Thank you for reading. The Days will return late 2014 early 2015.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
Day 90 - A Day To Remember
For those who were wondering...
April some time in the very early seventies. This is the day God decided he was dishing out an ass whooping.
"I'm going to create a short Negro (that was still kind of politically correct to say at the time) with the smallest penis of any Negro known.
"He will be reasonably intelligent. For fun I will make him smart enough to know that he is missing out on something but not smart enough to know what it is."
Whispering and rumbling amongst the angels; "Yes, medamn it," thundered God's voice. "He will have a name...Jamal...that's it...perfect. Small penis, big lips, bad attitude, brains. This should get him killed no problem."
"If he should ever figure out what's going on he will be pissed. Who cares?!? What's he going to do? I'm God!!! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
I'm guessing the conversation went something like that. I could be wrong.
April some time in the very early seventies. This is the day God decided he was dishing out an ass whooping.
"I'm going to create a short Negro (that was still kind of politically correct to say at the time) with the smallest penis of any Negro known.
"He will be reasonably intelligent. For fun I will make him smart enough to know that he is missing out on something but not smart enough to know what it is."
Whispering and rumbling amongst the angels; "Yes, medamn it," thundered God's voice. "He will have a name...Jamal...that's it...perfect. Small penis, big lips, bad attitude, brains. This should get him killed no problem."
"If he should ever figure out what's going on he will be pissed. Who cares?!? What's he going to do? I'm God!!! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
I'm guessing the conversation went something like that. I could be wrong.
Friday, April 11, 2014
89 - The Singles Scene
"Seriously?!?" I said face palming myself as the new e-mail appeared in my in box. This was just not my day. It was a long day of wanting to get away but I wasn't getting very far.
Over the years there have been various dating disasters. There was a disaster that involved an adult site. There was a disaster 20 years ago were the girl didn't really want to go on a date with me as much as she needed a ride to the mall to meet the friends who really she really wanted to hang out with. For anyone who is wondering, the singles scene sucks. It is especially bad if you happen to be in your 40's but not for the reasons you think. There are a few ways to attain single status in your 40's.
1. You get divorced and your life kind of falls apart.
2. You lose a spouse through some godforsaken illness or accident.
3. You live a life of relative irresponsibility and wake up to realize Oh Shit, I'm 40!
I fall in the last of the three categories. I do occasionally get the question "Oh I can't believe you're not married. Why didn't you ever get married?" My typical answer tends to be, "Think about all the reasons you told yourself you and I would never work out. You weren't the only one who told themselves that." It is my not so subtle was of saying 'Why the fuck would you ask me that question?' Most of the time I am being asked that question while being told about some marriage/relationship/hookup that has just gone bad.
The thing about being in your 40's is that the dating sphere opens up again. When you're single between 35 and 40 there is a weird lull where people don't really know how to take you. It's like when you hold a baby and you can't tell if the child has had gas or is in need of a full on diaper change. People keep you at arms length. If you're a woman people think of you as desperate and kind of feel sorry for you while at the same time thinking it's your fault. When you're a single male between 35 and 40 you are a player who is almost past his prime. You are the man-child who would be a good catch if he would just grow up.
Women over 40 who are doing well are perceived as cougars. They don't need anything from you. They bat away men in their 20's like children. They vet men in their 30's to make sure they still aren't acting like children and they view single men in their 40's with intense suspicion. As the single male over 40 who has a good job and the ability to maintain yourself you become a person of interest to women in their 40's who are in similar situations. You will become a solid choice for the woman in her late 30's who is going through her first divorce unless she just wants a man who is young, stupid, and built like the Greek god of pleasure. You will be caught off guard by the attraction of women in their 20's with daddy issues. You also become a hot property for today's newest group.
The e-mail just stared at me, begging me to delete it. There was also something tempting me to open it just to see if anyone I knew was a part of this latest, fast growing segment of daters.
Sassy, sexy, senior singles have their eyes on you! When was the last time you were the you were the young man in demand? Don't let their years of experience fade away. Join Senior Singles today!
"Senior Singles, seriously?!?" I said face palming myself.
That Beautiful Black Man
1. You get divorced and your life kind of falls apart.
2. You lose a spouse through some godforsaken illness or accident.
3. You live a life of relative irresponsibility and wake up to realize Oh Shit, I'm 40!
I fall in the last of the three categories. I do occasionally get the question "Oh I can't believe you're not married. Why didn't you ever get married?" My typical answer tends to be, "Think about all the reasons you told yourself you and I would never work out. You weren't the only one who told themselves that." It is my not so subtle was of saying 'Why the fuck would you ask me that question?' Most of the time I am being asked that question while being told about some marriage/relationship/hookup that has just gone bad.
The thing about being in your 40's is that the dating sphere opens up again. When you're single between 35 and 40 there is a weird lull where people don't really know how to take you. It's like when you hold a baby and you can't tell if the child has had gas or is in need of a full on diaper change. People keep you at arms length. If you're a woman people think of you as desperate and kind of feel sorry for you while at the same time thinking it's your fault. When you're a single male between 35 and 40 you are a player who is almost past his prime. You are the man-child who would be a good catch if he would just grow up.
Women over 40 who are doing well are perceived as cougars. They don't need anything from you. They bat away men in their 20's like children. They vet men in their 30's to make sure they still aren't acting like children and they view single men in their 40's with intense suspicion. As the single male over 40 who has a good job and the ability to maintain yourself you become a person of interest to women in their 40's who are in similar situations. You will become a solid choice for the woman in her late 30's who is going through her first divorce unless she just wants a man who is young, stupid, and built like the Greek god of pleasure. You will be caught off guard by the attraction of women in their 20's with daddy issues. You also become a hot property for today's newest group.
The e-mail just stared at me, begging me to delete it. There was also something tempting me to open it just to see if anyone I knew was a part of this latest, fast growing segment of daters.
Sassy, sexy, senior singles have their eyes on you! When was the last time you were the you were the young man in demand? Don't let their years of experience fade away. Join Senior Singles today!
"Senior Singles, seriously?!?" I said face palming myself.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, April 10, 2014
88 - Tap Dance
"Soooooo," she said watching me stare into the nothingness,
"you are beyond quiet." I
continued to stare into the nothingness.
Tony and Amber were all over each other and my favorite bartender had
the night off. I hadn't expected to see
her out for a while. I had avoided her
calls and e-mails for the past month because I was busy with work and
family. She had stopped by to see her
girlfriend who was bartending that night and caught a glimpse of me standing
out on the back deck getting some air after my waffle fries.
I didn't approve
of the new guy she was banging so I had cut myself out of the picture. I didn't want to seem like the jealous guy."I'm fine," I lied as I leaned against the deck. Usually the breeze from the lake ran through my soul and preformed a little spring cleaning. I was almost there but this set me back.
"There are a few things I’m working through." I mumbled. The clouds glowed in the midnight moonlight. I always wanted to be the better man for her but I just wasn't good enough. There were so many questions that I wanted to ask but I already knew the answers and didn't want to hear them.
She just looked at me with those big beautiful doe eyes. I stared off into the distance and let the machines hammer away. I could feel the metal grinding as the thoughts beat themselves into my skull.
"Please talk to me," she said.
"I can't," I said as I felt my heart beating in my throat. I didn't know what to say. I felt broken. I was avoiding her because she had moved on and she didn't know I knew. I was avoiding her it was killing me.
I couldn't even look at her. She was happy for the first time in a long time and it was nothing I did. There was a part of me that didn't know what to do. I felt my heart breaking as her heart was mending. Things were going as they should. I had introduced them to each other some random evening while she and I were talking.
Once again I was the catalyst. I was somehow helping her get where she needed to go.
I was the gatekeeper. I was the dead dog in the back yard. I was the troll on the bridge. I made sure people got across to their destinations. Was this my destination? Was this where I was supposed to be? Did it matter?
"You know I'm here for you. Don't block me out. I don't want you to block me out."
"I don't want to hold you back but I don't want to let you go," I said feeling the small choke in my voice. "I have to let you get all of the things that you need to fulfill your soul. I'm still here, you know I'm still here. It's like we're doing this little tap dance..."
"Is that why don't you take my calls or answer my e-mails?" She asked the question that she already knew the answer to.
"Right now you're looking out into the backyard and feeling sad. Right now I'm that dog buried under your favorite tree."
"I..." she started as here phone rang. It was the special ring tone she had chosen just for him. I could tell by her reaction.
"You've got a phone call."
"Hey, baby" he said. It was so quiet I could hear his voice clearly.
"It's my...my friend," she lied softly as she turned away to take the call.
The machines hammered away. I continued to stare into the nothingness as she walked back into the bar.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
87 - More Unlimited Data
“How do I look?” Tony asked as we pulled up to the bar.
“You look fine.” I said shaking my head in approval
“I just want to make sure I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.” His phone buzzed.
“You’re asking the guy in the suit if you’re trying too hard?” I laughed a little to myself.
It was Thursday. Thursday means brown suit, brown shoes, brown socks, red shirt and a patterned brown, yellow, and tan tie. I keep it simple, predictable, and good.
He was wearing a casual blue button down shirt, jeans, and tan shoes. He was still in good enough shape to pull off the casual without seeming like he was trying too hard.
If I tried to wear that outfit I’d look like an old gigolo who spent two hours in the mirror getting ready.
“What do I do?” He asked starting to get a little nervous.
“It’s simple,” I started. “Be interested in her. Be part of the conversation but not all of the conversation. Be yourself.”
“It’s hard to be yourself. Man, you were single in you 20’s. You got a chance to explore who you were and what you wanted.” His phone buzzed again.
I laughed out loud.
“Most of us spent our 20’s trying to figure out what everybody else wanted us to be.” I crossed my arms and rested back in my seat. “You’ll be fine. Worst case scenario we head to the Blue Lotus, gorge ourselves on sushi and sake, then call it a night. Deal?”
“Deal.”
It was still early so the bar was comfortably empty. In two hours this place would be a mess of bodies looking for drinks, love, and shitty bar food. I wondered how this evening would go.
"TONY!!!” She yelled throwing her arms around his neck with genuine enthusiasm.
“Tony!!” Two of her female friends echoed.
“Who are you?” she asked with pointing in my direction with a playful smile.
“Me?” I said pointing to myself. “I’m the suit guy.”
“Suit Guy!!” Her friends echoed again. This felt good.
“Pictures!” She said pulling Tony in for the close hug. He was surrounded by people who were not only happy but wanted to be happy and enjoyed that happiness.
After the round of pictures were taken something amazing happen, they put their phones away and started talking. Sometimes it's good to be wrong.
"Is Justine working?" I asked the bartender after looking around for a minute or two.
"No. Her ex couldn't take the kids tonight and her parents are out of town. Can I help you with anything, hon?"
"I'd like waffle fries with mayo no ketchup, please."
"Anything to drink, hon?"
"Naw, I have a long drive ahead of me and I have to make sure this guy gets home safe," I said motioning to Tony.
"No you don't," said Amber with that same playful smile. "He's mine."
Tony shrugged his shoulders and smiled from ear to ear. All of his uncertainty and nervousness had been replaced with a boyish charm. He was in good hands. The happiness was contagious.
I smiled and shook my head in approval. Sometimes it's good to be wrong.
That Beautiful Black Man
“You look fine.” I said shaking my head in approval
“I just want to make sure I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.” His phone buzzed.
“You’re asking the guy in the suit if you’re trying too hard?” I laughed a little to myself.
It was Thursday. Thursday means brown suit, brown shoes, brown socks, red shirt and a patterned brown, yellow, and tan tie. I keep it simple, predictable, and good.
He was wearing a casual blue button down shirt, jeans, and tan shoes. He was still in good enough shape to pull off the casual without seeming like he was trying too hard.
If I tried to wear that outfit I’d look like an old gigolo who spent two hours in the mirror getting ready.
“What do I do?” He asked starting to get a little nervous.
“It’s simple,” I started. “Be interested in her. Be part of the conversation but not all of the conversation. Be yourself.”
“It’s hard to be yourself. Man, you were single in you 20’s. You got a chance to explore who you were and what you wanted.” His phone buzzed again.
I laughed out loud.
“Most of us spent our 20’s trying to figure out what everybody else wanted us to be.” I crossed my arms and rested back in my seat. “You’ll be fine. Worst case scenario we head to the Blue Lotus, gorge ourselves on sushi and sake, then call it a night. Deal?”
“Deal.”
It was still early so the bar was comfortably empty. In two hours this place would be a mess of bodies looking for drinks, love, and shitty bar food. I wondered how this evening would go.
"TONY!!!” She yelled throwing her arms around his neck with genuine enthusiasm.
“Tony!!” Two of her female friends echoed.
“Who are you?” she asked with pointing in my direction with a playful smile.
“Me?” I said pointing to myself. “I’m the suit guy.”
“Suit Guy!!” Her friends echoed again. This felt good.
“Pictures!” She said pulling Tony in for the close hug. He was surrounded by people who were not only happy but wanted to be happy and enjoyed that happiness.
After the round of pictures were taken something amazing happen, they put their phones away and started talking. Sometimes it's good to be wrong.
"Is Justine working?" I asked the bartender after looking around for a minute or two.
"No. Her ex couldn't take the kids tonight and her parents are out of town. Can I help you with anything, hon?"
"I'd like waffle fries with mayo no ketchup, please."
"Anything to drink, hon?"
"Naw, I have a long drive ahead of me and I have to make sure this guy gets home safe," I said motioning to Tony.
"No you don't," said Amber with that same playful smile. "He's mine."
Tony shrugged his shoulders and smiled from ear to ear. All of his uncertainty and nervousness had been replaced with a boyish charm. He was in good hands. The happiness was contagious.
I smiled and shook my head in approval. Sometimes it's good to be wrong.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
86 - Unlimited Plan
"Really? Seriously?!?" I asked rhetorically. "I have to listen to you whine about this bullshit again?" I was trying to drive. It was a rare night out for Tony. He was in the process of getting divorced and had been flirting with a girl at least half our age. We were on our way to meet her at my favorite bartender's bar. The night was just at the beginning and my patience was already wearing thin. I was doing everything I could not to be the dead dog buried in the back yard and he wasn't helping.
"This is not bullshit," he started with distracted conviction, "this is important shit."
"No, trust me. This is your regular, everyday, shit. You whine that all she does is text. She's 22. What do you expect?" I asked shaking my head.
"This is all new to me. I don't know how this dating thing works anymore." Tony said with amazement. His phone buzzed again. He flipped it open and started typing. "Damn it! This is driving me crazy." His phone buzzed again. He just looked at me bewildered.
"I hope you have an unlimited texting plan." I said trying to figure out why he was doing this to himself.
"Holy shit! She's sending me nude pictures. Should I send her a picture of my cock?"
"Only if you want to walk." My stomach turned at the idea. "There will be no dick pics in my car."
"How do you manage this?" He asked turning his phone left to right to catch every possible angle the pictures might offer. He wasn't aware of my most recent crash and burn. He didn't know that I was hoping my phone would buzz at least once.
"Manage what? Not to send pictures of my cock to 22 year old girls? It's easy."
His phone buzzed again and he almost dropped it between his knees.
"And," I continued, "I put the lock down on that shit immediately. Have you even slept with this girl yet?"
"No." He said finally taking a deep breath. "That's kind of what I meant. I haven't slept with anyone but Karen in almost 30 years." Tony and Karen were the one couple we all expected to be married forever. Everything seemed to be fine from the outside but inside they had just grown apart. They had been together for 30 years. There were two adult children. They were both successful in their fields. They just didn't love each other anymore.
There was no animosity. There was no anger. There was no bitterness. There was also no happiness, no passion, and no love. This was the most amicable divorce I had ever seen. They had just come to the realization that it was time to end things.
"Ohhh really?!?" I asked patience restored and curiosity peaked. "What about the waitress at the colony?"
"Blow job," he exhaled.
"Kara, from HR? She was all over you."
"I was too trashed." He said throwing his hands up. "I passed out on her couch. Plus it was a bad day and I spilled the details of the divorce."
"Amateur. Well at least you're trying." I said attempting to reassure him.
His phone buzzed again.
"You know I tried to call her yesterday and it went straight to voicemail. She shot me a text back before I was finished leaving a message."
"People don't talk anymore. They text. What time is she going to be at the bar?"
"I just shot her a message. We should know in a minute."
"I hope you have an unlimited texting plan."
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, April 7, 2014
85 - Good
"Look," said one of the kids catching me in the small kitchen of our office, "I've been reading some of your, your, what do you call it...The Days?"
"Yes," I said trying to get the ice machine to work. "I call it The Days." I was a little caught off guard because I don't talk about life at work.
When I'm at work I tend to put the outside world on the back burner. I'm not the happy friendly guy. I don't care what you did on the weekend. The girls you're interested in don't interest me, they're too young. The only thing they know about me is that I wear suits in a business casual environment. He must have found this from looking me up on twit/face/sound/space.
I am older than ninety-five percent of my office. There is a HUGE gap in wants, needs, and interests. When I have a bad month I figure out what bills can get paid and then I just go to work and go home. When I have a good month I pay off all the utilities, get ahead on the credit cards, dump money into my retirement fund, help my Mom with her bills, and pay as much to the oil man as I can. To keep costs down I try to bring in breakfast and snacks that will last me through the day. It's always nice when a vendor brings in food for lunch or hosts a happy hour.
Most of the kids, as I call them, get to work and immediately begin planning what they will have for breakfast. After they have gone to get breakfast they will work for about an hour and start planning what they will have for lunch. When they have finished lunch and they have worked for another hour or two the conversation leads to what's going on that night. I have to admit I do go out on Friday nights. I head to a little dive just down the road from work but that's because they have free wings and I really want to sleep with the bartender.
"So 'The Days'," he continued, "when do they get good?"
"Good? What do you mean good?" I asked finally getting the ice machine to give ice and water at the same time.
"They're well written but," he paused trying not to hurt my feelings, "they're a little slow. Kara read all of them and she loves them. Won't stop talking about them. I tried to get into in them but you lose me at the rain forest and hammering machines.
"Do you have any particular favorites?"
I considered going off on a tirade about back story and getting to know the characters.
"Spell Check is a good one. It's the first Paris story." I answered. "Yoga Class is another good one, too. It's a three parter."
"Thanks, man. Kara won't stop talking about them."
"No problem." I said capping my cup. Kara, even though she was in HR, was my favorite bartender's best friend. The Days were about to pick up a bit.
That Beautiful Black Man
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, April 4, 2014
84 - Dogs
"I figured we could be friends," she said.
"Maybe later," I answered looking over to my car.
"You know now that..."
"I've had two dogs," I started, cutting off her thought process. "One died and is buried in our yard. The other one just up and ran away."
She looked puzzled.
"Any day I want," I continued, "I can step out, see where that dog is buried, remember the good times, and feel sad."
"I don't understand how this..."
"To this day I don't know what happened to that other dog. Was he hit by a car? Did he starve somewhere? Did somebody take him in? Did they take him to a kill shelter?"
I stared at the pavement then over to my car again. The knot in my stomach had slowly worked its way out. I finally managed pull my keys out of my pocket.
"It's in my best interest to disappear for a while. I don't want to be that dead dog in your backyard. I don't want you look out to your favorite tree and feel sad. I don't want to be that puppy-eyed son of a bitch you feel sorry for because you've moved on and he can't. We'll be friends later, when we can."
That Beautiful Black Man
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, April 3, 2014
83 - Laundry Day
I love laundry day. I work in an office. I love suits; they get dry cleaned.
I wash two loads of laundry on Sunday. One load is six days worth of dark shirts,
underwear, and socks. The other load consists of sheets. I usually fall asleep on my
couch (single persons curse) so my sheets can make it the week, unless I have company.
It usually takes me a month to get enough white clothes dirty to do a load of them.
Sundays I usually roll commando in a pair of jeans with a sweatshirt or an Express zip
up. That's right if you see me out on a Sunday (that's providing you do see me and I
haven't jumped out of your line of sight) I'm rolling commando.
Now that I've said that I may go out of my way to stop and talk to you since you now know my balls are swinging free. Every time I laugh when I talk to you in that store aisle know that I'm getting tickled. I love laundry day.
That Beautiful Black Man
I wash two loads of laundry on Sunday. One load is six days worth of dark shirts,
underwear, and socks. The other load consists of sheets. I usually fall asleep on my
couch (single persons curse) so my sheets can make it the week, unless I have company.
It usually takes me a month to get enough white clothes dirty to do a load of them.
Sundays I usually roll commando in a pair of jeans with a sweatshirt or an Express zip
up. That's right if you see me out on a Sunday (that's providing you do see me and I
haven't jumped out of your line of sight) I'm rolling commando.
Now that I've said that I may go out of my way to stop and talk to you since you now know my balls are swinging free. Every time I laugh when I talk to you in that store aisle know that I'm getting tickled. I love laundry day.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
82 - Too Late
"The wedding was beautiful," I said taking a drag of my cigarette and
blowing it into the wind. "I snuck in late and sat up in the balcony next to the
organist. She was kind enough to let me have a sip of her wine. Yeah I was back a
little far, but view was so nice. It was like looking at a big beautiful picture."
She laughed and shook her head.
"Keep going," she said as she walked back into the kitchen.
It was a warm Saturday and the wind was blowing just right. I flicked my cigarette
off the porch into the small sandbox and followed her into the kitchen.
"The ceremony was beautiful. The bride looked incredible." She snickered
but I just hung my head and kept going.
"I was almost a little choked up," I said as she leaned against the
counter giggling. "You have to realize that I was really far away from the alter
and she looked just like you..."
"You kill me," she said throwing her head back in out and out laughter.
"You're lucky I like you."
"I really don't see what's so funny about this," I grumbled. "Do you
know how much time I put into this?" I waived the card and small present in the
air.
She was wrapping dishes to pack into the 'Kitchen Box'. The rest of the house was
already packed up and loaded onto the truck.
"Apparently not enough to show up on time!" She quipped packing the newly
wrapped dishes into the 'Kitchen Box'.
I had missed it by exactly one week. I showed up late for the wrong wedding and
didn’t realize it until they mentioned the names of the bride and the groom. I quickly
left and drove to her mothers house. I showed up in time to be late for the moving
party. I was dressed in my best 'single guy at the wedding who will get laid' outfit. I
was ready for a night of drinking, dancing, and hitting on bridesmaids. It looked like I
was in for an afternoon drinking in the pain, dancing around the truth, and getting hit
by the bride. I was kind of pissed because I didn't even get a chance to bet on the
wedding.
"Shit. You're right. Not much I can say or do about this now is there?"
I set the present and the card down on the one open space on the counter top.
"That's why I said you're lucky I like you." She was in a pink sweat set
with a red polka dot bandanna and a pair of white sneakers.
"You know when I was sitting there, before I realized it wasn't you that was
getting married, there was one thought that was running through my mind. Is it too late
for me?"
I had fallen head over heels for Terry but she was still in love with someone else.
D was comfortably living in the sky a mile above me for the moment. She was happy.
"What are you kidding? Look at me. This just happened for me. I wasn't even
looking for it. This wonderful man just happened into my life and things clicked,"
she said carrying the Kitchen Box to her Volvo station wagon.
I had met Kyle. He was a good guy with a good job and a good head on his shoulders.
Most importantly he treated her like a human being. She felt safe around him and we
(her friends) felt safe with him around her.
"So what the hell is wrong with me? I have a good job, I drive a nice car, and
I have a few dollars in the bank. What's missing?" I asked lighting a new American
Spirit.
"God, my husband would kill me if he heard me saying this but you are still the
guy to bang at the party." I stepped back a bit. It was a compliment on a certain
level but in the grand scheme of things I knew what she meant.
"Seriously?!?" I said feeling the weight of what she just said.
"What was the first thing you said to Kyle when he suggested that you find a
nice girl and settle down?"
"Let me think..." I started letting the smoke roll.
"You said and I quote 'There are far too many pretty 22 year old bartenders and
waitresses for me to settle down now'." She stood with her hands on her hips.
“Hey let’s get it right, I like strippers, too.”
“You are an asshole,” she said enunciating every word. “This disappearing act is
getting old, too. It’s been seven or eight months since any one has seen you. And then
there was the Paris incident.”
“Marrianne I…”
“I know, I know, I know. You never slept with Paris,” she mocked. Deep in the back
of her mind she was convinced that I did and there was nothing I could say or do to
change that. She was going to hold this against me for the rest of my life.
"Look," I said realizing I was defending my past choices, "I'm sorry
I missed the wedding BUT I will not apologize for the journey I'm on. Things are
changing for the better. As much as I would like to change overnight I can't. I won't.
I'm enjoying the ride too much.
"Things are going well. I think I'm on the right track," I could feel my
voice welling with pain, "but you have to realize that every once in a while I will
be the guy who sneaks in late and sits in the balcony. The view is so nice. It's
amazing how beautiful the big picture can be even if it's not the right one."
That Beautiful Black Man
blowing it into the wind. "I snuck in late and sat up in the balcony next to the
organist. She was kind enough to let me have a sip of her wine. Yeah I was back a
little far, but view was so nice. It was like looking at a big beautiful picture."
She laughed and shook her head.
"Keep going," she said as she walked back into the kitchen.
It was a warm Saturday and the wind was blowing just right. I flicked my cigarette
off the porch into the small sandbox and followed her into the kitchen.
"The ceremony was beautiful. The bride looked incredible." She snickered
but I just hung my head and kept going.
"I was almost a little choked up," I said as she leaned against the
counter giggling. "You have to realize that I was really far away from the alter
and she looked just like you..."
"You kill me," she said throwing her head back in out and out laughter.
"You're lucky I like you."
"I really don't see what's so funny about this," I grumbled. "Do you
know how much time I put into this?" I waived the card and small present in the
air.
She was wrapping dishes to pack into the 'Kitchen Box'. The rest of the house was
already packed up and loaded onto the truck.
"Apparently not enough to show up on time!" She quipped packing the newly
wrapped dishes into the 'Kitchen Box'.
I had missed it by exactly one week. I showed up late for the wrong wedding and
didn’t realize it until they mentioned the names of the bride and the groom. I quickly
left and drove to her mothers house. I showed up in time to be late for the moving
party. I was dressed in my best 'single guy at the wedding who will get laid' outfit. I
was ready for a night of drinking, dancing, and hitting on bridesmaids. It looked like I
was in for an afternoon drinking in the pain, dancing around the truth, and getting hit
by the bride. I was kind of pissed because I didn't even get a chance to bet on the
wedding.
"Shit. You're right. Not much I can say or do about this now is there?"
I set the present and the card down on the one open space on the counter top.
"That's why I said you're lucky I like you." She was in a pink sweat set
with a red polka dot bandanna and a pair of white sneakers.
"You know when I was sitting there, before I realized it wasn't you that was
getting married, there was one thought that was running through my mind. Is it too late
for me?"
I had fallen head over heels for Terry but she was still in love with someone else.
D was comfortably living in the sky a mile above me for the moment. She was happy.
"What are you kidding? Look at me. This just happened for me. I wasn't even
looking for it. This wonderful man just happened into my life and things clicked,"
she said carrying the Kitchen Box to her Volvo station wagon.
I had met Kyle. He was a good guy with a good job and a good head on his shoulders.
Most importantly he treated her like a human being. She felt safe around him and we
(her friends) felt safe with him around her.
"So what the hell is wrong with me? I have a good job, I drive a nice car, and
I have a few dollars in the bank. What's missing?" I asked lighting a new American
Spirit.
"God, my husband would kill me if he heard me saying this but you are still the
guy to bang at the party." I stepped back a bit. It was a compliment on a certain
level but in the grand scheme of things I knew what she meant.
"Seriously?!?" I said feeling the weight of what she just said.
"What was the first thing you said to Kyle when he suggested that you find a
nice girl and settle down?"
"Let me think..." I started letting the smoke roll.
"You said and I quote 'There are far too many pretty 22 year old bartenders and
waitresses for me to settle down now'." She stood with her hands on her hips.
“Hey let’s get it right, I like strippers, too.”
“You are an asshole,” she said enunciating every word. “This disappearing act is
getting old, too. It’s been seven or eight months since any one has seen you. And then
there was the Paris incident.”
“Marrianne I…”
“I know, I know, I know. You never slept with Paris,” she mocked. Deep in the back
of her mind she was convinced that I did and there was nothing I could say or do to
change that. She was going to hold this against me for the rest of my life.
"Look," I said realizing I was defending my past choices, "I'm sorry
I missed the wedding BUT I will not apologize for the journey I'm on. Things are
changing for the better. As much as I would like to change overnight I can't. I won't.
I'm enjoying the ride too much.
"Things are going well. I think I'm on the right track," I could feel my
voice welling with pain, "but you have to realize that every once in a while I will
be the guy who sneaks in late and sits in the balcony. The view is so nice. It's
amazing how beautiful the big picture can be even if it's not the right one."
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
81 - Rock Bottom (Conclusion)
Paris lay passed out in my parlor. The "Hands" had temporarily rid
her of her pressing stress and gave me a chance to talk to Kiki in peace. Kiki's almond
shaped eyes were hard and clinical as she told me about the past few days adventures with
Paris.
I had seen Paris angry a few times I can only imagine how bad was when it was when
she was on a stem fueled tirade. Kiki filled me in on the withdrawal Paris had
weathered. She was trying to quit.
"I knew she liked to party," I said leaning against my sink, "and I
knew things could get a little crazy but this is out of hand."
I could hear the judgment in my voice but I didn't care.
"What the hell happened? What pushed her over the edge?" There was a
small part of me that burned for a cigarette but I knew better. I couldn't scream at
someone for battling with their addiction and then turn around and indulge my own. Even
the judge needs a jury.
"There was no one thing," Kiki answered staring at Paris's naked sleeping
body. "It was like the entire world crashed down on her in a matter of two days;
her latest boyfriend went hard core psycho on her, she goes home to find that her father
has had a heart attack, and two days after she gets him in the hospital she totals her
BMW. It's just been a great world of shit for her."
"Well at least she's looking fit." I said sarcastically noticing her ribs.
"What's the name of that new diet Stem Fast? Slim Crack?"
Kiki just looked at me and shook her head. She had seen rock bottom herself and
made the crawl up from hell and now she was watching her best friend crash and burn. I
had hit a little close to home.
“I’m just worried,” she started, “that she’s gone to far. I don’t know if she’ll…”
I knew the pain that Paris protected. She held it as dear as some hold their sick
children or dying parents. I knew because I held it just as tight. We were too
narcissistic to destroy ourselves but just selfish enough to get as close to the edge as
possible. If she really wanted this to end my phone never would have rang this morning.
“Don’t you worry about her. She’ll get through this. This was her way of making
sure that we care, selfish bitch! She’s too proud to ask for help. If she really wanted
to end it she never would have called either of us.” I said out loud.
“You know what’s going to happen to her? She’s going to find some great guy who
knows nothing about her and he’s going to sweep her off her feet because he’s head over
heels in love. She’s going to tell him everything and I mean everything, and he’ll want
to protect her. For a few years all will be right with the world. You and I will just
sit here scratching our heads trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and life
will go on.” I thought back to Caitlin.
I could hear the judgment in my voice but I just didn’t care. There are no clean
happy endings. For the moment there was just Paris passed out in my parlor.
That Beautiful Black Man
her of her pressing stress and gave me a chance to talk to Kiki in peace. Kiki's almond
shaped eyes were hard and clinical as she told me about the past few days adventures with
Paris.
I had seen Paris angry a few times I can only imagine how bad was when it was when
she was on a stem fueled tirade. Kiki filled me in on the withdrawal Paris had
weathered. She was trying to quit.
"I knew she liked to party," I said leaning against my sink, "and I
knew things could get a little crazy but this is out of hand."
I could hear the judgment in my voice but I didn't care.
"What the hell happened? What pushed her over the edge?" There was a
small part of me that burned for a cigarette but I knew better. I couldn't scream at
someone for battling with their addiction and then turn around and indulge my own. Even
the judge needs a jury.
"There was no one thing," Kiki answered staring at Paris's naked sleeping
body. "It was like the entire world crashed down on her in a matter of two days;
her latest boyfriend went hard core psycho on her, she goes home to find that her father
has had a heart attack, and two days after she gets him in the hospital she totals her
BMW. It's just been a great world of shit for her."
"Well at least she's looking fit." I said sarcastically noticing her ribs.
"What's the name of that new diet Stem Fast? Slim Crack?"
Kiki just looked at me and shook her head. She had seen rock bottom herself and
made the crawl up from hell and now she was watching her best friend crash and burn. I
had hit a little close to home.
“I’m just worried,” she started, “that she’s gone to far. I don’t know if she’ll…”
I knew the pain that Paris protected. She held it as dear as some hold their sick
children or dying parents. I knew because I held it just as tight. We were too
narcissistic to destroy ourselves but just selfish enough to get as close to the edge as
possible. If she really wanted this to end my phone never would have rang this morning.
“Don’t you worry about her. She’ll get through this. This was her way of making
sure that we care, selfish bitch! She’s too proud to ask for help. If she really wanted
to end it she never would have called either of us.” I said out loud.
“You know what’s going to happen to her? She’s going to find some great guy who
knows nothing about her and he’s going to sweep her off her feet because he’s head over
heels in love. She’s going to tell him everything and I mean everything, and he’ll want
to protect her. For a few years all will be right with the world. You and I will just
sit here scratching our heads trying to figure out what the fuck just happened and life
will go on.” I thought back to Caitlin.
I could hear the judgment in my voice but I just didn’t care. There are no clean
happy endings. For the moment there was just Paris passed out in my parlor.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 31, 2014
80 - Rock Bottom (Part 3)
I watched in horror as Paris nodded off in Kiki's passenger seat. I stepped
away from the car and backed into the brick wall. I looked over at Kiki and then back to
Paris. I shook my head and walked passed Kiki to my apartment. I was in shock. All of
my worst fears and all of vicious rumors seemed to be coming true.
"I can't believe it," I said to myself. "I just can't fuckin' believe it."
Kiki followed me into the apartment. I just sat on my couch and stared at the blank
TV screen.
"She needs your hands," she said leaning in the doorway. "I'm trying
to get her into a facility but I'm still waiting to hear back from somebody. I..."
Her voice trailed off into thin air.
'The Hands' were a nickname I had been given recently because every time I went to a
party I either ended up playing music or giving massages. I could always be found in a
corner with some woman draped over my shoulders listening to a song or getting her back
rubbed.
I figured Paris didn't need to hear a new version of an old Hendrix song so I began
preparing the cleansing. I walked into the kitchen to check on the pot of hot water for
tea. I set up the massage table in the living room and programmed the Chopin CD.
There was a tinge of bitterness in my system. I thought of Paris sitting in the car
on a path of total self destruction. I hoped that this was rock bottom and she could
start moving back up from her self imposed torture.
Then I thought about my Dad; a man who never drank, never smoked, and never did
drugs. I thought of him trapped in the prison of his own body and realized the irony was
lost on me alone. I was helping a person who wanted to destroy herself get better and
the person was struggling to get better was being destroyed by his own body. I wanted to
put a chair through a wall.
'If she died,' I thought to myself, 'would that balance out the universe and give
him more time?' I shook off the thought. You help who you can when you can and maybe if
you're lucky karma helps you.
The whistling hot water brought me back to my senses. I poured a cup of cleansing
tea. It was tea my father would drink when he first got sick to keep his strength up. I
turned up the heat in the apartment to make the massage more comfortable.
I opened the door to get Paris.
"Be careful," said Kiki putting her hand on my shoulder. "She's been
ruthless. She ripped into me about how I used to strip and how I raise my kids
and..."
"About your what? How you raise your what? Kids?!?" I stammered
emphasizing the s in kids. I looked her up and down. She couldn't be bigger than a size
two. She was maybe 100 lbs soaking wet holding a brick.
"I didn't know you had kids. How old are they?" I asked a bit
bewildered. I pictured cute little Eurasian toddlers running around her little paradise
in the woods when they weren't spending weekends with their father.
"Sixteen and seventeen," she said proudly. My eyebrows must have touched
the 9 foot ceilings. "They're my babies."
I thought back to the kiss in her house and rested my head in the door jam. It
struck me that I was older than she was.
"You don't look old enough to have a two year old."
"Thank you," She said as we walked to the car.
"Here's the plan," I said leaning with my back against the brick.
"I'm the man with the hands." I stepped away from the wall and towards the
car. I looked over at Kiki and then back to Paris. You help who you can when you can
and maybe if you're lucky karma helps you.
That Beautiful Black Man
away from the car and backed into the brick wall. I looked over at Kiki and then back to
Paris. I shook my head and walked passed Kiki to my apartment. I was in shock. All of
my worst fears and all of vicious rumors seemed to be coming true.
"I can't believe it," I said to myself. "I just can't fuckin' believe it."
Kiki followed me into the apartment. I just sat on my couch and stared at the blank
TV screen.
"She needs your hands," she said leaning in the doorway. "I'm trying
to get her into a facility but I'm still waiting to hear back from somebody. I..."
Her voice trailed off into thin air.
'The Hands' were a nickname I had been given recently because every time I went to a
party I either ended up playing music or giving massages. I could always be found in a
corner with some woman draped over my shoulders listening to a song or getting her back
rubbed.
I figured Paris didn't need to hear a new version of an old Hendrix song so I began
preparing the cleansing. I walked into the kitchen to check on the pot of hot water for
tea. I set up the massage table in the living room and programmed the Chopin CD.
There was a tinge of bitterness in my system. I thought of Paris sitting in the car
on a path of total self destruction. I hoped that this was rock bottom and she could
start moving back up from her self imposed torture.
Then I thought about my Dad; a man who never drank, never smoked, and never did
drugs. I thought of him trapped in the prison of his own body and realized the irony was
lost on me alone. I was helping a person who wanted to destroy herself get better and
the person was struggling to get better was being destroyed by his own body. I wanted to
put a chair through a wall.
'If she died,' I thought to myself, 'would that balance out the universe and give
him more time?' I shook off the thought. You help who you can when you can and maybe if
you're lucky karma helps you.
The whistling hot water brought me back to my senses. I poured a cup of cleansing
tea. It was tea my father would drink when he first got sick to keep his strength up. I
turned up the heat in the apartment to make the massage more comfortable.
I opened the door to get Paris.
"Be careful," said Kiki putting her hand on my shoulder. "She's been
ruthless. She ripped into me about how I used to strip and how I raise my kids
and..."
"About your what? How you raise your what? Kids?!?" I stammered
emphasizing the s in kids. I looked her up and down. She couldn't be bigger than a size
two. She was maybe 100 lbs soaking wet holding a brick.
"I didn't know you had kids. How old are they?" I asked a bit
bewildered. I pictured cute little Eurasian toddlers running around her little paradise
in the woods when they weren't spending weekends with their father.
"Sixteen and seventeen," she said proudly. My eyebrows must have touched
the 9 foot ceilings. "They're my babies."
I thought back to the kiss in her house and rested my head in the door jam. It
struck me that I was older than she was.
"You don't look old enough to have a two year old."
"Thank you," She said as we walked to the car.
"Here's the plan," I said leaning with my back against the brick.
"I'm the man with the hands." I stepped away from the wall and towards the
car. I looked over at Kiki and then back to Paris. You help who you can when you can
and maybe if you're lucky karma helps you.
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, March 28, 2014
79 - Rock Bottom (Part 2)
The phone sounded like a chainsaw ripping into my skull as it vibrated on the
wooden end table near the couch. I found myself falling asleep on the couch more and
more. Even though the bedroom is just up the stairs I had this feeling that if I was
closer to the door when something happened to my father I would be able to get there
faster and possibly prevent it.
“Are you home?” asked Kiki’s voice.
“Yeah,” I said hoping she had come to her senses or better yet, lost them
completely.
“What’s going on?” I was going to follow Derich’s advice and just let things go. I
had visions of booty call running through my head.
“It’s Paris. She’s smashed up her BMW. It’s totaled.” She said bluntly.
“Is she all right?!?” I asked feeling the ice pump through my veins. My heart
jumped into my throat. It was a long time coming and I didn’t want it to end like this.
“She’s with me. She has a little burn from the airbag but …which house are you?”
“What?!?”
“Which house are you? I have her with me. She’s been trying to give me directions
but she keeps nodding. I don’t know where else I can go right now.” There was a hint of
desperation in her voice.
“You hit the fork, bang a left and look for the first brick house on the left. Turn
into the first driveway. Knock on the first door. Look she’s probably nodding because
of the meds.” I said sounding a little bit annoyed.
“The accident happened about a week ago. She’s been on a bender. It’s bad, really
bad.”
I thought back to the 6:30 phone call. Why didn’t the phone wake me up then like it
did this time? Whose car door was dinging in the back ground? How bad was she? I
hadn’t seen Paris in almost three months. Every time we did talk on the phone the
conversations were just a bit off.
I was worried but I did the same thing I did when my oldest brother was coming to my
house, I hid all of the credit cards and anything with an application; music club, DVD,
magazines, you name it. When my brother had his nasty bout with drugs a few years ago he
took little things like this from my Dad and opened some BS accounts so he could get
something to sell. He called it fast money. We are still getting calls from credit
companies attempting to collect on his debts.
I heard the little Honda pull into my driveway. I opened the front door and walked
back to the kitchen to boil water. I figured green tea would help purge her system.
“Hey,” said Kiki through the screen door.
“Come on in,” I said just loud enough for her to hear me. “I’m making tea.”
“I’m sorry to do this so early on a holiday but I didn’t know where else to go.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t have any plans for the day anyway. Where’s your girl?” I
said putting the teapot on the stove.
“She’s in the car. I need a hand getting her in the house.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I jested, tossing my hand in the air in dismissal. There
was a part of me that was in denial.
She was pulling the hood of her pink sweatshirt back as I got to the window. Her
once full hair was now matted and stringy. Here blue eyes were surrounded by red moats
of bloodshot. Her dry, blotchy, skin made her gaunt face look even thinner.
“Hey, baby,” she rattled with her newly husky voice. “You miss me?” She registered
my shock and started laughing. I normally love her laughter but today it sounded like a
chainsaw ripping into my skull.
That Beautiful Black Man
wooden end table near the couch. I found myself falling asleep on the couch more and
more. Even though the bedroom is just up the stairs I had this feeling that if I was
closer to the door when something happened to my father I would be able to get there
faster and possibly prevent it.
“Are you home?” asked Kiki’s voice.
“Yeah,” I said hoping she had come to her senses or better yet, lost them
completely.
“What’s going on?” I was going to follow Derich’s advice and just let things go. I
had visions of booty call running through my head.
“It’s Paris. She’s smashed up her BMW. It’s totaled.” She said bluntly.
“Is she all right?!?” I asked feeling the ice pump through my veins. My heart
jumped into my throat. It was a long time coming and I didn’t want it to end like this.
“She’s with me. She has a little burn from the airbag but …which house are you?”
“What?!?”
“Which house are you? I have her with me. She’s been trying to give me directions
but she keeps nodding. I don’t know where else I can go right now.” There was a hint of
desperation in her voice.
“You hit the fork, bang a left and look for the first brick house on the left. Turn
into the first driveway. Knock on the first door. Look she’s probably nodding because
of the meds.” I said sounding a little bit annoyed.
“The accident happened about a week ago. She’s been on a bender. It’s bad, really
bad.”
I thought back to the 6:30 phone call. Why didn’t the phone wake me up then like it
did this time? Whose car door was dinging in the back ground? How bad was she? I
hadn’t seen Paris in almost three months. Every time we did talk on the phone the
conversations were just a bit off.
I was worried but I did the same thing I did when my oldest brother was coming to my
house, I hid all of the credit cards and anything with an application; music club, DVD,
magazines, you name it. When my brother had his nasty bout with drugs a few years ago he
took little things like this from my Dad and opened some BS accounts so he could get
something to sell. He called it fast money. We are still getting calls from credit
companies attempting to collect on his debts.
I heard the little Honda pull into my driveway. I opened the front door and walked
back to the kitchen to boil water. I figured green tea would help purge her system.
“Hey,” said Kiki through the screen door.
“Come on in,” I said just loud enough for her to hear me. “I’m making tea.”
“I’m sorry to do this so early on a holiday but I didn’t know where else to go.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t have any plans for the day anyway. Where’s your girl?” I
said putting the teapot on the stove.
“She’s in the car. I need a hand getting her in the house.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I jested, tossing my hand in the air in dismissal. There
was a part of me that was in denial.
She was pulling the hood of her pink sweatshirt back as I got to the window. Her
once full hair was now matted and stringy. Here blue eyes were surrounded by red moats
of bloodshot. Her dry, blotchy, skin made her gaunt face look even thinner.
“Hey, baby,” she rattled with her newly husky voice. “You miss me?” She registered
my shock and started laughing. I normally love her laughter but today it sounded like a
chainsaw ripping into my skull.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, March 27, 2014
78 - Rock Bottom
I woke up at 9:30 am to a message on my cell phone. I was up late surfing the
web and watching season three of some show on DVD so I didn’t hear the phone vibrate at
6:30 in the morning.
“Hey…it’s Paris,” said the husky, burnt out voice on my voicemail. I hadn’t
officially talked to her in almost three months. I would send her a text message once a
week asking if she were dead. Her usual response was ‘Fuck you’.
She called a week ago to hang out with Kiki but once again she was a no show, no
call.
“It’s all fucked up…all fucked up.” I could hear the car door dinging in the
background. “Call me back…later…”she whispered. I hear her fumble with the phone and
then finally hang it up.
I used to get calls like this from Caitlin years ago so I knew how to block it out.
Unlike Caitlin Paris was a friend of mine so I gave her a bit more leeway. She always
seemed to pull herself out of the gutter before but this was different.
Since her last break up she had dipped deeper into the cocaine. Her responses
weren’t witty or quick they were sluggish and predictable. From what I heard her once
stunning appearance had dulled. She had been blowing off her long term friends more and
more for a ‘newer, more with it’ crew. Her priorities had changed and not for the better.
I suspected and had heard rumors of the glass pipe but I didn’t want to believe it.
My Dad was in the final stages of cancer, I was back at a corporate job working
twelve hours a day with an hour fifteen minute commute each way, and I was trying not to
fall apart at the seams so my plate was full.
I was waiting for her to hit rock bottom. Once she hit rock bottom we could begin.
The purgatory of her painful past would catch up with her. At first Kiki and I tried to
slow the fall but there was always some young boy toy that she would disappear with for a
weekend bender. She had to want the change but the new sycophants around her let her
continue to think everything was all right. I had written her off for dead two or three
times already.
I called her cell phone and it went straight to voicemail.
“What’s up, it’s me. Give me a call.” I hung up the phone and went back to sleep.
It was a long weekend. Any time I had a chance to sleep late on a Monday I took it. From
the sound of her voice her response would have been ‘Fuck you’ anyway.
That Beautiful Black Man
web and watching season three of some show on DVD so I didn’t hear the phone vibrate at
6:30 in the morning.
“Hey…it’s Paris,” said the husky, burnt out voice on my voicemail. I hadn’t
officially talked to her in almost three months. I would send her a text message once a
week asking if she were dead. Her usual response was ‘Fuck you’.
She called a week ago to hang out with Kiki but once again she was a no show, no
call.
“It’s all fucked up…all fucked up.” I could hear the car door dinging in the
background. “Call me back…later…”she whispered. I hear her fumble with the phone and
then finally hang it up.
I used to get calls like this from Caitlin years ago so I knew how to block it out.
Unlike Caitlin Paris was a friend of mine so I gave her a bit more leeway. She always
seemed to pull herself out of the gutter before but this was different.
Since her last break up she had dipped deeper into the cocaine. Her responses
weren’t witty or quick they were sluggish and predictable. From what I heard her once
stunning appearance had dulled. She had been blowing off her long term friends more and
more for a ‘newer, more with it’ crew. Her priorities had changed and not for the better.
I suspected and had heard rumors of the glass pipe but I didn’t want to believe it.
My Dad was in the final stages of cancer, I was back at a corporate job working
twelve hours a day with an hour fifteen minute commute each way, and I was trying not to
fall apart at the seams so my plate was full.
I was waiting for her to hit rock bottom. Once she hit rock bottom we could begin.
The purgatory of her painful past would catch up with her. At first Kiki and I tried to
slow the fall but there was always some young boy toy that she would disappear with for a
weekend bender. She had to want the change but the new sycophants around her let her
continue to think everything was all right. I had written her off for dead two or three
times already.
I called her cell phone and it went straight to voicemail.
“What’s up, it’s me. Give me a call.” I hung up the phone and went back to sleep.
It was a long weekend. Any time I had a chance to sleep late on a Monday I took it. From
the sound of her voice her response would have been ‘Fuck you’ anyway.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
77 - The Grid
In his heyday my Dad reminded me of the city. He could be gritty and grimy or
he could be the most refined thing you’d ever seen it all mattered what the situation
called for. You could learn so much if you were just willing to listen.
He had no time for you if you were ignorant and unwilling to learn how to survive.
If you were willing to listen and follow the pulse you would’ve been privy to a lifetimes
worth of knowledge in what seems like seconds.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go. As you get older the things that you were initially amazed by
seem less amazing and more commonplace. The things that you thought were initially
commonplace become more and more amazing.
There is always traffic and congestion. If you play your cards right you know that
you always want to avoid driving in in the morning. Morning is the busy time when
decisions need to be made sometimes it’s so busy your mind is cluttered. If you have to
make the morning commute, do it early so you beat the traffic and keep your mind clear.
When you leave the city at the end of the work day leave a little bit later so you
can let the sheep run for the finish line. Stay later and finish the job you started. No
one will ever give you a medal for quitting early, especially if the job is not done.
About twenty years ago my older brother’s friend Thomas arrived at the house late on
a Sunday afternoon. My brothers had all gone off to the military years earlier and moved
on to different parts of the country but Thomas stayed in town and married his high school
sweetheart.
“She’s gonna leave me,” I heard him say as I pretended to be asleep on the couch in
the other room.
“She’s gonna leave me and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything I can think
of but I’m just not the man she wanted. I…I…” I heard his voice trail off into a whisper
and then a quiet sob.
“Sit down,” I heard my Father’s voice come calmly around the corner. “Talk to me.”
My Father offered him a few tissues. There were a few more minutes of crying
followed by a moment or two of silence.
“I can’t do this Mr. Ford-Bey. It’s too hard. She won’t take me back. Not for us;
not for the kids; not for anything. I can’t lose my kids!” He cried.
I sat curled in a ball on the couch. It was too late to leave. Even though I was in
the other room, for me to get up and go would have broken the groove my Dad was letting
Thomas get himself wrapped into.
“I just wanted to stop by to say good-bye,” I heard his final decision in his voice
but I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
“So that’s it?” asked my Dad realizing what was really being said. “What about Kelly
and Thomas Jr.?”
“I don’t have any money for a lawyer,” Thomas wailed. “She is going to take my kids.
MY GODDAMN KIDS! She tells them constantly that I’m a failure. She says ‘Daddy never
bought that big house he promised mommy. He never got that big yard for you to play in’.
The three year old, she doesn’t even want to see me anymore. I have nothing left.” I
could hear him pacing and crying. His voice cracked with every sentence.
“So you figured you’d just kill yourself and be done with it, right?” I still heard
the eerie calm in my father’s voice.
“When I’m gone…it’ll…it…will…” he stammered.
“That’s best thing you could do.” I could hear Dad sit back in his chair. There was
dead silence. No pacing. No crying. “All of the pain will be gone. How are you going
to do this anyway?”
There was no answer. The pacing started again.
“You came here to say good-bye and you don’t even have an action plan?!?”
“I thought that you…” Thomas started.
“Look at me,” said my father, “I’m agreeing with you. This is what you want to do
and I support it. I will answer any questions your son might have about you when he gets
older. At some point when his life gets really rough and it seems like there’s no way he
can win I’ll bring you up.
“I’ll tell him this is how your father handled trouble when it came his way. What is
he four, five? I’m sure he’s old enough to remember the funeral for the rest of his
life.”
The eerie calm now permeated the room. I heard Thomas sit down and start to sob
again. “I just wish…”
“Don’t wish. Realize what is going on right now. Your relationship with Karen is
over. Your relationship with your kids is what you have now. Think about the father you
want them to have. Don’t think about the things you want them to have. How do you want
them to remember you? What do want them to remember you for?”
The conversation started. Thomas left an hour later to go kiss his kids good night.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go.
That Beautiful Black Man
he could be the most refined thing you’d ever seen it all mattered what the situation
called for. You could learn so much if you were just willing to listen.
He had no time for you if you were ignorant and unwilling to learn how to survive.
If you were willing to listen and follow the pulse you would’ve been privy to a lifetimes
worth of knowledge in what seems like seconds.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go. As you get older the things that you were initially amazed by
seem less amazing and more commonplace. The things that you thought were initially
commonplace become more and more amazing.
There is always traffic and congestion. If you play your cards right you know that
you always want to avoid driving in in the morning. Morning is the busy time when
decisions need to be made sometimes it’s so busy your mind is cluttered. If you have to
make the morning commute, do it early so you beat the traffic and keep your mind clear.
When you leave the city at the end of the work day leave a little bit later so you
can let the sheep run for the finish line. Stay later and finish the job you started. No
one will ever give you a medal for quitting early, especially if the job is not done.
About twenty years ago my older brother’s friend Thomas arrived at the house late on
a Sunday afternoon. My brothers had all gone off to the military years earlier and moved
on to different parts of the country but Thomas stayed in town and married his high school
sweetheart.
“She’s gonna leave me,” I heard him say as I pretended to be asleep on the couch in
the other room.
“She’s gonna leave me and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything I can think
of but I’m just not the man she wanted. I…I…” I heard his voice trail off into a whisper
and then a quiet sob.
“Sit down,” I heard my Father’s voice come calmly around the corner. “Talk to me.”
My Father offered him a few tissues. There were a few more minutes of crying
followed by a moment or two of silence.
“I can’t do this Mr. Ford-Bey. It’s too hard. She won’t take me back. Not for us;
not for the kids; not for anything. I can’t lose my kids!” He cried.
I sat curled in a ball on the couch. It was too late to leave. Even though I was in
the other room, for me to get up and go would have broken the groove my Dad was letting
Thomas get himself wrapped into.
“I just wanted to stop by to say good-bye,” I heard his final decision in his voice
but I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
“So that’s it?” asked my Dad realizing what was really being said. “What about Kelly
and Thomas Jr.?”
“I don’t have any money for a lawyer,” Thomas wailed. “She is going to take my kids.
MY GODDAMN KIDS! She tells them constantly that I’m a failure. She says ‘Daddy never
bought that big house he promised mommy. He never got that big yard for you to play in’.
The three year old, she doesn’t even want to see me anymore. I have nothing left.” I
could hear him pacing and crying. His voice cracked with every sentence.
“So you figured you’d just kill yourself and be done with it, right?” I still heard
the eerie calm in my father’s voice.
“When I’m gone…it’ll…it…will…” he stammered.
“That’s best thing you could do.” I could hear Dad sit back in his chair. There was
dead silence. No pacing. No crying. “All of the pain will be gone. How are you going
to do this anyway?”
There was no answer. The pacing started again.
“You came here to say good-bye and you don’t even have an action plan?!?”
“I thought that you…” Thomas started.
“Look at me,” said my father, “I’m agreeing with you. This is what you want to do
and I support it. I will answer any questions your son might have about you when he gets
older. At some point when his life gets really rough and it seems like there’s no way he
can win I’ll bring you up.
“I’ll tell him this is how your father handled trouble when it came his way. What is
he four, five? I’m sure he’s old enough to remember the funeral for the rest of his
life.”
The eerie calm now permeated the room. I heard Thomas sit down and start to sob
again. “I just wish…”
“Don’t wish. Realize what is going on right now. Your relationship with Karen is
over. Your relationship with your kids is what you have now. Think about the father you
want them to have. Don’t think about the things you want them to have. How do you want
them to remember you? What do want them to remember you for?”
The conversation started. Thomas left an hour later to go kiss his kids good night.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
76 - The Last Great Act of Debauchery
"So tell me about the job," said Marrianne as we sat in the Four
Brother's Restaurant. "Are you happy with it?" We were both late to lunch.
She was late because she got lost. I was late because I was spending some one on one
quiet time with a cute little waitress who was having a bad night. I was testing the
Catalyst to Happiness theory. No luck.
"It's the same old same old. I was gung ho against corporate America and here I
am sitting at a desk every day, trying to make 'goal' every month so I can keep management
happy. Yeah balls.
"The only good thing is that there's a chance that I could make some half way
decent cash if this pans out. That’s the really good thing about sales jobs, the money
can be absolutely ridiculous."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her brunette locks flipped from side to
side.
"What am I going to do with you? When are you going to settle down and get
yourself a little chickie?"
I sat back and took a long hard look at the ceiling. I thought about Connie. I
thought about the rebirth and the five month fight against corporate America. I thought
about waiting patiently for the national tour that never took place (the reason I went
back to corporate America in the first place) and I thought the fact that I had just hit
my mid thirties. The only bad thing about being in your mid thirties is that you have
only a limited amount of times you can destroy and rebuild yourself.
"I've come to the realization that I am not worth 'a little chickie'. It's been
thirty-something years, kid. If it was going to happen it would have happened by
now." I was trying to play the self pity ploy.
"Oh shoo. Stop it. I didn’t send out any invitations for an itty bitty
pity party. You need to be more positive. You know my fiancé said the same thing until
we got together. He used to say 'It will never happen I should just be content with my
life as it is.'"
"That's the thing; I’m kind of content where I am.” I explained the catalyst to
happiness idea to her and watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. Then I
prepared to lay out my grand plan, the last great act of debauchery I would commit.
“I will settle down but I have one last thing to do. The name game was too hard to
get through especially with the letters I had left to complete. The year of oral left me
with some wonderful skills and a great appreciation for breath mints/gum/mouthwash you
name it.”
“Do you need anything else?” asked the attractive older Eastern European waitress.
“I think I need a shower,” said Marrianne holding her head in her palms.
“Oh, come on! I haven’t even gotten to the good part!”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes,” said the waitress confused by the chaos.
“Is there a good part to this?”
“You wanted to know when I plan to settle down and I’m trying to tell you what I need
to do before I settle down. It will happen after I turn thirty-six. I will have one year
to complete my task.” I exhaled slowly.
“Oh, just get it over with.”
“I want to legally sleep with a woman who is half my age.”
“Check Please!”
“You asked me what I wanted to do before I settled down and I’m telling you. I’m
being as honest with you as possible. I know it sounds like the same bullshit but this is
the last great fling.” I sold it with everything I had because at that moment in my mind
it was true.
“What am I going to do with you?”
Her ice blues cut deep into my soul as I sat wide open.
“Just realize it’s not the same old same. I’m tired of sitting in a small corner of
my life trying to make goal to keep other people happy. I know it’s not a perfect plan
but if I concentrate on making my life better the payoff can be absolutely ridiculous.”
That Beautiful Black Man
Brother's Restaurant. "Are you happy with it?" We were both late to lunch.
She was late because she got lost. I was late because I was spending some one on one
quiet time with a cute little waitress who was having a bad night. I was testing the
Catalyst to Happiness theory. No luck.
"It's the same old same old. I was gung ho against corporate America and here I
am sitting at a desk every day, trying to make 'goal' every month so I can keep management
happy. Yeah balls.
"The only good thing is that there's a chance that I could make some half way
decent cash if this pans out. That’s the really good thing about sales jobs, the money
can be absolutely ridiculous."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her brunette locks flipped from side to
side.
"What am I going to do with you? When are you going to settle down and get
yourself a little chickie?"
I sat back and took a long hard look at the ceiling. I thought about Connie. I
thought about the rebirth and the five month fight against corporate America. I thought
about waiting patiently for the national tour that never took place (the reason I went
back to corporate America in the first place) and I thought the fact that I had just hit
my mid thirties. The only bad thing about being in your mid thirties is that you have
only a limited amount of times you can destroy and rebuild yourself.
"I've come to the realization that I am not worth 'a little chickie'. It's been
thirty-something years, kid. If it was going to happen it would have happened by
now." I was trying to play the self pity ploy.
"Oh shoo. Stop it. I didn’t send out any invitations for an itty bitty
pity party. You need to be more positive. You know my fiancé said the same thing until
we got together. He used to say 'It will never happen I should just be content with my
life as it is.'"
"That's the thing; I’m kind of content where I am.” I explained the catalyst to
happiness idea to her and watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. Then I
prepared to lay out my grand plan, the last great act of debauchery I would commit.
“I will settle down but I have one last thing to do. The name game was too hard to
get through especially with the letters I had left to complete. The year of oral left me
with some wonderful skills and a great appreciation for breath mints/gum/mouthwash you
name it.”
“Do you need anything else?” asked the attractive older Eastern European waitress.
“I think I need a shower,” said Marrianne holding her head in her palms.
“Oh, come on! I haven’t even gotten to the good part!”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes,” said the waitress confused by the chaos.
“Is there a good part to this?”
“You wanted to know when I plan to settle down and I’m trying to tell you what I need
to do before I settle down. It will happen after I turn thirty-six. I will have one year
to complete my task.” I exhaled slowly.
“Oh, just get it over with.”
“I want to legally sleep with a woman who is half my age.”
“Check Please!”
“You asked me what I wanted to do before I settled down and I’m telling you. I’m
being as honest with you as possible. I know it sounds like the same bullshit but this is
the last great fling.” I sold it with everything I had because at that moment in my mind
it was true.
“What am I going to do with you?”
Her ice blues cut deep into my soul as I sat wide open.
“Just realize it’s not the same old same. I’m tired of sitting in a small corner of
my life trying to make goal to keep other people happy. I know it’s not a perfect plan
but if I concentrate on making my life better the payoff can be absolutely ridiculous.”
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 24, 2014
75 - The Catalyst to Happiness
“The Catalyst to happiness,” said Derich.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“I don’t know that I would say you’re an initiator as much as a catalyst,” said
Derich polishing off his third beer. “That said I don’t even know why I hang out with
you. I can’t believe you left a willing, drunk, half Asian woman alone on a couch because
‘you wanted to wake up in your own bed,’” he whined mocking me. I’m disgusted. What the
fuck were you thinking?!?”
Derich had just broken up with a girl he was really comfortable with because he was
really comfortable with her and the adrenaline was still running rampant through his
system. He was a bit more aggressive than usual and I was there to make sure he didn’t do
anything too rash. Each time I tried to talk to him about her he changed the subject.
“It’s this power thing that she and Paris do. They subconsciously go on this 'who
can get this guy first' quest until they realize that they are doing. Then, it all stops
and you are left with a handful of nothing,” I replied leaning against the railing of the
porch.
“And if you’re smart,” he said shaking the empty bottle for the last drop of beer,
“you fuck them both!!”
“Look, man, I just, I…” I stammered.
“Candy ass.”
“Come on! I thought you didn’t like Paris, anyway.”
“What I think of that disease ridden prostitute doesn’t matter, besides you were with
Kinky last week and…”
“Kiki,” I interrupted, “her name is Kiki.”
“This chick is an ex-stripper who can still lick the back of her own thighs,
correct?!?” I shrugged in agreement. “Then Kinky it is!” he declared triumphantly
stepping back into the apartment to get another beer from the kitchen.
“You kill me,” I said lighting up an American Spirit. “And what the hell do you mean
catalyst to happiness?”
“Maybe it’s better for her that you didn’t sleep with her.” He said handing me an
ice cold beer. “Does she already have her next husband or long term boyfriend picked out
and ready to go yet?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Every time you bang some chick,” he said pointing his bottle at me, “she either ends
up getting married or hooking up with some dude and staying with him for the next five
years and shit. It’s like you are their catalyst to happiness.”
“That is such…” I started.
“You were the one who told me this. These are your words not mine. I’m just
reminding you. Think about the last few girls you slept with, how many of them are still
free?” He tipped the bottom of his bottle toward the sky and killed half of it with one
pull.
I ran the recent short list through my head. I went back three years. Even the
women I had come really close to sleeping with had some type of long term relationship.
The further we went physically the stronger their current relationship was.
I took a long drag of my cigarette and looked off into the distance. I couldn’t
think of one woman I had been with four years ago who didn’t either get married or jump
into a long term relationship with next guy that they dated/slept with.
“Can’t think of one can you?”
I let the smoke slowly swirl.
“Son of a bitch,” I said taking in the late day sun.
“Maybe you should have slept with Karen before I met her,” he said finally releasing
the great weight from his shoulders. His eyes looked deep in purple sky.
“What’s it been a couple of days maybe a week? Give her a call. Talk to her.”
“I don’t know, man.” The beers and the heat were taking their toll on him. I would
only have a few minutes to talk sense into him.
“Look, Derich, it’s not like you are going to marry this girl just see it through
until the end. You never know where it could go. You cut it off too early.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he repeated grabbing the railing.
I leaned back against the railing and felt the slick smile cut across my face. I
took a final deep drag of my cigarette and flicked the butt onto the sidewalk. I move out
of punching range just in case I was wrong.
“Because I’m a good friend of yours tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fuck her and things
will work out perfect.”
His face crunched up like I had just punched him in the balls and his hands gripped
the railing for dear life. After a second he shook his head and smiled.
“I don’t even know why I hang out with you.”
“Cause I’m the catalyst to happiness, kiddo, the catalyst to happiness.”
That Beautiful Black Man
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“I don’t know that I would say you’re an initiator as much as a catalyst,” said
Derich polishing off his third beer. “That said I don’t even know why I hang out with
you. I can’t believe you left a willing, drunk, half Asian woman alone on a couch because
‘you wanted to wake up in your own bed,’” he whined mocking me. I’m disgusted. What the
fuck were you thinking?!?”
Derich had just broken up with a girl he was really comfortable with because he was
really comfortable with her and the adrenaline was still running rampant through his
system. He was a bit more aggressive than usual and I was there to make sure he didn’t do
anything too rash. Each time I tried to talk to him about her he changed the subject.
“It’s this power thing that she and Paris do. They subconsciously go on this 'who
can get this guy first' quest until they realize that they are doing. Then, it all stops
and you are left with a handful of nothing,” I replied leaning against the railing of the
porch.
“And if you’re smart,” he said shaking the empty bottle for the last drop of beer,
“you fuck them both!!”
“Look, man, I just, I…” I stammered.
“Candy ass.”
“Come on! I thought you didn’t like Paris, anyway.”
“What I think of that disease ridden prostitute doesn’t matter, besides you were with
Kinky last week and…”
“Kiki,” I interrupted, “her name is Kiki.”
“This chick is an ex-stripper who can still lick the back of her own thighs,
correct?!?” I shrugged in agreement. “Then Kinky it is!” he declared triumphantly
stepping back into the apartment to get another beer from the kitchen.
“You kill me,” I said lighting up an American Spirit. “And what the hell do you mean
catalyst to happiness?”
“Maybe it’s better for her that you didn’t sleep with her.” He said handing me an
ice cold beer. “Does she already have her next husband or long term boyfriend picked out
and ready to go yet?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Every time you bang some chick,” he said pointing his bottle at me, “she either ends
up getting married or hooking up with some dude and staying with him for the next five
years and shit. It’s like you are their catalyst to happiness.”
“That is such…” I started.
“You were the one who told me this. These are your words not mine. I’m just
reminding you. Think about the last few girls you slept with, how many of them are still
free?” He tipped the bottom of his bottle toward the sky and killed half of it with one
pull.
I ran the recent short list through my head. I went back three years. Even the
women I had come really close to sleeping with had some type of long term relationship.
The further we went physically the stronger their current relationship was.
I took a long drag of my cigarette and looked off into the distance. I couldn’t
think of one woman I had been with four years ago who didn’t either get married or jump
into a long term relationship with next guy that they dated/slept with.
“Can’t think of one can you?”
I let the smoke slowly swirl.
“Son of a bitch,” I said taking in the late day sun.
“Maybe you should have slept with Karen before I met her,” he said finally releasing
the great weight from his shoulders. His eyes looked deep in purple sky.
“What’s it been a couple of days maybe a week? Give her a call. Talk to her.”
“I don’t know, man.” The beers and the heat were taking their toll on him. I would
only have a few minutes to talk sense into him.
“Look, Derich, it’s not like you are going to marry this girl just see it through
until the end. You never know where it could go. You cut it off too early.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he repeated grabbing the railing.
I leaned back against the railing and felt the slick smile cut across my face. I
took a final deep drag of my cigarette and flicked the butt onto the sidewalk. I move out
of punching range just in case I was wrong.
“Because I’m a good friend of yours tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fuck her and things
will work out perfect.”
His face crunched up like I had just punched him in the balls and his hands gripped
the railing for dear life. After a second he shook his head and smiled.
“I don’t even know why I hang out with you.”
“Cause I’m the catalyst to happiness, kiddo, the catalyst to happiness.”
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, March 21, 2014
74 - The Initiator (Part 3)
Her eyes searched my face for some type of reaction. I took
another slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
“Nice try,” I said feeling the confident smile settle across my
face. “Very nice try but you’re drunk and fishing. That’s a
combination that’s only good with friends on a Saturday morning.”
There was a civil rivalry between Paris and Kiki. It was the
classic blue-eyed blond verses brown-eyed brunette battle. They were
never outspoken or blatant about it because they had different taste
in men, music, and the moments that make the magic happen. Every
once in a while there was something that would tweak an interest in
both of them and the game was on. What made it strange is that it
was completely unconscious. Once one of them realized what was
happening the game was over.
I decided to ride this little train for a while. I sat back
into the cushions and put the ashtray on my left knee. My left arm
reached across the back of the couch and my right heel rested on the
matching ottoman.
“If you really thought I slept with Paris, you wouldn’t have
kissed me. I wouldn’t even be sitting here on this couch waiting for
her to show up. She would have dismissed me a long time ago. You
would have nothing to say to me because there would be no mystery,
nothing to wonder about, nothing to keep you interested. You
wouldn’t call or shoot me e-mail. I would just be something talked
about in passing, either a quick laugh or a smile.
“That simple little kiss put me one step closer to obscurity.”
I took another drag and let the smoke float throughout the room. “It
took a small amount of mystery out of the game. The dynamic has been
changed and I’m not sure how to handle this.”
I looked deep into her almond colored eyes. I sat patiently
waiting for her response.
"Nice try, but I'm not that drunk." She curled up in her chair
like a cat. Her legs hung over one arm rest and her head was at the
base of the other. Her right arm was waving in the air like
Beethoven conducting his greatest masterpiece.
"Do you know how many men brag that they've slept with Paris?
Do you?" I shrugged my shoulders and sat quietly. She seemed to
think my silence answered her question. "Do you know how many of
them actually have?" she asked protectively. I shrugged my
shoulders again.
I could see that the train had derailed. She was really worried
about Paris. Here eyes were heavy with sleep and wine. I thought to
myself that maybe Paris wasn't running to the brilliant bright light
when she was lost. Could it be that this civil almost sibling
rivalry was the bright light that kept them both going? Could it be
that Paris ran here because she found an equal; a true friend who let
her be herself and accepted her for what she was?
I looked at my cell phone. It was almost two thirty in the
morning and I had an undying urge to wake up in my own bed. If I
stayed the morning conversation would just roll back to relationships
and why Paris was slipping deeper and deeper into her own private
hell.
I lifted Kiki from the chair to the couch and propped her on her
side. She wasn't drunk enough to choke in her sleep but I wanted to
make sure.
As I attempted to quietly slip out the door her eyes opened for
a split second and searched my face for some type of reaction. I
took slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
That Beautiful Black Man
another slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
“Nice try,” I said feeling the confident smile settle across my
face. “Very nice try but you’re drunk and fishing. That’s a
combination that’s only good with friends on a Saturday morning.”
There was a civil rivalry between Paris and Kiki. It was the
classic blue-eyed blond verses brown-eyed brunette battle. They were
never outspoken or blatant about it because they had different taste
in men, music, and the moments that make the magic happen. Every
once in a while there was something that would tweak an interest in
both of them and the game was on. What made it strange is that it
was completely unconscious. Once one of them realized what was
happening the game was over.
I decided to ride this little train for a while. I sat back
into the cushions and put the ashtray on my left knee. My left arm
reached across the back of the couch and my right heel rested on the
matching ottoman.
“If you really thought I slept with Paris, you wouldn’t have
kissed me. I wouldn’t even be sitting here on this couch waiting for
her to show up. She would have dismissed me a long time ago. You
would have nothing to say to me because there would be no mystery,
nothing to wonder about, nothing to keep you interested. You
wouldn’t call or shoot me e-mail. I would just be something talked
about in passing, either a quick laugh or a smile.
“That simple little kiss put me one step closer to obscurity.”
I took another drag and let the smoke float throughout the room. “It
took a small amount of mystery out of the game. The dynamic has been
changed and I’m not sure how to handle this.”
I looked deep into her almond colored eyes. I sat patiently
waiting for her response.
"Nice try, but I'm not that drunk." She curled up in her chair
like a cat. Her legs hung over one arm rest and her head was at the
base of the other. Her right arm was waving in the air like
Beethoven conducting his greatest masterpiece.
"Do you know how many men brag that they've slept with Paris?
Do you?" I shrugged my shoulders and sat quietly. She seemed to
think my silence answered her question. "Do you know how many of
them actually have?" she asked protectively. I shrugged my
shoulders again.
I could see that the train had derailed. She was really worried
about Paris. Here eyes were heavy with sleep and wine. I thought to
myself that maybe Paris wasn't running to the brilliant bright light
when she was lost. Could it be that this civil almost sibling
rivalry was the bright light that kept them both going? Could it be
that Paris ran here because she found an equal; a true friend who let
her be herself and accepted her for what she was?
I looked at my cell phone. It was almost two thirty in the
morning and I had an undying urge to wake up in my own bed. If I
stayed the morning conversation would just roll back to relationships
and why Paris was slipping deeper and deeper into her own private
hell.
I lifted Kiki from the chair to the couch and propped her on her
side. She wasn't drunk enough to choke in her sleep but I wanted to
make sure.
As I attempted to quietly slip out the door her eyes opened for
a split second and searched my face for some type of reaction. I
took slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, March 20, 2014
73 - The Initiator (Part 2)
I took a long slow drag on the American Spirit Yellow. The room
was so quiet that you could hear the tobacco and paper burning it's way
into my lungs. The room had collapsed to the point where there was no
space to wiggle. The shortest distance between two physical points is
a straight line. The distance between a question and the truth is just
as short but the road is sometimes much bumpier. I gently exhaled and
leaned forward to answer Kiki's questions and maybe some of my own.
"First of all, I am not banging Linda from The Yard. She
immediately put me in the 'friend zone' as soon as she met me. I look
at her like a little girl anyway, so it really doesn't matter. I do
want to bang most of her friends though." I said feeling the slick
smile cut across my face.
"You are shameless," she said putting the portable phone back into
it's cradle.
"I am the Initiator. I am the guy who can start a conversation
with damn near any woman who happens to be within earshot provided the
timing is right. My job is to break the ice for the friends I am with
at the moment in time. I am the ultimate wingman."
Kiki just looked at me and shook her head.
"As far as why I don't have a girlfriend, it's not like I haven't
tried. I've had quite a few girlfriends, even a wife or two. None of
them have been mine," I said smiling. Kiki's eyes became dagger
shooting slits. "OK two or three of the girlfriends were mine but none
of the wives."
"You are an asshole."
"Personal rejection year after year will do that to you. I just
got sick of being the emotional tampon. There's a girl named Caitlin
who wants everything I had to offer but she doesn't want it from me. I
am only good for a free dinner. In her mind I'm not worth banging or
dating but I am good for free food. She leaves me messages every once
in a while. She's at the bottom of the call back list, the very bottom.
"Connie's dad hates blacks, Tina got married and moved to Vietnam,
Terry wants me but she loves someone else, and D moved half way across
the country. She would be perfect, though."
"What about Paris?" She asked already knowing the answer.
I couldn't tell if the choking came from the smoke or the laughter.
"We both know that I am not rich enough, young enough, or pretty
enough for her. She likes them pretty and stupid."
"You are a beautiful black man," she said staring at me with her
piercing brown eyes.
"And you're drunk," I responded crushing my cigarette into the
ashtray. "If you were serious you'd kiss me." I said standing up to
stretch away the stress. The room had relaxed to it's original
comfortable state. When I opened my eyes from the deep reach Kiki was
standing face to face with me, her almond shaped eyes locked on mine.
The kiss was a long slow pull on my soul. It was though she were
trying to reach into the darkness and find the light. She smiled as
she stepped away.
"Do you believe me now?"
"I...I..."
"As much as I would love to, I can't sleep with you because I know
you slept with Paris." The room was so quiet that you could hear the
words burning their way into my brain.
That Beautiful Black Man
was so quiet that you could hear the tobacco and paper burning it's way
into my lungs. The room had collapsed to the point where there was no
space to wiggle. The shortest distance between two physical points is
a straight line. The distance between a question and the truth is just
as short but the road is sometimes much bumpier. I gently exhaled and
leaned forward to answer Kiki's questions and maybe some of my own.
"First of all, I am not banging Linda from The Yard. She
immediately put me in the 'friend zone' as soon as she met me. I look
at her like a little girl anyway, so it really doesn't matter. I do
want to bang most of her friends though." I said feeling the slick
smile cut across my face.
"You are shameless," she said putting the portable phone back into
it's cradle.
"I am the Initiator. I am the guy who can start a conversation
with damn near any woman who happens to be within earshot provided the
timing is right. My job is to break the ice for the friends I am with
at the moment in time. I am the ultimate wingman."
Kiki just looked at me and shook her head.
"As far as why I don't have a girlfriend, it's not like I haven't
tried. I've had quite a few girlfriends, even a wife or two. None of
them have been mine," I said smiling. Kiki's eyes became dagger
shooting slits. "OK two or three of the girlfriends were mine but none
of the wives."
"You are an asshole."
"Personal rejection year after year will do that to you. I just
got sick of being the emotional tampon. There's a girl named Caitlin
who wants everything I had to offer but she doesn't want it from me. I
am only good for a free dinner. In her mind I'm not worth banging or
dating but I am good for free food. She leaves me messages every once
in a while. She's at the bottom of the call back list, the very bottom.
"Connie's dad hates blacks, Tina got married and moved to Vietnam,
Terry wants me but she loves someone else, and D moved half way across
the country. She would be perfect, though."
"What about Paris?" She asked already knowing the answer.
I couldn't tell if the choking came from the smoke or the laughter.
"We both know that I am not rich enough, young enough, or pretty
enough for her. She likes them pretty and stupid."
"You are a beautiful black man," she said staring at me with her
piercing brown eyes.
"And you're drunk," I responded crushing my cigarette into the
ashtray. "If you were serious you'd kiss me." I said standing up to
stretch away the stress. The room had relaxed to it's original
comfortable state. When I opened my eyes from the deep reach Kiki was
standing face to face with me, her almond shaped eyes locked on mine.
The kiss was a long slow pull on my soul. It was though she were
trying to reach into the darkness and find the light. She smiled as
she stepped away.
"Do you believe me now?"
"I...I..."
"As much as I would love to, I can't sleep with you because I know
you slept with Paris." The room was so quiet that you could hear the
words burning their way into my brain.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
72 - The Initiator
Kiki's house was surprisingly comfortable. From the country road
that it's on you would expect a tiny, cluttered, home with too much
furniture and little room to move. The porch gave no indication of
the space that waited inside.
The porch was a time capsule marking the stages of transition
over the last three years of her life. Texas, her protective black
lab, kept me from delving deep into her past and figuring out the
brilliant bright light that Paris always ran to when she felt lost.
I had listened enough to know that she was the anomaly. She was
the girl who actually had stripped her way through undergrad. She
would entice them with her teasing then enthrall them with her
intellect. It was horrifyingly beautiful listening to her tell of a
man who tipped her $100 because she destroyed Descartes mechanical
theory of human nature.
This was years ago. She was deep into her graduate studies now
and in the middle of an outline for her first book. We would usually
debate politics and sex and the politics of sex while we waited for
whatever gourmet meal Paris was preparing. I would always get lucky.
Just as the conversation turned to me and my current situation dinner
would be ready and I would be forgotten. Tonight I was not so lucky.
"I'm still trying to figure you out," she said scrolling through
the caller ID on her portable phone. "You're attractive. You
are obviously intelligent. Why don't you have a girlfriend?"
"Because it's a telephone," I countered hoping the deflection to
her concentration on the phone would end the conversation about me.
"And as much as you may cradle it and kiss it and hold it next to you
it's an inanimate object. You can never truly get what you want from
it... unless it vibrates when it rings."
"She was right. You do shut down when it turns to you." I was
fucked.
"Between working a twelve hour day with a solid hour drive each
way, I just don't have the necessary time to devote to finding, let
alone maintaining a steady long term relationship." This was my
standard bullshit line. It usually bought me a few hours of solace
from any more relationship questions. I usually choked out some other
bullshit about how it wouldn't be fair to 'the girlfriend' for me to
be essentially carrying on a long distance relationship but I thought
that would be too much in this case.
"Oh Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit!" she said laughing out loud.
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?!? Paris told me all about
the little waitress, Connie I think her name was? Paris thinks you're
banging Linda at The Yard, too."
My jaw hit the floor. I pulled a spirit yellow out and slowly
lit it. Kiki's house suddenly became a tiny, cluttered, home with
too much furniture and little room to move.
That Beautiful Black Man
that it's on you would expect a tiny, cluttered, home with too much
furniture and little room to move. The porch gave no indication of
the space that waited inside.
The porch was a time capsule marking the stages of transition
over the last three years of her life. Texas, her protective black
lab, kept me from delving deep into her past and figuring out the
brilliant bright light that Paris always ran to when she felt lost.
I had listened enough to know that she was the anomaly. She was
the girl who actually had stripped her way through undergrad. She
would entice them with her teasing then enthrall them with her
intellect. It was horrifyingly beautiful listening to her tell of a
man who tipped her $100 because she destroyed Descartes mechanical
theory of human nature.
This was years ago. She was deep into her graduate studies now
and in the middle of an outline for her first book. We would usually
debate politics and sex and the politics of sex while we waited for
whatever gourmet meal Paris was preparing. I would always get lucky.
Just as the conversation turned to me and my current situation dinner
would be ready and I would be forgotten. Tonight I was not so lucky.
"I'm still trying to figure you out," she said scrolling through
the caller ID on her portable phone. "You're attractive. You
are obviously intelligent. Why don't you have a girlfriend?"
"Because it's a telephone," I countered hoping the deflection to
her concentration on the phone would end the conversation about me.
"And as much as you may cradle it and kiss it and hold it next to you
it's an inanimate object. You can never truly get what you want from
it... unless it vibrates when it rings."
"She was right. You do shut down when it turns to you." I was
fucked.
"Between working a twelve hour day with a solid hour drive each
way, I just don't have the necessary time to devote to finding, let
alone maintaining a steady long term relationship." This was my
standard bullshit line. It usually bought me a few hours of solace
from any more relationship questions. I usually choked out some other
bullshit about how it wouldn't be fair to 'the girlfriend' for me to
be essentially carrying on a long distance relationship but I thought
that would be too much in this case.
"Oh Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit!" she said laughing out loud.
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?!? Paris told me all about
the little waitress, Connie I think her name was? Paris thinks you're
banging Linda at The Yard, too."
My jaw hit the floor. I pulled a spirit yellow out and slowly
lit it. Kiki's house suddenly became a tiny, cluttered, home with
too much furniture and little room to move.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
71 - Ten Dials
"What the hell are you talking about disappearing for four
months?" I said lighting an American Spirit Yellow.
"Four months!" she almost yelled at me, "Four months! The last
thing that I remember is you just heard that your ex-girlfriends Dad
hated black people and you are driving off into the darkness on some
type of rebirth shit."
"Ah yes, the rebirth," I said stroking my slightly greying beard.
"That is a bit of a work in progress. The plan is still in full
effect but it was sidetracked by a lack of income. No unemployment
benefits and a limited stock portfolio forced me to strap on my
corporate knee pads once again.
"Do you realize that this is only the second job I've had where
I've had to sit in a cubicle? I am such a slacker." I laughed a little.
"You are a schmuck."
I let the smoke hang in the night. It had rained earlier and the
heavy wet air stuck to my skin like the stink of stagnation. There was
no wind to blow away the dirt of the day so there was nothing to do but
stew. I moved to look over her shoulder and the smoke followed me like
a lost puppy that has just been fed.
"You know what's funny," I said as the smoke continued on it's
own, "you have maybe called me twice in those four months." I took a
deep drag and released the heavy air from my lungs.
"I've called you.." I cut her off.
"You've reactively called me. You really didn't make any
independent effort to get in touch with me. I know we're all busy but
don't whine to me about not seeing me when you haven't reached out."
"Now you're being an asshole."
"That's more like it. The sassy makes you sexy." I said feeling
the slick smile cut across my face. I flicked two deep drags worth of
ash on to the sidewalk.
"So you try to keep in touch with everyone you know?" She asked
leaning toward the defensive.
"Every Sunday between three o'clock in the afternoon and seven
o'clock in the evening I make ten dials."
"Ten dials?!?" She said suddenly confused.
"I call ten people that I haven't called in a while just to say
hello. I ask them how they are doing. I ask them what's going on in
their lives. If they don't pick up I leave a voice mail and see if
they call back. Sometimes I'll switch it up and call or shoot a text
message during the week. It helps me narrow the friendship field."
I blew the smoke towards the night sky as the moon poked it's head
out of the clouds. A slight breeze started to stir the stale stew.
"So let me ask you again," I said looking into her surprised eyes,
"What the hell are you talking about disappearing for four months?"
That Beautiful Black Man
months?" I said lighting an American Spirit Yellow.
"Four months!" she almost yelled at me, "Four months! The last
thing that I remember is you just heard that your ex-girlfriends Dad
hated black people and you are driving off into the darkness on some
type of rebirth shit."
"Ah yes, the rebirth," I said stroking my slightly greying beard.
"That is a bit of a work in progress. The plan is still in full
effect but it was sidetracked by a lack of income. No unemployment
benefits and a limited stock portfolio forced me to strap on my
corporate knee pads once again.
"Do you realize that this is only the second job I've had where
I've had to sit in a cubicle? I am such a slacker." I laughed a little.
"You are a schmuck."
I let the smoke hang in the night. It had rained earlier and the
heavy wet air stuck to my skin like the stink of stagnation. There was
no wind to blow away the dirt of the day so there was nothing to do but
stew. I moved to look over her shoulder and the smoke followed me like
a lost puppy that has just been fed.
"You know what's funny," I said as the smoke continued on it's
own, "you have maybe called me twice in those four months." I took a
deep drag and released the heavy air from my lungs.
"I've called you.." I cut her off.
"You've reactively called me. You really didn't make any
independent effort to get in touch with me. I know we're all busy but
don't whine to me about not seeing me when you haven't reached out."
"Now you're being an asshole."
"That's more like it. The sassy makes you sexy." I said feeling
the slick smile cut across my face. I flicked two deep drags worth of
ash on to the sidewalk.
"So you try to keep in touch with everyone you know?" She asked
leaning toward the defensive.
"Every Sunday between three o'clock in the afternoon and seven
o'clock in the evening I make ten dials."
"Ten dials?!?" She said suddenly confused.
"I call ten people that I haven't called in a while just to say
hello. I ask them how they are doing. I ask them what's going on in
their lives. If they don't pick up I leave a voice mail and see if
they call back. Sometimes I'll switch it up and call or shoot a text
message during the week. It helps me narrow the friendship field."
I blew the smoke towards the night sky as the moon poked it's head
out of the clouds. A slight breeze started to stir the stale stew.
"So let me ask you again," I said looking into her surprised eyes,
"What the hell are you talking about disappearing for four months?"
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 17, 2014
70 - Eligibility
Even though I'm unemployed and broke I still need nights to myself. Since
I essentially told my boss and his boss to go fuck themselves Connecticut
Department of Labor came to the conclusion that I left suitable work and was
therefore not eligible for unemployment. This threw a bit of a wrench in my
plan to sit on my ass and do nothing for six months. Thank goodness for 401k
and profit sharing money.
Every few months I take time out to have Me Nights. A Me Night is where I
take me out to a dinner that I want to eat and to a movie that I want to see. I
decided to hit The Door. It was Filet Mignon night.
"What is your name?"
"Anya."
"Anya, I need you to do me a big favor."
"No problem," she said with a thick eastern European accent.
"I tend to be an asshole when it comes waitresses. If I come close to
sounding like an asshole your job is to shut me down, OK?"
"I thought you looked familiar," she said cocking her head a little to the
left. "You knew Connie," she stated matter of factly.
"Y-Yeah," I stuttered. "How'd you know that?"
"She used to talk about you and I've seen you in here a few time with your
friend. Let me guess, pineapple juice, no ice?"
"Am I that boring?"
"Not yet. Do you know what you want?"
"Ah ... give me a minute."
As she walked away I let a flush of memories wash over me. I let myself
think back to the summer and Great Barrington and I could finally feel them
start to melt away. I had been here before but for some reason tonight I was
able to feel the release.
I enjoyed a tasty Filet Mignon complete with red mashed potatoes and
creamed spinach. I watched people come and go some enjoying each others
company, some just going through the motions right before the end of an obvious
tenuous relationship.
As I stood to pay my bill I saw Anya stepping outside for a cigarette.
Nothing cries American Spirit like a tasty steak dinner.
"Do you have a light?" she asked as I stepped onto the porch.
"Always. Thank you and by the way," I said lighting my own cigarette. "If
you get a chance tell Connie I said hello."
"She's fine. She's in Argentina with her family."
"Thanks." I started down the steps.
"She really liked you."
"I know."
"Her dad. He doesn't like black people. He would say the most horrible
things."
I thought back to the nights we would go out. I always thought that she
was worried about her boyfriend but now it made perfect sense.
"I can only imagine. Anya, right? You take care of yourself."
I got back into the Saab and made started the long drive home. It seems
that even if I am the best man for the job there are some things that I'm
considered not eligible for.
That Beautiful Black Man
I essentially told my boss and his boss to go fuck themselves Connecticut
Department of Labor came to the conclusion that I left suitable work and was
therefore not eligible for unemployment. This threw a bit of a wrench in my
plan to sit on my ass and do nothing for six months. Thank goodness for 401k
and profit sharing money.
Every few months I take time out to have Me Nights. A Me Night is where I
take me out to a dinner that I want to eat and to a movie that I want to see. I
decided to hit The Door. It was Filet Mignon night.
"What is your name?"
"Anya."
"Anya, I need you to do me a big favor."
"No problem," she said with a thick eastern European accent.
"I tend to be an asshole when it comes waitresses. If I come close to
sounding like an asshole your job is to shut me down, OK?"
"I thought you looked familiar," she said cocking her head a little to the
left. "You knew Connie," she stated matter of factly.
"Y-Yeah," I stuttered. "How'd you know that?"
"She used to talk about you and I've seen you in here a few time with your
friend. Let me guess, pineapple juice, no ice?"
"Am I that boring?"
"Not yet. Do you know what you want?"
"Ah ... give me a minute."
As she walked away I let a flush of memories wash over me. I let myself
think back to the summer and Great Barrington and I could finally feel them
start to melt away. I had been here before but for some reason tonight I was
able to feel the release.
I enjoyed a tasty Filet Mignon complete with red mashed potatoes and
creamed spinach. I watched people come and go some enjoying each others
company, some just going through the motions right before the end of an obvious
tenuous relationship.
As I stood to pay my bill I saw Anya stepping outside for a cigarette.
Nothing cries American Spirit like a tasty steak dinner.
"Do you have a light?" she asked as I stepped onto the porch.
"Always. Thank you and by the way," I said lighting my own cigarette. "If
you get a chance tell Connie I said hello."
"She's fine. She's in Argentina with her family."
"Thanks." I started down the steps.
"She really liked you."
"I know."
"Her dad. He doesn't like black people. He would say the most horrible
things."
I thought back to the nights we would go out. I always thought that she
was worried about her boyfriend but now it made perfect sense.
"I can only imagine. Anya, right? You take care of yourself."
I got back into the Saab and made started the long drive home. It seems
that even if I am the best man for the job there are some things that I'm
considered not eligible for.
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, March 14, 2014
69 - Sock Puppets
I've got two little sock puppets. They sit and talk all day about filing a
harassment suit against me because of the way I touch them. I try to explain to
them that I have to touch them like that because they're sock puppets and that's
how things work. They just grumble quietly to themselves something about
getting a lawyer. Damn sock puppets.
harassment suit against me because of the way I touch them. I try to explain to
them that I have to touch them like that because they're sock puppets and that's
how things work. They just grumble quietly to themselves something about
getting a lawyer. Damn sock puppets.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
68 - The Technology of Dating
Technology is changing the world. As much as I complain (whine some might
say) about online dating and, mainly for me, online rejection I do like the
benefits of the internet.
Because I'm in my forties I remember a time when you actually had to
date or hang out with someone to find out they were a complete wack job.
I am so jealous because you had to fall back on friends to find out if the
girl you are going out on a date with was a psycho, freak, slut, or my personal
favorite raging, thieving, drug addict.
The problem with the internet is that I find myself suffering from an
affliction that usually only hits me when I'm at the bar. At least at the bar I
have the excuse of having maybe a few too many drinks in me. Here I think the
excuse is that I'm in the comfort of my own home.
I find myself requesting dates with women that are way out of my league. I
don't know what comes over me. I see a woman that I would never be able to
approach in my real life and for some stupid reason I send her a message. I
have the hope that she will notice my message out of the other 500 she's
received that day telling her she's the hottest thing on the planet. The best
part of this is patiently waiting up to a week to see if she will except my
request, usually to no avail. I would prefer to be denied than to be left
hanging.
At the bar his usually only happens once I've had too many shots of
Jager and a half a pack of American Spirits. I imagine there's nothing sexier
than a short, drunk, ashtray asking you for your number or in this case entry to
your world of friends.
The internet has allowed great things such as search engines. With
technology such as Yahoo and Google you can now find out about your date from
just a last name and an address.
For women this is great. If you find a wonderful guy what's the first
thing you do? You Google him! You do this after you have checked the sex
offender registry of course. Finally you call your cousin the cop or someone in
your family who is dating a cop and have them run a quick background check.
It's amazing to think that all of this technology is being used by people
on Facebook and Tinder to share such wonderful insights into
the human condition as "u r sew hawwwwt!" Technology is changing the world.
That Beautiful Black Man
say) about online dating and, mainly for me, online rejection I do like the
benefits of the internet.
Because I'm in my forties I remember a time when you actually had to
date or hang out with someone to find out they were a complete wack job.
I am so jealous because you had to fall back on friends to find out if the
girl you are going out on a date with was a psycho, freak, slut, or my personal
favorite raging, thieving, drug addict.
The problem with the internet is that I find myself suffering from an
affliction that usually only hits me when I'm at the bar. At least at the bar I
have the excuse of having maybe a few too many drinks in me. Here I think the
excuse is that I'm in the comfort of my own home.
I find myself requesting dates with women that are way out of my league. I
don't know what comes over me. I see a woman that I would never be able to
approach in my real life and for some stupid reason I send her a message. I
have the hope that she will notice my message out of the other 500 she's
received that day telling her she's the hottest thing on the planet. The best
part of this is patiently waiting up to a week to see if she will except my
request, usually to no avail. I would prefer to be denied than to be left
hanging.
At the bar his usually only happens once I've had too many shots of
Jager and a half a pack of American Spirits. I imagine there's nothing sexier
than a short, drunk, ashtray asking you for your number or in this case entry to
your world of friends.
The internet has allowed great things such as search engines. With
technology such as Yahoo and Google you can now find out about your date from
just a last name and an address.
For women this is great. If you find a wonderful guy what's the first
thing you do? You Google him! You do this after you have checked the sex
offender registry of course. Finally you call your cousin the cop or someone in
your family who is dating a cop and have them run a quick background check.
It's amazing to think that all of this technology is being used by people
on Facebook and Tinder to share such wonderful insights into
the human condition as "u r sew hawwwwt!" Technology is changing the world.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
67 - Dating & Job Hunting
Though they are different it's amazing how similar dating and job hunting
are. In both you have certain skills you must highlight to make you the most
attractive candidate. In both you usually have other people who are going for
the same thing that you want. In both you must weigh the sacrifices you are
willing to make to make the situation work.
Lately both can be achieved on line. You present your resume/profile on a
reputable site and see who bites. While you wait you are able to browse the
site and submit your resume/profile to the position you want. You then check
another reputable site to see if there are any other available positions.
Friends are always willing to help. Friends can show you certain
jobs/people that you didn't know were available. They are there to offer their
opinions on what works for you and what doesn't work in your initial
presentation.
Unfortunately some friends don't tell you that they have done that
job/person before. Some friends may have quit that job/person and are still
getting free benefits. You may not get the job because your friend won't let
the position be posted as available.
Worse they may still be working the job/person on the side. They do this
not because they have a vested interest in a future with this job/person, they
just like the continued benefits.
Many times I will apply for a job/relationship that I feel I am thoroughly
qualified for only to find out that they have hired some nitwit who is
unable to complete the tasks at hand. The unqualified candidate fails multiple
times at various assignments but still pulls the benefits until they do
something so blatantly stupid that they must be dismissed. Do I then reapply
knowing that I wasn't the primary choice? I think not.
What's worse is when you have a friend that has the perfect job but won't
let you apply for it because she/he feels you're a better friend than colleague.
They constantly talk about work and ask your opinion on how to improve things.
Even though you offer great suggestions that are then followed up on you aren't
even offered the consultants fee.
Many times I find myself taking temp work just so the lean times aren't so
lean. This is only good if both you and your temporary colleague/employee
realize that you have no intention on retiring with this company. Sometimes the
temp work is the worst thing you could have done but it takes care of immediate
needs. Other times the position is so good you wish you had signed on for this
job in the first place and you hang on in hopes they hire you full time. Why is
it that the job/person you want the least is the one that calls you back the
most? It's amazingly similar how dating and job hunting are.
That Beautiful Black Man
are. In both you have certain skills you must highlight to make you the most
attractive candidate. In both you usually have other people who are going for
the same thing that you want. In both you must weigh the sacrifices you are
willing to make to make the situation work.
Lately both can be achieved on line. You present your resume/profile on a
reputable site and see who bites. While you wait you are able to browse the
site and submit your resume/profile to the position you want. You then check
another reputable site to see if there are any other available positions.
Friends are always willing to help. Friends can show you certain
jobs/people that you didn't know were available. They are there to offer their
opinions on what works for you and what doesn't work in your initial
presentation.
Unfortunately some friends don't tell you that they have done that
job/person before. Some friends may have quit that job/person and are still
getting free benefits. You may not get the job because your friend won't let
the position be posted as available.
Worse they may still be working the job/person on the side. They do this
not because they have a vested interest in a future with this job/person, they
just like the continued benefits.
Many times I will apply for a job/relationship that I feel I am thoroughly
qualified for only to find out that they have hired some nitwit who is
unable to complete the tasks at hand. The unqualified candidate fails multiple
times at various assignments but still pulls the benefits until they do
something so blatantly stupid that they must be dismissed. Do I then reapply
knowing that I wasn't the primary choice? I think not.
What's worse is when you have a friend that has the perfect job but won't
let you apply for it because she/he feels you're a better friend than colleague.
They constantly talk about work and ask your opinion on how to improve things.
Even though you offer great suggestions that are then followed up on you aren't
even offered the consultants fee.
Many times I find myself taking temp work just so the lean times aren't so
lean. This is only good if both you and your temporary colleague/employee
realize that you have no intention on retiring with this company. Sometimes the
temp work is the worst thing you could have done but it takes care of immediate
needs. Other times the position is so good you wish you had signed on for this
job in the first place and you hang on in hopes they hire you full time. Why is
it that the job/person you want the least is the one that calls you back the
most? It's amazingly similar how dating and job hunting are.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
66 - The Ring Of Fire
The job market has changed since the last time I threw my hat into the ring of fire. I've had five interviews but I've only talked to one person face to face. I don't think I talked on the phone this much when I was in high school. I'm not a big phone guy either. I can chat with Marrianne or Linda but for the most part I don't like conversations to last over five minutes.
Posting a resume on line is a change since the last time I was job hunting. I think it's ironic. I take every precaution to protect my identity from theft, not that there's too much of anything really to steal. I do everything I can to protect who I am and then I put everything except naked pictures of myself on these job sites.
I'm convinced there are criminals and hard core drug addicts who have better credit scores than I do. I'm certain if they hacked into my personal information they might even use the money generated from cans returned to the supermarket to send me a note of sympathy. Maybe I shouldn't be too worried about my ID being taken. They may actually make my score better.
Between e-mail, faxing, on line applications, and 1.800 numbers you can look for a job from the comfort of your own home. This can lull you into a false sense of security. The reality check comes when the check doesn't come at the end of the week.
I like the free fall. I have no real back up plan. There is no million dollar purse to fall back on. Savings are a bit sparse. This is incentive not to fail. There can be no failure. I know, I know. I feel myself choking on the drama.
Honestly failure sucks unless we're talking about dating. When it comes to dating failure is where the fun kicks in. The two markets, while completely opposite, are incredibly similar. The market has definitely changed since I threw my hat into the ring of fire.
That Beautiful Black Man
Posting a resume on line is a change since the last time I was job hunting. I think it's ironic. I take every precaution to protect my identity from theft, not that there's too much of anything really to steal. I do everything I can to protect who I am and then I put everything except naked pictures of myself on these job sites.
I'm convinced there are criminals and hard core drug addicts who have better credit scores than I do. I'm certain if they hacked into my personal information they might even use the money generated from cans returned to the supermarket to send me a note of sympathy. Maybe I shouldn't be too worried about my ID being taken. They may actually make my score better.
Between e-mail, faxing, on line applications, and 1.800 numbers you can look for a job from the comfort of your own home. This can lull you into a false sense of security. The reality check comes when the check doesn't come at the end of the week.
I like the free fall. I have no real back up plan. There is no million dollar purse to fall back on. Savings are a bit sparse. This is incentive not to fail. There can be no failure. I know, I know. I feel myself choking on the drama.
Honestly failure sucks unless we're talking about dating. When it comes to dating failure is where the fun kicks in. The two markets, while completely opposite, are incredibly similar. The market has definitely changed since I threw my hat into the ring of fire.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 10, 2014
65 - American Dream 2.0
I dropped the last of my American Spirit into the cigarette stand right before I stepped into the Palace. I saw Paris's car parked outside so I thought I would stop in to see if she was having dinner with one of her sheep. She was sitting alone. Her white overcoat was right next to her. She was wearing a white turtleneck, jeans, and her white Eskimo boots. Her hair was up.
I usually avoided the Palace because it was right next to my former employer. I didn't think there would be an issue because it was after seven and I knew they were closed.
I ordered a plain chicken breast and a diet coke to be delivered to the table.
"May I offer you a drink," she said as I slid into the seat across from her. "Possibly a COCK-tail?!?" She exploded in laughter.
I just hung my head and shook it. "I see you talked to Linda."
"Oh yes, yes I did! Now that's funny. That's really funny. You were worried about being judged on Hotornot? Ha! Ha! Ha!" She continued to laugh out loud.
"That's what I love about you Paris, you are always a sympathetic ear." I rested my head in my hands.
"Stupid bastard. See, you should have let me take the pictures."
"The last time I saw you was at Kiki's house. Do you have a camera with you now? I know I don't. Our schedules never seem to click."
"You and your goddamn particulars. Why did you even do it in the first place?" She asked sipping on her beer.
"Did you order yet?" I asked her trying to change the subject.
"Of course I did. What do you want?"
"I have a chicken breast and a diet coke coming."
"You're still eating well. And you've kept the weight off, good boy."
"I have to stay in shape if I want the plan to come together." I said twisting from side to side.
"What plan is that? The online dating plan?" She snickered.
"No, no, no. That's more of an experiment to see if I've become a viable property. If I happen to hook up in the process then so be it. I actually put an add up on Yahoo just to see if I get any legitimate hits. Living around here sucks. Every personal I look at wants doughy white guys. That's not me."
"What do you mean?" She said feigning shock. "You're not white?!?"
"Kiss my ass." I said as the arrived with our food.
"So what's this big plan?" She asked digging into her Greek salad.
"I'm expanding on the American Dream. I've had the 'good' corporate job - that I hated, I own a European car, I've had some money in the bank, not so much anymore but I've had it. I've called my bosses morons, told them they can go stick that 'good' corporate job in their ass, and now I spend my days doing what I love. Yes, I'm in debt but who isn't?"
The light from the ceiling caught her eyes just right. For a second I was lost in their reflection. They glimmered like finely crafted Waterford Crystal.
"And what do you have to show for all of this?" She asked looking through the finely crafted crystal.
"More quality time with you, pretty girl!" I smiled like a fifteen year old school girl telling her friends she had been asked to the senior prom.
"Asshole."
"Seriously, it's the American Dream 2.0, kid. I'm trying to live on my own terms."
"Here's a toast," she said raising her beer into the light. "To the American Dream 2.0"
"Here, here!"
"Is that diet coke going to be strong enough? Might I suggest, perhaps, a COCK-tail?!?"
"Fuck you." I said while she laughed.
That Beautiful Black Man
I usually avoided the Palace because it was right next to my former employer. I didn't think there would be an issue because it was after seven and I knew they were closed.
I ordered a plain chicken breast and a diet coke to be delivered to the table.
"May I offer you a drink," she said as I slid into the seat across from her. "Possibly a COCK-tail?!?" She exploded in laughter.
I just hung my head and shook it. "I see you talked to Linda."
"Oh yes, yes I did! Now that's funny. That's really funny. You were worried about being judged on Hotornot? Ha! Ha! Ha!" She continued to laugh out loud.
"That's what I love about you Paris, you are always a sympathetic ear." I rested my head in my hands.
"Stupid bastard. See, you should have let me take the pictures."
"The last time I saw you was at Kiki's house. Do you have a camera with you now? I know I don't. Our schedules never seem to click."
"You and your goddamn particulars. Why did you even do it in the first place?" She asked sipping on her beer.
"Did you order yet?" I asked her trying to change the subject.
"Of course I did. What do you want?"
"I have a chicken breast and a diet coke coming."
"You're still eating well. And you've kept the weight off, good boy."
"I have to stay in shape if I want the plan to come together." I said twisting from side to side.
"What plan is that? The online dating plan?" She snickered.
"No, no, no. That's more of an experiment to see if I've become a viable property. If I happen to hook up in the process then so be it. I actually put an add up on Yahoo just to see if I get any legitimate hits. Living around here sucks. Every personal I look at wants doughy white guys. That's not me."
"What do you mean?" She said feigning shock. "You're not white?!?"
"Kiss my ass." I said as the arrived with our food.
"So what's this big plan?" She asked digging into her Greek salad.
"I'm expanding on the American Dream. I've had the 'good' corporate job - that I hated, I own a European car, I've had some money in the bank, not so much anymore but I've had it. I've called my bosses morons, told them they can go stick that 'good' corporate job in their ass, and now I spend my days doing what I love. Yes, I'm in debt but who isn't?"
The light from the ceiling caught her eyes just right. For a second I was lost in their reflection. They glimmered like finely crafted Waterford Crystal.
"And what do you have to show for all of this?" She asked looking through the finely crafted crystal.
"More quality time with you, pretty girl!" I smiled like a fifteen year old school girl telling her friends she had been asked to the senior prom.
"Asshole."
"Seriously, it's the American Dream 2.0, kid. I'm trying to live on my own terms."
"Here's a toast," she said raising her beer into the light. "To the American Dream 2.0"
"Here, here!"
"Is that diet coke going to be strong enough? Might I suggest, perhaps, a COCK-tail?!?"
"Fuck you." I said while she laughed.
That Beautiful Black Man
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