All in the Kool-aid

I’ve picked up this annoying habit of eavesdropping. It’s not intentional. I just happen to be in the vicinity and overhear wild ish when I’m out. I also have an insane memory when it comes to details.

So I’m at my favorite place the Cheesecake Factory on my first real night out since my unfortunate ankle operation.  I’m there with a group of my friends.  There’s a guy standing by my bench.  He winds up standing behind me while I’m sipping on my white Moscato in the overflow room, and he chats up with this young lady.  No biggie.

At first their conversation was pretty trite. Just your basic giggling, first-meet information exchange. I zone out to watch the men go by. The QC men dress up to go to the club. I mean like in suits and ties and pastel sweaters. I think they’re way overdressed, but I’m a sucker for a man in a suit.

So I guess there’s enough mutual interest between the pair in front of me to continue the conversation another time. From the conversation, I figure that she’s had his phone and punched her number in. Now here’s where things get interesting.

Him: I have to figure out what number to give you.

Her: Number?

Him: Yeah. The best a girl can get a first meeting is a seven.

Her: A seven? Like on a scale of 1-10?

Him: Yeah. 7.

Her: So uh, how do I get to a 10?

Him: Well that depends.

Her: On?

Him: Your conversation and your sex.

Her: [Pause] My sex?

Him: Yeah. How good it is and how fast I get it.

Her: [Pause.]

(I actually turned around and looked at both of them with the YUK FACE at this point. I couldn’t believe I was hearing this.)

Her: [Giggle] Cool.

What?!

They share another 30 seconds of small talk. He offers to buy her friends some drinks, her overflow bell goes off, then she leaves with the beverages. Ten seconds later, another chick is in his face. I look around and see that there is an informal line of women waiting to get this guy’s attention. I mean he’s okay, kinda short for my taste, (now that I’m into a taller man) but the body is sick and he is very brown. (Brown + muscles = happy Camron.) But this guy is a d*ck.

I slide over on my bench  up and convey the conversation to Roderick; one of my friends who came with me, who’s standing in front of me. I’m re-telling what I heard like all I cannot believe these are lines that chicks are putting up with.

Roderick is baffled to… until I point out the guy that said it.

“Him?” he asks, nodding slightly in the guy’s direction.

I nod back.

Roderick chuckles. “That’s {Panthers Player.} He’s got a 50 million dollar contract.”

I pause on that one for a minute wondering if it’s supposed to make a difference.

Nah.. not even for $50 mil could I let a guy disrespect me like that.

Well his bell chimes, and he goes in.

A couple minutes later, I’m still sitting on my bench. These two guys come in and take a position next to me. They’re just out to chill I’m assuming and to shoot the sh*t, (ie, gossip. Men love to gossip.) So one asks the other if he’s been in touch with a mutual friend.

“Nah. I ain’t seeing too much of him now. He and [the wife] are having problems.”

The first guy inquires into what problems exactly. The second guy says it’s not his place to speak on it.

I respect this.

The first guy asks if it’s serious enough for divorce as the couple haven’t been married long.

The second guy makes the first guy promise (like we’re in second grade) not to repeat the story he’s about to tell.

So it seems their boy’s wife confessed that she was still in love with her ex-husband. Of course, this info messes up their boy to no end. In retaliation, he cheats. The wife finds the numbers of some chicks in his phone, calls and confirms that the husband is cheating with these women. Now everything’s gone to shit.

“Wow,” says the first guy. “He must be fucked up. I’d be if my girl said some ish like that to me.”

I love how they skipped over the him cheating part like that wasn’t the big deal too.

“I told him not to marry her so quick,” says the second guy. “I told him there wasn’t a big hurry.”

“So why’d they do it so fast?”

“Man,” says second guy with a big sigh. “He found out she made over 100 and wanted to lock it down.”

“What?” says first guy.

Exactly.

Holla At Me At Noon

Okay, so I know men think it’s their God-given right to holla at a woman anytime they see fit, but damnit, it’s not. I figured out a long time ago that the holla is less about men getting to know me and more about him doing the verbal equivalent of grabbing his dick and re-proving his heterosexuality to his boys with lustful yelps and not quite witty lines. But for the love of all woman-kind, can ya’ll stop hollering before 11am?

Give me a chance to get really awake, to settle into my day and plan out the next 10 hours, to at least get a Mc’Donald’s Mocha Frappe in me. I mean damn, 9:30 am and you are that lustful? They got to have pills for that. Better, just ease out a good one for free before you leave the house in the morning the way you do for a big date. All that energy in the AM makes you just seem too eager. Round-the-clock bravado sounds desperate and it tells everyone in ear shot that if you are that revved up off the sight of a woman then you’re certain to cum quick. That, or you just got out and /or ain’t seen none, smelt none, tasted none in months.

I am at Hardee’s getting my favorite Wednesday Morning Chicken Biscuit.  I am wearing, black jeans, a a yellow top and black sandals.  It’s the first week of school, and the principal has allowed the teachers to dress down.  The outfit wasn’t one to be desired, it wasn’t even second look worthy.  I see a black truck sitting mid-way down the block. It has tinted windows. Nice rims, I think and go back to lolli-dolly dreamland. After all, it’s 7:30 am and I’m only half awake. The passenger-side back window rolls down.

“Hey, girl, let me borrow them jeans!” a man yells from the truck.

Is this his best line? I know it’s early, but still. And from a car window? Not even the driver or damn, the passenger? The grown man they made sit in the kid seat?

“NOOOOOO!!!!” I shout back loud enough for half the block to hear him get turned down. I never break stride.

“Why you got to be so mean?” he bellows down the block after me.

He interrupts my early morning with a stupid ass question and I’m mean? I keep strutting (cause that’s how I do) then it dawns on me, that it’s 7:30am, on a Wednesday and this loser isn’t on his way to an office some place.   If he spent his time looking for work instead of looking at women, he might one day make enough money or gain enough respect to ride in a grown people’s seat upfront.

Oh, and because I believe some men genuinely think the holler is a way to meet women (and impress their boys at the same time), I want to tell them that 1) it’s not. And 2) there are some other times when you  should just leave women be (this goes for approaching them to speak sensibly too.)

When I am walking down the street with a bunch of white people. Either they are my friends or my co-workers. If they’re friends, I probably don’t date Black men anyway. If they are co-workers, than I’m on the clock. It’s hard enough being the Black woman in the office. Don’t turn me into a sex object in front of colleagues.

The beauty salon. I’m getting did. I’m busy. Speak to me (not holla) when I am done.

Anytime, I look mad. I hate it when men say/yell ”smile girl!” For fucking what? How you know I didn’t just get a horrible diagnosis or maybe my dog died. If I look angry, I probably am. Leave me alone. (Note: I had bronchitis for 5 weeks. You know dudes would holler in the middle of coughing fits? Like I can’t talk and I’m clearly diseased… and you want to kick game?)

I’m reading. I am engrossed in something I enjoy. If you were really that fine, my sensors would have gone off. My book is more important than you. Look, don’t speak.