Postcard From The Edge

One for the trouble, two for pussy and foreign carz....

What up, kids? It's ya boy, Uncle Zed, the future of the funk.

Well, I've been in Florida since Saturday. The weather hasn't been ideal and the family is on my gotdamn nerves, but I've tried to relax in between the bullshit.

The high point of this trip has been meeting my brother's kids. I've sent them presents and talked to them on the phone, but this was the first time I got to meet them. The kids are 6 (the twins) and 5. All three of them are the best thing he's ever done. Quite honestly, I think he was lucky to have a babymother like her. That cat has a substance abuse problem. Before that, he had a kindness abuse problem. Fuckin' idiot.

My nephew Bugaboo, my sister's son, is quite possibly high strung, or quite probably an asshole in training. Four years old and he's a prodigy at getting his ass whupped.

I think I've witnessed the last year of innocence and sweetness from my niece. Next year she's going to be a teenager.

My cousins and my brother in law, ProSocial, have been steppin' up the game as far as the drinking goes. I promise you, the next vacation I take will be a REAL ONE. An entire week, with no family. I can't take this shit as my only vacation stops every year. I'll fuckin' pay to relax.

I'm leaving Florida tomorrow and I'll be hangin' in Detroit for a couple of days. I'll talk to y'all then.

Peace,
KZ

Large Professor

"I'm comin home to you, wear something see-through, so I can see your heart/For night can never come soon enough for me/I watch the sky all day" - Raphael Saadiq, "Still Ray"

Time can't pass quickly enough. I wanna go. My boss took off today, so I gotta be at the office until 5:00 just in case some shit rolls downhill. I need a fuckin' break from this place for real. I know I just got back, but shit, I need a real break. No sessions, no classes, no lectures, just relaxing. The truth of the matter is, I need a break that doesn't involve seeing my family.

Every vacation I've taken since I got here has involved my family. That's not a stress free environment. I love 'em, but it becomes the fuckin' inquisition. No question is off limits. Not one. I'm a private dude, outside of tellin' y'all all my biz, I don't talk about myself to people just for shits and giggles. It's intrusive as all hell.

Right now, anything is better than sitting in this office while a parade of disgruntled fuck heads traipse through my door. "You're sick and tired? Try listening to your ass!" To bring back one of my favorite old phrases, these muthafuckas can suck a fat baby's dick.

I'm looking at the front door so tough, I must think I can mentally teleport the fuck up outta here.

I hope all of you enjoy yourselves this holiday season. I'll be holding down the Sunshine State for a minute, eating crabs and hopefully not catchin' 'em! I'm bringing the laptop, so I'll post when I can.

Stay Real,
KZ

This Week On The Phone

Monday
KZ: I really would've done right by her.
Slish: What about the distance.
KZ: I would've made it work. I would've found a way.
Slish: You think so?
KZ: Who knows. Fuck it.

Tuesday
Meli: You ready to see your girlfriend?
KZ: I don't have a girlfriend. And if she ever heard you say that shit, it would make me look like I was lying about the nature of our relationship.
Meli: African, that's your girlfriend.
KZ: I'm serious, don't say that shit. If she meets you, I'll be fucked if you say that. If she went on a date tonight, I couldn't say shit about it. That's not a girlfriend.
Meli: So you don't think she likes you.
KZ: I think she likes me like she likes the mildly retarded boy who works in the mailroom. I'm a nice, harmless dude. Does she like me, like me? I can't let myself believe that shit. It's presumptuous.
Meli: You are a fucking idiot.

Wednesday
KZ: I just thought of something. If we're 36, that means Santa Black* is 40.
Three: Damn, that's right! Santa Black is 40!
KZ: Are you old yet?
3: Oh, hell yeah. I was thinking about this the other day. I think I'mma off myself at 39. I don't know if I can take 40.
KZ: If you need help, I'll pull the trigger, word to muhvuh.
3: If you take me out, who's gonna take you out?
KZ: Father Time.

Stay Cool,
KZ

*Santa Black was one of the members of me and Three's clique in college. One of the coolest cats you'd ever wanna know. He called himself alternately Santa Black and Saint Ni.gga. We asked him why and he said "Cuz I'm young, Black and gifted." He was in grad school getting his PhD in Physics when we were still in undergrad. We haven't been in contact with him since 1996.

Bee Mee...

for just one day. Step into my shoes and I swear, you'll never wish for anything like it again.

We got this super disgruntled, delusional cat. He's pissed. Always. "Clocktower" as I'll call him, is always ready to blow. Everyone in his classification is in cubicles. He keeps "demanding" an office. He complains about being underappreciated and overworked. Clocktower pushed that overworked angle so much, that his supervisor started looking for ways to move some of his work to other people. That was Clocktower's mistake.

Clocktower had been making up phony appointments, leaving the office and was always gone for hours. How do I know the appointments were phony? Because each appointment he made should have had a subsequent report associated with it, whether something was actually done or not. For months, only 1/8th of the shit he's done has had reports associated with them. Let me go back further: for at least TWO YEARS only 1/8 of the shit he's done has had reports associated with them. The kicker is no one would have ever checked if he had just shut the fuck up.

We set up an appointment for today to basically suspend this muthafucka. He goes into panic mode and sends us all (management) an email saying "I'm tired of being singled out and nitpicked. This is a prime example of management cornering a good employee and trying to make him miserable through micro-management." Right, muthafucka.

So now he's going over to the union heads to stave off his execution. And the fucked up part is HR will probably cave and that muthafucka will have a long fuckin' career here in Satan's Anus. I got a gaggle of half-assers up in this bitch. Clocktower is just the latest example.

Be Easy,
KZ

The Vacants

When one is shopping for real estate, a person has definite ideas about what suits them. For most, it's location, location, location. Thoughts eventually turn to appealing features, what makes the property unique. How's the exterior? What's the interior like? Usually if either of these things is not up to snuff, you either move on or you consider the property a project. A place you'll be working on for awhile to make it livable.

Sometimes you wonder how anyone could ever leave prime real estate like this. How could somebody not see the value in this property?

You could live near a property for years and see constant turnover, people moving in and out all the time. By all accounts, the place is beautiful. It's a nice place to visit, but not to live. It's just something about the place that doesn't feel comfortable and never will.

No matter how much money and time you put into the place, it's destined to be vacant. It's getting older and older, the curb appeal ain't what it used to be, the interior was poorly thought out. Sometimes it's time to bulldoze and start over. It's not worth the money or time you'd have to invest.

Sometimes you just gotta let some other cat get his "caveat emptor" on while you wash your hands of it.

Whatever the case, you gotta know some property should remain vacant.

KZ

...And You Will Know Me By The Power Of My Thrust...

Easy, people! What's what? I'm in the office digging myself out from under every email under the sun. I got somebody calling me as a reference for LoLo on my voicemail and my staff is half awake, waiting on the holidays to arrive.

Should I get them anything for Christmas? I'm a pretty half assed boss, sittin' around blogging and whatnot. They cover my non-attentive ass quite a bit. So I'm figuring I should be trying to give them some small token of my appreciation. I just don't know what it should be.

I was walking around the mall on Saturday trying to shop for my parents when I ran into "Susan". Susan and her sister work for the City. I can't remember what I called her before, but Susan one of the people that introduced me to that bland chick, her cousin. When I saw her she was with her husband. She said "Hey Gordon, this is the guy I introduced to Blandette." He had a knowing smile on his face when he shook my hand. "Pleased to meet you" he said as he smirked. Everybody gets a kick outta the idea of that "break even" chick on my arm.

This week is a study in paradox. I'm extra nervous about flying to Tampa so I'm dreading Saturday. But I'm anxious to see T.A.D., so I can't wait for Friday to get here.

It's supposed to be rainy the whole week I'm in Tampa. I hope it's that Florida rain (quick!) and not like that Midwest rain (lingering!).

Peace,
KZ

Crib Notes

Ahhh, New Orleans. When I first arrived I questioned the emotional elasticity of the residents to such a horrific event. I was still questioning it when I left. It was the elephant in the room when I rode in the cab to the hotel my first day there. I was quiet and the cab driver was quiet. I wanted to ask about the Hurricane, but I'm sure they had to be exhausted talking about it. It permeated the city.

When the cabdriver finally talked about it, he pointed out the particulars, the "wheres" and "to what extents". I didn't know how to register it. I still don't.

When I was out in the community talking with residents, I got a lot of venom. I understood it, no matter how misplaced. I looked like I was taking pictures and fucking with them. The people on my team, the group of people from the conference that were talking about neighborhood revitalization, were all out being nosy do-gooder muthafuckas. It was a mostly white group that I was in. When this old cat told me I oughta get the fuck away from there, I already wanted to.

Muthafuckas was tired, man. I was tired too. At first drinkin' to be drinkin', and then like I was asking somebody, what if your livelihood depended on acting happy when you weren't? After I thought about it for a minute, I realized it does. So that had me continuing to drink.

I met a lot of cool people from around the country: Spartansburg, New Haven, San Jose, Nashville, Pueblo, Opalinka, Seattle, Louisville, Columbus, Chicago, Miami. A bunch of knowledgeable drunkards.

A lot of people were not so cool. There was a real stuck up contingency at the conference, broads mostly. I understand that, I guess. There's a real "lack of pussy" type smell I'm giving off. They front now, but if I was to shove "Big Fred" up in 'em, they'd be chasing my truck like Rerun during the opening credits of "What's Happenin'?"

Actually they got much better when they saw me with other women in the conference. They got chatty as fuck. Why do chicks do that shit?

I can't say I learned anything at the conference, but I gotta take a test on the principals taught. I learned one thing they didn't teach. These are the last days of this Bodhisattva shit. I'mma about to leave y'all to y'all own devices.

I gotta get over this seafood jones, man. It ain't the same in Satan's Anus.

Peace,
KZ

Dominoes

I appreciate all the birthday wishes that were sent to me via email and text. Y'all are all right. Most of y'all, anyway.*

My Second Home

Oh my gosh, there is so much to talk about. I'm telling you, even in my most boring days, there is never a dull moment.

Let me just say first that I may have alcohol poisoning. If I don't, I probably will by tomorrow. We have had training sessions at daiquiri bars. I start drinking daily around 4:00 pm and don't stop until morning. This shit ain't healthy.

I know I'm O.D.in' on seafood. I eat seafood at every meal. Prawns the size of a baby's head. Yesterday I was slurpin' down raw oysters like Da Brat at a Missy Elliott pajama party. I've never eaten raw oysters before. This shit is a form of mass hypnosis, every idiot from out of town walking around drunk as fuck.

The best part about this thing is it is essentially a Black conference. It's as evenly mixed as I've ever been to for something that's not specifically Black oriented. That's the fun shit.

I took a pic of this chick and afterwards she told me I should've asked permission. I say it's easier to ask forgiveness.

You're walking around half fuckin' naked on a public street. Welcome to the internet, you $2 Mudwhore!

I got one more day to try to kill myself with undercooked seafood in a bacteria infested mold breeding ground that smells funny. I'mma make the most of it.

*I got an email from one of my ex-readers. She told me that I'm acting funny nowadays because people read my blog and I think I'm popular. I apparently wasn't so ready to blow her off when I only had 3 commenters. She also told me that she thought I was cooler than that.

Dear reader, you're wrong about many things. I'm the same asshole I always was. I don't give a fuck who reads my blog. Believe me, I don't give a fuck. I started this blog because Robyn thought it would be an outlet for my goofy train of thought. If she stops reading, I might quit. I know I'm not popular. Popular muthafuckas translate blog traffic into pussy. I got no such luck. People send me emails all time that are extremely critical. They can feel free to move on. And oh yeah, I'm not cooler than that. I'm petty and bitter. I don't get un-pissed off.

Stay Solid,
KZ

Melange

Pre Birthday Fortune

Peace,
KZ

Mathematics

By the next time I post, I will have had a birthday. I'll be ending my 36th trip around the sun. I know what you're saying, aside from "gotdamn, you gettin' up there!". You're saying "who gives a fuck?". I completely understand. Fuck your birthday, too! Allow me a moment to ride my own dick, won't you?

On 12/10/1970 in Detroit, Michigan, Marilyn Zednanreh gave birth to a beast. A muthafuckin' animal with a voracious appetite and an unquenchable thirst for knowing the trivial. Improperly instructed and miseducated completely, he ambled his way to a party school and graduated at the bottom of his class, after seven years with only a bachelor's degree. He went on to wallow in the troughs of inadequacy until he became the man you see before you today, King of the Molehill, Mister Mediocrity.

On Sunday, I will be at the age where if I had a child on the day I legally became an adult, that child now would be an adult. That's grown fa real.

18x2=36. Until you're at least 36, I'm twice the man you are! (I'm just fuckin' wit' ya, Mack).

In other math related news, what's one big Black man times (in parentheses) one frightened white woman, plus one all white management staff divided by one big Black man? Give up? Well the math heads know that the two big Black men cancel each other out, so all we have left is fear and power. Feel me? Long story short, this cat is fucked. Sorry, Fuck-o, I tried.

Bloggers plus goodwill divided by lies = Current fucked up situation.

Stay True,
KZ

Hard

Ahhh! The blog is bubblin' today, Africans. Everybody is so full of vim and vigor, SO FULL OF LIFE!!! LOL! Oh shit, my side is hurting!

But seriously folks, what it be like? What have we learned today? This shit is faker than lesbian dicks. Read cautiously and remember we don't know what we don't know.

On to my daily essay: After the love is gone.

Most men (pimps excluded), have a hard time seeing a woman in distress. More specifically, they hate to see women cry. Men alter their behavior, apologize even when they believe they're right, and generally kow-tow to a crying woman. It's what we do. But when you're done with a chick, you're done. And there's nothing she can do to bring that soft spot you had in your heart back.

I always know the relationship is finished when I can look at my chick cry and all I think is "shut the fuck up and wipe your face". It takes a while for me to get to that point, but when I'm there, there's no turning back. I've watched every relationship I've had deteriorate to that point.

I'm a dude who's often admonished for not having a feminine side. No matter how much I feel for a woman internally, I don't often show it externally. But crying, that's the exception. I go out of my way to comfort a crying woman, trying everything I can. The day I can look at a woman crying and walk away, she or I should be packing our bags.

I reached that point with my ex-wife about six months into the marriage. I fought like hell to get back to the place where I gave a fuck. No such luck.

So when I'm on the phone and a woman starts crying and I say "Look, I'll talk to you later", I'm advising her that she should be packing those "emotional bags".

Stay Cool,
KZ

Unwarranted

"Unwarranted" is fast becoming one of my favorite words. In my line of work, there are certain buzzwords that professionals in the field always use to express certain ideas. We talk in terms of feasibility, scale, appropriateness, and aesthetics. In certain firms doing the same type of work, some words come up more often. In Detroit, we'd talk about "access", a euphemism for affordability. "The price points for that project make it inaccessible". In my current workplace, the word is "unwarranted". It's a euphemism for blowing off your stupid idea. "The placing of gun turrets on City Hall is unwarranted. Who wants to terrorize Satan's Anus?"

The basis of me even thinking about this word is the attention I get from people who wanna put me up on something. How often does this happen to you? Someone of very limited intelligence trying to, as we used to say, drop knowledge on you? It seems like it happens to me once a day.
"You know them big semi trucks? They be callin' 'em 18 wheelers cuz they be havin' 18 wheels. Ain't that a trip?" That's where I get to slip my new favorite word in. "In the big scheme of things, this discussion is unwarranted." And I get to walk away.

I've talked about this before, I think, but who really likes a kiss up? Co-workers hate kiss ups and behind closed doors, managers hate kiss ups. Kiss ups probably fuckin' hate themselves. Not me, though. Kiss ups let me use my favorite word. "The time and attention you're giving to make me comfortable is unwarranted. Work on something else." Ahhhh! That shit's like yoga.

Peace,
KZ

The Day Is Made

I'm online trying to check out stuff to do next week on my business trip to New Orleans. I've been half-assing all day, doing crosswords and reading political articles and shit. My boss comes into my office. "Can I see you for a second?" He has a blank look on his face.

The Director is a funny dude. Unreadable in most cases. You know how it is when you've done a ton of shit wrong and you're not sure which thing it is you got caught doing? Is it all the long distance phone calls? Is it the internet time? Shit, is it the blog? I'm tensing up.

He begins. "I was just over at HR." He's speaking slowing and he pulls a sheet of paper from a manila envelope. I'm sitting there like "FUCK!!! Online log!" I'm trying to look cool.

"It seems that when you were hired, HR made a mistake." Yeah, I lied a lot on my resume. And yeah, I was convicted of getting head in a public park when I said I hadn't had a felony OR misdemeanor conviction. Which thing am I getting busted for?

"HR forgot to figure in the three years of supervisory experience you had prior to your stint at the City of Detroit when they made you an offer. The City of Satan's Anus has been underpaying you."

I laughed. "Really?" I replied. Underpaying me for blogging? Surfing? Calling my friends?

He said "You just got yourself a $4,000 raise in time for Christmas. Congratulations!"

Today I'm smiling.

KZ

When The Pot Boils Over

So I'm at the crib on Saturday and I get a call reminding me that it's Karen's birthday party. Karen is one of the women from the group that keeps me sane here in SA. She's been nothing but cool so I'm definitely gonna make the gig. One problem: It's at the Vice Mayor's crib.

I picked up one of the other women from the group that lives near me and we go to the little get together. It's very small, only seven of us in total. We lost one member that moved away. I'm in the living room and I hear a shout from the kitchen. It's the Vice Mayor. "Come on back here and say 'what's up'!" To quote my friends from Mobb Deep, "the bitch called, my blood curdled".

I walked back there, warily. "What up, dude." I said it just that flat. He's consistent in his soft ass ways, trying to give me a hug. Not a man hug, mind you, the one armed thing we do, but a bitch hug. I used to give him the benefit of the doubt for being a corny ass, now I just give him the benefit of liking dick. I do what I always do, pat that cat on the back and stay clear. Who the fuck wants to give a man a "dick touching" hug?

I immediately start drinking, reminding myself that Karen wanted me to be there. So somehow, as the night moves forward, I become the center of attention. I'm the guy that is regularly a "no-show" because of something else I have going on, frat business or "frat business" or something. They start talking about my abysmal dating record and I tell them Slish's favorite story.

They're having a good ol' time at my expense when the VM says "See that's what happens when you start chasing these women." He's steadily piling up evidence that he's a dick-monger. I think it was a combination of the alcohol and the comment that made me snap.

"Muthafucka, why'd you throw me under the bus?" "Hunh?" "This fuckin' report I gotta do for the muthafuckin' city council and shit. It was your doing. That's was fucked up shit. Why the fuck didn't you just call me and ask me for the information. Why the fuck did you ask my boss for it? You shitted on my fuckin' weekend is what you did!"

Everybody in the room is quiet and looking at me. I'm looking at each of 'em then I look back at the VM, who's now actively trying to laugh it off. "Man, it's no big deal. Don't sweat it."

"Oh, I ain't sweatin' it. Y'all will get what you get." I tossed back the rest of my drink and went for more. I knew I'd tore my ass on this one, but I was gonna enjoy the weekend, regardless.

Be Easy,
KZ

That Kind Of Day

We had a pretty heavy snow overnight. When I left home this morning, I drove downhill to a busy intersection. Since the light was red for me I hit the breaks. The truck continued sliding into the intersection and into oncoming traffic. I turned the wheel to stop my forward progress and began to spin around. When the truck finally came to a stop, I put it into 4 wheel drive and headed towards work. The day couldn't get worse, right?

The first thing that happens when I came in was that my boss had just left a meeting with the City Council. They had an issue with this thing that I proposed. The Vice Mayor, that's right, the Vice Mayor, the Black dude that's always trying to get me to hang out, threw me under the bus. That muthafucka pressed the issue so that I gotta make a full fledged and detailed presentation to the Council on Monday. Today is fuckin' Friday and I gotta prepare all this analysis and shit by Monday. I knew that fuckin' Vice Mayor was gay!

Second is that the union rep, a Black dude, sent out a email to one of my managers and some staff threatening a work slow down/stoppage situation if he didn't get his way on some shit. The way he worded it (badly!), it looked like he was physically threatening one of his co-workers, a white woman. You know what happened next. The director and all the managers are trying to build a case against this muthafucka to get him out. This cat hates me, but if he only knew I'm the only muthafucka behind closed doors fighting for his simple ass.

Everything in the city is closing down because of the snowfall and I gotta be here all weekend because of frat business.

Aaaarrrggggghhhhhh!!!

KZ