Only recently, relatively late in life if you ask people who know me like my mother, have I began to see signs that I can suppress my impulses and act like a responsible adult. When an old lady honked her car at me like she had lost her god-damned mind, even though we were both sitting in rush hour traffic that was at least a mile long, I didn't flip out. Usually I would have waited to get my car besides hers at some point, and with colorful language explain to her what variety of "bitch" she was and go into the finer points of her lack of feminine hygiene. But I restrained myself, I just pulled beside her and let her know in sign language that she was number one.(I think I used the wrong finger though. hey, It's a start) When I was at a club recently and a group of guys began talking shit, my first instinct was to go right over there and take all three of them on, swinging with bad intentions, hoping to break the jaw of at least one of them. But since I'm older now, I told myself "Hey, there's three of them, I'm in no mood to catch an ass-whipping". Again, cooler heads prevailed, and I decided that taking on three guys at a time should be left to Jet Li and porn actresses, not Humanity F. Critic. OK, so I innocently noticed that two of them left early, and I innocently hit one over the head with a trashcan as he left said establishment.(Again, it's a start.)
I went into that long-winded introduction based on a waitress, sorry, a sexy temptress who makes penises rise like a fucking snake charmer, and me finally learning after 20 plus years to resist a "Big Butt" and a "smile". Now, let me be clear, I am all for a woman with a well manicured backyard and a dazzling set of pearly whites. Shit, if I was running for presidential office I would have a "Pro Gluteal" agenda, handing out campaign buttons with plump asses on them. No, I'm talking about those people that you find sexy as hell, but just know for the life of you that that person is nothing but trouble. That brings me to the bartender that I mentioned earlier, Vanessa, a 25 year old enchantress who moonlights as a bartender at my local watering hole.
She flirts with me constantly, and has made overtures that she indeed likes me, but as I sat at the bar watching her this past weekend I suddenly realized an undeniable truth. As the effects of malted hopps and rum damaged my liver, and I watched her handing out drinks as she danced to whatever song was playing, cleavage bulging out of her shirt, the flickering lights showcasing her Latina figure giving off the feeling that I was in a perpetual Hype Williams video, I knew things for me had changed. As she manuever down the bar, he skirt looking like it was painted on, giving me playful grins that entire night forcing me to stay in my chair for the remainder of the night because of the serious tent I was pitching, the thought that I was avoiding in my subconscious had suddenly come to the surface. I suddenly blurted out the thought which was an epiphany, one that I should have figured years earlier which would have saved me many hardships, I shouted out "I get it, you can't trust a big butt and a smile!!!"
As the men sitting near me looked at me the same way you would look at homeless people who claimed that they were the son of God, and the woman noticed the baby's arm protruding from the front of my pants, I sat down and started to realize the moment of clarity that just overcame my body. That feeling intensified when Vanessa grabbed my hand and asked me if I wanted a drink, because when she did I had visions like Anthony Michael Hall's character Johnny Smith on the show "Dead Zone", where I saw what would happened if I took the advice of my penis and decided to date Vanessa. Here are a few scenarios that ran through my head.
Putting up with her horrible music tastes: I have always maintained, like the movie "High Fidelity", that in life it's not "what you're like" but "what you like". I'm serious, it sounds shallow but I can tell if I'm going to get along with someone famously based on their tastes in music and movies. Just because you might like Nelly or Lil John doesn't make you a bad person per se, but if you like both Nelly AND Lil John then you might want to stay your silly ass at least three city blocks away from me. That being said, you would think that Vanessa's musical tastes would make me scream out the same way I do whenever I see Mary J Blige without cosmetics on. But, because of her luscious lips, her hips that would make Shakira weep with envy, and breasts that could indeed feed a third world country, my fear was that I would endure countless hours of Lil Flip and Young Joc, just to see her naked for a few minutes. Because of this, after I touched her hand and saw what a possible future with her would be like, I saw myself going crazy having to endure such musical punishment by holding an entire DMV hostage, screaming "Mother-fuck him and John Wayne!!!"
Phone calls in the middle of the night: This goes for men and women, you know that you aren't the only person your mate is sleeping with when their cell phone goes off constantly in the middle of the night. Sure, maybe that was your "home-girl" calling you 4:00 Monday morning because her boyfriend just broke-up with her, and maybe that was your mother calling you before she went to work Tuesday morning to remind you to pick up your father's birthday cake, I'll buy it. But when I'm laying beside you and every morning around three or 4 o'clock I am awaken by the insistent buzzing of your cell phone, I get the sneaking suspicion that me and your OBGYN aren't the only people seeing your "special place". When I touched Vanessa's hand I saw a similar scenario play out in my mind, but it was disturbing because she had "Let's get it on", "Just put it in your mouth", and "Sugar walls" as the ring-tones she gave those particular men.
Constant Doctor Visits: I know how I am, I have a very addictive personality, so if I found out that I wasn't the only gentleman that Vanessa was giving her time to I know that I would swallow my pride. I would tell myself that it's only a "sex thing" just to not weep like like a school girl at a later date, and maintain my scheduled penetration of a girl that is definitely above my pay grade. But after that, after trying to not think about the extra "room" every time we had sex and the used condom wrappers in her waste basket, my paranoia would set in as if I smoked the finest weed this side of the Mason Dixon. Granted, I am a sex addict but I am also a huge Germaphobe, so after the realization of her sexual habits eventually set in I would feel nastier than Lil Kim's pap smear. So, the image that rushed into my mind when me and that bar temptress touched hands was me visiting my doctor once a week to see if my penis was in any danger of falling off. In my mind, I went so often that I became cool with my doctor's staff, asked his head nurse how her son Timmy was doing in Biology, and asking his secretary if her husband Bob finally got that big promotion that he was hoping for.
My Jealousy would rear it's ugly head: Historically I have never been the jealous type. Of course I have had my heart ripped out of my chest, but I always felt that jealousy was a useless emotion because if your mate was going to fuck someone else there isn't anything you could particularly do about it. Even when women have left me by saying that they were "seeing someone else", "tired of my bullshit", or any other garden variety last words at the end of a relationship, my response was either "Get the fuck on then!", "Good, because if I heard Keith Sweat one more time I was going to hurt somebody!", or "Thank god, you use too much teeth anyway!!". But the effects that love has had on me from all those relationship battles doesn't provide me with the same abilities to maintain a strong facade any more, so I'm scared that I will be one of those "sucker for love ass tricks" that I constant ridicule. I mean, how many ex boyfriends, dudes who attempt to hug up on her, and overall attention can one man take?? When I touched her hand, primarily because she would be the finest female specimen that I ever laid horizontally beside, I saw myself becoming one of those money loaning "where in the fuck have you been" accusers, "why do you have to wear that shirt?" question askers, ex boyfriend pummelers, I saw myself becoming something that I never wanted to become because of her "big butt and her smile".
So, after I released her hand and saw what a possible future would be like with myself and Vanessa, I suddenly felt at ease with my new found "control". Throwing back my drink, prepared to get another one, a stranger who was sitting besides me said, "Damn, that girl is fine as hell. What would you do if she gave you that number??" Despite my recent visions I turned to the gentleman and said, quoting the great poet Ice Cube, "Man, I'd knock those boots from here to Albequerke!!"
*Side-note:* For all I know, she could be a decent woman, one who doesn't offer herself up to men to be banged on like a pinata, one who likes music that I like. So, I could be wrong as hell, which is sad, because I could have given her the best 10 minutes of her natural life.