I watched in horror as Paris nodded off in Kiki's passenger seat. I stepped
away from the car and backed into the brick wall. I looked over at Kiki and then back to
Paris. I shook my head and walked passed Kiki to my apartment. I was in shock. All of
my worst fears and all of vicious rumors seemed to be coming true.
"I can't believe it," I said to myself. "I just can't fuckin' believe it."
Kiki followed me into the apartment. I just sat on my couch and stared at the blank
TV screen.
"She needs your hands," she said leaning in the doorway. "I'm trying
to get her into a facility but I'm still waiting to hear back from somebody. I..."
Her voice trailed off into thin air.
'The Hands' were a nickname I had been given recently because every time I went to a
party I either ended up playing music or giving massages. I could always be found in a
corner with some woman draped over my shoulders listening to a song or getting her back
rubbed.
I figured Paris didn't need to hear a new version of an old Hendrix song so I began
preparing the cleansing. I walked into the kitchen to check on the pot of hot water for
tea. I set up the massage table in the living room and programmed the Chopin CD.
There was a tinge of bitterness in my system. I thought of Paris sitting in the car
on a path of total self destruction. I hoped that this was rock bottom and she could
start moving back up from her self imposed torture.
Then I thought about my Dad; a man who never drank, never smoked, and never did
drugs. I thought of him trapped in the prison of his own body and realized the irony was
lost on me alone. I was helping a person who wanted to destroy herself get better and
the person was struggling to get better was being destroyed by his own body. I wanted to
put a chair through a wall.
'If she died,' I thought to myself, 'would that balance out the universe and give
him more time?' I shook off the thought. You help who you can when you can and maybe if
you're lucky karma helps you.
The whistling hot water brought me back to my senses. I poured a cup of cleansing
tea. It was tea my father would drink when he first got sick to keep his strength up. I
turned up the heat in the apartment to make the massage more comfortable.
I opened the door to get Paris.
"Be careful," said Kiki putting her hand on my shoulder. "She's been
ruthless. She ripped into me about how I used to strip and how I raise my kids
and..."
"About your what? How you raise your what? Kids?!?" I stammered
emphasizing the s in kids. I looked her up and down. She couldn't be bigger than a size
two. She was maybe 100 lbs soaking wet holding a brick.
"I didn't know you had kids. How old are they?" I asked a bit
bewildered. I pictured cute little Eurasian toddlers running around her little paradise
in the woods when they weren't spending weekends with their father.
"Sixteen and seventeen," she said proudly. My eyebrows must have touched
the 9 foot ceilings. "They're my babies."
I thought back to the kiss in her house and rested my head in the door jam. It
struck me that I was older than she was.
"You don't look old enough to have a two year old."
"Thank you," She said as we walked to the car.
"Here's the plan," I said leaning with my back against the brick.
"I'm the man with the hands." I stepped away from the wall and towards the
car. I looked over at Kiki and then back to Paris. You help who you can when you can
and maybe if you're lucky karma helps you.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 31, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
79 - Rock Bottom (Part 2)
The phone sounded like a chainsaw ripping into my skull as it vibrated on the
wooden end table near the couch. I found myself falling asleep on the couch more and
more. Even though the bedroom is just up the stairs I had this feeling that if I was
closer to the door when something happened to my father I would be able to get there
faster and possibly prevent it.
“Are you home?” asked Kiki’s voice.
“Yeah,” I said hoping she had come to her senses or better yet, lost them
completely.
“What’s going on?” I was going to follow Derich’s advice and just let things go. I
had visions of booty call running through my head.
“It’s Paris. She’s smashed up her BMW. It’s totaled.” She said bluntly.
“Is she all right?!?” I asked feeling the ice pump through my veins. My heart
jumped into my throat. It was a long time coming and I didn’t want it to end like this.
“She’s with me. She has a little burn from the airbag but …which house are you?”
“What?!?”
“Which house are you? I have her with me. She’s been trying to give me directions
but she keeps nodding. I don’t know where else I can go right now.” There was a hint of
desperation in her voice.
“You hit the fork, bang a left and look for the first brick house on the left. Turn
into the first driveway. Knock on the first door. Look she’s probably nodding because
of the meds.” I said sounding a little bit annoyed.
“The accident happened about a week ago. She’s been on a bender. It’s bad, really
bad.”
I thought back to the 6:30 phone call. Why didn’t the phone wake me up then like it
did this time? Whose car door was dinging in the back ground? How bad was she? I
hadn’t seen Paris in almost three months. Every time we did talk on the phone the
conversations were just a bit off.
I was worried but I did the same thing I did when my oldest brother was coming to my
house, I hid all of the credit cards and anything with an application; music club, DVD,
magazines, you name it. When my brother had his nasty bout with drugs a few years ago he
took little things like this from my Dad and opened some BS accounts so he could get
something to sell. He called it fast money. We are still getting calls from credit
companies attempting to collect on his debts.
I heard the little Honda pull into my driveway. I opened the front door and walked
back to the kitchen to boil water. I figured green tea would help purge her system.
“Hey,” said Kiki through the screen door.
“Come on in,” I said just loud enough for her to hear me. “I’m making tea.”
“I’m sorry to do this so early on a holiday but I didn’t know where else to go.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t have any plans for the day anyway. Where’s your girl?” I
said putting the teapot on the stove.
“She’s in the car. I need a hand getting her in the house.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I jested, tossing my hand in the air in dismissal. There
was a part of me that was in denial.
She was pulling the hood of her pink sweatshirt back as I got to the window. Her
once full hair was now matted and stringy. Here blue eyes were surrounded by red moats
of bloodshot. Her dry, blotchy, skin made her gaunt face look even thinner.
“Hey, baby,” she rattled with her newly husky voice. “You miss me?” She registered
my shock and started laughing. I normally love her laughter but today it sounded like a
chainsaw ripping into my skull.
That Beautiful Black Man
wooden end table near the couch. I found myself falling asleep on the couch more and
more. Even though the bedroom is just up the stairs I had this feeling that if I was
closer to the door when something happened to my father I would be able to get there
faster and possibly prevent it.
“Are you home?” asked Kiki’s voice.
“Yeah,” I said hoping she had come to her senses or better yet, lost them
completely.
“What’s going on?” I was going to follow Derich’s advice and just let things go. I
had visions of booty call running through my head.
“It’s Paris. She’s smashed up her BMW. It’s totaled.” She said bluntly.
“Is she all right?!?” I asked feeling the ice pump through my veins. My heart
jumped into my throat. It was a long time coming and I didn’t want it to end like this.
“She’s with me. She has a little burn from the airbag but …which house are you?”
“What?!?”
“Which house are you? I have her with me. She’s been trying to give me directions
but she keeps nodding. I don’t know where else I can go right now.” There was a hint of
desperation in her voice.
“You hit the fork, bang a left and look for the first brick house on the left. Turn
into the first driveway. Knock on the first door. Look she’s probably nodding because
of the meds.” I said sounding a little bit annoyed.
“The accident happened about a week ago. She’s been on a bender. It’s bad, really
bad.”
I thought back to the 6:30 phone call. Why didn’t the phone wake me up then like it
did this time? Whose car door was dinging in the back ground? How bad was she? I
hadn’t seen Paris in almost three months. Every time we did talk on the phone the
conversations were just a bit off.
I was worried but I did the same thing I did when my oldest brother was coming to my
house, I hid all of the credit cards and anything with an application; music club, DVD,
magazines, you name it. When my brother had his nasty bout with drugs a few years ago he
took little things like this from my Dad and opened some BS accounts so he could get
something to sell. He called it fast money. We are still getting calls from credit
companies attempting to collect on his debts.
I heard the little Honda pull into my driveway. I opened the front door and walked
back to the kitchen to boil water. I figured green tea would help purge her system.
“Hey,” said Kiki through the screen door.
“Come on in,” I said just loud enough for her to hear me. “I’m making tea.”
“I’m sorry to do this so early on a holiday but I didn’t know where else to go.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t have any plans for the day anyway. Where’s your girl?” I
said putting the teapot on the stove.
“She’s in the car. I need a hand getting her in the house.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I jested, tossing my hand in the air in dismissal. There
was a part of me that was in denial.
She was pulling the hood of her pink sweatshirt back as I got to the window. Her
once full hair was now matted and stringy. Here blue eyes were surrounded by red moats
of bloodshot. Her dry, blotchy, skin made her gaunt face look even thinner.
“Hey, baby,” she rattled with her newly husky voice. “You miss me?” She registered
my shock and started laughing. I normally love her laughter but today it sounded like a
chainsaw ripping into my skull.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, March 27, 2014
78 - Rock Bottom
I woke up at 9:30 am to a message on my cell phone. I was up late surfing the
web and watching season three of some show on DVD so I didn’t hear the phone vibrate at
6:30 in the morning.
“Hey…it’s Paris,” said the husky, burnt out voice on my voicemail. I hadn’t
officially talked to her in almost three months. I would send her a text message once a
week asking if she were dead. Her usual response was ‘Fuck you’.
She called a week ago to hang out with Kiki but once again she was a no show, no
call.
“It’s all fucked up…all fucked up.” I could hear the car door dinging in the
background. “Call me back…later…”she whispered. I hear her fumble with the phone and
then finally hang it up.
I used to get calls like this from Caitlin years ago so I knew how to block it out.
Unlike Caitlin Paris was a friend of mine so I gave her a bit more leeway. She always
seemed to pull herself out of the gutter before but this was different.
Since her last break up she had dipped deeper into the cocaine. Her responses
weren’t witty or quick they were sluggish and predictable. From what I heard her once
stunning appearance had dulled. She had been blowing off her long term friends more and
more for a ‘newer, more with it’ crew. Her priorities had changed and not for the better.
I suspected and had heard rumors of the glass pipe but I didn’t want to believe it.
My Dad was in the final stages of cancer, I was back at a corporate job working
twelve hours a day with an hour fifteen minute commute each way, and I was trying not to
fall apart at the seams so my plate was full.
I was waiting for her to hit rock bottom. Once she hit rock bottom we could begin.
The purgatory of her painful past would catch up with her. At first Kiki and I tried to
slow the fall but there was always some young boy toy that she would disappear with for a
weekend bender. She had to want the change but the new sycophants around her let her
continue to think everything was all right. I had written her off for dead two or three
times already.
I called her cell phone and it went straight to voicemail.
“What’s up, it’s me. Give me a call.” I hung up the phone and went back to sleep.
It was a long weekend. Any time I had a chance to sleep late on a Monday I took it. From
the sound of her voice her response would have been ‘Fuck you’ anyway.
That Beautiful Black Man
web and watching season three of some show on DVD so I didn’t hear the phone vibrate at
6:30 in the morning.
“Hey…it’s Paris,” said the husky, burnt out voice on my voicemail. I hadn’t
officially talked to her in almost three months. I would send her a text message once a
week asking if she were dead. Her usual response was ‘Fuck you’.
She called a week ago to hang out with Kiki but once again she was a no show, no
call.
“It’s all fucked up…all fucked up.” I could hear the car door dinging in the
background. “Call me back…later…”she whispered. I hear her fumble with the phone and
then finally hang it up.
I used to get calls like this from Caitlin years ago so I knew how to block it out.
Unlike Caitlin Paris was a friend of mine so I gave her a bit more leeway. She always
seemed to pull herself out of the gutter before but this was different.
Since her last break up she had dipped deeper into the cocaine. Her responses
weren’t witty or quick they were sluggish and predictable. From what I heard her once
stunning appearance had dulled. She had been blowing off her long term friends more and
more for a ‘newer, more with it’ crew. Her priorities had changed and not for the better.
I suspected and had heard rumors of the glass pipe but I didn’t want to believe it.
My Dad was in the final stages of cancer, I was back at a corporate job working
twelve hours a day with an hour fifteen minute commute each way, and I was trying not to
fall apart at the seams so my plate was full.
I was waiting for her to hit rock bottom. Once she hit rock bottom we could begin.
The purgatory of her painful past would catch up with her. At first Kiki and I tried to
slow the fall but there was always some young boy toy that she would disappear with for a
weekend bender. She had to want the change but the new sycophants around her let her
continue to think everything was all right. I had written her off for dead two or three
times already.
I called her cell phone and it went straight to voicemail.
“What’s up, it’s me. Give me a call.” I hung up the phone and went back to sleep.
It was a long weekend. Any time I had a chance to sleep late on a Monday I took it. From
the sound of her voice her response would have been ‘Fuck you’ anyway.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
77 - The Grid
In his heyday my Dad reminded me of the city. He could be gritty and grimy or
he could be the most refined thing you’d ever seen it all mattered what the situation
called for. You could learn so much if you were just willing to listen.
He had no time for you if you were ignorant and unwilling to learn how to survive.
If you were willing to listen and follow the pulse you would’ve been privy to a lifetimes
worth of knowledge in what seems like seconds.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go. As you get older the things that you were initially amazed by
seem less amazing and more commonplace. The things that you thought were initially
commonplace become more and more amazing.
There is always traffic and congestion. If you play your cards right you know that
you always want to avoid driving in in the morning. Morning is the busy time when
decisions need to be made sometimes it’s so busy your mind is cluttered. If you have to
make the morning commute, do it early so you beat the traffic and keep your mind clear.
When you leave the city at the end of the work day leave a little bit later so you
can let the sheep run for the finish line. Stay later and finish the job you started. No
one will ever give you a medal for quitting early, especially if the job is not done.
About twenty years ago my older brother’s friend Thomas arrived at the house late on
a Sunday afternoon. My brothers had all gone off to the military years earlier and moved
on to different parts of the country but Thomas stayed in town and married his high school
sweetheart.
“She’s gonna leave me,” I heard him say as I pretended to be asleep on the couch in
the other room.
“She’s gonna leave me and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything I can think
of but I’m just not the man she wanted. I…I…” I heard his voice trail off into a whisper
and then a quiet sob.
“Sit down,” I heard my Father’s voice come calmly around the corner. “Talk to me.”
My Father offered him a few tissues. There were a few more minutes of crying
followed by a moment or two of silence.
“I can’t do this Mr. Ford-Bey. It’s too hard. She won’t take me back. Not for us;
not for the kids; not for anything. I can’t lose my kids!” He cried.
I sat curled in a ball on the couch. It was too late to leave. Even though I was in
the other room, for me to get up and go would have broken the groove my Dad was letting
Thomas get himself wrapped into.
“I just wanted to stop by to say good-bye,” I heard his final decision in his voice
but I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
“So that’s it?” asked my Dad realizing what was really being said. “What about Kelly
and Thomas Jr.?”
“I don’t have any money for a lawyer,” Thomas wailed. “She is going to take my kids.
MY GODDAMN KIDS! She tells them constantly that I’m a failure. She says ‘Daddy never
bought that big house he promised mommy. He never got that big yard for you to play in’.
The three year old, she doesn’t even want to see me anymore. I have nothing left.” I
could hear him pacing and crying. His voice cracked with every sentence.
“So you figured you’d just kill yourself and be done with it, right?” I still heard
the eerie calm in my father’s voice.
“When I’m gone…it’ll…it…will…” he stammered.
“That’s best thing you could do.” I could hear Dad sit back in his chair. There was
dead silence. No pacing. No crying. “All of the pain will be gone. How are you going
to do this anyway?”
There was no answer. The pacing started again.
“You came here to say good-bye and you don’t even have an action plan?!?”
“I thought that you…” Thomas started.
“Look at me,” said my father, “I’m agreeing with you. This is what you want to do
and I support it. I will answer any questions your son might have about you when he gets
older. At some point when his life gets really rough and it seems like there’s no way he
can win I’ll bring you up.
“I’ll tell him this is how your father handled trouble when it came his way. What is
he four, five? I’m sure he’s old enough to remember the funeral for the rest of his
life.”
The eerie calm now permeated the room. I heard Thomas sit down and start to sob
again. “I just wish…”
“Don’t wish. Realize what is going on right now. Your relationship with Karen is
over. Your relationship with your kids is what you have now. Think about the father you
want them to have. Don’t think about the things you want them to have. How do you want
them to remember you? What do want them to remember you for?”
The conversation started. Thomas left an hour later to go kiss his kids good night.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go.
That Beautiful Black Man
he could be the most refined thing you’d ever seen it all mattered what the situation
called for. You could learn so much if you were just willing to listen.
He had no time for you if you were ignorant and unwilling to learn how to survive.
If you were willing to listen and follow the pulse you would’ve been privy to a lifetimes
worth of knowledge in what seems like seconds.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go. As you get older the things that you were initially amazed by
seem less amazing and more commonplace. The things that you thought were initially
commonplace become more and more amazing.
There is always traffic and congestion. If you play your cards right you know that
you always want to avoid driving in in the morning. Morning is the busy time when
decisions need to be made sometimes it’s so busy your mind is cluttered. If you have to
make the morning commute, do it early so you beat the traffic and keep your mind clear.
When you leave the city at the end of the work day leave a little bit later so you
can let the sheep run for the finish line. Stay later and finish the job you started. No
one will ever give you a medal for quitting early, especially if the job is not done.
About twenty years ago my older brother’s friend Thomas arrived at the house late on
a Sunday afternoon. My brothers had all gone off to the military years earlier and moved
on to different parts of the country but Thomas stayed in town and married his high school
sweetheart.
“She’s gonna leave me,” I heard him say as I pretended to be asleep on the couch in
the other room.
“She’s gonna leave me and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything I can think
of but I’m just not the man she wanted. I…I…” I heard his voice trail off into a whisper
and then a quiet sob.
“Sit down,” I heard my Father’s voice come calmly around the corner. “Talk to me.”
My Father offered him a few tissues. There were a few more minutes of crying
followed by a moment or two of silence.
“I can’t do this Mr. Ford-Bey. It’s too hard. She won’t take me back. Not for us;
not for the kids; not for anything. I can’t lose my kids!” He cried.
I sat curled in a ball on the couch. It was too late to leave. Even though I was in
the other room, for me to get up and go would have broken the groove my Dad was letting
Thomas get himself wrapped into.
“I just wanted to stop by to say good-bye,” I heard his final decision in his voice
but I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.
“So that’s it?” asked my Dad realizing what was really being said. “What about Kelly
and Thomas Jr.?”
“I don’t have any money for a lawyer,” Thomas wailed. “She is going to take my kids.
MY GODDAMN KIDS! She tells them constantly that I’m a failure. She says ‘Daddy never
bought that big house he promised mommy. He never got that big yard for you to play in’.
The three year old, she doesn’t even want to see me anymore. I have nothing left.” I
could hear him pacing and crying. His voice cracked with every sentence.
“So you figured you’d just kill yourself and be done with it, right?” I still heard
the eerie calm in my father’s voice.
“When I’m gone…it’ll…it…will…” he stammered.
“That’s best thing you could do.” I could hear Dad sit back in his chair. There was
dead silence. No pacing. No crying. “All of the pain will be gone. How are you going
to do this anyway?”
There was no answer. The pacing started again.
“You came here to say good-bye and you don’t even have an action plan?!?”
“I thought that you…” Thomas started.
“Look at me,” said my father, “I’m agreeing with you. This is what you want to do
and I support it. I will answer any questions your son might have about you when he gets
older. At some point when his life gets really rough and it seems like there’s no way he
can win I’ll bring you up.
“I’ll tell him this is how your father handled trouble when it came his way. What is
he four, five? I’m sure he’s old enough to remember the funeral for the rest of his
life.”
The eerie calm now permeated the room. I heard Thomas sit down and start to sob
again. “I just wish…”
“Don’t wish. Realize what is going on right now. Your relationship with Karen is
over. Your relationship with your kids is what you have now. Think about the father you
want them to have. Don’t think about the things you want them to have. How do you want
them to remember you? What do want them to remember you for?”
The conversation started. Thomas left an hour later to go kiss his kids good night.
Once you figure out the grid you find that navigating is it easy; you just have to
know where you want to go.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
76 - The Last Great Act of Debauchery
"So tell me about the job," said Marrianne as we sat in the Four
Brother's Restaurant. "Are you happy with it?" We were both late to lunch.
She was late because she got lost. I was late because I was spending some one on one
quiet time with a cute little waitress who was having a bad night. I was testing the
Catalyst to Happiness theory. No luck.
"It's the same old same old. I was gung ho against corporate America and here I
am sitting at a desk every day, trying to make 'goal' every month so I can keep management
happy. Yeah balls.
"The only good thing is that there's a chance that I could make some half way
decent cash if this pans out. That’s the really good thing about sales jobs, the money
can be absolutely ridiculous."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her brunette locks flipped from side to
side.
"What am I going to do with you? When are you going to settle down and get
yourself a little chickie?"
I sat back and took a long hard look at the ceiling. I thought about Connie. I
thought about the rebirth and the five month fight against corporate America. I thought
about waiting patiently for the national tour that never took place (the reason I went
back to corporate America in the first place) and I thought the fact that I had just hit
my mid thirties. The only bad thing about being in your mid thirties is that you have
only a limited amount of times you can destroy and rebuild yourself.
"I've come to the realization that I am not worth 'a little chickie'. It's been
thirty-something years, kid. If it was going to happen it would have happened by
now." I was trying to play the self pity ploy.
"Oh shoo. Stop it. I didn’t send out any invitations for an itty bitty
pity party. You need to be more positive. You know my fiancé said the same thing until
we got together. He used to say 'It will never happen I should just be content with my
life as it is.'"
"That's the thing; I’m kind of content where I am.” I explained the catalyst to
happiness idea to her and watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. Then I
prepared to lay out my grand plan, the last great act of debauchery I would commit.
“I will settle down but I have one last thing to do. The name game was too hard to
get through especially with the letters I had left to complete. The year of oral left me
with some wonderful skills and a great appreciation for breath mints/gum/mouthwash you
name it.”
“Do you need anything else?” asked the attractive older Eastern European waitress.
“I think I need a shower,” said Marrianne holding her head in her palms.
“Oh, come on! I haven’t even gotten to the good part!”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes,” said the waitress confused by the chaos.
“Is there a good part to this?”
“You wanted to know when I plan to settle down and I’m trying to tell you what I need
to do before I settle down. It will happen after I turn thirty-six. I will have one year
to complete my task.” I exhaled slowly.
“Oh, just get it over with.”
“I want to legally sleep with a woman who is half my age.”
“Check Please!”
“You asked me what I wanted to do before I settled down and I’m telling you. I’m
being as honest with you as possible. I know it sounds like the same bullshit but this is
the last great fling.” I sold it with everything I had because at that moment in my mind
it was true.
“What am I going to do with you?”
Her ice blues cut deep into my soul as I sat wide open.
“Just realize it’s not the same old same. I’m tired of sitting in a small corner of
my life trying to make goal to keep other people happy. I know it’s not a perfect plan
but if I concentrate on making my life better the payoff can be absolutely ridiculous.”
That Beautiful Black Man
Brother's Restaurant. "Are you happy with it?" We were both late to lunch.
She was late because she got lost. I was late because I was spending some one on one
quiet time with a cute little waitress who was having a bad night. I was testing the
Catalyst to Happiness theory. No luck.
"It's the same old same old. I was gung ho against corporate America and here I
am sitting at a desk every day, trying to make 'goal' every month so I can keep management
happy. Yeah balls.
"The only good thing is that there's a chance that I could make some half way
decent cash if this pans out. That’s the really good thing about sales jobs, the money
can be absolutely ridiculous."
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her brunette locks flipped from side to
side.
"What am I going to do with you? When are you going to settle down and get
yourself a little chickie?"
I sat back and took a long hard look at the ceiling. I thought about Connie. I
thought about the rebirth and the five month fight against corporate America. I thought
about waiting patiently for the national tour that never took place (the reason I went
back to corporate America in the first place) and I thought the fact that I had just hit
my mid thirties. The only bad thing about being in your mid thirties is that you have
only a limited amount of times you can destroy and rebuild yourself.
"I've come to the realization that I am not worth 'a little chickie'. It's been
thirty-something years, kid. If it was going to happen it would have happened by
now." I was trying to play the self pity ploy.
"Oh shoo. Stop it. I didn’t send out any invitations for an itty bitty
pity party. You need to be more positive. You know my fiancé said the same thing until
we got together. He used to say 'It will never happen I should just be content with my
life as it is.'"
"That's the thing; I’m kind of content where I am.” I explained the catalyst to
happiness idea to her and watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. Then I
prepared to lay out my grand plan, the last great act of debauchery I would commit.
“I will settle down but I have one last thing to do. The name game was too hard to
get through especially with the letters I had left to complete. The year of oral left me
with some wonderful skills and a great appreciation for breath mints/gum/mouthwash you
name it.”
“Do you need anything else?” asked the attractive older Eastern European waitress.
“I think I need a shower,” said Marrianne holding her head in her palms.
“Oh, come on! I haven’t even gotten to the good part!”
“I’ll come back in a few minutes,” said the waitress confused by the chaos.
“Is there a good part to this?”
“You wanted to know when I plan to settle down and I’m trying to tell you what I need
to do before I settle down. It will happen after I turn thirty-six. I will have one year
to complete my task.” I exhaled slowly.
“Oh, just get it over with.”
“I want to legally sleep with a woman who is half my age.”
“Check Please!”
“You asked me what I wanted to do before I settled down and I’m telling you. I’m
being as honest with you as possible. I know it sounds like the same bullshit but this is
the last great fling.” I sold it with everything I had because at that moment in my mind
it was true.
“What am I going to do with you?”
Her ice blues cut deep into my soul as I sat wide open.
“Just realize it’s not the same old same. I’m tired of sitting in a small corner of
my life trying to make goal to keep other people happy. I know it’s not a perfect plan
but if I concentrate on making my life better the payoff can be absolutely ridiculous.”
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 24, 2014
75 - The Catalyst to Happiness
“The Catalyst to happiness,” said Derich.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“I don’t know that I would say you’re an initiator as much as a catalyst,” said
Derich polishing off his third beer. “That said I don’t even know why I hang out with
you. I can’t believe you left a willing, drunk, half Asian woman alone on a couch because
‘you wanted to wake up in your own bed,’” he whined mocking me. I’m disgusted. What the
fuck were you thinking?!?”
Derich had just broken up with a girl he was really comfortable with because he was
really comfortable with her and the adrenaline was still running rampant through his
system. He was a bit more aggressive than usual and I was there to make sure he didn’t do
anything too rash. Each time I tried to talk to him about her he changed the subject.
“It’s this power thing that she and Paris do. They subconsciously go on this 'who
can get this guy first' quest until they realize that they are doing. Then, it all stops
and you are left with a handful of nothing,” I replied leaning against the railing of the
porch.
“And if you’re smart,” he said shaking the empty bottle for the last drop of beer,
“you fuck them both!!”
“Look, man, I just, I…” I stammered.
“Candy ass.”
“Come on! I thought you didn’t like Paris, anyway.”
“What I think of that disease ridden prostitute doesn’t matter, besides you were with
Kinky last week and…”
“Kiki,” I interrupted, “her name is Kiki.”
“This chick is an ex-stripper who can still lick the back of her own thighs,
correct?!?” I shrugged in agreement. “Then Kinky it is!” he declared triumphantly
stepping back into the apartment to get another beer from the kitchen.
“You kill me,” I said lighting up an American Spirit. “And what the hell do you mean
catalyst to happiness?”
“Maybe it’s better for her that you didn’t sleep with her.” He said handing me an
ice cold beer. “Does she already have her next husband or long term boyfriend picked out
and ready to go yet?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Every time you bang some chick,” he said pointing his bottle at me, “she either ends
up getting married or hooking up with some dude and staying with him for the next five
years and shit. It’s like you are their catalyst to happiness.”
“That is such…” I started.
“You were the one who told me this. These are your words not mine. I’m just
reminding you. Think about the last few girls you slept with, how many of them are still
free?” He tipped the bottom of his bottle toward the sky and killed half of it with one
pull.
I ran the recent short list through my head. I went back three years. Even the
women I had come really close to sleeping with had some type of long term relationship.
The further we went physically the stronger their current relationship was.
I took a long drag of my cigarette and looked off into the distance. I couldn’t
think of one woman I had been with four years ago who didn’t either get married or jump
into a long term relationship with next guy that they dated/slept with.
“Can’t think of one can you?”
I let the smoke slowly swirl.
“Son of a bitch,” I said taking in the late day sun.
“Maybe you should have slept with Karen before I met her,” he said finally releasing
the great weight from his shoulders. His eyes looked deep in purple sky.
“What’s it been a couple of days maybe a week? Give her a call. Talk to her.”
“I don’t know, man.” The beers and the heat were taking their toll on him. I would
only have a few minutes to talk sense into him.
“Look, Derich, it’s not like you are going to marry this girl just see it through
until the end. You never know where it could go. You cut it off too early.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he repeated grabbing the railing.
I leaned back against the railing and felt the slick smile cut across my face. I
took a final deep drag of my cigarette and flicked the butt onto the sidewalk. I move out
of punching range just in case I was wrong.
“Because I’m a good friend of yours tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fuck her and things
will work out perfect.”
His face crunched up like I had just punched him in the balls and his hands gripped
the railing for dear life. After a second he shook his head and smiled.
“I don’t even know why I hang out with you.”
“Cause I’m the catalyst to happiness, kiddo, the catalyst to happiness.”
That Beautiful Black Man
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“I don’t know that I would say you’re an initiator as much as a catalyst,” said
Derich polishing off his third beer. “That said I don’t even know why I hang out with
you. I can’t believe you left a willing, drunk, half Asian woman alone on a couch because
‘you wanted to wake up in your own bed,’” he whined mocking me. I’m disgusted. What the
fuck were you thinking?!?”
Derich had just broken up with a girl he was really comfortable with because he was
really comfortable with her and the adrenaline was still running rampant through his
system. He was a bit more aggressive than usual and I was there to make sure he didn’t do
anything too rash. Each time I tried to talk to him about her he changed the subject.
“It’s this power thing that she and Paris do. They subconsciously go on this 'who
can get this guy first' quest until they realize that they are doing. Then, it all stops
and you are left with a handful of nothing,” I replied leaning against the railing of the
porch.
“And if you’re smart,” he said shaking the empty bottle for the last drop of beer,
“you fuck them both!!”
“Look, man, I just, I…” I stammered.
“Candy ass.”
“Come on! I thought you didn’t like Paris, anyway.”
“What I think of that disease ridden prostitute doesn’t matter, besides you were with
Kinky last week and…”
“Kiki,” I interrupted, “her name is Kiki.”
“This chick is an ex-stripper who can still lick the back of her own thighs,
correct?!?” I shrugged in agreement. “Then Kinky it is!” he declared triumphantly
stepping back into the apartment to get another beer from the kitchen.
“You kill me,” I said lighting up an American Spirit. “And what the hell do you mean
catalyst to happiness?”
“Maybe it’s better for her that you didn’t sleep with her.” He said handing me an
ice cold beer. “Does she already have her next husband or long term boyfriend picked out
and ready to go yet?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Every time you bang some chick,” he said pointing his bottle at me, “she either ends
up getting married or hooking up with some dude and staying with him for the next five
years and shit. It’s like you are their catalyst to happiness.”
“That is such…” I started.
“You were the one who told me this. These are your words not mine. I’m just
reminding you. Think about the last few girls you slept with, how many of them are still
free?” He tipped the bottom of his bottle toward the sky and killed half of it with one
pull.
I ran the recent short list through my head. I went back three years. Even the
women I had come really close to sleeping with had some type of long term relationship.
The further we went physically the stronger their current relationship was.
I took a long drag of my cigarette and looked off into the distance. I couldn’t
think of one woman I had been with four years ago who didn’t either get married or jump
into a long term relationship with next guy that they dated/slept with.
“Can’t think of one can you?”
I let the smoke slowly swirl.
“Son of a bitch,” I said taking in the late day sun.
“Maybe you should have slept with Karen before I met her,” he said finally releasing
the great weight from his shoulders. His eyes looked deep in purple sky.
“What’s it been a couple of days maybe a week? Give her a call. Talk to her.”
“I don’t know, man.” The beers and the heat were taking their toll on him. I would
only have a few minutes to talk sense into him.
“Look, Derich, it’s not like you are going to marry this girl just see it through
until the end. You never know where it could go. You cut it off too early.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he repeated grabbing the railing.
I leaned back against the railing and felt the slick smile cut across my face. I
took a final deep drag of my cigarette and flicked the butt onto the sidewalk. I move out
of punching range just in case I was wrong.
“Because I’m a good friend of yours tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fuck her and things
will work out perfect.”
His face crunched up like I had just punched him in the balls and his hands gripped
the railing for dear life. After a second he shook his head and smiled.
“I don’t even know why I hang out with you.”
“Cause I’m the catalyst to happiness, kiddo, the catalyst to happiness.”
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, March 21, 2014
74 - The Initiator (Part 3)
Her eyes searched my face for some type of reaction. I took
another slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
“Nice try,” I said feeling the confident smile settle across my
face. “Very nice try but you’re drunk and fishing. That’s a
combination that’s only good with friends on a Saturday morning.”
There was a civil rivalry between Paris and Kiki. It was the
classic blue-eyed blond verses brown-eyed brunette battle. They were
never outspoken or blatant about it because they had different taste
in men, music, and the moments that make the magic happen. Every
once in a while there was something that would tweak an interest in
both of them and the game was on. What made it strange is that it
was completely unconscious. Once one of them realized what was
happening the game was over.
I decided to ride this little train for a while. I sat back
into the cushions and put the ashtray on my left knee. My left arm
reached across the back of the couch and my right heel rested on the
matching ottoman.
“If you really thought I slept with Paris, you wouldn’t have
kissed me. I wouldn’t even be sitting here on this couch waiting for
her to show up. She would have dismissed me a long time ago. You
would have nothing to say to me because there would be no mystery,
nothing to wonder about, nothing to keep you interested. You
wouldn’t call or shoot me e-mail. I would just be something talked
about in passing, either a quick laugh or a smile.
“That simple little kiss put me one step closer to obscurity.”
I took another drag and let the smoke float throughout the room. “It
took a small amount of mystery out of the game. The dynamic has been
changed and I’m not sure how to handle this.”
I looked deep into her almond colored eyes. I sat patiently
waiting for her response.
"Nice try, but I'm not that drunk." She curled up in her chair
like a cat. Her legs hung over one arm rest and her head was at the
base of the other. Her right arm was waving in the air like
Beethoven conducting his greatest masterpiece.
"Do you know how many men brag that they've slept with Paris?
Do you?" I shrugged my shoulders and sat quietly. She seemed to
think my silence answered her question. "Do you know how many of
them actually have?" she asked protectively. I shrugged my
shoulders again.
I could see that the train had derailed. She was really worried
about Paris. Here eyes were heavy with sleep and wine. I thought to
myself that maybe Paris wasn't running to the brilliant bright light
when she was lost. Could it be that this civil almost sibling
rivalry was the bright light that kept them both going? Could it be
that Paris ran here because she found an equal; a true friend who let
her be herself and accepted her for what she was?
I looked at my cell phone. It was almost two thirty in the
morning and I had an undying urge to wake up in my own bed. If I
stayed the morning conversation would just roll back to relationships
and why Paris was slipping deeper and deeper into her own private
hell.
I lifted Kiki from the chair to the couch and propped her on her
side. She wasn't drunk enough to choke in her sleep but I wanted to
make sure.
As I attempted to quietly slip out the door her eyes opened for
a split second and searched my face for some type of reaction. I
took slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
That Beautiful Black Man
another slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
“Nice try,” I said feeling the confident smile settle across my
face. “Very nice try but you’re drunk and fishing. That’s a
combination that’s only good with friends on a Saturday morning.”
There was a civil rivalry between Paris and Kiki. It was the
classic blue-eyed blond verses brown-eyed brunette battle. They were
never outspoken or blatant about it because they had different taste
in men, music, and the moments that make the magic happen. Every
once in a while there was something that would tweak an interest in
both of them and the game was on. What made it strange is that it
was completely unconscious. Once one of them realized what was
happening the game was over.
I decided to ride this little train for a while. I sat back
into the cushions and put the ashtray on my left knee. My left arm
reached across the back of the couch and my right heel rested on the
matching ottoman.
“If you really thought I slept with Paris, you wouldn’t have
kissed me. I wouldn’t even be sitting here on this couch waiting for
her to show up. She would have dismissed me a long time ago. You
would have nothing to say to me because there would be no mystery,
nothing to wonder about, nothing to keep you interested. You
wouldn’t call or shoot me e-mail. I would just be something talked
about in passing, either a quick laugh or a smile.
“That simple little kiss put me one step closer to obscurity.”
I took another drag and let the smoke float throughout the room. “It
took a small amount of mystery out of the game. The dynamic has been
changed and I’m not sure how to handle this.”
I looked deep into her almond colored eyes. I sat patiently
waiting for her response.
"Nice try, but I'm not that drunk." She curled up in her chair
like a cat. Her legs hung over one arm rest and her head was at the
base of the other. Her right arm was waving in the air like
Beethoven conducting his greatest masterpiece.
"Do you know how many men brag that they've slept with Paris?
Do you?" I shrugged my shoulders and sat quietly. She seemed to
think my silence answered her question. "Do you know how many of
them actually have?" she asked protectively. I shrugged my
shoulders again.
I could see that the train had derailed. She was really worried
about Paris. Here eyes were heavy with sleep and wine. I thought to
myself that maybe Paris wasn't running to the brilliant bright light
when she was lost. Could it be that this civil almost sibling
rivalry was the bright light that kept them both going? Could it be
that Paris ran here because she found an equal; a true friend who let
her be herself and accepted her for what she was?
I looked at my cell phone. It was almost two thirty in the
morning and I had an undying urge to wake up in my own bed. If I
stayed the morning conversation would just roll back to relationships
and why Paris was slipping deeper and deeper into her own private
hell.
I lifted Kiki from the chair to the couch and propped her on her
side. She wasn't drunk enough to choke in her sleep but I wanted to
make sure.
As I attempted to quietly slip out the door her eyes opened for
a split second and searched my face for some type of reaction. I
took slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, March 20, 2014
73 - The Initiator (Part 2)
I took a long slow drag on the American Spirit Yellow. The room
was so quiet that you could hear the tobacco and paper burning it's way
into my lungs. The room had collapsed to the point where there was no
space to wiggle. The shortest distance between two physical points is
a straight line. The distance between a question and the truth is just
as short but the road is sometimes much bumpier. I gently exhaled and
leaned forward to answer Kiki's questions and maybe some of my own.
"First of all, I am not banging Linda from The Yard. She
immediately put me in the 'friend zone' as soon as she met me. I look
at her like a little girl anyway, so it really doesn't matter. I do
want to bang most of her friends though." I said feeling the slick
smile cut across my face.
"You are shameless," she said putting the portable phone back into
it's cradle.
"I am the Initiator. I am the guy who can start a conversation
with damn near any woman who happens to be within earshot provided the
timing is right. My job is to break the ice for the friends I am with
at the moment in time. I am the ultimate wingman."
Kiki just looked at me and shook her head.
"As far as why I don't have a girlfriend, it's not like I haven't
tried. I've had quite a few girlfriends, even a wife or two. None of
them have been mine," I said smiling. Kiki's eyes became dagger
shooting slits. "OK two or three of the girlfriends were mine but none
of the wives."
"You are an asshole."
"Personal rejection year after year will do that to you. I just
got sick of being the emotional tampon. There's a girl named Caitlin
who wants everything I had to offer but she doesn't want it from me. I
am only good for a free dinner. In her mind I'm not worth banging or
dating but I am good for free food. She leaves me messages every once
in a while. She's at the bottom of the call back list, the very bottom.
"Connie's dad hates blacks, Tina got married and moved to Vietnam,
Terry wants me but she loves someone else, and D moved half way across
the country. She would be perfect, though."
"What about Paris?" She asked already knowing the answer.
I couldn't tell if the choking came from the smoke or the laughter.
"We both know that I am not rich enough, young enough, or pretty
enough for her. She likes them pretty and stupid."
"You are a beautiful black man," she said staring at me with her
piercing brown eyes.
"And you're drunk," I responded crushing my cigarette into the
ashtray. "If you were serious you'd kiss me." I said standing up to
stretch away the stress. The room had relaxed to it's original
comfortable state. When I opened my eyes from the deep reach Kiki was
standing face to face with me, her almond shaped eyes locked on mine.
The kiss was a long slow pull on my soul. It was though she were
trying to reach into the darkness and find the light. She smiled as
she stepped away.
"Do you believe me now?"
"I...I..."
"As much as I would love to, I can't sleep with you because I know
you slept with Paris." The room was so quiet that you could hear the
words burning their way into my brain.
That Beautiful Black Man
was so quiet that you could hear the tobacco and paper burning it's way
into my lungs. The room had collapsed to the point where there was no
space to wiggle. The shortest distance between two physical points is
a straight line. The distance between a question and the truth is just
as short but the road is sometimes much bumpier. I gently exhaled and
leaned forward to answer Kiki's questions and maybe some of my own.
"First of all, I am not banging Linda from The Yard. She
immediately put me in the 'friend zone' as soon as she met me. I look
at her like a little girl anyway, so it really doesn't matter. I do
want to bang most of her friends though." I said feeling the slick
smile cut across my face.
"You are shameless," she said putting the portable phone back into
it's cradle.
"I am the Initiator. I am the guy who can start a conversation
with damn near any woman who happens to be within earshot provided the
timing is right. My job is to break the ice for the friends I am with
at the moment in time. I am the ultimate wingman."
Kiki just looked at me and shook her head.
"As far as why I don't have a girlfriend, it's not like I haven't
tried. I've had quite a few girlfriends, even a wife or two. None of
them have been mine," I said smiling. Kiki's eyes became dagger
shooting slits. "OK two or three of the girlfriends were mine but none
of the wives."
"You are an asshole."
"Personal rejection year after year will do that to you. I just
got sick of being the emotional tampon. There's a girl named Caitlin
who wants everything I had to offer but she doesn't want it from me. I
am only good for a free dinner. In her mind I'm not worth banging or
dating but I am good for free food. She leaves me messages every once
in a while. She's at the bottom of the call back list, the very bottom.
"Connie's dad hates blacks, Tina got married and moved to Vietnam,
Terry wants me but she loves someone else, and D moved half way across
the country. She would be perfect, though."
"What about Paris?" She asked already knowing the answer.
I couldn't tell if the choking came from the smoke or the laughter.
"We both know that I am not rich enough, young enough, or pretty
enough for her. She likes them pretty and stupid."
"You are a beautiful black man," she said staring at me with her
piercing brown eyes.
"And you're drunk," I responded crushing my cigarette into the
ashtray. "If you were serious you'd kiss me." I said standing up to
stretch away the stress. The room had relaxed to it's original
comfortable state. When I opened my eyes from the deep reach Kiki was
standing face to face with me, her almond shaped eyes locked on mine.
The kiss was a long slow pull on my soul. It was though she were
trying to reach into the darkness and find the light. She smiled as
she stepped away.
"Do you believe me now?"
"I...I..."
"As much as I would love to, I can't sleep with you because I know
you slept with Paris." The room was so quiet that you could hear the
words burning their way into my brain.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
72 - The Initiator
Kiki's house was surprisingly comfortable. From the country road
that it's on you would expect a tiny, cluttered, home with too much
furniture and little room to move. The porch gave no indication of
the space that waited inside.
The porch was a time capsule marking the stages of transition
over the last three years of her life. Texas, her protective black
lab, kept me from delving deep into her past and figuring out the
brilliant bright light that Paris always ran to when she felt lost.
I had listened enough to know that she was the anomaly. She was
the girl who actually had stripped her way through undergrad. She
would entice them with her teasing then enthrall them with her
intellect. It was horrifyingly beautiful listening to her tell of a
man who tipped her $100 because she destroyed Descartes mechanical
theory of human nature.
This was years ago. She was deep into her graduate studies now
and in the middle of an outline for her first book. We would usually
debate politics and sex and the politics of sex while we waited for
whatever gourmet meal Paris was preparing. I would always get lucky.
Just as the conversation turned to me and my current situation dinner
would be ready and I would be forgotten. Tonight I was not so lucky.
"I'm still trying to figure you out," she said scrolling through
the caller ID on her portable phone. "You're attractive. You
are obviously intelligent. Why don't you have a girlfriend?"
"Because it's a telephone," I countered hoping the deflection to
her concentration on the phone would end the conversation about me.
"And as much as you may cradle it and kiss it and hold it next to you
it's an inanimate object. You can never truly get what you want from
it... unless it vibrates when it rings."
"She was right. You do shut down when it turns to you." I was
fucked.
"Between working a twelve hour day with a solid hour drive each
way, I just don't have the necessary time to devote to finding, let
alone maintaining a steady long term relationship." This was my
standard bullshit line. It usually bought me a few hours of solace
from any more relationship questions. I usually choked out some other
bullshit about how it wouldn't be fair to 'the girlfriend' for me to
be essentially carrying on a long distance relationship but I thought
that would be too much in this case.
"Oh Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit!" she said laughing out loud.
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?!? Paris told me all about
the little waitress, Connie I think her name was? Paris thinks you're
banging Linda at The Yard, too."
My jaw hit the floor. I pulled a spirit yellow out and slowly
lit it. Kiki's house suddenly became a tiny, cluttered, home with
too much furniture and little room to move.
That Beautiful Black Man
that it's on you would expect a tiny, cluttered, home with too much
furniture and little room to move. The porch gave no indication of
the space that waited inside.
The porch was a time capsule marking the stages of transition
over the last three years of her life. Texas, her protective black
lab, kept me from delving deep into her past and figuring out the
brilliant bright light that Paris always ran to when she felt lost.
I had listened enough to know that she was the anomaly. She was
the girl who actually had stripped her way through undergrad. She
would entice them with her teasing then enthrall them with her
intellect. It was horrifyingly beautiful listening to her tell of a
man who tipped her $100 because she destroyed Descartes mechanical
theory of human nature.
This was years ago. She was deep into her graduate studies now
and in the middle of an outline for her first book. We would usually
debate politics and sex and the politics of sex while we waited for
whatever gourmet meal Paris was preparing. I would always get lucky.
Just as the conversation turned to me and my current situation dinner
would be ready and I would be forgotten. Tonight I was not so lucky.
"I'm still trying to figure you out," she said scrolling through
the caller ID on her portable phone. "You're attractive. You
are obviously intelligent. Why don't you have a girlfriend?"
"Because it's a telephone," I countered hoping the deflection to
her concentration on the phone would end the conversation about me.
"And as much as you may cradle it and kiss it and hold it next to you
it's an inanimate object. You can never truly get what you want from
it... unless it vibrates when it rings."
"She was right. You do shut down when it turns to you." I was
fucked.
"Between working a twelve hour day with a solid hour drive each
way, I just don't have the necessary time to devote to finding, let
alone maintaining a steady long term relationship." This was my
standard bullshit line. It usually bought me a few hours of solace
from any more relationship questions. I usually choked out some other
bullshit about how it wouldn't be fair to 'the girlfriend' for me to
be essentially carrying on a long distance relationship but I thought
that would be too much in this case.
"Oh Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit!" she said laughing out loud.
"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?!? Paris told me all about
the little waitress, Connie I think her name was? Paris thinks you're
banging Linda at The Yard, too."
My jaw hit the floor. I pulled a spirit yellow out and slowly
lit it. Kiki's house suddenly became a tiny, cluttered, home with
too much furniture and little room to move.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
71 - Ten Dials
"What the hell are you talking about disappearing for four
months?" I said lighting an American Spirit Yellow.
"Four months!" she almost yelled at me, "Four months! The last
thing that I remember is you just heard that your ex-girlfriends Dad
hated black people and you are driving off into the darkness on some
type of rebirth shit."
"Ah yes, the rebirth," I said stroking my slightly greying beard.
"That is a bit of a work in progress. The plan is still in full
effect but it was sidetracked by a lack of income. No unemployment
benefits and a limited stock portfolio forced me to strap on my
corporate knee pads once again.
"Do you realize that this is only the second job I've had where
I've had to sit in a cubicle? I am such a slacker." I laughed a little.
"You are a schmuck."
I let the smoke hang in the night. It had rained earlier and the
heavy wet air stuck to my skin like the stink of stagnation. There was
no wind to blow away the dirt of the day so there was nothing to do but
stew. I moved to look over her shoulder and the smoke followed me like
a lost puppy that has just been fed.
"You know what's funny," I said as the smoke continued on it's
own, "you have maybe called me twice in those four months." I took a
deep drag and released the heavy air from my lungs.
"I've called you.." I cut her off.
"You've reactively called me. You really didn't make any
independent effort to get in touch with me. I know we're all busy but
don't whine to me about not seeing me when you haven't reached out."
"Now you're being an asshole."
"That's more like it. The sassy makes you sexy." I said feeling
the slick smile cut across my face. I flicked two deep drags worth of
ash on to the sidewalk.
"So you try to keep in touch with everyone you know?" She asked
leaning toward the defensive.
"Every Sunday between three o'clock in the afternoon and seven
o'clock in the evening I make ten dials."
"Ten dials?!?" She said suddenly confused.
"I call ten people that I haven't called in a while just to say
hello. I ask them how they are doing. I ask them what's going on in
their lives. If they don't pick up I leave a voice mail and see if
they call back. Sometimes I'll switch it up and call or shoot a text
message during the week. It helps me narrow the friendship field."
I blew the smoke towards the night sky as the moon poked it's head
out of the clouds. A slight breeze started to stir the stale stew.
"So let me ask you again," I said looking into her surprised eyes,
"What the hell are you talking about disappearing for four months?"
That Beautiful Black Man
months?" I said lighting an American Spirit Yellow.
"Four months!" she almost yelled at me, "Four months! The last
thing that I remember is you just heard that your ex-girlfriends Dad
hated black people and you are driving off into the darkness on some
type of rebirth shit."
"Ah yes, the rebirth," I said stroking my slightly greying beard.
"That is a bit of a work in progress. The plan is still in full
effect but it was sidetracked by a lack of income. No unemployment
benefits and a limited stock portfolio forced me to strap on my
corporate knee pads once again.
"Do you realize that this is only the second job I've had where
I've had to sit in a cubicle? I am such a slacker." I laughed a little.
"You are a schmuck."
I let the smoke hang in the night. It had rained earlier and the
heavy wet air stuck to my skin like the stink of stagnation. There was
no wind to blow away the dirt of the day so there was nothing to do but
stew. I moved to look over her shoulder and the smoke followed me like
a lost puppy that has just been fed.
"You know what's funny," I said as the smoke continued on it's
own, "you have maybe called me twice in those four months." I took a
deep drag and released the heavy air from my lungs.
"I've called you.." I cut her off.
"You've reactively called me. You really didn't make any
independent effort to get in touch with me. I know we're all busy but
don't whine to me about not seeing me when you haven't reached out."
"Now you're being an asshole."
"That's more like it. The sassy makes you sexy." I said feeling
the slick smile cut across my face. I flicked two deep drags worth of
ash on to the sidewalk.
"So you try to keep in touch with everyone you know?" She asked
leaning toward the defensive.
"Every Sunday between three o'clock in the afternoon and seven
o'clock in the evening I make ten dials."
"Ten dials?!?" She said suddenly confused.
"I call ten people that I haven't called in a while just to say
hello. I ask them how they are doing. I ask them what's going on in
their lives. If they don't pick up I leave a voice mail and see if
they call back. Sometimes I'll switch it up and call or shoot a text
message during the week. It helps me narrow the friendship field."
I blew the smoke towards the night sky as the moon poked it's head
out of the clouds. A slight breeze started to stir the stale stew.
"So let me ask you again," I said looking into her surprised eyes,
"What the hell are you talking about disappearing for four months?"
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 17, 2014
70 - Eligibility
Even though I'm unemployed and broke I still need nights to myself. Since
I essentially told my boss and his boss to go fuck themselves Connecticut
Department of Labor came to the conclusion that I left suitable work and was
therefore not eligible for unemployment. This threw a bit of a wrench in my
plan to sit on my ass and do nothing for six months. Thank goodness for 401k
and profit sharing money.
Every few months I take time out to have Me Nights. A Me Night is where I
take me out to a dinner that I want to eat and to a movie that I want to see. I
decided to hit The Door. It was Filet Mignon night.
"What is your name?"
"Anya."
"Anya, I need you to do me a big favor."
"No problem," she said with a thick eastern European accent.
"I tend to be an asshole when it comes waitresses. If I come close to
sounding like an asshole your job is to shut me down, OK?"
"I thought you looked familiar," she said cocking her head a little to the
left. "You knew Connie," she stated matter of factly.
"Y-Yeah," I stuttered. "How'd you know that?"
"She used to talk about you and I've seen you in here a few time with your
friend. Let me guess, pineapple juice, no ice?"
"Am I that boring?"
"Not yet. Do you know what you want?"
"Ah ... give me a minute."
As she walked away I let a flush of memories wash over me. I let myself
think back to the summer and Great Barrington and I could finally feel them
start to melt away. I had been here before but for some reason tonight I was
able to feel the release.
I enjoyed a tasty Filet Mignon complete with red mashed potatoes and
creamed spinach. I watched people come and go some enjoying each others
company, some just going through the motions right before the end of an obvious
tenuous relationship.
As I stood to pay my bill I saw Anya stepping outside for a cigarette.
Nothing cries American Spirit like a tasty steak dinner.
"Do you have a light?" she asked as I stepped onto the porch.
"Always. Thank you and by the way," I said lighting my own cigarette. "If
you get a chance tell Connie I said hello."
"She's fine. She's in Argentina with her family."
"Thanks." I started down the steps.
"She really liked you."
"I know."
"Her dad. He doesn't like black people. He would say the most horrible
things."
I thought back to the nights we would go out. I always thought that she
was worried about her boyfriend but now it made perfect sense.
"I can only imagine. Anya, right? You take care of yourself."
I got back into the Saab and made started the long drive home. It seems
that even if I am the best man for the job there are some things that I'm
considered not eligible for.
That Beautiful Black Man
I essentially told my boss and his boss to go fuck themselves Connecticut
Department of Labor came to the conclusion that I left suitable work and was
therefore not eligible for unemployment. This threw a bit of a wrench in my
plan to sit on my ass and do nothing for six months. Thank goodness for 401k
and profit sharing money.
Every few months I take time out to have Me Nights. A Me Night is where I
take me out to a dinner that I want to eat and to a movie that I want to see. I
decided to hit The Door. It was Filet Mignon night.
"What is your name?"
"Anya."
"Anya, I need you to do me a big favor."
"No problem," she said with a thick eastern European accent.
"I tend to be an asshole when it comes waitresses. If I come close to
sounding like an asshole your job is to shut me down, OK?"
"I thought you looked familiar," she said cocking her head a little to the
left. "You knew Connie," she stated matter of factly.
"Y-Yeah," I stuttered. "How'd you know that?"
"She used to talk about you and I've seen you in here a few time with your
friend. Let me guess, pineapple juice, no ice?"
"Am I that boring?"
"Not yet. Do you know what you want?"
"Ah ... give me a minute."
As she walked away I let a flush of memories wash over me. I let myself
think back to the summer and Great Barrington and I could finally feel them
start to melt away. I had been here before but for some reason tonight I was
able to feel the release.
I enjoyed a tasty Filet Mignon complete with red mashed potatoes and
creamed spinach. I watched people come and go some enjoying each others
company, some just going through the motions right before the end of an obvious
tenuous relationship.
As I stood to pay my bill I saw Anya stepping outside for a cigarette.
Nothing cries American Spirit like a tasty steak dinner.
"Do you have a light?" she asked as I stepped onto the porch.
"Always. Thank you and by the way," I said lighting my own cigarette. "If
you get a chance tell Connie I said hello."
"She's fine. She's in Argentina with her family."
"Thanks." I started down the steps.
"She really liked you."
"I know."
"Her dad. He doesn't like black people. He would say the most horrible
things."
I thought back to the nights we would go out. I always thought that she
was worried about her boyfriend but now it made perfect sense.
"I can only imagine. Anya, right? You take care of yourself."
I got back into the Saab and made started the long drive home. It seems
that even if I am the best man for the job there are some things that I'm
considered not eligible for.
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, March 14, 2014
69 - Sock Puppets
I've got two little sock puppets. They sit and talk all day about filing a
harassment suit against me because of the way I touch them. I try to explain to
them that I have to touch them like that because they're sock puppets and that's
how things work. They just grumble quietly to themselves something about
getting a lawyer. Damn sock puppets.
harassment suit against me because of the way I touch them. I try to explain to
them that I have to touch them like that because they're sock puppets and that's
how things work. They just grumble quietly to themselves something about
getting a lawyer. Damn sock puppets.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
68 - The Technology of Dating
Technology is changing the world. As much as I complain (whine some might
say) about online dating and, mainly for me, online rejection I do like the
benefits of the internet.
Because I'm in my forties I remember a time when you actually had to
date or hang out with someone to find out they were a complete wack job.
I am so jealous because you had to fall back on friends to find out if the
girl you are going out on a date with was a psycho, freak, slut, or my personal
favorite raging, thieving, drug addict.
The problem with the internet is that I find myself suffering from an
affliction that usually only hits me when I'm at the bar. At least at the bar I
have the excuse of having maybe a few too many drinks in me. Here I think the
excuse is that I'm in the comfort of my own home.
I find myself requesting dates with women that are way out of my league. I
don't know what comes over me. I see a woman that I would never be able to
approach in my real life and for some stupid reason I send her a message. I
have the hope that she will notice my message out of the other 500 she's
received that day telling her she's the hottest thing on the planet. The best
part of this is patiently waiting up to a week to see if she will except my
request, usually to no avail. I would prefer to be denied than to be left
hanging.
At the bar his usually only happens once I've had too many shots of
Jager and a half a pack of American Spirits. I imagine there's nothing sexier
than a short, drunk, ashtray asking you for your number or in this case entry to
your world of friends.
The internet has allowed great things such as search engines. With
technology such as Yahoo and Google you can now find out about your date from
just a last name and an address.
For women this is great. If you find a wonderful guy what's the first
thing you do? You Google him! You do this after you have checked the sex
offender registry of course. Finally you call your cousin the cop or someone in
your family who is dating a cop and have them run a quick background check.
It's amazing to think that all of this technology is being used by people
on Facebook and Tinder to share such wonderful insights into
the human condition as "u r sew hawwwwt!" Technology is changing the world.
That Beautiful Black Man
say) about online dating and, mainly for me, online rejection I do like the
benefits of the internet.
Because I'm in my forties I remember a time when you actually had to
date or hang out with someone to find out they were a complete wack job.
I am so jealous because you had to fall back on friends to find out if the
girl you are going out on a date with was a psycho, freak, slut, or my personal
favorite raging, thieving, drug addict.
The problem with the internet is that I find myself suffering from an
affliction that usually only hits me when I'm at the bar. At least at the bar I
have the excuse of having maybe a few too many drinks in me. Here I think the
excuse is that I'm in the comfort of my own home.
I find myself requesting dates with women that are way out of my league. I
don't know what comes over me. I see a woman that I would never be able to
approach in my real life and for some stupid reason I send her a message. I
have the hope that she will notice my message out of the other 500 she's
received that day telling her she's the hottest thing on the planet. The best
part of this is patiently waiting up to a week to see if she will except my
request, usually to no avail. I would prefer to be denied than to be left
hanging.
At the bar his usually only happens once I've had too many shots of
Jager and a half a pack of American Spirits. I imagine there's nothing sexier
than a short, drunk, ashtray asking you for your number or in this case entry to
your world of friends.
The internet has allowed great things such as search engines. With
technology such as Yahoo and Google you can now find out about your date from
just a last name and an address.
For women this is great. If you find a wonderful guy what's the first
thing you do? You Google him! You do this after you have checked the sex
offender registry of course. Finally you call your cousin the cop or someone in
your family who is dating a cop and have them run a quick background check.
It's amazing to think that all of this technology is being used by people
on Facebook and Tinder to share such wonderful insights into
the human condition as "u r sew hawwwwt!" Technology is changing the world.
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
67 - Dating & Job Hunting
Though they are different it's amazing how similar dating and job hunting
are. In both you have certain skills you must highlight to make you the most
attractive candidate. In both you usually have other people who are going for
the same thing that you want. In both you must weigh the sacrifices you are
willing to make to make the situation work.
Lately both can be achieved on line. You present your resume/profile on a
reputable site and see who bites. While you wait you are able to browse the
site and submit your resume/profile to the position you want. You then check
another reputable site to see if there are any other available positions.
Friends are always willing to help. Friends can show you certain
jobs/people that you didn't know were available. They are there to offer their
opinions on what works for you and what doesn't work in your initial
presentation.
Unfortunately some friends don't tell you that they have done that
job/person before. Some friends may have quit that job/person and are still
getting free benefits. You may not get the job because your friend won't let
the position be posted as available.
Worse they may still be working the job/person on the side. They do this
not because they have a vested interest in a future with this job/person, they
just like the continued benefits.
Many times I will apply for a job/relationship that I feel I am thoroughly
qualified for only to find out that they have hired some nitwit who is
unable to complete the tasks at hand. The unqualified candidate fails multiple
times at various assignments but still pulls the benefits until they do
something so blatantly stupid that they must be dismissed. Do I then reapply
knowing that I wasn't the primary choice? I think not.
What's worse is when you have a friend that has the perfect job but won't
let you apply for it because she/he feels you're a better friend than colleague.
They constantly talk about work and ask your opinion on how to improve things.
Even though you offer great suggestions that are then followed up on you aren't
even offered the consultants fee.
Many times I find myself taking temp work just so the lean times aren't so
lean. This is only good if both you and your temporary colleague/employee
realize that you have no intention on retiring with this company. Sometimes the
temp work is the worst thing you could have done but it takes care of immediate
needs. Other times the position is so good you wish you had signed on for this
job in the first place and you hang on in hopes they hire you full time. Why is
it that the job/person you want the least is the one that calls you back the
most? It's amazingly similar how dating and job hunting are.
That Beautiful Black Man
are. In both you have certain skills you must highlight to make you the most
attractive candidate. In both you usually have other people who are going for
the same thing that you want. In both you must weigh the sacrifices you are
willing to make to make the situation work.
Lately both can be achieved on line. You present your resume/profile on a
reputable site and see who bites. While you wait you are able to browse the
site and submit your resume/profile to the position you want. You then check
another reputable site to see if there are any other available positions.
Friends are always willing to help. Friends can show you certain
jobs/people that you didn't know were available. They are there to offer their
opinions on what works for you and what doesn't work in your initial
presentation.
Unfortunately some friends don't tell you that they have done that
job/person before. Some friends may have quit that job/person and are still
getting free benefits. You may not get the job because your friend won't let
the position be posted as available.
Worse they may still be working the job/person on the side. They do this
not because they have a vested interest in a future with this job/person, they
just like the continued benefits.
Many times I will apply for a job/relationship that I feel I am thoroughly
qualified for only to find out that they have hired some nitwit who is
unable to complete the tasks at hand. The unqualified candidate fails multiple
times at various assignments but still pulls the benefits until they do
something so blatantly stupid that they must be dismissed. Do I then reapply
knowing that I wasn't the primary choice? I think not.
What's worse is when you have a friend that has the perfect job but won't
let you apply for it because she/he feels you're a better friend than colleague.
They constantly talk about work and ask your opinion on how to improve things.
Even though you offer great suggestions that are then followed up on you aren't
even offered the consultants fee.
Many times I find myself taking temp work just so the lean times aren't so
lean. This is only good if both you and your temporary colleague/employee
realize that you have no intention on retiring with this company. Sometimes the
temp work is the worst thing you could have done but it takes care of immediate
needs. Other times the position is so good you wish you had signed on for this
job in the first place and you hang on in hopes they hire you full time. Why is
it that the job/person you want the least is the one that calls you back the
most? It's amazingly similar how dating and job hunting are.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
66 - The Ring Of Fire
The job market has changed since the last time I threw my hat into the ring of fire. I've had five interviews but I've only talked to one person face to face. I don't think I talked on the phone this much when I was in high school. I'm not a big phone guy either. I can chat with Marrianne or Linda but for the most part I don't like conversations to last over five minutes.
Posting a resume on line is a change since the last time I was job hunting. I think it's ironic. I take every precaution to protect my identity from theft, not that there's too much of anything really to steal. I do everything I can to protect who I am and then I put everything except naked pictures of myself on these job sites.
I'm convinced there are criminals and hard core drug addicts who have better credit scores than I do. I'm certain if they hacked into my personal information they might even use the money generated from cans returned to the supermarket to send me a note of sympathy. Maybe I shouldn't be too worried about my ID being taken. They may actually make my score better.
Between e-mail, faxing, on line applications, and 1.800 numbers you can look for a job from the comfort of your own home. This can lull you into a false sense of security. The reality check comes when the check doesn't come at the end of the week.
I like the free fall. I have no real back up plan. There is no million dollar purse to fall back on. Savings are a bit sparse. This is incentive not to fail. There can be no failure. I know, I know. I feel myself choking on the drama.
Honestly failure sucks unless we're talking about dating. When it comes to dating failure is where the fun kicks in. The two markets, while completely opposite, are incredibly similar. The market has definitely changed since I threw my hat into the ring of fire.
That Beautiful Black Man
Posting a resume on line is a change since the last time I was job hunting. I think it's ironic. I take every precaution to protect my identity from theft, not that there's too much of anything really to steal. I do everything I can to protect who I am and then I put everything except naked pictures of myself on these job sites.
I'm convinced there are criminals and hard core drug addicts who have better credit scores than I do. I'm certain if they hacked into my personal information they might even use the money generated from cans returned to the supermarket to send me a note of sympathy. Maybe I shouldn't be too worried about my ID being taken. They may actually make my score better.
Between e-mail, faxing, on line applications, and 1.800 numbers you can look for a job from the comfort of your own home. This can lull you into a false sense of security. The reality check comes when the check doesn't come at the end of the week.
I like the free fall. I have no real back up plan. There is no million dollar purse to fall back on. Savings are a bit sparse. This is incentive not to fail. There can be no failure. I know, I know. I feel myself choking on the drama.
Honestly failure sucks unless we're talking about dating. When it comes to dating failure is where the fun kicks in. The two markets, while completely opposite, are incredibly similar. The market has definitely changed since I threw my hat into the ring of fire.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 10, 2014
65 - American Dream 2.0
I dropped the last of my American Spirit into the cigarette stand right before I stepped into the Palace. I saw Paris's car parked outside so I thought I would stop in to see if she was having dinner with one of her sheep. She was sitting alone. Her white overcoat was right next to her. She was wearing a white turtleneck, jeans, and her white Eskimo boots. Her hair was up.
I usually avoided the Palace because it was right next to my former employer. I didn't think there would be an issue because it was after seven and I knew they were closed.
I ordered a plain chicken breast and a diet coke to be delivered to the table.
"May I offer you a drink," she said as I slid into the seat across from her. "Possibly a COCK-tail?!?" She exploded in laughter.
I just hung my head and shook it. "I see you talked to Linda."
"Oh yes, yes I did! Now that's funny. That's really funny. You were worried about being judged on Hotornot? Ha! Ha! Ha!" She continued to laugh out loud.
"That's what I love about you Paris, you are always a sympathetic ear." I rested my head in my hands.
"Stupid bastard. See, you should have let me take the pictures."
"The last time I saw you was at Kiki's house. Do you have a camera with you now? I know I don't. Our schedules never seem to click."
"You and your goddamn particulars. Why did you even do it in the first place?" She asked sipping on her beer.
"Did you order yet?" I asked her trying to change the subject.
"Of course I did. What do you want?"
"I have a chicken breast and a diet coke coming."
"You're still eating well. And you've kept the weight off, good boy."
"I have to stay in shape if I want the plan to come together." I said twisting from side to side.
"What plan is that? The online dating plan?" She snickered.
"No, no, no. That's more of an experiment to see if I've become a viable property. If I happen to hook up in the process then so be it. I actually put an add up on Yahoo just to see if I get any legitimate hits. Living around here sucks. Every personal I look at wants doughy white guys. That's not me."
"What do you mean?" She said feigning shock. "You're not white?!?"
"Kiss my ass." I said as the arrived with our food.
"So what's this big plan?" She asked digging into her Greek salad.
"I'm expanding on the American Dream. I've had the 'good' corporate job - that I hated, I own a European car, I've had some money in the bank, not so much anymore but I've had it. I've called my bosses morons, told them they can go stick that 'good' corporate job in their ass, and now I spend my days doing what I love. Yes, I'm in debt but who isn't?"
The light from the ceiling caught her eyes just right. For a second I was lost in their reflection. They glimmered like finely crafted Waterford Crystal.
"And what do you have to show for all of this?" She asked looking through the finely crafted crystal.
"More quality time with you, pretty girl!" I smiled like a fifteen year old school girl telling her friends she had been asked to the senior prom.
"Asshole."
"Seriously, it's the American Dream 2.0, kid. I'm trying to live on my own terms."
"Here's a toast," she said raising her beer into the light. "To the American Dream 2.0"
"Here, here!"
"Is that diet coke going to be strong enough? Might I suggest, perhaps, a COCK-tail?!?"
"Fuck you." I said while she laughed.
That Beautiful Black Man
I usually avoided the Palace because it was right next to my former employer. I didn't think there would be an issue because it was after seven and I knew they were closed.
I ordered a plain chicken breast and a diet coke to be delivered to the table.
"May I offer you a drink," she said as I slid into the seat across from her. "Possibly a COCK-tail?!?" She exploded in laughter.
I just hung my head and shook it. "I see you talked to Linda."
"Oh yes, yes I did! Now that's funny. That's really funny. You were worried about being judged on Hotornot? Ha! Ha! Ha!" She continued to laugh out loud.
"That's what I love about you Paris, you are always a sympathetic ear." I rested my head in my hands.
"Stupid bastard. See, you should have let me take the pictures."
"The last time I saw you was at Kiki's house. Do you have a camera with you now? I know I don't. Our schedules never seem to click."
"You and your goddamn particulars. Why did you even do it in the first place?" She asked sipping on her beer.
"Did you order yet?" I asked her trying to change the subject.
"Of course I did. What do you want?"
"I have a chicken breast and a diet coke coming."
"You're still eating well. And you've kept the weight off, good boy."
"I have to stay in shape if I want the plan to come together." I said twisting from side to side.
"What plan is that? The online dating plan?" She snickered.
"No, no, no. That's more of an experiment to see if I've become a viable property. If I happen to hook up in the process then so be it. I actually put an add up on Yahoo just to see if I get any legitimate hits. Living around here sucks. Every personal I look at wants doughy white guys. That's not me."
"What do you mean?" She said feigning shock. "You're not white?!?"
"Kiss my ass." I said as the arrived with our food.
"So what's this big plan?" She asked digging into her Greek salad.
"I'm expanding on the American Dream. I've had the 'good' corporate job - that I hated, I own a European car, I've had some money in the bank, not so much anymore but I've had it. I've called my bosses morons, told them they can go stick that 'good' corporate job in their ass, and now I spend my days doing what I love. Yes, I'm in debt but who isn't?"
The light from the ceiling caught her eyes just right. For a second I was lost in their reflection. They glimmered like finely crafted Waterford Crystal.
"And what do you have to show for all of this?" She asked looking through the finely crafted crystal.
"More quality time with you, pretty girl!" I smiled like a fifteen year old school girl telling her friends she had been asked to the senior prom.
"Asshole."
"Seriously, it's the American Dream 2.0, kid. I'm trying to live on my own terms."
"Here's a toast," she said raising her beer into the light. "To the American Dream 2.0"
"Here, here!"
"Is that diet coke going to be strong enough? Might I suggest, perhaps, a COCK-tail?!?"
"Fuck you." I said while she laughed.
That Beautiful Black Man
Friday, March 7, 2014
64 - Linda
Linda and I were phone buddies. We met at a bar called The Yard. She was a bartender and the owners sister. On occasion Paris and I met there and had some of our best conversations.
Due to unemployment my new schedule consisted of searching for jobs on line in the morning, bouncing through myspace in the afternoon, writing short stories in the evening, and either rehearsing at home or playing open mics at night.
I haven't been going to The Yard as much since I quit my job so Linda would usually catch me at home in the afternoon. We're friends on myspace. When one of your friends is on line a little blinker flashes near their picture, if they have one, to let you know they are bouncing around too.
"Hi," she said quietly through the phone. I could tell she just woke up. She worked the night shift and was usually up until the wee hours of the morning. Sleeping until afternoon was commonplace for her.
"Hey," I answered, still in my pajamas myself. "How was work last night?" I asked looking at my pending friend requests. If you want someone to be your friend you send him or her a message. You are then held in limbo until they decide if they want to be your friend or not. I was waiting to hear back from five people.
"Boring," she said yawning a long satisfying yawn. "This sucks. I've had a boatload of profile views but no new messages or friend requests."
"I know how you feel," I replied. "I have the same problem with this on line dating site. I get views but no requests." I stretched out a yawn myself. "I did get one but it was crazy."
"Online what?!?" She asked surprised. I proceeded to tell her about my friend finder site, the sausage that showed up in my mailbox, and Derich's 401 cock reference. She laughed so hard she snorted three times.
"You poor thing. That is so wrong. You have to send it to me!" She was still laughing to herself.
"I don't want to look at that fucking thing again let alone send it out to someone," I protested.
"Come on. You'll do it for me because I'm your best friend."
"OK! OK! I'll get it to you."
"Ha! Ha! I'm in his Top 8!" She said triumphantly. If you are in someones top 8 that means that of all of the friends someone has you are considered to be in the very top. This is cool unless the person you are friends with has less than eight friends.
"Who? Who?" I cooed like an owl.
"Do you remember Peter, the guy who used to hang out at The Yard last year?"
"That narrows it down. You know I have no memory for sausage," I said switching the phone from left ear to right ear.
"Unless it ends up in your friendly adult mailbox," she laughed.
"Fuck you."
"Anyway," she continued, "he was the guy who always liked my pink shirts. He used to invite me over to his house to watch reruns of Will & Grace on the Lifetime channel."
"Oh ... the gay guy!" I said as I realized that some of my pending requests wouldn't accept me as a friend.
"I don't know if he's gay..." she started.
"Come on! Will & Grace on the Lifetime channel?!? What does this guy look like?"
"Just go into my friend file and click the abraccuist." She said sounding annoyed.
"The abracadabrist? What is he a magician?"
"No you asshole, the ABRACCUIST! Just click on his file."
I went to her friend file and found the abraccuist. Sure enough she was in his Top 8.
"You didn't sleep with this guy did you," I asked looking at his strawberry blond afro. "Never mind. Will & Grace. Lifetime channel." I laughed.
"You love being an asshole don't you?"
"It's all in a days work," I said. "What the hell is an abraccuist?"
"I have no idea," she relied. "Maybe it's his new job title."
"Hang on I'll look it up." I opened another window on my computer and headed over to my favorite dictionary site. There was no definition given. I decided to Google it.
"Oh my."
"What? What?" she asked.
"Google it." I said laughing to myself.
"Talk about 401 cock!" She said laughing out loud. Under the term was a vivid description of sexual benefits offered to any woman willing to respond to his adult profile. What was funny was that his profile was five spaces above mine!
That Beautiful Black Man
Due to unemployment my new schedule consisted of searching for jobs on line in the morning, bouncing through myspace in the afternoon, writing short stories in the evening, and either rehearsing at home or playing open mics at night.
I haven't been going to The Yard as much since I quit my job so Linda would usually catch me at home in the afternoon. We're friends on myspace. When one of your friends is on line a little blinker flashes near their picture, if they have one, to let you know they are bouncing around too.
"Hi," she said quietly through the phone. I could tell she just woke up. She worked the night shift and was usually up until the wee hours of the morning. Sleeping until afternoon was commonplace for her.
"Hey," I answered, still in my pajamas myself. "How was work last night?" I asked looking at my pending friend requests. If you want someone to be your friend you send him or her a message. You are then held in limbo until they decide if they want to be your friend or not. I was waiting to hear back from five people.
"Boring," she said yawning a long satisfying yawn. "This sucks. I've had a boatload of profile views but no new messages or friend requests."
"I know how you feel," I replied. "I have the same problem with this on line dating site. I get views but no requests." I stretched out a yawn myself. "I did get one but it was crazy."
"Online what?!?" She asked surprised. I proceeded to tell her about my friend finder site, the sausage that showed up in my mailbox, and Derich's 401 cock reference. She laughed so hard she snorted three times.
"You poor thing. That is so wrong. You have to send it to me!" She was still laughing to herself.
"I don't want to look at that fucking thing again let alone send it out to someone," I protested.
"Come on. You'll do it for me because I'm your best friend."
"OK! OK! I'll get it to you."
"Ha! Ha! I'm in his Top 8!" She said triumphantly. If you are in someones top 8 that means that of all of the friends someone has you are considered to be in the very top. This is cool unless the person you are friends with has less than eight friends.
"Who? Who?" I cooed like an owl.
"Do you remember Peter, the guy who used to hang out at The Yard last year?"
"That narrows it down. You know I have no memory for sausage," I said switching the phone from left ear to right ear.
"Unless it ends up in your friendly adult mailbox," she laughed.
"Fuck you."
"Anyway," she continued, "he was the guy who always liked my pink shirts. He used to invite me over to his house to watch reruns of Will & Grace on the Lifetime channel."
"Oh ... the gay guy!" I said as I realized that some of my pending requests wouldn't accept me as a friend.
"I don't know if he's gay..." she started.
"Come on! Will & Grace on the Lifetime channel?!? What does this guy look like?"
"Just go into my friend file and click the abraccuist." She said sounding annoyed.
"The abracadabrist? What is he a magician?"
"No you asshole, the ABRACCUIST! Just click on his file."
I went to her friend file and found the abraccuist. Sure enough she was in his Top 8.
"You didn't sleep with this guy did you," I asked looking at his strawberry blond afro. "Never mind. Will & Grace. Lifetime channel." I laughed.
"You love being an asshole don't you?"
"It's all in a days work," I said. "What the hell is an abraccuist?"
"I have no idea," she relied. "Maybe it's his new job title."
"Hang on I'll look it up." I opened another window on my computer and headed over to my favorite dictionary site. There was no definition given. I decided to Google it.
"Oh my."
"What? What?" she asked.
"Google it." I said laughing to myself.
"Talk about 401 cock!" She said laughing out loud. Under the term was a vivid description of sexual benefits offered to any woman willing to respond to his adult profile. What was funny was that his profile was five spaces above mine!
That Beautiful Black Man
Thursday, March 6, 2014
63 - Another Night At The Door
Derich's beer almost shot out of his nose. "So this guy sent you a picture of his cock, and pictures of other black guys banging his wife?"
"Yes," I said taking a bite of my turkey club grinder. "How screwed up is that?"
"That has got to be the funniest thing I've heard all year. I think I might shit myself!"
"Thank you. I can't kill myself fast enough. You said this guy in your office always seems to have good luck, right?"
"Yeah! And he's a fucking geek. I'm not saying he has supermodels breaking down his front door but there are some really pretty women calling him. Who the hell did you go through anyway?"
Once again I did a quick scan of The Door to see if Connie was there. This was the first time I had been back to the bar since late summer. I wanted to ask our waitress if Connie still worked there but I thought better of it.
"I went to one of the friend finder sites. Since I've been unemployed I'm on line a lot. If I'm not looking for a job, I'm checking stocks, looking for apartments, and debating rolling out my 401k."
"You want to roll out your what? Your 401 cock?!?" He said covering his mouth with his napkin so food wouldn't shoot across the bar while he laughed out loud.
"Fuck you." I said shaking my head from side to side.
"Friend finder?!? Dude friend finder is the adult swinger site! You need to try something more reputable like eHarmony or even match.com. That's it match.com. That's who the geek goes through. You don't really want to do this shit anyway, do you?"
I pushed what was left of my food away and rested my elbows on the bar.
"You all set with this?" asked the bartender looking down at the scraps of bread and stray french fries dancing on the plate.
"Yeah. I'm fine," I said waving it away. "I'm all set." I took a good hard look in the mirror and pushed back to stretch. My back finally cracked a good loud crack.
"No," I said to Derich, "I have no real interest in an online hook up but I'm up for trying new shit. It's part of the rebirth, son. I want to expand the horizons. I want to find out what's out there."
"I've said it before," he said pushing his food away, "nothing is ever easy with you. Stop looking so hard for the meaning behind everything and just enjoy life."
"I'm not looking for the meaning as much as noticing it. These last few months I've been out of work I've had the chance to reflect on what I want, don't want, need, and don't need. It's been very cleansing." I relaxed my shoulders.
"This isn't the point where you tell me you've discovered God or Buddha or start chanting or some shit like that is it?"
"Fuck you, man. Nooo. This is going to be a good year for me." I said feeling for my American Spirits.
"I see what you mean." He pulled out his corporate card. "Don't worry. I got this."
"Thanks, man." I said taking the last swig of pineapple juice.
"Don't thank me. I'm just doing this so you don't have to roll out your 401 cock."
That Beautiful Black Man
"Yes," I said taking a bite of my turkey club grinder. "How screwed up is that?"
"That has got to be the funniest thing I've heard all year. I think I might shit myself!"
"Thank you. I can't kill myself fast enough. You said this guy in your office always seems to have good luck, right?"
"Yeah! And he's a fucking geek. I'm not saying he has supermodels breaking down his front door but there are some really pretty women calling him. Who the hell did you go through anyway?"
Once again I did a quick scan of The Door to see if Connie was there. This was the first time I had been back to the bar since late summer. I wanted to ask our waitress if Connie still worked there but I thought better of it.
"I went to one of the friend finder sites. Since I've been unemployed I'm on line a lot. If I'm not looking for a job, I'm checking stocks, looking for apartments, and debating rolling out my 401k."
"You want to roll out your what? Your 401 cock?!?" He said covering his mouth with his napkin so food wouldn't shoot across the bar while he laughed out loud.
"Fuck you." I said shaking my head from side to side.
"Friend finder?!? Dude friend finder is the adult swinger site! You need to try something more reputable like eHarmony or even match.com. That's it match.com. That's who the geek goes through. You don't really want to do this shit anyway, do you?"
I pushed what was left of my food away and rested my elbows on the bar.
"You all set with this?" asked the bartender looking down at the scraps of bread and stray french fries dancing on the plate.
"Yeah. I'm fine," I said waving it away. "I'm all set." I took a good hard look in the mirror and pushed back to stretch. My back finally cracked a good loud crack.
"No," I said to Derich, "I have no real interest in an online hook up but I'm up for trying new shit. It's part of the rebirth, son. I want to expand the horizons. I want to find out what's out there."
"I've said it before," he said pushing his food away, "nothing is ever easy with you. Stop looking so hard for the meaning behind everything and just enjoy life."
"I'm not looking for the meaning as much as noticing it. These last few months I've been out of work I've had the chance to reflect on what I want, don't want, need, and don't need. It's been very cleansing." I relaxed my shoulders.
"This isn't the point where you tell me you've discovered God or Buddha or start chanting or some shit like that is it?"
"Fuck you, man. Nooo. This is going to be a good year for me." I said feeling for my American Spirits.
"I see what you mean." He pulled out his corporate card. "Don't worry. I got this."
"Thanks, man." I said taking the last swig of pineapple juice.
"Don't thank me. I'm just doing this so you don't have to roll out your 401 cock."
That Beautiful Black Man
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
62 - Online Dating
I really have no faith in dating or bar hopping beyond the hook up, a strict level three or four guy. I have less faith in online dating. I'm getting to the point that, when I'm out, I tell women I meet that I'm divorced. It's been my experience that at 35 if I tell someone I'm still single and I have no kids they either think I'm gay or a child molester.
Paris and I never got together to get the pictures done. We can never do anything that requires planning. Life keeps getting in the way.
Because I promised myself I would try new things I decided I would still put a picture or two up on some on-line dating site. As most of you know I don't date. I'm not a big fan of the whole cat and mouse game. I have been the emotional tampon for far too many of my friends to believe that this can work out for too long.
I have come to the three month realization. I have found that after three months most relationships fall to shit. Now this wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that most people feel it necessary to try and salvage this sinking battleship.
I know personally that I am good for about three months. If we get out at the three month point you are left with the good memories and possibly wanting more. I'm not saying that I'm completely against long term relationships just I've seen so few actually work out that I'm jaded.
With that said I must let you know that I did secretly put a profile a while ago. I opted for one of the more obscure sites. I have never had a picture up because, well, I was scared. If people reject you based on how you look that's always not so good for the ego. Two years and no responses. There was no picture so there were no hard feelings.
I finally got up the nerve to put up a picture. It was just a shot I took in myself in my foyer, nothing special. I was wearing a tan turtleneck and no glasses with a burgundy background. It was very simple. I have a simple headline "I Won't Waste Your Time." I find that if you are honest from the beginning you make life much easier. I am interested in a woman between 5' and 5' 6", single or divorced, between 25 and 35, slender or athletic to voluptuous, intelligent, discrete, and attractive with a strong sense of self. I try to make sure it's clear what I'm looking for.
Two days after I put up the picture I got a response. It's amazing what a photo can do. I opened the message wondering if I was going to have pay the $20/month fee just to read it. I got to read it for free.
It was a picture of some white guys cock. Yeah you read it right. It was a picture of some white guys cock followed by two pictures of he and his wife with two other guys. The caption read "We Love Black Cock. Call us!"
For some strange reason I don't really have that much faith in online dating.
That Beautiful Black Man
Paris and I never got together to get the pictures done. We can never do anything that requires planning. Life keeps getting in the way.
Because I promised myself I would try new things I decided I would still put a picture or two up on some on-line dating site. As most of you know I don't date. I'm not a big fan of the whole cat and mouse game. I have been the emotional tampon for far too many of my friends to believe that this can work out for too long.
I have come to the three month realization. I have found that after three months most relationships fall to shit. Now this wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that most people feel it necessary to try and salvage this sinking battleship.
I know personally that I am good for about three months. If we get out at the three month point you are left with the good memories and possibly wanting more. I'm not saying that I'm completely against long term relationships just I've seen so few actually work out that I'm jaded.
With that said I must let you know that I did secretly put a profile a while ago. I opted for one of the more obscure sites. I have never had a picture up because, well, I was scared. If people reject you based on how you look that's always not so good for the ego. Two years and no responses. There was no picture so there were no hard feelings.
I finally got up the nerve to put up a picture. It was just a shot I took in myself in my foyer, nothing special. I was wearing a tan turtleneck and no glasses with a burgundy background. It was very simple. I have a simple headline "I Won't Waste Your Time." I find that if you are honest from the beginning you make life much easier. I am interested in a woman between 5' and 5' 6", single or divorced, between 25 and 35, slender or athletic to voluptuous, intelligent, discrete, and attractive with a strong sense of self. I try to make sure it's clear what I'm looking for.
Two days after I put up the picture I got a response. It's amazing what a photo can do. I opened the message wondering if I was going to have pay the $20/month fee just to read it. I got to read it for free.
It was a picture of some white guys cock. Yeah you read it right. It was a picture of some white guys cock followed by two pictures of he and his wife with two other guys. The caption read "We Love Black Cock. Call us!"
For some strange reason I don't really have that much faith in online dating.
That Beautiful Black Man
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
61 - Open Mic
Ah yes, playing live. I do it so rarely lately. I've been trying to build my confidence and chops by just jumping on stage at open mics where ever I can find them. One great place to experiment was Club Helsinki in Great Barrington. It is the coolest New York City club stashed in the Berkshires. I spent my last night with Connie in this little club.
This was my second night there since Connie. The first night was the night after I quit my job. The job was making me miserable. I had gained weight and if I didn't shave it bald I imagine I would have been going bald. You can only fight corporate America for so long.
I got there early (7:00 7:15ish) so I could sign up. If you sign in early you can get on stage early and disappear. The open mic starts at 8. I like to be there and gone by 8:30 I like this option just in case my set sucks.
Last night I signed up at 7:55 and wasn't scheduled for my ten minute set until 11. I would get to go on only if someone didn't show up. What a difference 40 minutes makes!
Depending on the night you go and who is running things there is a guitar, amp, drum set, and bass amp all on stage for you. I've been playing it solo. Scary sh*t, man. You are forced to know your game or walk. There are a few people who know it and it shows and there are those who should walk. I've had my nights were it's time to walk so I take nothing to chance.
The best act of the night was the first act. His name was Ben. The kid, maybe 13 or 14, was young and it was his first time playing out in public. His whole family was there. Some of the tunes were a bit rough but he stuck it out. He took the mistakes and just carried on. You could see that he was terrified but he just kept going. There was potential. There was that wide-eyed passion you can remember when you first did something you loved.
The second act was a spoken word. I'm convinced the name of his set was 'Would You Fuck Me?'. He seemed to have this obsession with one of his female friends in the audience. He talked about toe sucking and all forms of lingus. This was funny to me because you could see Ben's mother fighting the urge to cover his ears and run screaming.
The next few acts were pros. They were traveling and stopped in to try out new material. There was a novice metal band who sounded more like grinding metal farts and sandy toilet paper, a few more newbies, and a beautiful flute player.
My set was simple. I played three of the songs I should have been playing all this time I've been fighting corporate America.
"The girl I'm seeing and I had a bet," I started out with a lie as most artist do. "She found these old songs in my CD case. We rolled the dice. If I won I got free sex. If she won I had do an open mic. Ergo tonight's performance."
I got a few laughs. It's good to break the ice. No one needed to know that I've been to scared to perform since 1999. The rush was sweet and the songs felt good to play. They flowed like the first drag of a fresh American Spirit released into the wind. They seemed to say "We miss you. This is where you belong."
Ah yes, playing live.
That Beautiful Black Man
This was my second night there since Connie. The first night was the night after I quit my job. The job was making me miserable. I had gained weight and if I didn't shave it bald I imagine I would have been going bald. You can only fight corporate America for so long.
I got there early (7:00 7:15ish) so I could sign up. If you sign in early you can get on stage early and disappear. The open mic starts at 8. I like to be there and gone by 8:30 I like this option just in case my set sucks.
Last night I signed up at 7:55 and wasn't scheduled for my ten minute set until 11. I would get to go on only if someone didn't show up. What a difference 40 minutes makes!
Depending on the night you go and who is running things there is a guitar, amp, drum set, and bass amp all on stage for you. I've been playing it solo. Scary sh*t, man. You are forced to know your game or walk. There are a few people who know it and it shows and there are those who should walk. I've had my nights were it's time to walk so I take nothing to chance.
The best act of the night was the first act. His name was Ben. The kid, maybe 13 or 14, was young and it was his first time playing out in public. His whole family was there. Some of the tunes were a bit rough but he stuck it out. He took the mistakes and just carried on. You could see that he was terrified but he just kept going. There was potential. There was that wide-eyed passion you can remember when you first did something you loved.
The second act was a spoken word. I'm convinced the name of his set was 'Would You Fuck Me?'. He seemed to have this obsession with one of his female friends in the audience. He talked about toe sucking and all forms of lingus. This was funny to me because you could see Ben's mother fighting the urge to cover his ears and run screaming.
The next few acts were pros. They were traveling and stopped in to try out new material. There was a novice metal band who sounded more like grinding metal farts and sandy toilet paper, a few more newbies, and a beautiful flute player.
My set was simple. I played three of the songs I should have been playing all this time I've been fighting corporate America.
"The girl I'm seeing and I had a bet," I started out with a lie as most artist do. "She found these old songs in my CD case. We rolled the dice. If I won I got free sex. If she won I had do an open mic. Ergo tonight's performance."
I got a few laughs. It's good to break the ice. No one needed to know that I've been to scared to perform since 1999. The rush was sweet and the songs felt good to play. They flowed like the first drag of a fresh American Spirit released into the wind. They seemed to say "We miss you. This is where you belong."
Ah yes, playing live.
That Beautiful Black Man
Monday, March 3, 2014
60 - To Blog or Not To Blog
"Hey babe," said Marrianne's familiar voice over the scratchy cell phone. "What's going on?"
"Nothing much," I said turning the volume down on my television. I had seen this episode so a chat with Marrianne seemed like a pleasant distraction.
"I'm just sitting here on my couch with my thumb in my ass, keeping it warm." I said smiling into the receiver.
"Nice," she exhaled. I could see her closing her ice blues and shaking her brunette curls back and forth. "I just tried to call your house and got your voice mail. You're not sitting there with some chickie are you?" She asked.
"No, kid. Far from it. I'm in a bit of a dry spell. I can't even keep my hand awake lately." I rolled my eyes towards my ceiling.
"Blaaaaaah!!" I could see her scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out over the phone. I imagined she was looking around her apartment for something to throw at me.
"That's too much information. Way too much information!"
"Sorry," I said feeling the slick smile cut across my face. "I unplugged my phone for the night so I could have some quiet time."
"That's going to help your dry spell," dripped the sarcasm. "That and maybe some hand sanitizer."
"That was quick. I like that." I twisted from side to side trying to crack my aching back. "But seriously kid, you ever get those nights were you just want to be left alone?" I asked finally clicking off the TV.
"Want me to let you go?" she asked.
"No, no, no. I still have caller ID on my cell phone. If I didn't want to talk to you I wouldn't. Besides I actually like you. What's on your mind?"
"First, I know how much you hate driving up to Boston so I wanted to thank you for coming up to my birthday party." God knows I hate driving to, in, or near Boston.
"You're welcome, kid. Once again congratulations on the engagement."
"Thank you." Even though we were on the phone I could see her face light up as she thought about her future husband.
"Second, I'm missing a few days."
"Wow. You didn't look that drunk at the party. I left early but you seemed fine."
"No, you schmuck! I'm missing a few of 'The Days'! Your short stories!"
"Sorry, sorry. I've lost a few weekends lately so I thought ... never mind. Just let me know which ones and I'll send them to you." I said leaning forward, still not getting that satisfying crack in my back.
"I was thinking why don't you just set up a website or a blog or something. That way I could just go there if I needed to do some catching up?"
"Ah yes. To blog or not to blog. That's a good question. Believe it or not I do have a website. I just haven't built the page to put up yet." I was so close to cracking my back but no go.
"What the hell are you waiting for? You can set up a blog for free. If you put up the little short stories up once a week I think you're good for at least a year and a half. There's Ringo, Myspace, Livejournal and a whole slew of other free sites."
I sat quietly on the couch and stared at the blank TV screen. It's one thing to be a slacker but another to be called on it.
"I'm a bum." I finally exhaled. "I just look at these things as a pleasant distraction. I don't even know how many people still read them. But now that you mention it I do have plans for 2006. I'm going to finish the website, put out some new music, find and hit some open mics to promote the music, aaand if I find one I like, I'll set up a blog. Happy?"
"Yes," she replied smiling. "But why not start now?"
"Marrianne if I start now who's ass am I going to use to keep my thumb warm?" I said once again feeling the slick smile cut across my face.
"Blaaaaaah!" She said presumably shaking her brunette curls back and forth.
That Beautiful Black Man
"Nothing much," I said turning the volume down on my television. I had seen this episode so a chat with Marrianne seemed like a pleasant distraction.
"I'm just sitting here on my couch with my thumb in my ass, keeping it warm." I said smiling into the receiver.
"Nice," she exhaled. I could see her closing her ice blues and shaking her brunette curls back and forth. "I just tried to call your house and got your voice mail. You're not sitting there with some chickie are you?" She asked.
"No, kid. Far from it. I'm in a bit of a dry spell. I can't even keep my hand awake lately." I rolled my eyes towards my ceiling.
"Blaaaaaah!!" I could see her scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out over the phone. I imagined she was looking around her apartment for something to throw at me.
"That's too much information. Way too much information!"
"Sorry," I said feeling the slick smile cut across my face. "I unplugged my phone for the night so I could have some quiet time."
"That's going to help your dry spell," dripped the sarcasm. "That and maybe some hand sanitizer."
"That was quick. I like that." I twisted from side to side trying to crack my aching back. "But seriously kid, you ever get those nights were you just want to be left alone?" I asked finally clicking off the TV.
"Want me to let you go?" she asked.
"No, no, no. I still have caller ID on my cell phone. If I didn't want to talk to you I wouldn't. Besides I actually like you. What's on your mind?"
"First, I know how much you hate driving up to Boston so I wanted to thank you for coming up to my birthday party." God knows I hate driving to, in, or near Boston.
"You're welcome, kid. Once again congratulations on the engagement."
"Thank you." Even though we were on the phone I could see her face light up as she thought about her future husband.
"Second, I'm missing a few days."
"Wow. You didn't look that drunk at the party. I left early but you seemed fine."
"No, you schmuck! I'm missing a few of 'The Days'! Your short stories!"
"Sorry, sorry. I've lost a few weekends lately so I thought ... never mind. Just let me know which ones and I'll send them to you." I said leaning forward, still not getting that satisfying crack in my back.
"I was thinking why don't you just set up a website or a blog or something. That way I could just go there if I needed to do some catching up?"
"Ah yes. To blog or not to blog. That's a good question. Believe it or not I do have a website. I just haven't built the page to put up yet." I was so close to cracking my back but no go.
"What the hell are you waiting for? You can set up a blog for free. If you put up the little short stories up once a week I think you're good for at least a year and a half. There's Ringo, Myspace, Livejournal and a whole slew of other free sites."
I sat quietly on the couch and stared at the blank TV screen. It's one thing to be a slacker but another to be called on it.
"I'm a bum." I finally exhaled. "I just look at these things as a pleasant distraction. I don't even know how many people still read them. But now that you mention it I do have plans for 2006. I'm going to finish the website, put out some new music, find and hit some open mics to promote the music, aaand if I find one I like, I'll set up a blog. Happy?"
"Yes," she replied smiling. "But why not start now?"
"Marrianne if I start now who's ass am I going to use to keep my thumb warm?" I said once again feeling the slick smile cut across my face.
"Blaaaaaah!" She said presumably shaking her brunette curls back and forth.
That Beautiful Black Man
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