Through The Looking Glass

The uniform was familiar, but the stadium was different. Yes, he was wearing the jeans, sportcoat, oxford shirt and adidas Forums. And yes, it was still a jazz club, not quite as smoky as he was used to. But the band members, along with most of the patrons, were white. He didn't know a single person in the place. And because of her, he was a ball of nerves.

He saw her with her friend, sitting at the edge of the stage sipping big awkwardly constructed drinks, full of fruit and color. In fact, they possessed the only color in the place. He watched for a little while, looking for their men to approach. Her friend was definitely wearing a wedding rock, but she herself was ringless.

He ordered a drink from Mike and took a seat at the other end of the stage so he had a direct line of sight to them. Slowly he sipped the Cuba Libre, waiting for signs that they were accompanied by men. He never saw any.

He walked back to the bar. "Mike, I need a small favor." "What is it?" "There are two women sitting at the stage. I wanna send them some drinks." "You wanna send them a shot?" "Nah, whatever they want. I just need you to tell their server and put it on my tab." And he went back to his seat.

A few minutes later, the waitress walks over to ask the ladies a question, and very conservative looking drinks arrived at the table. The waitress bent down to respond to a question by the single one and she answered by twisting her hair.

The ladies looked up and raised their drinks, mouthing "thank you". He raised his glass in a return salute and continued to watch the band. A moment or so later, the married one went to the restroom. It was time to move.

He was extremely self conscious as he walked across the room. He'd never felt so aware of the length of his stride or the bounce in his step.

He knelt beside her chair. "Hi, I'm Zed." "I'm Teresa." She smiled and shook his hand. She was warm or the dress with the plunging neckline made him feel warmer.

"My friend and I had a bet that you're either a professor or a musician. Which one is it?" "That's pretty good. At least you didn't think I was a bum. Actually, I'm a [blank]." "Really? We were kind of far off, weren't we?" "Yeah, I think so." They laughed and he was at ease. The conversation flowed freely.

Her married friend came back, he introduced himself to her and decided to take leave of them. "Could we go out sometime? Get to know each other a little better?" And with that, she grabbed a pen and made his night.

And that's how he got comfortable on the other side of the looking glass.

Stay Cool,
KZ

Meet Luther

Luther lives in my apartment complex. Like me he's a Black man from Detroit. He's been in Satan's Anus for about 3 years. He's a single father, 51 years old, raising his two kids. Their mother, from whom he was divorced, died a year ago and he's been taking care of them ever since. His son, Luther Jr. is 14, he's mentally challenged. His daughter, Faberge, is 16. She's pregnant by a white dude. He's disappointed, but what can you do?

Luther's been married and divorced 3 times. He's got bad credit and was moving weight in the dope game in the 80's. He works for the state in correctional facilities, and they were the ones that transferred him to Satan's Anus.

He goes to Second Ebenezer Church. The Pastor's country as all get out, but there are a lot of women there. He's getting his fair share, but the women here are missing...something. He can't put his finger on it. He's trying not to fuck our neighbor, the woman that lives next door to him. She's diggin' on him.

How cool are me and Luther? We're not cool at all. You see, I made the mistake of keeping to myself. I went to the gotdamn mailbox and this muthafucka decided he wanted to get to know me, so he came outside, stopped me as I was returning to my house, and told me his fuckin' life story. And I told it to all y'all on the internet. He wanted to know about me. You wanna know what he knows about me? I'm 35, I work for the city, and I drive a blue Chevy Tahoe. That's it.

What part of the game has it become for Black folks to be tellin' all their fuckin' business? I changed the names, but I didn't make up one single element of that story. I know all that information about him from ONE THIRTY MINUTE CONVERSATION. We really need to tighten that shit up.

Stay Cool,
KZ

Zagora

a.k.a. The Loose Ends post

Louganis

If this cat ain't gay, he's doing a helluva impersonation. When I was going to the shower one day, he was at the sink shaving. Shaving. What man hangs around a fuckin' locker room to shave? I don't know one. Dudes just don't like the proximity of other naked dudes that much to stand around and shave. He left with this white dude and he was wearing a pair of these:

I bullshit you not.

On Monday I was in the locker room going to the shower. I walk past the steam room and this bitch is laying down on the wooden bench, stretched out with most of his body exposed, a little part of the towel covering his genitalia, like a pin up hoe. He ought not speak to me.


Meli Mel, the Furious One

So Tuesday, ol' dude finally showed up at her crib. She wanted some face-to-face interaction. She starts cussin' him out, because she's from Detroit and that's what they do. Read him the riot act. He told her he meant to do it. He didn't care that she saw who he sent it to. Anyway, ol' boy said "I don't know why you called them other chicks. But that's OK though. Two of 'em love me even more now. So I'm still gettin' mine."

I asked her afterwards, "What did you think would happen. I mean, dude is arrogant. Wasn't this expected?"

She told me yeah, actually it was expected. "I just needed to cuss his bitch ass out face to face. I knew he wasn't shit! I called him a bitch a bunch of times right to his face and he just waved it off. An African from Detroit woulda kicked my ass. Fuckin' Omaha African!" And that was that. I guess.

LoLo

OK, after I told her I wasn't feeling her and all we could be is friends, LoLo kept calling. Now the agenda is different. It's career advice. She's about to start Law School and she's continuing to work so she wants to talk about the balance. LoLo is interviewing for a new gig and is using me as a reference. So she's got an excuse to call. Then, a couple of nights ago, there it was again.

Lo: When are you coming back to Detroit?
KZ: I don't know. Spring maybe.
Lo: Spring? Spring? You're scared to come to Detroit, aren't you?
KZ: Why would I be scared of Detroit?
Lo: You're scared of me. Scared Imma put it on ya.
KZ: Ummmm, no. I don't have any reason to think that. We clarified that, didn't we?
Lo: African, I ain't tryin' to marry you. I'm trying to fuck you. You scared of pussy?

And there you have it. Question an African's manhood and he's gotta prove you wrong, right?

KZ: I'm scared of the cost of pussy, that's what I'm scared of.

Be Easy,
KZ

Steady P aka Matrimony and The Single African

Forever is a mighty long time...

If you decide or have decided that you are in for a long-term committed relationship, like marriage, there are several obstacles you must overcome. The very least of which is your ideal of marriage, which will likely be shattered within a short period of time. But there is so much more to it.

You have to deal with the fact that if you are over the age of 24, this person is not likely your first choice for matrimony. Unspoken, unfair comparisions of the mate you have to "the one that mercifully escaped your crazy ass" is inevitable and color's one's judgement in the creation of a happy life together. You will never be that African, no matter how cool you are. A memory doesn't scratch his nuts or fart at the boss' dinner party. A memory doesn't nag or go on "pussy strike". The muthafucka who ain't here is the gold standard. The taint of being "settled for" will hover over your relationship like a dark storm cloud.

This is something I call the "What the fuck?" factor. The older you get, relationships get more dangerous. It's like a high stakes game of musical chairs. Muthafuckas fight for that last chair, hoping they're not the one left standing. Anxiety builds everytime a chair is taken away. Your dating pool is shrinking, like a ball sac in cold water. If you win this game of musical chairs, you may find out that you didn't want the fuckin' chair in the first place. The chair you wanted was in a room four doors over. It's too late to start over. What the fuck! I'll just stick with the chair I got.

Then there's the myth of "growing together". People don't actually grow together. That's not even human nature. People get stuck in the same fuckin' rut. That's the best one can hope for. That's what we call a successful marriage. "We go to plays, the opera, concerts, movies, you name it, we do it." I know women tend to like the idea of having a "built in date" for shit, but gotdamn! I gotta share my rut with you too? You know those couples that are always together? Those cute, inseparable couples? Don't leave the back gate open 'cuz one of 'em will escape.

Then there's the idea that you're in a partnership. A one-sided, dictatorial partnership, one in which pussy is the only bargaining chip used to negotiate. Fellas, there's only one pussy in the relationship and you don't have it. That other side of the sack gets ice cold when she's not getting her way.

You'd also be surprised at how much info about your dick is hitting the streets. Shit you'd never tell another dude about your ol' lady is fair game the other way around. Mind you, she don't even like the broads she's gossipin' with, but she's still talking about your every habit, lapse, skill set and shortcoming to this chick. This part of the backlash about you not being the muthafucka that got away, who's idealized because...well he's not you!

This is just my very limited list about my least favorite institution, behind mental, educational, and correctional.

Be Safe,
KZ

The Omen

Maybe I should've ordered something else just to get a different total.

This is a story. A story of sacrifice and redemption. A story fathers should tell sons and sons should ignore, mainly because life would become boring if people didn't repeat mistakes like this one.

Meli, my young protege, is trying to hold it down in Nebraska of all places. Her great new gig is in the rottenest of places, but she's maintaining. She and I are in similar situations, both from Detroit and separated from our 'hood roots. She's 25, so I think she might be coping better than I am, seeing as I'm more set in my ways.

She's been cyber-dating, which is something the youngsters seem to enjoy these days, along with their MW-8 players and their rock and roll, which is fine by me. I mean, who am I to judge? So anyways, as I was saying, Meli picked herself up a feller offa the cybernet and he began a courtin' and whatnot.

This guy is a young, successful Black man, making goo-gobs of loot, in this dearth of Black success known as Nebraska. So she's happy and they decide to go out on a date.

He's mad young, just like she is, so his conversation tends to be lacking. Like he's pretty self centered and seems to have some sort of hetero-crush on his frat brothers, judging by the way he talks about them. But she kinda likes the feller, so she lets it slide. (This is the sacrifice part.)

Two days later, this cat calls her at midnight. For all y'all that pay attention, this is one hour past the Booty Call Parallax. He then leaves a text that says "I miss you, I want to see you." Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, she doesn't see it for hours later because she's sleeping. She's awakened by the next text he sends at 2:30 am. "I'd really like to see you tonight." He's buggin' she thought, and returned to sleep. At 5:00 am Meli is awakened again, as he sends her picture mail. It's a picture of himself, lest she forget. She is highly irritated at this point. When looking at the picture, incredulously, she sees her phone number at the bottom along with 4 other phone numbers. This arrogant asshole has slipped up. He sent the same thing to 4 other chicks, hoping one would respond the right way. It's the oldest trick in the book, the ol' "buckshot method", used by wanna be playas and Dick Cheney.

She calls him right then and there. "African, you done fucked up! You have fucked up this time, dude. " He's talking, he's backing up, fast talking and shit. "Please let me explain." She stands firm and hangs up on him, contemplating whether or not to give this heads up to these other chicks.

So, she does what any intelligent, distressed, bosomy woman would do: call Big Zed for advice.

"Listen, Meli, don't call them chicks. Just let that cat stew in his juices. He's shook, you don't have to do any more."

He called her again and begged her to see him just for a minute so he could explain. She gave this dude a window. "You can come over, but I might not let you in." "OK, I'll take my chances. I'll be over in an hour."

I talked to her on the phone as she tried to figure out what she was going to do with him. I had to kick her off the phone before he got there, because I had business of my own to handle...with the TV.

As I was cocooning, watching The Wire, I get a text message. "Zed, I called those other chicks and gave them the 411 on ol' dude. He's done. Finished!" (That's the redemption part.)

Peace,
KZ

*UPDATE: I left out an important part. He said he'd be over in an hour and he never showed, thus pissing her the fuck off even more.*

Just A Thought

A common belief is that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Isn't that the definition of perseverance? What's a rut and how does one get out of one if they persevere? Is "stick-to-it-tiveness" insanity? Where does hope fit into that definition of insanity?

I've self-censored my blog when it's supposed to be for me. I've deleted shit that's supposed to be a mirror of my experiences. Why? The need to be accepted, most likely. I find this simmering rage in my expression these days and I don't like it.

What happened to this muthafucka? I don't know. Say what you will about me, but I was honest to a fault. I don't mind going back to a situation where me and Robyn were the only ones reading my shit. I think that "people pleaser" inside got the best of me.

I'm making a committment to do something different over and over again. What's that the definition of?

KZ

Slices

Work

I'm walking through the east wing of our office suite yesterday after talking with my senior staff person, and I get stopped by Office Broccoli. "I forgot to order your business cards." "You mean the ones I'm almost out of? The ones I asked you to order three weeks ago? Those cards?" "Yeah. I've been distracted. My son got arrested on carrying a concealed weapons charges last week and I've been trying to help him. "

This breaks down into an extended story that delves into all of her son's bidness. Late child support payments, driving record, etc. and her assistance throughout. Yeah, I'm Black, and I'm supposed to understand and relate to all this ghetto shit. But it has nothing to do with the fact that I asked for these business cards three weeks ago because I saw myself running out. I'm down to around 10.

I interrupt the story. "Please just order the cards. I need them soon."

Gym

I went to the gym after work and before this evening meeting I had. I knew time would be tight. I tried to go during lunch but "Animal" was in there and I didn't need to see her. Animal is a woman who works for the City in HR. She's a little redheaded woman who makes inappropriately intimate noises when she works out. In addition, she tends to favor spandex body suits that show off the physique she works so hard to maintain, the physique of an eight year old boy.

Going after work, I always run into "Louganis", a middle aged Black dude of slight build who only comes to the gym to swim. This African is always in the lockerroom wearing fuckin' Speedos and looking creepy. Ladies, your man could be Mister fuckin' Universe, but if that African wears Speedos, he's a fag.

Louganis walks around the lockerroom greeting muthafuckas. "Hey how's it goin'?" Everytime he speaks to me, I'm short as hell. Muthafucka, step back! There's certain lockerroom etiquette: you don't look at a man below the chin, you don't stand too close and you don't try to strike up a friendship with a naked muthafucka. Louganis, you'z a fruit.

Meeting

I'm sitting at a meeting of historic preservationists. They are pissed because the City allowed the demolition of a "historic" property for economic development purposes and they want assurances that there will be more stringent guidelines on demolition in the future. So all eyes are on me. I talk to them. I don't really bullshit them like I've been known to do. I'm completely straightforward in my assessment. "We might consider this option, but the other option is off the table."

This one particular woman is the head of the historic zealots. She tells me in no uncertain terms that the City should take money set aside for social programs and give it to preservation efforts. So I ask the question, "We should take money from battered women's shelters and low income home ownership initiatives to give to historic preservation programs?" Without batting an eye she tells me "Yes". The others all nod in agreement.

There is a special place in hell for historic preservationists, the same muthafuckas who want to turn former slave quarters into live/work lofts. The same bastards who long for the even more racist era gone by and look at it only as a period where the architecture and craftsmanship was better. History has not been kind to Black Americans. I don't know how sympathetic I was supposed to be to their cause, but I think I might facilitate knocking down more old shit for the fuck of it.

Y'all be cool,
KZ

The Fuck You Blog

Vehemently denying all attempts at reconciliation.
Opposing all forms of sweet talk and concession.
Rebuke every effort to conjure the past.
Ball's been dropped.
Props revoked.
Game is done.
Believe me, I've become the cat I need to be.
Dismissive, forgetful, frivolous and recalcitrant.
Without chalant, lacking ruth, but filled with malice and venom.
Advising you to retain cloth for removal of egg from your grill.
Mistakes have been made.
Forest full of oaks and you parlayin' with a willow.
Took one step back to observe the poultry in you.
Your ability to dream small never ceases to amaze.
Carly was right.


Peace,
KZ

The One Book MeMe

1. ONE BOOK THAT CHANGED YOUR LIFE?

Books continue to change my life. If I were to pick one, it would be The Autobiography of Malcolm X.

2. ONE BOOK YOU HAVE READ MORE THAN ONCE?

There are a few including Malcolm X. The yearly read is Catch 22 by Joseph Heller.

3. ONE BOOK YOU WOULD WANT ON A DESERT ISLAND?

1001 Ways to Prepare Sand. That or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

4. ONE BOOK THAT MADE YOU LAUGH?

Aside from the one I'm writing (which, by the way, is hilarious), that would have to be...


5. ONE BOOK THAT MADE YOU CRY?

The one my ex-girlfriend hit me in the balls with.


6. ONE BOOK YOU WISH YOU HAD WRITTEN?

The White Boy Shuffle by Paul Beatty. He makes me ashamed to consider myself a writer.

7. ONE BOOK YOU WISH HAD NEVER BEEN WRITTEN?

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. It spawned more ultra-conservative idiots than the law allows.


8. ONE BOOK YOU ARE CURRENTLY READING?

I'm reading several simultaneously, which makes it hard to finish even the shorter ones. But since you've asked for one, I'll say Misquoting Jesus by Bart Ehrman, which I've been reading for about 2 months now.


9. ONE BOOK YOU HAVE BEEN MEANING TO READ?

This Is Your Brain On Music

The Most and The Least

So, Africans, what it is? The perspective of the blog called "Babee Munkees and Clams" is sort of impersonal. Though I discuss a lot of private topics, it's really me ranting and raving about shit for the most part. What I'm getting at is right now I have a swell of highly charged emotional shit going on right now that I don't feel like writing about on the blog, but I feel need to be documented. In short, I have the OPPOSITE of writer's block, I just can't select which thing I wanna write about. In making my selection, I've chosen the type of story the folks on my blogroll like to read about.

I went out with Blandette yesterday. I want to clarify something right up front. I described her as not pretty/not ugly, kinda middle of the road in all aspects. I need to apologize for that. She is much worse than I thought she was. On closer inspection, she's highly unattractive, not mediocre. And she's less interesting than I thought she was.

I still chickened out. I chickened the fuck out. I didn't tell her straight out that I was not feeling her and I'm sure it's gonna bite me in the ass. I talked about all these different women I was dating, but y'all know the deal. This shit was a smokescreen. Apparently a thin, badly conceived smokescreen. After dinner (at least I didn't pay) she said she'd call me. I hope she doesn't.

After the dinner, I had an evening meeting in which I was accused of leaving Black people out of the governmental process. I always enjoy meetings like that. A room full of white government officials and I'm the one accused of racism. I felt like that idiot in American Beauty who was videotaping that plastic bag. Mesmerized by bullshit.

So after the meeting, I'm at the crib flipping back and forth between Miss Ahmad's show and NFL Football. The phone rings and it's LoLo. So I'm talking to LoLo and she's throwing yet another set of innuendo about how she'd put it on me. Saying it, but not really saying it. After the day I had, she's the victim.

KZ: You know, the first time I saw you I told my boy Rainier that I had to have you.
Lo: For real?
KZ: Un-hunh
Lo: *long assed soliloquy on how she told her girl she had to have me*
KZ: I didn't pursue it because we worked together.
Lo: So why don't you pursue it now?
KZ: That time has passed. We're cool now. We're just cool. I can't even go there with you.
Lo: Awww, nah! How you gon' tell me you liked me and now it's over?
KZ: I felt like I had to tell you. If we keep talking to each other, we'll talk like friends do. We'll keep it in the "friend zone". If you can't handle that, we can't talk.
Lo: *silence for the first time ever on the other end of the phone*.

That's a small part of what's happening with me.

Stay Cool,
KZ

The Quiver Quotient

"....beats from my fleet be sweet like Sugar Ray is." - Mos Def w/ ATCQ, "Yes, Yes, Y'all"

So I'm walkin' right? Mindin' my own, nahmean? Then I get this "Ay yo!", so I'm trippin' right? And then I get this "Ay, I'm just sayin'..." So I'm all like "I mean, what you sayin'?" And ol' girl is like "Damn I mean, damn dude!" So I'm like "Squo?" And she's like "Squo."

Translation: These professional looking sistas started hittin' on me yesterday at lunch. I've seen them at least 20 times this summer with absolutely no acknowledgement.

So I get this call right? And ol' girl is like "See about me." And I'm like "What for?" And she's all "I just wanna speak my peace." So I'm like "What for? We good." And she all like "You ain't gotta be like that. You dolo. Let me hold you down." I'm like "Whatever" but she insistin' like a muhfucka.

Translation: Blandette, that boring chick insisted on taking me out to dinner tonight even though I have a prohibition on marginal women. I hope she doesn't try to give me that mediocre pussy. Better yet I hope I don't get hit in the head with a shot glass thrown by my philosophical friend out west.

So I'm sleepin' right? Takin' a muhfuckin' nap and shit after work. My phone is rangin' and shit. Rangin' and rangin'. I'm irritated. So I finally look at the phone. It's ol' Hymenina, the virgin. I ain't talked to her ass in many, many months. I listen to the message and shit. Some ol' bullshit about missin' me and bringin' back the Sunday Night Show.

Translation: The little 25 year old virgin has seen the error of her ways and wants to come off the bench. I say nay. I'll put her on waivers and hope another team picks her up.

My take? Winter comes early in Michigan. These squirrels are scrambling for deez nutz. In the summer, I'm on some Ralph Ellison shit. As fall approaches, I'm moving up like Elisha Otis.

I think I'll stay in and smoke.

KZ

P.S. Y'all need to check out Robyn for a thorough run-down of our experience at the A Tribe Called Quest set.

Oh, The Places You'll Go

Greetings Africans! I hope the long weekend didn't spoil anyone. I need about 4 more days off to be really good, but I can't complain about the weekend.

"The Legends Concert" at Chene Park will be indelibly etched into my memory for all time. The line up was as follows: Black Sheep, Das Efx, Slum Village (I love Slum, I've seen them in concert about 3 times prior, but at a "Legends" gig?), EPMD and Redman, and last but certainly not least, these cats.

Photo courtesy of "The One That Got Away", Beatmistress L, who somehow got this shot without being accosted by security. The timestamp says 7:44. L, did you get this during soundcheck? I know you're reading this, let me know. The Beatmistress also had the pleasure of being asked to rhyme "A Children's Story" and got splashed with water by Redman. The front row is not just a privilege, it's a duty, mama.

This entire blog could be about the feelings and fuckin' energy of the whole venue when ATCQ hit the stage. It was amazing. Ali Shaheed Muhammad, Phife, Q-Tip, and JAROBI!!! That shit was magical. I felt like I was 20 again. Jumpin', yellin', dancin'. I looked up every few minutes to see Robyn (I forgot to say something, but yeah, I saw you rockin' the shirt!) and her husband doing the same damn thing. The Tribe could've rocked all night. The fuckin' venue shut the power off on 'em. The City and noise regulations and shit. I need not to obsess over every detail. It'll suffice to just say Friday was good.

On Saturday, I was supposed to see Frankie Beverly and Maze, but I didn't get the tickets I was promised. I have to keep learning the lesson: never count on muthafuckas, ever. So I ended up just perusing the Detroit Jazz Festival for the day. It wasn't bad at all if you're a traditional jazz head, which I don't claim to be, but I own an awful lot of it.

This was one of the eight stages, the Waterfront stage. At the time I took this shot, Lou Donaldson, Lonnie Smith and David "Fathead" Newman were on the stage. These cats are dyed in the wool jazz legends.

It started raining after this. Pretty hard. So I dipped inside the Compuware Building for a second and played tourist.

Went back out to see the Regal Brass Band on the New Orleans stage,

all the while waiting for Rachelle Farrell,

who put on a magnificent show. I really wanted to check out Sergio Mendes and Brasil Brazil, but I got sick of the on and off rain, so I dipped.

Sunday I was going to the Arts, Beats and Eats Festival, but decided against it. I was sick of spending loot, so I went home. As I drove back to Satan's Anus a rock hit my windshield and cracked it. I probably could have stayed in Detroit another day and missed the rock completely. C'est La Vie.

Be cool,
KZ

P.S. Happy Belated Birthday to "The Epitome", Miss Ahmad. I hope it was special, sweetie.

James Blunt

"...and I'll spend the weekend shoutin' out to my favorites...."

She's filthy, overly dramatic, overly familiar, extremely violent, unstable, highly unprofessional, nearly bankrupt, promiscuous, and unable to give or receive love. Completely unworthy of admiration, but always demanding respect.

I'll soak her spirit in and smile. I'm too enamored with the she I used to know. I don't know if she ever existed in that form. I just know she's different now.

I'll spend the weekend tryin' to let her know how I feel. "You're beautiful, but we can't be together. It's over." I'm moving on. It will be gradual, but I'll move on.

It's funny how you never realize how much pull something has over you until you try to leave. I've spent what feels like my whole life in love, thought I was over it, then it's back full fledged. I really believe that this is the last hurrah.

The last weekend of summer will appropriately be spent in the Motor. Helping me to bid a fond adieu will be A Tribe Called Quest tonight, Frankie Beverly and Maze tomorrow, the Detroit Jazz Festival, The Arts, Beats, and Eats Festival, and excessive amounts of alcohol.

The "D" is amazing in the summer. Absolutely amazing. I can't wait to tell her how beautiful she is.

KZ

Post #217, AKA The Template

Hey y'all I just thought I'd take a break from [tedious task #18] to give y'all an update on [amusing situation # 40]. I talked to my boy, [companion #106], yesterday and he helped give me some perspective on [problematic female #4]. That [human excrement #2] worked like a [lucky device #56].

So anyway, I'm walking down the street and I see [volumptuous female #8], who's been frontin' hard ever since [problematic female #32] told her about seeing me with [volumptuous female #9]. I blew that shit off. I knew she still wanted to see me on [weekly occurance #1] and give me the [moist female orifice #1]. I think I smoothed it over with [rapid explanation #347]. Hopefully I'll check her out when I come back from [Michigan Metropolis #1] .

My [designated staff person #4] was working on [tedious task #46] and came to me with some [bovine excrement #98], talkin' bout he could finish [tedious task #46] with help from [designated staff person #8]. He knows full well that [designated staff person #8] is working on [important project #62] for [elected official #5]. That [female parent fornicator #1] oughta be kicked in the [human sex organ #12]. I know some of y'all think I'm a [offensive perjorative #91], but I like to think of myself as more of a [witty self-deprecating remark #221].

I just joined a new [social entity #77]. It is the [conical explosive weapon #14]!!! It's pretty state of the art. The only problem: no [derogatory female colloquiallism #8]. I'm trying to make due, but it's [euphemism to describe difficulty #30].

That's all I really have for [weekly occurance #5]. I'll see y'all [mule/donkey hybrids #1] later!

[remain below room temperature],
KZ

Claustrophobia

I'm in the midst of another one of my little career crises. Is my work important enough? Is it worth it to further my plan in this small city when bigger cities could use my help? How long do I wanna do what I'm doing before I make a cash grab? Usually, the origin of these thoughts is pretty mysterious, but not so this time. I feel myself outgrowing this place by leaps and bounds.

As I was daydreaming yesterday, in a two hour meeting that could have been a fifteen minute meeting held in a phone booth, I thought about the kind of week I was having already. I went to HR yesterday to submit a receipt for reimbursement and I saw the receptionist, Monica. Monica had hooked me up with her cousin in June (no, I didn't blog about this shit).

Now Monica is fuckin' hot, but she's married. And Monica's sister, who also works for the city is fuckin' hot, but married. I figured on genes ruling the day, so I went out on a blind date with her cousin. She was...how do you say... Bland. Plain. Not pretty, not ugly, not fashionable, not tacky. Boring. Sleep inducing. 2% milk. Vanilla. I went out with her, cut the date short and never called her again.

But her cousin called me a few times afterwards. I talked to her and was very pleasant, but I didn't initiate another date. So she sent me an e-mail on Monday when I was out asking if we could go out to lunch. I told her I'd see but my schedule was extremely busy.

On Tuesday I'm face to face with Monica giving me a dirty look. I was unfazed at that point. You knew that chick was boring and plain when you tried to pass her off on me! But I couple that with Malakia now open, ready for action and seen semi-daily, FIFA Booty on the come up, the bank teller (no, I didn't blog about her either), plus the geographic parameters of the city and errbody knowin' errbody, not to mention the inability of muthafuckas to separate what I do from who I am, and the shit gets claustrophobic. It's a bitch.

The professional becomes the personal, the personal becomes the personality. The value of big cities is the ability to compartmentalize your life. Right now, I'm sharing a room with every aspect of my life and it's getting hard to take it.

KZ

What's Enough? Part II

Please read Part I first.

When she tells the drug dealer she's pregnant, he's furious. He pleads with her to get an abortion. She's not havin' it. She wants his baby. She's terrified of being alone and she wants some more of his "good genes" for another child. He declares that she won't see a cent from him and he will never see her again.

He's good to his word. He never comes back to see her again for a "tune up". She carries the baby, demanding her friends show loyalty to her and throw her an extravagant baby shower, even though most of them think she's a fool. She finally gives birth to a beautiful baby girl. The dope dealer still no where to be found.

Her son is preparing to go to college. She demands that he choose a college close to home. He has his heart set on Morehouse, but he'll have to settle for a school in Michigan. He's also called upon to handle babysitting duties, effectively cramping his style during his senior year. His mother decides that she wants to be a stay at home mom, quits her job and cashes out her meager 401K.

During the spring, she feels that the indifference that the drug dealer is showing is too much for her to bear. She decides she's going to move to North Carolina with her daughter with no job and while running low on funds. Her son is heartbroken. He's committed to begin summer classes at college at a school he doesn't want to go to, and now his mother is leaving the state.

She leaves in an abrupt fashion and her best friend, a person who's counsel she has up to this point ignored, is asked to help her son transition into his college life. She moves to a bug ridden little hole of an apartment, miserable and lonely, except for her precious daughter. She calls her son constantly, even when he's in class. She complains to all her friends about the mistake she made.

After living in North Carolina for three months and her money running low, she tries to find employment to no avail. She talks to her son and he tells her his father has been berating her. "He said you're stupid for leaving here with no job and no family support." That was all she needed to hear. That was the drug dealers way of saying he missed her. She decides to come back to Michigan, breaking her lease.

She moves in with her mother and reapplies at her old place of employment. She gets re-hired, now with one of her subordinates as her boss, the lowest seniority in the place, and much lower pay. She is in effect right back where she started, but much, much worse.

She says she's going to take the drug dealer to court this time, to get child support for her daughter. I say good luck with that. But at least she got his attention, hunh?

KZ

What's Enough? Part I

When is attention seeking overboard? When is enough enough? At what lengths have you watched someone humiliate themselves for the "love" of another? I think I have a story that might top them all. I'm going to have to break this up. It's hella long.

A 18 year old woman has a baby with a small time drug dealer in 1988. She being naive and attracted to "ghetto riches", gold, jeeps, gear, etc., believes that this is her way out of the projects. The drug dealer, more enamored with his other baby mother, shuns this woman, leaving her and her child without support. She raises her son in the projects.

As her son grows, she gains skills and becomes quite marketable in what she wants to pursue as a profession. She starts making money and she's able to provide quite nicely for her son. She moves out of the projects and puts him in private schools.

She is promoted to management in the only job she's ever worked out of high school, a job she admittedly loves and her son is excelling in school. But she's empty. She wants more.

Over the course of the years, she has still maintained a physical relationship with her child's father. He is now married, with several more children borne in wedlock. He has still never provided any financial assistance to her for her son's well being, but she doesn't care. She wants him however she can get him. And she takes matters into her own hands.

When her son was 16 she decided that she didn't want to be alone when he left for college. She calls the drug dealer (yep, he's still a drug dealer) over for sex, begs for him to take off the condom, and gets pregnant.

Part II coming soon.

KZ

Gristle

Hey peoples, I'm at the crib. This is a mental health day. I'm tired of "da bullshit", the monotony, the inflated sense of self importance. I need a little break.

I'm not a "sick day" type of dude, but this morning was different. I was spacey and lost. I just wanted to lie down and forget I was here.

So now I'm up and reading blogs on my off day is like hell. I don't feel invested unless I'm at work. That should tell me something.

I feel like going to the gym, but trust me when I say I'll get busted by someone else that works for the city. "Wasn't Zed supposed to be sick...?"

The weekend was wasted, my best laid plans fell by the wayside. Any weekend not spent fucking is wasted.

I got two really dirty text messages this weekend. I mean really dirty. How are you gonna have a dream like that? Nasty!

I was checking my work emails and I got an unsolicited "How you doin'?" email from "FIFA Booty". What's that about?

I went to my favorite barber this weekend too. Ol' boy was asking me questions about where I'm from. "You said you're from Detroit?" "Yep." "Which part?" "The eastside. Near City Airport." "Gotdamn, that's the jungle!" "We call it Beirut." "That's some rough shit over there." "I guess." Yes, African, I'll fuck your daughters and fuck you up.

Y'all stay cool,
KZ

Enter Boredom

I bought her in May from a place called Booty Babe Art. I've been trying to name her to no avail. "Hookershoe wearing tribeswoman" is not that catchy.

























I actually cooked, that's how bored I am. And I took pictures of it!!!!

See y'all tomorrow.

KZ

Things I Found Out Too Late

The withdrawal method doesn't work.
"Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life."
Sex On The Beach is a beverage.
I hate microfiber.
Desire causes discomfort.
You can learn everything you need to know about anybody after 2 conversations. People are itching to tell you what makes them "unique".
The internet is crawling with liars.
Anyone frequently calling themselves "intelligent" or "classy" likely is NOT.
Eight hours straight is the longest I can be around anyone without a break.
I can't date a woman if I've never seen her natural hair.
"I have something I need to tell you..." is not foreplay.
Patience and paralysis due to indecision are not the same thing.
Assholes have better days than most other people in general.
There is no way in hell I can handle 3 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms.
You can't be cool with all your exes.
There has yet to be a party that has lived up to its billing.
Even people that wish the best for you sometimes resent your success.
Candy is delicious! (OK, I found that out early)
Fear runs the world.
Aloofness is a two way street.
The people who notice the most often say the least.

KZ

Muthafuckas On That Bullshit

Hola Africans,

This is an open letter to you muthafuckas that have taken it upon yourselves to diss Kevin Federline on his little rap performance the other day. I've heard people from XXL Magazine and other "hip hop publications" come out to deride Mr. Britney Spears on his skills or lack thereof. You muthafuckas need to quit.

First off, aren't you the Africans that have embraced the word "hater", the word which instantly nullifies all criticism of any self expression. If some shit is wack and I say so, I'm a hater.

Confession: I've never liked Tupac. Never a fan. Not even a little. I thought his flow was pedestrian. I thought that cat spent a lot of time wallowing in self pity and packaging that shit to the disillusioned masses, making my peers half assed introspectionists. Made records glorifying dying a violent death as "goin' out like a soldier". How many times have I been called a hater for having a dissenting opinion on that dude?

That "hater" shit helped create a mid 90's full of CD covers with "iced out" photoshopped titles. If you dissed it, you were against a Black man making money. So I got illiterate MCs, Africans dancing in shiny suits, and tone deaf muthafuckas makin' Casio beats. Where the fuck was the hip hop cavalry during the 90's? The foundation for K-Fed to THINK he could grab the mic was laid from 1994 to the Present.

Second, this muthafucka will have you bumpin' his shit tonight if he pays T.I., Chamillionaire, Bun B., and Dem (Gotdamn) Franchise Boyz to be on the remix produced by Jazze Pha. And he can make up a new dance. I mean, shit, he's a dancer. 'Cuz it ain't gotta be good, it's just gotta be popular. The hip hop intellectual community is bankrupt. You have embraced bullshit for too long. And now you wanna be elitist? Once again I ask you, where the fuck were you in the 90's?

Third, and certainly not least, you muthafuckas can't begrudge him making a little loot off his fame, right? Where was the public outcry when Roy Jones, Jr. dropped? Oh, you were scared to get punched in the mouth? OK. Gotdamn Puffy makes records all the fuckin' time. He can't rap either. Neither can Tony Yayo. Fuck, neither can Trina. Once again, where is the fuckin' outcry? Don't try to make this shit about integrity, because there is none. You like what you hear repetitively, period.

Now go back to reviewing that next hot Lil' Wayne record.

Bitches.

KZ

The Fishing Expedition

I'mma lighten this bitch up a bit.

Yesterday around 5:15 pm
Three: Congratulations! You got a couch!
KZ: What?
3: I just read that you bought a couch.
KZ: Did you just read that shit now?
3: Yeah. I decided to read your shit today. I stopped for awhile. Shit was depressing.

...and now, The Marcy Story

So Sunday I met up with Marcy at Griswold and Congress, right near her car. She's walking from Hart Plaza and I'm blocking traffic with my hazards on. The police drove up next to me and looked over at me. I looked at them. They drove away. That's Detroit. Those Africans were too fuckin' busy with real shit to be bothered.

When Marcy got to my car and got in she was bugged by something. Apparently dudes were harassing her ass.

"Africans think I'm all earthy and shit 'cuz I got locs. I can get ignorant, too. Shit, I used to date this Jamaican dude and he used to be real possessive. I'd be out in the street throwin' shit at his ass and cussin' him out. "

So I'm sitting there and my phone starts ringing. "You can answer it. I know you got a lot of bitches."

It's Three. He's telling me he's downtown 'cuz his son didn't feel like coming to see him. So he's out and about. "Man, I'm talking to a friend of mine." "You 'bout to fuck African?" "Let me call you back." I hang up.

Marcy says "I wish you had called me last night. I was trying to find something to do. I was drunk as hell." "Oh. For real?" "Un-hunh. I was sick of hangin' with my girls. They didn't wanna do shit."

Then she goes on. "I didn't wanna go home. I thought I might have an eviction notice on my door. I ain't paid for shit. My fuckin' cable is off. I can't help it. I saw this bad ass dress I wanted to get. I got my daughter looking like a ragamuffin and shit."

I'm extremely uncomfortable. Muthafuckas wonder why my disposition towards women is so bad. I'd really like to make a deal. You don't beg for money, I won't beg for pussy.

"What are you about to do?" "I'm going home. I got a 2 and a half hour drive and it's about 10 o'clock. I gotta go to work." "You sure you don't wanna stay?" "I'm sure I don't wanna walk to your house and your shit's on the sidewalk." She laughed, I didn't.

"Look, I'm about to go." "Can I get a hug?" "OK." I hugged her, she kissed me on the cheek.

I was so relieved when she got out of the truck, I hit the freeway and didn't look back. Happy to be headed home.

KZ

Not Quite

Not quite happy
Not quite sad
Not quite motivated
Not quite dissatisfied
Not quite exasperated
Not quite mad
Not quite able to articulate this feeling
Not quite frustrated
Not quite ready to go
Not quite surrounded by the shit I wanna be surrounded by
Not quite cool with being downgraded from hurricane to tropical storm
Not quite appreciating those sunglasses you wear, artificially muting my shine
Not quite able to put my finger on the problem
Not quite ready to call the problem mine instead of yours
Not quite odd
Not quite even
Not quite a student
Not quite a sensei
Not quite understanding the shit you put me through
Not quite available
Not quite

KZ

African World

I had to get this question close to 40 times this weekend: So, when are you coming home?
My answer: I'm not.

I got my locs maintained. Virtually drama free.

Hung out with my boy Three. He's getting dirty text messages every three minutes, so he's pretty much sick of hanging out with me. He's trying to get to the source of the messages.

I hadn't seen my sands' Dreamcrusher in about 18 months. I ran into him at the African World Festival.
KZ: Where's the ol' ball and chain?
DC: Gone.
KZ: Gone? You were only married like a year!
DC: Look who's talking.

Dreamcrusher was pretty much just like himself. A contrarian. He had a chick with him. Becky. He brought a white girl to the African World Festival. Balls, yep. Good sense, nope.

I saw every woman I ever dated in the City I think. The ones I didn't see called me.

I ran into Fiona, a woman I've spent a lot of time dodging. I introduce her to Three. She tells him, "I think your friend is scared of me. Why is he scared of me?" "Big titty allergy maybe?"

She asks me to call her when I get to my hotel. I don't. Instead, I slept.

I saw my sands' Ace at breakfast (The Detroit Breakfast House is the shit!) on Sunday with a muthafuckin' dime. They seated me next to them.

1: I saw your ex wife the other day.
KZ: For real?
1: Yep.
He's dying to tell me something but I won't let it get to that.
KZ: I hope she's happy. I know I am.
I went back to reading the paper.

Later that day, me and Three hung out a little more. After I dropped him off again I got a phone call from Marcy, this chick I met the night I saw the SanginDiva (I know, I didn't blog about that!). "Can I at least see you for 5 minutes before you leave?"

Five minutes turned into 45. I can say one thing without any qualms: There is really no need for us to talk again. She is almost certifiable.

As I left, I made about 12 phone calls. "Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't see you. It was really hectic this weekend."

Goodbye, Africans. Hello Europeans.

KZ

Ol' Girl, et al

I was on my way to get my shoes shined yesterday and I saw ol' girl. Ol' girl is this woman I see almost everytime I'm "Downtown" (sorry about the quotes, but it's really very little). A Black woman, around my age, doesn't ever speak. That's par for the course around here, though. As I was getting my shoes shined I looked out the window while she read.

I was in one of my midday "isolation" funks, where I've just gotten off the phone with a friend of mine and I realize how alone I am here. So I make a determination. I'm going to insinuate myself into these Black peoples lives. I refuse to be treated like muthafuckin' scum because I didn't grow up in the Boonies.

When I came down from the chair, I paid ol' dude and walked across the street to ol' girl.

"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine." She's still looking down
"My name's Zed, what's yours?"
"Malakia."
"Malakia?"
"Unhunh."
"Well, it's nice to meet you Malakia." I extend my hand.
She looks up at it and half heartedly shakes it. "I've seen you out here before."
"Yeah, I know. I see you all the time too. I just wanted to introduce myself so it wouldn't be like we were total strangers. Do you work downtown?"
"Yeah, I work for URQ. It's a healthcare system."
"Really? I work for the city."
Her head goes down. She's reading again.
"Well, it was nice meeting you."
"You too" she says, without looking up.

I walk away, pretty much resigned to not doing that shit again.

I got back to my office 10 minutes later. One of my staff people comes in and says "Were you just on Main Street?" "Yeah." "Well my daughter's friend Malakia just called me and asked about you." "Really?" "Un-hunh." "She asked who you were and I told her you were the boss." "Ummm, OK." "She wanted me to give you her number and to let you know you can call anytime."

I will not call that number. I was not fishing for her number. I just wanted to be able to see a Black person on the street and greet her, that's all. So now since I am whoever the fuck I am, I'm validated as a person, and not only will she greet me, she wants to hook up. I think Sadat X said it best: "I wasn't that cute when I didn't have no loot."

She's on that proverbial "BULLSHIT". If this is the way I get to interact with people in this city, I give up.

KZ

Playing Grown

Yesterday was a weird day for me. I got interviewed twice by these two bullshit little newspapers about some stuff the city is doing and my role in it. One interview had to be the most unprofessional shit I've ever been a party to. The reporter was talking about her personal financial situation and how this freelancing job doesn't pay her enough. Ridiculous shit. In the afternoon I had to go to a training session that had to be designed for monkeys (not munkees!). I sat at the front of the class and dozed off. I'm sleep deprived, man.

I also have an interview scheduled today with a doctoral student on some of the finer points of my profession. When I met her a few weeks ago two things stood out: She's from the Motherland and she's got an ass like two FIFA certified soccer balls. Today might be better.

I know what I do for a living and I know that I've been doing it for the past 12 years. I always wonder why the fuck do they wanna talk to me? I'm just a kid. It takes time for me to remember who I am to people viewing me externally.

I was talking to a friend about this phenomenon a little while ago. This feeling of "playing grown". As old as I get, I still get the feeling that I'm playing dress up when I put on a suit. I feel like a fuckin' kid with responsibility thrust upon me in a lot of instances. Muthafuckas really depend on me for some life altering shit. I'm so detached from most of it. Sometimes it hits me like a ton of bricks. "Gotdamn, I'm grown!" Thirty fuckin' five years and it still hasn't really sunk in.

So when I read Robert Mack write something like he's 27 and still feels like a kid, I laugh. Because that shit doesn't necessarily fade when you get older. I talked to my father about this same phenomenon last Thanksgiving. My father is 59 with 4 kids and has been married for 37 years. He was talking about Motown (the record company) and how he used to idolize Smokey Robinson and The Miracles. "We just went to see him in concert a few weeks ago. I felt like I was a damn teenager again. It's funny. I have close to the same mindset I had when I was a teenager, then I look in the mirror and I'm a old ass man."

Me too, Pops. Me too.

KZ

Zed Zednanreh's Parade

Track 6 - "Life Can Be So Nice"

So I'm chillin', right? Last Thursday I'm online, not pervin' out, but actually reading when my phone rings. I don't recognize the number or the area code. Since I'm no longer dodging bill collectors, I answer. It's "Bound and Gagged", this chick I used to "see" in college. I didn't even realize she had my number. I haven't seen her in 12 years, haven't talked to her in at least 5 years. She's talking to me about the lack of quality dilznick she's been receiving lately, out of the blue. She was thinking about me and last time we hooked up. Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? Twelve years? She wants to know when she can come see me. I told her I'm not in Detroit anymore. She says I'm closer to her now. I told her I'd see if I could check her out. "You're still the same bullshit artist you were in school. You ain't coming." I laughed and we got off the phone with each other.

Track 2 - "New Position"

So I'm chillin' right? It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm watching this excrutiating movie that was recommended to me by my favorite WCBH (hint: not that mean ass Tam!!!), when I get a phone call from Dreadlady. "What happened to you Saturday?" "What do you mean?" "You had an appointment with me Saturday." "No I didn't. I have an appointment this coming Saturday, the 19th." "Oooh, I was anticipating seeing you. I guess I was just overly anxious." Where is this coming from? It's been a while since we hooked up. I don't know where this is coming from. A sense of nostalgia, I guess. "I named my new vibrator 'Zeddy'." "That's magnificient", I deadpanned. "I'm in the middle of this movie. I'll see you next Saturday."

Track 10 - "Kiss"
So I'm at work today, right? A few minutes ago. And my celly rings. I don't recognize the number, but I answer anyway. "When are you coming home?" My instincts tell me to lie. "I don't know." Mind you, I don't know who I'm talking to, but I'm not about to ask. Whoever's talking apparently thinks they got it like that. No need to spoil the illusion. "I need to see you. I'm losing my voice. I need that 'honey treatment' we used to try." Bingo. Charlize Theron. "I'm sorry, I don't know when I'll be back in the city. "

Track 11 - "Anotherloverholenyohead"

If I called you as much as I thought about you, you'd fuckin' hate me. I'm trying to occupy the same space you occupy and honestly I don't know how I got caught by surprise like this. I'm trying to understand what I'm feeling. I'm working on it, and it's not easy.

Be,
KZ

The Cutter

So Saturday I'm gettin' an edge up, right? I'm in the barber chair for this $5 line up. I always give the barber $10 so when I walk in I move to the front of the line everytime. He can make $10 bucks on 5 minutes of work, and I can get out fast. It's been about a month and a half since "the little incident" happened.

I was in the barbershop and Kev (the barber) was working on a cat. I sat down to read this Vibe and waited to be next. In walks two ultra tight ass women. I am, as were other patrons, agog. They both walk up to Kev and kiss him, one on each cheek. "Hey daddy!" they say in unison. Gotdamn, these are Kev's daughters.

So now I'm not looking up at all. I can't tell how old they are and plus this African is responsible for my grooming. I don't wanna get him upset. I ignore them.

They keep walking around the shop. One of them, the prettier one, walks close to where I'm sitting. I look up. "Hi!" I try to be unfazed. "Hey", I reply quickly and go back to reading about Macy Gray's apple brown betty recipe.

I got in the chair and while Kev was cutting, his daughters were looking at me flirtatiously. I stared through them and in a few minutes I was leaving. I hopped in the truck. As I was starting the truck I looked up at the window and the prettiest one was looking at me smiling. She waved. I waved. She turned her back to me and looked over her shoulder, basically presenting me the ass. She waves again. I wave, smiling. Over her other shoulder I see Kev grimming me as he puts the cape around the next customer's neck. I backed up and drove away.

I didn't know if I should keep going to him or not. He looked pretty upset, but maybe I was just reading it wrong. He hasn't done anything that I thought overtly showed his disposition about what happened. The last three times I've been back since the little incident, he's tried to "up" the small talk quotient. It's hard to get a lot in during such a short cut, but he's been trying.

This Saturday was a doozy. "What do you do for a living again?" "You married? Kids?" When I answered both those questions in the negative, the kicker came. "So you can do just about anything you want, hunh? You got your run of the whole city, don't ya?" I could feel the hostility.

That's when I thought maybe I should get a new barber.

Peace,
KZ

You May Eat A Dick

Hey peoples. I'm truly tired. Mentally tired. I need a real fuckin' vacation. One involving not moving a muscle, and lots of alcohol. I always take days off in drips and drabs because I'm really too restless to enjoy a lot of unplanned time. I get four weeks of vacation a year, which is double what I got at all my old gigs. And I never used it all at my old gig. I think I may need to just take a week and be at home.

I got Wispy(admin. asst.) in here complaining about Debbiee (that's the way her dumbass spells it, admin. asst.) and her lack of work ethic. For 10 pts: What color is Wispy? Bonus Question: What color is Debbiee?

This shit don't stop. My boss is on vacation for the next 10 days, so it's all me. That means every dumb ass question that comes from City Hall is now my bailiwick. How many teardrops can fit on the head of a pin? I'm your guy. What's better for my puppy: Eukanuba or Science Diet? Ask Zed. Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar? Yes, you, despite your childish denials. Couldn't be? Then who?

In my frustration I've created a comprehensive list of people, organizations and situations that are untoward, in my humble opinion. I say to them all: You, sir/madam, may eat a dick!

The police
Assumptionists (go buy a "Jumping to conclusions" mat!)
Flight Attendants
Platinum Diggers (Super Gold Digger ass broads)
Pretentious hair stylists (loctician, my ass)
Your pastor
Platonic friends
Casper, Wyoming (fuck a city that calls itself "Casper")
Fat bootied lesbians
Comcast Cable
Wild Pitch Records
Boston Market
The University of Michigan
Tom Breihan from the Village Voice
Chain e-mails on any subject whatsoever. I gives a fuck.

Regards,
KZ

Moisterize My Situation

So yo I get back to Detroit afterwork and I'm at Chene Park trying to get to Will Call. SanginDiva is on deck and I can't wait to meet her. There is only one line going for any request. No short Will Call line, nothing. So I'm standing there and I see this bitch African I can't stand. We got a long ass history. I can't even remember the original transgression, but now I hate his ass on G.P. Anyway, this bastard yells out "If anyone has Will Call tickets, come to this window!" and it's the window he'll be manning. You see, this cat is part of the promotional team that brought SanginDiva to the "D", and he's working the window because they're short staffed. It's a wonder my head didn't explode talking to that bastard.

Anyway this isn't about me, it's about her.

*sigh* Soooooo dreamy! *sigh*

Sometimes people use the word "Diva" too loosely. Sometimes it's used regarding difficult people. Well let me tell ya about the Diva I met.


Sweet, beautiful, tall (legit 6' footer, Africans!!!), tight fuckin' body. My favorite adjective to describe her besides "fuckin' hot" is "willowy". Dios mio! The SanginDiva showed me mad love (not the sticky, delicious kind I love so much). Brought me backstage to meet her peoples (i.e. the band). I was on some ol' all access shit. Fuck what ya heard, SanginDiva is a gotdamn star! I'm not even talking about the golden voice. Y'all KNOW she can sing, you've heard her on her page. I'm telling you she's got star presence, which is much more important that the actual talent to most idiots.

This part of the blog is for her, 'cuz she was busy entertaining the world:

After we hugged each other when we first saw one another and I came back out front, two women I used to date came up to me separately. They wanted to know if we were seeing each other. I told them the truth. "I been trying to get the relationship more serious, but she's just interested in sex, sex, sex. *sigh*" One of the chicks is a dermatologist. I think she wanted to "moisterize my situation" for me. Instead, I declined and "preserved my sexy".

The show was off the hook. The Diva was sangin' her heart out and shaking her booty (yeah, I was lookin'). After the show she brought me back to the dressing area, where we made passionate love on a bearskin duvet. Or I might have just made that shit up.

*sigh*

SanginDiva, I really appreciate everything. You have continued my winning streak of meeting exceptionally cool ass bloggers, sweetie.

I think I might be on to some sort of Black blogger record. I've meet so many bloggers in a 5 day period, in a non-convention atmosphere, it's gotta be a first. This has been an helluva seven days in general.

Stay moist,
KZ

The Remainder

Touchdown Sunday
I'm in the airport on Sunday about to fly home. I'm nervous as hell, talking on the phone with a friend trying to express myself, when Hal Linden walks by. That's when I realized TV was flawed. Barney Miller was one of the most underrated shows on TV. And shows today suck! Man, fuck TV!

Anyway, after I shitted my slacks flying back to Detroit, I called my boy, Three so we could go to the Ribs and Soul festival. Before we go he wants to go eat someplace else, 'cuz they rip your ass off at the festival site. Besides, I ain't goin' for the Ribs or the Soul. I'm just trying to see broads.

We stop at this Chinese restaurant downtown near my old apartment. There's this Black girl working behind the counter. I say "girl" because I thought she was 16. She was pretty, pretty enough to be a dope dealer's girlfriend. I try not to notice that type of shit if I think a girl is underage. I walk to the counter and there's this steam table with nothing on it but rice. I look at the table and look at her. "Where's the rest?" "Do you think we just 'posed ta keep errthang out alla time?" Three intervenes, "Hey, employee of the month, just answer his damn question!" I smile, because I'm about to disarm the situation. She speaks before I get the chance. "Let me drive your truck." "Hunh?" "Let me drive your truck." "What? I ain't lettin' you drive nuthin'. Do you even have a license?" "Yep." She goes to her purse to retrieve her license. Raven is apparently 19 and trying to fuck. "Can I drive if I sit on your lap?" I look at Three and he's not listening, he's looking at the menu. "I can't let you do that. Nobody drives the truck but me." She sucks her teeth and takes our orders.

The noteworthy thing about this interaction was that it reminded me of my "Detroit mindset", that mentality where I got a swagger, where I feel I'm the shit, and where that shit is recognized.

I got a bunch of pics from the Ribs and Soul fest, but none for public consumption, lest I get sued.

Black Monday
I made some promises that I would go check out my old stomping grounds in the government offices of the City of Detroit. As miserable and unappreciated as I felt when I was an employee, I genuinely missed the place. For real. I worked with some fuckin' characters, but I worked with some cool ass people too. I only got to see a few of the cool ones, but it seemed like I saw all of the weird ones. I forgot how many juicy bootied women I used to work with. I don't even know how I got shit done! Goodness gracious! Fuck! I had to talk to them like I didn't wanna bend 'em over and bite their left asscheek. That shit was fun. (To my ex co-worker who's lurking: It was good to see you Monday. Don't repeat this shit!!!)

I ran into the new Deputy Director of my old department. He had another title when I was there, he was still higher than me. But he asked me for my card and we exchanged them. He said "It's funny, we have the same title now." "Yeah, funny how that works out, hunh?" I responded. Damn devil. Everytime I saw a person that used to be higher up than I was, they wanted to know if I was trying to come back. They basically know that if that was the case, they'd have to prepare resumes on the spot. I assured them I wasn't.

I checked out Three again, since he doesn't work on Mondays, after hanging out at my old job. We went to the mall, ostensibly so I could buy some kicks, but basically so I could watch hot housewifes and underemployed floozies. "You thinking about coming back?" "I don't know. This shit's depressing. I'm pretty sure I'm moving east." "You learn your lesson yet?" "What lesson?" "Money ain't shit." "That's the lesson?" "That's the lesson, Cotton Candy."

I drove back home to Satan's Anus under cover of night, looking at deer carcasses, trying to think more pleasant thoughts.

I really shoulda got some pussy.

KZ

Hotel Sex, Lady Liberty, and Sobriety*

Hey y'all what's up? Believe it or not, I'm glad to be back in Satan's Anus! Not that I didn't have a fuckin' ball in the Apple and the Big Motor, but damn, I was in 3 hotel rooms in 4 days. I'm not used to that shit. I'm not a heavy traveler. But I'mma try to recap in the best way that I can a pretty tight fuckin' weekend.

Lucky Thursday
I'm in Detroit and I don't have tickets to The Roots. My boy Rainier thought I was gonna flake out and not come, so he didn't buy me one. I'm stuck in this long ass, wrapped around the block line for tickets. A scalper walks up, going from person to person trying to sell this ticket. Everybody was coupled up and couldn't use just one ticket. He got the end of the line and there I was ready to buy.

I got out of the long ass ticket line and moved over to the long ass entry line, where they were checkin' Africans for guns and dope and vaginal warts. I gave up and I was gonna go drink somewhere until the line shrank. As I came from around the corner and walked past the entrance to go to a bar, I ran into Allen, my old barber, just as he was approaching the security check. "Cut in here man!" and in I went with no waiting.

Allen and I both had cheap seats, upstairs. We looked over at the floor area and it was being protected by security. I looked again and saw one of my old co-workers from the City of Detroit was working her second job, guarding the floor. "Hey mama!" I'm huggin', flirtin', and shit. They I give it a try. "How can me and my boy get in there?" "Come back a little later." We stood there looking stupid for a minute and then we got waved over. I was 5 feet from the stage for the rest of the night. The Pharcyde, Opio (Souls of Mischief), and The Roots got the fuck off. Talib Kweli was ill and didn't perform. You gotta see The Roots live. That shit is the truth!

Funky Fresh Friday
When I got to NYC, I texted Blah Blah Blah "I'm the Juggernaut, Bitch!" signaling the arrival of the scion of the Zednanreh Empire on solid ground. We hooked up for lunch with that cool African, Will, and kicked it at the South Street Seaport at this Latin themed restaurant. Nice empanadas and liquor. After Will jetted, Blah and I sat there talking shit for so long, it irritated the hell out of the waitstaff. When we finally left we went to my hotel room...

*icky stuff omitted*

Just kidding, y'all.

Anyway I changed, we hooked up with the man they call O to tha N , his cousin and Will again, and we went to this spot called Dewey's where we had the most thickalicious piece of crumpet as a waitress named Tiffany. I knew the night would be good right away.

We got Cocoa Girl (!!!) and Berry (I just found the blog, you can't quit!) as the nearly completed set of bloggers at the spot. I was happy to see everybody, though I didn't get a chance to kick it as much as I wanted with everybody. The spot was too dark to take any usable photos, so I missed that opportunity. While waiting for Slish to show up (even though I was hoping for Slasher) me, Will and ON tried to entertain the ladies with our butter smooth renditions of 80's R&B hits. That mercifully came to an end when Slish and his homey, Spankindatazz, showed up.

If y'all don't know, Slish is like Bad Boy, HE DON'T STOP. That cat don't sit for more than a second, always up, always lively. Slish is the consummate host, making everybody feel cool and included. The shit was bubblin' and I started running out of energy. Between the long night before and the lethal combo of brew and mixed drinks, I had to go lie down. I took the train back to the hotel to sleep.

BlogNic Saturday
So Young Slisher got me on the train, right? And I'm underground in Manhattan, then above ground in the Bronx. The cat is johnny-on-the-spot when it comes to scooping me from the subway stop. He introduces me to Barneys and I understand. I get it, African, OK? Beautiful, smart, and extra cool. I'll stop fuckin' with you about your lovey-dovey ass blog. You win! He then scooped up his boy, Painter, who'll do the cooking, and we're off.

We arrive to see hard working Phoenix and Lightweight, who've been holding it down for hours when we arrived. They are sufficiently irritated with me and Slish doing a half assed job of moving tables around, but I think they got over it. People start arriving and the Slish/Phoenix/Lightweight BBQ event, that was first dubbed as BlogNic by me and later RDNic after I had more alcohol, has begun. This time it wasn't DEEP with bloggers, but next time, I'm thinking we'll have something. There were a gang of people there, families errwhere. It was beautiful.

I believe the order of arrival of bloggers was Chezniki and her homegirl, K., later followed by her sisters, then Royce's Daughter (that's when it became RDNic!) with OneFromPhilly and their girl, B., then PhillyLive (time to blog, brutha). If we could have had both contingencies from both nights together....FORMIDIBLE. It's funny talking about shit with people who you've just met and already have a level of familiarity with you. It makes the initial meeting smooth as hell.

This is already a superlong blog entry, but I have to say I'm selling every one of these people short. I had excellent conversation with each one of the bloggers and the non-bloggers they brought with them. I'd be writing all night long to encompass the good will and genuine enjoyment I had at BlogNic '06. Make sure you check out my Flickr Badge to catch a little glimpse of us holding down FDR Park.

Every person I met over this weekend was cool as fuck. Not a single shitty attitude, not a single negative person. It was one of the best weekends I could have ever spent with people I don't even "really" know. This shit was outstanding.

I still have a gang of shit to write about after I got back from NYC and was holding it down in my old stomping grounds in Detroit.

Sorry about the "Deer" post,
KZ

P.S. *Three things I didn't see in NYC

The Deer Allegory

When you drive in Michigan, you've gotta watch out for the deer. You can't drive a mile on the freeway without being reminded that deer might jump out in front of your car. It's a dangerous proposition because the more you drive the less you notice the signs, and you forget to look out for the deer.

There is an implicit contract between the driver and the State everytime you drive these freeways. You are asked to obey the speed limit and employ safe driving practices. The State has to make roads safe and hazard free. For the most part this contract is followed to the letter. There are always wildcards.

The traveler may choose many modes of travel: a fast vehicle, a fuel efficient vehicle, a big vehicle. The traveler may choose from many routes. Those that are paved are deemed safe for the driver. They take the unpaved road at one's own risk. It effectively breaks the contract between the driver and the State.

So, the traveler and the State have a pretty neat arrangement. Except they've neglected to have another party under contract, Mother Nature. And that's where the deer come in. If you choose to travel the paved road in your vehicle of choice and a deer jumps out in front of you, you may swerve to miss it or you may strike it. There are consequences either way. But once that deer leaps in front of your vehicle, you will never ever forget that every time you travel the freeway, there is a chance a deer may jump in front of your vehicle and that contract you thought you had is worthless.

KZ

Ursine Vagina

Relief fell upon the Earth. And it was good.

For days it's been hotter than bear pussy. Completely suffocating. High 90's and humid. So the rain is welcome. We're flush with thunderstorms and shit. After waking up to 80 degree mornings, this morning waking up to 73 degrees was fantastic.

It's hard to be motivated in this type of weather, especially in this type of town. Yesterday I slid in this bitch an hour late. An hour late. Did I really think I'd go unnoticed? Luckily, I have a fair amount of juice. Unfortunately, it's grapefruit and prune.

I'm packed and ready for The Apple. I'm going to Detroit tonight so I can see The Roots and I'll fly out early tomorrow morning. Of course I had to prepare for that one evening of being in the city unattached. I have my boy Rainier on standby with my ticket to the concert and I made my usual phone calls. It's not even that I'm in the mood to fuck, but I think I'm supposed to fuck. It's like not eating for days when you're preoccupied or upset. You'll finally eat because you know you're supposed to eat. That's where I am with the fucking.

Honestly, I believe that the fact that I'm completely unattached for the first time in a long time is making the "multiples" less fun. I mean, what am I "cleansing the palate" from? Cheating is a vacation away from the pussy you're used to. Who's gonna say no to a vacation? Certainly not me!

But that fact that I don't have an anchor, a bottom chick, has kind of taken the wind out of my sails. Some of you may argue that it may be maturity that has taken over. I say "maturity" is just another word for "giving up".

Regardless of my ol' fucked up philosophy, hopefully I'll be doing some blogworthy shit this weekend. Hopefully it's so blogworthy, I'll be forbidden to write about it.

Cool?
KZ

It Takes Two MeMe

That one chick that be over there frontin' tagged me. I can barely put two sentences together these days, so I guess I appreciate it.

Two Names You Go By:
1. Zedediah
2. K-Zed

Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
1. A wack ass shirt
2. A wack ass tie

Two Things You Would Want in a Relationship:
1. Vaginal intercourse
2. Complete silence

Two Things You Want Really Badly At This Moment:
1. Coffee
2. The wisdom to know the difference between the shit I can and cannot change by choking out a muthafucka.

Two of Your Favorite Hobbies:
1. Reading
2. Testing the viscosity of baby oil.

Two pets you have had:
1. Amber - My hamster
2. Caesar - My german shepherd

Two people who will fill this out:
1. Robyn? Maybe?
2. People who hate freedom

Two things you did last night:
1. Watched The Matador (funny movie!)
2. Washed clothes

Two Favorite Places to eat:
1. My Bed
2. Union Street, Detroit, MI

Two things you ate today:
1. Nothing
2. Still Nothing

Two people you Last Talked To:
1. Bluey
2. Charlize Theron

KZ

365 Days Later

365 days ago I was infected with a seemingly incurable virus. Robyn was the carrier. This virus makes one crave instant feedback on shit you write. It makes you befriend people you might have never talked to in "real" life. It makes you reveal parts of yourself to people you don't know and tell them things you've only told to the people closest to you.

I told friends of mine about this virus. Some of them were infected, most of them weren't. And they did nothing but watch the symptoms, pitying me the whole time. They didn't even start a fundraising campaign to find a cure.

The first signs that this thing was going to be a huge part of my life was the obsession with finding the perfect nickname. The rejects:

• Seymour Twats
• Scooby Screw
• Sam Cocke
  
• Neck Cannon
• Bill Clit-on
• Elliot (OK, some of 'em weren't that clever)
  

The best kept secret about Blogger is that this fucking thing is full of some of the most intelligent, funny, prolific, talented, perverted, crazy, structually deficient, and functionally obsolete muthafuckas ever assembled. I appreciate y'all reading the goofy shit I write. Who the hell else would want to hear about the insecure ass rantings of a semi literate jackass? This blog was actually supposed to be frank talk about my feelings as I was plowing through every broad in this jerkwater 'burg. Except the women didn't hold up their end of the bargain.

I thought about writing about the past, but that concept felt pretty lame. I could write a fuckin' book on the stupid shit I've done or been a party to. I needed to stay in the present. I think I've done a pretty good job of documenting this past year. I've glossed over plenty of good fucking stories. Shit such as:

• The pregnancy scare last summer
• My (ex) homeboy that came out of the closet
  
• The dropped opportunity for a 3-some with Carmel and her girl Punkin
• More Batshit stories than you could ever imagine
  

I'll keep moving forward, even as you get bored of the shit I write about and I get bored writing this shit.

Thanks for reading,
KZ

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