Category Archives: dating

’64 Chevy/Are You Afraid of the Dark?

“Call me after midnight.”
“Ha! Yeah. Well, you know what they say about after midnight.”

“..No, actually I don’t know what they say. What do they say?”
“After midnight we’re gonna let it all hang out!”

YES, classic rock reference.

Thanks, The Shark 105.3

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The Joys of Life with Man-Influence

I haven’t blogged in a month and a half. Work, moving to Oakland, and having a man in my life suddenly, have all kept me plenty busy. As my bedroom hardly constitutes a hang out-able room, the ratio of nights I’ve spent in my new bedroom, to the nights I’ve spent at his place, are probably neck and neck. Here’s a taste of what we get up to.

Last weekend

Friday: Skipped the Oakland Art Murmur. Skipped the German avant-garde band in the city. We took the Keepin’ It Clean van just down to the Stork Club. Great, divey atmosphere. Sat and smoked out back before the live act took the stage. It was an “ironic” white kid, who covered “Poison” by Bel Biv Devoe, and otherwise, rapped about cell phones with a T-Pain effect. Stayed for his performance, danced a little and went home. Partied like rock stars. A party of two, but damn, was it crunk. Snapped photos like we’re fabulous celebrities (which we secretly are).

Saturday: Still high. Showered with Irish Spring. He poured his Rock Star into a red cup. From a basketball court, we listened to some Africans play music on the playground. Sunny stroll down Telegraph. Toured the student co-op he used to live in. I swung in the hammock on the roof. Blondie’s Pizza. Joints on the couch. Elephant beer. 6 pm and it was bedtime.

Sunday: 14 hours of sleep. Eventually, I helped clean the house by washing the dishes and suggesting the 409 orange-scented cleaner, over the generic window cleaner.

Wednesday night (?)

A list of our night’s keywords that turned into a poem:

1.) Safety pins and cigarettes

2.) Rap music and Charlie’s hiccup breath

3.) Orange helicopter with beatdown sleaze

4.) The dollar in my pocket brought a million to their knees.

Other keywords/themes with us include:

1.) NPR on the “Ian” radio

2.) News at 10

3.) “love note” IM’s

4.) Andre champagne, and the promise of champagne with a real cork someday

5.) the drawer of despair

6.) listening to The Zombies

7.) me getting paid lots of attention and loving it (who doesn’t!?)

So for those very few who have been wondering what I’ve been up to, that is what my life has been lately, regardless of whether it’s a weeknight or weekend. I can’t complain, for now.

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Posted on a Stoop in the Hood

One look at the neon signs in the same store front window, reading “BRAIDS,” and “FISH BURGER SPECIAL,” and I knew I was in the hood. Another block of storefronts with still more braiding salons, and questionable eateries, and it occurred to me that these are the kinds of places that the hood needs. Just the bare necessities without anything fancy about them. It’s straight-forward, no frills.

I had made the mistake of telling Cedric I was hungry, so when his friends pulled up to a bunk philly cheese steak place I had to claim that I was fine. There was no way I was going to consume anything from that place. Chris, the hyperactive, funny man, asked, “I thought you were hungry. What is this, some sort of miracle or something?” Laughing, he bounced outta the car and went into the store to fulfill his munchies craving.

When Cedric picked me up, with “Hood Nigga,” blaring, I had a feeling we were just going to a house. We went to his friend’s house in Hayward, on the border of East Oakland. “No, it’s West Oakland that’s really, really bad. You don’t want to go there,” Cedric clarified, after I said I’d heard bad things about East Oakland. Well, too bad I’ve already been there. “You scared of the hood?” I smiled because I was nervous, not about the hood, but about what he thought he was going to get out of me. Though I’ve never been to the “hood-hood,” I’m still too hood-literate to not know what you’re trying to do when you bring me to your boy’s house. True, I’ve made some bad decisions in the past, but I don’t get down like that. I’m not the average hoodrat that you’re probably used to. At the time, I wasn’t annoyed by Cedric; it’s the end of the evening that left me feeling frustrated about everything.

In all honesty, I was relishing in the fact that I was in the hood, sitting on a stoop with three Cameroonians, toking a blunt, while the car in the driveway blared Lil Wayne, Jeezy, T.I., and Gucci Mane. I stood out even more because of the interview clothes I was wearing, having just come from North Berkeley. Across the street people were doing the same thing, except with flasks of Remy in hand, and their music was coming from inside the house. Inside the house I sat on the stoop of, there wasn’t much. It was getting re-furnished. Only Cedric’s friend with the name I can’t pronounce lives there. Cedric told me they are moving into this house, but later I heard his nameless friend on the phone asking, “How long is this house off the market?”

Once his friends came back with the Swishers and we smoked, Chris started staring at the sky. “There’s something out there, girl. Look. Keep looking. There’s something more, you know what I’m saying? See the bat?” He was right. I could see clouds shaped like bats, flying into the evening sun. I thought of Mr. Paul and how he gets spiritual with me too. Maybe it’s because they come from such unfortunate backgrounds that they’re convinced to believe in something higher, to get them through this life, I thought to myself, high as the moon (Chris’ saying).

“Wanna kill this blunt?” Cedric put me in charge of unrolling it. That was a bad idea, and only after I unrolled it to a shitty, ragged-edged piece of paper, did I realize, “I’ve never unrolled a Swisher before. I’m used to Backwoods.” I’m constantly talking about Backwoods with anyone I smoke blunts with. I can’t help myself. We all had a good laugh over that, then Chris said he could still use it to roll with. He broke it in half so we smoked a mini blunt. When I passed him the roach he suddenly held it with a piece of tall grass that he picked from the yard. He had it pinched around the blunt like a makeshift roach clip. That wasn’t his only trick.

Before we even smoked I had given him a cigarette. He took it to his mouth and bit around the edge of the filter. With one whack against his leg, the filter came out. “What are you doing?” I asked. He peeled off the outside of the filter, then stuck it into the cigarette backwards. “That’s where the nicotine is. Here, try it.” I smoked it, not noticing much of a difference besides that the filter was very squishable. Once we were on the 2nd blunt he started to do the same thing to another cigarette. He started to explain how he learned it from watching the old men outside the cafes in Cameroon. When he got tired of talking he said, “Now, let’s take a break, like BET!”

Cedric fed me all this bullshit. It didn’t help that we were in his friend’s bedroom. “I wanna roll with you, girl, for real. How you feel about me? Cuz for real, you’re like the full package.” Ah, yes, nothing says “I wanna fuck you,” more than “You’re the full package.” He needs to calm his shit. Hanging out at a club once means you still don’t know me, and if you think you do, you’re wrong. Leading me into bedrooms isn’t going to work either: 1.) Oh, you think you’re that smooth or something and that I can’t wait to jump on you? Nuh uh! 2.) Way to make me feel cheap and uncomfortable. Part of me thinks it’s my Asian face. I refuse to make your Asian porn fantasy come true. Cedric’s last offense was repeatedly asking me when he can see me again. What does he want? An Excel spreadsheet of my social plans for the coming year? On top of that, he claimed I’m hard to get a hold of when he’s only called me twice. He was being really needy by the end of the evening, especially for a Virgo.

And so, my new guy requirement is that we’ve got to be on the same intellectual playing field, if we want to get anything accomplished. I should’ve realized this a long time ago, but until recently I was searching for something completely outside of myself. Looking at the hills from the front stoop, I was high. I was wondering how I get myself into these situations and why. I concluded that I must be scared to get close to anyone. Am I really one of those people?, I wondered. I’ve never been close to anyone, but I’m wondering if there’s something in my subconscious that won’t let me get close to anyone. Why else would I end up seeing guys that are from a different world than me, guys that will never figure me out? I might be too defensive, or I know that they’re not worth it from the get-go. I’ve never wanted to meet a nice, white boy more than right now.

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Dear Zodiac signs…

Below are the initial reactions I have about men when I find out their signs.

Capricorn: Okay, I know how to handle you – we’re both pretty chill signs. You’re boring me five minutes into conversation though, so I’m gonna walk away now.

Aquarius: I don’t get you. I don’t really want to. We can be friends, I guess.

Pisces: Oh, so you’re a train wreck? This could work out. On second thought, I’ll try to fix you, then realize I can’t and that I’ve wasted years of my life.

Aries: We have nothing in common except that we’re both in the same building right now. You’re not getting my subtleties, and your directness is scaring me. Let’s just put on the television so we don’t have to talk to each other.

Taurus: Boring. Next.

Gemini: You’re an unsexy sign, but we should definitely be friends because we can already finish each other’s sentences. We share a planet, duh.

Cancer: I front like I want to spit on you and make you cry, which is true (sometimes), but I’m secretly into you. We’re good at talking to each other and making our own world. You have lots of feelings and you want to kiss the ground I walk on!

Leo: You’re probably into big shows of affection that will just embarrass me. You’re a loyal friend though.

Virgo: I don’t get along with female Virgo-Virgo’s, and you might be too proper and bitchy for me too, but I’m not crossing you off the list yet (only because I don’t have enough field research to judge).

Libra: Something inside me says this won’t work. Friends-only.

Scorpio: You’re intense, and complex, and sexual, and I love you.

Sagittarius: You would never be into me. The feeling’s mutual, bud.

Cusps I would like to meet: Aries-Taurus (I’ve read good things about us), and Cancer-Leo.

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seemed like an ok idea at the time.

There’s no denying how fucked up this is. It’s like I was on an unsturdy iceberg that just cracked in half, made me lose my balance and sent me toppling into the freezing cold water, most likely to die alone. Ha.

I’m such a normal kind of girl, from a nice family (dysfunctional of course, but pretty solid) that I wondered what I was doing there. Why was I putting myself in the situation? As trashed as I was I still knew it wasn’t the best idea. I may be drawn to men with problems, ones that can provide me with a sense of “living on the edge.” I find it thrilling. Perhaps it’s because I get to step into a different world for a second, therefore creating a comfortable distance between myself and the dreaded “normal” that I fear.

Things just completely changed overnight.
Tomorrow he’s off probation. We’ll see how far a blunt gets us.

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The night of "10 Lil Crips" and stealing

Last night was like a true bonding night for Ry and me. This was after he and Pants went down the Linwood for an hour, while I was left to my own devices. Devices being a giant bottle of Yellowtail. I had announced when I got home that I was going to drink it all by myself. Well, not quite, but I had a good 4/5ths of it by the end of our night.

The reason I was so determined to drink it all was because when I got home from work I had to immediately shower. When I took the trash out at work a girl from Dick’s hucked her trash into the dumpster and mysterious liquid flew all over my face. It smelled like 20 different things and as she told me how sorry she was I could feel it trickle down my lip. I had another shirt under my pretzel shirt so I ripped off my pretzel shirt to wipe off my face and forearm. As I walked away wiping my face I started crying. What the hell am I doing working at a place where I even have to go to the dumpster to take out the trash? I have a college degree, unlike most of the people who work at Faneuil Hall for a fucking living. I felt pathetic and also stupid because something like that set me off to crying and fighting back tears, instead of just getting pissed.

Anyway, when they came back from the Linwood Pants soon went to bed and Ry and I were in my room each with one sock/Chinese slipper on, playing some Joanna Newsom and talking about JT Leroy, of all things! At about 2:45am Ry took a 7 minute sleepy on my bed. I was instructed to wake him with “Oy, mate!” which I did. He popped right up and we went to Shaw’s. It started out like a regular trip to Swahs. We found the mozz sticks, found a nice pizza (2 for $6), and Ry got a SmartWater. We were waiting in line forever so I opened up my Kettle chips. We were digging in and before we even moved an inch they were all gone. Ry whispered that he was going to get another bag because they were so good. He ditched our trash in the organic food aisle. He came back with a bigger $3.99 bag of Kettle chips (yogurt and dill? Mmmmm). So then we get so annoyed that we’re waiting in line that he suggests that I go down an aisle and put the pizza and the mozz sticks up my shirt. Of course I go to the organic aisle. I look around a bit, eyeing the cameras, then I slipped the 10″ pizza and sticks into my purse. I walked back down the aisle, looked at Ry and we waltzed outta there. Now I’m staying away for about a week.

At home we cooked up the food, and once it was done D called to say he was downstairs. The three of us sat in the kitchen talking about who knows…tater tots and hash browns. Ry continued to ask me to slap his arm, which I did because I never turn down an offer to slap a pal. Ben told me today he fell asleep to the slapping sound followed by Ry’s “Ooooohhh!”s of pain! We all realized it was 4:30am and decided to call it a night. Of course, D didn’t even drink the Miller Lite cans he brought, but at least he didn’t open them, take a sip or two and leave them on my window sill like usual. He was downloading some Jay Z diss by Cam’ron and vice versa, while we lied down and smoked some squares.

We woke up at 1:30pm. He saw the issue of the Dig that we were in and said he lost his. I told him he could have it because it was an extra from work. After he got his shit together he was about to walk out and then he remembered it, went into my room and came out with it folded up. Pretty dear. His parting words were about hollerin’ at him before the holiday. Good shit right there.

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today was…

CHIPPER! I was in such a grand mood all day, even uh, going out of my way to be nice to customers. I’d like to thank D for that I suppose. I only slept for maybe 2 or 3 hours, but work was actually okay. The run down of why we both had to wake up early: D- probation meeting. Me- pretzel bakery. I mean, obviously we have a lot in common…riiiiiiight. I’m tellin you, I think that lovely Dusty is right…”Just a little lovin/early in the morning/beats a cup of coffee/for starting off the day.”

At work Mark accused me of jungle fever. I told him it’s not all me, and I had hardly seen this kid on Saturday except for when we danced for a bit at the end of that very, very drunk, very, very infamous night. “Fuck that! It’s not my fault some black guys have yellow fever!” Mark died laughing, then realized yellow fever is an actual illness, then died laughing some more.

Other work highlights included Hershel claiming, “Give me a month. I will be the Pretzel Master.” Then I asked if he was going to come into work one day in a pretzel-printed karate suit. Hershel laughed which always gets me goin’ just because it’s so great. I can very much picture him with a Karate Kid-style headband on over his growing in mohawk hair style. Good shit.

At home Pants and I ate some pasta I got at Shaw’s/Swahs. We saw a cute guy in the laundry room. I took a shower and when I shut off the water what do I hear coming from the kitchen but “Cielito Lindo.” It sounded brilliant. Just a little extra fun for what as already a glorious day!

It’s now time for bed. Hooray!

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