I could start this blog post like most bloggers, denouncing February 14th as a prime example of a marketing campaign, spreading the propaganda of "love" just to get your hard earned dollars. I could even state the case that if you are really in love with someone that one solitary day shouldn't define the passionate feelings that you have for them. I agree with both statements, I really do, but for a guy who spends 90% of his existence inappropriately touching himself to sporadic porn downloads, a brother wouldn't mind a bit of "commercialism" in his life right about now. Even though I have had my heart ripped out of my chest before, and I have heard the words "HumanityCritic, I am fucking someone else" come out of the mouths of way too many women that I care to admit to, I guess that I am still a "sucker for love ass trick" as one of my west coast friends succinctly puts it.
Me being single is a mystery, not because I'm a catch or anything, but because the bar is just so incredibly fucking low that I feel like the statue of liberty on some "Bring us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses" shit. OK, I am a germaphobe, I have anger issues, 70% of the women I have dated will probably say that I was the worst mistake of their lives, I do inappropriate things while ejaculating like humming the "Smurfs" theme song or quoting that chick from the rap group "Arrested Development" by saying "A pair of horseshoes, PAIR OF HORSESHOES!!", I get nauseous if I hear one too many "this one guy I fucked" stories from a woman that I am dating, I can be insensitive, and the mere fact that I suddenly want to add the phrase "I'm about to bust off in your face like Dick Cheney" as sexy "pillow-talk" with future girlfriends would probably explain why I am single right about now. That's not too bad, is it??
I guess by reading the last paragraph it isn't a newsflash that I'm an asshole, but like a chick in a gang-bang flick, assholes need love too.(Sorry, that was cheap) But like most assholes will tell you when they reflect back on their past encounters, it's hard to differentiate between being a prick and actually making smart decisions in the love arena. Here are a few stories that I would like your feedback on..
Republican Love: A few months ago, when the idea of going to another bar seemed boring to me, and after I had watched enough pornography to make Larry Flynt call me a "scumbag", I got an interesting call from my friend Nate. Nate, a dude that shares my warped sense of humor, had the brilliant idea of crashing a republican party being held for then candidate Jerry Kilgore. Free food, drinks, and the mere thought of me having a blog with the words "..and then I shoved a Jerry Kilgore sign in his ass" was too much to pass up to be totally honest. Let me tell you, I never got my ass kissed as much as I did that night, stuffy white men and Ann Coulter reading chicks were giddy at the thought of a dreadlocked black man, sporting a grizzly Adams beard by the way, would endorse the Republican party. Nate and I played the part too, cramming our plates with food, drinking as if we were at a high school keger, all the while occasionally rambling in cave man tones "Affirmative action-bad..!!" I thought we would be discovered when I called the democratic candidate "a fucking hand-job", but no one caught on. That was until this beautiful black woman named Teresa tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I know you two aren't republicans!!". I asked her how she could tell, and she said "You are wearing a Public Enemy T-shirt dickhead, that's why!!" Slightly impressed that she recognized the PE logo I engaged in a conversation with her that lasted most of the night. From Hip Hop, sports, our families, as she talked I watched her mouth move, looked at her hair, looked at the way she used her hands to talk, the fact that I wasn't staring at her tits was a sign that I truly liked this woman.
Then it dawned on me, like that sinking feeling you got in English class when a report was due and your simple ass forgot about it, "she's a fucking republican". As much as I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter, that two mature individuals could co-exist with different ideologies, even naming couples with different political ideologies in my head.(James Carville and Mary Matalin, Arnold and Maria) But at the end of the day I knew that it wouldn't work out, so when she said "Do you think we could hang out??" I said that we should talk politics first. As we sat on this hotel balcony talking politics, and after she said that she was a republican because the "democrats take the black vote for granted", she knew I wasn't the one for her when I answered back the following: "That has to be the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my life. Yes, the Democrats take the black vote for granted, I agree. But your ideology is like an inmate wanting to be moved because his cell mate says sexually suggestive things to him, only to be moved and be satisfied by a new roommate who ritualistically rapes him when the lights are out. That shit doesn't make sense!" Her face dropped, and before I could apologize for my heated rant, she stood up and screamed, "What, your a fucking Liberal!" for all to hear. Everybody turned around and gave Nate and I nasty looks, so instead of just laughing it off or calmly leaving, Nate and I for some reason ran out of that room like we had just stolen the fucking Hope diamond. To this day, when I think about Teresa, I wonder if I made a monumental mistake.
Similac Love: Recently I was asked if I could write a few songs for a local R&B singer that a lifelong friend of mine is managing. I guess he thought I could pull it off because he had always known me have a love for writing, but I wasn't sure he knew about the man that I had become so I directed him to my blog before he made any decisions. When he called me and said, "As long as you don't have my artist throat-chopping people, getting fucked in a bathroom during a wake, or pre-ejaculating then we are in business!", I knew that I had some writing to do. Eventually I knew I had to meet the singer in question, a woman named Neena, so I could see what she was about so it would be easier for me to write songs for her. The next few weeks we spent a considerable amount of time together, I knew I started to like her based on the fact that she didn't irritate me, and she had openly told me that she felt the same way. It never occurred to me to ask her age, I figured that she was at least in her late 20's, so when I talked about the movie "The Last Dragon" and she gave me a blank look on her face I knew I had to ask her a few questions. As I thought about how much I liked her and how disappointed I would be if she was jail-bait, I asked, "Neena, what year were you born??" She giggled, looked up at me, and I watched her lips move in slow motion as she said, "Niiiiiiineteeeen-eiiiiiiiggghty-seeeeven" As I frantically counted on my figures as if I only had a third grade education, I put my hand over my mouth like a stunned old lady and yelled, "19?? Oh heavens!!!"
She said, "Yeah, and your 32, age ain't nothing but a number!!" As I thought about me being 14 when she was born, her being 4 when I graduated high school, her being 7 when I was old enough to drink, I would have left the table screaming if it wasn't for her wearing extremely tight pants and a shirt that almost bared a nipple. Not only that, if I did engage in any form of relationship with this young woman, I wouldn't want to be the one she references back to in ten years as "the motherfucker who ruined me on men". Dating chicks my age can be done guilt free, because regardless of how bad I am, I am no match for the guy who once "fucked" their mother or beat their ass at their family reunion that one time.
I know that there are women Neena's age who read this blog who are mature and bright individuals, but I just feel that that age gap is somewhat insurmountable. I'm still writing songs for her, and she is a delightful young woman, but if she comes to my crib wearing a "catholic school" skirt like she did a few weeks back, there might be trouble.
"Dude looks like a lady" love:(Breaking a promise is a horrible thing, I know it is. But since this person has said some negative things about me recently, lets throw his black ass under the bus) Me and some friends used to frequent a very crime ridden club, yes it was dangerous, but the amount of quality ass that used to inhabit said club was almost worth catching a bullet in the ass for. One particular Saturday I found myself talking to a chick named Michelle, a nice woman, beautiful, the whole nine, but I got the sneaking suspicion that she was a man. Nothing really stuck out(pun unintended), average size hands, average voice, I just had the gut feeling that Michelle was probably a "Mike" who tucked back his jewels pre-club hopping. Even though I felt that I was probably just being paranoid, but I'd rather be paranoid and miss out then to mistakenly have a handful of testicles.(Plus, the mere fact that Michelle didn't answer me, and just laughed when I asked her if she "peed standing up" was enough for me.)
Weeks pass by and we are back at this club, but this time I see my boy Greg grinding with Michelle on the dance-floor. Maybe grinding is too tame of a word, lets call it dance floor fucking, as he looked back at me with a shit eating grin on his face. I still didn't know Michelle's gender, so when I asked the bartender and she said, "Michelle has 100%USDA beef between her legs", I felt it was my duty to tell Greg immediately. I made hand gestures from the bar to him that Michelle had a package, I told him in his ear as he danced with Michelle that "she probably had a bigger cock than you", I even tried to pull him away from her but nothing worked. I gave up, so you can imagine my surprise when he walked up to me and said that he was going to "tap that" in the parking lot. Fuck it, Greg wasn't even that good of a friend to me, plus it will be fun writing about it one day.(Exhibit A) I don't know how far they went before Greg found out Michele's true gender, but the mere fact that me and my boys were spraying him down as he was butt-naked in a car wash, as he violently threw up is some indicator at what lengths he wanted to be "cleansed" of whatever took place. I guess I wasn't much of a friend as I laughed so hard that I almost pissed myself, I guess I could have been a better friend if I didn't randomly give him dresses and other women's wear on his birthdays, I guess he should learn not to talk shit about me next time.