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,

xoxo

Blackie Collins

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

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...

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…

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 20^th 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.

But...in 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 20^th.

That bitch stole my line,

Xoxo

Blackie Collins

Thug Lovin

I have always shouted from the rooftops my love of thugs. I have no idea how it came about, my mom thinks it has something to do with the fact that they are the complete antithesis of where/how I was raised, but I love em. All day, every day, baby, cause I’m a thug-lover. They are just so…thuggish. And yet, it might be time for me to hang up my thug life.

About a month ago, I met Trey, a chocolate, tatted, ebonic speaking, pit-bull raising, take no prisoners boy from the hood. I have no clue how, but he wound up with my phone number and I wound up shooting pool with him a few nights after. Okay, that isn’t true. He got my number from my cousin, who lives in the same condominiums as he does. Apparently, he saw me and during one of those routine-by-the-mailboxes conversations, asked about me. Now, my cousin assumed what I did: to not judge the book by it’s cover, after all, he lived in a pretty expensive condo. Maybe he played football…maybe he was a rapper…maybe he was Diddy! Stereotype central. Anyway, she gave him my number, sent me a quick text to let me know, and went off to shoot someone else with her cupid’s arrow.

Trey called pretty quickly. He was charming and complimentary and immediately asked me out. On this “date,” I was initially apprehensive. First, the location of our “date” was in a neighborhood I wasn’t too keen on, but it was a hood he knew well, and everyone knew him, no one “tried” him in those parts. Second, I was curious about the wad of large bills in his pocket, the rimmed out Benz he was driving, the hood ass accent that forced me to say: “huh” way more than altogether necessary. But there was something so incredibly sexy about him, so intriguing. See, that’s the thing with thugs. Their pure crazy masculinity murders any hope for a straight-laced, regular joe and before you know it, they are your crack. Addictive.

During our date I found out quite a few important facts, all of which contribute to my ultimate making of a true thug list. This is the diary of a REAL thug. I thought I knew, but I had no idea.

Baby’s mom(s). Trey has two kids, both with different moms. He also has an ex wife. She is in addition to the baby’s moms, not included.

Gunshot wound(s). Trey has been shot twice. One was an attempted robbery, the other was a botched “hit.”* He obviously lived through both.

Bitch/Nigga. Every dude, no matter what, is aptly called nigga. Every girl, no matter who, is called bitch. In fact, when we’re in bed, I’m always his pretty bitch. I haven’t decided how I feel about it. Is that a compliment?

Wads of cash with no appearance of a 9 to 5. Trey throws parties for NBA players-this is not to be mixed up with a party promoter. He isn’t that low on the totem pole. He throws like three major parties a year, kicks it with all these ballers, and doesn’t do a darn thing otherwise. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t sell drugs. Which leads me to…

Jailbird. Trey did a year in prison for selling drugs at the age of twenty.

Trigger Happy. He’s totally TI with it as he isn’t technically allowed to bare arms, being an ex felon and all, but he certainly doesn’t let that stop him. I’ve never seen it, and while I know it very much exists, this one isn’t totally based on firearms. Trey has punched two people in the face in the last week and a half. I have seen him threaten one. It’s very funny actually. It probably isn’t supposed to be, but I always laugh when he tells me how dude was disrespectful and he had to put him back in his place.

Actually, I’m going to stop with this list. It’s getting depressing, so instead I’ll switch to why I’m into him. Otherwise, my credibility might be on the line…

Jokes galore. He’s incredibly funny and I spend most of my time in stitches. Besides, when he laughs, he has these two dimples that pop out his cheeks and they are adorable.

Chef Boy-R-T. He’s a southern boy and puts many a gal to shame in the kitchen.

Moneybags McGee. I never pay for a thing. Ever. He might even pay my rent for me if I asked.

Healthy Arrogance. He’s totally into himself, but in a good way. He takes pride in what he looks like. His clothes are always together. He’s well groomed. Ugh, he’s totally hot.

He’s Just So Into Me. I think it’s funny that he’s Mr. Tough Guy, but with me, he’s like pure slushy mush. He does whatever I want and has asked me on numerous occasions to be his girlfriend, that he’s falling for me hard. (For the record, I’ve said no on every occasion. There’s just no point in being his girl.)

Member’s Only. And perhaps the LARGEST reason I’m with him…good golly. His member is like perfect. The most perfectest thing on earth. I can’t even describe it. I think about it at night, during the day, at the gym, in the market, in the park, by the lake-and I don’t even know where the lake is. It’s just awesome.

Protected. I feel completely safe with him. Maybe it’s because he’s so scary, no one will make any attempts. Maybe it’s because he can clearly take a bullet or two. Either way, my back is completely guarded when I’m with him…and when it isn’t, I’m laying on it, helllooo!

That bitch stole my line,

Xoxo

Blackie Collins

*I think he was exaggerating on the whole “hit” thing. Here’s hoping.