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