictates that I should have that desire (And I did mainly because I’m a man, dammit.). But what separates man from beast is our brain and ability to think. That, and the fact that we have rooms and receptacles equipped with plumbing designated for relieving our bowels.

“When a man gets a hard on, you know where the blood comes from, right? His head and his feet. So A, he’s stupid and B, he can’t run.”

- ‘Savon Garrison’, Love Jones

Over the years, through trial and error, I’ve kinda worked on honing my senses. Hindsight is 20/20 and to be honest, I don’t have the time for it all. I figure I’ve done and been through enough to fill a small pocket handbook of the do’s and don’ts of life. Now, what I choose to do with the pertinent information contained in those pages is solely up to me.

For example, Chapter Three: Be Cool tells me to weather through the storm (a.k.a. the whirlwind of emotions) of the initial connection. There is SO much involved in the beginning. You have to let it die down before you can see.

“I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way”

- Johnny Nash

At the same time, we (and when I say we, I refer to all men) are all human and more than likely, have gotten caught up. For me to say that I haven’t or even attempt to give you the impression that I never have would be a disservice to you all and the point of my writing. Hell, I could get caught up tomorrow. Anything is possible.

I didn’t always write about things that I’ve been through. But I did do a decent job of remembering with adequate detail, my accomplishments and my mistakes.

If any of what I’m about to tell you all can apply to women then, by all means, tell me…because I’m curious. I’ll always want to learn from women.

Lately, I’ve been making a conscious effort to discern the difference between all the different levels of excitement…for a lack of a better word. For me…now…there’s a difference between the rush I get from driving in excess of 100 miles per hr and the rush I get from an attractive woman in my presence revealing her “self” for the first time to me in the most intimate of moments. Five, six, seven plus years ago? No difference. It was just heart pounding and deep breathing across the board. I recognize the similarity between waiting for her to pick up the phone when I make that first, crucially important phone call and waiting to see her reaction when I surprise her with something. Then there’s the difference between lust and intense infatuation and deep desire. I wish I could actually describe these things but I can’t. For one, I’m not that good and two, everyone is different.

Now back to my situation…

I knew exactly what I was feeling. It took about a minute but I successfully settled into Chapter Three and got my wits about me. The first time I visited, I stayed the night. The second time, I stayed the night and awoke to her laying next to me in her t-shirt and panties. I tend to play things down and told myself that it was natural for someone to get too hot in the middle of the night and uncover themselves. That’s what I told myself when I went to bathroom. I didn’t have an explanation for when I came out and found her ironing in the same (very short) t-shirt and panties. I mean, I stared for a few seconds and still, nothing came to me. Not an explanation, anyway.

Moving on…

In a perfect world, I can wake up seemingly “ready” for a sexual episode, come on to a woman, give her something incredible to reminisce about during the week that lies ahead and not have a reason to think about the repercussions of feelings, wrong impressions and attachment. But, I’m not Hank Moody. No, in my world, I can wake up seemingly “ready” for a sexual episode, come on to a woman and be stopped dead in my tracks with explicit instructions to point my thing elsewhere or I can bring us to the point of speechlessness, shortness of breath and ultimate exertion only to be told afterwards that she doesn’t “just sleep around” so naturally, she thought [you fill in the rest].

With that said, I feel like I have to think beyond it all. And since I don’t see it coming, I miss the opportunity to devote thought to it in advance. Instead, I’m in the starters block, poised and ready to go…but essentially blindfolded until the gun goes off. It’s either a straight 100 meter dash or it’s the 110 meter hurdles…and we’ve all seen that hurdles can be a btch to clear.

It’s become increasingly difficult to argue the point made by my boys (and some women, mind you) that I’m grown and any woman that I’m dealing with is grown as well…so they know full well what’s going on when it’s going on. That’s absolutely true. As long as there isn’t any leading on then I’m good to go. Right?

the love below

2008-11-13T23:47:00.005-05:00

I was cool with this one chick. I didn't know her well enough to say anything on the contrary of her being cool. We hung out one time months before the story I'm telling you now. We got a bite to eat. Got some drinks. Had conversation. Exchanged background info and chuckled and laughed all the while. Good times. From that time to this story we ran into each other at the gym at least once a week. Nothing different happened from my perspective that could explain a change in the course of events so any insight on that would have to come from her. What I do know is I got a text from her asking if I wanted to come by her spot and watch this documentary on TV once I left the gym. I accepted the invite and asked her if there was anything I should bring. She suggested a bottle of wine. Cool was the response I gave but nervousness was the feeling once we disconnected. Not because I was going over her place, but because I didn't know anything about picking wines. (Hell, I don't really know much more now than I did then.)

Anyone that knows me, may or may not be aware that I tend to play things down in regards to 'matters of the heart'. And it for that very reason that when I ended up staying the night (per her suggestion since it was very late) I assumed I was going to crash on the couch. And it was still for that same reason that when I ended up laying in her bed (again, per her suggestion), it never crossed my mind that something would 'go down' (no pun intended).

Now, as I write this, I have to ponder on the possibility that maybe she was really clever with hers. Before I got into the bed with her, she insisted that I remove my shorts and shirt because I wore them to the gym and that would be unsanitary. So…yours truly was in his boxers while she lay in her tank top and shorts. I know...I know. She had me stripped down to my essentials like she was running things. What did I do? Uh…nothing.

Me and her. We were cool. There weren't enough 'signs' for me to even think about making a move. Was I going to show her that I only had sex on my mind and was incapable of laying besides an attractive woman without making a pass at her? Absolutely not.

Fast forward.

A week and some goes by. She's at my place. We're watching 'Breakin'' commenting on the homo-erotic undertone of the movie. We're drinking wine again. Buggin' out. Pointing out different things. The combination of the libations and the long week had her knocked…out. The tables turn and she's staying the night (per my invitation). I tell her it's time for to get in the bed. She feigns reluctance, albeit unconvincingly. I give her a shirt to change into, leave the room to put things away and turn things off. I get back and she's already found her way under the covers…fast asleep. Ten minutes later, I find myself following suit.

Skip ahead a couple of hours and we're at the part where I wake up from her backing herself into me slightly. As fast as I open my eyes, I close them. Move ahead some more and she's done it again but with emphasis. A certain level of comfort has been reached now so I put my hand on her waist/hip area. My eyes stay open this time because she's pantyless. Yes, sans cullote.

Now, I'm confused, shocked, puzzled and yes…a little flustered. I'm lying. A LOT flustered. She, up against me. Shirt, up around her waist. And as a result, I was up too. (I'm a man, dammit. Don't judge me.)

"Maybe I'll just roll over and lay on her booty. Yeah. Naw naw naw. Now just lay here and be cool, Ice Cold."

Andre 3000 - Where are my Panties? from The Love Below.

Long story made slightly shorter. I didn't come on to her. Not because she scared the sht out of me when she woke up that morning and immediately asked (with a serious tone) where her panties were. She thought it was funny. I didn't. Not at first. 10 minutes later? Maybe. I didn't make that move because my sixth sense advised against it.

Yes, men have a sixth sense when it comes to you all. I'll explain next time…

Right Recipe

2008-10-07T17:17:00.004-04:00

If I knew the right recipe to successfully make imaginations reality then what I'm about to say would either be a premonition or a recollection...depending on when I tell it. And if this was a premonition, then this is how I'd imagine things would go…

I'd say, "Instead of standing here before you, spewing pseudo game and belittling the significance of this moment, I'm going to tell you that the very first time I laid thoughts on you."

You, no less, would find yourself somewhere between intrigued, confused and apprehensive. I'd begin by telling you that the first time, I boarded the subway and took my usual place by the doors. You, sitting across from me, had your head down, engrossed in a book. I was typing away a blog idea on my phone. I glanced at you a few times…took note of your earth tone ensemble of greens and browns. I admired your natural coif in between sentences. I dug your jacket with the cool collar after every period typed. I must have got lost in it all because you looked up at me, maybe feeling my eyes burrowing into your head.

The second time, believe it or not, was that very same day. I was standing at the window table of the Pad Thai spot waiting for my order when you walked by with may or may not have been a female co-worker. The fact that you and I could possibly inhabit the same work radius drew a bit of childlike excitement.

The third time, was at a nightclub…on the Friday of that same week. The swagger and bravado that I managed to save up for my night out, was shelved when I realized it was you. The same you in front me of all week. I tried to make eye contact with you…figuring that the club lights would lessen the effect of your piercing eyes. But it wasn't to be.

The fourth time was weeks later. We walked in opposite directions on the same strip of sidewalk on the same side of the street right in front of Foot Action.

The fifth time was some time after that. Same dance, different location…passing Victoria's Secret. The fifth time would have been the last time but the sixth time made sure it wasn't. The sixth time seemed like a whirlwind. Imagine my surprise to see you in the seven days young fitness center residing in my place of employment. Imagine my nervousness to see you in the seven days young fitness center residing in my place of employment. After jumping from machine to treadmill to machine, I tried to answers questions I couldn't.

"Can I have your attention please? The Fitness Center will be closing in twenty minutes. Thank you."

I head to the stretch area only to find you there. Not feeling brash enough to approach you, I stretch on the opposite side. I sneak peaks in an attempt to find some evidence that you're not the same person only to find no definitive proof. I grab my bag and belongings from my locker and exit. Heading to the elevators, I turn around briefly and see you again... just yards behind me. The elevator doors open, I arrive first and hold the door. You enter last, thanking me. I tell you you're welcome, making this our first official interaction. I know, it's corny…but under these circumstances, I'll take it.

We exit the building, you ahead of me. You turn right at the corner and cross the street. I continue straight. We part ways.

The funny thing about it is, after I travelled about 2 blocks towards my destination, questioning the likelihood that you were a doppelganger with the present day mission of playing mind tricks, I never even attempted to turn around because I convinced myself with a great deal of success that you were probably across the street. And as silly as it may seem right now, it wasn't that far fetched when I walked down the platform only to see you standing there…waiting for the same train. I never looked directly at you once I was close enough for you to notice me. I did pull out my smartphone to make a note reminding myself to chronicle all events leading to now.

Four stops into the train ride and I'm picking up my gym bag preparing to exit at the next. I glance over at you. You're deep in a book again…reminiscent of my first thoughts. I managed to catch the cover of the book and noticed the word Dexter. This is too much. That's one of my favorite shows. I only found out last week that the show was based on a novel…and here you are reading it.

Doors open.

I'm not really sure what compelled me to, but I look over at you one last time. Already accepting that what I didn't comprehend before is now all too apparent to me. You're there. That's you. And here I am. You look up at me, smile and we both say goodnight.

Arrogance [Darkside Series]

2008-08-21T15:32:00.001-04:00

Damn, dude. You walked right past me with a look on your face. I said what's up to you and you said it back but there was something else there. That gut feeling is a motherfcuker, ain't it? I know, I know. It's like you feel something but there's no telling what it is. Lucky for you, I'm here to clear that up.

Now understand something. This isn't a rap music bravado type thing or one of those generic R&B themes where the dude brags about how he's sleeping with another dude's woman. I mean, the characters are the same but the scenario is different. See, you're woman…yes, I slept with her. But wait now. Hold on a second. Don't get all red in the face with your fists clenched. You two weren't together at the time.

You don't believe me, do you? Fine.

I made her acquaintance the week after you two took the trip to Splitsville. I had small talk with her twice that week before we ended up exchanging phone numbers. The following week, she went out of town to see her best friend.

Now do you believe me? Good, because I didn't want to get into how we talked every evening and text messaged each other during the day. Nor do I want to get into how it all started off innocent and at some point turned flirtatious…with the provocative pictures and all…telling me what she wanted me to do to her and things of that nature. Nah, that's not something you want to hear. Not to mention the fact that I know all about you and how you treated her. I know about how you managed to stress her out even when she was away and you two were no longer a couple. I know about your anger issues. I know about the constant disrespect. It's no wonder she came to my place just days after getting back to town. It's no wonder she wanted to see my bedroom as soon as she walked in. Can you blame her? Don't answer that. Because if you did attempt to justify your actions and fault hers then and only then would I be forced to get really arrogant with you.

What's really arrogant?

Me telling you that the way she told it, you ain't no lightweight when it comes to the package. The way she tells it now though, I beat you in the long run. That's really arrogant. Me telling you that she told me that she's never climaxed before…ever. Well, until she was with me. That's really arrogant. Me telling you what it felt like for her…the feeling that came over her entire body when I touched her spot. That's arrogant too. Me telling you the sounds she made and what she looked like at that exact moment from the eyes rolling back with the mouth open and the toes curled and the hands grabbing sheets and scratching walls. Well see, that's just ignorant. And I don't want to get ignorant with you. Yeah, one might say you had all this coming. Another might say that this right here most definitely knocks you off your high horse and while you, most assuredly, will get back on...the ride won't be the same.

So here we are crossing paths for the first and if she can control it, the last. You two are back together now. Good for you. I'm a little confused as to how you did it because she's called me a few times upset and crying about the usual drama. But hey, it is what it is. Just know, that thing with the pillow…you know…when she folds it and puts…anyway…if she hasn't mentioned it, don't ask questions…just go with the flow. Trust me. And if she has mentioned it and you are doing that thing…

You're welcome. I taught her that.

Picture Perfect

2008-07-30T15:03:00.002-04:00

Let's be honest. Me and you. When we go out, it's a date. And if what goes on with us is not what normally happens on a date then it should be. Admit it.

Now, close your eyes for a moment.

Picture it. We meet up.

You, exuding sexiness with the high heels, the jeans that fit so well – sitting right where they should on your hips, giving your lower back tat just enough room to taunt and tease, the summer blouse with the soft shoulders on display and your smooth upper back out, stylish bag on your arm – catching looks and compliments, your lips are glistening with a color that accents your skin tone – making any man wonder if they're as soft as they look, and your hair is out – flowing with ever step.

Me, I'm in my man mode. I'm casual, but still on that every day sexy. I have to be. I can't half-ass when it comes to us and our time together. I got on the fitting tee – chest is popping out through the logo, jeans – perfect length coupled with the perfect fit, sneakers – clean and match the tee perfectly, I'm shaved and shaped up and finish it all off with the smell good cologne.

Damn, we look good together. We flow well together too. Nothing is awkward here. I'm the thoughtful gentleman. I always walk street side. I scan ahead of your stride to make sure your path is without danger. I hold your hand when you step down steep curbs and steps. I'm always within your reach should you need me. That's me on the regular. That's us, all the time.

We find a cute little Indian spot and have dinner. We talk sht, laugh and joke with one another. Good times, Good times. Afterwards, we get some shakes for dessert. We play with each other while on line. Playful. We look like a couple. We act like a couple. In the span of two hours, we set things up for the perfect foreplay…the natural next step. Bodies intertwined and pressed against one another. Sucking, biting, licking and loving. You feel it too.

But wait. Open your eyes. We're just friends.

Even though the taboo ideas have travelled from your slumbered thoughts to your day's dreams…it won't go further than that. The curiosity peaks there and so the question will never be answered. Seriously, what we have…when we go out…I want you to have that with someone else…I want you to have that sexy night and top it off with that sexy sex. Hell, I want myself to have it too. Let's just make a deal that whoever has it first, promises to confirm that it really is like nothing else.

Women Are the Worst

2008-03-17T14:48:00.002-04:00

Yeah, you read the title right. I said it. I'm not taking it back either. I will add a word, however…to the beginning…"Some". Some Women are the Worst.

I'm sitting upstairs in the lunch room at work and two young women walk in with their food in hand. Before they can even sit down, one is in dilemma mode. I can tell from her tone that it's most likely about a guy.

"He says he needs a break."

Yup. I knew it. Boyfriend troubles.

"I asked him how after two years, can he just stop like that all of a sudden. He says that we're getting too serious too fast."

She continues while her girlfriend listens and almost on cue, gives her two cents. Negative cents, I might add. Here I am thinking to myself that not once did she ask for her opinion. From my vantage point, she's getting things off her chest. From what I'm hearing, she's telling a friend about her problem. Instead of getting an open ear, she gets a closed mind. As a result of having her own heart broken or being without love at the moment or unable to let go of the smallest issues and holding grudges for an irrational amount of time or just being an overall bitter person, this woman might make a bad decision and lose what she spent two years building.

Ladies, if you're having issues with your man or a man, don't talk to your "men are dogs" girlfriend (You know the type, too critical of men…can't keep a man…always saying something negative more than she's saying something positive about him – girlfriend). Go talk to your Mrs. girlfriend (You know, happily married) or "me and my man communicate and we're happy together" girlfriend. Or even a dude. Yes, your male friend. Not the dude that's a man whore. And not the dude that has a secret crush on you (Don't act like you don't know he has one. This isn't one of those cheesy love movies). Instead, ask the genuine friend, the one that wants you to be happy because he knows you and knows you deserve it. Why? Because we generally don't want to get involved in your beefs and drama and matters of the heart. We'll always listen but for the most part, we won't give you our opinion unless you ask. Also, you'll get a better idea of what might be going through a man's mind from another man since we are men. It comes natural to us. Really.

Now for the difficult part…break FREE of the Negative Nancy's in your tight circle. The longer they carry that negativity, the stronger their will is imposed on you and anyone else that doesn't want to be alone and single. I'm not saying to cut her off - just her mental hold. Give me 5 minutes past the initial greeting and I'll tell you who she is. For example, if I run into a woman and she's with her girlfriends and I'm introduced to them for the first time there's no need whatsoever for me to have any of that nastiness or rudeness directed towards me unless I've done something despicable or deplorable towards her. What's funny [read: sad] is that she'll dismiss her behavior as diva-like or something along those lines. News flash: I haven't met a dude yet that's looking for that trait in a woman. Let's be clear, I'm not a happy-go-lucky type of guy but I've never shown attitude to any woman I've never met before. I'm too mature to not be above that. So ask yourself if you recall her ever telling you to give someone the benefit of the doubt or giving you thought out constructive criticism. If not, then she's not in your corner. She's just trying to keep you in hers.

Think about it.

The First Time Women Found Me Cute

2008-03-06T12:02:00.006-05:00

I remember the first time I realized that women (yes, women) found me cute. Not cute like a baby. Not cute like a pair of shoes. But cute like adorable. Cute like ...Damn. I could just eat him up. Cute. Yeah. Like that.

The characters: Me at thirteen. My best friend at thirteen also. Exactly three weeks older than me. And a woman. Yes, a woman. But not just any woman. This was one attractive woman. Make you nervous woman. So fine, she doesn't even notice 13 year old boys sneaking glances at her. She was serious. I'm so sincere.

The setting: A department store that we cut through to get to the mall. My friend had a puzzling obsession with Swatch watches.

Remember those??

Anyway. Every time we went to the mall, we had to look at the watches. He already had more watches than I had sneakers. But it didn't matter. It was one of many obsessions that pubescent boys would have growing up. There were comic books, Transformers, freestyle bikes, sneakers, Hilfiger© shirts, music, baggy jeans, Starter© caps and jackets, Carhart© jackets, Designer© markers, graffiti and then girls.

[Author's note: Please excuse my excessive use of the © symbol. I just learned the keyboard shortcut and I'm a little excited.]

Now remember, this was the time of no internet. So there was no going online to their website to see what was the latest and greatest. We had to do things the old fashioned way...actually go to the stores. Man we had it rough. LOL.

So here we are. At the watch counter. I show interest at the initial arrival but that quickly wanes. Now I'm looking elsewhere. Looking for nothing in particular. Just looking. Still looking. He's finally done. We move on.

We're walking. We're talking...about young boy things. He says something to me. I turn to say something back and I see her. This black woman, beautiful by a 9th grader's standards...with her make up on and her hair braided down the back, was heart-stopping. She was working behind a counter. I don't remember what those cases contained. They could have had free money in them and I wouldn't have noticed. She looked that good.

I tell my boy to look. I have no couth so I point right at her. She doesn't see me or us. We were about 30 feet away. Even still, she's too busy being beautiful.

Still on some young boy behavior because I'm still a young boy, I dare him to go and ask her where the bathroom is. He pauses and grins and then agrees to do it. I'm excited, surprised and hype all at the same time. He turns and starts walking over to her.

Not 5 paces later, he starts giggling like...you guessed it...a young boy displaying young boy behavior. I follow suit with the giggling. Now we're laughing in unison. He says I made him laugh. I'm laughing too hard to argue.

Right at that moment, I decided to man up. For those unfamiliar with manning up, know that there are several levels of manupism. This was the very first level. It was time to show and prove. I was going to walk up to her. And when I got up to her, I was going to be smooth. And while I was being smooth, I was going to ask her...ummm ...where ...uh ...the bathroom was. Yeah that's it. No, really, that was the best I could come up with. I was a young boy. Fresh outta the eight grade. That's as clever as it gets. Sorry.

So my heart's pounding something serious. Forget about feeling it thump in my chest, I could HEAR it!!! But I'm at the counter now. She still doesn't see me.

I say to her (like my mom taught me), "Excuse me."

She turns, "Hi. How can I help you?"

But wait. She says it with a British accent. Whoa. Hold up. I wasn't prepared for that. I had never heard a woman speak with an accent like that…much less a Black woman.

For what seemed like an eternity, the words bounced around in my adolescent head. And that was followed by the sweet scent of her perfume hitting my nostrils. It was pretty much a done deal for me. All that was left was for me to seal it. With what you ask? Try my voice cracking. Yes, that's correct. There was no better indication of me being a young boy than my voice cracking when I asked her where the bathroom was. I was mortified. I think I shrunk a little.

She flashed one of those "Aww. How cute is he?" smiles and pointed me to the nearest one.

I thanked her, walked away and met up with my boy. He asked what happened. I told him.

He said, "I'm happy I didn't go."

I was happy I did.

Wing Man

2007-10-16T15:46:00.000-04:00

Okay. So there's a woman, a co-worker in my department that was celebrating her birthday at a club in the city. Me and my buddy arrive there very late..somewhere in the neighborhood of 1AM. It wasn't intentional. We just had some business to attend to. So anyway, we get there and try to play the background. We've never been here before, so I'm trying to take it all in. I spot a girl that I'm definitely going to ask to dance. She's on the dance floor. She's moving. She's cute. She's turning to face me and WAIT. My co-worker walked RIGHT up on me. *Homer Simpson voice* Doh! She's in my face. She's sweaty. And she's obviously had about 3 drinks too many. I'm not a rude person. I wish her a happy birthday. I hug her. She says to me, "Let's dance." I oblige. We're dancing. I look for my buddy but I don't see him. Damn. No out. I have to see this one through to the end. Oh wait. I see him. He has drink in his hand. Double damn. He's not looking this way. He doesn't see me. But wait a sec. He has a smirk on his face. He did see me. He's getting a kick out of this. Bastard. My "GO TO" guy decided to go to the other side of the dance floor and leave me to the lion.

So…after 3 or 4 songs, she decides to take a break...or did she get distracted?....I don't recall. It's not really detrimental to the rest of this story. I break. Head for the exit. Straight for the bar. My buddy follows behind me...laughing. I counter his laughter with a straight middle finger…grinning. I would have done the same thing. Usually, the two of us have a system to signal one another. But the system was rendered ineffective because I was blindsided by the enemy. (Please note: Inebriated Overly Aggressive women are the enemy. I don't care what anybody says. I don't have the training, know-how or the energy to handle them. LOL.)

This is basically how the night goes…I have to dance with other female co-workers all night while HE gets to have himself a ball with the remaining women in the club…just dancing the night away and charming the ladies simultaneously. And for the first time ever, I'm the designated wing man for the night.

Fast forward a bit and now we're coming to the end of the night. I managed to dance with two women whom I didn't know. So the night wasn't that bad after al- shit. Here she comes again…even drunker. Asking me to dance again. So we're dancing - again. Much like the last time, but there's a difference. This time, her alcohol content has allowed her to tell me how she feels. She starts off by thanking me for coming out. I tell her there was no need to thank me. She tells me that he and her husband are separated. I'm telling her, "Oh really?" but I'm telling myself, "Oh shit. Here it comes". And like a true Psychic Friends moment, it does come.

"You know I'm attracted to you right?" she asks“.

“No, I didn't," I reply. "I don't care," is what I'm thinking.

As if that wasn't enough, my friend had taken a seat off to my right so he wouldn't get asked to dance. Yes, guys do that too. So while I'm contemplating if I should gnaw my arm off and leave it behind, a very attractive female comes over to my pal and takes his hand and brings him out to the dance floor. What the?? I'm really hating him right now. So much so, I'm waiting for him to look over at me, gloating, so I can give him his second middle finger of the night. And I do. She is working him, though. Lucky son of a - but back to my hell. She's asking me what he and I are doing later. I'm not one to take advantage of a situation like this so I tell her that he has to hit the road after we leave here (a lie). She tells me, "Oh well". I look over at him to give him a "You have NO idea" look and I see him standing there like he's waiting for something. I'm puzzled. I'm watching. I'm wondering. I'm dumbfounded!!! Would you believe that the woman he was dancing with went and got one of her girlfriends to dance with him????? At this point, I'm trying to remove my middle finger and throw it at him. He has the exact same look on his face as Michael Jordan did when he hit all those three pointers in a row against the Portland Trailblazers - like, "I dunno how I'm doing it". My head is about explode like a cartoon character that's blown his top. I can't take it. I won't take it! *Flick* The lights come on. YESSSSSS! She stopped dancing and now the effects of the alcohol have her feeling bolder. She tells me that it's my loss for having to leave afterwards. Then she asks for a kiss. I'm a gentleman, regardless, so I kiss her on the cheek. She tries to be slick and move her face to catch me on the lips but she's too drunk and her coordination is off so she misses. *whew*

That following Monday, she emails me from a training class in another building. She thanks me again and tells me that people are telling her all these stories of how she was behaving. She claims she doesn't remember anything. (I would have believed her if it wasn't for the fact that she went over to my friend, while I was elsewhere and verified that he did in fact have to leave after we left the club). She asked me if she did anything crazy. I simply told her…Nope.

I used to go the gym at college

2007-10-08T23:09:00.000-04:00

I used to go to the gym at college. It was a nice gym. I didn't really know what I was doing. But I liked going. There was a girl there. I mean, really there were a lot of girls there. But there was this one in particular that I had spotted. I'd seen her around campus but not as much as I had seen her at the gym. She seemed serious, like "I'm here to get my workout on" serious. I wasn't as serious. I didn't really know what I was doing. She seemed like she did, because she was in great physical shape. I mean as far as I could tell, she was. I didn't really know what I was doing. Don't get me wrong, I was in great physical shape too. I was just a little light in the weight department. That's why I went to the gym.

Back to her. She had pretty eyes. Very sincere eyes. Very trusting eyes. Light colored eyes. Nice eyelashes on the top and bottom of those eyes. Very enticing eyes. Surrounding those pretty, sincere, trusting, light, enticing eyes was a sizeable head. And holding up that head was a very thin and slender body which is the reason why her head seemed larger than it should be. She was light in the all of the body parts departments. But inside of that body, I figured was a good soul. She seemed like good people. Now how do I find out?

Mondays passed. Tuesdays passed. Thursdays passed. I know what you're thinking...Monday, Tuesday, Thursday? What kind of schedule is that?? Well, remember earlier when I started telling this tale? I said I didn't know what I was doing? See? Told you.

So several days had passed and all I could muster up was mouthing the word "hey". Half of those hey's were inaudible. Did I mention that I was a shy dude? Well I was. Some women found it cute. Not me. Not ever. Not once.

Fate eventually had pity on me and had us arrive at the same machine at the same time. Finally. We took turns. We talked. She introduced herself first because I didn't know any better. I was shy and slow on the draw too. For the purpose of keeping her anonymous, I'm going to call her Born. (Author's note: Please don't dwell on the name. It's a code. One only myself and another can decipher).

Born was in fact, good peoples. Very smart. Very funny. Very down to earth. We spent time together. Not too much though. We still met at the gym. We met up as a group once and went to a club. We got a bite to eat a couple of times. That's it, I think. Oh yeah, we talked on the phone sometimes too.

A few weeks after we met, I found myself in a bind. I had to move out of my apartment and find somewhere else to reside. Luckily, last minute a good friend of mines gave word that his roommate was moving out and that he'd need someone to move in. Bet. Now, all I needed was some help to move and pack. Born volunteered as did my buddy along with a female acquaintance (that's another blog) of mines. Short story made even shorter. The move went well. Had to put my stuff in storage because dude I was replacing hadn't moved his stuff out yet. So for now, I was crashing on my futon in the living room.

Born was cool people. (Yes, I'm repeating myself.) Here it was that she didn't know me that well, but she was down to help me pack. Here it was that she didn't know me that well and she came by one night and lamped with me in my living room. Cool people.

Up until this point, nothing happened between us. Maybe some flirting. Maybe some "I'm interested in what you look like nude" looks. Maybe from her. Maybe from me. We were so casual and I was so not aggressive that when "it" happened, I didn't see it coming. She probably did though. I think women plan almost everything (I really do). While we sit there and pat ourselves on the back for a well executed game plan (we do), you all sit there silently and modestly knowing that it wouldn't happen if not for your green lights.

So everything is good between us. In an attempt to keep everything G-rated, I'll just say we had a nice night. We both enjoyed ourselves. Nothing awkward. Early stages of courtship, I suppose.

Maybe the weekend afterwards or the weekend following...don't remember...it was a long time ago. Me and my boys make a plan to go out. We get dressed up and hit up this monthly event that's held at a different location in the city. Around 2:30 in the morning, I get a call on my cell phone. It's Born. I answer it.

"Hello" I say.

"Hey, it's me" she replies. She asks me what I'm doing. I tell her. She tells me that she wants to see me and asks when I'll be done. Not having a definite course of action planned with my cohorts, I tell her "I'm not sure. We'll probably get something to eat once we leave here". Not satisfied with that response, she reminds me that she wants to see me. I tell her that I understand but I'm still at this party. Feeling like maybe I was brushing her off, I ask her if she is okay. "I'm fine. I just want to [insert expletive]! So what's up?"

Whoa. I didn't see that coming either. For about 2 seconds, I was at a loss for words. I offered to call her as soon as I was done. She responded with a "whatever" and a muffled click (That's how cell phones sound when you're hung up on.). So there I am, surprised with a look that falls in between puzzled and amused. I tell my crew. Everyone is having a good laugh at my expense as soon as we all realize that we can't make any sense of what just transpired. My final thought on it all was that she was trippin'. Hey, we all trip, right? Right. But the problem here was that she was tripping way too early into this thing here...this thing that we had...this early development. Whatever. I decide to give her some space. I didn't trip back. I just let her cool off.

A few days pass and she did what so many females do. She tested me.

For the record, I fail these tests on purpose. Some guys know when they're being tested. I won't go as far as to say that I always know when I'm being tested, but I have a good track record. One that I'm proud of, I might add. So here was the test. She tells me that someone she was seeing before me has contacted her saying that he's changed and wants them to try again and she doesn't know what to do. My response to her was that I understood if she wanted to get back with him.

Well. That's not what she wanted to hear because she apologizes to me a few days later for how she "treated" me and ends up buying me about 5 pairs of pants from a men's clothing store. Huh? It was cuh-razy. All in my size. All my style. 5 pairs. Full price. Causal pants. Athletic pants. Nice pants. Too many pants. I asked her...several times...why she did it. She kept saying that she wanted to do something nice for me. I told her that as touched as I was by the gesture, I couldn't accept something like that. She wouldn't take no for an answer. I wouldn't take the pants. It was like a tug-o-war. Nobody was winning. Nobody was losing. This went on for a few minutes. Getting frustrated, I made a deal with her and told her I'd take one pair. Reluctantly, she accepted.

So there we are, her put off and worried that I know what she tried to do...and me, a little disappointed in what's happened in the last 2 weeks and concerned that she might be a little off. I know, I know. You might be saying that it wasn't that serious. And that she just really liked me. Yada, yada, yada. But 5 pairs of pants?? C'mon. Where were the shirts??? LOL. Sike. But seriously though...how about an outfit or something? Who buys someone 5 halves of an ensemble? Who?

Ending a very long story, she ended up transferring to another school. She said she wanted to be closer to her brother and family. I don't really think that was the whole story but then again I didn't really know what I was doing.