2 Wrongs Make…2 Blue Balls
The plan was to reunite with Tsunami and remind her why she was my bad bitch. Needless to say, it didn’t go to well. But my decisions after that, fueled back a lack of self-control and lust, are what truly made this hopefully soon-to-be forgotten night, one to remember.
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Where The &$#* Are The Post?
Have I stopped having sex? Have black women stopped wearing weave? Ok then.
Blogs are coming soon. A few about some co-workers. Some slim chicks. Some bi-chicks. Maybe one or two to make you think. I’ve been saying that forever. I promise that entries are in my drafts folder, but when I read them, I don’t like them. They don’t move me. They are poorly written, word to me English professor (am I the only person still taking college English classes even though I’ve BEEN done with them, just to stay sharp and continue writing?).
What’s new? Heck if I know. Women come and go. Honorable mention: Bubbles is great. I miss Bumble Bee, Jabs, Liz, and L’anor. I have a ridiculous obsession with women 30 years of age and up right now. My employment has me digging a few white girls; I guess I just needed to be exposed to them. There’s a Russian chick in the call center that lights my fire, despite have no curves whatsoever. I can’t believe I haven’t had a threesome in months. Tsunami was on hiatus so I fell back; I still want to have a threesome with her and grey leggins (o’ wait, I haven’t blogged about that yet). My other young chick, Carla, although beautifully thick and incredibly wet, revealed she had a kush habit. 
. Then she sent me a text that read “fuck you, don’t call me”, and turned around and said, “I miss you,” two days later. Bi-polar?
I still have no desire to be in a committed relationship. I still don’t think dinner is ever worth more than $50. And by gosh, I love slightly chilled Reese Cups. I’m scared of going bald; or broke. I think it’s ridiculous that us, speaking about males here, expect our women to remain in great physical shape, while we grow old and look like complete shit. Damn I love good sex.
I’d never turn a hoe into a housewife, well knot knowingly, but maybe I should try to turn a hoodrat into a black woman of grace and elegance. Amber Rose did it…or did she? Her words not mine.
That’s it for my little rant. New blog entries will be coming this week. Atleast two about sex for all of you ‘Zane’ reading freaks.
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Cry Me A River
Remember when Yvette was fed up with Jody in Baby Boy? He laid her ass down, gave her some strong dick, and all was well. This works; temporarily. Every dude who has ever seen his significant other shed a tear about him (rather she had a good reason to or not) knows that. This time, it worked, but it worked on a whole-other-fucking level. Kids, go read something else. GREEN LIGHT.
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Dear Old You From The Future Me
Some women spend their time asking themselves why weren’t they enough. What did they do wrong and what could they have done better? Other women place the blame on the non-shit-ness of the male they were involved with. Regardless of the reasons behind the separation between a woman and the man she loved, most of them tend to judge, rate, and examine the future relationships that her ex shares with the new woman/women in his life. She’s not as cute; she doesn’t have her own car/house/job; “that bitch got kids”; etc… Your mind is in the wrong place sweetie; it’s less about you and more about me.
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5 Times Not To Take Her Back To Your House…
This isn’t that chick you honked at in the liquor store on 7 Mile; THIS is your future queen. The one you pulled your visor down for just to make sure you were right in the mirror just before you approached her. Serendipity has rewarded you. She’s been sensational. She’s said the right things, wore the right outfit, and has displayed nothing but class. All the while, hinting that she’s not quite ready for the magical time between the two of you to end. Now don’t you fuck this up boy. Your next move could be the green light into breakfast in bed and sex on the kitchen table OR it could be the red light followed by the sick feeling you have in your stomach when she graciously asked to be taken home. In my Jay-Z voice, “I’ma show you how to do this son…”
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Thank God For Women
Thank God for Women. All women. THE BEAUTIFUL SHADES OF BLACK WOMEN. Not to forget the beauty in all women, despite the ugliness that may show. The women that went through hell and back to become women. The women that got pregnant as girls and transformed to women as mothers. The women who love God; the women who love family; the women who love themselves. Damn, I love women.
I love women who aren’t too proud to admit when they are wrong. I love women who know they don’t need a man, they need a good man; a good man for them. Our mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters. Our women.
I love women who have priorities, even when I’m not one. I love women who love the right man enough to let him be a man. I love women who listen. I love women who help you to be a better man, to become a man. The women who will never tell anyone about your tears. Damn, I love women.
Women. The women who you never have to worry about cheating because she was committed to the idea of forever since that special woman raised her. The women who don’t believe in revenge. The women who will give you another chance, if you deserve it. The women who will kick you to the curb, if you deserve it.
The women who do it for themselves, but like to do it for you. The women that love you so much, it’s crazy…but they love themselves so much, they’d never go crazy. The women who live to make other people happy. The women who volunteer and give to charity.
The women who smile. That smile that brings your spirits up. You think they they want you because of that smile, but they are just happy. Happy that you’re happy. They’re happy to be women. Damn, I love women.
I love women. Real women. No transformers. I love women who like to be women; traditional roles. Women that rather be men, need not applaud. I love women with flavor. Intelligent and witty. Smart mouths minus the dumb content. I love women who are comfortable natural, without accessories. Damn, I love women.
I don’t love these hoes. I could give a fuck about these bitches. But these women, The Queens, o’ how I long to become a King worth of such a woman.
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A Talk With My Little Brother…
12. Let’s look into that number. First off, it’s my shoe size. It’s also the diameter of every subwoofer that has ever been in the back of any of my vehicles. It’s the age I lost virginity. It’s the most amount of nuts I’ve bust in a 24 hour period (conventional sex, head, and masturbation included). It’s the most numbers I ever got in one outing (see Detroit International Auto Show @ Cobo Hall in 2003. I actually got 14, but two of the numbers didn’t work). Last but not least, it’s how old my little brother is, I think (he might be 11).
In light of some threads on forums around the internet, I felt it was time I had a conversation with my little brother about the birds and the bees. Well, not exactly. It was more about the concept of Adam and Eve versus Adam and Steve. That’s right. I have to do my part to ensure that my little brother is a heterosexual male or atleast that’s what I tell myself. Some men can be born with femininee traits, as far as how they behave, and thankfully my little brother doesn’t have those. That doesn’t mean anything, but it’s a good starting point.
I didn’t want to get too deep into the discussion of how wrong it is for men to do anything meant for men and women to do (or women and other women for that matter, lol), so I just presented him with a simple question:
What do boys like?
My question threw him off at first. He then responded,
Video games.
I laughed and continued on, what else?
Sports.
He was right again, but I pressed him further. What else?
Ummm, girls.
“That’s right,” I congratulated. “Boys like girls. Do you understand that? Boys like girls and girls like boys. That’s the only way.” He looked at me funny and said,
I know girls who like girls.
I paused. I laughed. I said,
Me too.
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