My Worst Date

Today we are supposed to talk about our worst date.

However, I've never had a bad date. 

I know, I know. Lucky Tee. 

I mean, what can I say? I'm amazing and everyone that I've ever been on a date with makes sure that our activities reflect my awesomeness. 

There's also an outside chance that I warned people of possible suplexes and throat chops if they presented me with some low budget Dixie Dozen/Waffle House combo. 

I have standards people. I'll make sure they are met. By any means necessary. 

So anyway, there have been no bad dates. But I have had some really odd outings with men who were not my man. These usually occurred when I was out with girlfriends. Also, they were back in the days before I went straightedge, so keep that in mind when you judge me. 

Picture it. Louisville. 1997. The Elk's Lodge.

I was home from school for the weekend and my friend, Mahogany suggested that we go to the Elk's for some fun. Now I was all about this because whenever we went epic fuckery always ensued. How was I to know that on that night, I would be feeling the brunt of it all?

So we get dressed. I'm wearing a halter top and a long black skirt with splits on both sides. It was 1997. That was the hotness, try not to judge.

I'm on the dance floor amaretto sour in one hand, other hand caressing my Halle Berry cut like I'm super fine, and getting my life to this little ditty.

Now, I don't know if you know this about me or not, but I don't like folks in my personal space. There were two people next to me and I knew them both. Imagine my surprise when a large shadow covers us all and I feel the flesh of a stranger on my shoulders. It was covered by clothing...but still.

I froze. 

I'm talking mid-move. You would have thought we were playing Simon Says in that bitch.

I look to my right and Mahogany is looking up. And not just regular up. She's a tall girl and her neck was bent back 90 degrees.

That's when I knew that I was about to be accosted by Goliath. I went into fight or flight mode. Really, just flight because I ran off that floor so damn fast you would have thought that my ass was on fire.

Never dropped that drink though.

I found a seat at a table and finished off my drink. After a few minutes my homegirls walked up to the table laughing.

"He wants to meet you," they said.
"Who wants to meet me?" I ask with disdain.
"Him..."

And there was the shadow again. This time it covered two tables and scared a white lady into not liking black guys anymore.

I said the Lord's Prayer and looked up.

Wanna know what I saw?

Yep. That guy.

His name is Mark Henry. He's a wrestler. I didn't know that. I thought he was a University of Louisville football player, or at the very least a giant murderer. I was about 98.658% certain that he wanted to take me home, lock me in the basement, and boil me in a pot of Le Petite Black Girl Stew.

I didn't say a word. I got up and walked away.

He followed.

I'm certain this is what we looked like to everyone.

I couldn't get rid of him. 

After a while, I talked to him. We had what might go down in history as the shadiest conversation I've ever had with another human being.

Him: I'm Mark Henry.
Me: That's nice. 
Him: What's your name, beautiful?
Me: That will do.
Him: What? Beautiful?
Me: Yep.
Him: So Beautiful, what are you drinking on?
Me: Water from this point on.
Him: Gotta keep that body right huh?
Me: Some of us care about that kind of thing.
*He rubs his belly.*
Him: You don't like it?
Me: No sir. I don't.
Him: Can I take you out?
Me: Why?
Him: I like you. I can tell we would have a good time.

At this point I'm afraid. Why? Because I'm certain he's a serial killer and he wants to use my skin for an arm brace.

Mahogany comes and saves me. We leave.

As we are walking across the parking lot. He shows up. If you didn't know, Mark Henry moves like a damn ninja. Never seen a big be so damn stealthy.

He asks for my number and a date again.

Mahogany turns around and yells "NO! Shit!"

And then we went home and saw on the television that he had recently signed a contract with the WWF for like $20 million dollars. 

The moral of this story? Never go to the Elk's Lodge. 

Swear this is what he looked like once that Yack took hold of 'em

Next time I'll tell you about a crush who went all Hulk smash when another man (a friend) touched my arm in a way that he deemed unacceptable. If ole boy was trying to get my attention, he got it. Dude was fine as frog hair too. Too bad he was a lunatic.

Moral of that story? Never go to the Elk's Lodge. 

Random Thoughts From My Sick Bed

Well, that 30 Day Challenge was and epic failure. I can't even give a valid excuse for why I didn't complete it. I just didn't. I guess you can call me lazy. I don't mind that judgment. I am lazy. I'm the laziest person you know. If I have to pick between sitting very still and exerting no energy and doing something productive... doing nothing wins every damn time. 

Anyway, these days I've been suffering from an upper respiratory infection. I'm not sure what causes this kind of condition, but I'm going to blame it on the people that I work with. Not because I think they are contagious. Just because I like blaming stuff on them. Co-workers are the best scapegoats for when shit goes wrong in your life. You can blame them all day long and they will be none the wiser.

I'm supposed to be resting right now. But that's the gotcha gotcha. When somebody tells me to rest, I'll find every reason not too. So I guess that makes me the most stubborn lazy person you know. You can judge me for that too. 

I hate being sick. Being sick messes with my sunny disposition. When I'm sick I get mean. I gripe, I snap, I cuss, I kick (only once, and that nurse was being rough so...) So the odds of you getting cussed (that's country for cursed y'all) all the way out are pretty high. Don't take it personally. It's just a caustic combination of hormones, meds, germs, and me. Some folks would call that a Kavorkian-like cocktail. I call it "shut the hell up and leave me alone before I hurt your feelings and we all end up in tears." 

My husband and my son are used to my shenanigans when I'm unwell. In fact I haven't seen either one of them in about 72 hours. They are avoiding me. This makes me sad. Not really, they'll pay for it later. Knowing that makes me happy.

I'm not evil. I'm just sick. 

I'm all stopped up. I'm mouth breathing like Biggie Smalls. I can't hear. I'm dizzy. I'm sneezing. This is not a time in my life that makes me feel like smiling. It's all because of my coworkers. 

If I'm mean to you, blame them. If I flip you the bird for smiling, blame them. If I cut you off in traffic, blame them. If I trip your loud, obnoxious kid in the grocery store... blame me. That's all me. 

I'm starving. I'm probably the only sick person in the world that gets hungry instead of losing her appetite. I've been eating chips, salsa, pizza, candy... It's a problem. But this always happens. I get sick and I gain weight. I eat more when I'm ill than I ever do when I'm feeling okay. So I guess this means I'm the hungriest, stubborn, lazy person you know. 

Whatever. 

Well, that's about all I have today. My mind is all over the place. I didn't even share the most random things I came up with. You would really think I'm crazy if I did.

When this fog clears I'll read this and probably give a big ole WTF, like you are now. 

Until then I'm gonna stay hopped up on meds, OJ, and apple Jolly Rancher sticks. And maybe a 5 Guys burger and some fries...

Insomniac Thoughts

See that face? That's how I feel...but cuter. 

It's currently 4:42 in the am and I've been up since 12. This may not be a big deal for some, but this is pretty major for me.  You see, I NEED the 8 hours of good sleep that has been constitutionally (see the 34th Amendment where REM is discussed) allotted to me. NEED.

If I don't get my full 8 hours I'm not nice.  Ask anybody that knows me.  Lack of sleep brings the bitch out of me in the most major way.  I won't even pretend that I like you if I'm sleepy.  I'll chop you down and keep walking without a single fuck being given.

I NEED my 8 hours.  In case you didn't catch it before.

I'm usually in bed by 8:30.  Except on Sundays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.  On these days I stay up past my curfew so that I can enjoy Once Upon a Time, Criminal Minds, and Scandal.  I make sure to take a nap on those days though, so my body will still be rested.  I know you are judging me right now because I keep elementary student hours and engage in Kindergarten practices, but check this out: I don't care.  You can call me what you want, but make sure you call me refreshed.

This is why I'm so vexed about not being able to sleep:  it's making my face look like I'm one of you normal people.  We can't have that.  I take pride in being wrinkle, crack, facial hair, and bag free.  This sleep thing is trying to end me and I have no idea what to do about it.

I mentioned earlier that lack of sleep makes me mean.  Well, it also makes my mind wander to the strangest places.  For instance, about 15 minutes ago, I looked at my Twitter profile picture and legit said the following words (out loud mind you): "I got a neck like Kimora Lee Simmons!" Really? Only a sleep-deprived deviant would say such things about themselves.  But I couldn't stop myself.  And now, I'm sitting here wondering why it took me 34 years to notice these neck rolls I have and contemplating ways to destroy them.  Chin ups? Neck flexes? Neck-o-suction?

I'm pretty sure you're curious about the other weird shit I think about on nights like this? OK, I'll tell you:

• My babies with Willie Geist would be AMAZING. UH-MAZE-ING!
• I wonder if Usher knows he's a gnome?
• Ellen would so be my BFF if she just got to know me!
• Why didn't God grant me my second growth spurt? 
• The next person to touch my hair is going to get choke slammed.
• Hold up...I think that's premeditated assault or something...never mind...

And that's just the past 15 minutes or so.  Imagine having to deal with that for extra hours of awake time! I'm driving myself bonkers!

I'm not sure what's causing this insomnia, but I wish it would go the hell away.  I can't be my usual perky, chipper, up with the people self because of this.  I'm getting complaints from management and employees (read my husband and my son) about my behavior being more odd than normal.

I have to figure something out to fix this.  No drugs though.  My last experience with Ambien was like a Jimi Hendrix trip to Woodstock.  No bueno.  Also, I've heard about people doing foolish shit like sleep eating  and sleep driving on that stuff.  I'm trying not to be a fat girl with inexplicable parking tickets! 

Ugh.