Not So Random Thoughts

Untitled (1 of 3)

I am your television.  I am your source of laughter, your source of pain.  I take you on breathtaking highs and emotional lows.  I make you cry.  I make you laugh.  I keep you entertained.  I sometimes even bore you.  I bring you information that you need to know, want to know, and could’ve lived without knowing.  I am your news source and your pop culture source.

You, however, are the most important thing in my television life while only doing two things:

You turn me on.

and

You turn me off.

So…

Come plug me in.  Let me work for you.

I’ve been tinkering with this 3 part story since this morning…

…you ever write something and it’s not good enough for you, so you consider it not good enough for your targeted audience, so you just trash the whole thing?

Yeah, I just did that.

Would you kindly read this post?

I’m almost 6 years late, but I can honestly say that the original Bioshock has one of, if not the best twist of the seventh generation of video game consoles.

Spoilers obviously follow.  (Hell, to be honest, I don’t know how I survived 6 years of using the Internet, playing video games, and talking to like-minded people and NOT had the twist spoiled for me, yet within 2 hours of the release of some popular movies, I’ve had the entire plot spoiled for me.  I’m looking at you, Iron Man 3.  Go figure.)

Read More

While I was in love with you…

…you were in love with the idea of me.

The idea that a man would always be in your corner.  Would always support you mentally and emotionally.  Would always be there to rub your back, kiss your collarbone, massage your scalp.  Would be there for the laughter and crying, and would even be there through all of the hesitating moments and pauses for your fears.

Yes, you were in love with that man.  That idea of a man.

But you were never in love with me.

There are no new ideas. There are only new ways of making them felt.

Future Perfect

Most times, in the conversations that I have, people like to make their future out to be better than anything else they’ve got going right now.  They feel as if their future is going to be this grandiose thing, where nothing is wrong, money flows freely from the ATM fountain, they are always happy, and everyone that they care about wins and all the people they dislike loses.

I don’t want that kind of future, nor do I pretend that it could be a reality.

My future right now isn’t a thing, per se.  It’s something that COULD be good, or it COULD be bad.  The only thing I know for certain is that I have a future.  I don’t know how long it’s going to be, but I know I have one.  Right now, I’m doing a lot of work and I’m making a lot of moves that will hopefully steer me in the right direction.

Whether or not I’m moving in the right direction… I’m moving bravely.  So while I may not want a perfect future…

…I’m striving to make my future perfect.

I want to have sex.

And not that cliché sex either.

I want to rip her clothes off. Fuck up her pants trying to take them off. Put holes in her shirt trying to pull it over her head. Throw her over my shoulder with a quick motion and slap her ass at the same time. Bite her hips as I move over to the bed and slam her down. Break her bra in the front trying to free her breasts. Use my teeth to tear her panties off and devour her yoni like it’s the sweetest, juiciest, freshest peach in the world. I want her legs clamped around my head, her ankles locked on my back as I slide my tongue so damn deep inside of her, she starts thinking I’m looking for something delicious in there. Hold her wrists down as I push myself so far inside of her that her yoni makes kissing and sucking noises. I want her to make a vacuum seal on my dick; make it so I can’t move. I want to suck on her neck, lick her collarbone, kiss her breasts, swirl my tongue on her nipples, and make her shrill my name.

I want to make sex our religion and anywhere we damn well please our church.

Coming to grips with my attractiveness.

Reblogged from shehateme-reblogs

shehateme:

And it’s a difficult road to be on.

I never looked at myself as attractive.  I was one of those guys who always felt like a woman had to get to know me first and then I could ask for the date, you know?  Like, my personality is excellent; no one can take that away from me.

But my face and body and height?  Eh.

But lately, like in the past 2 or 3 years, I’ve been told that I’m attractive/cute/handsome/etc.  Initially, I always laughed it off because I took it as a polite way of saying ‘you cool people but you’re below average in the looks department, but I’m not gonna tell you that to your face, so here’s a throwaway compliment’.

But now, there’s more and more women telling me that looks wise, I am a pretty dapper guy.  And they mean it.  And whether they know it or not, it’s a ego boost; one that I certainly appreciate.  Especially April, who thinks I’m damn good looking, and not just because she’s dating me; she thought so beforehand. 

I don’t know, I’m rambling.  I’m just trying to come to grips with my attractiveness.

No matter how ugly I think I am, someone out there likes my face.  And I’m always surprised at the type of women that do like my face: the very beautiful, the very modelesque, the very attractive in a ‘I can literally get any man on this planet’ type of women.

*sigh*

I’m workinonit, though. 

I’m still workinonit.

When I was a junior in high school, I somehow got my hands on this list that was getting passed around.  It was of all the popular boys in my school.  There was two columns; one was labeled Looks and the other was labeled Personality.  It was filled out by all of the girls in my class and of course, I had to go look at my name.  I had 10’s all through Personality.  (Of course.  I’m awesome.)

But I had a 3 in looks.

That hurt a little.  But as I got older, I realized that I carried the image of that spreadsheet around with me, so it was more than a little.  It hurt me a lot.

I say all of that to say this: it’s sometimes difficult to take a compliment on my looks, because I’m reminded of when someone else thought I wasn’t attractive.  Okay, a LOT of someone elses.  But still, I’m reminded.  And so, I ask that you don’t get upset when you give me a compliment solely on my looks and I mumble out a thank you.  I’m not used to hearing that.

This has been a post about nothing and everything.

(Untitled and unfinished writing)

The rain is cascading down the brim of my hat.

We are standing outside of her home.  She’s on the porch; she’s been asking me to join her there, but the rain is soothing.

It’s mirroring my emotions at the moment.  I’ve just been dumped.

Again.

“You ever look at your past relationships?  Play them over and over again in your head?”

She nods her head.

I grimace.  ”In all of my relationships, even the ones that weren’t ‘that serious’, I’ve been dumped.  I’m always the dumpee.  And I keep hearing the same excuse over and over again: it’s not you, it’s me.”

She starts to speak, but I stop her.  ”When I play that line back in my head, I realize that it’s true.  It’s not them… it’s me.  It’s always me.”

Stimulation.

Right now, if I were to ask you, you could come up with someone who is fine as fuck, but has the mental stimulation of a brick covered in peat moss and horseshit.  No matter how much that person makes your parts quiver/get hard/get wet/jump, their persona makes you want to choke on your own vomit for 20 minutes because you’ll have a better time doing that than you would talking to them.

I’ve met a couple.  I also see a couple here on Tumblr.  Just all out fine as shit, but they can’t keep up mentally.  Their idea of conversation is asking about why people don’t call toes ‘foot fingers’ and then sitting in awkward silence for 20 minutes before propositioning their partner for sex.

For some people, that works.  They like to feel superior to their partner.  I can’t.  I need to have someone that can keep up with me.  I’m not asking to have a MENSA conversation every day, but if I ask you about the current state of affairs, at least have something better than ‘Well, I really wouldn’t call Fitz and Olivia a state of affairs…’

They always say never judge a book by it’s cover, and in most cases, that’s true.  Just make sure that inside that pretty cover, there’s actually a book to read and not some blank pages.

“A Night To Remember” - My Junior/Senior Prom May 16th, 1998

This is inspired by Chris and Dionne’s prom stories.

On the Friday three weeks before prom, the woman who asked me out to prom told me she wouldn’t be able to go with me because she wanted to go with her boyfriend that she had just acquired earlier in the day.

I had to go home and tell my mother that I no longer had a date to prom.  For some reason, however, I didn’t tell her immediately.  I mulled over it over the weekend and on Monday, as all of the posters and streamers were being put up, I was standing at my locker talking to a classmate when she walked up.  She being Eva.

Eva was one of the most attractive juniors at my high school.  And she was at my locker.  She told me she found out that Lynne wasn’t going with me any longer and she was happy that I was free from having a date, because she wanted to go with me.

Plans I made with Lynne were now heavily edited to become plans with Eva.  I scrapped the rental car and me and my oldest brother got a limo. (I wanted to go bigger, but then I remembered The Cosby Show episode when Theo got everybody to get a helicopter and ruined the date.  So, a speedboat on the Elizabeth River was out.)  She told me she was wearing red and so I made sure my tuxedo’s cummerbund and bow-tie was red as well.  We discuss plans and ideas and things we wanted to do and just everything.  She was really excited to be going out with me…and I was just as excited about going out with her.

Fast forward to Saturday, May 16th.

My hair was cut.  My tux was sharp.  My limo was CLEAN.  Me and my brother was STYLIN’ on folks; one dude we went to school with came out of his house ready for prom, saw us, threw his hands up and said ‘Never mind!’ and went back in the house.  We were dressed to the nines.  My brother’s date had told him that she was doing some last minute preps, so she wanted us to go get Eva first and then come back and scoop her up.  Cool.  I called Eva and prepared to tell her that we would be there shortly.

No answer.

I called back after 5 minutes.

No answer.

The limo driver is getting paid by the hour and we only got him for 6 hours.  It’s already 6:25 PM… he was scheduled to leave us at midnight. He’s making money whether he’s driving or not.  So he’s just sitting there counting money while I’m counting to 10 to make sure I don’t lose my cool.  I called her back again at 6:35.

No answer.

By this time, my brother is like, look, we can go get my date and then go get Eva as planed.  No big deal.  We go to scoop his date up… and she walks out of the house looking like Jayne Kennedy.  Simply beautiful.

So, we’re in the limo on our way to get Eva.  I use the limo phone to call the house… still no answer.  My brother notices that I’m getting frustrated and keeps cracking jokes to keep me laughing… but the entire time, I’m just like:

We finally get to her house and who is pulling up at the same time?  Eva.  She JUST left the hair dresser and she needs to get dressed and put on make up.  It is now 7:30.  The dinner arrangements we had planned are canceled: we need to get to prom and soon.

Fast forward to 10:00.  We had to wait for the photographers to set up again to take our prom pictures because we arrived so late.  The food was damn near gone.  I was announced junior prom king, but because I wasn’t there to accept my award, it went to the second place guy.  The live band has announced that they are playing three more songs and then they are leaving.  I asked Eva for a dance…

…and she flatly tells me no.  She’s here to dance with her friends and that’s exactly what she’s going to do.

I go outside to catch some fresh air because I don’t want to lose it in front of the people that was left at prom and I notice that my brother is outside at the limo.  I go over to him and first he congratulates me on not winning Junior Prom King and then he tells me how his date left with her ex-boyfriend.  I look back at the convention center that our prom was winding down at and I told him let’s go.

That’s right.  I left my date at prom.

I haven’t seen her since.

That made me say fuck my Senior Prom and I didn’t go.  There is exactly ONE picture of me and Eva for prom…

…and it’s buried in my grandmother’s attic.

I hope it stays there.

Meet The Fockers

So, today was April’s birthday get together. There was plenty of food cooked; from steamed crabs to fried catfish to even grilled BBQ chicken. I helped out as much as possible, but my mind was preoccupied with one thing and one thing only:

Meeting the rest of her family.

I’ve never had a problem with meeting my significant other’s family. The last 3 times I had to do so, it was smooth sailing. They liked me; I was as personable as possible and answered all of their questions as concise as one could. I liken it to that all important 2nd interview for a job: you got the qualifications, but let’s see if you got the real personality and not that “I need a job” personality.

However, today made me feel like I was meeting the Fockers.

After meeting her mom’s close friend (who tried to call me young and school me on how to light a grill), I had to meet her aunt and uncle and cousins. Now, her uncle was cool and very old school in his approach: shake hands, tight grip, eye contact, short and to the point question and answer session, and a nod of approval. It was the other folks that attempted to have me shook. Her aunt and cousins came with an agenda, and that was to grill me to perfection. Question after question, side eye after side eye: it felt like I was in the middle of a federal interrogation. Constantly I was reminded that if I don’t treat April right, they wouldn’t hesitate to fuck me up.

I kept my composure and answered as cooily as possible. Ultimately, I had won out; with the exception of one cousin that I had met a year ago, everyone seemed to like me with her. (That one cousin doesn’t think too highly of me because she thinks I don’t look like I belong with April. She told me as much at her twin daughters’ birthday party last summer. She could’ve been joking, but a lot of truth is said in jest.). I’m just relieved that it’s over.

April had a good time, and that’s all that matters. She’s asleep right now; she had a pretty long day. I know that when I depart from here that her interrogation from them about me will begin. I’m the new topic of discussion in her family now.

They are going to make me a dead horse and then continue to beat me.

(Later, I’ll post every single question they asked me, including if I wanted to marry her and when are we having kids.)

Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence.

Every armor has a chink.

Every defense has a weakness.

Every wall has a loose brick.

Every airtight seal has a leak.

Every security has an opening.

Every code can be cracked.

Every body has a heart.

And every heart can be broken.

Home from work…

…and I’m tired.  Which is nothing new.

But this time, I’m an angry tired.  I’m a distraught tired.  Most of all, however…

…I’m a pissed tired.

This is a post about nobody and nothing and somebody and everything all at the same time.

Ignore this: it’s just to document this moment in time.

The Craving…

Read More

Super Late Night Thoughts

• I wish you were here with me.
• There is a person. Inside this person, there is a point where no words can go and no touch can reach. This point is filled with doors. These doors lead to many places—hidden places; but one door is special—one door leads to the source. This person is protected by very secure system. Every alarm triggers my emotions.  It is there, behind that one door, at that one point, where my memories and love for you resides.  You are the keymaster; only you can unlock that door.  And every time I see your face or talk to you or touch you, you unlock that door and my source… my life source… pours out of me into the world.  I miss your face.
• As funny as this may sound, it’s the truth: I realize that I don’t give my love away easy.  If you’ve earned my love, if I have given you my love, it was through very careful consideration and thought provoking dialogue with myself.  I like to think that my love is special; not everyone is deserving of it, nor should everyone have it.  If you have my love and admiration, you are certainly someone special in my life… and you shouldn’t take advantage of it.  Because that would hurt me more than anything… and when I’m hurt, I’m cunning, vile, vicious, and unrelenting.
• That’s all, really.
•