Monday, January 31, 2011

Dude Sit Down: No, Bang-a-rang Peter!

Somewhere along the line men were taught that blowing a girl's back out was the move. I don't know who told them, I don't know where they got the info, who the memo came from, and I worry constantly about these secret classes guys take throughout their lives because they seem to be getting so much wrong information. Who teaches them all this bullsh*t? They should be fired and whoever told them that cracking a chick's spleen was the business should be sent to jail without passing go and collecting $200 (and in said jail, someone should crack their spleen so that can see just how "good" it feels).

Think about it. When men talk about how they gave a girl the goods, they always say things like: blew her back out, broke her off, banged her out, dug into her, tore it up, and the like. I had a really funny conversation with a female friend of mine who lamented how rough men can be when it comes to cunnilingus. She likened it to chewing on a piece of bazooka, making her scream out slave spirituals where she was more praying someone would come and free her versus sentence her to a lifetime of this type of hard labor. The reality is that so many men are under the ridiculous impression that to hurt us is to make us happy. Personally, I blame Ja Rule.

Pain is not love, boys, pain is not love.

One of my closest guy friends, Sam, is married, but Sam used to be the ho of the earth. I often wondered how he even made it out of college alive, without an STD or six children. Instead, he's now settled down and even leads a couples' counseling group at his church. I've known him through the entire transition, and it's still hilarious to me, but just goes to show how men can change (given the right girl, I guess). Anyway, he made a really interesting comment and I've decided it should be turned into a movement. He said his wife taught him how to really have sex, that before he was just banging girls out, (and felt really good about himself for it), but when he met her, he learned how to finesse, how to do slow deliberate strokes, how to make her ass go crazy on a pretty regular basis. Um, hello? Can he be the one teaching the class instead? I'm not saying the hard stuff doesn't do the job, doesn't feel good, and in all honesty, isn't a LOT of fun, but variety is the spice of life, kids. I suggest y'all run (don't even think of walking or even a nice trot-full on sprint)to your nearest female proctor and get a lesson on how to really get down to business. She will show you that it isn't just about showing off your pelvic thrust muscles, or how fast and hard they pound, it's about how you rub it just the right way. Much more of a deep and purposeful Barry White R&B song rather a Wacka Flocka BOW BOW BOW BOW. So, take note, class is in session. Tell 'em B sent you. Pencils out. And Go!

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Friday, January 28, 2011

Don't Take It Personal

I like sleepovers. They've been fun since I was twelve playing Light As a Feather/Stiff As a Board and putting toothpaste on the foreheads of those who fell asleep too soon. They've always been a blast, snuggled up in our sleeping bags, chatting into the night, hoping morning would stay back just a few more hours.

Well, sleepovers have changed since then, but I still love them nonetheless. But let me be specific about the kind of sleepover I'm talking about. Not the kind where you wake up next to someone and you're like, "ugh, why?" I'm talking a bit more consistent. Like someone you're seeing regularly or dating. The sunlight coming in the curtains, you open your eyes and see that certain someone who's making you feel all warm and giggly. Take you to your happy place in all ways possible. Cooking breakfast, burning the foot while you make out on the counter. It's just, well, it's just really nice.

But before you get all warm and fuzzyish, let's discuss why you or I are going home too. Like Monica said, "I just wanna be all alone. Don't think I treated you wrong. Don't take it personal, baby."

Suck it in. There's always this moment, I don't care how secure the chick is, when her dude tries to cuddle her and as he wraps his arms around her middle area, she quickly sucks it in, just a little bit. We know you've seen us in all our glory, but you're also very distracted by the activities at hand. Maybe if I'm not riding you like a wanton goddess, you'll actually see that I skipped out on the gym a few times since I met you or that I ate 4 cupcakes last Wednesday, in bed, with cool whip, from the can.

Where the wild things sleep. I'm a wild sleeper. I always have been. I sleep wrapped around my pills to start out (odd since I hate cuddling actual breathing individuals), sometime during the night I flip myself upside down, inside out, run a marathon in my sleep, and change the sheets all before the sun comes up. And if I can't sleep, I toss and turn like a violent tornado, minus Dorothy and the lolipop guild. It isn't pretty and when I have to sleep over elsewhere or have someone in my bed, I get all weird and don't sleep well because I'm never quite in a deep enough sleep to actually rest. I'm afraid if I conk out, you'll wind up on the floor or in North Africa somewhere.

Must See Tv. Look, I love sports, I watch Sportscenter and PTI, BUT I also watch Grey's Anatomy and whatever crazy installment of housewives is current on Bravo. I love cheesy Lifetime movies starring Tori Spelling too, oh and old reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That to say, I love watching what I wanna watch. My DVR is just that: MINE. Nothing makes me happier than snuggling up on the couch-alone-and seeing that my DVR is 91% filled and it's up to me and me alone to lower that precentage. You probably don't wanna watch my recording of Steel Magnolias or that Quantum Leap marathon I've been dying to get into.

Fart, etc. Sorry to be the bearer of such incredible news, but women pass gas and poop, too! Even the pretty ones. ESPECIALLY, the pretty ones. But we also understand you like to live in this weird world where women don't do such hideous things. Instead our kidneys just hold onto all our waste until the same magical stork that brought us into the world, comes back and sticks it's beak in our tummies and takes the waste with them when they leave. Right. Just in case you're actually falling for that, let me warn you, women scratch, and belch, and fart, and much more when they're alone. Which is why we need to be alone sometimes.

Space Bar. I likes ya, and I wants ya, but if I don't get some space from you sometimes, I'm not gonna. I always seem to date men who go from hard to get to suddenly moving in with me. Or at the very least, taking major attention and wanting all kinds of snuggle fests at least a few times a week. I appreciate the love, seriously, but I would get sick of myself if I could-actually, I do, sometimes. An Ambien fixes that. Us having some alone time, alone, keeps us from getting sick of each other.

Any others I'm forgetting? Happy Friday too!

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Dermatologist

I tried. I really, really tried. Well, that's not entirely true. I won't lie. My brain is still thinking about Trey, my heart is still tugging at me, whispering my lust for Trey, and my loins...well, they are having their own conversation about missing him as well. But, moving right along. The Dermatologist, Jay. I met him through a friend, a general group outing that resulted in him asking for my number some months ago. We'd had a sprinkling of text conversations and a couple missed or botched attempts at hanging out, but once Trey came into the picture, my focus definitely shifted.

About a week before New Year's Eve, I received a text from him asking what my plans were. My plans involved Trey loosely, but I didn't want to rule out him flaking either, so I inquired what Jay had in mind. He spoke about a house party he was going to, told me I should come through. Let me stop and tell you about my issue with the words "come through." It is not how you ask someone on a date, it's how you ask a friend to come by, it's non committal, and it's so laid back, it turns the invite into a luke warm indifferent approach to hanging out. So, I told him, I had a few other parties to attend, but I'd let him know if I decided to "come through." I didn't.

A few days into the New Year, Jay hit me again and invited me to church and brunch. A much better invite, I accepted and we met for an encouraging word and some yummy food. The conversation was easy, we got along great, occupied the restaurant's table for quite some time, long after our bill was paid. When we parted, we agreed to do it again, hugged and kept it moving.

We hung out a couple more times, texted at random, but I was still inebriated by Trey, so I wasn't paying it much attention or giving it much weight. But this past Sunday, when we decided to do church/brunch again, and I was sans Trey, I told myself to really give it a chance, give it a little bit of poundage.

Jay walked into the popular diner before me, as I was running a few minutes late. It was just before noon, so the brunch rush hadn't yet hit. Apparently he spotted a booth and let the hostess know we'd take that table to which the hostess asked how many people were in his party. He told her two and after looking around, she responded by asking where the other member of the party was. At this point, I walked in, but stood behind him, so he couldn't see that I was observing the confrontation. The hostess said she couldn't seat incomplete parties and Jay went off. He told her she was ridiculous since his dining partner was just outside and since there wasn't even a wait, he was going to go ahead and sit down at the booth and she could get over it. And with that, he went and sat down. I apologized to the hostess, telling her I was the completion to the party before going to sit down with Jay. Moments later the manager came over, apparently Jay requested his presence, and asked if everything was okay.

Manager: Is everything okay today?
Jay: No, it isn't. Are you the manager?
Manager: No, I'm the owner.
Jay: Oh, you're the owner. Well, I'm DOCTOR CLARE.
B: *rolls eyes*
Owner: Okay, nice to meet you. What seems to be the problem.
Jay: The problem is that your customer service is terrible. The hostess is completely rude. I've dined at other locations and I've never been treated like this.
B: *wonders how Jay's managed to get treated as anything but a douchebag in the entirety of his whole life*
Owner: I'm so sorry you feel she was rude, but I can assure you...
Jay: No, don't give me the passive aggressive apology. I don't feel she was rude. She was and if you want to generate any type of serious revenue in this establishment, you need to reprimand her immediately and work on making sure your customers are happy from the moment they step into your restaurant.
Owner: *fumbles, hems and haws as Jay continues to berate him before apologizing one last time and walking into the kitchen to presumably tell the cooks to spit in our food*

It seems Jay has a complete and utter problem with ego. Yes, he's smart as hell. Yes, he graduated top of his class from Princeton and Duke. Yes, he's in a field of medicine that is 100% bad ass (his words) and super competitive. Yes, he drives a nice BMW. Yes, he's light skinned with curly hair (which I found out is because he is biracial and yes, he has a color complex), but for all that mess, Jay is an utter ass. I slowly but surely turned the brunch into a fun friend outing, even informing him I had a friend who lived just down the street, could she come join us too? By the end of the meal, I insisted on going dutch on the check and told him I'd talk to him soon. I don't plan on it, though. At. All. Too bad, I was hoping for some free botox.

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D. (Conclusion)

Author's Note***I was looking over the previous posts dedicated to Trey and my little soiree into the thug life and being that I'm such a child of therapy, I sat pondering the relationship/situation and what I'd learned from it. I'm sure this isn't all I'll get from this, as you always see clearer in hindsight, but I will say this: I will never again judge so carelessly. I will never listen to a friend rant about someone, who from my side, seems like a bad idea, and judge harshly and with an iron fist. I have no idea what their situation really is. I have no idea what he's like in their intimate (not sex) moments. How he treats her outside of the bad. I have no idea what she's going through or how she feels about him. I do know that as a friend, you just need to support and be there when the cards fall or if they build a tower that reaches the heavens. The thing is, you can't ever say what you'd do in any situation until you are standing at it's door, knocking. There were times that I was arguing with Trey and I'd have a moment of, "What the hell are you doing with this guy, B?" And as soon as the feeling would come, it would leave and I'd be so punch drunk intoxicated by him and intrigued by every bit of his tattooed self that I'd push forward. It was selfish to embark on a relationship that I saw ending in tatters. A rocky start leads to a shaky finish and as I tell you the last piece of this tale (which is my life please remember), I am not sure I'd do it all again. Who am I kidding? You know I would-and as one commenter said-maybe I like it...

The following week zoomed by, it seemed. My deadline** loomed, but things with Trey were better than they'd ever been. We talked everyday, saw each other repeatedly, claimed we missed each other when we weren't together and slowly I started noticing Trey softening, opening up.

One night, a Thursday, he called and sounded audibly upset. He told me his grandmother was sick and he'd have to go out of town to deal with it. He was scared, he was upset, his family wasn't forthcoming with the details, but it was bad. Really bad. I listened to his voice crack, tried hard not to be uncomfortable, as I tend to be when men cry, and offered my advice the best I could. He asked me to come over, then said he'd rather be alone. When I hung up the phone, I fought tooth and nail not to just go over there, show up on his doorstep and take care of him. I knew I was treading on unsteady ground, walking into a territory that would be hard to extract myself from in a few days. I pictured myself in army fatigues, stranded in the middle of nowhere, a helicopter trying to pull me, save me from an uncertain fate, but my ankles caught in a quicksand that pulled with just as much force. This would not be easy. I sat tight, sent him a text saying I was there for him and went to bed.

The next morning, we talked again and he laid out his plans to head out. He was borrowing a friends car, had packed up and was just running errands. I had a lot going on that day, so it looked as if I wouldn't be able to see him before he left. He'd be back Monday. It was Friday. I told myself to chill out, it was just a few days.

Then he asked me something that shocked me.

Trey: I really wish you would come with me. I want you there. I need you. Would you want to go?
B: Um, come with you?
Trey: Yea, it's fine. I figured you wouldn't want to come.
B: Um, I don't know. I have an even Saturday. I can try and get out of it, but I don't know.
Trey: It's fine don't worry about it.

After we got off the phone, I sat and thought about it. It wasn't so much as whether or not I wanted to go, because I did. I wanted to be there for him. But much like meeting his son, I didn't think it was the best idea. Meeting his entire family? In a time of such strife and sadness? It just didn't seem like a good look, but I threw caution to the wind and called him back.

B: Do you seriously want me to come?
Trey: Yea, I do.
B: Okay, I'll come. Where are we going to stay though? I cannot stay at your grandmother's house.
Trey: Oh, right. I didn't think that far. I guess we'd have to get a hotel room or something. I don't know if I told you, but my family lives in the country. It's all dirt roads and kick the can and sh*t. I think there's an inn or something that's by the hour.
B: Um, ok. *cringes*
Trey: It's fine babe. You don't have to come. That fact that you would means a lot though. I'll be back in a few days, don't worry.

But I did. The whole rest of Friday, I waited to hear from him, figured I might not as he'd be inundated with family and the weight of his grandmother's illness. I still sent him a text before I went to bed: Hope you're okay down there. xx, but I received no response by the next morning. It was Saturday. I ran errands, went to the gym, met up with friends, performed the regular Saturday routines. And as day settled into night, I realized I still hadn't heard from Trey. I was starting to worry, but I tried to tell myself he deserved a pass, he was with family. Maybe there was no cell phone service out in the country. I went out for a night of dancing with friends, tucking my cell phone into my jean pocket, on vibrate, just incase he called.

He didn't. Around midnight, I'd had enough. I picked up my phone to call him, but it kept reading Congestion, so I used my friend's phone. He answered:

B: Trey?! Are you okay?
Trey: Yea, why are you calling from someone else's number?
B: My phone is acting up. What's going on? I haven't heard from you. I was worried.
Trey: I'm fine, about to go to the club.
B: Wait, what? Where are you?
Trey: Back in the city. Got back like an hour ago.
B: WHAT?! You're WHERE?!
Trey: *hangs up*

What. The. Hell?! If I could put into words the anger that shot through me, I would write it for you right now. All I can say is that my father, grandfather, sisters, and brothers all have what we affectionately call: "The Collins Temper." It was given as a "gift" from our great grandfather, handed down generations like the color of our skin and the shape of our noses, and it plagues each of us. Some deal with it better than others, some not so much. I have always been able to keep it in check, but when it flares, it's never ever good. In fact, it's bad. Really, really bad. (Mental note to continue working on that in 2011.)

I picked up the phone and hit redial. It went to voicemail. I repeated this about 3,214 times before I finally gave up and started in on the text messages. I think I might have lost my mind in those few minutes of texting. I said everything I wanted to say, I was livid. I didn't think about any kind of explanation. I didn't think about the reaction this would garner. I just went in on him. He'd never seen this side of me, I'd barely seen this side of me. In fact, I've never called or texted like that. I actually have taken many a phone from many a friend to keep them from performing foolish acts like the one I was knee deep in. Thinking back, I am slightly embarrassed.

But he never answered. Finally, I got a text message back from him: Stop calling my phone. I was in shock. Where was all this coming from? What the hell was going on? How did we get to this point and in such a flash? TWO days ago, not even 48 hours since he'd asked me to come with him, that he'd broken down and shared his stupid life with me. I thought about whether or not I had the right to even be upset and decided I did. He brought me into his personal life, his family drama. Once you make me apart of that inner trust, I'm in. I care. Even with friends. I check on you, make sure you're okay. It's my little bit of nurturing that sits in the place where others find motherhood I guess. But I was mad, and hurt, and my mind was boggled. We went at each other on text message. I'd say our worse fight to date, and oddly, our last one.

Around 2am, he called. I started to forward him to voicemail, the way he'd done me a zillion times, but I didn't. We went back and forth, this time a bit more calmly. I'd give you the details, but it's tiresome. In a nutshell, I told him why he hurt me, he told me how much he cared about me, how he didn't mean to hurt me, but this was all getting to be too much. I agreed. We both said we wished it could've been different.
For the record, I care for you a lot, he said. I love you. It came out muffled, laced with stress and pain. I almost tripped over the flat pavement in the parking lot I was standing in alone. He what? I asked him again what he said, asked if he was drunk. He said he wasn't, that he did, he cared about me more than he ever thought he would. He was in a car full of guys, he would call me tomorrow. Dumbfounded, I hung up the phone.

The next morning, I recalled the previous evening's events and was still utterly confused. Where were we? Where did we leave off? Had he meant what he said? Did I care if he did or didn't? I awaited his call to figure things out, though. No more jumping to conclusions. He called around 10pm, complaining that I hadn't called him all day, I must've not really cared about him. In that moment, I just switched off. Dealing with him was exhausting, a roller coaster at a theme park called "The Great Exhauster." I just couldn't do it anymore. In just two months, he put us through a ridiculous amount of drama. I could only imagine what two more would bring. We didn't have that kind of time anyway. Suddenly, it seemed pointless. When we got off the phone, he said he'd call me right back. He didn't and I'm not calling him. Like Oprah and Gayle's radio sing along on their last camping adventure: You gotta know when to hold em, know when to fold em.

January 20th is tomorrow. Fin.

That bitch stole my line,
Blackie Collins

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D...part 3

The drink turned into a 48 hour session of playing house. We laid up in his house, watched endless movies, talked, went to dinner only to come back to his house and do more of the same. And of course, the make up sex to which, at one point, I swear he said it was "like f*cking magic or something." (You know I had to toot my own horn right quick.)

The two days felt like two seconds. It was during the second night turning in morning, that I realized we were in trouble. The 20th was looming. I felt myself negotiating the deadline, trying to find some loophole in my iron fisted decision. I listened to him snore loudly-a sound that used to annoy me to no end-and wondered what was going to happen? There was no way we would ever make it as a real couple. We were way too different, had lived such extremely different existences. He was the guy you looked back on and laughed at how wreckless your affections were. He was a chapter in the book, not the book itself.

I rolled over and wrapped myself around him. He wasn't used to this. I'm not a cuddler, but he sleepily (I doubt he was even awake) adjusted to hug me back. I fell back asleep.

We woke up on that last day and decided we had to go back to reality. We had both ignored phone calls and emails, pretended the outside world didn't exist, but there was life to deal with. His house was a mess. We decided to do a crazy clean up, I took the kitchen and living room, he took the dog's area and the bedroom. We made the bed together. I watched him shave the scruff he'd collected over the last two days. I showered and talked to him over the glass door. He asked me questions about my past relationships, about my life growing up. We joked. Played cards, decided what movies we'd watch next. I popped popcorn, he made wings, careful to only Jerk his portion as I hate spicy food.

His phone rang. He turned to me and explained it was his son's mother, that he wouldn't usually answer the phone with me there, but something might be wrong with his son. I told him to go ahead, of course. There was an emergency and she needed him to watch Marcus for a few hours, maybe overnight. She said Marcus had been acting up a bit, needed a good talking to from his dad. Trey said of course, he'd call her when he was on his way.

I sat listening, but not listening. I was losing at our current card game, one I swore he made up, and was trying to recall one of the endless rules. He ended the phone call and asked me if I was okay with his son coming over. I told him I could leave, it was fine with me.

"I didn't say you had to leave though," he said confused.
"Yeah, but I probably should. I don't need to meet your son." And I didn't. I knew our end was coming. I wasn't about to bring a child into the mix. Talk about further complications.

Moments later, his phone rang again. It was his son's mother. She needed to bring him there immediately. She'd drop him off. Trey tried to pursuade her to let him come get Marcus, but obviously he lost the battle. He hung up and said, "Yeah, you probably should go. She's bringing him now and I don't think she'll like you being here." Baby mama drama. I'm out.

I packed up my things and made my way to the door. He hugged and kissed me, told me to call him when I got home. We talked that night, the next day. He missed me already. I couldn't lie. I missed him too. January 20th was just a few days away.

I was in trouble for sure.

To be continued...
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T

Monday, January 17, 2011

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D...(part 2)

So, I was back to business. Went to work, went to the gym, breathed and breathed out. Even went on a date with this dope dermatologist who was the catch of the earth (fine, grown, graduated first in his Ivy League class-for both med school and undergrad). Everything was fine. And when the first phone call from Trey came later that night, I hit the silencer without a second thought and went to sleep. I woke up the next morning and hopped out my bed, turned my swag on, took a look in the mirror and said what’s up. I was in the best mood. The kind of mood you’re sort of surprised by because by all accounts, you should be down or even a little sad, but I wasn’t. I listened to girl empowering music on my iPod and walked with extra pep in my step the whole day. I told my friends I was done and they all nodded their assent or concurred with my decision. Everyone was just as worn out as I was.

Around 5pm, my phone rang. It was Trey. I hit the ignore button. It rang again. It was him. I thought to myself, I can answer the damn phone, no biggie. I was a grown up. I was over it already. Cue: No More Drama by Mary J. Blige. What I wasn’t prepared for was Trey’s, “Hey, baby. What are you doing?” Huh? Was he misinformed? Did he miss the argument? Did he not get the “I’m done” text I’d sent that night? I scrolled through the sent messages in my phone only to see it had failed. Failed! Damn phone never decided to fail when I was drunk texting or talking to people I had no business talking to. Instead it wanted to fail at a time when it counted most. I made a mental note to get an iPhone.

I quickly told Trey I was at work and I’d call him back. He called six times between then and 9pm. I started to freak out a little bit. What if Trey was one of those stalker type of guys? What if he just snapped and showed up outside my apartment, standing in the rain, staring up at my window?!

That night at 3am, I received a text: I miss u.

I looked at the phone through bleary eyes, my thumb hovered over the delete button, but I didn’t do it. Instead, I placed the phone back on my nightstand and fell back asleep. I’d deal with it in the morning, which Trey was prepared for. At 9:37am, my phone rang. It was him. I hit ignore and got up for church. And brunch with the dermatologist, who I clicked with like crazy, but I couldn't help but miss the crazy intoxication that Trey put on me. The day continued, I went running, grocery shopping, all the while, waiting for the next Trey call. It came around 4pm. This time, I picked up the phone.

Trey: Hey babe, please don't hang up. I just need to say this. I'm really sorry. You didn't deserve to be spoken to that way and I shouldn't have just driven off and ignored your feelings. I'm really really sorry. I understand if you don't wanna f*ck with me anymore, but I miss you. I wana see you.

B: *silently shocked*

Trey: Ok, I get it. If you change your mind, please call me. Okay? I know an apology isn't gonna change how I acted, but I'm going through sh*t right now and I took it out on you. I wanna tell you all about it though. *silent for a second* Ok, I'm sorry. I'll talk you later, I guess.

B: Thank you for the apology. *hangs up.*

Well! That was the absolute last thing I expected. An apology from someone so stubborn and pugnacious was like getting water from a rock in the desert. I sat and thought about his apology, whether or not it was sincere or just an attempt to get back in my good graces. I had a dinner party to attend. I got dressed and headed out, pretending I was over it, that the ice around that Trey space in my chest wasn't melting and when he called me again around 9pm asking if we could meet for a drink, I acquiesced, excused myself from the after dinner chatter and drinks, and once again headed out into the cold air. Back on my collision course.

To be continued...

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Tales from the Hood: The E.N.D...

We hadn’t planned on spending the night together. I had just been with him the one before and we hadn’t done two in a rows since the first week of seeing each other-which everyone does because they’re just so excited about the newness-so I was surprised when my phone rang Thursday night. Trey sounded sick, he was on his way home, he wanted me to come over and take care of him, could I meet him at his house? At first, I said no. I was in my bed, dozing, planning on getting back the sleep I always seemed to miss out on when I crashed at his house. But he sounded so put off by my initial decline, that I threw on some sweats, and headed out into the cold night air. Making him feel better, watching him morph into a little boy, all pouty as I gave him “horse pill sized” cold meds and having him fall asleep wrapped around me (ugh-cuddling) made the trek worth it.

Until the morning.

Trey snores as it is, but apparently, a horrible sinus infection made him snore at a decibel level that probably kept all of greater North America awake, so I woke up grumpy as hell. It had now been two nights in a row where I found myself sleep deprived. Trey woke up pissed because people are always pissed when they’re sick. No one’s ever happy to be under the weather. So we woke up and collectively decided to jump off the wrong side of the bed. He got up and decided he needed to get more medicine right at that moment. He threw on clothes, mumbling about going somewhere after he stopped by the local CVS, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was trying to grab thirty more seconds of shut eye.

“Babe, get up,” he said in my general direction. I definitely ignored him as I figured I could just stay in bed while he ran to the store. The thought occurred to me to go get the medicine for him, but drowsiness prevailed. Maybe that irritated Trey too, I have no idea, but two seconds later he all but shouted for me to “Get the hell out of the bed! Now!”

I’m sorry, what? I rolled over and looked at him to gage how serious he was, but one look cleared all that up. He wanted me out of the bed and out of his house, he continued on, explaining that he was going to the gym and he wanted to leave right that second. I argued back, tell him to watch his tone, that I’d come over to take care of him, I was sleepy, etc. Somewhere between his calling me selfish and telling me that I always wanted my way and my telling him that we did everything he wanted, when he wanted to do it, how on earth was I the selfish one, we were in a full blown fight and I suspected I was losing. After all, he had the home field advantage, and he was kicking me off that field. Literally.

I jumped up, grabbed my stuff, and headed for the door while telling him I hoped he got better and by better, I meant more sick. Yea, I was that childish at the moment and while I was angry, I wasn’t quite at the moment of “I’m done with you.” That came in just a few minutes.

After leaving, I sat in my car for a moment (oh, yes, if I haven’t mentioned before, I’m one of the few idiots who has a car in the city-Trey is the other) and cooled myself off. I was hot to say the least. Moments later, Trey came out his house to walk his dogs. He walked up to my car and asked why I was still sitting there to which I decided meant I should yell at him some more. He walked off. Like while I was in mid yell. There are few things I hate more than being ignored. I don’t do well with it. It sets something off in me. I shouted out the window to him, but he kept walking, back into the house as if I’d never uttered a word. I picked up my phone and dialed his number. He forwarded me to voicemail. I dialed again. He picked up and immediately hung up on me. My inner time bomb ticked it’s final digits and full on exploded when he walked out his door, right passed me calling is name, to his car, which he got in and started the engine. Oh no, you don’t, dude. I didn’t come over to take care of your ass only to have you treat me like shit and then ignore the hell outta me like this. No way. So, I maneuvered my car in front of his, so he couldn’t really get by and rolled my window down. He didn’t have much choice and followed suit.

Trey: What the hell are you doing?

B: Why are you ignoring me? Am I speaking a different language? Can you not understand me?

Trey: You’re calling me and calling me, then you call my phone. Did you not get that I don’t want to talk to you? Now you’re cornering my car! Are you crazy?

B: doesn’t like the word crazy at all CRAZY!?? Are you serious? Apparently I am crazy. To even bother with you!

Trey: I’m not into this. Like for real. I’m not into all this shit. When I wanna go, I wanna go. You weren’t moving. I said to move, you didn’t move. You don’t listen! I can’t stand that. I live alone and do what I want when I want to. I don’t want no one keeping me from doing what I want to, when I want to.

B: I don’t listen? Am I your child?

Trey: large, calculated breath. I said, I’m not doing this. Trey somehow squeals by me and rides off

I sat there sort of stupefied. He’d just left! In the middle of the discussion! That was it. I’d had it and drove off, planning my escape route, ie not answering calls or texts, never speaking to him again. This was no longer fun, no longer worth the drama, in fact, the drama was no longer cute or entertaining and Trey was definitely not nearly as fun when he was yelling at me and scolding me like a child. I, for the most part, do what I want and listen to no one. Trey seemingly did the same and we both expected the other to kowtow to the other’s whim. Wasn’t happening. The whole way home, I kept thinking how stupid this was. How he had less than two weeks in my life, why was I losing my temper and acting crazy over a flash in the pan, someone who would barely matter in just a few days. I decided not to wait, it was over.

Or so I thought.

To be continued…

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Tales from the Hood: That Time of the Month

There's something so intriguing and interesting about dating a hood dude. There's this authority they have. This way about them (I refuse to use the word. The one that starts with an S and rhymes with Jagger). Whatever it is, they do whatever they want and everyone else just sort of falls in line and if you don't, they really don't care. No really. Well, unless you're like me and you've gotten under his skin.

A few nights ago, Trey and I were coming home from our usual bar/lounge type of night. He played pool. I perched on a bar stool nearby, grooving and "cheering" him on. We were in a good mood, home early for us, around midnight and decided to do a movie night. After deciding we were hungry too, and created a small feast, he popped in Robin Hood (with Russel Crowe, not Kevin Costner), and we snuggled into bed to nosh and watch the Prince of Thieves do his thing. Unsurprisingly, Trey loved the prequel describing the hood's life, I'd never seen it and loved the movie too, but I was more intrigued by Cate Blanchett's devouted hood princess. Ha! Anyway, I hopped up to use the restroom, opting for the guest bathroom instead of his for whatever reason I don't know, but it turned out to be both good and bad a choice.

I walked in the bathroom, did a little perusal of my teeth (we had just devoured a spinach dip so I had to check), and turned around to lift the toilet seat so I could do my business and get back to a waiting Trey (and a paused movie, "Babe, come on!"). But when I turned around, the seat was already up and floating in the toilet, goodness how I wished it could have been an unflushed bowl movement or something, but it wasn't.

It was a bloody tampon.

Funny, considering the fact that my period wasn't on. I hadn't been there the night before, we didn't usually do back to backs, but I had spoken to him several times before falling asleep around midnight. From the contents in the toilet, it looked like Trey had himself a good time after midnight...with someone on their period no less. Gross.

It's good to stop here and make everyone aware of my temper. My father has is, his father had it, my siblings have it. It's a cure. It just flares and unless you take proper care to curtail it, it spins a crazy web, killing every bit of sensical awareness in it's wake. I felt the warm anger immediately and without even taking a breath to calm my ass down, I swung the door open and all but stomped the hallway back to his bedroom. He looked up and noticed my demeanor had changed drastically.

Trey: What's up?
B: There's something gross in the toilet. I'd play a little game of "guess what's in the toilet," but I don't have the patience. So why don't we skip to the part where you explain to me why there's a bloody tampon floating in the toilet and don't say it's mine because my period isn't on, which you are well aware of, but maybe it wouldn't matter anyway, since you like running red lights obviously.
Trey: *looks at me like I'm crazy because he's never seen this side of sweet B. He barely flinches before saying* I don't owe you any explanations.
B: *steam flies out ears* No, you are absolutely right, you don't owe me any explanations cause I'm not your girlfriend (and I'm dumping your ass on the 20th). But what you could do is remove any and all evidence of all the chicks running through your house, how about that? Do you hear my phone ringing all night? Do I let you know of every other guy I deal with? No! I do everything to make it seem like it's just you and me, because in all honesty, there's no one else involved in you and me besides YOU and ME!
Trey: Are you gonna get back in bed and watch this movie or you gonna do this all night?

I huffed and puffed. Went back in the bathroom, slammed the door, put down the toilet seat and sat there for a good few minutes before going back into the bedroom and sitting on the floor to watch the rest of Robin Hood. What a dirtbag! I was furious and it showed as I snatched food, sighed audibly and made it completely known how pissed I was. It is one thing to inadvertently assume there are others, but to have them confirmed and slapped in your face? And on a movie night? Ugh, not cool.

Somewhere in the middle of the movie, Trey, leaned over the side of the bed and said, "I'm always honest with you. My friend was over here today. Just my friend. You know I'd tell you if it were something more."

He was right. He was and is overly honest. To the extent that sometimes I have to let him know I'm in a sensitive mood and to tread carefully. He's told me about chicks, not in depth, but has mentioned them. I never really cared one way or the other because we weren't serious and in all honesty, we aren't supposed to be now.

I sort of shrugged in response. Then remembering I'm supposed to be using my words and communicating better, I said, "I know we both see other people, but I also know you like me and I like you and I don't want to hear or see a reminder of others, ok?" I felt very mature about my statement and judging by Trey's nod of agreement, he did too.

The reality is that while we do enjoy each other's company and care about the other's feelings, it's imperative that I get a grip and stop liking this dude. It isn't going anywhere, the 20th is looming, and it'll only be worse if we keep on the path we're on.

To quote John Mayer, we're slow dancing in a burning room.

That bitch stole my line,

Blackie Collins

Monday, January 3, 2011

Tales from the Hood: The Phone Rules

I’m still dating my thug. Yep, I am. But I gave myself another two weeks. I’m not kidding. It’s a done deal after the 20th of January. Let the record show, my New Year’s resolution is to the tune of TLC’s No Scrubs: I don’t want no thugs, a thug is a guy that can’t get no (more) love from me. I’m serious. Just you wait. I don’t make idle threats or promises. the meantime, let’s share the fun tales!!!

The other night, I was out with Trey, we hit a bar on his side of town again, to which I’m getting used to-no bueno. The usual colorful folks were out and about and while he played pool, I sat on a bar stool nearby, sipping my Guinness and talking to friends of his while cheering him on as he whooped ass. Somewhere around one in the morning, I got bored. He let me know he’d play one more game and then we could go to a spot more for me. I nodded my assent and picked up my ringing phone. It was my friend Maria, who had called three time previously. I figured it was an emergency, so I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Maria was having a mild crisis, but nonetheless, she was upset, so I tended to her and wound up being on the phone with her for almost twenty-five minutes. During those twenty-five minutes, Trey came out looking for me twice. The second time, he looked annoyed. Thirty seconds after I hung up with Maria, my phone rang again, this time from a younger sibling, asking advice. Always being the consummate big sister, I walked outside and gave him some quick advice.

Then I went back inside. Or at least, I tried to. The door woman (if we can call her that) squawked, “Figh dollas to get back in.” Huh? Why did I have to pay “figh dollas” when I had been in there all night? I said just that. “Cuh dat duh rule. Figh dollas.” She responded, punctuating it with that suck your tongue, popping noise that every gay black man on the planet can do and every ghetto girl, but not me.

I pulled out my phone and called Trey, he didn’t answer. Great. Trey is one of those guys who does not use his Blackberry for anything other than phone calls. He doesn’t text, unless it’s one word and most times he simply calls me back and answers whatever question I asked in the received text. I know he see’s them, but he barely pays them any mind.

They’re making me pay to come back in. Come get me. I hit send and shuffled my feet in the cold air, observing the motley crew of people outside the bar/club, willing him to check his pocket phone and come to save me from my “figh dolla” fate. Moments later, he appeared and mild hell broke loose. He chastised the door “woman” for not knowing I was with him as she apologized profusely and a nearby security guard reprimanded her as we walked back into the back room. Trey eyed me the whole time. Uh-oh, I’d never really seem him mad, at least not at me, so to see it was not to love it. But me being me, I sat back on my perch and took a gulp of my beer. Trey stood next to me sort of grilling me. I looked over and said, “What?” but the subtext was, “Why are you looking at me like that? Go somewhere.” Apparently not the way to make him less angry. He leaned into my ear and hissed, “Stay the f*ck off the phone when you’re with me.”

This time my what was laced with, “Who the hell are you talking to?” And it was much more audible over the blaring music. No one seemed to be paying us any mind though. It seemed that type of establishment was one where people minded their own business no matter what level. Trey leaned in again. “You can’t be running around here by yourself. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the hood. This shit is real, someone will snatch your little Louis Vuitton bag off your arm and you won’t even know it cause you stay posted up in that black berry. “ Hmm, he had a point, but then why would you bring me here? Because you’re the man? Cause you can do what you want and every says how high when you demand they jump? I rolled my eyes vehemently and with extreme purpose in his direction. I topped it off by being a smart ass and snatching my beer off the table. You could feel the tension at our little bar table. His friends weren’t paying attention directly, but you could tell everyone was anticipated what would happen next in our little novella.

Next thing I knew, Trey leaned in and took my beer out of my hand. “Go home,” he said in a way where it was not up for discussion. I made a face and he responded by lifting me off the bar stool and repeating, “Go. Home.”

Would you believe all this time, I was incredibly turned on? Shameful, I know.

So I get up and say, “Fine!” in a very pouty six year old way and I push him, just for good measure and because I love dramatics and exited the club. Moments later, as I was trying to find a cab in the ridiculous neighborhood, swearing off Trey for good, my phone rang. I hit ignore already knowing it was him. It rang again and I hit ignore once more. I heard him calling my name several feet behind me, but I pretended not to hear. This was my own Broadway show and I was in the starring role. You couldn’t tell me this wasn’t funny or exciting or wildly stupid.

He caught up to me, put his big manly hand on my waist to stop me from walking. “I’m sorry for losing my cool. Come back inside. Can you please limit your phone use when you’re with me? It feels disrespectful for some reason.” I turned around, already knowing I would go back inside with him, limit my phone use, have a drink, got to the next spot, sleepover his house, wake up to him making me runny scrambled eggs and turkey bacon. After all, I’m a sucker for thugs.

But only til the 20th.

That bitch stole my line,


Blackie Collins