Me + Idris + The PA I Almost Had To Kill: A Jaded Dream Post

It's been a long time since I've posted a dream for analyzing, but honestly my vivid dreams have been few and far between. But here's one from this past weekend that should prove quite entertaining. Ready? Ready!

So I'm dating Idris Elba (stop laughing) and he stays over my place one night. In the morning he has to get to work on a set near my apartment, and goes to use the restroom but I'm like "Noooo N's home and I don't want her to know you were here."

But he's all, "I have to meet her eventually."

So fine. They meet and it's awkward as hell. Right then some strangers try cutting through my room to leave this restaurant that is now behind my apartment attached to the buildings and I tell them "no, you gotta go around." I lock the door and Idris leaves.

Ffwd to that night, I see my door is open because people ignored me and have been cutting through my apartment all day. I go out there to talk to them and see everyone dressed in 1970s exploitation film attire and looking high as fuck. They're filming a goddamn movie at the restaurant. I tell one of the production ladies she can't go through my place but she's like, "yeah, we can and we will."

I go OFF. I say "no, you paid for use of the restaurant and alley, not my apartment."

So we argue and this production lady has a whole production team with her but I stand my ground: they CANNOT cut through my apartment to come and go. She says they spoke with my landlord and he gave permission. I say, "I doubt it" and slam the door in her face and lock it. The door has this big window in it, and don't you know this bitch threw a chair through that window? So now it's on. I reach through and slap her in the face through the broken window and when she tries to reach in and hit me I move her arm so a shard of glass slices her. It's a whole ruckus.

They walk away but I know something is up so I scoop up Naomi and leave the apartment, but before I do I see Idris left his shoes in my place, and I'm low key pissed. Who does that? This ain't your house, Idris! But I digress.

Outside, one of the actors on set is wildin' out and a PA has to tell him to chill, so I realize I'm dealing with an amped up cast and crew--what the hell kinda film is this? I'm already nervous because folks have been in my apartment and now the glass is broken so they can get in again, and now I see these ain't normal sober people. So I'm fitna call the cops and shut down production.

But guess what?

It's the movie Idris is working on!

So now I have to choose between being with Idris-fucking-Elba, or standing my ground against this feral cast and crew. I was so troubled by this that I woke up!

Kelly! I know you're reading this; tell me what it all means!

*smooches...vowing to lay off the late-night snacks*
--------------
clearly that was a buffalo wing-induced nightmare!

I Prefer A Far-Away Crush

That unattainable man in a picture somewhere that I don't know and will never meet? The one with the messy beard and long dreads? With the washboard abs and chiseled everything else? The one who loves to paint and dance and cook and travel the world? Who loves sports and the arts equally? Who cares about me and my work and my family?
 

SOURCE: beardedandblack

 We're perfect for each other in my head.

All others need not apply.

*smooches...indulging in some internet eye candy*
----------
and don't even bother telling me if you know this guy. It ruins the fantasy if I actually have access to him!

So, This Happened.

You must know by now that when I'm gone for a bit it means I have more pressing things going on than updated this outdated website. Yes, outdated. Everyone is on Instagram or Tumblr; blogs like this are getting left behind like printed periodicals.

But whatever, I was busy living life and doing things. Like curating an event for Lit Crawl NYC this fall. And planning my next reading at La Casa Azul Bookstore on the 21st. And just working on my various writing and personal and home projects. Plus we fit in some fun stuff. Like so:

I went to the Sesame Flyers mas band launch. Because I'm playing mas this fall along the Parkway. I'm thinking of maybe one of these two costumes:

This costume allows me to still eat junk food.

This one...not so much...

K graduated from my alma mater, Brooklyn Technical High School. MY BABY!

BTHS Alum, 20yrs apart!

Soon this will be a pic of THREE BTHS alum

Straight out of a scene from "Mad Men"

And then, just last weekend, I took N to her first fete--Kes the Band LIVE at B.B. Kings Times Square. AND WE MET KEES DIEFFENTHALLER (the lead singer).

We were the last group allowed to take a pic!

Oh, and DJ Robbie Styles and I are getting married. Allegedly. In my dreams.

Can you just picture our babies?!

What have you all been up to?

*smooches...still on cloud nine*
----------
let's see if I can go the whole month without disappearing...

What A Conversation We Had

We shared a stolen glance;

In a ball gown and black tie room,
a crowd of diamonds and stilettos
and champagne,
our eyes found each other
and smiles followed
yours with slight dimples and creases
mine with sharp edges and adoration.

Silky whispers caressed our ears
a meshed chatter fluttering by
nodded at, ignored

Only your laugh lines hold on to me;
their aged wisdom traveling from
lip to chin, across your brow-
and your smile, I fall into it
like Alice down the rabbit hole

I follow your smile
floating and weightless;
I am airborne in your presence
I can be anywhere, anything
transformed and reinvented

The air kisses my cheeks
chilling the curves of my skin
ruffling the layers of my dress
and when I touch ground it’s
your smile that envelopes me
holds me like a warm blanket
in winter, plush and comforting
and soft—I wrap myself in it each
subsequent night

And then I am on the Sears Tower
looking down at you waiting for
your smile to catch me
I want to fall again
I want to stay in your glance

Across a ball gown and black tie
room, with champagne glasses
and stiletto steps
our eyes found each other and
smiles followed.

And you noticed me.

*smooches...wishing John Paul Cusack the happiest of birthdays*
---------
next week we'll go back to inspirational Fridays. promise!

Trauma

I haven't been feeling well (of mind, body OR spirit) lately so OF COURSE I indulged in some heavy Netflix action this weekend. No working out, no quality time with anyone, no writing. Just me, my sofa and my computer. What was supposed to be a cleansing session of vegging out and disconnecting from the world turned into...not that. Why? Because I saw John Cusack's butt in the film The Paperboy.

It was not a cute butt. AT. ALL.

I get that he was playing a sleazeball, murderous, white trash, swamp-dwelling redneck. I totally understand that. But...his butt...you guys...I can't...



I've never said that my love for John was based on animal attraction. It was never even sexual, ever. It was always on an intellectual level. His essence speaks to my mind and it's a total turn-on. I was attracted to the person, and always just felt he was the kind of man I needed in my life. Just...a better butt wouldn't hurt. At all.

Needless to say I've not fully recovered from this yet. Oh, but the movie was good so you should watch it.

*smooches...trying to recover from this blow*
-----------
list this under the things I never wanted to see or know

Birthday Vacation Countdown: "Something About--"

--your stance, your presence
holding grinding melodic tones
infusing me with rhythm

your sweat dripping, dangling
off the ends of each curl

your fingers dancing over
chords; their swiftness a
grandeur before me

I wait for that gust of wind
to expose your face, deep
into the riffs and progressions
I close my eyes and I can see it

Your music..
You...

are those your bedroom eyes?

do your lips taste sweet behind
that cloud of smoke, with ashes
scattered about your feet?

do you sway that way
when the lights go out?
if it were just us in a room
with no eyes?

just another cool cat in a top hat?
with something about him?

what would our song be?

*smooches...remembering how we became one eight years ago*
-----------
Irene remembers; she was there when I got my first tat :)

During An Emergency...

...you always discover new things about yourself and the people around you and what they mean to you. During this crazy storm I was incredibly worried for my mom out in New Jersey, but all she lost was part of her chimney. I was nervous about this precariously lean-y tree threatening the walls and roof of Mari's studio, but everything is still standing. I missed my babies, and hoped their dad was assuring them of their safety in my absence, but they were fine (minus cable and WiFi). And all my friends in Long Island and along the coast, especially those who are part of the City's emergency response teams- I eagerly awaited word from them, hoping everything was OK.

But I also discovered that I can, in fact, share my airspace with someone else and not want to kill them in their sleep with a dull machete soaked in vinegar and bleach. And it was just like in the cartoons- a light bulb popped up over my head, out of nowhere...



(Click here for the remix featuring Ludacris- clearly the better version of the two. I love me some LUDA!)

*smooches...admitting to nothing and everything at once*
---------
SHUT. UP.

Mari Speaks On...

...her beau, Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter, and his sexual orientation.

ME: He's gay? How is he gay?

MARI: How is he gay? I don't know! He likes men!

*smooches...still recuperating from my long weekend*
---------
this girl is CRAZY. she really is.

Where Were You?

Jaded in full gear

I'm closing this post to comments because I really don't want this memory marred by people who think they're funny with their Anti-Mets jokes and whatnot, as if us Mets fans don't know our team. Let me tell you something about us: we are loyal. We love our Boys of Summer, so much so that we still go to Citifield even though we preferred Shea. Even when they lose, which we are aware is often, we love them. We follow them in the good and the bad, knowing that when it's bad it's fucking terrible, but when it's good? Violins strum while a drumline pounds out the soundtrack to a thousand back-to-back orgasms.

On Friday, June 1, 2012, MY BOO JOHAN SANTANA, did this:



I am SO PROUD to be a Mets fan right now. While Santana is getting all the panties glory for this Amazin' feat against the 2011 Champs from St. Louis, his team members were there to help make it happen, especially Mike Baxter who nearly fucked up his shoulder to keep the no-hit bid alive.



And if that weren't enough, R. A. Dickey pitched 9 innings of a shut out game on Saturday and Niese won Sunday's game 6-1. Bravo, my loves. Bravo. Fuck whatever happens from now on... this is our World Series!

*smooches...just for the Mets tonight*
---------
I've been wearing my Mets gear all weekend...the biggest bonus? Twice the games ended with pitches striking out that wack ass Carlos Beltran. WHOOP WHOOP!

"...El Agua No Esta Cerca..."

Forever unrequited. That's what it will say on my tombstone.



*smooches...for this knack of wanting the unattainable*
----------
...and discarding what's readily available

Dominican Heritage Month, Day 23

You know what I learned when I was about 14 years old? That Washington Heights and pockets of New Jersey are not the only east cost enclaves where you'll find large percentages of Dominican immigrants. There's a small town in Essex County, Massachusetts- Lawrence- that I've affectionately named New England's Little DR.

I was introduced to Lawrence the summer before I started high school, after my mom shipped me up there. I suspect it was to keep me away from a boy who shall remain nameless, and I was beyond miserable at the thought of a whole summer without him.

With Nina, on our way to Drunkville

I showed up at my Tia Alba's house (she's actually my mom's cousin) with a permanent pout. The thought of being in a strange place with my baby cousins was just not how I expected 1989 to go. But then I met my cousins Nina and Mirna, and BOY did I change my tune. I love those heffas, and to this day Nina and I can't get enough of each other. She's definitely at the top of my Ride Or Die list. Oh, and she's insane. And beautiful. And can probably fit in my purse. And I love her do death.

But back to Lawrence. This is a small town. Very small. I believe I walked all over the entire town almost everyday that summer, and never broke a sweat. I learned to ride a bike in Lawrence (YES, at 14. Shut up!) and wrote sad, sappy letters to my beau back home while listening to New Edition records. I rode around with Nina in her car, acting silly and discussing most naughty things, and went with Mirna to bible study (her parents are Jehovah's Witnesses).

This was one of my first experiences playing outside and I am so lucky it was in a place with a million familiar Dominican faces. It really turned into a home away from home. I rarely thought of the beau and instead focused on the Acosta family I'd just met.

If you're ever looking for something to do on a long weekend, there are vans (run by Dominicans, or course. Proceed with caution.) that leave from Washington Heights and leave you at your door in Lawrence for about $60. Hop on the van, stay at the Holiday Inn Express in town and look up my family. They'll feed you, show you a good time and maybe give you a small taste of what it was like to have grown up like me.

Wonderful, beautiful, Dominican me.

*besos...realizing what a blessing in disguise that trip was*
--------
what would I do without Tia and Nina and Mirna?

Dominican Heritage Month, Day 6

One of my fondest memories of the Dominican Republic was when I traveled there at age 10 with my Tia Nancy and her family. I was to spend the bulk of my time with my Acosta relatives, but first I spent time with Tia Nancy's people and it was such a difference from the usual Penzos I was used to. This was when I realized she had a different dad from my father (her maiden name was Tolentino) and I was really jealous. I wanted to be a part of that household- they were warm, welcoming and fun. Just like Tia Nancy.

While I was with her, Tia took me to La Romana and it was officially the most beautiful and pristine place I've ever seen in my life. I had fresh limeade- I always remember that- actually watched as this woman pulled limes off of a tree and made my drink, and ate a burger with GREEN tomatoes!

And there was a boy (isn't there always?) I was all of ten but I still had crushes. And he was so dreamy. He'd walk around in shorts, no shirt and a small portable Casio keyboard that he'd play random tunes on. Oh how I wanted to be his muse! Once, my cousins and I went to this place that I suppose was some sort of swimming hole, I can't really remember it well, but he was there playing a tune on his Casio, at least that's how my memories are recalling it, and I was so at peace with my life at that moment. I remember that feeling and reach for it often.



At my Acosta Family Compound I experienced a whole other style of living- more pretension that I had expected, but still fun (despite the armed guards, chaperones, thieving maids and visible firearms all over the place). I was taken to a salon for my first relaxer (against my mother's wishes!), played jacks in the road, went to a discotheque (at age ten, BITCHES!), went shopping at fancy boutiques and watched as a local artisan made me the most adorable ceramic poodle. It was definitely a life I could have become accustomed to. Well, except for having to grab chickens out of the yard for slaughtering. That I can live my entire life without ever seeing again, EVER.

I then went to stay with my Tia CruzDelia and visit with my Ortiz family. Again, a whole different style of life. Tia lived in a shack with a tin roof, a latrine out back and just the dirt ground for a floor. But I was ten so of course I had the time of my life at her house, too. I also noticed that my cousins were wearing a lot of clothes that looked familiar- my hand-me-downs that I'd seen Mami pack in a suitcase and ship down earlier that year. I knew that in Brooklyn we were poor, but the fact that my relatives on the Island were waiting anxiously for my cast-offs (perfectly good clothes that I just decided I no longer wanted, like a spoiled diva) made me grateful for what I had back home.

SIDE NOTE: years later Tia CruzDelia came to visit us in Brooklyn and apologized to me for the conditions of her home after seeing my room. "Tu vives como una princesa y yo te tenia en ese sucio!" I felt so embarrassed at ever complaining about not having stuff. I did live like a princess and I felt bad that Tia felt bad, and can only hope I didn't act like a brat in her home. I really did have fun with her and the new cousins I discovered that I never knew about. And Tia CruzDelia looked just like Grandma so just being around her made me feel at home.

On the flight home, back when American Airlines fed you real food, I had my fist taste of pancakes wrapped around a sausage link and realized the two were meant to be together always. I was also introduced to the uniquely Dominican tradition of applauding after every safe landing. That trip improved my Spanish, my bond to my entire family, my appreciation for what I had at home and made me feel this connection that wasn't there before. These were my people. This was where we came from. This is where it began. Even though I wasn't born there I felt as if I were HOME.

I cried when I had to come back to New York. I wanted to stay there forever.



Visit La Romana and even though it's probably all built up now, it might give you a small taste of what it was like to have grown up like me.

Wonderful, beautiful, Dominican me.

*besos...with a sudden urge to call my Tias*
--------
amazing how life makes you forget who and what is really important sometimes. I miss my family- and how close we used to be- a lot.

"I'm The Only One In Love"

Not sure how long I will carry this torch for you...



Now you're even popping up in my dreams. Leave me be, son!

*smooches...thinking of performing an exorcism on my heart*
------------
and by exorcism I mean have a meaningless fling...with your dad... O__o

I Love The Smell Of Fresh Possibilities...

I have good people in my life. I really do. All of the friends I've had for over two decades have this vibe about them, and every time we're together I feel something new, another connection that binds us. And from that great feeling sprouts another.

This weekend I saw my dear love Alex (formally of Jack's Gay Chronicles, currently of The Refined Ghetto) and it was everything I thought it would be and more. Not only was he involved in the BEST. BAR FIGHT. EVER. (I'm quoting Smarty on that one LOL!!) but we discovered another parallel in the bizarro lives we've been living and everything just made so much sense.

Also, while out and about and on my way home, I was hit on by like three different guys. I mean, I'd never actually date any of them in real life at all ever, but I was flattered nonetheless because it hasn't happened in forever. I know, you're shocked because I'm a super-HAWT bitch and give off the impression that men throw themselves at me everywhere I go, but it's not the case and hasn't been for a while. I don't know if the 'fro was right or the makeup was bitchin' or my jeans were giving the illusion of a booty or if my aura was all aglow because I was spending time with Alex, but there it was, the ever-elusive male attention. I'd almost forgotten what it was like!

For the longest time, I've been channeling my energy elsewhere- my writing, my kids, my health and fitness- and ignoring the possibility of romance. Real romance. Like, look forward to seeing you romance and I'll even allow some nasty swine to be cooked in my precious kitchen because he eats pork kind of romance. Introduce him to my family romance. That shit really exists, apparently. Over bland Asian food and Dragalicious entertainment at Lucky Cheng's, I explained to Alex how for me, sexual relations have always been blah. Like, it's great the first few times and then I'm over it and I'd rather watch TV or eat some fries. He brought it home with, "Because you've never really felt a connection; with my ex it was fireworks every time because I felt a deep connection" and that was like WOW. He's right. I've never been in love or had real romance in my life with any of the men I've slept with. Not ever.

Confession, readers: I used sex as a validation tool. It was never because I felt this bond with a guy but because I knew it was something I could do well and men like sex, ergo men will like me and if I'm liked then DING DING DING I win the prize. Except there is no prize except that empty feeling deep in the pit of my stomach after he's "finished" and I'm laying there beside him looking for the nearest exit, knowing that what I just did had nothing to do with love and everything to do with just wanting someone to make me feel special. I'm sure addicts will understand that I was constantly searching for that unattainable high in all the wrong bedrooms, those butterflies I felt with my first real boyfriend, that innocent, gleam in your eye, sing from the mountaintops high a first love sprinkles over you like pixie dust. I miss that feeling!

(I can only imagine the looks on the faces of the guys with whom I've had relations right now as they read this. Sorry, boo, but at least you know why it didn't work, right?)

But my self-imposed hiatus from anything relationship-like has been so good for me. I see what I want, what I need and what I never want to have again and it starts with me being the best Raquel I can be so that I can find the best him the world has to offer. Because we deserve it.

*smooches...loving the clarity my friendships encourage*
----------
it's only been a day and I miss Alex already...

Wednesday Dedication, 2011: "Don't Let Me Fall In Love With You Again"

I still get butterflies at the thought of you. I need you to know that, but not really. It's beyond time I let go of my crush although I sense there will be no end in sight. To me, you are still the bees' knees.

Maybe one day I'll get to rest my head in the crook of your neck and breathe you in again. Maybe our lips will meet again. Maybe I'll get to stare into your beautiful chestnut eyes and melt away... again.



Maybe...

*smooches...fighting the feeling*
----------
my thug status is in jeopardy...over a freakin DUDE, son!

Classic Fridays, 2011: Bruce Lee

Every once in a while, I like to do something a little different, like choose themes for random months and challenge myself to stick with the theme throughout. For this month, I'm taking y'all back. WAY back. To when Jaded was a little girl, stuck indoors while other kids played outside, attempting to stay sane by drowning in music, television and books.

I have a vague memory of Papi taking me to a small dingy movie theater near our house to see king fu movies. Whether or not this is a real memory, I don't know (maybe I'll ask him this weekend) but I recall sitting in a theater and being introduced the amazingness that is/was Lee Jun-fan AKA Bruce Lee.

(I should also note that back in those days there was something called DOUBLE FEATURES, where you saw two films for the price of one. While at the movies with Papi to see Bruce Lee beat someone to a bloody pulp, I also had to sit through a horrible, nightmare-inducing film called "Motel Hell" that put me off jerky for the rest of my life. Rent it and you'll see why. Oh jesus I get the creeps just thinking about it!)

This little powerhouse of a man came on screen, kicked some ass and stole my little Dominican heart. Even now, as I try to write this post about someone with whom I totally fell in love, only to find that he had died before I was even born, I get a little misty-eyed.

The way he moved across the screen was not unlike a dance. Everything was choreographed to the tiniest detail and when put together it was all such a treat for my brain. I wanted to be that effortless in my movement. I wanted that power behind my fist.

I thank WPIX-11 and WWOR-9 for all the kung fu films they showed on the weekends (you know, while you all played tag in the park and I wasn't allowed outside?) and a special shout out to Papi who, unknowingly, introduced me to my first crush & a secret desire to be a fierce warrior, dancer and philosopher. Even in my most stressful moments, I try to remember Bruce's advice, and I promise I only exact the proper revenge when someone causes me to bleed my own blood!




Isn't/wasn't he just the dreamiest? His wife was so lucky...

*smooches...reminding myself to purchase Bruce's filmography*
----------
I used to have it on VHS, but YOU-KNOW-WHO got it in the divorce *side eye*

The Voices Present: Wednesday!

The things we think about when Jaded is asleep, busy with deadlines or otherwise occupied...

~You know who is a great writer? Joss Whedon. And not just because he was the mega-genius behind "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer," either. He wrote for "Roseanne" and if you enjoyed Disney/Pixar's "Toy Story" then guess what? You're a Joss Whedon fan.

~It's so easy to approach the dudes we don't really want aka The Unfuckables (homies, marrieds, gays). The ones we really like leave us dumbfounded, confused, insecure and fumbling for the right things to say.

~In other news, we don't like engaging with ugly dudes (gollums!) in the club, lest the cuties think we're already taken. We hate being bitches about it but DANG can you take three steps to the left so that the chocolate Adonis by the bar can see us?!

~The bar has been raised for Jaded's literary readings. Which is a fancy, roundabout way of saying she'll be charging admission now. It's a necessary evil since the venue charges a fee per hour. Stay tuned!

~We'd ALLLLLL like to be J. Cole's groupies. Now, someone lend us an age-reversal machine so we don't look like Madame Cougar Tasha Mack up in these streets.



~We watched "The Game" last night. In real time. On a TV! It was nice but what were those smaller, nonsensical 30-second shows they played in between scenes about cars and such? We were most confused.

~Jaded still wants another baby, y'all. We tried to talk her out of it but just the other day she was googling pregnancy after 35 n shit.

~Kevin Smith is alright with us. Even after "Jersey Girl" which actually wasn't as horrible as you think. We won't discuss "Cop Out," though. We just won't.

~One thing we learned so far this year: we're horrible at marketing and public relations for The Jaded Empire. Is there a Learning Annex class we can take to fix that?

~We have been uninspired lately. We think, quite unexpectedly, we're grieving for Monday Musings and everything it could have been and wasn't. Eventually we'll focus on other opportunities, but for now, we're grieving.

*smooches...loving this opportunity to shine*
----------
Jaded is so stingy with her brain AND her blog! she hardly ever lets us come out to play :)

Happy Birthday, Johnny Dear...

Thursday I return to my regular blogging schedule. Tell your friends. And you mom... she's been pestering me, asking WHEN I was gonna start up again. JULY 1ST, DAYUMMMMM! Can a sistah take a vacation n shit???

In the meantime, let's all wish John Cusack a HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY



via his fave band, The Clash:











*smooches...hoping one day to meet him for real*
----------
even if we can't be together... I just want to be in his life. Did that sound stalkerish? Like I care...

Beware The Lure Of The Jaded...

I don't know about y'all, but some of my best, most earnest and thought provoking conversations have taken place after midnight. I think my brain works better after 12:01am- who am I to question it?

On Wednesday night, after my second trip witnessing the fabulous stage presence and vocal stylings of Ms. Laura Izibor, I hung out with one of my buddies to catch up and discuss all the bullshit that continues to consume our lives. Inevitably the conversation turned to relationships, or rather our lack thereof.

Besides him being blown away at the concept of me having actually been in love with someone AND being too chicken to approach someone I like (my Jaded-status was in serious jeopardy that night) we also surmised that I have what is known as the kavorka, the lure of the animal.

Why? Well, you know I'm not a particularly conceited person, only in jest. If you've been reading this blog long enough you know I drown myself in low self-esteem, body-image, trust and daddy issues, and suffer from a raging case of depression. But the facts are the facts, and it seems that long after I've told an ex to go fuck himself he seems to still try and worm his way back in. And when I say I've told exes to go fuck themselves I've said JUST THAT, and still they come back and try to gain my favor again.

As in, just last week one such ex invited me to stay with him in Puerto Rico during President's Week while my girls were away. I can't make this stuff up!

Dude stood there and asked me, "Damn, Raquel, what are you doing to these guys?" I really, truly wish I knew. I'm not particularly affectionate with men. Sometimes I'm downright stank and attitudinal and rude. I show very little regard for their feelings and am somewhat...okay VERY... bratty and spoiled. I hardly see how that can prompt one of my exes to think, "I wonder what she's doing? I miss her." Unless of course I seem to be dating the same masochists over and over.

Even Ms. Smarty Jones has been known to ask me what I bathe in to have dudes throw their pride aside for me (it's Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap and/or jabon de cuaba from DR, by the way) after I've been so shitty to them. Seriously, hell if I know.

That's where guy friends come in handy. Over some not-too-great-but-not-too-bad Buffalo wings my friend said, "...I'm not trying to gas you up or give you a big head or anything..." and proceeded to list the different things that these guys are probably (still!) attracted to. I don't think I need to explain that on top of all of my other faults another is that I don't know how to interpret and digest a compliment, so I'm not 100% convinced by what he said to me but it was a great peek into the mind of men. I'm sure he broke 1,001 man-laws by divulging this information but apparently I have that affect on him, too.

What it added up to was a damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. I have this kavorka bullshit and unless I can find some Latvian Orthodox priest to give me the full recipe for the antidote I should expect to keep getting invitation to travel out of the country, sperm offers and random text messages that read, "I wonder if you'd be open to giving us another chance?"

One would think this isn't a REAL problem and I should just shut the fuck up and bask in the glory of the attention, but when it isn't coming from THE guy you want it to come from, you might as well not be getting any attention at all.

*smooches...wondering how to rid myself of this catch-22*
----------
did I ever mention the old family tale that my great-grandmother had a curse put upon her way back when, rendering all her female descendants single for life? *sigh* how can I possibly fight some otherworldly shit like this??

You're Going To Ask Me Out On A Date.

You're going to pick up the phone and call me. You will call under the guise of just chatting until you work up the nerve to ask me out. And I will say yes.

You will choose a nice local place where we can wear real clothes, like grown-ups. You will pick me up at my place, park the car and ring the bell. I will come downstairs, ready to go, in a dress, heels, make-up & hair done to casual perfection.

On the ride over there will be some nervous chatter, some witty banter; we will try to act as if this is just another date and not something we're both looking forward to. At the restaurant our table is not ready, so we sit at the bar for 10 minutes and wait. I consider flirting with the bartender, as I'm wont to do, but decide not to out of respect for you.

We have a drink; I forgo my usual Jack and Coke for a glass of wine; tonight is not a night for drunkenness. As soon as the wine is poured, the hostess informs us that the table is ready. We move over to the corner, an intimate spot, and I'm tempted to slip her a $20 for such foresight. All of a sudden, I feel more relaxed. We will not be on display tonight.

As the waiter tells us the specials and makes sure we're settled, there's a moment of awkward silence. Inside, I begin to panic. I don't know how to break the ice and search the napkin on my lap for an answer. After all this, I have no idea how to speak to you. I hear The Voices fretting about losing cool points and sweat begins to accumulate on my brow.

Then I take a chance and look up for a moment and you're looking at me, too. And you're just you. You're not larger than life; this date will not decide the rest of our lives. Wars won't be fought over it and history books will not include its occurrence. We're just two people on a first date hoping that it will go really well.

Because we genuinely like each other.

And right when I've finally thought of something clever to say, you speak first. You pull no punches, go right in for the kill, aim directly at my heart taking no prisoners. You want this to be the first of many dates and after those three excruciating minutes of silence you say so.

"I really enjoyed your story."



*smooches...expecting that call any day now*
----------
and if you're thinking this was directed at you, it probably was.