She's beautiful, and when I touch her it's magic. "I got you baby." I hear her whisper that, and I believe her. I've never had a female hold me down like this. It's so new, so fun.
I kissed her for the first time last night. We were driving from the park we spent Sunday at and I leaned over and kissed her. Her response was amazing. She had my head racing, spinning.
Gretchen has an amazing body. When my boy Curly first saw her, he wanted to know if she had a sister. Yeah, she got a sister, but I got the best one, I'm sure. She smells fantastic, all the time.
When I hold her, I feel like there is no place in the world I'd rather be. I love it when I'm inside her. My problems just melt away. I never wanna get out.
I fuckin' love my car. Gretchen, aka Bluey Twoey, is that deal.
Did I mention her fantastic headlights and that junk in her trunk?
The N*ggaview (c)
I had a phone interview this morning with Queen Anne's County, Maryland. It was scheduled at 10:00 am. The County Administrator called me at 10:14. What part of the game is that? Further, the interview concluded at 10:25 when he told me he didn't think I'd be the right fit for the position.
Why would he interview me for a position that he should have known right off that I wouldn't be a good fit for? Because, it was a n*ggaview (c), it wasn't an interview at all.
He was likely completing a checklist that required him to consider minority candidates. He had a panel interviewing the other candidates and he interviewed me himself, alone. He told me so himself. The panel ran over discussing the other candidate, that's why he was late calling me. What type of shit is that? That my friends, was a classic n*ggaview (c). I hope it doesn't happen to you.
Peace,
KZ
Monday, April 30, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
My Fuckin' Head Hurts
What's crackin' y'all? I'm getting ready to enjoy my extra long weekend. It's extra long because I took next week off. I'll be chillin' at the crib, getting fitted for my apnea machine and watching the shameless degrade themselves on TV.
I haven't been writing much this week because I'm in an especially ponderous mood. I can't snap out of it, as much as I try. I can't engage in real world (or cyber world) type joviality, as much as I try.
The one source of frustration is that we all learn everything we need to know after we most need it, especially regarding relationships. Let's say you're kickin' it with somebody. You are giving and kind, putting your best foot forward in the relationship. Yet, the person you're seeing is aloof, standoffish and generally detached. You get no satisfaction from it, so you move on.
In the next relationship you remain reserved and standoffish, hoping not to get hurt. The person you're dating is working under another set of assumptions. They are open and kind to you, perhaps adjusting for THEIR past relationship. This next relationship fails because you're treating the new person like you should have treated the first person. Lesson learned, but too fuckin' late. And you're in this cycle. "Next time, Imma do it differently." Good luck with that.
I've seen a dude scrutinize the shit out of a completely faithful woman because his last chick cheated. She broke up with him and he dated a new chick who he didn't scrutinize at all. She cheated, now he's back to the scrutiny. When's this shit gonna stop?
This shit goes on forever ad infinitum until one day you decide, I'll treat this relationship as if it's any other personal interaction. Just do it, without a predetermined set of behaviors, go into a relationship and react without a script. You might be surprised at how much more fun the relationship is.
Regards,
KZ
I haven't been writing much this week because I'm in an especially ponderous mood. I can't snap out of it, as much as I try. I can't engage in real world (or cyber world) type joviality, as much as I try.
The one source of frustration is that we all learn everything we need to know after we most need it, especially regarding relationships. Let's say you're kickin' it with somebody. You are giving and kind, putting your best foot forward in the relationship. Yet, the person you're seeing is aloof, standoffish and generally detached. You get no satisfaction from it, so you move on.
In the next relationship you remain reserved and standoffish, hoping not to get hurt. The person you're dating is working under another set of assumptions. They are open and kind to you, perhaps adjusting for THEIR past relationship. This next relationship fails because you're treating the new person like you should have treated the first person. Lesson learned, but too fuckin' late. And you're in this cycle. "Next time, Imma do it differently." Good luck with that.
I've seen a dude scrutinize the shit out of a completely faithful woman because his last chick cheated. She broke up with him and he dated a new chick who he didn't scrutinize at all. She cheated, now he's back to the scrutiny. When's this shit gonna stop?
This shit goes on forever ad infinitum until one day you decide, I'll treat this relationship as if it's any other personal interaction. Just do it, without a predetermined set of behaviors, go into a relationship and react without a script. You might be surprised at how much more fun the relationship is.
Regards,
KZ
Monday, April 16, 2007
Reading Is Accidental
I was off doing my volunteer thing this afternoon. Satan's Anus is a funny place. If your kids go to public school here, K thru 12, they go to any public college in Michigan for free. That's right, full tuition paid for. You wanna know the catch? The Black kids aren't graduating from high school. Or if they do, their grades suck. So I went to read to a class of second graders today trying to encourage them to attend college. They paired me up with this 70 year old white lady. She was pushy and cantankerous. Just what I needed. That's not even sarcasm, I needed her to take control.
We entered the classroom asking the kids what they knew about college and what they wanted to do when they grew up. They pretty much said what I thought they'd say. A lot of sports, cheerleading, hair stylists, modeling. Then they started asking questions.
"Y'all married?" "How old are you?" "You got any kids?" "Are you a wrestler?"
It's funny how these kids put me in the mind of kids I grew up with. They all looked so familiar. I found myself feeling sorry for their future selves, because I knew grown people that looked just like them. I'm answering questions and it's only like 5 girls asking me stuff. They're cheesing and giggling and shit. That's when it dawned on me that they're competing for my attention. When Emily, the lady I was partnered with said my name, they all squealed it at the same time and giggled. "Zed!" It finally happened. I'm a hottie to the prepubescent set. Now, if I was only 29 years younger...
We start reading to them and getting them to participate in the "how do you get there from here?" discussion and I start getting sized up by the little dudes.
"What do you do?" "I decide where buildings should go?" "Do you pick 'em up and move them?" he asked craning his neck dramatically to look up at me. One little fella, who looked much too big to be a second grader asked me questions about football. It was all getting a little overwhelming.
Then this girl came up to me. "You know my mama?" "What's your mother's name?" "Nikki." "Nikki what?" "Nikki Case. She's 34." "Nope." "What about Shonda Case? That's my aunt." "Nope, I don't know her either." "What about Te'Neeka Forest?" "Nope." "Yes you do! That's me!" Then she giggled and ran to sit down.
We tried to quiet the boisterous classroom down with book giveaways and wristbands, to no avail. Finally we thanked the teacher and said our goodbyes.
As I was leaving, this one little girl leaped from her seat and grabbed me by the legs, hugging me tightly. "Bye, Mr. Zed." "Bye, sweetie." I laughed as I left the room. Kids.
We entered the classroom asking the kids what they knew about college and what they wanted to do when they grew up. They pretty much said what I thought they'd say. A lot of sports, cheerleading, hair stylists, modeling. Then they started asking questions.
"Y'all married?" "How old are you?" "You got any kids?" "Are you a wrestler?"
It's funny how these kids put me in the mind of kids I grew up with. They all looked so familiar. I found myself feeling sorry for their future selves, because I knew grown people that looked just like them. I'm answering questions and it's only like 5 girls asking me stuff. They're cheesing and giggling and shit. That's when it dawned on me that they're competing for my attention. When Emily, the lady I was partnered with said my name, they all squealed it at the same time and giggled. "Zed!" It finally happened. I'm a hottie to the prepubescent set. Now, if I was only 29 years younger...
We start reading to them and getting them to participate in the "how do you get there from here?" discussion and I start getting sized up by the little dudes.
"What do you do?" "I decide where buildings should go?" "Do you pick 'em up and move them?" he asked craning his neck dramatically to look up at me. One little fella, who looked much too big to be a second grader asked me questions about football. It was all getting a little overwhelming.
Then this girl came up to me. "You know my mama?" "What's your mother's name?" "Nikki." "Nikki what?" "Nikki Case. She's 34." "Nope." "What about Shonda Case? That's my aunt." "Nope, I don't know her either." "What about Te'Neeka Forest?" "Nope." "Yes you do! That's me!" Then she giggled and ran to sit down.
We tried to quiet the boisterous classroom down with book giveaways and wristbands, to no avail. Finally we thanked the teacher and said our goodbyes.
As I was leaving, this one little girl leaped from her seat and grabbed me by the legs, hugging me tightly. "Bye, Mr. Zed." "Bye, sweetie." I laughed as I left the room. Kids.
Stay Cool,
KZ
I Didn't Even Wanna Talk About This Shit, But...
I wonder if...
Coffee mugs will get replaced by pimp chalices.
Mini vans will get ditched for massive SUVs on rims.
Paul Wall will become America's foremost orthodontist.
The canon will include Donald Goines and Karrine Stephens
Or Mary J. will heard in all of our elevators.
Shiny suits and gators will be our preferred business attire .
And stripper poles be installed at any place women congregate.
The New York Times will rhyme?
Since the most outdated and far-fetched behaviors in "rap culture" are being used as a litmus test as to what the acceptable rules of engagement are when dealing with Black people.
I wonder if...
There'll be a serious discussion on the impacts of the Iraqi war in our international relationships
Or how we solve a problem like having our children remain entralled with the lowest common denominator.
We'll be encouraged to invest more in music education to stoke the love of music our children have and expose them to more genres.
We'll be more concerned with our mental health and well being.
We'll mourn the loss of our innocence, brought upon by experience violence up close and personally.
The press will begin to seriously question an administration laden with power and still hungry for more.
I wonder because that's the shit that's happening in the hip hop I listen to, the hip hop that gets short shrift everywhere, by radio and TV, by major labels, because it's not profitable. I have to search sites like sandboxautomatic.com because record stores don't sell the shit I bang. Because it's not the shit that most white kids listen to. Since 1991 I've heard this mantra over and over: Black people might get you Gold, but white people have to get you to Platinum and beyond. That's the record business in a nutshell.
So before you start using Stepin Fetchit and Goldie as a blue print on how you speak to us, consider the muthafuckin' source.
Peace,
KZ
Coffee mugs will get replaced by pimp chalices.
Mini vans will get ditched for massive SUVs on rims.
Paul Wall will become America's foremost orthodontist.
The canon will include Donald Goines and Karrine Stephens
Or Mary J. will heard in all of our elevators.
Shiny suits and gators will be our preferred business attire .
And stripper poles be installed at any place women congregate.
The New York Times will rhyme?
Since the most outdated and far-fetched behaviors in "rap culture" are being used as a litmus test as to what the acceptable rules of engagement are when dealing with Black people.
I wonder if...
There'll be a serious discussion on the impacts of the Iraqi war in our international relationships
Or how we solve a problem like having our children remain entralled with the lowest common denominator.
We'll be encouraged to invest more in music education to stoke the love of music our children have and expose them to more genres.
We'll be more concerned with our mental health and well being.
We'll mourn the loss of our innocence, brought upon by experience violence up close and personally.
The press will begin to seriously question an administration laden with power and still hungry for more.
I wonder because that's the shit that's happening in the hip hop I listen to, the hip hop that gets short shrift everywhere, by radio and TV, by major labels, because it's not profitable. I have to search sites like sandboxautomatic.com because record stores don't sell the shit I bang. Because it's not the shit that most white kids listen to. Since 1991 I've heard this mantra over and over: Black people might get you Gold, but white people have to get you to Platinum and beyond. That's the record business in a nutshell.
So before you start using Stepin Fetchit and Goldie as a blue print on how you speak to us, consider the muthafuckin' source.
Peace,
KZ
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Friday, April 13, 2007
Napper Valley
Good morning, y'all! I hope everything's going well with you. With me? Not so much. You see last week I had a sleep study to see if I had sleep apnea. I got my results back on Tuesday and it turns out that I have a "mild" form of The Apnea. It seems I stop breathing 9 times an hour on average. I don't really see that as "mild", that shit seems "severe" to me, but what do I know? I'm just an African that barely got out of college. I leave that sort of thinking to the heavy lifters.
So anyway, I had to go back to the sleep lab last night, which I didn't mind. The sleep lab is in the Radisson, so it's a nice hotel room. Plus it's got a Sleep Number bed. By the way, my Sleep Number is 50 just in case anyone is thinking of buying me a going away present when I dip from the Anus. They attach electrodes and monitors to me while I watch cable and laugh at the hilarious antics of Z.ach Bra.ff and company on Scrubs. Those wacky cutups!
The thing that made this visit to the lab different from the other visit is that this time they were going to make me wear the device that would ostensibly alleviate the Apnea.
I tried on a variety of masks until I found the one that fit best. Then it was strapped on my face. Air was turned on and I was asked to breathe through my mouth. That shit was intolerable. I literally couldn't breathe. And when I opened my mouth to get some air, the strangulation effect was even more pronounced. I felt like I was going to die. Literally. No, I'm not being hyperbolic.
I kept calling the attendants all night. "This is not working. I'll just go home." They kept adjusting and adjusting until finally it got to a tolerable level. It felt like sleeping with a bad cold. At 5 am when they finally got sick of me waking up and complaining, they ended the sleep study. The attendant said believe it or not, when I slept, I slept well. Me? I say "Eh".
And that's what's up with me.
So anyway, I had to go back to the sleep lab last night, which I didn't mind. The sleep lab is in the Radisson, so it's a nice hotel room. Plus it's got a Sleep Number bed. By the way, my Sleep Number is 50 just in case anyone is thinking of buying me a going away present when I dip from the Anus. They attach electrodes and monitors to me while I watch cable and laugh at the hilarious antics of Z.ach Bra.ff and company on Scrubs. Those wacky cutups!
The thing that made this visit to the lab different from the other visit is that this time they were going to make me wear the device that would ostensibly alleviate the Apnea.
I tried on a variety of masks until I found the one that fit best. Then it was strapped on my face. Air was turned on and I was asked to breathe through my mouth. That shit was intolerable. I literally couldn't breathe. And when I opened my mouth to get some air, the strangulation effect was even more pronounced. I felt like I was going to die. Literally. No, I'm not being hyperbolic.
I kept calling the attendants all night. "This is not working. I'll just go home." They kept adjusting and adjusting until finally it got to a tolerable level. It felt like sleeping with a bad cold. At 5 am when they finally got sick of me waking up and complaining, they ended the sleep study. The attendant said believe it or not, when I slept, I slept well. Me? I say "Eh".
And that's what's up with me.
Be Good,
KZ
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Yellow Fever
Three: Dude, I got those pics you sent me. Outstanding!
KZ: I do my best.
3: Who is that chick?
KZ: Some internet star.
3: So, you sendin' me redbones now?
KZ: What?
3: *African* you heard me. I knew you was into light skinned chicks.
KZ: What?
3: Why you smilin'? I can hear you smilin' over the phone. I knew you was into redbones. All that pro-Black, extra militant shit you be talkin'! You just a regular ol' African!
KZ: You buggin', African!
3: I'm serious. There's extra excitement in your voice when you're talking about yellow chicks.
KZ: You basin' this on TAD?
3: Yep.
KZ: That's one chick.
3: Yep. One yellow chick.
KZ: You didn't hear this excitement when I talked about dark skinned chicks?
3: Nope.
KZ: It couldn't be the difference in the women though, right?
3: Nope. It's because she's yellow. And you sprung on her yellowness.
KZ: That's your theory?
3: That's my theory.
KZ: You gonna run with that?
3: Like a looted TV.
Peace,
KZ
KZ: I do my best.
3: Who is that chick?
KZ: Some internet star.
3: So, you sendin' me redbones now?
KZ: What?
3: *African* you heard me. I knew you was into light skinned chicks.
KZ: What?
3: Why you smilin'? I can hear you smilin' over the phone. I knew you was into redbones. All that pro-Black, extra militant shit you be talkin'! You just a regular ol' African!
KZ: You buggin', African!
3: I'm serious. There's extra excitement in your voice when you're talking about yellow chicks.
KZ: You basin' this on TAD?
3: Yep.
KZ: That's one chick.
3: Yep. One yellow chick.
KZ: You didn't hear this excitement when I talked about dark skinned chicks?
3: Nope.
KZ: It couldn't be the difference in the women though, right?
3: Nope. It's because she's yellow. And you sprung on her yellowness.
KZ: That's your theory?
3: That's my theory.
KZ: You gonna run with that?
3: Like a looted TV.
Peace,
KZ
Monday, April 09, 2007
PSB
I came back from my long weekend in the "D" pretty hyped. I had a lot of fun, even though I can't put my finger on an actual activity that I participated in, I just had fun. But that's not the reason I was hyped. It was a S.opranos return, and I don't fuck around and miss The Sopr.anos for shit. I planned my whole evening around it. It's kind of sad, I know, but it's the truth.
If there are any fans of the show reading this, I'd surely like to know what your favorite part of last night's episode was. I have a favorite that I'm sure didn't even register with anybody else.
My favorite was when Tony was getting head from Carmela. She finished and came up and said "Happy Birthday". That shit was beautiful. You know why? Because she obviously swallowed, that's why!
It's moments like those that make an African participate in PSB or Pussy Seeking Behavior. Dudes are always looking over the fence thinking about how good another cat has it. Another dude's woman swallows, or cooks, or is into role playing, or knows how to use a cattle prod. I don't know what it could be, whatever floats a dude's boat. If he ain't gettin' it at the crib, he's envious of some dude that's getting it and taking it for granted.
You gotta keep an eye out to see if your dude is afflicted with PSB. New underwear purchases, wearing cologne to the gym, absent-mindedly leaving his wedding band off all the time, hanging out with the boys until a ridiculous hour, or meticulous "manscaping" are usually pretty good indicators of PSB.
If your dude has been diagnosed with PSB, it is your duty to help him. Continuing education classes are a good start. Take that pole dancing class, learn to cook, practice your oral acumen with a banana and confectioner's sugar, whatever it takes. We are a nation afflicted. PSB can be eradicated.
If there are any fans of the show reading this, I'd surely like to know what your favorite part of last night's episode was. I have a favorite that I'm sure didn't even register with anybody else.
My favorite was when Tony was getting head from Carmela. She finished and came up and said "Happy Birthday". That shit was beautiful. You know why? Because she obviously swallowed, that's why!
It's moments like those that make an African participate in PSB or Pussy Seeking Behavior. Dudes are always looking over the fence thinking about how good another cat has it. Another dude's woman swallows, or cooks, or is into role playing, or knows how to use a cattle prod. I don't know what it could be, whatever floats a dude's boat. If he ain't gettin' it at the crib, he's envious of some dude that's getting it and taking it for granted.
You gotta keep an eye out to see if your dude is afflicted with PSB. New underwear purchases, wearing cologne to the gym, absent-mindedly leaving his wedding band off all the time, hanging out with the boys until a ridiculous hour, or meticulous "manscaping" are usually pretty good indicators of PSB.
If your dude has been diagnosed with PSB, it is your duty to help him. Continuing education classes are a good start. Take that pole dancing class, learn to cook, practice your oral acumen with a banana and confectioner's sugar, whatever it takes. We are a nation afflicted. PSB can be eradicated.
Your friend,
KZ
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Hand Job
Why does it seem like the gayer the shit you do, the more women love to see you do it? I'm not a high maintenance type of cat, which is probably part of my problem, but I really can't stand preening and moisterizing and shit, trying to reach some aesthetic ideal. I'll compromise on the little shit (aka clipping my razor sharp toenails) but the neatly edged beard and unashy knuckles grinds my gears. But since I'm going to see TAD tonight, I thought I'd do something special in her honor. In lieu of doing something extremely gay like fucking a man in the ass, I, Zedediah Zednanreh, went and got an manicure.
I sat in this plush assed spa waiting for my turn, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. After a few minutes this little blonde chick came out to get me. Her body was off the fuckin' meat hook. I think they lure muthafuckas in with that ass in the hopes they believe a cat will get a "happy ending" manicure. No such luck my friends. No matter how much money I tried to shove in her hands, the manicure was all I got.
It was actually a relaxing experience. And for the first time in months, you can't tell I ate Chee-tos a week ago by looking at my nails.
Maybe I could use a little softening up of the rougher edges. Shit, I am getting more mature. Maybe I should open up to a few more things. I don't care how much prodding I get, I draw the line at eyeliner.
I sat in this plush assed spa waiting for my turn, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. After a few minutes this little blonde chick came out to get me. Her body was off the fuckin' meat hook. I think they lure muthafuckas in with that ass in the hopes they believe a cat will get a "happy ending" manicure. No such luck my friends. No matter how much money I tried to shove in her hands, the manicure was all I got.
It was actually a relaxing experience. And for the first time in months, you can't tell I ate Chee-tos a week ago by looking at my nails.
Maybe I could use a little softening up of the rougher edges. Shit, I am getting more mature. Maybe I should open up to a few more things. I don't care how much prodding I get, I draw the line at eyeliner.
See Y'all Monday,
KZ
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
In The Big Scheme
Sometimes a muthafucka has too much time to think. I always have goo gobs of free time. Free time that I shouldn't have because I'm not following through on plans to do big shit. Most of the shit I'm thinking about is irrational and petty, but they're my thoughts so fuck what you think.
Anyway, yesterday I started thinking about "Famous Last Words", the shit I said that for all intents and purposes ended a relationship I was in. Some shit is so innocuous that you don't think about it being as toxic as it is, other shit you wish you could take back the minute you say it.
Anyway, yesterday I started thinking about "Famous Last Words", the shit I said that for all intents and purposes ended a relationship I was in. Some shit is so innocuous that you don't think about it being as toxic as it is, other shit you wish you could take back the minute you say it.
I got a million of 'em and some of 'em are so fucked up, I can't believe I actually said it.
"Maybe if you lost 20 or 30 pounds it would stay hard."
"You actin' like a hoe, just like your mama."
"That shit sound shady to me."
"I bought the tickets to this bitch and you sweatin' that *African*? You can stay here and see if he'll give you a ride home."
"You know good and damn well I'm not fuckin' her. She's too clingy."
"Yeah, good luck with that."
"Are you sure it's mine?"
"So you stayin' here both nights?"
"Damn. How old is your niece now?"
"If you think that dude is handsome, don't ever call me handsome. Your taste sucks."
"I can't believe somebody gave you a degree."
"What do you mean you never saw that movie? We saw it together!"
Yeah, I was (am) an ass. But in the big scheme of things, I think it's better that I went down the road I did. All this silly relationship shit made me who I am now.
Stay Smart,
KZ
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
The Misery
I stood outside of city commission chambers. I arrived at 6:55 for a 7:00 pm meeting, but the place was packed to the gills. The community came out in droves to beef about the EPA trying to put toxic waste in an unstable landfill in the city. The city uses well water, meaning the toxins could seep into the groundwater supply and kill us all. Boo fuckin' hoo! Cry me a river! All I know is I can't find a seat.
So as they wait to yell at the Mayor, et al, I'm standing in the hallway and I can't hear. I'm actually texting TAD and shit. Some jackass is at the podium talking and then I hear, "Is Mr. Zednanreh here?" Oh shit! I fight through the crowd. It's deep. I finally get to the podium and address the commission. I don't know the question I'm supposed to answer. Somebody is asking me questions about a parking lot for a proposed new building and the proper number of spaces. I answer, halfassedly. I don't know the answer, but fuck it, I'm the expert. They definitely don't know it, so I win.
I take my ass outside and I wait for each one of these people to yell at the commission. You see, I've got to stay until the end of the meeting, regardless of whether or not I'm needed. Because the commission may have additional questions about something one of the citizens might bring up. One at a time, the citizens yell at the commissioners about some shit the Federal Government is doing and that the commissioners can't stop. The life of a local politician. Poor delusional bastards.
As more and more people speak it starts to thin out some. And then finally I get inside the chambers. Later, I get to sit down. TAD texts me the update on the game. Fuckin' Gators. And I sit and stew. The EPA discussion is now complete and were back to the regular agenda. A project comes up that the city engineers are responsible for. Once again, the engineers' lack of people skills (sorry OneFromPhilly!!!) bites me in the ass and I'm back to the podium.
Fifteen minutes of back and forth from seven self-important muthafuckas about a project I had nothing to do with. They gotta teach me a lesson for not getting the community more involved. The engineers and sitting down, relaxed. Bastards.
Late meetings with overzealous politicians and citizens. The bullshit, the politics, the grandstanding. I can complain all I want, but I signed up for this misery.
So as they wait to yell at the Mayor, et al, I'm standing in the hallway and I can't hear. I'm actually texting TAD and shit. Some jackass is at the podium talking and then I hear, "Is Mr. Zednanreh here?" Oh shit! I fight through the crowd. It's deep. I finally get to the podium and address the commission. I don't know the question I'm supposed to answer. Somebody is asking me questions about a parking lot for a proposed new building and the proper number of spaces. I answer, halfassedly. I don't know the answer, but fuck it, I'm the expert. They definitely don't know it, so I win.
I take my ass outside and I wait for each one of these people to yell at the commission. You see, I've got to stay until the end of the meeting, regardless of whether or not I'm needed. Because the commission may have additional questions about something one of the citizens might bring up. One at a time, the citizens yell at the commissioners about some shit the Federal Government is doing and that the commissioners can't stop. The life of a local politician. Poor delusional bastards.
As more and more people speak it starts to thin out some. And then finally I get inside the chambers. Later, I get to sit down. TAD texts me the update on the game. Fuckin' Gators. And I sit and stew. The EPA discussion is now complete and were back to the regular agenda. A project comes up that the city engineers are responsible for. Once again, the engineers' lack of people skills (sorry OneFromPhilly!!!) bites me in the ass and I'm back to the podium.
Fifteen minutes of back and forth from seven self-important muthafuckas about a project I had nothing to do with. They gotta teach me a lesson for not getting the community more involved. The engineers and sitting down, relaxed. Bastards.
Late meetings with overzealous politicians and citizens. The bullshit, the politics, the grandstanding. I can complain all I want, but I signed up for this misery.
Peace,
KZ
Monday, April 02, 2007
M.yers-Brig.gs
I went to the Vice Mayor's birthday party on Friday. There were a lot of familiar faces and a lot of people I didn't know. My group of Transplants and a bunch of Dubs. It was a weird mix because basically we stuck to our own, each group. But it's always the busy social atmosphere that I can't take too much of.
So roughly the Black people were in one room talking shit, White people in another and we all came together in the kitchen. I didn't matter which group I was in the midst of, I just wanted to go home. I didn't want anybody trying to crack this carefully constructed shell. Stay out, don't try to pick my brain. You don't need to know what I do for a living and how I think about anything. We ain't cool, we won't ever be cool. This one cat was asking me if I would be interested in supporting his Black history line of t-shirts. Sure, I'd buy one, if it looks good. But this cat is looking for a business partner. I did that Black Pride t-shirt thing before I hit 24. No thank you. Now, put your hand back in your pocket.
One dude owned some rental property in the city and wondered if I'd be interested in living closer to downtown. Now I can't even stay out of everybody's way, off to the side, without being hectored to "just look" at some dude's rental property? Muthafuckas wonder why I stay at home or just out away from them for long stretches of time. My best friends in the world don't understand this, so why should strangers?
I really gotta like you to wanna spend time with you. And it's a crapshoot to whether or not I like you. There is no empirical formula. I got a friend who I used to work with who basically didn't take "Get the fuck away from me" for an answer. Now he's one of my people, but he forced himself in. I think that's the route Luther was/is trying to take.
I tried to be as inconspicuous as a 6'3" man with dredlocs can be in a small town party setting. I was in a corner eating fresh strawberries when I looked up and saw three women staring at me eat. I went outside to get some fresh air and this chick came out to discuss her fascination with R. Kelly.
I wanted to jet a few times during the evening, but the Transplants kept me there. I had to give one of them a ride home because she was toasted and she wanted to stay even longer. This socializing shit was hell on my ISTP.
So roughly the Black people were in one room talking shit, White people in another and we all came together in the kitchen. I didn't matter which group I was in the midst of, I just wanted to go home. I didn't want anybody trying to crack this carefully constructed shell. Stay out, don't try to pick my brain. You don't need to know what I do for a living and how I think about anything. We ain't cool, we won't ever be cool. This one cat was asking me if I would be interested in supporting his Black history line of t-shirts. Sure, I'd buy one, if it looks good. But this cat is looking for a business partner. I did that Black Pride t-shirt thing before I hit 24. No thank you. Now, put your hand back in your pocket.
One dude owned some rental property in the city and wondered if I'd be interested in living closer to downtown. Now I can't even stay out of everybody's way, off to the side, without being hectored to "just look" at some dude's rental property? Muthafuckas wonder why I stay at home or just out away from them for long stretches of time. My best friends in the world don't understand this, so why should strangers?
I really gotta like you to wanna spend time with you. And it's a crapshoot to whether or not I like you. There is no empirical formula. I got a friend who I used to work with who basically didn't take "Get the fuck away from me" for an answer. Now he's one of my people, but he forced himself in. I think that's the route Luther was/is trying to take.
I tried to be as inconspicuous as a 6'3" man with dredlocs can be in a small town party setting. I was in a corner eating fresh strawberries when I looked up and saw three women staring at me eat. I went outside to get some fresh air and this chick came out to discuss her fascination with R. Kelly.
I wanted to jet a few times during the evening, but the Transplants kept me there. I had to give one of them a ride home because she was toasted and she wanted to stay even longer. This socializing shit was hell on my ISTP.
Easy,
KZ
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