Hit the Person Sitting Next to You Over the Head With Your Bible Day

Pen to pad, finger tip to key, one eye on the horizon, one to the past and here we go...

But first, it will only take a moment I promise, let us pray (all eyes closed and all heads bowed):

“Lord give me grace and dancing feet

And the power to impress

Lord give me grace and dancing feet

Let me outshine the moon.

Tonight make me unstoppable

And I will charm, I will slice

I will dazzle them with my wit

Tonight make me unstoppable

And I will charm, I will slice

I will dazzle, I will outshine them all.”

Amen. Now, with that out of the way...

Has anyone seen my tattoo? I seemed to have misplaced it. Maybe you've come across it. It's black, about yay high, kind of exotic looking, claims to be “Eternity” in the ink. It was last seen on the right side of my neck. After some girl (name politely withheld) tried to suck it off with her Hoover tunnel mouth. Or at least thats what it seemed like. She just wouldn't let up. I don't know which nigga lied to her but for future reference, ladies, sucking on the neck does not turn us on. We men. We like head. Whether it's in the back of a special hire or in the corner stall of the ladies room at Barbecue Lounge on a Tuesday afternoon after three long island ice teas (those things work wonders by the way). Both the ice teas and the head. Give a nigga good head and he'll be likely to keep you around. Give a nigga great head and his black ass will be likely to ask you to be his Official Girl. These are trade secrets ladies so I hope youre taking notes...
but enough about The Head. Let's talk about something a tad more...what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yes: palatable. I know I had a few people squirming in their seats for a few sentences there. But fear not prudes, shrews and church fairing women over the age of 35, it was but a minor digression. But even though that may be the case, please do keep in mind that these are home truths I speak of. Whether you like it or not.
Now, has anyone seen my tattoo? I seemed to have misplaced it. Maybe you've come across it. It's black, about yay high, kind of exotic looking...wait, Ive already said that haven't I...? Crap. Lemme think, lemme see...right. Here we go. Wait, not yet, I gotta pee. BRB...

*7 minutes later* i.e Not spent in Heaven

Phew. I thought I would never get out of there. And you know what the messed up part is? I don't even feel any better. I still feel like someone is holding my bladder in a vicious choke hold and now on top of that, I feel hungry. Weird combination right? And not just hungry but like “OMG! I feel like I havnt eaten in the past two days” kind of hungry. And if theres one thing you should know about me, it's that I dont, nay I can not, function properly when my stomach ( my best friend third only to God and my...um, *quiet clearing of the throat* Toshiba lap top) has not been taken care of. Probably the reason I dont seem to be making any sense right now. Not even to myself. Not a common occurrence I assure you. Solution? Simple. Remove pen from pad, finger tip from key, eye from horizon, eye from past and get something in my friggin belly. And in the meantime...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qex0OjXolzc

The Truth of the Matter Is...This May Have to Come With A Disclaimer

The truth of the matter is I'm starting to wig out. Lose my nerve. Ronnie was right, I really am back at square one. And even though everyone keeps tellin' me that I'm rockin' the shit out of the new look, for some reason I'm still not convinced.
So Saturday was supposed to be a good day. And don't get me wrong, it was. It really was. A great dinner, lots of booze and fly women coming out of the wood work. What more could a brother ask for? Dreadlocked Lloyd would have been all over that muthafucka like an African fly on a piece of unattended meat. But not this one. Nope not “I just shaved my head, my skin is breaking out for some reason I cant really figure out, I really don't know what to say to these hoes; Lloyd”. No not him. He just sits in his chair and watches all the booty shaking from afar. From a safe distance. He wants to participate, show these niggas that he aint nobody to play around with, but at the same time he's like “fuck it. What do I get from pimpin these hoes anyway? Its not like I'm gonna bust a nut on any of them.”
and while trying to convince myself of this, the taste of beer now more than a little stale on my tongue, (it was like bottle 4 or 5 or 6 or whatever) I see someone who looks just like her. Looks like her, dresses like her, dances like her...it was pretty fucked up. mainly because I had managed to get to the point where I barely thought of her. And now this specter of her turns up, in some skRmpy blue thing (or was it green? I cant really remember...not that it really matters) and with the flick of a hip, like flipping a switch, initiates a program that has decided to call itself “Project: Miss Her”.
And before you say anything, no you don't have to worry, it aint full blown yet. Its like that AIDS shit, it takes some time to mature. All its managed to do so far is get me thinking about contacting her. But that wont be for another few days yet. And thats assuming I even decide to.
Raise your glasses boys because I'm about to make a toast.
“To all those girls who fuck with niggas heads (Alex, come on, raise that glass you know you're right up here with me...in fact it should be you giving this little speech)...FUCK YOU! We aint taking your shit no more. This is a new year and no matter how smackable that booty is, no matter how good your head is (and sweetie don't kid yourself; it aint that good) no matter how good people say we look together, no matter how much those niggas hate, bitches, enough is enough! We got too much on our damn minds already. All that other bullshit you bring along is unnecessary. Now say it with me boys: fuck dem bitches! (I see you Sam, stop fucking laughing cuz this aint no fucking joke and repeat after me) FUCK...DEM...BITCHES!!!!!
* sigh * Ok, now that Ive gotten that out of my system, maybe I can dish out a tirade on something else. 
Juss hold on and gimme a second...
Uh-huh, here we go...artificial insemination....
Ok, you know what? Fuck that. I aint gonna be able to do a tirade on that shit. Let me give this another try...
Pretty faces, pretty faces, pretty faces...i love dem pretty faces. But they can piss me off sometimes. Fuck that. They piss me off a lot. Whats up with girls with pretty faces? Did they all get together one day and decide that “hey, here's an idea, why don't we all be bitches?” and yes I can already hear all you naysayers but before you all open up your pie holes in protest, pause and really think about it. That's right, I can hear the wheels turning...pretty girls are bitches. And yes, I admit, there are exceptions to the rule, there always are. just not that many. Now girls, take a look at the girl on your left...now at the girl on your right...all three of you are bitches. The ones who arent bitches arent in the room...now what does that tell you?
Okay um, maybe I should stop here. I'm only fucking with you anyways. I don't really think pretty girls are bitches...not that many of them anyway. And for any bitches (oops!) I mean, ladies that I might have offended, let me offer you my sincere apologies...seeing as you're the same girls I'm gonna wanna bang come next weekend...it wouldnt be advisable to piss you off...
Am I right?

Yet Another Reason to Hate Valentine's Day (A Flash Back)

I never did tell you her name, did I? And um, I guess I should thank you for never asking. Not that I wouldn't have minded. Its just that she doesn't really like having her business being put all out there. Never has. And I guess that as long as she remained nameless, anonymous, she could convince herself that It wasn't really her business that I was putting all out there. It was mine. My dirty laundry. She was just a shade of lipstick on the collar of my favorite shirt. She could be anyone. And I reckon thats just the way she liked it.
Her name is Samantha. Sam for short. I called her Sammy once but she thought that a tad too much. And so I settled for Sam. Unless of course she's having one of her blond moments, in which case I call her “Samantha who”.
Now, to be quite honest, Ive never been one for valentine's day. Never liked it, probably never will. Least of all because I hate the color red. And so when I say that a romantic valentine's day in Mbale with Samantha was the last thing on my mind, I hope that you will be apt to believe me. I asked her up because...well, I really don't know why I asked her up. Ive never really thought about it. I do know though that I never really expected her to actually agree to come. I had asked her half jokingly and so when she did say that she would come, I took it as some sort of sign I probably shouldn't have. But in my defense, wouldn't you? I mean, you don't go out of your way to go on a trip to somewhere you've never been to be with someone unless you're trying to say something...or, as I later found out, unless you're Samantha.
She arrived on the afternoon of Friday the 13th (please, no jokes) and the first thing that struck me was how good she looked. Up to know I don't know whether it was because I hadn't seen her in some time or if she really was having one of her “super cute days”.
It was nice to see her. But although we tried our best to make nice, there was no denying that my unanswered question, or rather inadequately answered question was still looming over us.
But even though, I committed myself to not bringing it up that day. In my opinion, it was too soon. I wanted us to at least try to enjoy ourselves before I rained down on our parade.





Saturday




The weather was wonderful. Not too hot, just enough sun, the hint of a breeze and the promise of a star lit night. Some might even say that it was perfect. Not me though. I don't believe in perfect. Not anymore. I'm too old to believe in fairy tales.
But that being said, it was a pretty good day. I enjoyed myself. Even if most of the time I was on edge waiting for the perfect opportunity to drop that mother load of a bomb in her lap. A opportunity that never came. I was foolish to even think that it ever would. Theres no such thing as perfect, remember? Just a series of small compromises, even more and even smaller denials and one huge pair of “mother of God, what are you wearing?” rose tinted glasses.
We hung out, caught up, ate ice cream, walked around, looked for pork, couldn't find any so settled  for goats meat and rolexes instead, a brew or two or three, got her a hotel room and wound up on this king sized bed that was just begging to be rolled around in.
with the evening having pretty much only one direction to go, I decided, much to the chagrin of the Lloyd writing this, that “you know what? That's not what I want. Not with this thing eating me up inside, tying my stomach into knots, making my head swim.” And so I decided to open my big fat mouth.
I had one arm around her. Had her in a place I liked to think she thought of as home. I could have kissed her if I wanted to. Turned the night into magic. A dark magic where all else would have been forgotten. At least until the first gray streaks of morning and sanity returned. But instead of doing this simple thing, instead of losing myself in the curve of her neck and the plum of her lips, I licked my own, took curious note of how my chest rose and fell and finally came out with it- Hiroshima!
She didn't say anything for a beat. Maybe two. Didn't do anything either. Then feeling her slowly exhale, I watched as she rolled out of the curve of my arm and onto the expanse of the bed. If she had thought of it as home before, that was now nothing more than a distant dream.
Seemed to take a moment to choose her words carefully. But even though, there was still a weary note in her voice when she said,
“my answer hasn't changed Lloyd. We still cant be together. For the same reasons I gave you before.”
I let that sink in. I let it marinate. And once it had, once the full absurdity of the situation had hit me, I got angry.
“Then why did you even come?” I asked her as calmly as possible. But even though, there was still a slight tremor in my voice.
“Ive never been to Mbale before, I thought it would be an adventure.”
“You thought that it would be an adventure.” I repeated after her.
“You thought that it would be an adventure.” I said again. This time more  to myself.
I laughed. But her and I both knew that there was no humor behind it.
“Let me ask you,” I continued,
“Knowing how I feel about you, it never once crossed your mind that boarding a bus, which you hate in case you've conveniently forgotten, to go somewhere you've never been, on valentine's day weekend, yes I know Ive said that I hate it and I do and God knows you're about to give me a reason to hate it even more, to visit me might appear to some, hell to anyone, to have some sort of special significance?”
Now although I'm not quite sure I said exactly that, I am pretty sure that I did say something to that affect. As for what she replied to that? I have not a clue. Of course, I'm quite allowed to speculate but that, for some reason, wouldn't feel quite right.
One of the disadvantages of letting things marinate for so long; things run quite amok, deciding to play hide and go seek with your memory. I'm not up to playing, however, and so i'm going to do my best to provide a pretty faithful summarization.
Advantage of king sized bed meant for rolling around in #4;
Perfect for putting as much space as you can between you and someone you're not especially fond of at the moment without falling off the friggin' bed, saving them from potential bodily harm.
She slept on one side of the bed and I slept on the other. She got the wall. I loved the wall. I was angry enough to try and take it away from her but some sensible part of me that had miraculously stayed put against all the odds managed to convince the rest of me that it wasn't worth the hassle.
And so it was until the first gray streaks of morning and sanity returned.

What They Refer to in "Rehab Land" as a "Breakthrough"

Ive written the opening sentence for this thing about 15 friggin' times but still haven't been able to come up with something I like. I guess this is going to have to do.
So where do I start? *sigh* oh yeah, I came pretty close to relapsing today. I wanted to, I so wanted to. And not even because I really wanted to (if that makes any sense) it was the challenge of being denied something and setting out to prove that if I really wanted it I could get it. The “it” in this case being 7 minutes in heaven (fall out boy reference anyone?) with girl X who's proving to be quite the slippery fish. Playing with my hair (well, that's gone now) tugging at my hand (cant she cross a friggin street by herself?) saying what a great couple the two of us would make (I can make any couple look good) and how friggin cute she thinks i am (uh...duh). But when it comes down to the business at hand, she don't dish out. do you know how friggin frustrating that is? I would rather she be friggin up front about it. But a tease? Not cool dame...not cool at all.
Not an excuse though. A commitment is a commitment and I'm glad I made it out here right in the open. I got people who can call me up on it (You know who you are and I love you immensely for it). Ive got my head on straight again though. And for future reference, if ever it needs straightening, never hesitate to do the needful (again, you know who you are).
*Sigh* this is really hard. Because even though I no longer miss her, there's still that void that she left behind to deal with. And the fact is, thats what this really all boils down to. Getting over her. I have a Samantha shaped hole in my heart (thats not her real name but Nimo you know who I'm talking about) and Ive been trying to fill it with all these other girls even though I knew from the get go that none of them would be able to replace her. And so I decided that since plan A wouldn't work I would proceed with plan B; burying myself in so many of them that I wouldn't have time to miss her or want her back.
Well, thats obviously not gonna work anymore...if it ever worked at all. I gotta deal with this thing head on instead of simply setting up petty distractions to tide me over...
Hey! Look sponsor, I think this is what they refer to in rehab land as a “break through”. And if it is, well then I guess that means I'm one step closer...
Pass me my chip!

It Aint No 'Ting but a Chicken Wing

Its been awfully hot these days. Lots of sun, absolutely no cloud cover and just enough humidity to make you sniff yourself and say, “Hot damn, I need a shower!” At ten o'clock in the morning. After but two hours since your last one. And for those of you who think that you've gotten away Scott free, this heat seems strangely immune to deodorant. Whether its sure, Burberry or that funny vanilla body spray she who shall not be named used to wear. Or possibly still does. Who even gives a cuss?
Now I think it would be prudent of me at this point to warn you that if you're looking or waiting for some sort of point to this, I'm afraid your not going to find it. Because quite frankly, there isn't one. I just liked the way the title rolled off of my tongue. Something I heard in a movie once. I think. Or maybe it was a TV show. Or maybe I read it somewhere. But thats besides the point. The point is...well the point is that there isn't one. So read on at your own risk.
So...I'm supposed to be drama-toxing. (don't know what that means? Well ask Nimo, she's the one who came up with it after all) and all in all, I think I'm doing a pretty good job at it. Going on two weeks without any drama. Of course, the way I left things with a couple of certain individuals may not be exactly, exemplary but making amends will come a little later on in the program. Because making amends, if not handled properly, would just mean the re-introduction of drama and right now, I'm too chill enjoying these drama free days to give that all up for the sake of “making amends”. And Nimo, darling, if you're reading this, how far up the 12 step ladder is making amends anyway? Wait, don't say anything here, inbox me the answer.
But drama-tox or not, theres this one girl I want to get with. No problem right? Wrong. Theres one complication. White Greek boy friend who she's intensely loyal to. When it comes to jumping into the sack that is. And that's all I want. A roll in the hay. This business of walking around, holding hands whispering sweet nothings into each others ears with no friggin pay off is a fucking joke. They say that persistence pays and I know that in this case it would but Ive been down that road before and eh, it aint all its cracked up to be. Drama was inevitable. Of course the last time I actually liked the girl and sex had been the last thing on my mind and thus the drama but I still don't want to take my chances. You never know what could happen. But that being said, do I really see myself pulling out? Well, maybe just as I'm about to come (no, I wouldn't be that stupid, of course I would wear a rubber) but out of the race before those six seconds of pleasure? Not a chance.
Wait, she's on messenger right now...and oh, how about that? Her phone is now on, she's just sent me her number....let's see what she's doing today. And if I'm lucky, maybe it'll be me...

The Dreaded End/ I Am Not a Lemming {Forgive My Jabbering I Am Not Myself}

I walk into Charlie's. The 12 inches of a hair on my head sticking out in every direction. four sets of eyes follow me as I cross the linoleum floor and land in what is to be my hairs electric chair.
“Dead man walking...dead. Man. walking.” I can almost hear Percy Wetmore, that asshole, shout down the mile. (for those who don't know, thats a “Green Mile” reference. One of the best novel-movie masterpieces of all time)
I take a long look at myself in the wall length mirror. I'm shivering. And its not even cold. Get it together. I tell myself. Get it the fuck together.
After a second, Charlie himself walks up to me. He seems intrigued.
“What can I do you for?” he asks after a standard issue 'our long hair makes us brethren' greeting.
I swallow. Try my best to calm my nerves. It wouldn't make do for my voice to come out all funny. It would let him know that there was still a chance of talking me out of it.
Deep breath. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.
“I want to cut off my hair. All of it.”
Charlie's eyes stray to the top of my head yet again. After a moment, they drop to look me square in the face.
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Yup. Let's do this.”
Charlie shakes his head.
“well, if you're sure...”
“I am.”
I hope I sound more confident than I feel, I think as I watch Charlie, in the mirror, tie a neck strip around my neck followed by one of those polyester oba nylon apron thingys they cover you with to keep your recently liberated hair from getting all over you.
Picking up the clipper, Charlie asks me how low I want it.
“Level one.” I tell him.
He sort of smiles. To me it looks more like a grimace.
“That's really low, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” I assure him.
“Ok.” he says nodding. “Just as long as you know.”
He turns on the clipper. The Buzz-Buzzing it makes jolting me like 20,000 volts of electricity coursing through my body damning me to the grave..
I close my eyes.
“ten minutes,” I tell myself, “ten minutes and this will all be over.”
Yeah, the cynical part of me adds, with your hair all over the floor...




Deep breath. This is gonna take some getting used to. I keep touching my head to make sure it really happened. That I'm not just dreaming. Or somehow just imagined it.
“Yup, it really did happen.”, the thin carpet of hair left on my head proclaims every single time.
“Now I'm just like everybody else.” A part of me despairs silently, mourning its loss.
“I am not my hair.” I try to convince myself as I stand in front of the mirror. But nobody's listening. Not now. Not tonight. Try again in the morning.
“Now its back to charming them” , I sigh.
Before, the hair did half of the work for me. There's just something about a man with long hair that turns girls on. And girls, dont you dare try to deny it.
My game had upped because of it but to be quite honest, it had also suffered. I got lazy. Smiled, let them touch my hair, said something vaguely funny, told them I wanted to go home with them and then it was on. Now it wont be so simple. Or will it? I guess you'll have to ask me in a few days. The weekend is coming up after all...
There was a point I was trying to make. I'm sure of it. Um, lemme think...lemme see...
Nothing. I cant remember, for the life of me, what I wanted to tell you. Something about not wanting to be a lemming. About not wanting to be part of the everybody in “everybody else”. And as corny as it may seem, my hair helped me do that. Or at the very least I managed to fool myself into thinking that it did. I would walk down the street and eyes would follow me. Do you know how many stares I got today? Like really? A grand total of ZERO. Zilch. Not...a...one. and its not that I necessarily crave the attention, its just that being so used to something and then having it suddenly taken away from you is well, kind of a traumatic experience. Like losing a child.
Then why cut it off in the first place? You may ask. A very valid question. I just...I just felt it was time.
Then stop pining.
Well I intend to, thank you very much.
So is that it? Is there anything else you would like to share with me?
I cant really think of anything...
Then good night.
(Stern voice...there's no arguing with it)
*sigh* Good night...

Frm Boi-Toy 2 Luv Jones

“hey, u deserve to know that I got married. I hope, hweva, that we can stil be friends. coz wat we had was great. o'wise I wish u d best. in everything. GUD NYT.”

Lisa (via text message)

12:25 am

wow, now ain't that something. She got married. Just like that. No warning, no wedding invitation. Not nothing. Not that I would have gone even if I had gotten one. Hell no. I mean, what would have I said to the guy?
“hey, congratulations. Um, by the way, I fucked your wife.”
Talk about the most awkward conversation ever.
of course, she may not have been his wife at the time but I am pretty sure that they were already romantically involved. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I actually remember Matthew mentioning something about her man being out of the country or some shit like that. Not that I gave two shits. I was there to get it in...the rest was just details; easily overlooked.
That being said, a lot of stuff suddenly makes a lot of sense. Her sudden lack of interest for one. I mean, think about it. After being so hung up on a brother, after only a week she was throwing around the word love like it was a frisbee, her sudden turn of apathy was more than just a wee bit...well, sudden.
She started screening my calls, not replying my messages, avoiding our once casual hook ups...i found it odd, of course but I had always chalked it up to her making me pay for hurting her feelings. For using her and dumping her like an old ratty dish cloth so torn and full of holes that it was beyond useless. I guess I was wrong. I guess it was because her man was back in town. And that he had come to do the one thing that I was never going to: put a ring on it.
And you know what? Good for her. And I mean that. She deserves to be happy. I just hope that she'll be happy with him. And no, I'm not just saying that because deep down I'm thinking that she would have been better off with me. Because the fact is, she wouldn't have been. I would have broken her heart everyday that we were together until there was nothing left to break. She deserves better than that. And if this guy can offer her that, then good.
It does make me wonder though. Its not the first time this has happened. Or something similar to it. I seem to attract the same kind of woman. The lonely girlfriend who's boyfriend isn't around to show her the attention she needs. Ive built up quite the reputation. For being the surrogate boyfriend. The guy who you call when you're looking for a night of seamless fun. He wont respect you in the morning, but honey, isn't that kind of the point? That's what a boyfriend's for. And so by default Ive become a chronic dater. No girl is willing to give me the chance to be anything more than that. Because if I can charm my way into her pants (and this is a girl who considers herself pretty principled) how many other girls have I managed to charm out of their underwear? Not a number she wants to think about and certainly not a number she wants to play around with.
And I have to be honest, for most guys, thats not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, a nigga can get a whole lot of nookie that way. And everyone knows a nigga don't play around when it comes to nookie. But what happens when said nigga (in this case, me) gets tired of the nookie? When all he wants to do is get all love jones on a chick. Settle down. Get himself a boo and just chill...what then?
Now, don't ya'll be jumping to any conclusions now. Because I'm not saying that I want to settle down and make babies or nothing. But then again, I'm not saying that I don't. All i'm saying is that when the time does come, how do I keep the boy toy image from working against me? Ideas anyone?

Relapse: They Call Me The Corruptor

It was supposed to be simple. I go over, get her comfortable, get her naked; then bing, bang, boom, i give her the business and then out of there.
Business as usual.
I had no qualms about it. In fact, I was actually quite the expert at it and had no doubt whatsoever that things would go according to plan. Forget that I was in the worst drought of my life, (well, maybe not the worst but certainly the worst in recent memory) forget that I was a lil rusty (I needed some serious greasing and there was not a drop of alcohol in sight) and forget that this girl had a white dude for a boyfriend who she would not shut up about, (you should see her Facebook profile pic, its ridiculous) I was going to get it in.

Step 1: Going over
Was simple enough. I had never been to her place and she didn't have a phone on her but she proved quite resourceful, giving me the number of a boda guy she frequently used named Robert who I called when I reached kamokya and who drove me right up to her front door. The only zib there may have been was that the dude quite calmly and like it was the most common thing in the world asked me to pay him five thousand Uganda shillings for services rendered.
I ran a hand through my hair.
“you cant be serious.”
but he was.
I did a few quick calculations, I wasn't that broke but there was no way I was going to fork over 5k for a ride that clearly didn't deserve it. I told him I had two. After a minute or two of back and forth and a little persuasion on Bridget's side, he finally accepted the money. I handed it over and followed Bridget inside.

Step 2: Getting her comfortable
Now although she had home court advantage, the advantage was really mine. She was wearing a pair of short shorts that showed of her thighs and a blouse (without a bra) that tied at that back of the neck. A few flicks of the wrist and that baby would be gone. And so I set about the task of getting her comfortable. I made her laugh, made her dance, let my hands roam free... I pulled out all the stops but at best, it was a hit and miss. She would only let them roam so far. Too far up the thigh and she would spin away giggling, asking me what I thought I was doing.
“you know what I'm doing.” was my answer more than once.
“but I have a boyfriend.”
Pulling her down on top of me. (there was no where to sit but on the bed)
“I know, but he isn't here is he?”
But the thing was, he might as well have been. Damn friggin technology. And damn yahoo with its yahoo messenger. And damn video chatting. Damn it all to hell. Every time I thought I was getting somewhere, every time that hand reached that border between “a big maybe” and “now we're talking” there would be a quiet “bloop” and a new IM from that Greek bastard she called her boyfriend. And every time that happened any progress made would suddenly vanish and I would have to start all over again. Pish-tosh, I was beginning to think, you know what? Fuck it. If I have to work this hard for it, it obviously aint happening. But the thing is, anyone who knows me can tell you, I aint one to give up so easily.

Step 3: Getting her naked
She kept on telling me how cute I was. So cute that it scared her.
I gave her a puzzled look.
“What does that even mean?”
“what it means,” she said drawing close, “is that,” she pulled me in as if for a kiss but stopped me just one yard shy of the touch down line, “I don't trust myself with you...”
she pushed me away. Got up and went to the kitchen. It was a moment or two before she reappeared when she did she came back with two glasses of wine. The wine had been a birthday gift from that Greek bloke of hers. An hour before she had been scared to death to open it. Now she was cracking it open and putting it back with a guy who would not hesitate to take the first opportunity to take advantage of her.
“bad move.” I mused to myself. “Bad, bad move.”
All smiles i accepted the glass of wine.
After a couple of sips she set down her glass.
“I wanna go out tonight, what do you think I should wear?”
she got up and walked over to where all her clothes were hanging. I got up and followed her.
“Let's see what you've got.”
she pulled out a flowered, if my memory serves me right, pink, black and white mid thigh high dress with a black belt.
“What do you think?” she asked me, holding it up.
I told her to try it on and I would tell her exactly what I thought.
And so she did. Practically undressing right in front of me. I tried to be gentlemanly about it but couldn't help but catch a little glimpse of titty before she pulled on a bra. A little glimpse of cutchie as she slipped out of her panties and into a pair that matched her bra. I watched as my window of oppotunity closed. On came the dress and out came the makeup bag. I was losing the friggin' battle.

Step 4: Bing, bang, boom- giving her the business
I don't think I have to tell you just how easy it is to get it cracking with a girl wearing a dress. Especially a short one. And so with this in mind I decided to look at my glass as half full instead of half empty. My vigor renewing as a result.
She still tried to fight me off but there was less disdain in her voice and I could tell that I was at least a step closer than I was before.
But you want to know what the most fucked up part of it was? Through it all she was still fucking IM'ing that guy of hers. It was kinda getting on my nerves but I kept my mouth shut about it and kept my engine running. And then she started talking dirty to him.
How do I know? I was sitting right there. And boy does this girl have a dirty mind.
After a couple of minutes of trying to keep my eyes from straying to the screen, she burst out laughing.
“what?” I asked, whipping my head to look at the screen.
“He wants me to touch myself.”
she was still giggling.
“then why don't you?” I was seeing a window of opportunity beginning to open again.

Bloop.
*And make sure you close the windows first.*

I laughed with her about that one and watched as a mischievous grin crossed her face. i could tell the wine was beginning to work.
I think she surprised both of us when she slipped out of her panties and tossed them in my direction. I caught them, surprised and threw them back at her.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like i'm doing?” she asked, positioning herself in front of the laptop,
“I'm having cyber sex with my boyfriend.”
She threw me a look. “Feel free to watch.”
I watched as one hand reached for one keyboard and her other hand reached for the other...

Drama-Tox Thesis: pt1

Leave me at the corner...(remember to breathe)...leave me at the corner...(i cannot breathe)...leave me at the corner...
but she doesn't.
She never listens...She doesn't care.
She's dragging me down with her, the destination's hell.
Leave me at the corner...I try one last time. But its of no use, my fate is sealed. Death is inevitable.
She smiles. She knows there is no escape. That I know there is no escape.
But I know something that she doesn't know. There's help on the way. An intervention. One that will force her to release me. All it needs is time...




Hey Nimo, I guess now its my turn. Um, I hope you don't mind me using your name; I'm sort of just winging it here. and as for the rest of you people out there, just to make things perfectly clear; Nimo is NOT the “she” forementioned above. she's far...far from it. As a matter of fact, Nimo *hand over heart* (my sponsor, my friend) is on the same mission as I am.
And um, what mission may that be? You might ask. Well, (one swallow, two swallows, a sip from my glass of milk, one more swallow) that would be Mission: Drama-Tox of course.
Let me explain:
Considering everything thats been going on recently (and when I say “recently” I mean like the past year or so) and all of the drama that's come along with it, Ive come to the realization that although I enjoy it (and loath at the same time) its not all that healthy for me. I need to take a breather. A major one.
They say that the first step to recovery is to admit that you have a problem. Well...hi, my name is Lloyd and I'm a drama junkie. I love the high of feeling low. Of beating myself over the head for being so stupid. Of scratching my head and wondering just how the hell I'm going to get myself out of this one. And how I even got myself into it in the first place. And why.
To go into the specifics of what Ive been stupid about, what Ive been beating myself over the head about, would mean writing you a book and seeing as I'm not up to it (and I'm sure you wouldn't be up to reading it even if I was) I'm not going to waste my time. However, let's just say that it involves two individuals (yes, they are women, although I'm pretty that sure both would prefer being referred to as girls) that I care about who through my vast ingenuity, I have managed to completely alienate. With one its been a merry-go-round and with the other a swing. One makes me dizzy and the other gives me vertigo. The mixture has left me feeling...well feeling kind of disoriented.
Okay, I feel like I'm going a little of course here. And the truth is, I don't even know which course I'm supposed to be taking. Its three in the morning and I'm feeling pretty tired. Maybe its time to go to bed and try again in the morning...
yeah, I think thats what I'm going to do. So until until morning...