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posted by Manilow @ 5:10 PM
0 comments
Thursday, February 25, 2010
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Monday, December 24, 2007
My "boyfriend" isn't getting me anything for Christmas: Rude or Understandable?
It's been a minute, but between school, work, and my social life, I've had my hands full. But now that the semester's over and Christmas is here, I have some to gab. Let's get it in.
I love the holidays. The department stores full of ornate decorations and desperate price slashing, the people full of holiday joy and winter depression, the radio saturated with Christmas music and charitable give-aways-- I love it!! However, I've never really had a man during Christmas...hmm, or any holiday, really lol. And whenever I get close to it, it ends in trifling disaster.
Christmas '04: I was long distance dating this thug dude from Philly while I was away at college. I thought I liked my men with that aggressive, ghetto appeal, but little did I know that sometimes ghetto doesn't mean edgey- it just means triflin. I grew so unattracted to him that when I came home for my winter break, I avoided calling or hanging out with him. 2 days before Christmas, he gave me some kind of ultimatum- I think it was either to travel to the hood to see him, or to just break things off. I wasn't riskin my bourgie life gettin to the projects alone, so I ended the fling and my chances at a Christmas gift.
Christmas '05: After my thug phase, suddenly I desired the opposite- a classy, intelligent, upwardly mobile young man. Ironically, I found him on A4a. A Caribbean undergrad at one of the most prestigious small liberal arts schools in the country, he ideally quenched my lust for West Indians and overachievers. As we progressed through the "talking" stage, our relationship was amusingly competitive and snarky, like most of my romantic dealings with men end up being. I thought things were cool...until on Christmas eve, after a silly back-and-forth on instant messenger, he replied, "You know what? Maybe I'm not man enough or smart enough or cute enough to ever satisfy you. Have a great life." As you can imagine, I was shocked and appalled...and traumatized. I was infuriated that he chose Xmas eve of all the nights to do this, tactlessly ruining my holiday. We're friends now, sometimes when I think about the nerve of him on that night...ugh!!
Chistmas '06: I aint have no man
And now, we come to Christmas 07: I have a boyfriend! ...Kind of. I am dating this Haitian guy (I still have a thing for West Indians) who's a chemical engineer(and for overachievers lol). We've known each other for a year, and we've been dating for about 6 months, albeit casually and without commitment. At first I hated our arrangement, but as my social life grows in fabulousness, I've grown to appreciate the freedom I have. He's kind of weird...but that's what I get for dating a nerd, huh? lol But his weirdness has extended to affect the sanctity of Christmas, and that's where I draw the line!!!
His birthday is on Christmas day. And because he regards it as HIS day, he doesn't believe in getting anyone any gifts. "Would you buy other people gifts on YOUR birthday?" he asked. "Your birthday is supposed to be the one day where all you do is receive."
...Yeah, is it just me, or is that line of reasoning totally weird? Not to mention a tad bit selfish and possibly even cheap. Is it that crucial that one's birthday be ALL about them and nobody else? Should I be offended that he's not getting me anything, even though he's receiving something from me?
I *do* feel obligated to get him something- I bought a Coach leather wallet and a 3 month-subscription to Netflix- because he fixed me an elaborate surprised birthday dinner from scratch. But part of me wonders...is he gettin away with murder on Christmas day?
I love the holidays. The department stores full of ornate decorations and desperate price slashing, the people full of holiday joy and winter depression, the radio saturated with Christmas music and charitable give-aways-- I love it!! However, I've never really had a man during Christmas...hmm, or any holiday, really lol. And whenever I get close to it, it ends in trifling disaster.
Christmas '04: I was long distance dating this thug dude from Philly while I was away at college. I thought I liked my men with that aggressive, ghetto appeal, but little did I know that sometimes ghetto doesn't mean edgey- it just means triflin. I grew so unattracted to him that when I came home for my winter break, I avoided calling or hanging out with him. 2 days before Christmas, he gave me some kind of ultimatum- I think it was either to travel to the hood to see him, or to just break things off. I wasn't riskin my bourgie life gettin to the projects alone, so I ended the fling and my chances at a Christmas gift.
Christmas '05: After my thug phase, suddenly I desired the opposite- a classy, intelligent, upwardly mobile young man. Ironically, I found him on A4a. A Caribbean undergrad at one of the most prestigious small liberal arts schools in the country, he ideally quenched my lust for West Indians and overachievers. As we progressed through the "talking" stage, our relationship was amusingly competitive and snarky, like most of my romantic dealings with men end up being. I thought things were cool...until on Christmas eve, after a silly back-and-forth on instant messenger, he replied, "You know what? Maybe I'm not man enough or smart enough or cute enough to ever satisfy you. Have a great life." As you can imagine, I was shocked and appalled...and traumatized. I was infuriated that he chose Xmas eve of all the nights to do this, tactlessly ruining my holiday. We're friends now, sometimes when I think about the nerve of him on that night...ugh!!
Chistmas '06: I aint have no man
And now, we come to Christmas 07: I have a boyfriend! ...Kind of. I am dating this Haitian guy (I still have a thing for West Indians) who's a chemical engineer(and for overachievers lol). We've known each other for a year, and we've been dating for about 6 months, albeit casually and without commitment. At first I hated our arrangement, but as my social life grows in fabulousness, I've grown to appreciate the freedom I have. He's kind of weird...but that's what I get for dating a nerd, huh? lol But his weirdness has extended to affect the sanctity of Christmas, and that's where I draw the line!!!
His birthday is on Christmas day. And because he regards it as HIS day, he doesn't believe in getting anyone any gifts. "Would you buy other people gifts on YOUR birthday?" he asked. "Your birthday is supposed to be the one day where all you do is receive."
...Yeah, is it just me, or is that line of reasoning totally weird? Not to mention a tad bit selfish and possibly even cheap. Is it that crucial that one's birthday be ALL about them and nobody else? Should I be offended that he's not getting me anything, even though he's receiving something from me?
I *do* feel obligated to get him something- I bought a Coach leather wallet and a 3 month-subscription to Netflix- because he fixed me an elaborate surprised birthday dinner from scratch. But part of me wonders...is he gettin away with murder on Christmas day?
posted by Manilow @ 6:04 PM
1 comments
Monday, October 29, 2007
How to Break Up With Your Barber
Aiight, a month ago I was in search of a new barbershop, because the barbers at my old one were aging in the eyes and deteriorating in their hands; my shape-ups were becoming more and more uneven, my haircuts more unbecoming, and it came to the point where I was goin to parties lookin an asymmetrical mess. The fact was that, at the average age of 50, these men had lost both their looks and their dexterity, and you know what, I didn't want any part in it.
So in my endless quest to stay young and poppin, I had to part ways.Being disconnected from my local Black community because I'm an Oreo, I had no idea where to go next. Hmm, where am I sure to find unadulaterated negro-osity around these parts? I wondered. The local indoor strip mall full of exploitive vendors selling useless shit to low class Black people, of course! Off to the ghetto mart I went.
As I'd predicted, amidst the stores offering weaves, Amish pork chops, and "exotic" Chinese massages advertised to cure both cancer and depression, I found a Black barbershop. And unlike my old one, all the barbers were so young, so virile, so not afflicted with arthritis! A chair opened up at the station of a handsome Black guy with a light goatee, and he sat me down to experience his Black magic.
And magical it was, for on my beard he used a RAZOR, a heavenly instrument which I had previously denounced for its harshness. Yet now in its aftermath, I couldn't believe the resulting precision of my sexiness. And to my satisfaction, he didn't really try to force convo with me- which was a huge plus because I don't like to talk to the help.
2 weeks later I went back, expecting to find the same stunning results. Once again, it was great. By the third time, however, the Black magic was gone. I first noticed it when he tried to talk to me, which was totally a mistake on his part.
"Aren't you the dude who said you sing?" he asked as I sat in the chair.
"No," I replied.
"I could've sworn you were a singer and that we talked about it last time you were in my chair," he said.
"Nope."
"Oh aiight. Yeah, cause *I* sing. I even had a record deal."
"Oh what happened with that?"
"It fell apart. But it's all good, I'm still pushin on, tryna make it big, nyahmean? You gonna see me in lights one day."
"How old are you?"
"37"
"Oh that's sad."
"...Damn, 37 aint that old, man. Keith Sweat is like at least 50 and he's still goin platinum."
"No he's not...but yeah, I don't mean you're old lol. Music is just a tough business, I've written about it."
"Oh you're a song writer?"
"No, I mean articles, stories..."
"Oh you're a writer like that? I'm tryin to get my autobiography off the ground, man. I haven't written since high school. I mean I can write sentences, but I can't do all that fancy stuff. Like, you know..."
"...Like paragraphs?"
"Yeah. So all I need is a good writer to tell my story. Maybe everyday you come in to get a cut, I can tell you a small part of my life story- and then after a year, you can compile it all into a book that we can shop around."
"...."
"Yeah man, I have a story to TELL! I'd find SOME way to pay you, yo."
"Actually I've kinda retired from writing, I'm now a consultant, sorry." Heartbroken, he resumed cuttin my hair. And I think he dashed a little salt in his clippers, because my cut wasn't quite as good as it was 2 weeks ago.
And then the next time, my cut wasn't as good as it was 2 weeks prior. And then fast forward to this past weekend- the nigga butchered me!! Dude was doin too much with both the razor and the clippers, and I wasn't comfortable with how close he was gettin to my skin.
"Please don't shape up my hairline in the front," I said.
He put shaving cream on my hairline and shaped it up in the front.
"Please don't shave under my neck," I requested. Nigga took the blade to my neck.
Now if there's ANYTHING I hate in this world, it's an insubordinate shoe shine boy. And next up is an insubordinate barber. The nerve!
As I stood up to pay, I just wanted to throw my $20 in his face and walk out. Just as I turned to leave, he said with a concerned look, "Hold on, I left somethin on your face." He came towards me with a cotton ball soaked with alcohol and smeared it all over my newly raw face, burning me alive. I tried to compose myself as I stood there seething, all the niggas in the barbershop starin at me in curiosity.
What were they starin at? I wondered. As soon as I left, I raced to the strip mall's restroom to see what he'd done to my hair. Omg, why was there blood everywhere!?! Blood on my face, blood on my forehead, blood in the crevices of my shape-up; I looked like psycho ass Carrie at her prom. They're all gonna laugh at me! I thought to myself :-(
So yeah, I don't wanna see that nigga no more. Especially not this weekend when I have to look fly for my college's Black Alumni Reunion/Homecoming. However, he's always the first chair open, and I've been seein him consistently for about 2 months. When he invites me to sit down like he always does, how should I turn him down? It's obvious that I've been his exclusive customer for a while, and I feel like if I say "Nah I'm good," his face will totally crack- which would tickle my soul, but ruin my experiences at this barbershop. Help!
So in my endless quest to stay young and poppin, I had to part ways.Being disconnected from my local Black community because I'm an Oreo, I had no idea where to go next. Hmm, where am I sure to find unadulaterated negro-osity around these parts? I wondered. The local indoor strip mall full of exploitive vendors selling useless shit to low class Black people, of course! Off to the ghetto mart I went.
As I'd predicted, amidst the stores offering weaves, Amish pork chops, and "exotic" Chinese massages advertised to cure both cancer and depression, I found a Black barbershop. And unlike my old one, all the barbers were so young, so virile, so not afflicted with arthritis! A chair opened up at the station of a handsome Black guy with a light goatee, and he sat me down to experience his Black magic.
And magical it was, for on my beard he used a RAZOR, a heavenly instrument which I had previously denounced for its harshness. Yet now in its aftermath, I couldn't believe the resulting precision of my sexiness. And to my satisfaction, he didn't really try to force convo with me- which was a huge plus because I don't like to talk to the help.
2 weeks later I went back, expecting to find the same stunning results. Once again, it was great. By the third time, however, the Black magic was gone. I first noticed it when he tried to talk to me, which was totally a mistake on his part.
"Aren't you the dude who said you sing?" he asked as I sat in the chair.
"No," I replied.
"I could've sworn you were a singer and that we talked about it last time you were in my chair," he said.
"Nope."
"Oh aiight. Yeah, cause *I* sing. I even had a record deal."
"Oh what happened with that?"
"It fell apart. But it's all good, I'm still pushin on, tryna make it big, nyahmean? You gonna see me in lights one day."
"How old are you?"
"37"
"Oh that's sad."
"...Damn, 37 aint that old, man. Keith Sweat is like at least 50 and he's still goin platinum."
"No he's not...but yeah, I don't mean you're old lol. Music is just a tough business, I've written about it."
"Oh you're a song writer?"
"No, I mean articles, stories..."
"Oh you're a writer like that? I'm tryin to get my autobiography off the ground, man. I haven't written since high school. I mean I can write sentences, but I can't do all that fancy stuff. Like, you know..."
"...Like paragraphs?"
"Yeah. So all I need is a good writer to tell my story. Maybe everyday you come in to get a cut, I can tell you a small part of my life story- and then after a year, you can compile it all into a book that we can shop around."
"...."
"Yeah man, I have a story to TELL! I'd find SOME way to pay you, yo."
"Actually I've kinda retired from writing, I'm now a consultant, sorry." Heartbroken, he resumed cuttin my hair. And I think he dashed a little salt in his clippers, because my cut wasn't quite as good as it was 2 weeks ago.
And then the next time, my cut wasn't as good as it was 2 weeks prior. And then fast forward to this past weekend- the nigga butchered me!! Dude was doin too much with both the razor and the clippers, and I wasn't comfortable with how close he was gettin to my skin.
"Please don't shape up my hairline in the front," I said.
He put shaving cream on my hairline and shaped it up in the front.
"Please don't shave under my neck," I requested. Nigga took the blade to my neck.
Now if there's ANYTHING I hate in this world, it's an insubordinate shoe shine boy. And next up is an insubordinate barber. The nerve!
As I stood up to pay, I just wanted to throw my $20 in his face and walk out. Just as I turned to leave, he said with a concerned look, "Hold on, I left somethin on your face." He came towards me with a cotton ball soaked with alcohol and smeared it all over my newly raw face, burning me alive. I tried to compose myself as I stood there seething, all the niggas in the barbershop starin at me in curiosity.
What were they starin at? I wondered. As soon as I left, I raced to the strip mall's restroom to see what he'd done to my hair. Omg, why was there blood everywhere!?! Blood on my face, blood on my forehead, blood in the crevices of my shape-up; I looked like psycho ass Carrie at her prom. They're all gonna laugh at me! I thought to myself :-(
So yeah, I don't wanna see that nigga no more. Especially not this weekend when I have to look fly for my college's Black Alumni Reunion/Homecoming. However, he's always the first chair open, and I've been seein him consistently for about 2 months. When he invites me to sit down like he always does, how should I turn him down? It's obvious that I've been his exclusive customer for a while, and I feel like if I say "Nah I'm good," his face will totally crack- which would tickle my soul, but ruin my experiences at this barbershop. Help!
posted by Manilow @ 9:48 PM
2 comments
Sunday, October 14, 2007
The Neurotic is back, bitches!!
Wow, in all my years of stalking people/reading blogs, I've never heard of someone taking a 2 year break from a blog, especially after making less than 5 entries lol. But then again, I'm one of a kind in my craziness and irrationality, as you will come to find out. Anyway, I'm back and here to stay, motivated by the exciting blogs of other Black queer men as well as my desire to vent about things I don't feel comfortable admitting to in the real world.
So when I left off, I had failed out of college, moved back home to the Philly region, and started lamenting my lack of work and life skills. I had never held a real job, cooked a pot of rice, nor had a real boyfriend. Here's how things have changed (and haven't changed) since then.
1. I got a job! Actually, I've had a few jobs. First, I worked at American Eagle, under the awful management of this bitter, Latino queen. It was my first job and yes I was kind of a mess, but this bitch snapped at me too many times for my liking. His totalitarian attitude, plus my inability to fold clothes (I told you I had no life skills) led me to quit that job in a hot 2 months.
Then I snagged a gig at a small Borders bookstore at the raggedy local mall. It was seasonal, I was clumsy, and umm let's just say I wasn't asked to return lol.
Then, I got this laughable job at a shady document imaging company. Sticking out like a Banana Republic-adorned sore thumb, I was surrounded by Trenton Bloods and Camden crack hoes as coworkers. And I'm not exaggerating; one of my coworkers asked me for crack money. It was a scary reminder of the kind of destitute existence I was possibly headed for without a college degree.
Now, I have another easy job, a clerical one at a medical laboratory. I have the most triflin work habits though; I would fire myself if I were them lol. But oh the hilarious blog posts that my job shall provide!
2. I went back to school! Well, to a community college. And then failed 2 classes lol. Ew, who does that?? Frustrated by my ADD and anxiety, I just stopped going to class, reminiscent of my experience at the University. But now, at 24, I realize the importance of obtaining a degree before I'm old and washed up. So I'm buckling down and takin courses at a different community college, with hopes of acing them and transferring somewhere respectable.
3. I am "dating" this guy, who I've been seeing since about June. However, the vagueness of our relationship and his chronic indifference towards me makes me feel uneasy. Still, I'm actually dating and meeting guys, quite a feat for a self-conscious prude like me lol. 2 years ago I was sure I'd be bitter, unattractive, and manless by this time. I consider my romantic life a small victory ;-)
So in conclusion, while my life has gone on, it's still kind of a mess. However, I'm alive and in good spirits enough to laugh about it, which is what I'll be doing a lot of in this blog. This blog is a grand experiment. It's an experiment to see if revealing all of my most closeted feelings, embarassing moments, and dirty laundry will be cathartic- or the cause of scandal(I'm prayin that no one I know will read this blog).
Moreover, it's the study of a mid-twenties Black gay male who has totally fucked his life up and has to start from scratch. Like, WHAT is going to happen to me?? I am dying to know, because I feel like I've fallen so unbelievably and hilariously low that I am just a stone's throw away from bein a crack whore lol. Everything- graduating college, having a writing career, movin out on my own, being involved in a real relationship with somebody smart, rich, and fine lol- seems like a pipe dream that is meant to be dreamed about but not achieved. However, for some reason, I'm still trying to move in that direction, just to see what happens. So will I pull off the greatest Cindarella story in all of the Black gay blogosphere? Or will I indeed become the first blogging crack whore? This is gonna be the best experiment ever!
So when I left off, I had failed out of college, moved back home to the Philly region, and started lamenting my lack of work and life skills. I had never held a real job, cooked a pot of rice, nor had a real boyfriend. Here's how things have changed (and haven't changed) since then.
1. I got a job! Actually, I've had a few jobs. First, I worked at American Eagle, under the awful management of this bitter, Latino queen. It was my first job and yes I was kind of a mess, but this bitch snapped at me too many times for my liking. His totalitarian attitude, plus my inability to fold clothes (I told you I had no life skills) led me to quit that job in a hot 2 months.
Then I snagged a gig at a small Borders bookstore at the raggedy local mall. It was seasonal, I was clumsy, and umm let's just say I wasn't asked to return lol.
Then, I got this laughable job at a shady document imaging company. Sticking out like a Banana Republic-adorned sore thumb, I was surrounded by Trenton Bloods and Camden crack hoes as coworkers. And I'm not exaggerating; one of my coworkers asked me for crack money. It was a scary reminder of the kind of destitute existence I was possibly headed for without a college degree.
Now, I have another easy job, a clerical one at a medical laboratory. I have the most triflin work habits though; I would fire myself if I were them lol. But oh the hilarious blog posts that my job shall provide!
2. I went back to school! Well, to a community college. And then failed 2 classes lol. Ew, who does that?? Frustrated by my ADD and anxiety, I just stopped going to class, reminiscent of my experience at the University. But now, at 24, I realize the importance of obtaining a degree before I'm old and washed up. So I'm buckling down and takin courses at a different community college, with hopes of acing them and transferring somewhere respectable.
3. I am "dating" this guy, who I've been seeing since about June. However, the vagueness of our relationship and his chronic indifference towards me makes me feel uneasy. Still, I'm actually dating and meeting guys, quite a feat for a self-conscious prude like me lol. 2 years ago I was sure I'd be bitter, unattractive, and manless by this time. I consider my romantic life a small victory ;-)
So in conclusion, while my life has gone on, it's still kind of a mess. However, I'm alive and in good spirits enough to laugh about it, which is what I'll be doing a lot of in this blog. This blog is a grand experiment. It's an experiment to see if revealing all of my most closeted feelings, embarassing moments, and dirty laundry will be cathartic- or the cause of scandal(I'm prayin that no one I know will read this blog).
Moreover, it's the study of a mid-twenties Black gay male who has totally fucked his life up and has to start from scratch. Like, WHAT is going to happen to me?? I am dying to know, because I feel like I've fallen so unbelievably and hilariously low that I am just a stone's throw away from bein a crack whore lol. Everything- graduating college, having a writing career, movin out on my own, being involved in a real relationship with somebody smart, rich, and fine lol- seems like a pipe dream that is meant to be dreamed about but not achieved. However, for some reason, I'm still trying to move in that direction, just to see what happens. So will I pull off the greatest Cindarella story in all of the Black gay blogosphere? Or will I indeed become the first blogging crack whore? This is gonna be the best experiment ever!
posted by Manilow @ 2:52 PM
4 comments
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Wake me up when September ends
At the threat of yall callin me an Oreo (or a retard, considering it's October), I present to you the lyrics to a song very close to my aching heart right now. "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day.
"Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Like my fathers come to pass
(4) years have gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
As my memory rests
it never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began.
Wake me up when September ends.
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last.
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends."
First of all, can I just say that I *love* Green Day?!? The fake accent, the political topics, the voice that sounds like it's filled with snot. I can't get enough.
Anyway, this song represents how I feel as I mourn my college experience. I know, it is no longer September. Yet I'd still rather lie down depressed, with the covers over my head. When September came a month ago, I did not return to school, which broke my heart, for I am now officially a college drop-out.
Wow, as an over-achiever from 1st grade to high school, as the sole African American male in most of my AP classes, as the proud, crowning achievement of my father and extended family, whom everyone assumed would become a Pulitzer-prize winning writer or something else amazing, I never thought I'd utter those words in my LIFE. College drop-out. Wow. I'm filled with regret and shame as I am back at home living with my mother in the greater Philadelphia area. I so don't feel like explaining my situation to my friends and relatives. It's funny how how life doesn't take the trajectory we want it to, yet takes the exact path that we subconsciously fear it will. And by funny, I mean awful. Oh well, now it's time to navigate the life of a failed student with no work experience and few life skills.
Wait, *is* there a life for a failed student with no work experience and few life skills??? I can't even cook rice, yall. My life is MAD bottom of the barrell :-( lol.
Oh well, I guess we'll see what happens, won't we? *sigh*
"Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Like my fathers come to pass
(4) years have gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are
As my memory rests
it never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began.
Wake me up when September ends.
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last.
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends."
First of all, can I just say that I *love* Green Day?!? The fake accent, the political topics, the voice that sounds like it's filled with snot. I can't get enough.
Anyway, this song represents how I feel as I mourn my college experience. I know, it is no longer September. Yet I'd still rather lie down depressed, with the covers over my head. When September came a month ago, I did not return to school, which broke my heart, for I am now officially a college drop-out.
Wow, as an over-achiever from 1st grade to high school, as the sole African American male in most of my AP classes, as the proud, crowning achievement of my father and extended family, whom everyone assumed would become a Pulitzer-prize winning writer or something else amazing, I never thought I'd utter those words in my LIFE. College drop-out. Wow. I'm filled with regret and shame as I am back at home living with my mother in the greater Philadelphia area. I so don't feel like explaining my situation to my friends and relatives. It's funny how how life doesn't take the trajectory we want it to, yet takes the exact path that we subconsciously fear it will. And by funny, I mean awful. Oh well, now it's time to navigate the life of a failed student with no work experience and few life skills.
Wait, *is* there a life for a failed student with no work experience and few life skills??? I can't even cook rice, yall. My life is MAD bottom of the barrell :-( lol.
Oh well, I guess we'll see what happens, won't we? *sigh*
posted by Manilow @ 8:53 PM
1 comments
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Is the Gym the new Adam4Adam?
I wouldn't know, cause I haven't been there for months lol.
But my friend, a religious gym-goer in D.C., would. Here's an IM convo that I found to be eye-opening.
Friend: yooo, i must tell u what happened to me today lol
Me: what
Friend: I went to the gym
Friend: and my trainer wore me out.. had me sweatin like a pig
Friend: so i had to take a shower
Friend: and when I came out there was a guy in the sauna swingin his dick back n forth at me LMFAO
Friend: so he's like 'come here" (which my dumb ass did)
Friend: and he grbbaed my hand and made me fele on his dick
Friend: and he's liek "suck this shit yo"
Friend: im like hell no lol
Friend: he's like u know u want to since u came in here
Me: lmaooooooo
Me: what. the. fuck. lol
Friend: i knowright
Friend: come ot find out stuffliek this goes on ALLLL the time at the gym
Me: Wow. and then what? lol
Friend: i was like i aint suckin ur dick bcuz 1. i dont know u and 2. this sauna has big ass glass windows with a clear view of inside for anyone who walks by it
Friend: NO
Friend: so then he's like... damn yo u got me all hard n shit
Friend: then he's like "do u get fucked??"
Friend: i was liek um.. bye lol
Friend: and he was like well when u comin back..i sed wednesday same time.. and he sed ill be here
Friend: i was like whatever... PAAAACE
Me: waaaaiiiiiit a minute, negro
Me: 1) Like he said, why did you go into the sauna while he was in there. You lookin for somethin? Like your wallet? ..Or some fellatio, perhaps?
Friend: no lol
Friend: he was sexy lol
Friend: i at least wanted to talk to him lol
Me: But you know when a dude is swinging his penis, it aint because he's tryin to dry it off lol
Friend: lol I guess
Me: 2) When he was swanging his dick and said "come here"....why did you listen to him?? Were you like "okay...but you better have a really funny joke to tell me, Mister!!"
Friend: no lol
Friend: i aint wanna seem rude lol
Me: *dead*
Me: well at least you have manners. Did you stare at it?
Friend: no i didn't stare lol
Friend: he may have had potential...he already looked good lol... regardless of the fact that he obviously didn't mind getitng head form a guy in fornt of a bunch of peopelin a public place lol
Me: Whew, well at least least you weren't rude to a fine pervert! Everything's okay then!!
Me: 3) I'm mad that you told him the exact day and time that you'll be back lol. You must want somethin to pop off
Friend: no i wanted to see if he'd actually be there
Friend: bcuz i seriously doubt he will lol
Friend: im not goin back there by the shower and sauna EVER again lol
Me: Whatever. Just don't let your personal trainer see the cum on the side of your mouth at ur next appointment lol
Friend: LMFAO
Friend: nah he wont lol
Friend: even tho i dunno if he gets down or not
Friend: whenever he stretches me out after the workout he tends to put his dick against m leg and then it'll be throbbing lol
Me: He probably does. He's a black man in D.C.- what's he gonna be...straight???
Friend: Hahahahahaha yeah right
Me: Anyway, I'm thoroughly disgusted by this homo turn of events, I need to shower away the filth. I'm off to the sauna at Bally's, HOLLA
But my friend, a religious gym-goer in D.C., would. Here's an IM convo that I found to be eye-opening.
Friend: yooo, i must tell u what happened to me today lol
Me: what
Friend: I went to the gym
Friend: and my trainer wore me out.. had me sweatin like a pig
Friend: so i had to take a shower
Friend: and when I came out there was a guy in the sauna swingin his dick back n forth at me LMFAO
Friend: so he's like 'come here" (which my dumb ass did)
Friend: and he grbbaed my hand and made me fele on his dick
Friend: and he's liek "suck this shit yo"
Friend: im like hell no lol
Friend: he's like u know u want to since u came in here
Me: lmaooooooo
Me: what. the. fuck. lol
Friend: i knowright
Friend: come ot find out stuffliek this goes on ALLLL the time at the gym
Me: Wow. and then what? lol
Friend: i was like i aint suckin ur dick bcuz 1. i dont know u and 2. this sauna has big ass glass windows with a clear view of inside for anyone who walks by it
Friend: NO
Friend: so then he's like... damn yo u got me all hard n shit
Friend: then he's like "do u get fucked??"
Friend: i was liek um.. bye lol
Friend: and he was like well when u comin back..i sed wednesday same time.. and he sed ill be here
Friend: i was like whatever... PAAAACE
Me: waaaaiiiiiit a minute, negro
Me: 1) Like he said, why did you go into the sauna while he was in there. You lookin for somethin? Like your wallet? ..Or some fellatio, perhaps?
Friend: no lol
Friend: he was sexy lol
Friend: i at least wanted to talk to him lol
Me: But you know when a dude is swinging his penis, it aint because he's tryin to dry it off lol
Friend: lol I guess
Me: 2) When he was swanging his dick and said "come here"....why did you listen to him?? Were you like "okay...but you better have a really funny joke to tell me, Mister!!"
Friend: no lol
Friend: i aint wanna seem rude lol
Me: *dead*
Me: well at least you have manners. Did you stare at it?
Friend: no i didn't stare lol
Friend: he may have had potential...he already looked good lol... regardless of the fact that he obviously didn't mind getitng head form a guy in fornt of a bunch of peopelin a public place lol
Me: Whew, well at least least you weren't rude to a fine pervert! Everything's okay then!!
Me: 3) I'm mad that you told him the exact day and time that you'll be back lol. You must want somethin to pop off
Friend: no i wanted to see if he'd actually be there
Friend: bcuz i seriously doubt he will lol
Friend: im not goin back there by the shower and sauna EVER again lol
Me: Whatever. Just don't let your personal trainer see the cum on the side of your mouth at ur next appointment lol
Friend: LMFAO
Friend: nah he wont lol
Friend: even tho i dunno if he gets down or not
Friend: whenever he stretches me out after the workout he tends to put his dick against m leg and then it'll be throbbing lol
Me: He probably does. He's a black man in D.C.- what's he gonna be...straight???
Friend: Hahahahahaha yeah right
Me: Anyway, I'm thoroughly disgusted by this homo turn of events, I need to shower away the filth. I'm off to the sauna at Bally's, HOLLA
posted by Manilow @ 12:48 AM
1 comments
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Talk Soup
So this is my first entry of my first online journal. It's kinda like my blogging virginity is about to be taken...by all of you. So I guess that would make it a gang-bang, huh? Or maybe a train? LOL. See, I've already opened this blog with filth.
And let's continue with filth- of a more culinary kind. Here's a recent true story that I think is representative of the awkwardness, silliness, drama, poor decisionmaking, compulsive behavior, and bad luck that plagues my life. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, huh? Bon a petit!
So a couple weeks back, I was having a really rough time here at college. In fact, it was academic hell week, when professors try to wear down your soul with enough exams, papers and deadlines to pound you under the ground. Personally, I had 2 exams and a paper- not to mention several hundred pages of textbook reading to do in preparation.
So in the middle of the week, I had a meltdown. I screamed, I cursed, I got depressed, I sunk into denial. And then I moped around, hating myself.
Finally, I looked in the mirror and it came to me. Christophe, I told myself, you need to get yourself together- you can do this! With that, I resolved to reclaim my exams, starting by getting fly and heading to Starbucks to study/stunt like a rockstar. I derive my shaky self-esteem from academic success and getting male attention- and dammit, I was determined to win in both categories that night!
So at 10 pm, I dressed into an impressively handome ensemble and headed out to get my academic progress at Starubucks, the place to see, be seen, and sometimes study lol. Being cheap, I decided to bring my own plastic bag of food. I warmed up a Campbell's microwavable bowl of soup, put it in a plastic bag, and was on my way. I was looking good, feeling good, at last.
Stepping onto the bus that goes from campus to Starbucks, I wondered if it was a bad idea to have soup in a plastic bag like that. Nah, I'll be fine, I thought. It has a lid, and the ride should be smooth.
I couldn't have been more wrong. We might as well have been in a horse and carriage ride over moon craters- that was the bumpiest ride of my life. And I noticed with every jolt, more soup seeped from underneath the lid into the bag. After a couple minutes, I felt the bottom of the bag, which was hot and full of spilled soup. To my horror, I realized I was carrying a broth-filled IV bag.
Not again! I thought, recalling a traumatizing moment that occured around this EXACT same time freshman year (3 years ago). In that incident, I got onto the back of the bus with a cup of Caribou coffee in a brown paper bag. Suddenly, the coffee broke through the bag and poured onto the floor, flowing slowly like a brown caffeinated river from the rear seats to the driver's seat of the bus, for all to see. "That's why we don't allow food or drinks on the damn bus!" the driver scolded me. I would soon take that semester off.
Snapping back to reality, I realized I had to thwart another semester-ruining disaster like that of freshman year. I put the plastic bag next to me so I could think. But soon, the broth had maliciously pierced through the plastic bag and formed a huge puddle on the seat. The girls next to me stared at it in disgust. Frantic, I grabbed the leaking bag, held it away from me, and dashed to the front of the bus, pouring a soupy trail with each step I took. All eyes were on me- which I hate!!
"Can I get off?" I asked the bus driver, trying to act nonchalent with my dripping bag behind me.
"We just passed the stop," the obese black woman said and kept driving. I silently filled with rage and fear.
"Umm, your bag is leaking," a girl said, pointing at my dripping IV bag.
"Oh...is it?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
The bus driver, horrified at what she saw, put her hand under the bag to stop the messy flow, but was instantly scalded. She yelped and yanked her burnt palm back.
"I...um...I need to get off!" I shouted, unable to take the humiliation.
"Damn right you do!" she yelled.
The driver finally made an emergency stop in the middle of the road.
When the door opened, I self-consciously fled the judgemental eyes of the bus and ran toward a 3 foot stone ledge in front of a nearby dorm to lay my shit down. Of course, the soup suddenly exploded in the bag and left my blazer, sneakers, the ground, and the wall covered in chunks.
Defeated, I wondered what to do next. Finally, I resorted to do what I always do when faced with stress- eat. I sat there on the ledge in the dusk, covered in and surrounded by meaty broth, sorrowfully eating the chicken and mushroom soup that hadn't escaped. The word "hobo" came to mind. I was just glad nobody was around to witness this sad, trashy sight.
Oh, but there was. I noticed a middle-aged, white woman parked in a parking space right in front of me. She was staring at me, her face filled with disbelief at what she was witnessing. Soon our eyes met, she got nervous, and backed out of the parking spot....only to park 3 spaces away and continue staring at me from afar, like I was a sideshow act from which she could not turn..
All I wanted was to read my sociology over a frappuccino at Starbucks and snag a man in the process!! Humiliated and a mess, I was ill prepared for my exams- just like freshman year.
I would soon take the next semester off.
Welcome to my world.
And let's continue with filth- of a more culinary kind. Here's a recent true story that I think is representative of the awkwardness, silliness, drama, poor decisionmaking, compulsive behavior, and bad luck that plagues my life. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, huh? Bon a petit!
So a couple weeks back, I was having a really rough time here at college. In fact, it was academic hell week, when professors try to wear down your soul with enough exams, papers and deadlines to pound you under the ground. Personally, I had 2 exams and a paper- not to mention several hundred pages of textbook reading to do in preparation.
So in the middle of the week, I had a meltdown. I screamed, I cursed, I got depressed, I sunk into denial. And then I moped around, hating myself.
Finally, I looked in the mirror and it came to me. Christophe, I told myself, you need to get yourself together- you can do this! With that, I resolved to reclaim my exams, starting by getting fly and heading to Starbucks to study/stunt like a rockstar. I derive my shaky self-esteem from academic success and getting male attention- and dammit, I was determined to win in both categories that night!
So at 10 pm, I dressed into an impressively handome ensemble and headed out to get my academic progress at Starubucks, the place to see, be seen, and sometimes study lol. Being cheap, I decided to bring my own plastic bag of food. I warmed up a Campbell's microwavable bowl of soup, put it in a plastic bag, and was on my way. I was looking good, feeling good, at last.
Stepping onto the bus that goes from campus to Starbucks, I wondered if it was a bad idea to have soup in a plastic bag like that. Nah, I'll be fine, I thought. It has a lid, and the ride should be smooth.
I couldn't have been more wrong. We might as well have been in a horse and carriage ride over moon craters- that was the bumpiest ride of my life. And I noticed with every jolt, more soup seeped from underneath the lid into the bag. After a couple minutes, I felt the bottom of the bag, which was hot and full of spilled soup. To my horror, I realized I was carrying a broth-filled IV bag.
Not again! I thought, recalling a traumatizing moment that occured around this EXACT same time freshman year (3 years ago). In that incident, I got onto the back of the bus with a cup of Caribou coffee in a brown paper bag. Suddenly, the coffee broke through the bag and poured onto the floor, flowing slowly like a brown caffeinated river from the rear seats to the driver's seat of the bus, for all to see. "That's why we don't allow food or drinks on the damn bus!" the driver scolded me. I would soon take that semester off.
Snapping back to reality, I realized I had to thwart another semester-ruining disaster like that of freshman year. I put the plastic bag next to me so I could think. But soon, the broth had maliciously pierced through the plastic bag and formed a huge puddle on the seat. The girls next to me stared at it in disgust. Frantic, I grabbed the leaking bag, held it away from me, and dashed to the front of the bus, pouring a soupy trail with each step I took. All eyes were on me- which I hate!!
"Can I get off?" I asked the bus driver, trying to act nonchalent with my dripping bag behind me.
"We just passed the stop," the obese black woman said and kept driving. I silently filled with rage and fear.
"Umm, your bag is leaking," a girl said, pointing at my dripping IV bag.
"Oh...is it?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
The bus driver, horrified at what she saw, put her hand under the bag to stop the messy flow, but was instantly scalded. She yelped and yanked her burnt palm back.
"I...um...I need to get off!" I shouted, unable to take the humiliation.
"Damn right you do!" she yelled.
The driver finally made an emergency stop in the middle of the road.
When the door opened, I self-consciously fled the judgemental eyes of the bus and ran toward a 3 foot stone ledge in front of a nearby dorm to lay my shit down. Of course, the soup suddenly exploded in the bag and left my blazer, sneakers, the ground, and the wall covered in chunks.
Defeated, I wondered what to do next. Finally, I resorted to do what I always do when faced with stress- eat. I sat there on the ledge in the dusk, covered in and surrounded by meaty broth, sorrowfully eating the chicken and mushroom soup that hadn't escaped. The word "hobo" came to mind. I was just glad nobody was around to witness this sad, trashy sight.
Oh, but there was. I noticed a middle-aged, white woman parked in a parking space right in front of me. She was staring at me, her face filled with disbelief at what she was witnessing. Soon our eyes met, she got nervous, and backed out of the parking spot....only to park 3 spaces away and continue staring at me from afar, like I was a sideshow act from which she could not turn..
All I wanted was to read my sociology over a frappuccino at Starbucks and snag a man in the process!! Humiliated and a mess, I was ill prepared for my exams- just like freshman year.
I would soon take the next semester off.
Welcome to my world.
posted by Manilow @ 10:30 PM
1 comments
