The Now and Then Meme

Ten years ago today, it was August 1, 1996. I was two years out of college. I just became a supervisor of eight people at my gig. That was some scary shit for me, the college fuck-up. I was finishing the first year of a relationship with the woman I would later marry.

1) How old were you?
THEN: 25
NOW: 35

2) Where did you work?
THEN: The Southeast Michigan Council of Governments
NOW: The City of Satan's Anus, MI

3) Where did you live?
THEN: Lathrup Village, MI
NOW: Satan's Anus

4) How was your hairstyle?
THEN: Afro, perpetually uncombed
NOW: Locs

5) Did you wear contacts?
THEN:No
NOW: No

6) Did you wear glasses?
THEN: For reading
NOW: For reading

8) Which of your pets were still alive?
THEN: No pets
NOW: No pets

9) Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend?
THEN: Katherine
NOW: None.

10) Who was your celebrity crush?
THEN: Halle Berry
NOW: None. I hate flaky Hollywood hoes.

11) How many piercings did you have?
THEN: 2 in my left ear
NOW: I guess 2 in my left ear. I haven't worn an earring in years

12) How many tattoos did you have?
THEN: None
NOW: None

13) What was your favorite band/singer?
THEN: De La Soul, A Tribe Called Quest
NOW: De La Soul, Little Brother

14) Had you smoked a cigarette?
THEN: Yep. Swisher Sweets mainly.
NOW: Yep. Djarums Black clove cigs

15) Had you gotten drunk?
THEN: Oh yeah. I had one of my most infamous episodes. I came home drunk and I was still living with my parents. I started to earl and I went to the bathroom passed out. When I woke up, my mother was holding my head. That was some embarassing shit.
NOW: I don't drink nearly as much

16) What kind of car did you drive?
THEN: 1993 Suzuki Sidekick. I drove that little muthafucka right at the dawn of the ubertrucks. I saw a gang of little bastards driving Lincoln Navis and my big ass was driving this little truck. It was humiliating, but I wasn't making shit!
NOW: 2000 Chevy Tahoe. My Bluey, the Blue Bomba, Bomba Mama.

17) Looking back, are you where you thought you would be in 2006?
I thought I'd be dead. I'm not joking. I thought I'd be dead. I thought the world would end in 1999, so I wanted to accomplish as much as I could by the time I died.

KZ

Grand Draggin'

It took the strength of two Hercules' and 5 elephants for me to rise out of the sack this morning. Which means it was either a good weekend or one that was deemed too short. Or it was the dread of coming into this mausoleum. I think it was the just the latter.

The weekend was cool. They gave me a delivery window of 11 am to 2pm on Saturday, so I thought I was in for a long day of waiting. They got to my house at 10:50 am. That never would've happened in Detroit, that I know for sure.

I was entertaining an "import" this weekend too, so I got to actually use the couch. Very carefully, though. I hadn't Scotchgarded it yet. I wonder if this is the downside of my infamous sex drive. She actually had to ask me for it. It's not like it's been pouring in for me, but she actually had to ask for it. Left to my own devices, I wouldn't have touched her. What the fuck is wrong with me?

You know the fourth post I ever wrote was concerning my bitch ass assistant. Here it is for the curious. I came into work heated, ready to slice this bitch muthafucka up. He was on his way to a meeting. I told him "It's important that I talk to you. Come see me when you're done." Just to put something on his fuckin' mind.

I checked out Satan's Anus' Black Arts Fair. Let's just say it's a slight downgrade from the African World Festival in the Motor City. If you used your fingers and your toes, you'd still have digits left over after counting the booths. Even if you lost a foot in a landmine accident.

I saw quite a few tremendous broads there, ones I'd never seen before. Just like every other outstanding chick I've seen in SA, every one of 'em was matrimonied up. Job satisfaction plus the female factor has got my ass down.

My leasing office called me on Sunday to let me know my lease was up on July 31. "I'll re-up. But I need a clause in there that lets me out if I find a job more than 50 miles away." It shall be done.

Peace,
KZ

P.S. Notice that I still don't really have shit to talk about. Hopefully this "white cloud" will stop following me and I can write again.

I Really Don't Have Anything To Write About

I can write about these secretaries snitching on each other all day every day, but that's been said. I can talk about the vast network of House Africans in Satan's Anus, but that's not cool. I wish there was an easy meme out there to do just to fill the space, but I don't see an EASY one that I haven't already done. This is the shit all topical writers must face at some point. How do you not talk about the same shit ad nauseum? So...let's see what's going on in my life....

I bought a couch yesterday, so that's somethin', right? They'll be delivering it Saturday. So finally I'll be pretty well furnished. And starting today is the Black Arts Festival, which consists of around 3 booths, so hey, that's somethin', right? I'm supposed to go over for a short look at the facilities this afternoon with Auntie Anita. I'll take it in full fledged tomorrow after they deliver the couch.

And I'm preparing for NYC next weekend. I'm in that weird place I go to before I have to fly somewhere. I hate flying, so even short flights upset the hell out of me. I even considered the train at one point. 13 hours on a train or 2 hours on a plane? I'm nervous, but I guess not nervous enough to shit away 11 hours.

How come I'm not doing shit? Haven't done shit for a week, my boss asks me to go to this meeting this afternoon and I'm livid. I'm kinda like "How dare this muthafucka ask me to do anything?".

My assistant begged me for the opportunity to get some supervisory experience. He's around 50 and his only supervisory experience was about 30 years ago. So I decided to let him supervise the secretaries. He told HR that he wanted more money because he was going to be supervising. Guess what? I snatched the supervision duties and gave 'em back to the dude that had 'em. Now you gets no experience and no loot. Jackass.

That's about it.

Stay Dry (except when you're supposed to be wet),
KZ

I'm A Little Off

I don't have shit to talk about, so I'll continue talking about nothing.

Stupid shit that makes me laugh and I can't explain why:

My boy Brundlefly's impression of Wilfred Brimley

Hood cats trying to say the word "ambulance"

Kids getting whupped

Garage sales

Commercials where age-old icons are made to be hip

My boy Hut's impression of Dorothy from the Golden Girls

That scene in O Brother Where Art Thou where George Clooney is getting his ass kicked

That old LL Cool J poster where he's trying to look hard in a TROOP jacket



"The Big Ragoo" (Carmine) from Laverne and Shirley.





My boy Three's impression of a chick coming home from the club.

Yossarian from Catch-22

Moe slapping the shit out of Shemp (for some reason only Shemp)

Burt Reynolds slapping the shit out of Dom DeLuise

The memory of my boy KRS breaking his foot while we were dancing with these girls freshman year

Dudes named Lonnie

The battle cry for old school Fruit Islands Cereal ("A-yumma-yumma")


One,
KZ

"How Come You Ain't Call Me?"

"I hate movies with subtitles."

"I'm a vegetarian, except for fish, chicken and bacon."

"Jazz makes me sleepy."

"I ain't putting that in my mouth. That's nasty."

"You always readin'. What for?"

"Un-uhn! You crazy!"

"That's too much porn."

"I only eat that with gravy."

"Oooh, turn that up! That's my jam!" ("seat dancing" ensues)

"Me and dat African used to get fucked up together."

"...so I had the second baby to get him back."

"My favorite movie is Fatal Attraction."

"You've just never heard real good preachin' before. Come to my church and you'll see."

"What's the quickest you ever fell in love?"

"It don't taste right without pork."

"Bartender, I can't taste the liquor. Can you put more liquor in this?"

"I love shrimps!"

"Even though he stabbed my last boyfriend, we wuz still cool. You know, for the kids."

"I'm a ride or die chick!"

"What's going on now?" (during a football game)

"I almost got double promoted, too. My mama wouldn't let them."

"Buy me ____________."

Blogging For Blogging's Sake

I bought a table and two chairs on Saturday, so I'm no longer trifling. I have a place to eat. Next one down, the couch. I'm extra reluctant to buy it because the more heavy shit I get, the less likely I am to fuckin' move. I'm that lazy.

They had the "Taste of Satan's Anus" festival here this weekend, and it was as delicious as it sounds! My favorite thing was the cheesecake on a stick. Next weekend, the Black Arts Fair. I was supposed to go to the Michigan State Black Alumni picnic next weekend, but I squashed that. The chance of crossing paths with my past, especially my recent past, all at the same time isn't that appealing. It seems like a preponderance of the women I used to see graduated from Michigan State, even if it was 10 years after me.

I ran into one of the women that is holding me down, Lynn, yesterday at the bookstore. This woman is tight, tight, tight. I've never tried to step because one of the other dudes in our little transplant group was trying to mess with her. She was wearing these little khaki shorts and shit, and she's got these brown locs, and these green eyes and shit. So I talked to her for a second, then I went to get some coffee. I saw her leave and I regretted not asking her out. I drove around a little, running errands, and I decided to call and ask her out to the movies. She was in the middle of a discussion with one of the transplants (the dude who's getting at her) and a terrible family situation involving this. Bad situation, worse timing. I'll catch her some other time.

Some old cat told me once, "If you wanna live on the best coast, you betta come to the west coast." I'm starting to believe that might be true.

Peace,
KZ

Ode To Shaniqua

I've been reflecting on a few things lately, primarily brought about by So Wise Sista's post on training for decorum in corporate America. There are two general schools of thought on this subject: Conform muthafuckas, it's their game, play by their rules or; fuck that, we shouldn't have to play that fuckin' game exactly to their specifications if we're still professional.

I am pretty much in line with the latter opinion. If one is about their business, clean, timely (yeah, I know), knowledgeable, and willing to learn, the sky should be the limit.

I've heard the argument that even white people have to conform to the dictates of corporate America, and that's a true fact. You can't have a fuckin' mohawk or even a fauxhawk steppin' through Wall Street. Purple hair, multiple facial piercings, none of that.

But the shit they ask Black people to tone down isn't even extreme. A Black woman with braids has to deal with comments about having "ethnic" hair. I remember being a sixteen year old intern with Michigan Bell (Pre-Ameritech, pre-SBC. That's how old I am!!!) and being pulled aside by this brother with a shoulder length jheri curl and told I should have a more conformist hairstyle. This is when I had a high top fade. I guess I'm just a hairstyle rebel.

But my thoughts have been going a little deeper. I think about how much names like LaShaun, Keisha, D'Marcus, Earlando, and the much maligned Shaniqua upset the Black bourgeois and a lot of white people. I honestly can't think of any names that are more American.

These names are the by product of a uniquely American situation, the "peculiar institution". A mass of people, saddled with surnames that don't mean anything to us. The names we chose to give our children, however made up and "unconventional" get ridiculed. I'm not talking about naming your children after fuckin' products you'd like to own. I'm just talking about hybrid names or just shit you'd like to hear roll off your tongue, whatever the fuck they are, without regard to "who's not gonna hire my child".

The reality is, we are raising a generation of cannon fodder for the capitalist machine. We are making sure that are kids are able to "work for somebody" by giving them a "standard" name. We can think bigger than this. We can do better. I know I don't want to raise a child so fearful of their ability to be a leader that they make all of their choices based on what's acceptable to society at large, where their importance is minimal.

I hope one day we can stop being so slave-minded.

Be Easy,
KZ

Humor

Email I received from one of the secretaries

Everyone might not be a Jay Leno fan, but I think this quote pretty much
hits the nail on the head. The quote of the month is by Jay
Leno:

With hurricanes, tornadoes, fires out of control, mud slides, flooding, severe thunderstorms tearing up the country from one end to another, and with the threat of bird flu and terrorist attacks, "Are we sure this is a good time to take God out of the Pledge of Allegiance?"

For those that prefer to think that God is not watching over us...go ahead and delete this. For the rest of us.....pass this on.

A few things struck me: 1) Is taking "God" out of the Pledge of Allegiance still even in the news? 2) Why are you so pressed about the Pledge of Allegiance, House African? 3) Stop playin' God like your personal Tiki doll. "If you don't love God, delete this email!!!" Fuckin' Voodoo priestess.

Conversation with Three at the Tigers/White Sox game yesterday

A vendor walks by selling cotton candy

3: You know what? I'mma start callin' you cotton candy.
KZ: What?
3: I'mma start callin' you cotton candy. That's the softest possible nickname you can give a cat. From now on, you're Cotton Candy. Look at that shit. It's all soft and sweet
KZ: O.K.
3: Can you think of a softer nickname?
KZ: I don't know.
Both of us are watching the game silently for a few minutes.
KZ: Apple
3: Apple what?
KZ: I'mma call you Apple.
3: You think that's softer than Cotton Candy?
KZ: Hell yes. I think people will hear Cotton Candy and think it's some sort of ironic nickname. Apple seems like it's more organic, no pun intended. It just seems like it could be a real nickname. Then, you apply it to a big 6'5" muthafucka, and you got the softest shit goin'.
3: Apple?
KZ: Apple.

Homeless guy at City Commission meeting
"How are you gonna pass an anti-panhandling ordinance? Don't you know I got bills to pay?"

Snail Mail
Y'all favorite girl, Shelly, sent me an invitation to her housewarming party in a couple of weeks. She's still a hell of a comedian.

Peace,
KZ

Where You Wanna Be

Hey peoples, what's crackin'? I wanted to take this opportunity to write about an interesting movie I saw last week called "Secretary". This movie came out in 2002, but it happened to be recommended to me by good ol' Netflix, so I gave it a shot. It was definitely worth it.

The flick starts with this young woman (Maggie Gyllenhaal) coming home from an institution, where she was being treated for psychological issues. She'd been cutting herself for years, one day she cut too deep and was considered suicidal. As part of her re-entry into everyday society, she began training to be a secretary. After training she sought employment with a law firm. This is where it gets interesting.

The lawyer (James Spader) is an asshole, a real task master and perfectionist. As much as she tries to please him, it ain't happenin'. He is unrelenting and demanding. Her best efforts to please him get trashed and belittled. He starts by criticizing the way she makes coffee to the way she dresses, pretty soon everything in her life gets dictated to her. The relationship becomes physical when he makes her read a mistake-filled letter that she typed while he spanks her.

The thing is, this is just the shit she's been craving. Her thirst, her quest to derive meaning from life is being fulfilled. She must be punished for being imperfect and he's the man to do it. She has had enough of being accommodated and coddled.

He needs a completely submissive person to accommodate him, someone who does as he wishes unquestioningly. Someone willing to receive the punishment he wants to deliver without resistance.

Just as soon as he gives her what she needs (i.e. the physical punishment for being imperfect), he takes it away. As much as she tries, she can't do any wrong. As soon as it became evident to him that she enjoyed the punishment, he took it away, further punishing her. Sadistic muthafucka!

At the film's climax, she discards her chance for conventional "happiness" to stay in this situation.

This disfunctional relationship illustrates the adage that one should get someone as fucked up as they are to make a union work. As crazy as it sounds, this film actually touched me, because I saw a layer of sweetness in it. It made me less cynical (for a few hours, anyway). She was lost. He was lost. In the midst of drifting aimlessly they found each other, two crazy muthafuckas, Yin and Yang. My only concern was I thought maybe they should have switched the genders of the dominant and submissive personalities, just to stave off the charge of sexism, that the woman needed to be guided by a strong man to be happy. Other than that, I found this movie weird, disturbing, and outstanding. If you got a couple of hours to spare, give it a shot.

Peace,
KZ

The Leg Tour

KZ: I don't know what it is. I'm just irritated by everything. I can't fuckin' help it.
Robyn: It's lack of pussy, *African*!
KZ: Ya think?
R: C'mon man. I know you. It's lack of pussy.

Is bludgeoning legal yet? Has anyone marched and protested for our right to beat muthafuckas to death? If not, I think I'd like to organize that rally, because it's a right we are sorely lacking.

I gets (yeah, I said "gets") to the "D" around noon on Saturday. I decided that I'd only be hanging out on Saturday because of this major snafu that the County of Satan's Anus made and the City of Satan's Anus (a.k.a. Zed) has to ficks. (sidenote: I'd like all words that end in "x" to now end in "cks". I'd also like all words that have "ee" in the middle to be spelled with "ea" and vice versa.)

So I drive to Belle Isle, thinking I'd be awash in a sea of Pink and Grean. No such luck. The Rock is fulla church groups and family reunions. No sorority stuff.

So I call Jigga. "Man, what's up? I don't see any AKAs on the Rock." "Aw, man, they're not having a picnic." "When did you find this out?" "Last night." "Well, why didn't you call me?" "We wanted you to come anyway. We knew you would flake out if we told you about the picnic."

Right then I cursed the lack of the rights for the bludgeoner. I'm officially in the pro-bludgeoning camp now.

So Jigga wants me to club and hang with them later that night. I can't. I was only coming for the day, so I'm underdressed and plus I fuckin' hate clubs. I called Three when I got to Cobo Hall, epicenter of the Boule. I'm just watchin' women and being tall and shit. Three and his boys wanna hang, hit some spots to play pool and cuss, and go to a Tigers game. I love the Tigers, but it's 95 fucking degrees outside. So I go to my old standbys.

I call Charlize Theron. No where to be found. I decided to take the Leg Tour. First I called the 5'11" Big Fun. She wants to see me around 4:00 pm. It's only 1:30 so I gotta find something else to do. Then, I called the 5'10" Lillie. She wants me to go to this free concert with her around 8:00 pm. Cool. It's all cool.

I fuck around at Cobo for a little while and bounce to a couple of malls to see if I can find club gear, just in case I decide to hang with my frat brothers. No such luck, but 4:00 pm approaches, so I head out to see Big Fun.

*Icky stuff omitted for your reading pleasure*

I left Big Fun's crib around 7:00 pm. I'm headed downtown and my phone rings. It's Lillie. "Can you meet me downtown now?" "Hell yes!"

I meet her at Orchestra Hall and it's good. Very good. It's a very festive. She's holding on to me and I feel good. Cats is lookin' and ice grillin' me. Honestly, I feel like myself for the first time in a very long time. When I'm ready to head back to Satan's Anus, she walks me to my car in the parking garage. Somehow I discover she's pantyless. Somehow.

*Some other stuff omitted*

I headed back to SA around 9:30 pm feeling much better about finishing half of my two year plan. I know this next year won't be so bad.

Stay Lucid,
KZ

Belle Isle

Yesterday, for the first time in ages, I went into a candy store. I'm not talking about a Godiva or something upscale, but an old school candy store, that just sells candy. They have a retro candy store, specializing in "old school" candy here in Downtown Satan's Anus. I hadn't noticed it in the year I've been here, but I noticed it last week. I made a point of going there yesterday after work, mainly because I'm addicted to these.

As I was in the candy store, a young Mexican mother came in with her three daughters. Man, those girls were buggin' out, grabbing stuff, trying to each everything in sight. They were bad, but cute as hell. It was right then when I realized as an adult I'd never seen the proverbial "kid in a candy store". It was funny as hell. It really helped to illustrate that old saying, because those shorties were running around with a crazed look in their eyes. "Candy is the shit!" is what they seemed to be saying. I got a real kick out of watching them.

Well, that was a precursor to my upcoming weekend, because you see, I'll be that proverbial "kid". And Belle Isle Park will be my proverbial "candy store". That'll be the site of the Alpha Kappa Alpha picnic, where every African worth his salt will be, game in hand, trying to leave the park a winner. I'll talk to y'all Monday, win or lose.

Stay Dope,
KZ

Back Again

I just got off the phone with my frat brother, Jigga. He's trying to make sure I'm squared away with someplace to crash this weekend. I'm talking to him, preoccupied as hell because shit has pretty much hit the fan here work-wise.

This Mary Sue, leader of the secretaries, is at it again. For weeks she's been bugging me and my boss, asking for more work to do. This was a plot, plain and simple.

She just finished her bachelor's degree from some online university I'd never heard of. For all intents and purposes, it's useless for what we do, but she's been insisting we give her more relevant, non-secretarial work to do. But gotdamn it, we NEED her to be a secretary. So we've been hesitant. You see, Mary Sue is, for all intents and purposes, a fuck-up. She has never completed satisfactorily anything that takes more than two steps to accomplish. And for the most part she's REFUSING to do secretarial work because it's beneath her.

These fuckin' unions have got my hands tied, so I can't can her ass. I've been re-assigning her shit like crazy and taking the shit she used to do and giving it to other people. She asked me a few weeks ago if she was being pushed out for budgetary reasons. Mary Sue was concerned because the work she was letting fall by the wayside was being re-assigned. I told my boss about this conversation and told him "Watch out for a fake injury".

Just like clockwork (on a old faulty clock) today she called me from her workstation and said she hurt her back lifting file boxes. She needed to go see the city's doctor. And off the fuck we go!

It's times like these when I wonder why the fuck I ever wanted to be in management at all.

Peace,
KZ

Three 2 Da Rescue

On the Phone
Mama Zednanreh: How are you doing?
KZ: I'm great. Couldn't be better.
MZ: How's Thelma?
KZ: Well you know how we're not a couple anymore? Well we're REALLY not a couple anymore.
MZ: Not even "friends with benefits"?
KZ: (laughing) Nope.

This conversation was funny to me on four levels. One, that my mother is holding out hope to get some grandchildren through her chosen successor to my ex-wife. Another level, is that she knew the phrase "friends with benefits". Damn television! The third is that she'd even use a euphemism like that. This is the bluntest person I know. My parents came to visit me in college. In a room full of my friends she says "You must be up here buying pussy the way you runnin' through my money!" That's my mother. The fourth is hearing her say that phrase with her southern accent. Some shit is just funnier said with a southern accent.

"I need, Don Corleone, those politicians that you carry in your pocket, like so many nickels and dimes." -Sollozzo, The Godfather

Replace "Don Corleone" with "Three", and "politicians" with "women" and you got the way my homie operates in a nutshell. Anyway, Three is making preparations for me to come through this weekend. He knows the rule. I'll go anywhere there are women, except strip clubs. So he's trying to accommodate. "I got this thick ass 22 year old chick I want you to meet. I told her about you." "What the fuck you tell her?" "I told her you were my boy." And that's that.

In reality, all I wanna do is go to a friggin' baseball game (Tigers, fool!) and chase new women, 'cuz the fun is in the chase. I think that's why I'm igniting all these bridges on a subconscious level.

In addition I finally after much hemming and hawing bought my damn ticket for NYC, so I'll be up in that piece soon.

Enjoy y'alls day,
KZ

In The Meantime

This chick LoLo calls me yesterday and asks if I'll be in Detroit on the weekend. I will, but I'm not sure how to answer. Those types of inquiries are always ominous to me. So I do what comes naturally.

"No, I'll be in Satan's Anus."
"Too bad, I wanted your opinion on something."
"What?"
"I told you I was gonna do it and I did it."
"Bullshit!"
"Yes I did."
"I told you that shit was unnecessary."
"I needed to do it. For me."
"Good luck with that."
"Don't you wanna see 'em?"
"I guess I'll see 'em eventually."
"Dang, it's like that? You want me to beg you to come see my new boobs?"
"Naw, I'm sayin', I'll see 'em soon enough."

She was disappointed, but I'm sure they are plenty of cats who will volunteer to check her out. I'll be on a bonafide mission this coming weekend. It'll be a sea of AKAs in Detroit and I'm not missing out on diving in because of LoLo's nutty ass.

I got this flyer for some event the AKAs were having and my ex-wife's name was at the bottom of the flyer as a contact person. I can avoid that event and feel good about it!

In the meantime, I'll be refereeing secretary fights, deflating city commissioner egos and trying to stop being such a pack rat at the crib.

Is it just me or does being a politician require a muthafucka to be supremely corrupt or amazingly delusional and messianic? Just wondering.

Remain dope,
KZ

Gargling Bongwater

Lack of walls, huts, quonset or
adobe, mud packed and hardened these
roundhouses give me kicks and I
remain focused and prevent squares
from defining me.

These curves owe no debt to western architecture
they bend as I need them and make me smile.
What appears to be a lack of order, randomly assembled
is all in order and arranged for the
enjoyment of the deranged, self-abuser.

It's still cold, even as I'm surrounded by 90
degrees at the four corners of my daily existence
and drink hot coffee tasting like swill and putting me
in the mindset that I am gargling bongwater
and keeping the curves at bay.

Peace,
KZ

Due Diligence

Fresh for '06, you suckas

KZ: I gotta a problem with that e-mail you sent.

S: What's the problem?

KZ: How is me not calling you causing you this type of grief?

S: It was like your were dodging me. It hurt my feelings.

KZ: Well that's my issue. How am I in a position to hurt your feelings by not returning your call. I mean, who the fuck am I?

S: I was supposed to come see you this weekend and you're not returning my calls. I figured you didn't want me to come. I mean, you didn't call me to laugh about the refrigerator magnet I sent.

KZ: Let's say I didn't want you to come. Why not just say "fuck it and fuck that *African*" and move on? Why did you let your feelings get all involved?

S: Because who the fuck likes being dodged!

KZ: Why care so much?

S: What are you really trying to say?

KZ: I can't give you what I think you want from me. I'm not willing to do it. I love being single. I love seeing multiple women. I think you want me to be exclusive to you.

S: Why would you say that?

KZ: The conversation we had when I was in Chicago, which was in the back of my head since we had it, and now the e-mail.

S: What about the conversation from Chicago?

KZ: You were talking about how it would be if we were "lovers" and shit. Exclusivity shit.

S: What else do you remember from that conversation? Do you remember how I told you what my girl said about you before she introduced us? She said "he's got babes and he's got BABES", meaning you had quantity and quality women. I know you. I don't wanna be with you like that. I was just talking. I need to get away from the city for a minute. I'd just like to spend a weekend chillin'. Why are you trying to read so much into a damn weekend?

KZ: Shells, I just needed clarity. I don't want it on my conscience that I'm leading you on or lying about the nature of our relationship.

S: OK. (pause) Are you dating a lot there?

KZ: Some. A little.

S: Just let 'em know you need a break this weekend. I don't want 'em rollin' up on ya when I'm there.

Be Cool,
KZ

Soft Serve

So she called me. Again. It's the twelfth call that she's made that I've ignored. I won't pick up the phone. I'd rather be an asshole than to overtly be the bad guy. So I'm letting her call me, unabated. Work is hectic and I'm having shit dumped at my feet because no one wants to think for themselves. I'm seething with anger. My work life and social life sucks.

I check my Comcast e-mail account and there's an e-mail from her. The subject line reads "Am I Being Dissed?". Let me think. I don't know about you, but if I call someone 12 times over the course of a week, leave messages, and they don't call me back, I'd assume I was being dissed. Hell that's just me. But to top it off, you send an e-mail asking if you're being dissed. I think you might be too stupid to live.

I read the e-mail. "I feel like you're ignoring me for no good reason. This is just mean. You're hurting my feelings. I can't believe you'd be so cruel to me."

Right there, my 243 viewings of "American Pimp" and my Too $hort CD collection go out the window. Fuck Knockout Zed, I'm Zedediah, loving son of loving parents. The man with 2 sisters and 4 nieces. The dude that sang "Happy Birthday" to his 3 year old niece in the Grad School library on a pay phone. I'm diggin' in my pocket for the keys to my ice cream truck. I'm Mr. Softee.

"Hey, Shelly, what's goin' on?" "Hey Zeddie! Where have you been? I've been calling and calling..." "Yeah, I know. Shit gets hectic."

And with that, we solidified the plans for her to come see me this weekend.

KZ

One Down, One To Go

Hey y'all. Welcome back (if you are indeed back)! This place is a mausoleum today. I can only hope for a peaceful "rest of the" week.

Today is a special day for me. It is my one year anniversary here at this job. Regular readers will wonder what is the big deal. Well what it means is that half of my two-year plan is completed. My two-year plan in coming to Satan's Anus was to be at the Director level in my field for two-years in a smaller town so that I could go anywhere of my choosing afterward and remain at that level. I'm halfway there.

Realistically, my job duties here are not even close to the responsibility I had when I was working for the City of Detroit. But in Detroit, they have a promotional system in place that works for them. That system is called "Sucking The Mayor's Dick". I opted out of that system and tried to get promoted using something I called "Telling The Mayor To Kiss My Ass". My system was critically flawed, so I left.

One year here in Satan's Anus has taught me a few things:

1. Be awfully careful what you wish for.
2. Follow through every time. You could still be fuckin' that nail tech with the locs if you would have just kept calling even when you were moving, jackass!
3. Before you ask a woman to take her clothes off, ask if she's had gastric bypass surgery first.
4. Never glorify the idea of being the boss. People are petty and they believe you can solve everything. Given to their own devices, they'll let you dictate how they live and then resent you for it.
5. There is a such thing as having too many cousins. Especially if they all live in the same small assed town.

I've made a few minor decisions in my life, too. I need to stop bullshitting and buy a couch and a dining table. Even if I have a timetable in mind to leave, I should at least try to make my situation liveable. And I should probably not pass up opportunities to enjoy myself just to make my time more miserable here, lest I settle.

Let's knock this next year out together.

Be Easy,
KZ

Independence

I hope all y'all are recovering nicely from the trichinosis you got from the ribs this weekend.

I'm reading and writing this morning, sad to be at work on July 3rd, a day I could've taken off for all intents and purposes. I just figured I'd be OK in a 3/4 empty office. And it's been cool so far. I snuck in my Futurama DVDs to play on my computer, so I won't be too bored in this piece.

I was in Detroit this weekend. Slipped in again. The problem was this time I ran into a gang of my frat brothers at this street festival. Dudes was pissed. I'm the cat that doesn't return calls or tell them when I'm coming to town. I think my sands Jigga said it best. "Fuck you, African!" That summed up the sentiment of the collective.

I went home to see if I could empty the contents of my nut sack into a pretty young lady. Alas, it was to no avail. I made the calls late and missed everyone, except the ones I didn't wanna see. Like LoLo, who inexplicably is still trying to get poked. She left me a five minute voicemail message in Spanish. Five entire minutes. I guess it doesn't seem long when you say it, but think about that. Five fuckin' minutes in a language I can't understand. I think she might believe that knowing Spanish might be hereditary. It's not.

So I'm back in Satan's Anus and my boss has invited me to enjoy the 4th with his family. There are just 2 problems with that: 1) I don't ENJOY the 4th. Ever. It's a day off that has nothing to do with my heritage. 2) As nice and as "Midwestern" a gesture it is, I can't go. Nothing against his family, but I don't enjoy family gatherings ESPECIALLY if it's not my family, people I can actually tell to go fuck off. So I'll let him know today that I'll likely be heading back to Detroit to hang out with some friends and thank him for his generous offer. Yeah, I'll lie.

I'll eventually buy a grill, and probably catch salmonella or avian flu while trying to cook chicken. Enjoy your time off and I'll catch y'all later.

Peace,
KZ

The Skeptic

In the spirit of the influx of superheroes showing up at America's cineplexes, I'd like to talk about my new secret identity.

I've had a secret identity for quite awhile now. I don't know how many of you have heard of my alter-ego, The Righthander. During the day, I'm a (somewhat) mild mannered left-handed city official. At night, when horniness spreads throughout the land, I become The Righthander, purveyor of pornography and self-molester.

A new alter-ego has emerged, though I must confess, The Righthander ain't goin' nowhere. Due to the overwhelming volume of bullshit phone calls, emails, and one to one communications I receive, I've had to develop...(dah dah dah)...The Skeptic.
The Skeptic doesn't take anything you say at face value. Nothing is discussed with The Skeptic without the underlying motive to deceive. Every conversation is propaganda. He's not buying it "Muthafucka, ya lyin'! You got an agenda!"

Case #1
Rainier, a friend of Zed's, calls him, saying he has something funny to tell him. Zed listens for approximately three minutes before The Skeptic grabs the phone away from him. The Skeptic recognizes the story that the friend is telling. It's the one where it obstensibly is for entertainment purposes, but ends up about one of Zed's exes. "I have to go now", The Skeptic says, and the crisis is averted.

Case #2
Mary Sue, an employee of Zed's, asks if she could speak with him for a few minutes. He gives her time 30 minutes before another meeting of his is scheduled to start. "Don't worrry, it's about something positive", she says. Immediately, The Skeptic becomes suspicious. "Why would this perennially unhappy, constantly bitching woman want to discuss something positive to Zed?" The Skeptic springs into action. A couple of minutes listing positive things in the office turns to a tear-filled anxiety fest. "What have you done to contribute to this atmosphere?" The Skeptic asks. "Nothing" Mary Sue replies. "Haven't you taken every opportunity you could to bad mouth your co-workers to anyone who would listen? Didn't you think that would get back to them?" The Skeptic continues. Mary Sue asks to be excused. Another job well done.

Case #3
Carmel, a gigantic breasted, pretty faced mammal, calls Zed after a few weeks without contact. Zed misses the call and plays the voicemail. "Hey Zed, I was just calling to say I just saw you out and about a few days ago. I think you were with a co-worker or something. Tina said she saw you on TV last week, too. You were presenting something, I don't know what it was. Alright...well, I guess I'll talk to you later." The Skeptic laughs and erases the voicemail. The phone call was received at 10:30 pm, on the cusp of the Booty Call Parallax. This attempt to catch Zed at his weakest, just before The Righthander takes over, was pathetic at best. Mortals! The Skeptic once again saves the day.

Whenever the credibility of a person you come in contact with comes into question and you need that special assistance to scrutinize these bullshitters, call The Skeptic. Just twist your lips thusly:

and he'll come running.

Stay Cool,
KZ

Head or Gut, Part Deux

*This is the shit that good moods are made of!!!!*

Some stupid shit happened to me Tuesday. Just weird. That comedienne chick, Shelly, the needy one that's coming to Satan's Anus for her birthday, sent me something in the mail. It was a headshot of herself as a huge refrigerator magnet that said "Don't forget July 8th!!! Your baby is coming to see you, Big Papi!!!"

There are so many things wrong with this, not including the overzealous and egregious use of exclamation points. Maybe it's what the comics like to call "sarcasm". I'm no comedian, so I don't exactly know.

There's the headshot. Shelly ain't pretty. I think I've alluded to that before. She ain't pretty. Helluva body, mediocrity above the neck. Why send me a headshot? So I can regret saying that you could come? How long can I look at your grill and justify me letting you spend more than one day here?

Then, there's the caption. Fuck July 8th. My baby? Really? Comedians! Big Papi? O.K., I don't have a real problem with Big Papi. My big cousin Juan told me once, if a non-Spanish chick calls you "Papi", she's a freak. I don't know how true that is, and in this case it doesn't matter. But I thought I'd just put that out there as a warning to any sistas callin' a cat "Papi".

Then there's the refrigerator magnet thing. Maybe I could put it up as an appetite suppresant on the 'frig. Think Ookla The Moc.
Maybe this is why she's hasn't blown up as a comedienne. This shit ain't even a little funny.

What also didn't help is that I got a call from Thelma yesterday. A generally decent phone call. Except for the part where she asked for some dick. Which is not exactly a bonus situation for me, given her poor performance. I also now think that she's more N'bushe than Thelma. Either way she's tight.

All other things being equal (except the off-the-meathook sex with Shelly), when comparing two women who you don't necessarily like, is it wrong to prefer the one that is most attractive? That's not really a question for you to answer, I just wanted to let you know I'm thinking about this shit.

KZ

Loc'ed And Loaded

So last night, once again, I'm at an evening meeting. Even when I was in Detroit and I had these types of meetings, the population seems the same. I was watching The Daily Show last week and Jon Stewart made the same point. Only extremists on either side of the political spectrum make time to get involved in civic matters. Everybody else has shit to do. So I'm making a presentation to a bunch of people without shit to do. A beautiful, sunny afternoon and I have a room full of people accusing me of everything under the sun. Apparently, I'm trying to take their property. Even the renters! Also, I'm trying to suppress their property values so that white people can buy their land for cheap. That's what I'm trying to do. Because I'm a sellout.

Anyway, these meetings have never had anyone resembling a hottie within 10 square miles of them. Ever. So towards the end of the meeting when everyone is milling around, looking at maps and generally telling me they're just giving me a hard time, a couple walks in.

The dude has some sort of process in his hair with a derby on, tilted haughtily, and a white suit on. The woman has locs, a skin tight black dress on, and some extreme high heels. Her ass was incredible.

So now I'm thinking about how much I have in my bank account, because obviously this cat's a pimp and I'm about to buy this pussy. He walks up to me and says, "Is the meeting over?" I tell him it is, and he grabs the woman's hand and walks out. I'm watching her exit.

So I'm standing there doing nothing waiting for these nutjobs to finish talking to each other so I can take the maps and dude walks back in towards me. I'm thinking he musta saw me looking at his ol' lady's tush. He's about to confront me. Instead, he hands me a card. "Beautifully Natural Loc Salon, Robert 'The Loc Man', proprietor"

I'll be damned. This cat is a loctician. With a process. I don't know much, but I know not to go to a loctician without locs.

I went to his website when I went home so I could see some more pics of his chick, who turned out to be his wife. Unfortunately, there were no below the waist shots and she's pretty unattractive, aside from the locs and the ass. He had a lot of pretty clients, too.

Maybe I can stop through for a consultation.

KZ

The Freak MeMe

Nsane Lee Sane, that paragon of hotness and pulchritude, has tagged me. Now if I could only return the favor...

1. HAVE YOU GOTTEN LAID IN 2006?
Sad to say, but I've barely gotten mine this year. It's more than half over.

2. EVER HAD SEX IN A PUBLIC PLACE?
Yes. I got arrested for it, too.

3. EVER LAUGH DURING SEX? IF SO WHY?
Yep. It's due to the funny ass shit women say when you're puttin' in work.

4. EVER CRY DURING SEX? IF SO WHY?
Only if I don't cum.

5. DO YOU LIKE TO CUDDLE AFTER SEX?
I can't stand the friggin' heat. Don't touch me.

6. EVER REGRET SEX WITH SOMEONE?
All the time. As soon as I buss.

7. EVER FAKED AN ORGASM?
Nope. Is that possible on the male side of things?

8. DIRTY TALK, OR SHUT THE FUCK UP?
I'm always talking shit. I need to feel "in the moment". I used to want my ex-wife to shut the fuck up. She had the worst sex talk in the world.

9. EVER HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX?
Yeah. I had to make sure I wasn't a stat, so doctor's visits stay consistent.

10. EVER MASTERBATE TO YOUR FRIENDS SIGNIFICANT OTHER?
No, I'd probably just meet someone who looked like her and live out my little fantasy that way.

11. EVER HAVE A ONE NIGHT STAND?
Yeah. Was it cool? Nope. One day when I'm in a nostalgic mood, I'll blog about it. In retrospect, funniest shit in the world.

12. HOW BOUT A 3-SOME?
I chickened out TWICE on a threesome when I was in my twenties. I didn't have confidence that I could handle both the women at the same time. I was a stupid, practical youngster.

13. EVER WATCH PORN DURING SEX?
Yeah. It used to be mandatory.

14. EVER THOUGHT OF SOMEONE ELSE DURING SEX?
Only when I was fuckin' Thelma.

15. HAS THE CONDOM EVER BROKE?
It was the cause of my last pregnancy scare.

16. WHAT IS YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING SEXUAL EXPERIENCE?
Aside from getting arrested? In college I was fuckin' my girlfriend. It was intense. A middle of the afternoon scorcher. I guess she was loud. I didn't remember her being that loud. When we finished, I came out of the dorm room to get us some water. A bunch of dudes were in the hallway and they just looked at me and started applauding. There were a gang of 'em cheering me on. That was pretty embarrassing for a private dude.

17. HOW OLD WERE YOU WHEN YOU LOST YOUR VIRGINITY?
I was 16. My first week in college. With a 19 year old girl from Arlington, Texas. After my first college party. A lot of "firsts" at the same time.

18. WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE SEX WITH RIGHT NOW?
The funny thing is, as high as my sex drive is, the answer is nobody. Everytime I think about having sex with a chick, all I think about are the hoops I have to jump through.

19. DO YOU THINK THAT number 18 IS POSSIBLE?
Yes, it's possible for me not to get laid.

20. ARE YOU HORNY NOW?
Nope. I got meetings.

21. WOULD U HAVE SEX WITH THE PERSON THAT POSTED THIS?
How do you know I haven't?

Longing, Regret And Justification

The Second Verse of "Fall In Love" by Slum Village

(T-3)
Yeah, Jay Dee man I see sometimes,
I sit and wonder when I think about these written rhymes.
How’d I get to the point constantly taking all my time?
Time I could of been spending gettin’ cash, gettin’ mine.
Hoping one day it comes around.
One day when I’m the nigga gettin’ money, gettin’ cash, gettin’ signed
Getting the fuck out the ghetto, cause I’m tired of crime.
But it’s a crime that I feel this fucking waste of time.
But sometimes I feel like this shit here is a waste of time, yours and mine.
To these niggas out here trying to rhyme.
Your reason for better shoulda been genuine.
I do it because it gives me a sort of peace-of-mind.
And for the love.

When I went back to Detroit on Saturday for a few hours, I had an epiphany. I looked around and saw things that I helped set in motion being accomplished. It was my career-long struggle to make things happen, get things built was moving forward. All it took was for me to get the fuck out of the way. Even though I didn't direct the movie, it's my script. I wish I could've been in charge.

I went home to get some loc maintenance which is an ego boost in itself. I always get a lot of attention from the women who are waiting for their turns. When you get noticed by women with a lot of choices, who don't know your socio-economic standing, it's legitimate.

I was home from 11:00 am until 9:00 pm. I made two dates and sold them both out to hang with my boy, Three. I received a long lecture on how my "benefit of the doubt" had been revoked, but it was fine with me. I rarely get to hang out with a non-agenda having person who looks out for my best interests.

I got to look at large congregations of Black women and have of choice of type or disposition. This was done in a comfortable, familiar setting with a wing-man. I didn't even pull and I had a ball.

After I dropped Three off and before I headed back to Satan's Anus, I decided to stop by the new Ikea store in Metro Detroit. I finally found a bookcase (yes finally, Blah Blah Blah!) for a reasonable price. That fuckin' store and it's setup is a mess. I remember talking to those Swedish bastards about putting that store in Detroit proper and they wouldn't budge, just like Whole Foods before them. They wanted to hold the city hostage and make it economically disasterous to build a store there. I'm makin' a fuckin' list and I'm checkin' it twice, bitches.

I keep learning the same fuckin' lessons over and over again. Money won't make me happy. I gotta do what I do for the love.

KZ

The Original Boogeyman

*UPDATE ON THESE SO CALLED TERRORISTS - CLICK HERE*

So, this weekend in this corny, whitebread 'burg, we'll be having Island Fest. This is an opportunity for white people to don faux Carribean accents and dreadloc wigs. It also allows them the opportunity to approach me wearing said wig and say "Look, we're twins!" because that's the type of shit YT does. Like back in college after Spring Break, there would be the inevitable melanin-less person who would return tanned, walk up to you and place their arm in close proximity to yours. "I'm almost as dark as you!" Needless to say, I'll do my best to steer clear of this "celebration".

I'm writing this post as my own form of celebration. We are boogeymen (and women) again. It seems this cabal of "Black Muslim terrorists" were uncovered in Miami. They apparently had designs on blowing up the Sears Tower. I was up at 2:30 am Eastern time when this story broke. Anderson Cooper (the gay, gray haired cat on CNN) was talking to some alleged expert about the ramifications. The expert said "We have a group of terrorists who were born here for the most part. They look like us, they sound like us, so they can infiltrate all facets of American life." Except the Annual Rockerfeller Family Hamptons Christmas party. Because, you see, these dudes were Black. So they don't look like "them" or sound like "them". They can easily racially profile Black people as they always have. Except this time, it can be under the auspices of fighting terrorism.

Since September 11, 2001, we've "enjoyed" a brief respite from being Public Enemy number 1. But we're back, bitches! It's a celebration! We're all A-1, top priority suspects again. Damn, it's good to be home!

KZ

Emotionally Available

Well, the other shoe has dropped. I knew it was coming and I didn't really plan for it. It's like a great burden has been lifted from me, and now that it's gone, I miss the burden.

Last night I was talking to Thelma, she of incredible, indescribable hotness, my future babymama. She said the shit I'd been thinking but couldn't bring myself to say. "I don't feel any sort of connection to you. I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Just like that, I became emotionally available. "You're right. We don't need to hold on to something that's finished. We need to move on." That's what I said to her, exhaling. I didn't think we were a particularly good couple. We had fun, be we were intellectually and sexually incompatible.

But that little part of me thought she'd be my next wife. So I kept a part of me out of every little side relationship I had. I can't be with any other chick emotionally. I have a chick. No matter how much I fuck or how much I go out with you, you can't have me. I'm with someone.

With the conversation I had last night, it was gone. That part of me was freed. Through a string of overlapping serial relationships, I haven't been emotionally available since 1990. So now, even casual dating becomes scary as fuck. Any broad could be lurking in the grassy knoll, with my bachelorhood in her sights. And my guard would be down.

Now I have to turn my shit up a few notches, become the uber-asshole, just to fend off potential lifemates. Every date becomes an adventure, laced with potential. I haven't been here in a long time.

KZ

Lovers

Sidenote: It's funny. I wanna talk about this chick I blogged about before, but I'd forgotten her "code name". And then when I found it, I didn't recognize any of the chicks I was talking about in that post except two. Memory is a funny thing.

Anyway, this chick named Shelly I used to see called me last week. The last time we talked was before Memorial Day. She wanted to come be with me for that weekend. At first I said yes. When I thought about it for a week or so, I changed my mind. I told her I'd be in Atlanta that weekend. Yeah, I lied.

So she asked me last week if she could come see me for the July 4th weekend. I told her I'd be out of town, likely a true scenario. I'm bugged. Yeah, I wanna bang out, but why are you trying to pick these long weekends and shit? She finally asked if she could come the weekend of July 7. I said yes. Then she tells me, "Good, because my birthday is the 8th, so you gotta treat me well."

That shit irritated me to no end. I was upset she was trying to spend "special" days with me. I went from upset to pretty sad when I thought about it. I'm just "Jump-off Johnny". If she wants to spend these days with me of all people, then I'm all she's got. And that's pretty sad.

She started talking about she and I being "lovers" which a find to be a gay fucking term. "If we were lovers we could..." blahzay, blahzay, muthafuckin' blah. Dream world shit.

I just wanted to write this shit down before I forgot.

Peace,
KZ

Live On Stage

I was walking through the park to go to City Hall yesterday. It was almost time for the City Commission meeting and I was walking so that I could go over my presentation in my head.

"Do you do your own dreadlocks?" was the question presented to me by the pasty, big girl on the bicycle. "No", I responded, not looking up to see the questioner. She pulls up to the side of me. "What are you, a lawyer?" Finally I look up to see her, a blonde woman wearing cutoffs and a bikini top that was size inappropriate. "No, I'm not a lawyer." "Are you in trouble with the law? You goin' ta court?" I laughed. "No." "Well what do you do?" "I'm a Blee Blah Blah for the City of Satan's Anus." "I knew you had some kinda important job." "You enjoy your day."

I'm trying to get my mind focused on the presentation and this chick is pushing me off my square. I think I'm ready. We stand for the Pledge of Allegiance recited before each City Commission meeting and once again I mouth the words. I can't say 'em, it's bad enough I stand up for 'em. But it's almost presentation time. I sit down. ***RIIIIIPPPPP**** What the fuck?

My pocket gets caught on the armrest of the auditorium chair and the left side of the front of my pants rip, exposing boxer briefs. Shit, I gotta stand up in a minute. This is fucked up! Right now it's concealed. Will my suit jacket keep it covered?

Finally it's my turn on the agenda. I stand and the jacket keeps it covered. But I'm preoccupied. Every few seconds another space filler. "Ahhh....ahhhh....ahhhh...." Shit, I know I'm doing it but I can't stop. I look up and I'm looking directly in the camera. The City Commissioners are staring. The Vice Mayor is looking at me like "African, why are you so nervous?"

Fifteen minutes later and it's done. I sit back down and the weight of the world is gone.

But my fuckin' suit is ruined.

KZ

Conversing All-Stars

On the phone a few minutes ago
KZ: You weren't serious about coming, right? I mean we never said anything like that.
LoLo: I guess you weren't serious. It's probably a good thing I didn't come. We don't want to have any regrets.
KZ: Right, right. Exactly.
LoLo: If you didn't want me to come, you should've just said so.
KZ: Wouldn't that apply if I did actually want you to come too?
And that was that.

So I'm back in the swing of things. In my office, preparing for a presentation in front of City Commission. I hate fuckin' public speaking and it is one of the biggest parts of my job (aside from budget issues). I'm always afraid I'm underprepared and tentative when I have to present. I'm no fun for anyone.

My boy Rainier called telling me that he saw SugarChicken (don't ask! This is the chick I brought to your surprise b-day party Robyn) in a drop-top Beamer with one of our frat brothers. Keep makin' my day, dude.

The call before LoLo
R: Dude, guess who I saw?
KZ: Don't care.
R: Dude, lemme tell you.
KZ: I don't care.
R: I saw Brother Caldwell, 60 year old Brother Caldwell cakin' up with SugarChicken, African. Your SugarChicken.
KZ: Thanks. I appreciate you telling me. I gotta go.

I'm anxious and nervous. I need to get broke off pronto. I'm stuck in a quandry. Do I buss off in any ol' chick or do I stay the course and avoid all unneccesary drama? It's hard for a brother like me to maintain in this state. I mean, what if I do break down and try to actively pursue some broad and get stuck with a N.I.M.P.H.*? I'm not in cuddle mode. I'm in Splackaville.

Last week
Three: Where's your hoes?
KZ: Gone.
3: What you mean "gone"?
KZ: Dey gone.
3: (laughing) Shit, it be that way sometimes. Sometimes dey just be gone.

Sometimes dey just do.

KZ

*Not In My Pussy Hole

Be Better

KZ: "Jed, what you doin' today?"
JZ: "I don't know, man. Depends on ya mother."

This post is about my father, Jedediah X. Zednanreh. It's Father's Day so I guess it's fitting. I just got off the phone with him and he's burning CDs and shit. My mother is evidently getting on his nerves about where he wants to go for dinner.

I didn't like my old man for most of my life. I started off pretty scared of him, then it turned to extreme dislike. He doesn't talk much, so I didn't trust him. He always gave me unsolicited advice. He was always the "no" to my mother's "yes".

Jed worked nights most of my life. (This is the same cat who told me and my siblings to call him "Jed" 'cuz he was too fly to be called "daddy"). When I came home from school, he was gone to work. When I went to school in the morning, he was asleep. The only time I ever interacted with him was on weekend. I stayed the fuck out of the house as much as I could.

When I was a freshman in high school and I brought home my first report card, he called the school. "Are you sure y'all don't give out 'A pluses'?" He thought I could have done better than 4.0

When I got kicked out of college, he kicked me out of the house. "Time to be man, big fella." I moved in with a chick that didn't respect me because I made minimum wage. I bounced from job to job until I surrended. I learned my lesson. I'll try to get back in college.

When I graduated from college, I lived at home again for a couple of years. I dragged broad after broad through that house, in the basement. Jed asked me, "do you care about any of these women?" I laughed. He said, "I guess disrespecting them makes you feel like you're doing something. That ain't a man." I moved out a month later. I ain't givin' up broads for you African!

When I got married, he silently protested. "I can't make the wedding, son." He thought my ex wife lacked couth.

When I got separated, I moved back in for a month. Talking to my mother about my next steps, my feeling of failure. He listened for awhile, then he spoke. "You are the best thing I ever had a part of. You gon' be alright. I'm proud of you. Shit, you make me want to be better. Everything will be alright." I was stunned.

Somewhere between my divorce and right now, my father and I became friends. He has been the bastion of sound advice, he's funny as hell (well, we have the same sense of humor), and he's giving. Jed is more thoughtful as he moves up in age and more family oriented. It's funny to watch. Seeing everything he is makes me want to be better.

Happy Father's Day, African.

KZ

Hate From Home

I was in a workshop session on Friday and my phone was vibrating like crazy. I'm horrible at checking my voicemail but I saw an unfamiliar number listed as a missed call, so I was curious. I listened to my messages. I had 20 some odd voicemails and I was mad I missed the one from the unfamiliar number (beautiful voice, ma!). Two of the messages fucked my head up.

You see, when I talked to LoLo the other day, I told her I'd be in the Chi for a few days. She said "I'm coming to stay with you Friday night." I laughed and we moved on to the next subject.

LoLo left a message. "Let me know if you still want me to come to Chicago. I need to know so I can try to beat traffic. Give me a call." Once again I laughed to myself. A few messages later, "Zed, you're really fucking with my travel schedule. I need to get on the road." Her tone's harsher, plus she never cusses. She's serious! LoLo thought I was gonna cake up with her on the company dime in Chicago. There are so many things wrong with that assumption:

1. You're not in my stable (i.e. we haven't boned so you might not put out).
2. You've never even checked me out in Satan's Anus or expressed the desire, which means you don't give a fuck about me. You don't get special treatment.
3. We didn't agree to this. Who the fuck is in your head talking to you in my voice?
4. If I haven't fucked you or am not related to you, you don't have the right to get pissy with me.
   

I didn't want to ruin my day so I didn't call her back. I'll call her Saturday and completely piss her off.

In better news, let's give it up to my young homie Robert Mack. I went to see his play Friday night and the man is smooth. The play was funny as hell! Mack's role was that of a nice guy that came out on top. His storyline was the one that actually made me feel the best. I don't even "know, know" Mack, but I was proud of that cat. I left the theatre feeling good. Big thangs, Rob Mack!

Peace,
KZ

The Wacker On Wacker

This is for Robert Mack, Hassan, or any other brother from Chicago on the blog: At the Starbucks next door to Garrett's Popcorn on Michigan Avenue there's this chick. She works behind the counter. At first glance, she'll seems skinny. Thin face, thin arms, slender neck. She is fooling everyone that doesn't investigate. All of her weight is being carried in her ASS. And it's beautiful. I named it "Priscilla".

You two cats, Nsane, Chi Bloggers, gotta get at me, dabigplanet@hotmail.com, so I can give you my number. I'm going to the Negro League Cafe tonight and then some jazz spot on 47th.

In other news: I'm having a colored folk overdose!!! I almost proposed twice yesterday. Broads are giving me no love. I feel like I'm back in Detroit.

Seriously, I've been chillin', eating buttered crack (a.k.a. Garrett's Popcorn) and being freakin' overwhelmed. Not necessarily with my surroundings, but this damn workshop I'm taking. I've never been much with finance and it's showing. There's this brotha in my class. He's in his late 40's. This cat has dreads, too, real long ones. Anyway he struck up this conversation and I was like "yeah, this cat is alright." Then he started bragging. It wasn't even brag worthy shit, but boasty ass boasters are one of my pet piss's. I let it slide. Hell, we're the only two Black people in this class. So then two seconds later he brags about some other shit that kinda seemed like a swipe at me. I'm trying not to be a bitch-made African, so I'm letting this shit roll. Then "Bam", third boast. "Alright dude, we can hit some spots." I'll duck his ass and he's gone tomorrow. I'm here until Saturday. Get your insecure ass outta here.

So I'm trying to get into some shit without spending all my per diem so I can cop some kicks on the company. I just need some direction. And some free access to the 'net. What happened to the free Wi-Fi Movement? I'm sick of this walking shit for now, so Imma hop in my grip and make it happen. Remember Chi-Lites, get at me.

Stay Cool,
KZ

Dreams

I don't dream very often. And trust me when I say I don't dream very imaginative dreams. OK, I dream pretty good shit occasionally, but I mostly dream about fighting. That mainly has to do with my preparation issues. I'm never prepared for the fight and I always lose. Keeps me on my toes when I'm awake.

Anyway I had a two parter last night, which is extremely rare. In the first one, I was waiting in line to use the restroom. It was at my office building and there was a long line for some reason. I was almost in when this group of cats came in and pushed a bunch of us out of the way. I rushed into the restroom and started talking shit to one of the guys, who was much bigger than I was. He laughed it off and pushed me again. "Go somewhere and be a good nigger, OK?" That's what he said to me. Time to fight again, right? Nope. I laughed too. We were laughing together. I was frustrated and upset, but I couldn't stop laughing. He patted me on my back and I walked out and got back in line.

The second dream consisted of a muthafucka talking to me that I couldn't see. He was telling me who wrote the derogatory comments anonymously on my blog a few months ago. I don't know why I dreamt it, except for the fact that I blog too much. I hadn't thought about those comments in awhile and I know in my heart who wrote that shit anyway.

Of course this shit is full of symbolism and deep seeded anxiety, but there was something more at work. I woke up pissed. I coulda choked a muthafucka. It's still physically bothering me and I don't dream like that. I can't shake this shit.

I'll be in Chicago until Saturday afternoon then I'll be in Detroit for legitimate frat business. I don't know how much I'll blog since I'll be in real cities until Sunday. Surely I'll get some stories out to y'all.

Be Easy,
KZ

The Sickness

So I was on the phone with this woman that I used to work with. I'll call her Lo Lo, short for loqacious. She's a talker. Anyway, she's always trying to impress me with her intelligence and the fact that she's ambitious. 'Cuz she wants me to marry her. This is not just my ego at work. This is her stated intention. "You know I'm the perfect woman for you. You need to take me to meet your parents." Bitch, please! The only way you'd meet my parents is at my funeral.

So she's talking to me, right? And she's describing how she's the most brilliant person in the office. So I describe a problem to her that I was having involving a grant and the hoops the Feds put you through. She tells me about a similar problem, tells me the solution, and begins to let me know what else I need.

"If you wanted to get with me, you'd have to do me right. You'd have to jump through some hoops, you couldn't just do what you wanted to do." I'm wondering how we got back to this, but I don't say anything, hoping she'd just forget about it. Lo Lo keeps going. "You think doing what I ask you to do is a way for me to exert some sort of authority on you. And the way the feel about authority, you'd just not do what I'd ask because you'd feel like you were giving in."

Psychobabble bullshit. I won't jump through hoops for her because I don't want her.

Actually, that's not true. She was partially right. I really don't want her, but that's never stopped me from fucking a broad. I don't like getting what I want on anybody else's terms. It's silly assed reasoning like this that has me trying to move in executive circles with dreadlocs.

I was at the supermarket today and I saw a bunch of couples shopping. I was laughing inside as I saw mismatched couples, one after another. "Damn, she settled for less. Oooh, his babe is a dog!"were the things I said to myself the entire time I was shopping. After awhile I just got angry. I realized I was angry at these people for being happy with "less". I was actually angry because they were happy. That's some sick shit. So sick, it's hard to admit it.

I was boiling mad because these people found the person they could be happy with and I'd never be there. I know I'll never be there. I've never been satisfied in my life. The lack of satisfaction in my life is my entire motivation. If I was ever satisfied, I think I'd just cease to exist. Is that being goal oriented or just unrealistic?

In Buddhist teachings, desire is the cause for all discomfort. Once one ceases to desire things, that person becomes comfortable and is at a higher level of understanding. I don't even know if I want that level of understanding. I just know where I am today and it's not pretty.

Be Cool,
KZ

Shake Your Junk

The livest commercial out!

The Strength of My Weakness

If I ever buy a female dog, I'm gonna name her Blogger. I swear. I was itching to post but this contraption was on the serious fritz. I had a pretty eventful day.

I spent the first half of the day in training. ORIENTATION, eleven months after the fact. It's mandatory, so I had to go. When I got back, shit was off the hook. I had a couple of staff people send me e-mails wondering what the status is of their pay status upgrades. I'm gonna have to tell 'em they're lucky to be employed. I'm not paying them MORE for the little shit they have to do.

As I was checking all my e-mails, my secretary comes in. "There's a 'Carmel Coates' here to see you."

Oh shit. I'm nervous. What is this chick doing here. Of course I haven't talked to her since this incident, and she pulls a "pop-up". This is all fucked up. "Send her in." If she doesn't shoot me, I'm tearing into her ass.

She walks in and all bets are off. Stunning. Face and titties. I'm nonchalant. "What you need?" "Nothing. I was passing by on my way back to work and I wanted to see how you were." Bullshit. "I'm alright. So you workin', hunh?" "Yeah, I started about a week ago."

I'm looking at her, and I'm thinking about the last time she was here. I get up and close the door. And I grab her and I hold her. I felt her up. Then I let her go and she left. Is all forgiven? When your dick is hard enough, the short answer is "yes". I told her I overreacted. She apologized for bringing that cat around. That was that.

So I go to two more meetings and arrive back in the office later in the day. I went to see Auntie Anita to handle some budgetary issues. She's looking at me as I sign some manager timesheets. "You just cold hearted, hunh? " "What?" "You dissed my girl." I laugh. "What?" "You dissed Endo. She's all wondering what she did. You just stopped calling her." Now this is a bullshit account of what actually happened, but I don't wanna go into my side with Anita. I'm still holding out hope I can hit Auntie.

Endo was trying to be cool. Half assed returning my calls, talking about how busy she was. I wasn't going to sweat this young chick, so my pride took over. The last time I saw her was the weekend before Memorial weekend. I just opted out. Fuck it. I'll beat off before I over-call a broad. I won't be the subject of a girlfriend gigglefest.

I just told Auntie Anita, "Your niece is a busy woman. Her schedule is extremely tight." Basically her bellyachin' to her Aunt about me has ruined any chance of me bussin' off in Anita in my opinion. So I can't ruin my career by fuckin' her. So I guess that's a good thing.

Fuck Blogger,
KZ

Auntie Anita

Sometimes I wonder if reading my blog is a lot like waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think most of y'all know that there's always something illicit just under the surface of these innocuous little tales of life in the small city.

Like last Thursday, when I got this invitation from this woman I've been diggin' for a while to check her out. She was only going to be in Beelzebub's Colon overnight and she wanted me to come see her. No haps. I had an evening meeting that didn't let out until 11:00 pm so I missed out. Yesterday I got a phone call from an ex-collegue. She told me she'd be in Lansing for a business meeting overnight and she wanted me to come visit. No haps. I had another evening meeting that lasted until 11:30 pm. So my chances of gettin' mines go out the door. I don't like writing about this shit. It's depressing.

So goes the story of Auntie Anita. Remember Endo, my little 24 year old virgin chick? Well, part of the story I neglected to tell everybody except her is that Endo's aunt works for me. I knew I'd hear cries of "don't mess with that young girl especially with her aunt right there" and all that type of shit. So I didn't blog it. Sue me.

Endo's Auntie Anita is 40 years old. She's dark skinned and petite, the complete physical opposite of Endo. She's the type of woman a lot of cats without keen eyes might overlook. She's OK looking, but not FINE. Dudes would see the way she dresses and think she's skinny. The thing is she's got a tremendous body. That ass is off the chain. You'd never know it by her conservative dress. Little ass waist, hips kickin'. I noticed that shit when I first started working here. I once designated a casual day during the holidays just so I could see her in jeans. It was worth it!

Anyway, the first time I saw Endo, she was visiting Auntie Anita. I asked Anita who she was and I got the third degree before she told me. "My niece is too young for you." "What's young?" "Twenty-three (at the time)". "I'm only thirty-four (at the time)". "Give it a rest, gramps." I would have gladly taken Auntie Anita over Endo, but Anita worked for me and was thusly off limits.

The thing that kills me is that I don't even see Endo anymore. I haven't seen or talked to her in around 3 weeks. And daily I get to see pulchritudious excellence in the form of Auntie Anita. She used to strike me as so serious and untouchable. Daily I see more of her personality and playfulness on display. It's attractive as hell. I think that's especially so since she's off limits.

Stay Greasy,
KZ

P.S. Happy 6/6/06 from Satan's Anus!

Grape Ape Weekend

"N*ggas never realize how close they are to success 'cuz they always give up too early." - Russell Simmons

I'm actually glad to be back at work this morning. Some cats ain't shit left to their own devices, and I'm one of them. All the best laid plans fell apart. I didn't do laundry, I didn't clean (except dishes), I didn't read, and I didn't write.

On Saturday morning I went to this parade that Satan's Anus has every year to celebrate the summer season. It was a little corny parade that helped me recognized some of that small town charm people talk about. They also had an art fair this weekend. There had to be around 200 vendors here. It was massive for the size of this city. All the art sucked ass. There was only one Black vendor and I actually recognized this cat from Detroit. He was heavily in the hip-hop scene.

I've been here for 11 whole months as of today. I'm ubiquitous. I'm on TV, I'm in the newspaper and I still get these Grape Ape moments. Don't these fuckers have TVs? There are bigger Africans everywhere. How the fuck are you gonna look up at me and audibly gasp when you see me? I'm 6'3", 300 lbs, I'm not the fuckin' Washington Monument. All this fucking "A gorilililililiaaaa!" shit has got to stop. Trust me, muthafuckas, I'll be leaving as soon as possible, but I can't give up too early.

The best part of the weekend happened when I was leaving the parade. I saw this sista, a slim pretty chick, walking towards me. She looked at me once with this kind of startled look. I'm thinking "Here the fuck we go again. Grape Ape time." We kept walking toward each other and she looked at me again and it was all smiles. She said "Hi" and I said "Hi" (yes, I did die a little inside) and we walked past each other. I looked back and she was looking back, smiling. At the time I was like "Oh shit! I really dropped the ball." But summer in Satan's Anus is different. I'll definitely see her again. The town comes out in entirety for events and festivals all summer. I'll recoup.

I'm glad I'll at least have warm weather in this little slice of barren real estate.

Be Easy,
KZ

The Gathering

So here I am, trying to find a way to escape. It's no use. I'm trapped in a world of my own making. I knew it would come to this. All the inflated levels of responsibility on my resume, which led to me getting this job, which in turn put me in a leadership position today. All of which makes my escape impossible. Why did it have to come to this?

I have to participate in an office potluck.

Just inject my ass with the plague right now. These semi-hand washing, cat owning, crystal meth trailer livin', ass diggin' troglodytes trying to serve me food? All because my irritating know-it-all staff person will be gone on maternity leave for 3 months? She shoulda left when I was on vacation.

I fuckin' hate potlucks. Why the fuck should I be subjected to somebody's random ass cooking? And then people mill around me and say shit like "Did you try my Tuna Cake? It's got coconut icing!" People make the weirdest shit and call it "food". I refuse to eat fried gerbil on a skewer!

This shit is like torture. I've tried to do this thing where I socialize with a full plate and don't eat anything, then throw it away when I go back to my office. It never fails, one muthafucka will say "You not eatin'?" and I'm exposed.

When I was just a staff person at other jobs, I could just opt out or come up with a solution. At my last gig, I asked the office secretary to make cards to place by each dish saying something like, "Sweet Potato Pie, Courtesy of Zed". That way I'd know what was made by people with good hygiene and what was made by Shitty McNotwashhands.

I don't have a cool secretary at my disposal (maybe I shoulda took 'em all out on Secretaries Day!) so that's wasn't an option today. So I gotta go to this thing, for the sake of office politics and fragile morale, and pretend to like it.

Wish me luck.

Peace,
KZ

SoWiseSista Tagged Me...

so my bullshit thoughts get put on the back burner today. Enjoy this or just tolerate it.

1. If you could be doing what you really want to be doing for a living, what would it be?
I'd be a profession writer. Or a porn site webmaster.

2. If you could slap the shit out of any famous person, alive or dead, who would it be?

Why would I slap a dead person? This is a difficult question. I hate so many people. This won't mean shit to anybody else, but I'd like to slap the shit out of William Clay Ford, Sr., owner of the Detroit Lions. That son of a bitch has ruined more of my weeks than any other person I can think of.

3. What's the dumbest decision you've made in the past 5 years?

That's easy. Buying "Bluie", my Chevy Tahoe. High ass gas prices coupled with the muthafucka falling apart around me has made this question a no-brainer.

4. Give up one for a year: (good) sex or (good) music.

Since moving to Satan's Anus I've kind of given up both. But I'll pick good music. The memory of good music lasts longer, so I can hum to myself.

5. Dudes, would you rather have a big dick or a great sense of humor?

Ladies, nice tits & azz or common sense?

I didn't have to choose!!! If I did, I'd pick the sense of humor. Without the sense of humor, they'll never find out about your dick size.


6. So you've been invited to an all expense paid Blogger Prom in The Bahamas. You're sitting at the bar on the beach. Which blogger do you want to join you for hours of good convo?

The one that's fuckin'.

7. Which blogger would you most like to cuddle with on the beach? (and don't defer to your current signif other either. Infidelity won't count against you. Duh.)

I'm really trying to fuck too many bloggers to answer this.

8. You're going on a 5 hour road trip...which 5 CDs do you bring?

1. Fantastic, Volume One - Slum Village
2. The Best of Otis Redding - Otis Redding
3. Buhloone Mindstate - De La Soul
4. S.O.N.O.G.R.A.M. - One.Be.Lo
5. A Decade of Steely Dan - Steely Dan

9. Would you rather bury your children young or have your children bury you young?

SoWise, what type of morbid shit...? I'd rather have them fuckers bury me.


10. What's your biggest insecurity?

I'm always afraid of being unprepared in any situation.

11.What's the first blog you read every day...or however often you read them? (And I swear to God, don't be saying mine just cuz I'm the one asking...unless of course you really mean it. lol)

Cocoa Girl's blog is first and I don't know how it got that way. It's the first one I check daily.


12. When's the last time you peed your pants?

1976. I was in 2nd grade and the teacher wouldn't give me permission to go to the bathroom. We'd just gone as a class and I didn't use it. So out of spite, she said "no".

I had to wear "Goodwill box" donated pants home.


13. Which was better, your first kiss or your first pay check?

My first check. I don't even remember the first kiss. Ask me about my first blowjob.

14. Do you have kids? Want kids?

I don't have kids. I seriously want kids. At least 2.


15. You get dropped off at home after the office holiday party by your bitch azz boss that you can't effing stand...you exit the car and he peels out, runs a red light at your corner and rolls up an unsuspecting midget. The next day the midget watch groups are on TV outraged at the heartless hit and run, and are calling for any witnesses to please come fwd...that half dead midget has a family at home waiting on C-mas presents. Would you take $1000 hush money? $500? $100? A six pack?

Since that would make me the boss, and my job isn't very different from his except for the pay, I'd snitch.

16. Live the rest of your life without your eyebrows or your fingernails?

I think I can go around looking like Charlie Villanueva.









17. What makes you angry?

Shit like this.

18. What makes you horny?

The air I breathe.

19. What makes you nervous?

Adult braces.

20. What makes you smile?

New porn.