"Open up," I yelled beating on Stotler's door. "It's fucking cold out here." Between the flights of stairs, finding a parking spot in condo village, and the chilly twilight air I just wanted to get into the apartment and stretch out on Stotler's couch.
As I heard footsteps coming toward the door I leaned back and put both middle fingers in the air for a two pronged salute.
"What's up, fucker?" I said as the door swung open.
"Oh my." I said sheepishly as a very attractive familiar looking brunette stood in the doorway.
"I ... I'm ... sorry" I bumbled checking to make sure I was on the right floor. "I was looking for..."
"Your friend's here," she interrupted, laughingly yelling over her shoulder. "You should have seen the look on your face when I answered the door." She said still laughing.
"You are ... Kelly, right?" I asked remembering I had met her and Stotler at a restaurant a few months ago.
"Good memory. Come on in. Dinner's ready."
"Dinner?" I caught the smell of a feast behind her hypnotic perfume.
"You wouldn't happen to have an unattached twin sister with loose morals, would you?" I said as I stepped through the doorway.
"You're funny. Hey, babe," she said to Stotler as he came around the corner, "I have to run back to my apartment to grab the wine. I'll be right back."
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed her jacket, and ran down the stairs in one fluid motion.
"She's hot." I said headed for the back porch. Pleasant surprises always require fresh air and yellow American Spirits.
"She looks like Famke Janssen. You know, that chick from the X-men? She played Xenia Onatopp in the first Pierce Brosnan Bond movie."
"Weren't you just beating on the front door complaining about how cold it is out here?" asked Stotler following me out on to the porch.
"That was just to piss your neighbors off." I said blowing the smoke into the crisp night air. I pointed to the King's Feast on the dining room table. "She cooks. She cooks!!" I threw my hands into the air. "Apparently she cooks very well."
"Fuck you," laughed Stotler as he patted his little belly. "We'll talk when your done."
When I came back inside Stotler told me a story of two lonely people talking; discussing divorce, distrust, and distress.
"Sounds like another page for the Stotler file." I finally stretched out on his couch.
"You know you can't write about any of that, correct?"
"Yeah, I know. I know. I do keep a little file for the day you change your mind. The only argument I can make in my favor is that most people that read this don't think you exist anyway."
"Good." He said taking a piece of grilled chicken.
"I can make you look like the phoenix rising from the ashes. This is quality Oprah type shit, man. Rebuilding a broken heart, we can help a lot of people."
He just looked at me and slowly let the chicken melt in his mouth.
"Open up, Stotler. It's not as cold out here as it seems."
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, February 28, 2014
Thursday, February 27, 2014
58 - A Picture's Worth
"A picture's worth a thousand words but $300! They want $300 just for me
to sit down for the photoshoot. I can't tell you how much it will be per print.
I can't fucking believe it!" I let the smoke blow into the crisp late October
wind.
"You know you can smoke inside the house. Kiki does it all the time."
Paris said smiling at me. "And besides, you asshole, it's freezing."
"You see I told you. My price wasn't that bad." She brushed her freshly
cut hair away from her face and sat on Kiki's couch. We had both taken the trip
up to visit a mutual friend to cheer her up. Unfortunately Kiki had set up a
date with her new boyfriend so Paris and I were left alone in the house.
"Do you know if she has any food here?" I asked walking toward the
kitchen. We had just had a little dinner but I needed a quick snack to tide me
over.
"How many recent divorced women do you know that keep food in their house?"
She said taking a sip of wine then stretching out across the couch. She was
wearing khaki cargo pants, a long sleeve white shirt, and no underwear. I swear
the girl is out to kill me.
"Fuuuuuuuck!" I said flicking a long bit of ash into the ashtray on the
kitchen table.
"Let me get this straight; we both drive up here to cheer her up and she
goes out mud bogging?"
"Yep. We're here to keep her happy."
"Yeah I know. It's about making sure Kiki is happy." I sat down at the
other end of the couch.
"So how much are you going to charge me to take my picture?"
"I am not going to charge you any money. I've got a better idea." She put
her hands behind her head and crossed her legs across my lap.
"I am going to take fifteen good pictures of you. I get to dress you and
choose the background. We will use my digital camera and I will not charge you
a dime."
"What's the catch?" I said rubbing her shin.
"Moohahahahahaha!" She laughed her little evil laugh. "We pick the best
one and put it up on Hotornot.com!" She curled into a little ball of laughter.
"You have got to be out of your fuckin' mind!" I said rolling my head on
the back of the couch. "Can't I massage or oral my way out of this?!?"
"Let me think about this...NO! No, no, no, no ... Oh wait hold on ...
NO!!!" She exploded in laughter again.
"Goddamn It!" I said taking a deep drag.
"What are you so worried about?!?" She sprang up and supported her weight
with her arms behind her. Her bare feet were under my thigh. Her hair brushed
against her cheeks. "You sign your e-mails 'That Beautiful Black Man' or 'One
Of God's Beautiful Black Men' or 'The Black Prince'. This shit shouldn't be a
problem for you." She wiggled her toes against my thigh.
"Yes I'm a narcissist but I'm a self-loathing narcissist. I want people to
know more about what I do than who I am. Do I look like just another piece of
meat to you?"
She squinted her eyes and pouted her lips as though she were checking me
out. "No, you are a beautiful piece of meat."
"Are you sure I can't oral my way out of this?" I said rubbing her knees.
"You said it yourself, a picture's worth a thousand words." She said
curling back into evil laughter. "Be ready by the end of November."
That Beautiful Black Man
to sit down for the photoshoot. I can't tell you how much it will be per print.
I can't fucking believe it!" I let the smoke blow into the crisp late October
wind.
"You know you can smoke inside the house. Kiki does it all the time."
Paris said smiling at me. "And besides, you asshole, it's freezing."
"You see I told you. My price wasn't that bad." She brushed her freshly
cut hair away from her face and sat on Kiki's couch. We had both taken the trip
up to visit a mutual friend to cheer her up. Unfortunately Kiki had set up a
date with her new boyfriend so Paris and I were left alone in the house.
"Do you know if she has any food here?" I asked walking toward the
kitchen. We had just had a little dinner but I needed a quick snack to tide me
over.
"How many recent divorced women do you know that keep food in their house?"
She said taking a sip of wine then stretching out across the couch. She was
wearing khaki cargo pants, a long sleeve white shirt, and no underwear. I swear
the girl is out to kill me.
"Fuuuuuuuck!" I said flicking a long bit of ash into the ashtray on the
kitchen table.
"Let me get this straight; we both drive up here to cheer her up and she
goes out mud bogging?"
"Yep. We're here to keep her happy."
"Yeah I know. It's about making sure Kiki is happy." I sat down at the
other end of the couch.
"So how much are you going to charge me to take my picture?"
"I am not going to charge you any money. I've got a better idea." She put
her hands behind her head and crossed her legs across my lap.
"I am going to take fifteen good pictures of you. I get to dress you and
choose the background. We will use my digital camera and I will not charge you
a dime."
"What's the catch?" I said rubbing her shin.
"Moohahahahahaha!" She laughed her little evil laugh. "We pick the best
one and put it up on Hotornot.com!" She curled into a little ball of laughter.
"You have got to be out of your fuckin' mind!" I said rolling my head on
the back of the couch. "Can't I massage or oral my way out of this?!?"
"Let me think about this...NO! No, no, no, no ... Oh wait hold on ...
NO!!!" She exploded in laughter again.
"Goddamn It!" I said taking a deep drag.
"What are you so worried about?!?" She sprang up and supported her weight
with her arms behind her. Her bare feet were under my thigh. Her hair brushed
against her cheeks. "You sign your e-mails 'That Beautiful Black Man' or 'One
Of God's Beautiful Black Men' or 'The Black Prince'. This shit shouldn't be a
problem for you." She wiggled her toes against my thigh.
"Yes I'm a narcissist but I'm a self-loathing narcissist. I want people to
know more about what I do than who I am. Do I look like just another piece of
meat to you?"
She squinted her eyes and pouted her lips as though she were checking me
out. "No, you are a beautiful piece of meat."
"Are you sure I can't oral my way out of this?" I said rubbing her knees.
"You said it yourself, a picture's worth a thousand words." She said
curling back into evil laughter. "Be ready by the end of November."
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
57 - Answering The Call
I don’t have caller ID on my home phone. I’m never home to answer my phone
anyway so that doesn’t really matter. I do have voice mail. This is nice. It
makes it easy for me to catch the very end of those important prerecorded
telemarketer phone calls about how my mortgage can be cut in half. Seeing that
I don’t have a mortgage this is very helpful. She also uses it to leave me
messages when she's sure I'm at work.
For the most part I get calls about recent inquiries I’ve made on line
about various cable and Internet services. This is all well and good but the
various “photography sites” I visit offer no such services. They offer certain
services (video/home made video/personal interaction) but nothing along the line
of the run of the mill pay to play services.
When I am home I tend to let most people know that I’m not in the mood to
chat. Sometimes answering the call can be fun. A good example is the way I
pick up the phone. On any given day if you call my house you will get one of a
few responses.
1. Speak.
2. What!
3. Littleblackman.com, little black man speaking.
4. Talk fast, sheep, my time is limited and I have planets to conquer.
5. I’m naked that’s not a problem for you is it? Seeing that I’m in my own
home I didn’t think it would be.
6. Chef Bob’s pizza. Chef Bob speaking.
7. (Pretending I’m caught in mid conversation) Yes it will work, Goddamn It.
You just have to rub my ass with your left hand AND stroke my thigh with your
right…Sorry may I help you.
8. No, I’m not busy. The ambulance will be here in just a minute.
I used to have an answering machine. This was just another test in torture
for those that called. I never wanted the out going message to be boring. I
wrote songs...loud, unnecessary songs. Most of the time I just came up with
obnoxious observations.
The best out going message I left went like this:
'I'm not in right now because I'm standing outside butt-naked trying to hail a
cab. Leave me a message and when it's gets too cold outside, I'll come inside,
put on a sock, and check my messages. TAXI!'
As I said before sometimes answering the call can be fun.
anyway so that doesn’t really matter. I do have voice mail. This is nice. It
makes it easy for me to catch the very end of those important prerecorded
telemarketer phone calls about how my mortgage can be cut in half. Seeing that
I don’t have a mortgage this is very helpful. She also uses it to leave me
messages when she's sure I'm at work.
For the most part I get calls about recent inquiries I’ve made on line
about various cable and Internet services. This is all well and good but the
various “photography sites” I visit offer no such services. They offer certain
services (video/home made video/personal interaction) but nothing along the line
of the run of the mill pay to play services.
When I am home I tend to let most people know that I’m not in the mood to
chat. Sometimes answering the call can be fun. A good example is the way I
pick up the phone. On any given day if you call my house you will get one of a
few responses.
1. Speak.
2. What!
3. Littleblackman.com, little black man speaking.
4. Talk fast, sheep, my time is limited and I have planets to conquer.
5. I’m naked that’s not a problem for you is it? Seeing that I’m in my own
home I didn’t think it would be.
6. Chef Bob’s pizza. Chef Bob speaking.
7. (Pretending I’m caught in mid conversation) Yes it will work, Goddamn It.
You just have to rub my ass with your left hand AND stroke my thigh with your
right…Sorry may I help you.
8. No, I’m not busy. The ambulance will be here in just a minute.
I used to have an answering machine. This was just another test in torture
for those that called. I never wanted the out going message to be boring. I
wrote songs...loud, unnecessary songs. Most of the time I just came up with
obnoxious observations.
The best out going message I left went like this:
'I'm not in right now because I'm standing outside butt-naked trying to hail a
cab. Leave me a message and when it's gets too cold outside, I'll come inside,
put on a sock, and check my messages. TAXI!'
As I said before sometimes answering the call can be fun.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
56 - Raheed's Five Levels
"I can't believe," said Derich pouring himself a cup of coffee, "you deal
with Paris. She gets on my fucking nerves. Coffee?"
"Naw. I'm good with the Spirits. I don't let her get to me." I replied
crashing out on the couch. "I treat her advice like I do everything, take the
whole, only use what I need, and dismiss the rest."
"That sounds like the best way to deal with her, take the hole and dismiss
the rest."
If I am correct Derich had either met Paris in the past or had a friend
that dated her. For some strange reason he had no time for her. I always
wanted to see what would happen if they were trapped in a room together for a
day or two.
His condo was a huge three level monstrosity, not counting the two car
garage. He had let his brother's boyfriend go to town on the decorations and he
came up with a very classy minimalist concept. The rooms were sparsely
furnished but comfortable, quiet yet lived in, peacefully hiding the conflicted
conservative that occupied this space. The only thing out of place was the
grand flat screen TV.
"She doesn't get it. I've done the whole dating thing. I've done the man
whore thing. I just need to find out what I want right now."
I pulled out a pack of American Spirit Blues. "You don't mind do you?"
"Naw, go to town. It's still warm enough to keep the windows open. So
what the fuck was up with just blowing out of the restaurant the other night?"
"I was hoping Connie was working but at the same time I was hoping she
wasn't. I haven't seen her since May... ahhhh. That's the shit I mean." I said
taking a deep drag. "I need to get the rest of my shit together before I can
worry about her.
"I need to cleanse myself through Raheed's Five Levels and then I can get
back to the business of business."
"You can't just fucking do simple stuff like get laid can you? Everything
has to have some type of 'meaning' lately. Please tell me this isn't some
psycho cult wack job bullshit. I'm not gonna hear about you being found in a
room wearing a toga, chanting like budda, and smelling like stale feet am I?"
"This is all about the hook up. Raheed's five levels are the five levels
of physical intimacy most people go through."
"Ooooom, ooooom, ooooom," he said plopping into his chair.
"Fuck you."
"Level One is Making Love. This is the level many would like to achieve
but is just so difficult. Both people have to be on the same emotional page.
It's like a joining of two souls. Almost never happens."
"No shit," he said shaking a Spirit free.
"Level Two is Having Sex. This is where most people are they care for each
other on some level but one always cares for the other more and the other one
tends to use that to their advantage."
"Been there." He took a deep drag and choked. "How the hell do you smoke
these things? I feel like I'm inhaling tar!"
"Level Three," I said ignoring him, "is Boning. This is the friends with
benefits category. Comfortable if both of you know what's going.
"Level Four is Doing It. I.e. that girl who just left here as I was
driving up. What was her name anyway?"
There was a blank look on his face. He took a deep drag and stared deeper
into space. "I have no clue. I know she's the Operations manager of a
children's hospital but...no clue...I think she left her card here some..."
"Who cares, that's level four."
"Level Five is Fucking. Meet at a club don't know each others name. Don't
even make it out of the parking lot; or the bathroom for that matter."
"I'm a straight level four guy. I got a few threes but level four's my
speed. You used to be a four/fiver." He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.
"Yeah I know that's what I'm trying to change. I'm gunning for a two/three
but I don't know."
"See you make even the simple stuff difficult? Why bother? Live this life
for what it is."
"I just want to try something different. Besides it's a whole lot better
than chanting in a small room smelling like stale feet."
That Beautiful Black Man
with Paris. She gets on my fucking nerves. Coffee?"
"Naw. I'm good with the Spirits. I don't let her get to me." I replied
crashing out on the couch. "I treat her advice like I do everything, take the
whole, only use what I need, and dismiss the rest."
"That sounds like the best way to deal with her, take the hole and dismiss
the rest."
If I am correct Derich had either met Paris in the past or had a friend
that dated her. For some strange reason he had no time for her. I always
wanted to see what would happen if they were trapped in a room together for a
day or two.
His condo was a huge three level monstrosity, not counting the two car
garage. He had let his brother's boyfriend go to town on the decorations and he
came up with a very classy minimalist concept. The rooms were sparsely
furnished but comfortable, quiet yet lived in, peacefully hiding the conflicted
conservative that occupied this space. The only thing out of place was the
grand flat screen TV.
"She doesn't get it. I've done the whole dating thing. I've done the man
whore thing. I just need to find out what I want right now."
I pulled out a pack of American Spirit Blues. "You don't mind do you?"
"Naw, go to town. It's still warm enough to keep the windows open. So
what the fuck was up with just blowing out of the restaurant the other night?"
"I was hoping Connie was working but at the same time I was hoping she
wasn't. I haven't seen her since May... ahhhh. That's the shit I mean." I said
taking a deep drag. "I need to get the rest of my shit together before I can
worry about her.
"I need to cleanse myself through Raheed's Five Levels and then I can get
back to the business of business."
"You can't just fucking do simple stuff like get laid can you? Everything
has to have some type of 'meaning' lately. Please tell me this isn't some
psycho cult wack job bullshit. I'm not gonna hear about you being found in a
room wearing a toga, chanting like budda, and smelling like stale feet am I?"
"This is all about the hook up. Raheed's five levels are the five levels
of physical intimacy most people go through."
"Ooooom, ooooom, ooooom," he said plopping into his chair.
"Fuck you."
"Level One is Making Love. This is the level many would like to achieve
but is just so difficult. Both people have to be on the same emotional page.
It's like a joining of two souls. Almost never happens."
"No shit," he said shaking a Spirit free.
"Level Two is Having Sex. This is where most people are they care for each
other on some level but one always cares for the other more and the other one
tends to use that to their advantage."
"Been there." He took a deep drag and choked. "How the hell do you smoke
these things? I feel like I'm inhaling tar!"
"Level Three," I said ignoring him, "is Boning. This is the friends with
benefits category. Comfortable if both of you know what's going.
"Level Four is Doing It. I.e. that girl who just left here as I was
driving up. What was her name anyway?"
There was a blank look on his face. He took a deep drag and stared deeper
into space. "I have no clue. I know she's the Operations manager of a
children's hospital but...no clue...I think she left her card here some..."
"Who cares, that's level four."
"Level Five is Fucking. Meet at a club don't know each others name. Don't
even make it out of the parking lot; or the bathroom for that matter."
"I'm a straight level four guy. I got a few threes but level four's my
speed. You used to be a four/fiver." He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray.
"Yeah I know that's what I'm trying to change. I'm gunning for a two/three
but I don't know."
"See you make even the simple stuff difficult? Why bother? Live this life
for what it is."
"I just want to try something different. Besides it's a whole lot better
than chanting in a small room smelling like stale feet."
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, February 24, 2014
55 - The Sacred Order Of Moo
"I just need to know if you have a digital camera," I said to Paris. "Mine
just died and I need to have a picture of myself."
We were enjoying the last few good days of the year. She had some time and
I had been sent home from work again for refusing to acknowledge authority.
Sitting in the park is one of the best ways to kill time on a lazy late summer
day.
"Is there any reason you need this picture?" she said crossing her legs.
She leaned forward and looked over her sunglasses. She looked good; white short
shorts, white sneakers, a yellow Bebe tube top and no tan lines. Evil bitch.
I shook out an American Spirit Yellow, lit it, and stared deep into the
clear blue sky. The clouds were dancing on the horizon and the sun was just
thinking about going down.
The smoke rolled in the air. I could tell it was reaching for the sky and
felt sad as the wind blew it apart.
"I haven't had anyone take a good picture of me since 1997. I just
want to document my life as I get older. You know have a shot of me every few
years so I can go back when I'm older and see how good I look."
"That's real deep, narcissist." She said leaning back and resting her arms
on the top of the bench.
"What did you expect me to do Hotornot.com? Get judged on looks alone?"
"No but that's a good idea. I was kind of hoping," she continued, "that
you were going to do something exciting with it. You haven't put the weight
back on, I thought you might do one of those on line dating things."
"Fuck that. That's even worse." I said watching the smoke dance near the
rocks.
"I'll do it for twenty bucks."
"What?!? Twenty fucking dollars?" I said choking on a drag.
"What do you mean WHAT? You said it yourself you want to document your
life as you get older. This is history. Think of it as a bargain." A slick
smile cut across her face.
"How about I introduce you to The Sacred Order Of Moo?"
"The Sacred Order Of What the Fuck?!?"
"The Sacred Order Of Moo. Some people have secret handshakes, some have
little signs, I have The Sacred Order Of Moo. This is for my really close
friends. Whenever we meet we simply say," I leaned in a little closer, looked
around to make sure no one else was listening and blew the smoke off to the
side, "Moo."
"You are an asshole. Moooo!!!"
"No! No! No! Moo. As short as you can say it. Moo. It's like having a
AAA card. If you meet someone who is part of the Order and you say Moo and they
say Moo back that means that they are a very good friend of mine and they will
treat you as well as they would treat me even if they don't know you. This
let's them know that I know you and trust you with my life. It's so completely
crazy."
"This was definately not in 'How To Succed With Women'. That's a page from
'How To Stay Single & Masturbate.'
That Beautiful Black Man
just died and I need to have a picture of myself."
We were enjoying the last few good days of the year. She had some time and
I had been sent home from work again for refusing to acknowledge authority.
Sitting in the park is one of the best ways to kill time on a lazy late summer
day.
"Is there any reason you need this picture?" she said crossing her legs.
She leaned forward and looked over her sunglasses. She looked good; white short
shorts, white sneakers, a yellow Bebe tube top and no tan lines. Evil bitch.
I shook out an American Spirit Yellow, lit it, and stared deep into the
clear blue sky. The clouds were dancing on the horizon and the sun was just
thinking about going down.
The smoke rolled in the air. I could tell it was reaching for the sky and
felt sad as the wind blew it apart.
"I haven't had anyone take a good picture of me since 1997. I just
want to document my life as I get older. You know have a shot of me every few
years so I can go back when I'm older and see how good I look."
"That's real deep, narcissist." She said leaning back and resting her arms
on the top of the bench.
"What did you expect me to do Hotornot.com? Get judged on looks alone?"
"No but that's a good idea. I was kind of hoping," she continued, "that
you were going to do something exciting with it. You haven't put the weight
back on, I thought you might do one of those on line dating things."
"Fuck that. That's even worse." I said watching the smoke dance near the
rocks.
"I'll do it for twenty bucks."
"What?!? Twenty fucking dollars?" I said choking on a drag.
"What do you mean WHAT? You said it yourself you want to document your
life as you get older. This is history. Think of it as a bargain." A slick
smile cut across her face.
"How about I introduce you to The Sacred Order Of Moo?"
"The Sacred Order Of What the Fuck?!?"
"The Sacred Order Of Moo. Some people have secret handshakes, some have
little signs, I have The Sacred Order Of Moo. This is for my really close
friends. Whenever we meet we simply say," I leaned in a little closer, looked
around to make sure no one else was listening and blew the smoke off to the
side, "Moo."
"You are an asshole. Moooo!!!"
"No! No! No! Moo. As short as you can say it. Moo. It's like having a
AAA card. If you meet someone who is part of the Order and you say Moo and they
say Moo back that means that they are a very good friend of mine and they will
treat you as well as they would treat me even if they don't know you. This
let's them know that I know you and trust you with my life. It's so completely
crazy."
"This was definately not in 'How To Succed With Women'. That's a page from
'How To Stay Single & Masturbate.'
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, February 21, 2014
54 - The Rebirth
The traffic in Hartford is never that bad for me. I usually don't drive
through until after seven so all of the insurance companies have already let
everyone go for the day. The roads were exceptionally clear tonight.
My phone vibrated as I walked into the bar.
"Hey, pooh stabber, you're late," said Derich's voice. "I've been here
since 6:30. I'm two beers deep already."
"Keep your panties on. I just stepped in the door. Where the hell are
you?" I looked around the bar scanning for Derich and wondering if Connie was
working tonight.
"I'm over near the patio."
Derich was dressed business casual. I was dressed like an executive at a
law firm. He makes twice what I do. Go figure.
The waiter came just as I sat down.
"I'll have another beer. He'll take a pineapple juice, no ice." I
smiled to myself.
"Do you gentlemen need a minute?"
"No," I said starving. "I'll have a turkey club with fries."
"I'll have the Reuben."
"I still can't believe you work for the same fucking company." Derich
laughed after the waiter left. "How do you not kill yourself? I had to get
out. What are you, four years in?"
"Almost five," I said pretending to slit my wrist with the butter knife.
"I'd put you in for my company but..."
"I know. I know. You need a four year degree just to walk through the door.
Fucking kill me."
I looked around once again to see if Connie was working. No avail. I
picked up the knife again and did the fake slice and dice.
"You can still help me out by looking at the resume." I said sliding my
resume over to him.
"I don't know if I can help you but I'll do what I can."
"That's all that I ask, man. This is all part of the rebirth."
"The rebirth. What kind of post modern bullshit that that?" He asked
killing his third beer.
"It is a complete self evaluation. I'm in the process of finding out what
I like and don't like about the person I have allowed myself to become. I'm
just going over some of the choices and the consequences."
"Too deep for me. Sounds like you need to get laid." Derich replied. I just laughed to myself.
"I got to go," I said finishing my juice.
"You just got here. And you ordered food."
"I'll take it to go. Let me know what you think of the resume. Here's
fifteen. That should cover me." I said standing up.
"You OK?" He said sounding genuinely concerned.
"Yea, man, I'm fine. I just need to do some thinking. You gonna be OK to
drive?"
"I'm gonna stay here and watch the game. I still think you need to get
laid."
As I drove home I realized that the roads weren't the only thing that was
exceptionally clear.
That Beautiful Black Man
through until after seven so all of the insurance companies have already let
everyone go for the day. The roads were exceptionally clear tonight.
My phone vibrated as I walked into the bar.
"Hey, pooh stabber, you're late," said Derich's voice. "I've been here
since 6:30. I'm two beers deep already."
"Keep your panties on. I just stepped in the door. Where the hell are
you?" I looked around the bar scanning for Derich and wondering if Connie was
working tonight.
"I'm over near the patio."
Derich was dressed business casual. I was dressed like an executive at a
law firm. He makes twice what I do. Go figure.
The waiter came just as I sat down.
"I'll have another beer. He'll take a pineapple juice, no ice." I
smiled to myself.
"Do you gentlemen need a minute?"
"No," I said starving. "I'll have a turkey club with fries."
"I'll have the Reuben."
"I still can't believe you work for the same fucking company." Derich
laughed after the waiter left. "How do you not kill yourself? I had to get
out. What are you, four years in?"
"Almost five," I said pretending to slit my wrist with the butter knife.
"I'd put you in for my company but..."
"I know. I know. You need a four year degree just to walk through the door.
Fucking kill me."
I looked around once again to see if Connie was working. No avail. I
picked up the knife again and did the fake slice and dice.
"You can still help me out by looking at the resume." I said sliding my
resume over to him.
"I don't know if I can help you but I'll do what I can."
"That's all that I ask, man. This is all part of the rebirth."
"The rebirth. What kind of post modern bullshit that that?" He asked
killing his third beer.
"It is a complete self evaluation. I'm in the process of finding out what
I like and don't like about the person I have allowed myself to become. I'm
just going over some of the choices and the consequences."
"Too deep for me. Sounds like you need to get laid." Derich replied. I just laughed to myself.
"I got to go," I said finishing my juice.
"You just got here. And you ordered food."
"I'll take it to go. Let me know what you think of the resume. Here's
fifteen. That should cover me." I said standing up.
"You OK?" He said sounding genuinely concerned.
"Yea, man, I'm fine. I just need to do some thinking. You gonna be OK to
drive?"
"I'm gonna stay here and watch the game. I still think you need to get
laid."
As I drove home I realized that the roads weren't the only thing that was
exceptionally clear.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, February 20, 2014
53 - Well Swill
"I hate this why can't we just smoke at the bar," said Paris sitting down
at the patio table. "Don't these fucking people know what my needs are? I need
to see the selection. I don't want the well swill." I like hanging with Paris.
She's so subtle.
"At least it's a nice day." She said slamming her purse down on the table
and lighting her cigarette. She had a little gift bag with her.
"Good to see you too, kiddo." I said taking out an American Spirit yellow.
She looked at my face and tilted her head. "Nice you took my advice. Ten
pounds?"
I stood up, held my arms out, and did a little spin. "Thirty. Thirty
pounds, pretty girl."
"Handsome."
"Thank you," I said blowing the smoke into the wind. "Let the hunting
begin."
"Hunting?"
"Hunting. It's time to look for some super summer sex."
"It's funny you mention that. I have something for you," she said sliding
the little black to me. "Happy birthday."
I opened the bag and my cigarette almost fell into my lap.
"'How To Succeed With Women'?!? What the hell is this?"
"Oh just fucking say thank you! At least I got you something for your
birthday."
"P, my birthday is in April." I exhaled, flicking the ash on to the brick
patio.
"That's not my fault. Now where's our Goddamn waitress."
"Don't worry I got you. Paris Is Burning. Now really, 'How To Succeed
With Women'?!? What the hell is this?"
"Is there a delayed echo out here?"
"PARIS!"
"Alright," she said putting out her cigarette. "You try too hard."
"What?"
"You try too hard. Remember when you broke up with that twenty year old.."
"She's twenty-one," I corrected her while I flipped through the chapter
heads."
"Whatever. You asked me what was wrong with you. Other than being fat -
and yes you were fat at the time - you try too hard to make a first impression.
You need to relax and let it flow. You can tell you are trying that's not
attractive."
The waitress finally showed up with our drinks. I sat back and let Paris's
words sink in. As I sat up I caught the waitress looking just a little too
long.
"Can I get you anything else?"
"No we're all set," I said blowing the smoke away from her. "Thank you."
"Nice." Said Paris. "Very nice. She had a slight interest and you
acknowledged it. That's all you need."
"I hardly noticed her. I didn't say anything until..."
"The right time." she finished. "You've been out of the game for a while.
Think of this as spring training. You already know how to play this is
just...just sharpening your skills. It's funny as all hell too. I think
you'll like it"
I just looked at my Grey Goose and Red Bull. The smoke rolled over my hand
and across the table. I realized that this was the first time Paris and I had
had anything resembling a heart to heart. In her own little way she was telling
me she was worried about me.
"Look," she said "I know you can see the selection that's out there. I
just don't want you to get stuck with the well swill."
at the patio table. "Don't these fucking people know what my needs are? I need
to see the selection. I don't want the well swill." I like hanging with Paris.
She's so subtle.
"At least it's a nice day." She said slamming her purse down on the table
and lighting her cigarette. She had a little gift bag with her.
"Good to see you too, kiddo." I said taking out an American Spirit yellow.
She looked at my face and tilted her head. "Nice you took my advice. Ten
pounds?"
I stood up, held my arms out, and did a little spin. "Thirty. Thirty
pounds, pretty girl."
"Handsome."
"Thank you," I said blowing the smoke into the wind. "Let the hunting
begin."
"Hunting?"
"Hunting. It's time to look for some super summer sex."
"It's funny you mention that. I have something for you," she said sliding
the little black to me. "Happy birthday."
I opened the bag and my cigarette almost fell into my lap.
"'How To Succeed With Women'?!? What the hell is this?"
"Oh just fucking say thank you! At least I got you something for your
birthday."
"P, my birthday is in April." I exhaled, flicking the ash on to the brick
patio.
"That's not my fault. Now where's our Goddamn waitress."
"Don't worry I got you. Paris Is Burning. Now really, 'How To Succeed
With Women'?!? What the hell is this?"
"Is there a delayed echo out here?"
"PARIS!"
"Alright," she said putting out her cigarette. "You try too hard."
"What?"
"You try too hard. Remember when you broke up with that twenty year old.."
"She's twenty-one," I corrected her while I flipped through the chapter
heads."
"Whatever. You asked me what was wrong with you. Other than being fat -
and yes you were fat at the time - you try too hard to make a first impression.
You need to relax and let it flow. You can tell you are trying that's not
attractive."
The waitress finally showed up with our drinks. I sat back and let Paris's
words sink in. As I sat up I caught the waitress looking just a little too
long.
"Can I get you anything else?"
"No we're all set," I said blowing the smoke away from her. "Thank you."
"Nice." Said Paris. "Very nice. She had a slight interest and you
acknowledged it. That's all you need."
"I hardly noticed her. I didn't say anything until..."
"The right time." she finished. "You've been out of the game for a while.
Think of this as spring training. You already know how to play this is
just...just sharpening your skills. It's funny as all hell too. I think
you'll like it"
I just looked at my Grey Goose and Red Bull. The smoke rolled over my hand
and across the table. I realized that this was the first time Paris and I had
had anything resembling a heart to heart. In her own little way she was telling
me she was worried about me.
"Look," she said "I know you can see the selection that's out there. I
just don't want you to get stuck with the well swill."
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
52 - Slight Breeze
The slight breeze did nothing to ease the sweltering evening. Usually I
love the heat.
I watched Connie sleep and let the events of the day play in my mind. For
her twenty-first birthday her father bought her a 2005 525xi all wheel drive BMW
sedan. She was floored.
"I've worked since I was 14 years old," she almost cried into her phone.
"He said the car is essentially mine but he's holding it for me until I'm done
with school next year."
As we spent more time together I found out that her father had moved here
from Argentina when he was ten. He watched his father work construction until
he had enough money to open his own restaurant. As time passed he also worked
construction, helped to run the restaurant, and got into real estate in upstate
New York.
By the time he was 45 he had two restaurants, a thriving construction
business, and had done very well in the real estate market even surviving the
crash of the nineties. He was smart enough to buy cheap and then virtually
double his fortune when the housing boom struck again.
Connie was actually the youngest of four, two brothers and a sister. They
were all taught that hard work is the only way to achieve anything in life this
is why she was so caught off guard by the car.
"I want you to be the first one to ride in it," she said.
The evening started with a quick ride up old route 8 to Great Barrington
for some incredible sushi at this restaurant called Bizen. We then danced and
kissed the night away down the alley at Club Helsinki. This is the hippest New
York City club stashed in the hills of the Berkshires.
"I want tonight to be perfect." She whispered as she rested her head, drunk
with expensive wine and sexual tension, on my shoulder and let that beautiful
curly black hair drape over my arm while we moved as one.
As I drove the BMW through the night back to the apartment I felt her rub
the back of my neck. The comfort was gone replaced with a passion and urgency I
hadn't seen in her before.
In her bedroom there were no questions, no hesitation, just fire. She was
of a single mind. The intensity was overwhelming. The fire burned for over an
hour and when it was over she cried softly in my arms.
All good things must end.
"He loves me." she said quietly, almost guilty she had to admit something
she and I both already knew. "I can't do this anymore. The more I'm with you
the more I want to be with you but you're so...so closed."
There was nothing I could say. There is only so much I can give. Let me
rephrase that there is only so much I will give. For me to hold her back from
someone that was willing to give her all that she needed would be selfish and
cruel.
"Do you want me to leave?" I asked pushing the hair from her cheek and
looking deep into her brown eyes.
"No, but you have to...I...just...I just wanted this night to be perfect."
"I have an idea. Why don't you kiss me one last time and then go to sleep.
When you wake up I'll be gone and you can pretend this whole thing was a dream."
Her heavy wine soaked eyelids closed and she kissed me like I was dying. I
held her in my arms until she fell asleep.
I took one last look at her just before I left. I took a solid drag of the
American Spirit Red as my feet hit the street. To my surprise the slight breeze
did nothing to ease the sweltering evening. Usually I love the heat but not
tonight.
That Beautiful Black Man
love the heat.
I watched Connie sleep and let the events of the day play in my mind. For
her twenty-first birthday her father bought her a 2005 525xi all wheel drive BMW
sedan. She was floored.
"I've worked since I was 14 years old," she almost cried into her phone.
"He said the car is essentially mine but he's holding it for me until I'm done
with school next year."
As we spent more time together I found out that her father had moved here
from Argentina when he was ten. He watched his father work construction until
he had enough money to open his own restaurant. As time passed he also worked
construction, helped to run the restaurant, and got into real estate in upstate
New York.
By the time he was 45 he had two restaurants, a thriving construction
business, and had done very well in the real estate market even surviving the
crash of the nineties. He was smart enough to buy cheap and then virtually
double his fortune when the housing boom struck again.
Connie was actually the youngest of four, two brothers and a sister. They
were all taught that hard work is the only way to achieve anything in life this
is why she was so caught off guard by the car.
"I want you to be the first one to ride in it," she said.
The evening started with a quick ride up old route 8 to Great Barrington
for some incredible sushi at this restaurant called Bizen. We then danced and
kissed the night away down the alley at Club Helsinki. This is the hippest New
York City club stashed in the hills of the Berkshires.
"I want tonight to be perfect." She whispered as she rested her head, drunk
with expensive wine and sexual tension, on my shoulder and let that beautiful
curly black hair drape over my arm while we moved as one.
As I drove the BMW through the night back to the apartment I felt her rub
the back of my neck. The comfort was gone replaced with a passion and urgency I
hadn't seen in her before.
In her bedroom there were no questions, no hesitation, just fire. She was
of a single mind. The intensity was overwhelming. The fire burned for over an
hour and when it was over she cried softly in my arms.
All good things must end.
"He loves me." she said quietly, almost guilty she had to admit something
she and I both already knew. "I can't do this anymore. The more I'm with you
the more I want to be with you but you're so...so closed."
There was nothing I could say. There is only so much I can give. Let me
rephrase that there is only so much I will give. For me to hold her back from
someone that was willing to give her all that she needed would be selfish and
cruel.
"Do you want me to leave?" I asked pushing the hair from her cheek and
looking deep into her brown eyes.
"No, but you have to...I...just...I just wanted this night to be perfect."
"I have an idea. Why don't you kiss me one last time and then go to sleep.
When you wake up I'll be gone and you can pretend this whole thing was a dream."
Her heavy wine soaked eyelids closed and she kissed me like I was dying. I
held her in my arms until she fell asleep.
I took one last look at her just before I left. I took a solid drag of the
American Spirit Red as my feet hit the street. To my surprise the slight breeze
did nothing to ease the sweltering evening. Usually I love the heat but not
tonight.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
51 - Welcome Back
"Welcome back." I said as I walked through Stotler's new apartment. It
was a nice little place located in Condo Central, CT. Bedroom, office, kitchen,
living room, what else does a guy need?
"Well," I said pulling the Spirits out of my pants pocket, "at least it has
a porch. I just think you should have bought a house. I like the place but I
just can't stand the thought of all of these fucking people around."
"Weren't you considering moving to New York?" he asked stepping on to the
porch. He cracked open a beer and took a solid swig.
"New York is different. You may have all of these people living around but
nobody gives a damn about you or what you do. This place, you can't fart
without someone two apartments over talking about yoOOOhhhhh I see you have a
view of the pool." I said switching gears as two treadmill friendly, bikini
clad females made themselves comfortable.
"I now see some of the appeal of this place." I let the smoke trail over
the railing.
"They're married." He said waiving the smoke away.
"To each other? Nice this gets more exciting by the moment."
"NO, asshole, I know their husbands. They..."
"Don't tell me. I have no interest in what sausage does for a living."
"So let me get this straight," he said changing the subject, "you're
hanging out with some twenty year old girl who likes you to go to yoga classes
with her?"
I took a long deep drag.
"She's twenty-one," I said leaning against the railing. "Just had a
birthday Saturday. You know you should put an ashtray out here." I flicked the
ashes into the wind.
"Dude, you're the only one who smokes and you've only been here twice in
eight months."
"I might be here more if there were an ashtray. Anyway, I've only been to
yoga once..."
"What, no ashtrays there either."
"That was quick. I like that. Very funny."
"Is she hot?"
"Surprisingly."
"Nice, you're dating a twenty year old girl."
"Correction; I'm her side piece. She's got a steady boyfriend."
The treadmill friendly females slowly turned over onto their stomachs and
we were both caught off guard.
"Side piece?!?"
"Welcome back to the world of the single guy. Dates are hard to come by.
The bar scene has gotten tired. We are now the old guys at the club. Doesn't
get much better than that. A pretty girl makes eye contact with me lately and
I'm the happiest guy on the planet."
"Seriously?"
"No. It's not that bad but the competition is fierce."
"I'm not ready for this bullshit. Maybe if we worked a little harder
marriage I..." he put his beer on the railing and the smoke rolled around it.
"Don't. Just don't. Somethings just aren't meant to be. Bask in the
right now. You've got the killer bachelor pad, a good job, the nice yet
slightly gay car, your health, those two hot asses down by the pool, and most of
all a new found freedom. Just one thing missing."
"What's that?" he asked taking another drink.
"A fucking ashtray." I flicked the ashes into the wind.
That Beautiful Black Man
was a nice little place located in Condo Central, CT. Bedroom, office, kitchen,
living room, what else does a guy need?
"Well," I said pulling the Spirits out of my pants pocket, "at least it has
a porch. I just think you should have bought a house. I like the place but I
just can't stand the thought of all of these fucking people around."
"Weren't you considering moving to New York?" he asked stepping on to the
porch. He cracked open a beer and took a solid swig.
"New York is different. You may have all of these people living around but
nobody gives a damn about you or what you do. This place, you can't fart
without someone two apartments over talking about yoOOOhhhhh I see you have a
view of the pool." I said switching gears as two treadmill friendly, bikini
clad females made themselves comfortable.
"I now see some of the appeal of this place." I let the smoke trail over
the railing.
"They're married." He said waiving the smoke away.
"To each other? Nice this gets more exciting by the moment."
"NO, asshole, I know their husbands. They..."
"Don't tell me. I have no interest in what sausage does for a living."
"So let me get this straight," he said changing the subject, "you're
hanging out with some twenty year old girl who likes you to go to yoga classes
with her?"
I took a long deep drag.
"She's twenty-one," I said leaning against the railing. "Just had a
birthday Saturday. You know you should put an ashtray out here." I flicked the
ashes into the wind.
"Dude, you're the only one who smokes and you've only been here twice in
eight months."
"I might be here more if there were an ashtray. Anyway, I've only been to
yoga once..."
"What, no ashtrays there either."
"That was quick. I like that. Very funny."
"Is she hot?"
"Surprisingly."
"Nice, you're dating a twenty year old girl."
"Correction; I'm her side piece. She's got a steady boyfriend."
The treadmill friendly females slowly turned over onto their stomachs and
we were both caught off guard.
"Side piece?!?"
"Welcome back to the world of the single guy. Dates are hard to come by.
The bar scene has gotten tired. We are now the old guys at the club. Doesn't
get much better than that. A pretty girl makes eye contact with me lately and
I'm the happiest guy on the planet."
"Seriously?"
"No. It's not that bad but the competition is fierce."
"I'm not ready for this bullshit. Maybe if we worked a little harder
marriage I..." he put his beer on the railing and the smoke rolled around it.
"Don't. Just don't. Somethings just aren't meant to be. Bask in the
right now. You've got the killer bachelor pad, a good job, the nice yet
slightly gay car, your health, those two hot asses down by the pool, and most of
all a new found freedom. Just one thing missing."
"What's that?" he asked taking another drink.
"A fucking ashtray." I flicked the ashes into the wind.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, February 17, 2014
50 - Comfort Equals Misery
"Holy shit!" I said as I stepped into Memories. I rarely go out in Torrington. I work in town so why the hell would I want to hang out there.
"Fucking Teddy!" I have known Teddy for more than fifteen years. He made the move to California about eight years ago and has fought and scraped to get into a working rock band. He was two fisting it. Gotta love that.
"Fucking Teddy!! I can't believe it. I thought you were in California. What the hell's going on?"
"DUUUUUUUDE! My first night back in Torrington and I run into you. Verna's going to flip. What the hell are you up to?"
"Man I just had to get out of my house. I went to Hartford to meet my buddy but his girl showed up and dragged him out of the bar so I said fuck it I'm going home. On the way back I remembered I had a gift certificate for some free drinks at Memories. Holy Shit! How's California treating you?"
"Good and bad. The good is that the band just got a spot on the Warped Tour..."
"Way to go man."
"Yeah this is huge for us. We hit the road in June and we're on until late August. If we're lucky we'll have the new album ready for the shows. This is going to be crazy."
"I bet, man, I bet. But you're on the road. Shit can't get much better than that."
"Welllll the bad is I just broke up with my girlfriend so I have to sleep on the tour bus until we leave."
"Jesus," I said starting to notice the girls walking around the dance floor.
"Hold my drink. I have to call Verna." He handed me his drinks and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket that looked like it had enough gadgets to make men stop masturbating. "Damn it. He's not home. You have to leave him a message. Verna!" He yelled into Verna's voice mail. "Guess who I'm with in CT, baby?!? Say hi to him!"
"Verna!! What's up?!? New days are on the way!"
Ted's phone hung up. "Goddamn it, cell service sucks here."
"So what brings you back to Torrington," I asked.
His mood shifted just a little.
"It's the one year anniversary since my sister passed away so I'm back for the memorial." He hung his head a bit and then took a sip of his drink.
"Man, I'm sorry. Wish the family the best for me."
"Thank you. So what are you doing now?"
"I am living proof you can't get fired from a rental car company. I spend my days alternating between renting cars to people and contemplating ways to shoot myself and still get paid."
"That bad?"
"It's not that. I just hate the job. The problem is that I'm almost financially comfortable. And comfort equals misery. I'm not saying I'm rich but the bills keep getting paid."
"What do you mean you can't get fired?"
"Example conversation: 'Jamal how was your weekend?' 'Not bad I spent time experimenting with random acts of man love.' 'That's, ah, great. Could you go on the pick up?'
Usually after comments like that they leave me the fuck alone and I can get some work done. They told me my career is hanging on by a thread I should learn to listen. My response was 'This is not a career for me it's just a job sort of like random acts of man love.'"
"Dude you kill me," he said laughing into his drink.
That Beautiful Black Man
"Fucking Teddy!" I have known Teddy for more than fifteen years. He made the move to California about eight years ago and has fought and scraped to get into a working rock band. He was two fisting it. Gotta love that.
"Fucking Teddy!! I can't believe it. I thought you were in California. What the hell's going on?"
"DUUUUUUUDE! My first night back in Torrington and I run into you. Verna's going to flip. What the hell are you up to?"
"Man I just had to get out of my house. I went to Hartford to meet my buddy but his girl showed up and dragged him out of the bar so I said fuck it I'm going home. On the way back I remembered I had a gift certificate for some free drinks at Memories. Holy Shit! How's California treating you?"
"Good and bad. The good is that the band just got a spot on the Warped Tour..."
"Way to go man."
"Yeah this is huge for us. We hit the road in June and we're on until late August. If we're lucky we'll have the new album ready for the shows. This is going to be crazy."
"I bet, man, I bet. But you're on the road. Shit can't get much better than that."
"Welllll the bad is I just broke up with my girlfriend so I have to sleep on the tour bus until we leave."
"Jesus," I said starting to notice the girls walking around the dance floor.
"Hold my drink. I have to call Verna." He handed me his drinks and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket that looked like it had enough gadgets to make men stop masturbating. "Damn it. He's not home. You have to leave him a message. Verna!" He yelled into Verna's voice mail. "Guess who I'm with in CT, baby?!? Say hi to him!"
"Verna!! What's up?!? New days are on the way!"
Ted's phone hung up. "Goddamn it, cell service sucks here."
"So what brings you back to Torrington," I asked.
His mood shifted just a little.
"It's the one year anniversary since my sister passed away so I'm back for the memorial." He hung his head a bit and then took a sip of his drink.
"Man, I'm sorry. Wish the family the best for me."
"Thank you. So what are you doing now?"
"I am living proof you can't get fired from a rental car company. I spend my days alternating between renting cars to people and contemplating ways to shoot myself and still get paid."
"That bad?"
"It's not that. I just hate the job. The problem is that I'm almost financially comfortable. And comfort equals misery. I'm not saying I'm rich but the bills keep getting paid."
"What do you mean you can't get fired?"
"Example conversation: 'Jamal how was your weekend?' 'Not bad I spent time experimenting with random acts of man love.' 'That's, ah, great. Could you go on the pick up?'
Usually after comments like that they leave me the fuck alone and I can get some work done. They told me my career is hanging on by a thread I should learn to listen. My response was 'This is not a career for me it's just a job sort of like random acts of man love.'"
"Dude you kill me," he said laughing into his drink.
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, February 14, 2014
49 - Crisp Wind
The crisp wind caught me off guard as I rolled down the window to flick the butt of my cigarette into the night. It the temperature had dropped ten degrees since we left the club.
I turned up the heat to shake off the late February air. The roads were dry but that only made me wish for spring to come earlier. I had almost forgotten the cold until now.
I crawled on to the on ramp and made sure the borrowed laser radar detector was on before I jammed the Saab into third gear. It responded with a small lurch then exploded as the turbo kicked in.
Connie slowly rubbed the back of my head with her left hand. When she reached the nape of my neck I leaned my head back to caress her fingers. She moved her hand to cover mine as I shifted from fourth and then fifth gear. She slowly pulled my hand to her lips and kissed it.
"I think my boyfriend hates you," she said comfortably pulling back her thick black hair. "He thinks I spend too much time at work, too much time at school, and too much time with you." She pulled her left leg on to the seat of the car.
"Why would he hate me?" I asked feeling the slick smile cut across my face. "This isn't still from that one yoga class?" I felt myself cringe thinking about the body carpet.
"Could it be the monthly trips to Great Barrington? The massages?"
"Welllll," she said drawing out the word, "if he knew about any of that or what happened after yoga class then I'm sure he'd hate you."
I caught her smiling out of the corner of my eye.
"Goddamn Jagermeister, gets me every time." I said snapping my fingers in the air. "So what does he know about me?"
"Nothing really," she said looking out the window. "I may have mentioned your name once or twice in passing but nothing specific."
I knew it was a lie the moment she said it. I could hear the machine slowly starting to purr in my head. She was still very comfortable, almost too comfortable. So was I. Some moments of comfort you don't want to lose.
"Tell him you think I'm gay!" I said feeling the slick smile cut across my face again.
"What?!?" She said almost going through the sun roof.
"Tell...him...you...think...I'm...gay! Say I love men. Tell him you think I'm quick for the dick! Every woman I know has a gay friend they hang out with, I'll be yours. Tell him I'm in your yoga class."
"You've only gone once." She said laughing.
"Believe me once was enough! Tell him I've done lots of theater! Let him know my clothes always match! Let him know I get a manicure once a week..."
"You do?!?"
"I clip my nails but it's almost the same thing!"
"You are such an evil bastard. I can't believe I hang out with you." She said shaking her head.
"Trust me this has worked in the past. I knew a woman who always talked about me around her husband. He said if he ever met me he would beat the piss out of me. He approached me at a wedding ready to kick my ass. His wife saw what was about to happen so she introduced us and I said 'Julie you never said he was this cute.' He walked straight to the bar and hasn't said a damn thing about me since. Trust me this shit works."
"You make me laugh," she said. "I like that."
The light danced in her eyes and she kissed my hand again. I cracked the window to let the smoke from my freshly lit cigarette bleed into the darkness. This time the crisp wind felt refreshing.
That Beautiful Black Man
I turned up the heat to shake off the late February air. The roads were dry but that only made me wish for spring to come earlier. I had almost forgotten the cold until now.
I crawled on to the on ramp and made sure the borrowed laser radar detector was on before I jammed the Saab into third gear. It responded with a small lurch then exploded as the turbo kicked in.
Connie slowly rubbed the back of my head with her left hand. When she reached the nape of my neck I leaned my head back to caress her fingers. She moved her hand to cover mine as I shifted from fourth and then fifth gear. She slowly pulled my hand to her lips and kissed it.
"I think my boyfriend hates you," she said comfortably pulling back her thick black hair. "He thinks I spend too much time at work, too much time at school, and too much time with you." She pulled her left leg on to the seat of the car.
"Why would he hate me?" I asked feeling the slick smile cut across my face. "This isn't still from that one yoga class?" I felt myself cringe thinking about the body carpet.
"Could it be the monthly trips to Great Barrington? The massages?"
"Welllll," she said drawing out the word, "if he knew about any of that or what happened after yoga class then I'm sure he'd hate you."
I caught her smiling out of the corner of my eye.
"Goddamn Jagermeister, gets me every time." I said snapping my fingers in the air. "So what does he know about me?"
"Nothing really," she said looking out the window. "I may have mentioned your name once or twice in passing but nothing specific."
I knew it was a lie the moment she said it. I could hear the machine slowly starting to purr in my head. She was still very comfortable, almost too comfortable. So was I. Some moments of comfort you don't want to lose.
"Tell him you think I'm gay!" I said feeling the slick smile cut across my face again.
"What?!?" She said almost going through the sun roof.
"Tell...him...you...think...I'm...gay! Say I love men. Tell him you think I'm quick for the dick! Every woman I know has a gay friend they hang out with, I'll be yours. Tell him I'm in your yoga class."
"You've only gone once." She said laughing.
"Believe me once was enough! Tell him I've done lots of theater! Let him know my clothes always match! Let him know I get a manicure once a week..."
"You do?!?"
"I clip my nails but it's almost the same thing!"
"You are such an evil bastard. I can't believe I hang out with you." She said shaking her head.
"Trust me this has worked in the past. I knew a woman who always talked about me around her husband. He said if he ever met me he would beat the piss out of me. He approached me at a wedding ready to kick my ass. His wife saw what was about to happen so she introduced us and I said 'Julie you never said he was this cute.' He walked straight to the bar and hasn't said a damn thing about me since. Trust me this shit works."
"You make me laugh," she said. "I like that."
The light danced in her eyes and she kissed my hand again. I cracked the window to let the smoke from my freshly lit cigarette bleed into the darkness. This time the crisp wind felt refreshing.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, February 13, 2014
48 - Yoga Class Part 3
Yoga seems to be a relaxation of the mind and body through deep breathing
and attempting to bend your body into positions I wasn't ready for.
I had put the image of the sasquatch to my left out of my mind and decided
to concentrate on the instructor. She was a round little woman with a little
voice that almost made me feel like I was in kindergarten again.
The thought to run again kicked in with the lotus position. In this
position you sit on the floor, cross your legs, and pull your heels up to your
nuts, (if you have them) and try to keep your knees as close to the floor as
possible. While you hold this position you Ooommmm repeatedly.
The ooommm was actually great. It hid the ooouuch and the urge to laugh.
The 100° temperature made more of a difference than I thought it would. With
the instructors gentle direction on when to breathe, the peaceful music, and a
knowledge that this couldn't go on for that long, I was able to get through all
of the weird animal positions; downward facing dog, upward facing dog, crab
posture, warrior variations, half camel, camel (the name alone made me really
want a cigarette) and the painful, balance challenging, tree and eagle
positions.
Now I know how women feel when they are having bad sex. You get through it
with the knowledge of three things:
a)this was a stupid mistake
b)it will never happen again
c)this shit can't last forever
"Are you ok?" Connie whispered during the last one minute break
smiling.
"I'm fine." I lied. "Just as long as the yeti over here
doesn't pull out a twister mat everything will be fine." I whispered back.
The last ten minutes were a test of will power. Will all of the bending
and twisting there was an undying urge to fart my brains out. One more second
of the bow position (where you grab your ankles and balance on your stomach) and
I would have been able to launch a missile out of my ass.
The class ended back in the lotus position on an Ooommm. Luckily no one
noticed the one cheek sneak under the collective ooommm and the pulsating drum
music.
Happily the sweaty yeti next to me left without saying a word.
The cold winter air felt good against our well warmed skin. Consuela was
right. Driving would have been a nightmare. My muscles felt like jelly.
I had a good night with Connie. She tells all of her friends that she and
I attempted to bend our bodies into these weird positions that neither of us were
ready for.
That Beautiful Black Man
and attempting to bend your body into positions I wasn't ready for.
I had put the image of the sasquatch to my left out of my mind and decided
to concentrate on the instructor. She was a round little woman with a little
voice that almost made me feel like I was in kindergarten again.
The thought to run again kicked in with the lotus position. In this
position you sit on the floor, cross your legs, and pull your heels up to your
nuts, (if you have them) and try to keep your knees as close to the floor as
possible. While you hold this position you Ooommmm repeatedly.
The ooommm was actually great. It hid the ooouuch and the urge to laugh.
The 100° temperature made more of a difference than I thought it would. With
the instructors gentle direction on when to breathe, the peaceful music, and a
knowledge that this couldn't go on for that long, I was able to get through all
of the weird animal positions; downward facing dog, upward facing dog, crab
posture, warrior variations, half camel, camel (the name alone made me really
want a cigarette) and the painful, balance challenging, tree and eagle
positions.
Now I know how women feel when they are having bad sex. You get through it
with the knowledge of three things:
a)this was a stupid mistake
b)it will never happen again
c)this shit can't last forever
"Are you ok?" Connie whispered during the last one minute break
smiling.
"I'm fine." I lied. "Just as long as the yeti over here
doesn't pull out a twister mat everything will be fine." I whispered back.
The last ten minutes were a test of will power. Will all of the bending
and twisting there was an undying urge to fart my brains out. One more second
of the bow position (where you grab your ankles and balance on your stomach) and
I would have been able to launch a missile out of my ass.
The class ended back in the lotus position on an Ooommm. Luckily no one
noticed the one cheek sneak under the collective ooommm and the pulsating drum
music.
Happily the sweaty yeti next to me left without saying a word.
The cold winter air felt good against our well warmed skin. Consuela was
right. Driving would have been a nightmare. My muscles felt like jelly.
I had a good night with Connie. She tells all of her friends that she and
I attempted to bend our bodies into these weird positions that neither of us were
ready for.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
47 - Yoga Class Part 2
I usually take my own car everywhere I go so I can make a quick exit but
Consuela had a good point; what if I was too wiped out to drive after hot yoga
class? It wasn't that she thought I would be too tired, she just didn't want me
to get a charlie horse and drive off the road on the way home. Besides her
little Honda civic wasn't afraid of playing National Public Radio.
I thought I could handle a thirty minute ride down the highway. I would
get to relax and mentally prepare for the physical torture of stretching for an
hour. Stupid bastard.
"I can't believe you're not dating anyone," she said out of the
blue. I just watched the light snow fly by the windshield. A slight smile cut
across my lips and a small snort of a laugh came uncontrollably.
"I'm not really good boyfriend material," I said surprising
myself with my honesty. I didn't feel it was necessary to tell her I've slept
with more than twice as many people as years she's been alive, but she didn't
ask.
"I'm selfish. I'm cheap and worst of all I have a small dick."
She just rolled her eyes and turned the heat up.
"Might as well get ready for class."
The light squall stopped just at we pulled up to the yoga center. I looked
around for the 50 yr old guy with the hairy back. We were a go so far.
The classroom was the size of a large master bedroom. There were 10 mats
on the floor, each calling me to fall asleep in the sweltering 100° heat. The
walls were covered with beautiful flowing artwork and the music was that of
American Indian peace.
There was a mixture of ages. I wasn't the oldest but Connie was the
youngest. The mats were occupied by a couple in their mid thirties, three moms,
a woman who really needed to invest in a treadmill, a woman who looked like she
could have been a yoga instructor herself, and the two of us. Everyone seemed
to know each other and were very kind to the newcomers.
Just I was getting happy with the thought of having Consuela on one side of
me and an empty mat on the other, Steve came in.
Everyone waved and nodded hello as he made his way to the empty mat. Just
before we were to begin mountain position he took off his sweat set to
reveal a body carpet that began at the back of his neck and disappeared into his
sneakers.
I could hear Connie to my right laughing quietly to herself.
"This is why I usually take my car everywhere I go." I thought to
myself.
That Beautiful Black Man
Consuela had a good point; what if I was too wiped out to drive after hot yoga
class? It wasn't that she thought I would be too tired, she just didn't want me
to get a charlie horse and drive off the road on the way home. Besides her
little Honda civic wasn't afraid of playing National Public Radio.
I thought I could handle a thirty minute ride down the highway. I would
get to relax and mentally prepare for the physical torture of stretching for an
hour. Stupid bastard.
"I can't believe you're not dating anyone," she said out of the
blue. I just watched the light snow fly by the windshield. A slight smile cut
across my lips and a small snort of a laugh came uncontrollably.
"I'm not really good boyfriend material," I said surprising
myself with my honesty. I didn't feel it was necessary to tell her I've slept
with more than twice as many people as years she's been alive, but she didn't
ask.
"I'm selfish. I'm cheap and worst of all I have a small dick."
She just rolled her eyes and turned the heat up.
"Might as well get ready for class."
The light squall stopped just at we pulled up to the yoga center. I looked
around for the 50 yr old guy with the hairy back. We were a go so far.
The classroom was the size of a large master bedroom. There were 10 mats
on the floor, each calling me to fall asleep in the sweltering 100° heat. The
walls were covered with beautiful flowing artwork and the music was that of
American Indian peace.
There was a mixture of ages. I wasn't the oldest but Connie was the
youngest. The mats were occupied by a couple in their mid thirties, three moms,
a woman who really needed to invest in a treadmill, a woman who looked like she
could have been a yoga instructor herself, and the two of us. Everyone seemed
to know each other and were very kind to the newcomers.
Just I was getting happy with the thought of having Consuela on one side of
me and an empty mat on the other, Steve came in.
Everyone waved and nodded hello as he made his way to the empty mat. Just
before we were to begin mountain position he took off his sweat set to
reveal a body carpet that began at the back of his neck and disappeared into his
sneakers.
I could hear Connie to my right laughing quietly to herself.
"This is why I usually take my car everywhere I go." I thought to
myself.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
46 - Yoga Class Part 1
"Yoga class!?! Let me get this straight," I said to Connie the
waitress. "You want me to go with you to a Yoga class?!?"
"Not just yoga," she said, her brown eyes dancing, "HOT
yoga."
My mind raced as I inhaled the last drag of my American Spirit Red. The
thought of doing yoga with this beautiful twenty year old girl was a bit much.
I have trouble tying my shoes. My back cracks when I reach into my back pocket
to get my wallet.
Connie and I had been hanging out quite a bit in the last two months. She
was just my type of girl, solid A- college student, mind set squarely on the
future, smart enough to carefully watch the present, and loaded with common
sense. She was also gorgeous and had studied dance and gymnastics since she was
four. I'm a dirty old bastard.
"You always complain about flexibility and getting old. My roommate
Tammy stopped dancing four years ago. She took three weeks of this class and
she was almost back up to speed."
I cracked open the Organic Yellow American Spirits and stared through the
window into the cold winter night. The deep drag felt good. If I was going to
go to a yoga class I needed the healthy organic cigarettes.
"So what the hell is hot yoga? Does this mean I have to see you all
naked and stuff?!?" I said pretending to roll my eyes at the ceiling.
"No silly," she said slapping my shoulder. "They turn the
heat up in the room to 100° and you just relax, breath, and stretch. Relax,
breath, and stretch."
"Breath, stretch, shake. Work it out. Breath, stretch, shake. Work
it out." I started singing to myself.
"I hate that song." She said curling up on her corner of the
couch.
"I dispiiiise Mase but how the fuck could you not love that
song?"
She belched loud enough and long enough to shake the goddamn couch.
"That's what I think about that song." She was far too
comfortable with me. She wouldn't sleep with me but she was getting really
comfortable.
"So when does this class start?" I asked blowing smoke towards
her desk.
"Two hours. Wanna go?"
I took another deep drag and considered my options.
1) Go home alone and check out some Internet porn
2) Hang out with this beautiful, increasingly interesting little girl who, in
two hours, would be in a tank top and shorts all hot and sweaty.
"OK, but if I'm the oldest guy there I'm leaving. If I see some 50 yr
old dude there with a hairy back who wants to play naked twister I'm
done."
"Freak." she said pulling her hair back and heading to the
bedroom to change.
"I can't believe I'm going hot yoga with Connie the waitress and some
50 yr old dude that wants to play naked twister."
From the couch I could hear her singing to herself; "Breath, stretch,
shake. Work it out."
"Yoga class." I said to myself.
That Beautiful Black Man
waitress. "You want me to go with you to a Yoga class?!?"
"Not just yoga," she said, her brown eyes dancing, "HOT
yoga."
My mind raced as I inhaled the last drag of my American Spirit Red. The
thought of doing yoga with this beautiful twenty year old girl was a bit much.
I have trouble tying my shoes. My back cracks when I reach into my back pocket
to get my wallet.
Connie and I had been hanging out quite a bit in the last two months. She
was just my type of girl, solid A- college student, mind set squarely on the
future, smart enough to carefully watch the present, and loaded with common
sense. She was also gorgeous and had studied dance and gymnastics since she was
four. I'm a dirty old bastard.
"You always complain about flexibility and getting old. My roommate
Tammy stopped dancing four years ago. She took three weeks of this class and
she was almost back up to speed."
I cracked open the Organic Yellow American Spirits and stared through the
window into the cold winter night. The deep drag felt good. If I was going to
go to a yoga class I needed the healthy organic cigarettes.
"So what the hell is hot yoga? Does this mean I have to see you all
naked and stuff?!?" I said pretending to roll my eyes at the ceiling.
"No silly," she said slapping my shoulder. "They turn the
heat up in the room to 100° and you just relax, breath, and stretch. Relax,
breath, and stretch."
"Breath, stretch, shake. Work it out. Breath, stretch, shake. Work
it out." I started singing to myself.
"I hate that song." She said curling up on her corner of the
couch.
"I dispiiiise Mase but how the fuck could you not love that
song?"
She belched loud enough and long enough to shake the goddamn couch.
"That's what I think about that song." She was far too
comfortable with me. She wouldn't sleep with me but she was getting really
comfortable.
"So when does this class start?" I asked blowing smoke towards
her desk.
"Two hours. Wanna go?"
I took another deep drag and considered my options.
1) Go home alone and check out some Internet porn
2) Hang out with this beautiful, increasingly interesting little girl who, in
two hours, would be in a tank top and shorts all hot and sweaty.
"OK, but if I'm the oldest guy there I'm leaving. If I see some 50 yr
old dude there with a hairy back who wants to play naked twister I'm
done."
"Freak." she said pulling her hair back and heading to the
bedroom to change.
"I can't believe I'm going hot yoga with Connie the waitress and some
50 yr old dude that wants to play naked twister."
From the couch I could hear her singing to herself; "Breath, stretch,
shake. Work it out."
"Yoga class." I said to myself.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, February 10, 2014
45 - Resolutions
"Mine? My resolutions are to gain 40 lbs., smoke two packs of cigarettes a
day, go another $30,000 in debt, and get at least two girls pregnant. Hopefully
they will be of age."
I let the smoke hang in the air. The good thing about crisp winter air is
how good that first drag of an American Spirit feels. We couldn't smoke in the
bar and we weren't going to sit in a car outside of a bar just to smoke. I
don't need those type of rumors flying around.
"Some days you disgust me," said Paris trying to keep the cold out. She
was wearing white Eskimo boots, a thick white winter coat and painted on ski
pants.
"Other days you just amuse me. Seriously why don't you write about me
more. There need to be more Paris stories." Her hat was pulled down to her
sunglasses. You could just see her red lips contrast with her cheeks.
"We don't hang out! I have no frame of reference for you. Every time we
meet it's by some random chance. Think about it, every time we plan to do
something it never happens. Sushi, massages, etc."
"Touche. I'm a busy girl. That will be my resolution. I will bless you
with the grace of my presence ... once or twice."
I just laughed quietly to myself. "That still falls in the category of
planning. You and me. We can't plan. Look at my resolutions." I said
releasing a slow deep drag.
"What's up with those fucked up resolutions?"
"I look at it this way, most people can't stick to those little bullshit
promises they make to themselves. Most of the time they end up doing the
opposite of what they have planned so I figure.."
"You'll lose 40 lbs, quit smoking, blah, blah, blah..."
"Ding, Ding, ding, ding, ding. Who's the big winner here?!? Paris, Paris
is the big winner!"
"You are such an asshole."
"Maybe I'll add that to the list. Be less of an asshole to Paris." I said
flicking my Spirit into the freezing wind.
"Asshole."
That Beautiful Black Man
day, go another $30,000 in debt, and get at least two girls pregnant. Hopefully
they will be of age."
I let the smoke hang in the air. The good thing about crisp winter air is
how good that first drag of an American Spirit feels. We couldn't smoke in the
bar and we weren't going to sit in a car outside of a bar just to smoke. I
don't need those type of rumors flying around.
"Some days you disgust me," said Paris trying to keep the cold out. She
was wearing white Eskimo boots, a thick white winter coat and painted on ski
pants.
"Other days you just amuse me. Seriously why don't you write about me
more. There need to be more Paris stories." Her hat was pulled down to her
sunglasses. You could just see her red lips contrast with her cheeks.
"We don't hang out! I have no frame of reference for you. Every time we
meet it's by some random chance. Think about it, every time we plan to do
something it never happens. Sushi, massages, etc."
"Touche. I'm a busy girl. That will be my resolution. I will bless you
with the grace of my presence ... once or twice."
I just laughed quietly to myself. "That still falls in the category of
planning. You and me. We can't plan. Look at my resolutions." I said
releasing a slow deep drag.
"What's up with those fucked up resolutions?"
"I look at it this way, most people can't stick to those little bullshit
promises they make to themselves. Most of the time they end up doing the
opposite of what they have planned so I figure.."
"You'll lose 40 lbs, quit smoking, blah, blah, blah..."
"Ding, Ding, ding, ding, ding. Who's the big winner here?!? Paris, Paris
is the big winner!"
"You are such an asshole."
"Maybe I'll add that to the list. Be less of an asshole to Paris." I said
flicking my Spirit into the freezing wind.
"Asshole."
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, February 7, 2014
44 - The Ranger
"You should stop by Saturday night," said Derich finishing off his
beer.
"What's going on Saturday?" I asked looking around for Connie our little
waitress from last time we were here.
The Door was bumping for a Wednesday night. There was no one really
for me to check out and I wasn't in the mood for beer. It seemed that the
treadmill usage on this evening was at an all time low.
For the most part I hate the winter. The only thing I do enjoy is that
those who shouldn't wear half shirts don't.
"A few of us are getting together to kill a keg and watch the game."
"Pass. I think I'm going to the show at the theater on Saturday."
"I can't believe you. You are so gay." He crossed his arms and rolled his
eyes toward the ceiling.
"Let me get this straight. You think my weekend plans are 'gay'?" I asked
making 1990's style quotation marks in the air.
"Ahhhh yes. I sense rump ranging."
"Let me make sure I understand what you are saying..."
"Speak pooh stabber."
"Because I don't want to go to your house with five or six other guys and
watch other guys on TV run around in tights and slap each other on the ass, I'm
gay?"
Bit of silence.
"Because I plan to go watch beautiful, flexible, young actresses dance on
stage I am the ranger? Because I don't stop by to watch basketball games
(sweaty dudes in shorts), baseball games (fat dudes in tights), or hockey (white
Eskimos), I am the ranger? Is your gay-dar in full effect?"
"Oh my God I have to kill myself." He said slapping his forehead.
"I know we're just kidding around but I also know that in the wrong hands
this conversation could go from 'hey you're gay' to kill all the Negroes in a
short matter of time. Gays get ragged on. I would love to hear what
motherf*ckers say about me when I'm not in the room. N*gger this, n*gger that."
"Dude, you're being sensitive."
"Do you think the rump ranger needs a hug? Should I call you Tonto? Is
this your way of coming out and blaming me?"
"My brother is gay you asshole."
"Oh yeah. I forgot. I knew that. My bad."
He just shook his head.
"So what game is on Saturday, anyway?" I said trying to make nice.
"California girls volleyball live feed off. 4:30."
"Count me in."
That Beautiful Black Man
beer.
"What's going on Saturday?" I asked looking around for Connie our little
waitress from last time we were here.
The Door was bumping for a Wednesday night. There was no one really
for me to check out and I wasn't in the mood for beer. It seemed that the
treadmill usage on this evening was at an all time low.
For the most part I hate the winter. The only thing I do enjoy is that
those who shouldn't wear half shirts don't.
"A few of us are getting together to kill a keg and watch the game."
"Pass. I think I'm going to the show at the theater on Saturday."
"I can't believe you. You are so gay." He crossed his arms and rolled his
eyes toward the ceiling.
"Let me get this straight. You think my weekend plans are 'gay'?" I asked
making 1990's style quotation marks in the air.
"Ahhhh yes. I sense rump ranging."
"Let me make sure I understand what you are saying..."
"Speak pooh stabber."
"Because I don't want to go to your house with five or six other guys and
watch other guys on TV run around in tights and slap each other on the ass, I'm
gay?"
Bit of silence.
"Because I plan to go watch beautiful, flexible, young actresses dance on
stage I am the ranger? Because I don't stop by to watch basketball games
(sweaty dudes in shorts), baseball games (fat dudes in tights), or hockey (white
Eskimos), I am the ranger? Is your gay-dar in full effect?"
"Oh my God I have to kill myself." He said slapping his forehead.
"I know we're just kidding around but I also know that in the wrong hands
this conversation could go from 'hey you're gay' to kill all the Negroes in a
short matter of time. Gays get ragged on. I would love to hear what
motherf*ckers say about me when I'm not in the room. N*gger this, n*gger that."
"Dude, you're being sensitive."
"Do you think the rump ranger needs a hug? Should I call you Tonto? Is
this your way of coming out and blaming me?"
"My brother is gay you asshole."
"Oh yeah. I forgot. I knew that. My bad."
He just shook his head.
"So what game is on Saturday, anyway?" I said trying to make nice.
"California girls volleyball live feed off. 4:30."
"Count me in."
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, February 6, 2014
43 - Lettuce
"I'll just have a salad and a pineapple juice with no ice," I
told the cute waitress. She was in her late teens and seemed to be having a
ball.
"What is your name?"
"Connie."
"Connie, I need you to do me a big favor."
"Sure," she said, her big brown eyes beaming.
"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?"
"No problem," she said laughing as she walked away.
Derich just looked at me like I was stabbing puppies.
"Dude, what the fuck are you doing ordering a salad? I can't be seen
in here with you if you're going to eat a fucking salad."
I am Derich's wingman. Whenever we go out there is always, and I mean
always, some woman who literally throws herself at him by the end of the
evening.
"I'm just trying to eat a little better. Get into shape." I had
recently gotten pictures back from an excursion to Boston and the shots were
none too flattering. It's hard to battle the blubber until you get a chance to
see it through the unflinching eye of a camera.
"Candy ass." Derich wasn't the most sympathetic person I know.
"Besides not to many girls I know are really interested in a bitter
bloated Negro. Even the gay dudes I know want their guys to be in shape" I
wasn't Mr. Care-for-your-feelings myself.
"That's why I like beer." He said holding his bottle in the air.
"It's not judgemental, non-committal, and always there when I need it.
The more of me there is the more the beer likes me. In fact it is actually
proud to be responsible for making more of me for these pigs to love.
"Your problem," he continued "is that you talk too much.
Prime example; that little shit with the waitress, unnecessary. All you need to
do is make the requisite eye contact and when you talk to her don't say anything
stupid."
These were all things I had said to friends of mine in the past. This was
common knowledge to me. He had no idea about the name game and my quest to
complete the alphabet.
"Which is all well and good," I countered, "unless you don't
get the eye contact. My job is to get my confidence back up to the point where
I am worth catching the eye. Without that initial eye contact your excellent
point is a flimsy as lettuce." I said as my salad arrived.
"How am I doing, Connie?"
"Great so far." She said with smiling eyes.
"Thanks," I said as she danced away.
"Candy ass."
told the cute waitress. She was in her late teens and seemed to be having a
ball.
"What is your name?"
"Connie."
"Connie, I need you to do me a big favor."
"Sure," she said, her big brown eyes beaming.
"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?"
"No problem," she said laughing as she walked away.
Derich just looked at me like I was stabbing puppies.
"Dude, what the fuck are you doing ordering a salad? I can't be seen
in here with you if you're going to eat a fucking salad."
I am Derich's wingman. Whenever we go out there is always, and I mean
always, some woman who literally throws herself at him by the end of the
evening.
"I'm just trying to eat a little better. Get into shape." I had
recently gotten pictures back from an excursion to Boston and the shots were
none too flattering. It's hard to battle the blubber until you get a chance to
see it through the unflinching eye of a camera.
"Candy ass." Derich wasn't the most sympathetic person I know.
"Besides not to many girls I know are really interested in a bitter
bloated Negro. Even the gay dudes I know want their guys to be in shape" I
wasn't Mr. Care-for-your-feelings myself.
"That's why I like beer." He said holding his bottle in the air.
"It's not judgemental, non-committal, and always there when I need it.
The more of me there is the more the beer likes me. In fact it is actually
proud to be responsible for making more of me for these pigs to love.
"Your problem," he continued "is that you talk too much.
Prime example; that little shit with the waitress, unnecessary. All you need to
do is make the requisite eye contact and when you talk to her don't say anything
stupid."
These were all things I had said to friends of mine in the past. This was
common knowledge to me. He had no idea about the name game and my quest to
complete the alphabet.
"Which is all well and good," I countered, "unless you don't
get the eye contact. My job is to get my confidence back up to the point where
I am worth catching the eye. Without that initial eye contact your excellent
point is a flimsy as lettuce." I said as my salad arrived.
"How am I doing, Connie?"
"Great so far." She said with smiling eyes.
"Thanks," I said as she danced away.
"Candy ass."
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
42 - The Freak Out
"I just can't believe it. I thought I was pretty good at this!" I stomped
around my work-in-progress house. The total place is in disarray. I have all of my
parents stuff in my kitchen. What started out as putting new floors in their downstairs
living space and cascaded into gutting the house. Funny how that happens.
The clutter makes my mind slip gears. I go left when I should go right and
everything falls apart. Don't get me wrong, I don't live in the nicest place ever.
According to my sister until I did a little cleaning up a year ago "Bears would have
trouble finding a place clean enough to shit!"
"I think my focus must be off," I said to Stotler. "Not one person
has taken me up on my offer of oral! This is almost insulting."
I flopped down in the middle of a little trail that lead to my kitchen. I really
wanted a cigarette but I don't smoke in my own house.
"I don't know what to tell you. I never had a problem before I got
married." He said, politely ignoring the pile of clothes that occupies every single
guy's couch. "One thing would just lead to another and before I knew it there I
was."
"Right now that just turns my goddamned stomach. Maybe Paris was right. Maybe
I do need to work out. Dump fifteen, twenty pounds. Who knows?"
"How goes 'The Name Game'?" He said smiling just a little.
"This is quite possibly the worst idea I have ever had. I take that back. If
I had come up with that idea about ten years ago I would be the happiest man on the
planet right now. I would just be bragging 'Ha ha only five names left to go!' Now I'm
like 'Shit five impossible names, no choices, no oral, no hope!' Maybe I should just
start stabbing people!"
Stotler just sat back on the couch rubbing his eyes. I should say he sat back as
far as the clothes, blanket, and pillows would allow.
"Maybe my brother was right. Maybe this is a sign that it's time for you to
settle down."
"You know I think I agree. I hear that after you've been married for a while
the sex seems to stop. Maybe I am married. I just skipped the wedding and the honeymoon
and went straight to the no-sex-I-don't-see-you-part."
"What about that girl that was here last week?"
"We're just friends. Some days I think I should just slap a skirt on and go
shopping with her. I'm fucking dying here. I can't even hibernate this year!"
"Ah yes. The four months were no one hears from you or sees you. I can't
believe you still do that."
"Not this year. I just haven't made enough cash this year to fix up the house,
maintain the car, and sit on my ass all winter."
"So what are you gonna do?" he said moving an empty box of Chinese food
to the "garbage".
"I have no idea." I said pacing through the trail again. "I have no
idea."
around my work-in-progress house. The total place is in disarray. I have all of my
parents stuff in my kitchen. What started out as putting new floors in their downstairs
living space and cascaded into gutting the house. Funny how that happens.
The clutter makes my mind slip gears. I go left when I should go right and
everything falls apart. Don't get me wrong, I don't live in the nicest place ever.
According to my sister until I did a little cleaning up a year ago "Bears would have
trouble finding a place clean enough to shit!"
"I think my focus must be off," I said to Stotler. "Not one person
has taken me up on my offer of oral! This is almost insulting."
I flopped down in the middle of a little trail that lead to my kitchen. I really
wanted a cigarette but I don't smoke in my own house.
"I don't know what to tell you. I never had a problem before I got
married." He said, politely ignoring the pile of clothes that occupies every single
guy's couch. "One thing would just lead to another and before I knew it there I
was."
"Right now that just turns my goddamned stomach. Maybe Paris was right. Maybe
I do need to work out. Dump fifteen, twenty pounds. Who knows?"
"How goes 'The Name Game'?" He said smiling just a little.
"This is quite possibly the worst idea I have ever had. I take that back. If
I had come up with that idea about ten years ago I would be the happiest man on the
planet right now. I would just be bragging 'Ha ha only five names left to go!' Now I'm
like 'Shit five impossible names, no choices, no oral, no hope!' Maybe I should just
start stabbing people!"
Stotler just sat back on the couch rubbing his eyes. I should say he sat back as
far as the clothes, blanket, and pillows would allow.
"Maybe my brother was right. Maybe this is a sign that it's time for you to
settle down."
"You know I think I agree. I hear that after you've been married for a while
the sex seems to stop. Maybe I am married. I just skipped the wedding and the honeymoon
and went straight to the no-sex-I-don't-see-you-part."
"What about that girl that was here last week?"
"We're just friends. Some days I think I should just slap a skirt on and go
shopping with her. I'm fucking dying here. I can't even hibernate this year!"
"Ah yes. The four months were no one hears from you or sees you. I can't
believe you still do that."
"Not this year. I just haven't made enough cash this year to fix up the house,
maintain the car, and sit on my ass all winter."
"So what are you gonna do?" he said moving an empty box of Chinese food
to the "garbage".
"I have no idea." I said pacing through the trail again. "I have no
idea."
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
41 - It Is What It Is Part 2
Fanuiel Hall is Boston is incredible. It is one of the great tourist attractions/traps in the Northeastern part of the United States. You can buy any type of trinket, get any type of souvenir, have any picture taken, indulge in the history of the thirteen colonies, sit and people watch, or just marvel at the vast space.
I watched as the space concentrated on the little table the five of us occupied on the outer patio of Ned Devines.
"Let me just get this ... I can believe ..." D's pretty face flushed as I restated my announcement.
"The whole year dedicated to finding the perfect techniques. I'm so tired of listening to what most men aren't doing that I am going to be one of the ones that does."
I waited for the bomb to drop. I knew D had warned everyone that I may say anything at any time but the question was had I gone too far. The Jager left it's trademark taste on my lips and the liquid courage was mixed with the pure adrenaline of fighting downtown Boston ôraffic.
"So I guess this explains Black Pornstar," said N leaning back in her chair and slapping her thighs. "D, you said he was crazy but this ... this is..." her words trailed off into her martini.
"You can't say this to a woman who hasn't been let's say out and about for over a year," T pointed her cigarette in my general direction. "You're liable to get jumped."
I sat back in my chair so I could pull the fresh pack of American Spirit Reds out of my pocket. I took my lighter from my front pocket and lit the first cigarette of the night.
"That just kills it for me," said J, D's old roommate. "I don't care if you could lick the back of your own neck, I see you pull out a cigarette and it's done. I smoked for ten years and blah!"
"Now that just makes you more attractive to me," said T.
A said nothing at first.
"The whole year?!?" she finally managed. D just laughed. She was feeling no pain.
"You now see why I love this kid?" She said hugging me and resting her head on my shoulder. She and I had the same relationship that Paris and I had; there was an understanding. It wasn't love; it was a comfort, more of a collection of moments than anything else. There were just many more good moments than there were bad moments.
"Look at me. I'm not that 6' 190 lb super model guy with The six pack abs and the stone cut face. I have to do anything I can to tip the scale in my favor. I just started working out again. I'm out to lose twenty pounds."
"You look just fine," said D. Her eyes sparkled.
"Lose twenty pounds and I'll let you borrow one of my skirts," said J.
"I couldn't take a skinny man. I'd break him in half," said T.
N chimed in, "Little men just don't do it for me. If a guy is 6' and weighs between 175 and 190 he may as well be a coat rack."
"The whole year?!?" I heard come from A's section of the table.
The alcohol was flowing almost as freely as the conversation. Over numerous rounds for the crew and one more drink for myself I decided to start pointing out men in the crowd to see what their opinion was. I was almost the gay office buddy of the table
"So how do you plan to hone this skill?" asked N finally stopping the search for their perfect guy.
"I've been doing some reading. Anatomy and Physiology books. Videos, not porn, instructional videos."
"A woman knows when she sees a man if he's good in bed. You don't strike me as being good in the sack," commented T.
"That's why I'm taking this year ro learn." I said as the slick smile cust across my face.
"D, do you have anything to add to this?" T asked her point blank.
D flushed and then looked at me laughing. "I've never slept with him."
"That's why she's kept me around for so long." I said hugging D back.
"If you plan to dedicate the whole year to oral, I'd keep you around, too!" Said A sinking back into her chair.
Fanuiel hall is incredible.
That Beautiful Black Man
I watched as the space concentrated on the little table the five of us occupied on the outer patio of Ned Devines.
"Let me just get this ... I can believe ..." D's pretty face flushed as I restated my announcement.
"The whole year dedicated to finding the perfect techniques. I'm so tired of listening to what most men aren't doing that I am going to be one of the ones that does."
I waited for the bomb to drop. I knew D had warned everyone that I may say anything at any time but the question was had I gone too far. The Jager left it's trademark taste on my lips and the liquid courage was mixed with the pure adrenaline of fighting downtown Boston ôraffic.
"So I guess this explains Black Pornstar," said N leaning back in her chair and slapping her thighs. "D, you said he was crazy but this ... this is..." her words trailed off into her martini.
"You can't say this to a woman who hasn't been let's say out and about for over a year," T pointed her cigarette in my general direction. "You're liable to get jumped."
I sat back in my chair so I could pull the fresh pack of American Spirit Reds out of my pocket. I took my lighter from my front pocket and lit the first cigarette of the night.
"That just kills it for me," said J, D's old roommate. "I don't care if you could lick the back of your own neck, I see you pull out a cigarette and it's done. I smoked for ten years and blah!"
"Now that just makes you more attractive to me," said T.
A said nothing at first.
"The whole year?!?" she finally managed. D just laughed. She was feeling no pain.
"You now see why I love this kid?" She said hugging me and resting her head on my shoulder. She and I had the same relationship that Paris and I had; there was an understanding. It wasn't love; it was a comfort, more of a collection of moments than anything else. There were just many more good moments than there were bad moments.
"Look at me. I'm not that 6' 190 lb super model guy with The six pack abs and the stone cut face. I have to do anything I can to tip the scale in my favor. I just started working out again. I'm out to lose twenty pounds."
"You look just fine," said D. Her eyes sparkled.
"Lose twenty pounds and I'll let you borrow one of my skirts," said J.
"I couldn't take a skinny man. I'd break him in half," said T.
N chimed in, "Little men just don't do it for me. If a guy is 6' and weighs between 175 and 190 he may as well be a coat rack."
"The whole year?!?" I heard come from A's section of the table.
The alcohol was flowing almost as freely as the conversation. Over numerous rounds for the crew and one more drink for myself I decided to start pointing out men in the crowd to see what their opinion was. I was almost the gay office buddy of the table
"So how do you plan to hone this skill?" asked N finally stopping the search for their perfect guy.
"I've been doing some reading. Anatomy and Physiology books. Videos, not porn, instructional videos."
"A woman knows when she sees a man if he's good in bed. You don't strike me as being good in the sack," commented T.
"That's why I'm taking this year ro learn." I said as the slick smile cust across my face.
"D, do you have anything to add to this?" T asked her point blank.
D flushed and then looked at me laughing. "I've never slept with him."
"That's why she's kept me around for so long." I said hugging D back.
"If you plan to dedicate the whole year to oral, I'd keep you around, too!" Said A sinking back into her chair.
Fanuiel hall is incredible.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, February 3, 2014
40 - It Is What It Is
I hate the drive to Boston. I take that back. I hate the drive to, in, or near Boston. The best thing about the drive is the payoff. If I'm not up to visit Marrianne, Micha or her older sister, I go to see D.
Boston, to me, is a series of difficult paths. I need to get two blocks down the street directly in front of me but I can't because it's a one way street. Now I have to turn left go down a block then turn right and hope there's no construction going on so I can get to my destination.
What I liked about D is that there was no complicated side street or weird misdirection. She was as straight as they come.
"It is what it is. I don't have time for bullsit." This is typical D. She was the voluptuous Paris. D could also make $10 into about $500 in a matter of hours. Nothing like a little financial wizardry, beautiful face, steel nerves, a mouth like a sailor, and a bad ass Boston accent to make this trip worth while.
We met in Spain sixteen years ago. You couldn't really call it a romance because we were too young to understand the complexities of what that would entail but it is something that will last the duration of our lives, provided I don't fuck it up. This is me.
She flew in from the west. With all of the stresses of a new home, new job, new area she needed to come home to air out. Tonight I was meeting with N, the tall greek goddess, T her younger sister, A the recent divorcee (who I was already warned to be good to), and J, D's former roommate.
I had met J but tonight was the first time I was meeting T,N, and A so I thought I would be on my best behavior.
"I have decided to dedicate this year to learning to give the perfect oral." I announced to the women after downing my second shot of Jager. There was a certain silence in our little circle. I looked over at D and saw a little smile cut across her face.
It is what it is I thought to myself. No time for the bullshit.
That Beautiful Black Man
Boston, to me, is a series of difficult paths. I need to get two blocks down the street directly in front of me but I can't because it's a one way street. Now I have to turn left go down a block then turn right and hope there's no construction going on so I can get to my destination.
What I liked about D is that there was no complicated side street or weird misdirection. She was as straight as they come.
"It is what it is. I don't have time for bullsit." This is typical D. She was the voluptuous Paris. D could also make $10 into about $500 in a matter of hours. Nothing like a little financial wizardry, beautiful face, steel nerves, a mouth like a sailor, and a bad ass Boston accent to make this trip worth while.
We met in Spain sixteen years ago. You couldn't really call it a romance because we were too young to understand the complexities of what that would entail but it is something that will last the duration of our lives, provided I don't fuck it up. This is me.
She flew in from the west. With all of the stresses of a new home, new job, new area she needed to come home to air out. Tonight I was meeting with N, the tall greek goddess, T her younger sister, A the recent divorcee (who I was already warned to be good to), and J, D's former roommate.
I had met J but tonight was the first time I was meeting T,N, and A so I thought I would be on my best behavior.
"I have decided to dedicate this year to learning to give the perfect oral." I announced to the women after downing my second shot of Jager. There was a certain silence in our little circle. I looked over at D and saw a little smile cut across her face.
It is what it is I thought to myself. No time for the bullshit.
That Beautiful Black Man
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