"Deeply rooted from my Timbs to my dick above." -Smif and Wesson, Bucktown
I used to love home so much, but man, I don't know. I had an interview last week with this city in North Carolina. The dude asked me "Why should I hire you if you're looking for work after 23 months in Satan's Anus?" I didn't have a real answer. I told him I thought I could make an impact in their city, whereas my current community needs the help less. It didn't work, I'm sure, but I gave it a shot.
So home came calling, right? I got a call out of the blue from this dude at the City of Detroit asking if I thought about coming back. Now, I was waiting to hear from this org in Detroit to be their Executive Director, but now The City was calling. It was weird.
I talked to him about it, but I don't know if I'd go. They really didn't appreciate my skill set when I was there the first time. The guy that called holds the position my old boss did. He was in a different capacity when I was there. My old boss told me I didn't want to advance bad enough to get promoted. Translation: I didn't kiss her ass. So I left, and I'm here. He's gotta know if I come back, I got a list of people I must be superior to. It's not even negotiable.
But I have this nagging ass feeling that I don't wanna go back. I was there this weekend, and quite frankly, Africans are nuts. I go to the 'burbs all the time to see my chick, but I hardly go in the City. Muthafuckas are off the chain. A lot of shit came flooding back.
We were watching the news and shit seems so....violent. I never thought so, but damn, Detroit is dangerous, yo! An African will lose his life for nothin'. I think I was jaded to that fact, but I'm thinking if I come back and I'm staying, trying to raise seeds in the future...I just don't know.
It's on my mind and shit. I'm just saying...
Peace,
KZ
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Open Pit
Friday's are the shit in most cases. They are the beginning of the weekend. If you work a straight up 9 to 5, Friday is nirvana. But if you're me, and one of your staff people keeps begging you to come over for dinner so they can kiss your ass on "some Friday", it's pure hell. Especially since they remind you weekly that they'd really love to have you over, and also since it's this guy.
But I had this guy go above and beyond for this project. "Thanks, Dub, I owe you one." Why the fuck didn't I choose my words more carefully? "Well if you'd really like to pay me back, take me and my wife up on the dinner invitation."
I'm thinking, if this cat had a inkling of who I am, he'd leave me the fuck alone. I like people who allow me to be anti-social. But I'm not trying to hurt his filthy feelings. I accepted and went over to their crib for dinner on Friday.
What do I have in common with a 60 year old white couple and their 30 something son? Nothing. It was painfully clear. They were grilling this eve and the joy juice was plentiful. So I drank away the pain. Everything was a lot more bearable.
Sweet, sweet TAD was trying to help me out by calling me claiming to be stranded by the road and needing help. I fucked that up by not feeling the phone vibrate when she called.
His little round wife asked if I like asparagus. I responded affirmatively, vigorously. Dub C, my staff person, went to take the veggies, covered in olive oil, out to the grill in a dish. He made a pit stop. That's right, to the restroom, before he took them out to the grill. He came out of the bathroom post haste. I heard the toilet flush as he opened the door. No sink faucets were turned.
He made his way out to the grill, placed the dish by his side and began to manipulate the olive oiled veggies to make sure the were properly lubricated. With his hands. His bare hands.
I watched as he put the asparagus on the grill, once again with his bare hands, in horror. All I could do was pray.
Fuck these dubs, and fuck hospitality. People are fucking disgusting, and I'll be damned if I accept another invitation to a horror show. Satan's Anus earned it's name that night, with the inane conversation and the hours filled with "how did you get to upper management from the ghetto" type insinuation about my background.
I don't wanna talk to you about my life, I don't wanna hear about yours, and stop trying to feed me pissy asparagus!
That's all I got.
KZ
But I had this guy go above and beyond for this project. "Thanks, Dub, I owe you one." Why the fuck didn't I choose my words more carefully? "Well if you'd really like to pay me back, take me and my wife up on the dinner invitation."
I'm thinking, if this cat had a inkling of who I am, he'd leave me the fuck alone. I like people who allow me to be anti-social. But I'm not trying to hurt his filthy feelings. I accepted and went over to their crib for dinner on Friday.
What do I have in common with a 60 year old white couple and their 30 something son? Nothing. It was painfully clear. They were grilling this eve and the joy juice was plentiful. So I drank away the pain. Everything was a lot more bearable.
Sweet, sweet TAD was trying to help me out by calling me claiming to be stranded by the road and needing help. I fucked that up by not feeling the phone vibrate when she called.
His little round wife asked if I like asparagus. I responded affirmatively, vigorously. Dub C, my staff person, went to take the veggies, covered in olive oil, out to the grill in a dish. He made a pit stop. That's right, to the restroom, before he took them out to the grill. He came out of the bathroom post haste. I heard the toilet flush as he opened the door. No sink faucets were turned.
He made his way out to the grill, placed the dish by his side and began to manipulate the olive oiled veggies to make sure the were properly lubricated. With his hands. His bare hands.
I watched as he put the asparagus on the grill, once again with his bare hands, in horror. All I could do was pray.
Fuck these dubs, and fuck hospitality. People are fucking disgusting, and I'll be damned if I accept another invitation to a horror show. Satan's Anus earned it's name that night, with the inane conversation and the hours filled with "how did you get to upper management from the ghetto" type insinuation about my background.
I don't wanna talk to you about my life, I don't wanna hear about yours, and stop trying to feed me pissy asparagus!
That's all I got.
KZ
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Fuck Pork
One moment off topic...
Arrrgggghhhhh!!!!!!
David Muthafuckin' Chase.
Now, back to my life....
Hey folks, what's poppin'? I haven't done much this week, but this weekend was pretty good, all things considered. I went to the local NA.ACP Freedom Fun.d Dinner. I figured I'd see all the movers and shakers in one place. That I did. Also, I got to see Satan's Anus's entire inventory of dresses that show off titties and ass. Good job, ladies.
The keynote speaker was a physician, and he sure knew how to bring down a room. Sure, the occasion was quite serious, but fuck!!! He laid down some shit that really got my head spinning.
I work with statistics a lot. At least I used to. Now I delegate that shit. But when I was in number-cruncher mode, justifying whatever project for whatever amount of money, stats fascinated me. This keynote speaker had me from the first slide. Here's some shit to chew on, Homey:
In Satan's Anus County, the white teenage pregnancy rate is 20 per 1,000 teen females. For Black teens? 100 per 1,000.
In S.A.C., the rate of gonorrhea amongst teen white males is .1%. Amongst teen Black males? 25%.
In AMERICA, the infant mortality rate among American born Blacks is 14%. American born Whites? 4%. This is the kicker: Amongst AFRICAN born Blacks giving birth in America? 5%
What the fuck? It's not inherently racial issue, it's us.
Wanna hear something else? When they normalize for socio-economic factors, the shit is still foul. Black women with master's degrees have a far worse infant mortality rate than white women with a ninth grade education or lower. What the fuck?
This shit gets even worse. They did a study where they sent ACTORS to the same set of doctors with the same set of symptoms. The actors were of all the same age and general physique. The only difference was their races. You know the Black actors were given similar bootleg ass advice, quite different than that given to the white actors? The white actors were given the "upscale, upmarket" advice while the Blacks were told shit like "Eat more neckbones!"
I don't have any answers and he didn't either. But his bottom line is all the fuck we got is us. We gotta start taking better care of ourselves.
And really, that's all that came out of this weekend.
Stay Real,
KZ
Arrrgggghhhhh!!!!!!
David Muthafuckin' Chase.
Now, back to my life....
Hey folks, what's poppin'? I haven't done much this week, but this weekend was pretty good, all things considered. I went to the local NA.ACP Freedom Fun.d Dinner. I figured I'd see all the movers and shakers in one place. That I did. Also, I got to see Satan's Anus's entire inventory of dresses that show off titties and ass. Good job, ladies.
The keynote speaker was a physician, and he sure knew how to bring down a room. Sure, the occasion was quite serious, but fuck!!! He laid down some shit that really got my head spinning.
I work with statistics a lot. At least I used to. Now I delegate that shit. But when I was in number-cruncher mode, justifying whatever project for whatever amount of money, stats fascinated me. This keynote speaker had me from the first slide. Here's some shit to chew on, Homey:
In Satan's Anus County, the white teenage pregnancy rate is 20 per 1,000 teen females. For Black teens? 100 per 1,000.
In S.A.C., the rate of gonorrhea amongst teen white males is .1%. Amongst teen Black males? 25%.
In AMERICA, the infant mortality rate among American born Blacks is 14%. American born Whites? 4%. This is the kicker: Amongst AFRICAN born Blacks giving birth in America? 5%
What the fuck? It's not inherently racial issue, it's us.
Wanna hear something else? When they normalize for socio-economic factors, the shit is still foul. Black women with master's degrees have a far worse infant mortality rate than white women with a ninth grade education or lower. What the fuck?
This shit gets even worse. They did a study where they sent ACTORS to the same set of doctors with the same set of symptoms. The actors were of all the same age and general physique. The only difference was their races. You know the Black actors were given similar bootleg ass advice, quite different than that given to the white actors? The white actors were given the "upscale, upmarket" advice while the Blacks were told shit like "Eat more neckbones!"
I don't have any answers and he didn't either. But his bottom line is all the fuck we got is us. We gotta start taking better care of ourselves.
And really, that's all that came out of this weekend.
Stay Real,
KZ
Friday, June 08, 2007
Bullets
In no particular order, the shit that has gotten me through the week....
Tighten it up,
KZ
- $2 L.I.I.Ts at Bennigan's
- My glasses
- A-Dub, one of my assistants
- Central air
- Maxwell House
- The Pharcyde's "Otha Fish"
- Common's Like Water For Chocolate CD
- Lunchtime meditation
- The first (and only) season of The Ben Stiller Show DVD
- Sweet, hot pornography
- "Fleshy"
- My new BBQ grill
- My boy Hutty complaining about his son
- My dreams
- Indian food
- Friday
Tighten it up,
KZ
Thursday, June 07, 2007
The Sound Of Silence
When is silence deafening? There a many instances when a statement is made and there is not follow up or it's ignored wholescale, you know how the listener has responded. There is an implied contract between speaker and listener. If you say something that is ignored, then repeat it and it's still ignored, the listener has decided not to respond. Therein lies your response.
The implied contract tells you that the listener has both heard and understood what was said and has decided to respond would be a fool's game. One in which they've decided to participate. The response would agitate an otherwise pleasant situation. At least for the listener.
The speaker at this point does in fact become agitated. The speaker made a statement, waited for the response and was rebuked. The ignoring of the statement by the listener is a response. No words need be spoken to gather that the response is negative, therefore coloring the rest of the conversation. It may be seemingly pleasant, but make no mistake, the situation is tense and there is an undercurrent of anger for the remainder.
The implied contract tells you that the listener has both heard and understood what was said and has decided to respond would be a fool's game. One in which they've decided to participate. The response would agitate an otherwise pleasant situation. At least for the listener.
The speaker at this point does in fact become agitated. The speaker made a statement, waited for the response and was rebuked. The ignoring of the statement by the listener is a response. No words need be spoken to gather that the response is negative, therefore coloring the rest of the conversation. It may be seemingly pleasant, but make no mistake, the situation is tense and there is an undercurrent of anger for the remainder.
I say all this to say, be careful what you say. Or what you don't.
Peace,
KZ
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Choice Is Yours
I'm really job hunting now. I got two interviews coming up in the next two weeks, one in Detroit, the other in North Carolina. Detroit was definitely out of the picture a few months ago, but shit, things change. So now, it's actually back on the list. Probably because there is a perfect job for me available with the perfect salary in a familiar circumstance.
I know what you're thinking, but stop thinking it. I'm not looking at the "D"for love. Money muthafuckin' talks. If anything, I love my hometown, and the chance to do something to help improve it. But man does not live on love alone. They are gonna have to grease my palms.
The North Carolina gig is cool, but I'd be kinda isoloted. I'd be close to my Uncle Zed, but is that really a bonus? I mean, I hate everybody, especially family, because they didn't earn shit. They just expect shit.
One thing's for sure, if I get offered both jobs, I'll know immediately which one to take. Whichever gig doesn't make my dick itch when I talk about it is the winner. No ifs, ands, or buts. My dick is smarter than my brain, and if it gets itchy, then that's a tell-tale sign that I shouldn't take the job. My dick has only been wrong once, and I think that's because I was wearing tweed underwear.
In the meantime, I'm still looking at everything east of the Mississippi and north of South Carolina. Here's to hoping I don't get an itchy dick.
I know what you're thinking, but stop thinking it. I'm not looking at the "D"for love. Money muthafuckin' talks. If anything, I love my hometown, and the chance to do something to help improve it. But man does not live on love alone. They are gonna have to grease my palms.
The North Carolina gig is cool, but I'd be kinda isoloted. I'd be close to my Uncle Zed, but is that really a bonus? I mean, I hate everybody, especially family, because they didn't earn shit. They just expect shit.
One thing's for sure, if I get offered both jobs, I'll know immediately which one to take. Whichever gig doesn't make my dick itch when I talk about it is the winner. No ifs, ands, or buts. My dick is smarter than my brain, and if it gets itchy, then that's a tell-tale sign that I shouldn't take the job. My dick has only been wrong once, and I think that's because I was wearing tweed underwear.
In the meantime, I'm still looking at everything east of the Mississippi and north of South Carolina. Here's to hoping I don't get an itchy dick.
Cheers,
KZ
Thursday, May 31, 2007
The Etiquette Of Hostility
Hey peoples, what's new? Same ol' shit with me, as always. I just know I'm enjoying the warm weather. We deserve the beautiful weather as a whole, but it hasn't been a picnic in the midwest. This shit is necessary! The change in weather also opens up that same old internal dialogue I have: am I insane or just overly sensitive?
So I was out enjoying the beautiful weather the other night, walking around downtown, pre-dusk. I had some checks that I needed to deposit so I stopped at my bank's ATM. As I'm making the deposit, this cat of slight build, in his early 20's rolls up behind me on a bike. I stopped and turned around so that I was facing him.
"Sir, could you please choke me to sleep?" "What?" "I would appreciate it if you would grab me by the throat and squeeze until I lose consciousness."
Now I'm thinking, what the fuck is this? Why is this kid inviting death? Shit it was either that or he was a sexual fetishist. *Sidenote: yes, ladies, I've met y'all that like to get choked while you getting boned and y'all are creepy to me. That's right, I said it!*
It turns out, I misheard him. He asked me if he could have $1.25 to buy some food. I only thought I heard him asked to get choked out, because if he had done the same thing in the D, that's basically the outcome. How the fuck you come up behind anybody at an ATM at dusk and say anything to them, especially pertaining to money? That shit will get you killed, seriously. I think these motherfuckers live in some sort of idiot bubble that protects them from what's really going on. A different type of muthafucka, same origin, woulda shot him in the neck. Fools and babies, man. "Man, hell no! What the fuck you doin' comin' up behind me askin' for shit? Get the fuck outta here!" That's all I could muster.
Yesterday, minding my own business, eating lunch outside, an acquaintance asks "You mind if I sit with you?" If we spoke, I saw you and you saw me, and I didn't invite you to sit, the answer is "yes, I do mind if you sit with me". But say that shit, and you're a dick. So you say "Sure". And the idiots regale you with tales of daring and whimsy for the rest of the hour. Except the tales are really mediocre and not funny. If you ask to sit and fuck up my lunch hour of zoning out and people watching, you better make damn well sure the stories you tell are entertaining enough to pass muster.
So I was out enjoying the beautiful weather the other night, walking around downtown, pre-dusk. I had some checks that I needed to deposit so I stopped at my bank's ATM. As I'm making the deposit, this cat of slight build, in his early 20's rolls up behind me on a bike. I stopped and turned around so that I was facing him.
"Sir, could you please choke me to sleep?" "What?" "I would appreciate it if you would grab me by the throat and squeeze until I lose consciousness."
Now I'm thinking, what the fuck is this? Why is this kid inviting death? Shit it was either that or he was a sexual fetishist. *Sidenote: yes, ladies, I've met y'all that like to get choked while you getting boned and y'all are creepy to me. That's right, I said it!*
It turns out, I misheard him. He asked me if he could have $1.25 to buy some food. I only thought I heard him asked to get choked out, because if he had done the same thing in the D, that's basically the outcome. How the fuck you come up behind anybody at an ATM at dusk and say anything to them, especially pertaining to money? That shit will get you killed, seriously. I think these motherfuckers live in some sort of idiot bubble that protects them from what's really going on. A different type of muthafucka, same origin, woulda shot him in the neck. Fools and babies, man. "Man, hell no! What the fuck you doin' comin' up behind me askin' for shit? Get the fuck outta here!" That's all I could muster.
Yesterday, minding my own business, eating lunch outside, an acquaintance asks "You mind if I sit with you?" If we spoke, I saw you and you saw me, and I didn't invite you to sit, the answer is "yes, I do mind if you sit with me". But say that shit, and you're a dick. So you say "Sure". And the idiots regale you with tales of daring and whimsy for the rest of the hour. Except the tales are really mediocre and not funny. If you ask to sit and fuck up my lunch hour of zoning out and people watching, you better make damn well sure the stories you tell are entertaining enough to pass muster.
Damn, I need a drink.
Peace,
KZ
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Memo To Rose Royce
You bastards! How the fuck is "Car Wash" conducive to making people work at a car wash? I was seriously considering trying to get a new car wash off the ground. I was even gonna use your music to highlight the grand opening. Then, out of nowhere, the lyrics hit me like a ton of bricks.
Right off the bat, "You might not ever get rich..."
Fuck you, Rose Royce. How am I gonna attract potential hand dryers with this shit blaring out of my system?
"But let me tell ya it's better than diggin' a ditch..." What the fuck? What the fuck isn't better than digging a ditch, you assholes!
"There ain't no tellin' who you might meet/A movie star, or maybe even an Indian Chief..." I'm no statistician, Rose Royce, but I'll be damned if the odds ain't stacked against either one of these events actually occurring. Talk about false hope. You guys are jerks!
"Come summer the work gets kinda hard/Ain't no place to be if ya planned on being a star..." OK, that's it! What the fuck am I gonna use to attract the young and dumb to vacuum out Pintos all June, July and August if they can't bank on that shit makin' em famous. Gotdamn you!
"Let me tell it's always cool/The boss don't even mind sometimes if you act a fool..." One cotton-pickin' minute. Time is muthafuckin' money. I would INDEED mind if my employees acted a fool! Who the fuck do you think you are telling them otherwise? Do I know you, Rose Royce? Hunh? Answer me! Pussies!
"Work and work/My fingers to the bone..." This shit becomes less and less appealing everytime you open your fuckin' mouths. Please just shut the fuck up.
"Fill up and you don't have to pay.." That's some wishful fuckin' thinking, scumbags. No one gets a free car wash at my spot, bitches.
Just so you know, I'm out to ruin your careers! No more El Dorados and double knit slacks. No more Afro Sheen endorsements, no more lunches with Don Cornelius. Your asses are history!!!
Sincerely,
KZ
Right off the bat, "You might not ever get rich..."
Fuck you, Rose Royce. How am I gonna attract potential hand dryers with this shit blaring out of my system?
"But let me tell ya it's better than diggin' a ditch..." What the fuck? What the fuck isn't better than digging a ditch, you assholes!
"There ain't no tellin' who you might meet/A movie star, or maybe even an Indian Chief..." I'm no statistician, Rose Royce, but I'll be damned if the odds ain't stacked against either one of these events actually occurring. Talk about false hope. You guys are jerks!
"Come summer the work gets kinda hard/Ain't no place to be if ya planned on being a star..." OK, that's it! What the fuck am I gonna use to attract the young and dumb to vacuum out Pintos all June, July and August if they can't bank on that shit makin' em famous. Gotdamn you!
"Let me tell it's always cool/The boss don't even mind sometimes if you act a fool..." One cotton-pickin' minute. Time is muthafuckin' money. I would INDEED mind if my employees acted a fool! Who the fuck do you think you are telling them otherwise? Do I know you, Rose Royce? Hunh? Answer me! Pussies!
"Work and work/My fingers to the bone..." This shit becomes less and less appealing everytime you open your fuckin' mouths. Please just shut the fuck up.
"Fill up and you don't have to pay.." That's some wishful fuckin' thinking, scumbags. No one gets a free car wash at my spot, bitches.
Just so you know, I'm out to ruin your careers! No more El Dorados and double knit slacks. No more Afro Sheen endorsements, no more lunches with Don Cornelius. Your asses are history!!!
Sincerely,
KZ
Friday, May 25, 2007
If I Have To Suffer...
so the fuck do you. It's 4:00 on Friday afternoon before a holiday and I'm in charge. The boss dipped on my ass and now instead of sneaking out, I have to leave at 5:00. So now I'm making lists! Now, muthafuckas...
If It Wasn't For Her Pussy, She Wouldn't Even Be A Woman
Peace,
KZ
If It Wasn't For Her Pussy, She Wouldn't Even Be A Woman
- Keira Knightley
- Joan Rivers
- Liza Minelli
- Jodie Foster
- Ben Wallace
- Vis a Vis
- cakewalk
- What's the magic word?
- heretofore
- boondoggle/humdinger (tie)
- Moist
- Creamy
- Exquisite
- Heavenly
- Obscenely Decadent
- Molly
- Franklin
- Menachem
- Elohim
- Eleanor/Jack III (tie)
- Delish!
- E-V-oh oh oh my God!
- (insert audio of uncomfortable, irritating, inappropriate laughter)
- Baste it! Baste it, you motherfucker!
- Cum-o!
Peace,
KZ
Thursday, May 24, 2007
My Dick Is Amazing
I couldn't wait for the warm weather, and finally it looks like it's here. I'm really feeling this, the beginning of the summer season. Beaches, grills, sunshine and water! If it wasn't for work, everything would be great.
Oh, yeah. Work. That thing that keeps me paid. Now I remember.
Walking into that gray building everyday and trying to apply and vita my way into another gray building that I can grow tired of quickly. I keep wondering if it's worth it. I've only had one interview since I've started applying in March and it went poorly. I just submitted for another gig. It's a great gig, pays a lot and I'd be the Director and not the second in command. They were genuinely excited that I was interested in the gig. But ultimately I know I'll be in the same place I'm in today, miserable about my job.
The best things and worst things about my lifestyle are identical: I only have to worry about my student loan and Gretchen as recurring bills. Living virtually debt free means I can revert to my half assed underachieving self at any time and not go under. Plus I'm landless. Not a good look rolling up on 4-0. But I can also go anywhere at anytime, location is only dictated by my preferences, without worrying about the saleability of my property. All my property moves with me.
Hopefully I'll find my way out of the desert and into the oasis by the end of the summer. Wish me luck.
Oh, yeah. Work. That thing that keeps me paid. Now I remember.
Walking into that gray building everyday and trying to apply and vita my way into another gray building that I can grow tired of quickly. I keep wondering if it's worth it. I've only had one interview since I've started applying in March and it went poorly. I just submitted for another gig. It's a great gig, pays a lot and I'd be the Director and not the second in command. They were genuinely excited that I was interested in the gig. But ultimately I know I'll be in the same place I'm in today, miserable about my job.
The best things and worst things about my lifestyle are identical: I only have to worry about my student loan and Gretchen as recurring bills. Living virtually debt free means I can revert to my half assed underachieving self at any time and not go under. Plus I'm landless. Not a good look rolling up on 4-0. But I can also go anywhere at anytime, location is only dictated by my preferences, without worrying about the saleability of my property. All my property moves with me.
Hopefully I'll find my way out of the desert and into the oasis by the end of the summer. Wish me luck.
Be Good,
KZ
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Silver Platter
I'm writing this, and I don't fully expect you to believe it. It'll be the truth. And it's not outside of the realm of reality. But it's really out of character for me. I've been here for a minute, so people who read my archives might not get it. Here goes:
I was doing my Fourth Frid.ay hosting duties, this past week on a third Friday so's not to conflict with the coming Memorial Day Weekend. We had a decent crowd, a little lighter than usual, and everyone was enjoying themselves. So much so, that they stuck around for an hour after I made the announcement that the event was officially over. I told them that the Brothers would be heading to Mario's, this martini bar that had been our official post-Happy Hour haunt. I saw her, but I didn't see her, just like everybody else. Yeah, all the women were focused on me, I had the fuckin' microphone. No big deal, right? She was about 5'8" in flats, long curly hair, light-skinned with a face dotted with freckles. Her eyes followed me.
So when I left to go to Mario's, I didn't expect much of a turnout. We usually have around 15 people who come out to the "afterglow" thing. Most of the regulars weren't there. Sam was in Gh.ana, the DSTs had a conflicting event, so it was just me leaving for Mario's.
I sat there for two minutes when they started streaming in. We had a total of seven, one of them was her. Kali had her girl and two of her cousins with her, one of which was celebrating a birthday. She also had came with one of her extraneous girls and the VM ended up joining us. The extraneous girl demanded attention and I gave it to her. Mainly because Kali sat near my right side, staring at me, and the extraneous girl was on my left and extremely non-threatening. So I gave her my full attention.
Drinks flowed and I indulged. So much so that I retreated into my customary shell and I let them talk to each other. I was fairly lit when the former Mayor/current state representative came up to me and introduced me to one of his colleagues. The birthday girl being attracted to "power" bounded from her seat and chatted up the two politicians.
I sat drinking slowly and silently until I felt my calf being rubbed. I looked to my right and Kali stared me in the eyes, smiling. I leaned over and whispered, "Don't do that. Please" as I took her hand away. She started rubbing it again. "Why not?" "Because I got a girlfriend." "That sounds like your problem not mine. Where is she?" "She's in Detroit." "If y'all all like that, why ain't she here?"
I grabbed her hand. "Kali, you don't know me, so let me say something to you. I've been the African you want me to be. I've fucked without a conscience, I've treated women like pure shit. I've been married before. I wasn't a particularly good husband. But I'm trying to do something, one time, the right way. I really am. Don't try to make me that African. I don't wanna be that African. I wanna be better. For my girlfriend. For me. OK?"
She looked at me intently. She pulled her hand away voluntarily, got up and walked to her cousin, who was still kickin' it with the politicians. I got up and went to the bathroom and pissed out rum and diet coke. I looked in the mirror as I washed my hands, looking at the gray hairs peeking out from under the newly dyed brown ones. I dried my hands and walked out and there she stood.
"What's wrong? You lookin' for the bathroom?" She walked up and kissed me square in the mouth. I stepped back and wiped my mouth. "What was that?" "Something to remind you how far away Detroit is." All I could do is shake my head and walk away. I went and paid the check and I left.
I was doing my Fourth Frid.ay hosting duties, this past week on a third Friday so's not to conflict with the coming Memorial Day Weekend. We had a decent crowd, a little lighter than usual, and everyone was enjoying themselves. So much so, that they stuck around for an hour after I made the announcement that the event was officially over. I told them that the Brothers would be heading to Mario's, this martini bar that had been our official post-Happy Hour haunt. I saw her, but I didn't see her, just like everybody else. Yeah, all the women were focused on me, I had the fuckin' microphone. No big deal, right? She was about 5'8" in flats, long curly hair, light-skinned with a face dotted with freckles. Her eyes followed me.
So when I left to go to Mario's, I didn't expect much of a turnout. We usually have around 15 people who come out to the "afterglow" thing. Most of the regulars weren't there. Sam was in Gh.ana, the DSTs had a conflicting event, so it was just me leaving for Mario's.
I sat there for two minutes when they started streaming in. We had a total of seven, one of them was her. Kali had her girl and two of her cousins with her, one of which was celebrating a birthday. She also had came with one of her extraneous girls and the VM ended up joining us. The extraneous girl demanded attention and I gave it to her. Mainly because Kali sat near my right side, staring at me, and the extraneous girl was on my left and extremely non-threatening. So I gave her my full attention.
Drinks flowed and I indulged. So much so that I retreated into my customary shell and I let them talk to each other. I was fairly lit when the former Mayor/current state representative came up to me and introduced me to one of his colleagues. The birthday girl being attracted to "power" bounded from her seat and chatted up the two politicians.
I sat drinking slowly and silently until I felt my calf being rubbed. I looked to my right and Kali stared me in the eyes, smiling. I leaned over and whispered, "Don't do that. Please" as I took her hand away. She started rubbing it again. "Why not?" "Because I got a girlfriend." "That sounds like your problem not mine. Where is she?" "She's in Detroit." "If y'all all like that, why ain't she here?"
I grabbed her hand. "Kali, you don't know me, so let me say something to you. I've been the African you want me to be. I've fucked without a conscience, I've treated women like pure shit. I've been married before. I wasn't a particularly good husband. But I'm trying to do something, one time, the right way. I really am. Don't try to make me that African. I don't wanna be that African. I wanna be better. For my girlfriend. For me. OK?"
She looked at me intently. She pulled her hand away voluntarily, got up and walked to her cousin, who was still kickin' it with the politicians. I got up and went to the bathroom and pissed out rum and diet coke. I looked in the mirror as I washed my hands, looking at the gray hairs peeking out from under the newly dyed brown ones. I dried my hands and walked out and there she stood.
"What's wrong? You lookin' for the bathroom?" She walked up and kissed me square in the mouth. I stepped back and wiped my mouth. "What was that?" "Something to remind you how far away Detroit is." All I could do is shake my head and walk away. I went and paid the check and I left.
The next day I drove to Detroit.
Be Easy,
KZ
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Three, The Hard Way
How are y'all doing? Great I hope. Last night was a doozy for me. Evening meeting with the community. My department has been working on something the neighborhood asked for 5 years ago. I've personally worked on this project for 2 years. Last night the neighborhood told me resoundingly "nevermind". They don't want the thing they've bugged me about at least once a week my entire time here. I oughta bug them about it until I leave. It doesn't seem fair that I can't even come home to vent and unwind with anybody. My good thang's way across the state.
On top of all the misery and fuckeduptitude I'm in the midst of, the spectre of my best friend leaving the state is hitting me like a ton of bricks. I got to hang with him a little bit on Saturday. It was really the first time in months that we've even seen each other. I feel bad about it because I'm in Detroit all the time, I just get caught up in being caught up.
Three has been prepping to move for a minute, but I'm finally feeling anxious about it. It's like a relative you have that is old and sick and has been for years, you do what you can, basically you just help to sustain their lives. Then when the doctor tells you it won't be long before they pass, you tense up, and rue all the shit you should have done with them. Thing is, jackass, you had that chance. You knew they were old and sick for years. Did you think that would last forever?
So, I hung out with old and sick Three, and all it did was make me angry. I'm miserable because on the friendship level, I gotta do the exact shit I railed about in the last post. I'm here in Satan's Anus making lemonade and I'm fuckin' sick of it.
Most of the shit you probably had to be there for it to be funny. But this is really just kinda for me anyway.
On top of all the misery and fuckeduptitude I'm in the midst of, the spectre of my best friend leaving the state is hitting me like a ton of bricks. I got to hang with him a little bit on Saturday. It was really the first time in months that we've even seen each other. I feel bad about it because I'm in Detroit all the time, I just get caught up in being caught up.
Three has been prepping to move for a minute, but I'm finally feeling anxious about it. It's like a relative you have that is old and sick and has been for years, you do what you can, basically you just help to sustain their lives. Then when the doctor tells you it won't be long before they pass, you tense up, and rue all the shit you should have done with them. Thing is, jackass, you had that chance. You knew they were old and sick for years. Did you think that would last forever?
So, I hung out with old and sick Three, and all it did was make me angry. I'm miserable because on the friendship level, I gotta do the exact shit I railed about in the last post. I'm here in Satan's Anus making lemonade and I'm fuckin' sick of it.
Most of the shit you probably had to be there for it to be funny. But this is really just kinda for me anyway.
Random Three Quotes
Referring to one of my female friends (in low breath): "I bet she got some sweet pussy."
On my voicemail: "Ay, Knockout. I just called to let you know, every kiss begins with 'K', n*gga!"
His famous impression, The Wild Whore: "Whooooooooooooooooo!" (while swinging his arm above his head, cowboy style)
At the mall: "You always think somebody is looking down on you, not thinking you measure up. Always with the imaginary beef."
Looking at two attractive women walking side by side: "You think we look like that when we walk together? You know, like two friends?"
About a prissy chick in frilly clothes (in a feminine voice): "Look at her. She's a girl."
On how to cure my sleep apnea: "Have you tried a plastic bag tied tightly around your neck?"
I'm Out,
KZ
Monday, May 14, 2007
Lemonade
Lemonade (lem-on-ayde) n - 1. a drink made from lemon juice, sugar, and water; 2. a sham relationship.
Stay Steady,
KZ
Hey peoples, what's crackin'? I hope everbody has been well, doing what y'all do, achieving and what not. Me? I been bored. When I'm bored, I think. A lot. Think about places and spaces, where I'm going, what I wanna do from here. It's tough. I hate my gig thoroughly, I'm dying socially, working out half assed, but I don't have a clear vision of my next steps. I know what I wanna do, but I don't know exactly how to get there. Make no mistake, I'll reach my goal or else. It's the way I was raised. I can't lose. I won't do it.
The way I operate is everything I truly want, I find a way to get it. It might not be exactly what I wanted, but it's a reasonable facsimile. Living with it doesn't make me feel like I settled for second best or I'm somehow "short".
It's always been hard for me to respect anybody who doesn't go all out for the shit they want. My take is either make a legitimate try for your goal or stop talking about it. Motivate, or shut the fuck up.
It's been that way with women, too. I want who I want, and if she doesn't want me, I keep it moving. That's the way it should be. You shouldn't have to feel as though you're being settled for. There are times, my people, when you are that proverbial lemon. And your mate has decided to make lemonade, 'cuz fuck it, it's something to do.
Now, mind you, if that shit is cool with you, be all means, enjoy the journey. Enjoy being a part of that lemonade. Be the tastiest, tartest, coldest fuckin' lemonade in the world. Just understand that you are that lemon. You'll forever be that lemon. After kids, mortgages, hard times, good times, grandkids, you are that fuckin' lemon. For better or for worse.
The way I operate is everything I truly want, I find a way to get it. It might not be exactly what I wanted, but it's a reasonable facsimile. Living with it doesn't make me feel like I settled for second best or I'm somehow "short".
It's always been hard for me to respect anybody who doesn't go all out for the shit they want. My take is either make a legitimate try for your goal or stop talking about it. Motivate, or shut the fuck up.
It's been that way with women, too. I want who I want, and if she doesn't want me, I keep it moving. That's the way it should be. You shouldn't have to feel as though you're being settled for. There are times, my people, when you are that proverbial lemon. And your mate has decided to make lemonade, 'cuz fuck it, it's something to do.
Now, mind you, if that shit is cool with you, be all means, enjoy the journey. Enjoy being a part of that lemonade. Be the tastiest, tartest, coldest fuckin' lemonade in the world. Just understand that you are that lemon. You'll forever be that lemon. After kids, mortgages, hard times, good times, grandkids, you are that fuckin' lemon. For better or for worse.
Stay Steady,
KZ
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Dub Technology
This week at work has been a chore to say the very least. It has been disappointing in ways that I could not have imagined. Of course I've been looking for another gig, but that, my friends, won't do it. That's not enough. That is the least of my issues. I need a career overhaul.
I'm quite positive I hate people. I truly hate small talk, as has been well documented. It's manifested itself into me showing up at least five minutes late to meetings just to avoid the "pre-meeting" meeting. The little bullshit recaps of people's lives. The bigger part of my job, though, is community interaction and outreach. That's where the real idiots come out to play. Everybody in this college town is a pseudo-erudite. Daily, it has become a battle of the wits with the witless. Half researched counterpoints, entirely made up statistics, specious logic, connecting non-existing dots, marijuana enhanced paranoia, along with barely concealed contempt for Africans have made it an exhausting gig. I've found one thing. The old adage is true, "Never argue with an idiot. Someone walking by won't be able to tell the difference."
Yesterday was priceless. My boss put GPS on all the housing inspectors cell phones for tracking purposes. I'm not a fan of this shit, but my boss has a surveillance jones. He put cameras throughout the department already and this is his phase two. I know what you're thinking, and frankly I don't care. If he's watching me, he oughta man up and say something about it. So we're getting a primer on how to track the staff from this dude from Nex.tel. He's breaking down how to track people, their speeds in the cars, how long they stop someplace, et al. And I feel myself getting physically sick. I'm sitting in my seat and I'm sweating. It's getting hard to breathe. One of the reasons I'd never be good at poker is because my face tells my story all the time. I'm pissed that the inspectors, who really do have a lot of shit to put up with and are for the most part extremely conscientious and professional, now have to be concerned about being watched by this gotdamned voyeur, this fuckin' fetishist. I'm sitting here for two hours with this fucked up expression on my face. The Director turns to his Deputy Director and asks, "Zed, what do you think?" And I respond, "It does what it's supposed to do" and I leave.
I could fuckin' explode. But that's what we've come to, it's where we are. Where our jobs become more and more invasive in our personal space, places where it has no real business. It's so much bigger than that. This shit is everywhere, from banks (where it has legitimate security purposes) to the fuckin' corner of State and Main Street, the only purpose is to be nosy and violate you. You? Today, you're somebody's Truman.
I'm quite positive I hate people. I truly hate small talk, as has been well documented. It's manifested itself into me showing up at least five minutes late to meetings just to avoid the "pre-meeting" meeting. The little bullshit recaps of people's lives. The bigger part of my job, though, is community interaction and outreach. That's where the real idiots come out to play. Everybody in this college town is a pseudo-erudite. Daily, it has become a battle of the wits with the witless. Half researched counterpoints, entirely made up statistics, specious logic, connecting non-existing dots, marijuana enhanced paranoia, along with barely concealed contempt for Africans have made it an exhausting gig. I've found one thing. The old adage is true, "Never argue with an idiot. Someone walking by won't be able to tell the difference."
Yesterday was priceless. My boss put GPS on all the housing inspectors cell phones for tracking purposes. I'm not a fan of this shit, but my boss has a surveillance jones. He put cameras throughout the department already and this is his phase two. I know what you're thinking, and frankly I don't care. If he's watching me, he oughta man up and say something about it. So we're getting a primer on how to track the staff from this dude from Nex.tel. He's breaking down how to track people, their speeds in the cars, how long they stop someplace, et al. And I feel myself getting physically sick. I'm sitting in my seat and I'm sweating. It's getting hard to breathe. One of the reasons I'd never be good at poker is because my face tells my story all the time. I'm pissed that the inspectors, who really do have a lot of shit to put up with and are for the most part extremely conscientious and professional, now have to be concerned about being watched by this gotdamned voyeur, this fuckin' fetishist. I'm sitting here for two hours with this fucked up expression on my face. The Director turns to his Deputy Director and asks, "Zed, what do you think?" And I respond, "It does what it's supposed to do" and I leave.
I could fuckin' explode. But that's what we've come to, it's where we are. Where our jobs become more and more invasive in our personal space, places where it has no real business. It's so much bigger than that. This shit is everywhere, from banks (where it has legitimate security purposes) to the fuckin' corner of State and Main Street, the only purpose is to be nosy and violate you. You? Today, you're somebody's Truman.
Be Careful,
KZ
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Six Questions
1. If your significant other is quick to point out the attractiveness of an actor/actress, an athlete, a model, a person on the street, or his/her sibling's mate, and has never expressed an opinion about your attractiveness, is it safe to assume they don't think you're attractive?
2. Are women happiest when indulging in what I call the "cult of deprivation", when they derive pleasure from denying themselves pleasure? Isn't taking that pleasure in denial a form of indulgence?
3. Do you think you're getting the best part of your mate? Why do you think so?
4. What makes up a healthy sex life?
5. Is foreplay an important part of sex? If your partner doesn't perform oral sex, what constitutes foreplay from them?
6. To paraphrase Donald Ru.msfeld/Gin Rummy (from "The Boondocks"), is the absence of evidence the evidence of absence?
Take a stab at whatever ones you wanna try.
Peace,
KZ
2. Are women happiest when indulging in what I call the "cult of deprivation", when they derive pleasure from denying themselves pleasure? Isn't taking that pleasure in denial a form of indulgence?
3. Do you think you're getting the best part of your mate? Why do you think so?
4. What makes up a healthy sex life?
5. Is foreplay an important part of sex? If your partner doesn't perform oral sex, what constitutes foreplay from them?
6. To paraphrase Donald Ru.msfeld/Gin Rummy (from "The Boondocks"), is the absence of evidence the evidence of absence?
Take a stab at whatever ones you wanna try.
Peace,
KZ
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Botch Slap
Life's highway is littered with roadkill. My road is no exception. My first year here, I was a madman. I gamed every chick I saw all the time. I was trying to set this town on it's ear. As y'all know that didn't happen. In retrospect, it was a good thing, but at the time, I was inconsolable. There is one unfortunate lingering side effect of my first year. Everytime I look up in this town, there is a reminder of lost, fumbled, or unwanted relationships. Ill thought out, or ill-conceived pairings that for whatever reason didn't work out. I call them "botches", botched relationships.
I had mad botches when I lived in Detroit. But the difference was scale. Here everybody literally knows everybody else. In Detroit, it just feels like they do. All my botches knew each other. All my boys had botches, too. You had to make sure you didn't mack on anyone's botch. As crazy as it seems, dudes are mad protective of their botches.
Here in Satan's Anus, botches are plentiful. I had my Fourth Friday event last week. I ended up trying to introduce my botches to other cats, to no avail. It's not like they don't have their fair share of botches, but they say a new botch is better than a old one.
I tried to hook my boy Curly up with this botch named Coco, to no avail. He was diggin' this new chick that showed up, potentially his future botch.
The small circle reminds me that I have to treat my botches well, cuz you never know when you'll see 'em again or where they'll show up. And talking to my female friends I know this to be true: some of you dudes are botches, too.
I had mad botches when I lived in Detroit. But the difference was scale. Here everybody literally knows everybody else. In Detroit, it just feels like they do. All my botches knew each other. All my boys had botches, too. You had to make sure you didn't mack on anyone's botch. As crazy as it seems, dudes are mad protective of their botches.
Here in Satan's Anus, botches are plentiful. I had my Fourth Friday event last week. I ended up trying to introduce my botches to other cats, to no avail. It's not like they don't have their fair share of botches, but they say a new botch is better than a old one.
I tried to hook my boy Curly up with this botch named Coco, to no avail. He was diggin' this new chick that showed up, potentially his future botch.
The small circle reminds me that I have to treat my botches well, cuz you never know when you'll see 'em again or where they'll show up. And talking to my female friends I know this to be true: some of you dudes are botches, too.
Be Cool,
KZ
Monday, April 30, 2007
Zed and Gretchen
She's beautiful, and when I touch her it's magic. "I got you baby." I hear her whisper that, and I believe her. I've never had a female hold me down like this. It's so new, so fun.
I kissed her for the first time last night. We were driving from the park we spent Sunday at and I leaned over and kissed her. Her response was amazing. She had my head racing, spinning.
Gretchen has an amazing body. When my boy Curly first saw her, he wanted to know if she had a sister. Yeah, she got a sister, but I got the best one, I'm sure. She smells fantastic, all the time.
When I hold her, I feel like there is no place in the world I'd rather be. I love it when I'm inside her. My problems just melt away. I never wanna get out.
I fuckin' love my car. Gretchen, aka Bluey Twoey, is that deal.
Did I mention her fantastic headlights and that junk in her trunk?
The N*ggaview (c)
I had a phone interview this morning with Queen Anne's County, Maryland. It was scheduled at 10:00 am. The County Administrator called me at 10:14. What part of the game is that? Further, the interview concluded at 10:25 when he told me he didn't think I'd be the right fit for the position.
Why would he interview me for a position that he should have known right off that I wouldn't be a good fit for? Because, it was a n*ggaview (c), it wasn't an interview at all.
He was likely completing a checklist that required him to consider minority candidates. He had a panel interviewing the other candidates and he interviewed me himself, alone. He told me so himself. The panel ran over discussing the other candidate, that's why he was late calling me. What type of shit is that? That my friends, was a classic n*ggaview (c). I hope it doesn't happen to you.
Peace,
KZ
I kissed her for the first time last night. We were driving from the park we spent Sunday at and I leaned over and kissed her. Her response was amazing. She had my head racing, spinning.
Gretchen has an amazing body. When my boy Curly first saw her, he wanted to know if she had a sister. Yeah, she got a sister, but I got the best one, I'm sure. She smells fantastic, all the time.
When I hold her, I feel like there is no place in the world I'd rather be. I love it when I'm inside her. My problems just melt away. I never wanna get out.
I fuckin' love my car. Gretchen, aka Bluey Twoey, is that deal.
Did I mention her fantastic headlights and that junk in her trunk?
The N*ggaview (c)
I had a phone interview this morning with Queen Anne's County, Maryland. It was scheduled at 10:00 am. The County Administrator called me at 10:14. What part of the game is that? Further, the interview concluded at 10:25 when he told me he didn't think I'd be the right fit for the position.
Why would he interview me for a position that he should have known right off that I wouldn't be a good fit for? Because, it was a n*ggaview (c), it wasn't an interview at all.
He was likely completing a checklist that required him to consider minority candidates. He had a panel interviewing the other candidates and he interviewed me himself, alone. He told me so himself. The panel ran over discussing the other candidate, that's why he was late calling me. What type of shit is that? That my friends, was a classic n*ggaview (c). I hope it doesn't happen to you.
Peace,
KZ
Friday, April 27, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
My Fuckin' Head Hurts
What's crackin' y'all? I'm getting ready to enjoy my extra long weekend. It's extra long because I took next week off. I'll be chillin' at the crib, getting fitted for my apnea machine and watching the shameless degrade themselves on TV.
I haven't been writing much this week because I'm in an especially ponderous mood. I can't snap out of it, as much as I try. I can't engage in real world (or cyber world) type joviality, as much as I try.
The one source of frustration is that we all learn everything we need to know after we most need it, especially regarding relationships. Let's say you're kickin' it with somebody. You are giving and kind, putting your best foot forward in the relationship. Yet, the person you're seeing is aloof, standoffish and generally detached. You get no satisfaction from it, so you move on.
In the next relationship you remain reserved and standoffish, hoping not to get hurt. The person you're dating is working under another set of assumptions. They are open and kind to you, perhaps adjusting for THEIR past relationship. This next relationship fails because you're treating the new person like you should have treated the first person. Lesson learned, but too fuckin' late. And you're in this cycle. "Next time, Imma do it differently." Good luck with that.
I've seen a dude scrutinize the shit out of a completely faithful woman because his last chick cheated. She broke up with him and he dated a new chick who he didn't scrutinize at all. She cheated, now he's back to the scrutiny. When's this shit gonna stop?
This shit goes on forever ad infinitum until one day you decide, I'll treat this relationship as if it's any other personal interaction. Just do it, without a predetermined set of behaviors, go into a relationship and react without a script. You might be surprised at how much more fun the relationship is.
Regards,
KZ
I haven't been writing much this week because I'm in an especially ponderous mood. I can't snap out of it, as much as I try. I can't engage in real world (or cyber world) type joviality, as much as I try.
The one source of frustration is that we all learn everything we need to know after we most need it, especially regarding relationships. Let's say you're kickin' it with somebody. You are giving and kind, putting your best foot forward in the relationship. Yet, the person you're seeing is aloof, standoffish and generally detached. You get no satisfaction from it, so you move on.
In the next relationship you remain reserved and standoffish, hoping not to get hurt. The person you're dating is working under another set of assumptions. They are open and kind to you, perhaps adjusting for THEIR past relationship. This next relationship fails because you're treating the new person like you should have treated the first person. Lesson learned, but too fuckin' late. And you're in this cycle. "Next time, Imma do it differently." Good luck with that.
I've seen a dude scrutinize the shit out of a completely faithful woman because his last chick cheated. She broke up with him and he dated a new chick who he didn't scrutinize at all. She cheated, now he's back to the scrutiny. When's this shit gonna stop?
This shit goes on forever ad infinitum until one day you decide, I'll treat this relationship as if it's any other personal interaction. Just do it, without a predetermined set of behaviors, go into a relationship and react without a script. You might be surprised at how much more fun the relationship is.
Regards,
KZ
Monday, April 16, 2007
Reading Is Accidental
I was off doing my volunteer thing this afternoon. Satan's Anus is a funny place. If your kids go to public school here, K thru 12, they go to any public college in Michigan for free. That's right, full tuition paid for. You wanna know the catch? The Black kids aren't graduating from high school. Or if they do, their grades suck. So I went to read to a class of second graders today trying to encourage them to attend college. They paired me up with this 70 year old white lady. She was pushy and cantankerous. Just what I needed. That's not even sarcasm, I needed her to take control.
We entered the classroom asking the kids what they knew about college and what they wanted to do when they grew up. They pretty much said what I thought they'd say. A lot of sports, cheerleading, hair stylists, modeling. Then they started asking questions.
"Y'all married?" "How old are you?" "You got any kids?" "Are you a wrestler?"
It's funny how these kids put me in the mind of kids I grew up with. They all looked so familiar. I found myself feeling sorry for their future selves, because I knew grown people that looked just like them. I'm answering questions and it's only like 5 girls asking me stuff. They're cheesing and giggling and shit. That's when it dawned on me that they're competing for my attention. When Emily, the lady I was partnered with said my name, they all squealed it at the same time and giggled. "Zed!" It finally happened. I'm a hottie to the prepubescent set. Now, if I was only 29 years younger...
We start reading to them and getting them to participate in the "how do you get there from here?" discussion and I start getting sized up by the little dudes.
"What do you do?" "I decide where buildings should go?" "Do you pick 'em up and move them?" he asked craning his neck dramatically to look up at me. One little fella, who looked much too big to be a second grader asked me questions about football. It was all getting a little overwhelming.
Then this girl came up to me. "You know my mama?" "What's your mother's name?" "Nikki." "Nikki what?" "Nikki Case. She's 34." "Nope." "What about Shonda Case? That's my aunt." "Nope, I don't know her either." "What about Te'Neeka Forest?" "Nope." "Yes you do! That's me!" Then she giggled and ran to sit down.
We tried to quiet the boisterous classroom down with book giveaways and wristbands, to no avail. Finally we thanked the teacher and said our goodbyes.
As I was leaving, this one little girl leaped from her seat and grabbed me by the legs, hugging me tightly. "Bye, Mr. Zed." "Bye, sweetie." I laughed as I left the room. Kids.
We entered the classroom asking the kids what they knew about college and what they wanted to do when they grew up. They pretty much said what I thought they'd say. A lot of sports, cheerleading, hair stylists, modeling. Then they started asking questions.
"Y'all married?" "How old are you?" "You got any kids?" "Are you a wrestler?"
It's funny how these kids put me in the mind of kids I grew up with. They all looked so familiar. I found myself feeling sorry for their future selves, because I knew grown people that looked just like them. I'm answering questions and it's only like 5 girls asking me stuff. They're cheesing and giggling and shit. That's when it dawned on me that they're competing for my attention. When Emily, the lady I was partnered with said my name, they all squealed it at the same time and giggled. "Zed!" It finally happened. I'm a hottie to the prepubescent set. Now, if I was only 29 years younger...
We start reading to them and getting them to participate in the "how do you get there from here?" discussion and I start getting sized up by the little dudes.
"What do you do?" "I decide where buildings should go?" "Do you pick 'em up and move them?" he asked craning his neck dramatically to look up at me. One little fella, who looked much too big to be a second grader asked me questions about football. It was all getting a little overwhelming.
Then this girl came up to me. "You know my mama?" "What's your mother's name?" "Nikki." "Nikki what?" "Nikki Case. She's 34." "Nope." "What about Shonda Case? That's my aunt." "Nope, I don't know her either." "What about Te'Neeka Forest?" "Nope." "Yes you do! That's me!" Then she giggled and ran to sit down.
We tried to quiet the boisterous classroom down with book giveaways and wristbands, to no avail. Finally we thanked the teacher and said our goodbyes.
As I was leaving, this one little girl leaped from her seat and grabbed me by the legs, hugging me tightly. "Bye, Mr. Zed." "Bye, sweetie." I laughed as I left the room. Kids.
Stay Cool,
KZ
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