Sunday, May 28, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Assassination by Friendly FiYa: The Sky and all her Treasures
Whats funny is how after a breakup the grapevine gets a memo. The little telephone poles of faggotry get buzzed from here to the White House and all the information about YOUR breakup gets scrambled across the community. The first persons to hear?—who knows, but the first people to respond are those eX’s or those dips, all the boys you told: I can’t pork you no mo’ cuz I’s married now, come crawling outta the framework of old decrepit houses to say:
wassup?
The sky and all her treasures… is how you respond, evading all their attempts to inquire about sex and how “good” it was 3 years ago, when, 3 years ago, you had it last, you didn’t think it was good; and how “nice” it would be for you to venture to make arrangements to do it again now that you’re back “on the market”. And you cringe because you know it’s imminent that you have that conversation with him [or the hims] but you avoid it because, though you told him that your reason for not sleeping with was due to your new relationship, your new relationship probably had little to any reason dealing with you making that decision.
So you say shit like the sky and all her treasures to catch ‘em off guard and divert the conversation elsewhere.
But it never seems to fail. I figure the population in Chicago’s gay black community is rather small, if we all keep fucking each other we’re soon someday gonna catch one another’s germs and know where they came from. So I guess when a relationship is brewed that same force leaks the same information the exact same way as when someone breaks up; everyone knows. And I often wonder, is there a protocol, does an agenda get followed?—who calls who and tells who about whom first? Is there a phone tree set up in the Rainbow Coalitions office that’s implemented immediately upon word of either a wedding or divorce? How does everyone find the fuck out!
This guy who I was in love with, madly in love with, I could tell you the story but it tends to make me nauseous, hit me up on messenger the very moment Jerome and I broke up. Talk about vulture. And so it had been my goal, during the conversation, to not bring up Jerome because I didn’t want to admit the breakup to this person, it’s none of his concern, and he’s so predictable I knew where he was going to take the conversation had he found out.
Well its like he knew already, because after we exchanged our hellos, he flat out and asked, How are you and Jerome doing; and I KNEW he knew. He’s never cared to ask before. And when I went to interrogate the question of how in the hell could he have found out, I asked myself and in a silent, yet displeasing acceptance remembered that I do maintain a blog…and that blog is incredibly public. Damnit!
wassup?
The sky and all her treasures… is how you respond, evading all their attempts to inquire about sex and how “good” it was 3 years ago, when, 3 years ago, you had it last, you didn’t think it was good; and how “nice” it would be for you to venture to make arrangements to do it again now that you’re back “on the market”. And you cringe because you know it’s imminent that you have that conversation with him [or the hims] but you avoid it because, though you told him that your reason for not sleeping with was due to your new relationship, your new relationship probably had little to any reason dealing with you making that decision.
So you say shit like the sky and all her treasures to catch ‘em off guard and divert the conversation elsewhere.
But it never seems to fail. I figure the population in Chicago’s gay black community is rather small, if we all keep fucking each other we’re soon someday gonna catch one another’s germs and know where they came from. So I guess when a relationship is brewed that same force leaks the same information the exact same way as when someone breaks up; everyone knows. And I often wonder, is there a protocol, does an agenda get followed?—who calls who and tells who about whom first? Is there a phone tree set up in the Rainbow Coalitions office that’s implemented immediately upon word of either a wedding or divorce? How does everyone find the fuck out!
This guy who I was in love with, madly in love with, I could tell you the story but it tends to make me nauseous, hit me up on messenger the very moment Jerome and I broke up. Talk about vulture. And so it had been my goal, during the conversation, to not bring up Jerome because I didn’t want to admit the breakup to this person, it’s none of his concern, and he’s so predictable I knew where he was going to take the conversation had he found out.
Well its like he knew already, because after we exchanged our hellos, he flat out and asked, How are you and Jerome doing; and I KNEW he knew. He’s never cared to ask before. And when I went to interrogate the question of how in the hell could he have found out, I asked myself and in a silent, yet displeasing acceptance remembered that I do maintain a blog…and that blog is incredibly public. Damnit!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Next Step: Employment!
I did fantabulous at work last night. Yep, yours truly prepped a whopping 223, One thousand and two envelops in less than 5 hours. Next step, employment!
I did fail a class this semester. I’m still waiting for one more grade to come in but I received a
B in my Intro to Poetry Class
B+ in my Child Development class
B- in my African American Culture class
And an F in my Advanced Fiction Class
My GPA is shot. I wonder will this affect my scholarship. So the goal for the past few days has been to GET IN CONTACT WITH POLLY, my Advanced Fiction Instructor. I can’t imagine why SHE of all people failed me…undeservingly. Sure I was late to class more often than not… sure I exhausted all three of absences. But I called! I turned the work in as consistent as it came to me, as much as possible, and wrote whenever I had the chance. I gotta life outside of Advanced Fiction, shit! Fiction wasn’t my only priority! I had 4 other classes, 5 other projects, 7 papers, four essays AND three oral presentations. I’m fired UP!
So I need to find her number and contest my grade. I sent Polly my last 20-some-odd pages via email and my fear is she doesn’t check her school email address, which would explain why I have the F, if she didn’t receive my work. But I sent it. So now I’m trapped in Limbo, two credit hours from being a junior, which is really presumptuous of me seeing that I’m still waiting on a grade, which could very well be another F…and then I’ll be 6 credit hours from being a junior. Damn. This is too much money to be squandering. Polly is gonna give me my credits damnit, or we will NOT friends!
I did fail a class this semester. I’m still waiting for one more grade to come in but I received a
B in my Intro to Poetry Class
B+ in my Child Development class
B- in my African American Culture class
And an F in my Advanced Fiction Class
My GPA is shot. I wonder will this affect my scholarship. So the goal for the past few days has been to GET IN CONTACT WITH POLLY, my Advanced Fiction Instructor. I can’t imagine why SHE of all people failed me…undeservingly. Sure I was late to class more often than not… sure I exhausted all three of absences. But I called! I turned the work in as consistent as it came to me, as much as possible, and wrote whenever I had the chance. I gotta life outside of Advanced Fiction, shit! Fiction wasn’t my only priority! I had 4 other classes, 5 other projects, 7 papers, four essays AND three oral presentations. I’m fired UP!
So I need to find her number and contest my grade. I sent Polly my last 20-some-odd pages via email and my fear is she doesn’t check her school email address, which would explain why I have the F, if she didn’t receive my work. But I sent it. So now I’m trapped in Limbo, two credit hours from being a junior, which is really presumptuous of me seeing that I’m still waiting on a grade, which could very well be another F…and then I’ll be 6 credit hours from being a junior. Damn. This is too much money to be squandering. Polly is gonna give me my credits damnit, or we will NOT friends!
Friday, May 19, 2006
No matter how you slice it, and one can surely argue against, but I believe our breakup was premature. It feels premature. It feels as if we still hold some sort of obligation towards each other outside of being “friends”—sure, we’re friends, or friendly, or friendlier than friends, however you wanna class it, but the obligation feels much more profound. I can’t look at Jerome without knowing, no matter what our label is, that he’s mine. Its going to be wrong, no matter the circumstance, if and when we decide to move on. And I say that thinking I being his friend will have to stand by and watch this, console and nurture his new budding relationship because that’s what friends do, right? And I’m trying to decipher how possible it would be for me to do that knowing no matter whose he’s with—Jerome is still mine. I can imagine my temper. I can imagine the annoyance of having to keep up appearances, batting my eyes in compliance to an argument they’ve (Jerome and the new Guy) had and having to give objective advice about what actions need to be taken. He loves his Almond Milk?—he should!—Cuz I loves me some Brown Boy. But Romie inquired what I might’ve learned from our breakup and if I’m made to think about it…
I learned that if I followed my head and not my heart I would’ve dodged several bullets with you. I learned had not any of these instances happened, that catered to our downfall, had we proceeded with our relationship, you not being able to recognize the light that burns inside me, I learned that you would’ve still been dating a false image. I learned that you only live once so its better to love hard when loves approaches than live without ever loving and I loved loving you. I learned that friends are hard to manage and lovers are even harder. I learned to never take morning classes when your husband is a cuddle slut. I learned to always close messenger when finished. I learned your boiling point, Jerome. I’m learning you.
I might need to step down when the next guy comes along; pectorals raging, and his dick of dynamite. As of today I couldn’t imagine being able to handle it. I could see you recycling back into the habit of “live-in lovers” and movie nights with big dumbass mushroom burgers with the new beau and I can’t imagine when there will come a time when you telling me that will feel appropriate and nor do I think it just if I’m to be a friend to you and be excluded from your exciting new relationship. Vomit! I’m working with a lot. I’m going to miss a lot. ...but i guess i am ready to take over the world!
I learned that if I followed my head and not my heart I would’ve dodged several bullets with you. I learned had not any of these instances happened, that catered to our downfall, had we proceeded with our relationship, you not being able to recognize the light that burns inside me, I learned that you would’ve still been dating a false image. I learned that you only live once so its better to love hard when loves approaches than live without ever loving and I loved loving you. I learned that friends are hard to manage and lovers are even harder. I learned to never take morning classes when your husband is a cuddle slut. I learned to always close messenger when finished. I learned your boiling point, Jerome. I’m learning you.
I might need to step down when the next guy comes along; pectorals raging, and his dick of dynamite. As of today I couldn’t imagine being able to handle it. I could see you recycling back into the habit of “live-in lovers” and movie nights with big dumbass mushroom burgers with the new beau and I can’t imagine when there will come a time when you telling me that will feel appropriate and nor do I think it just if I’m to be a friend to you and be excluded from your exciting new relationship. Vomit! I’m working with a lot. I’m going to miss a lot. ...but i guess i am ready to take over the world!
Thursday, May 18, 2006
In Other News
Okay, I just checked my grades again. One B+ so far, GPA slightly spiraled up but the semester’s over!—and I’m sure I failed…something. So, lemme sit back and watch the F’s roll in.
I spent the night with my Romie the other night. We had very stimulating conversation
Very stimulating sex and very stimulating sleep. He spooned me. World-ClasS spooned me.
He’s been urging me to live in the dorms at school, which is what the conversation was about. RomiE thinks it’ll be the best for me and my [not-yet-diagnosed] ADD. I’ll be immersed in the culture of the school, live not but moments from work so on those dreadful Monday nights/Tuesday mornings I won’t have to struggle so hard getting home. It sounds pretty fair. My deepest concerns are the finances. How practical is it for me to live in the dorms. I’ll check it out though. It’ll definitely be on my mind ESP if I fail something this semester. I wonder how much better I’d do with my education not having to worry about the commute AND actually commuting. That’s a huge hassle. But what if I can’t stand my roommate, and he farts to much or ISN”T gay friendly. But then again, it’s Columbia…it’s a gay school. But what if he’s a smoker, or a partier, or swinger? What if he turns our room into Mans Country the cum and fuck, or Columbia, the Coco Dorms? That won’t bode so well for my education now would it? I mean sure I’ll be immersed in the culture; boy booty deep, preferably, but I’d never get any homework done! The goal is to complete college NOW while my patience hasn’t run thin. There aren’t any breaks with this college. Either I do it now, or it doesn’t happen. I could see myself getting lazy and not wanting to return if I were to take off a semester or three. So I need to remain on task. Focus, Ken, focus.
In Other News:
I’ve conquered mountains at work! I prepped a whopping 200 on Monday. I made rate!—which, again, is one of those money factory terms of flipping/counting 200 envelopes per hour…and I finally made rate. I counted exactly 200…well, 199 point 8 something…so I rounded it up to 200, but it’s all the same.
And...
Kim, my older sister, graduated from her culinary program last Saturday... and RomiE was invited.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
I kinda feel sick, then again, i kinda don't. It won't sink in until we're pressed to move on. Until i move out the house, until i'm back at home, until i'm knee deep in parents. I think i do feel sick. But we broke up last night...this morning actually--this morning that actually marked us an official 7months. We broke up for all the same reasons we came together, because he is RomiE, and I am Ken.
I associate enough of what happened due to my inexperience and I have a lot of maturing to do. And though i hadn't planned on a break-up, i don't need to be RomiE's boyfriend to love 'em, i'm excited that we both came to it mutually. Maybe one day when i'm feeling more amorous i'll delve into the story a tad bit more...but...
...right now...
...thinking about it...
...i kinda feel sick...
I associate enough of what happened due to my inexperience and I have a lot of maturing to do. And though i hadn't planned on a break-up, i don't need to be RomiE's boyfriend to love 'em, i'm excited that we both came to it mutually. Maybe one day when i'm feeling more amorous i'll delve into the story a tad bit more...but...
...right now...
...thinking about it...
...i kinda feel sick...
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Seal Lullaby
Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The storm shall not wake thee, no shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
—Rudyard Kipling
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The storm shall not wake thee, no shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.
—Rudyard Kipling
Mister Brown isn’t speaking too much this morning. I’m kinda worried. I can always tell when he’s upset when he wakes up and doesn’t smooch me, gets in the shower and doesn’t invite me, be in the same room and barely acknowledges me. When I asked him IF there was something the matter he said: No, I’m fine, baby. But later confessed to something being on his mind, but what, he didn’t tell me **ken sighs***. Normally if it’s I with the problem and I who isn’t speaking RomiE sorta urges me into dialogue —dialogue is always healthy. I’m kinda disappointed I didn’t push him more to talk.
He went to lunch with his brother today—giving me an opportunity to work on this paper I owe in my Critical Reading and Writing class without distraction. But I think I’m more concerned about RomiE than the paper…I hope everything’s ok…I don’t think I’ve been a bad boyfriend.
I’ll talk to him when he gets home.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Gulping for Guppies
My husband and I sorta got ourselves into a little….gulping collision, lets say. Lets say there was a spill on aisle four… the snake spit, the volcano erupted, the chicken choked!—and miraculously there was no clean up. Tummy’s got grumbly and babies got digested.
But he doesn’t like the taste and though, if optioned, I wouldn’t buy a boy-cream-flavored latte either but I don’t necessarily mind…the taste. The amount is something different. I don’t wanna DROWN either! So, we, RomiE and I, were thinking, what were your thoughts...?
But he doesn’t like the taste and though, if optioned, I wouldn’t buy a boy-cream-flavored latte either but I don’t necessarily mind…the taste. The amount is something different. I don’t wanna DROWN either! So, we, RomiE and I, were thinking, what were your thoughts...?
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