Flying Saucers

I'm going to start off on a tangent but then get on track. I promise. All I ask is that you bear with me. 

I'm a man. 

I love and have played a multitude of sports. Whether organized or unorganized, I was there. One of those sports is football. I love my home team. Always have and most assuredly, always will. I've never hitched a ride on any bandwagon. If my team struggles, then I struggle. That's how it is and that's how it will always be. Everyone has their reasons to become a "fan" of whatever team they want. Some do it out of frustration. Some do it for popularity. Some do it for acceptance. Who am I to judge? 

What I will do, however, is voice my opinion  about your team. That's what men do. And I am a man. Anyone and everyone (that's a fan of Sports) has the right to opine about the teams I love. Is it sometimes hard to take? Of course. I'm not devoid of emotions. While I am a man, I am still human. With that being said, because I am a man, that means I am also an adult. And as an adult, I prefer to surround myself with individuals who share the same attribute...being an adult - whether on social media or in person. I like to leave the childish behavior for actual children - call me crazy. 

With that being said, I've been disappointed  several times this year and it's only February. All day long, I have folks all on my time line posting pics and comments about anyone and everything. From celebrities to sports teams and everything in between. On several occasions, the commentary  was directed at my own teams. What did I do? I unfollowed them.  

NOT. 

Come on. I'm an adult. Remember?

I did no such thing. What I did do was toss a playful barb back at them or sometimes even laughed it off. I'm grown and that's what grown people do. Or at least, that's what I thought until I found myself blocked, deleted, unfriended and unfollowed on more than one occasion. The most recent severing was yesterday. The "reason" for it is both laughable and sad at the same time. Am I hurt? Hell and no. I'm a man. What I am is disappointed that these people didn't let me know sooner that they were ultrasensitive. I could've saved all the conversations and exchanges and playful banter for a like-minded adult. Instead, I wasted time [read: YEARS]. Thanks. 

Now look. I get it. No one wants to have their character assassinated. But that's not what happened in any of these situations. People's (men and women) panties got bunched up over things that don't directly affect them. And in every case, I've sat and watched them dance all over the Internet making fun of and criticizing whomever and whatever they pleased. So to have the gall to act as if they're above it is both preposterous and laughable. I will not walk on eggshells around people like that. If you can't take it, don't dish it. Don't even serve it on an appetizer plate. You know, those little round plates that are the size of saucers? Whatever happened to saucers anyway? 

"Now take these words home and think it through or the next [blog] I write might be about you"

- Mobb Deep, 'Shook Ones Pt II'

Twitterpated

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.

the 6th sense

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

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…

The First Time Women Found Me Cute

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.

I used to go the gym at college

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.