14
May
10

lesbians, reefer, and the “n-word”, oh my! fooler fridays…..

Thanks soooooooo much for the submissions, guys!!!  This one ran long as y’all LIT ME UP on facebook and by blog-mail.  Same caveats apply. I profess to know nothing about anything.  Enjoy-

Fooler—

Love the blog, girl. Okay, here’s my question. Marijuana?

Now, is that an inquiry as to how I feel about reefer, or an offer for me to smoke reefer with you?

 I’m an officer of the court, so my position, of course, is that drugs are bad. Don’t do them. They’re illegal. Especially reefer. It makes you do terrible things like, talk out of your ass about nothing, tell a bunch of your friends crazy shit like, “I can hear my heart whispering to me,” or, smile lazily to the boy sitting right next to you and slowly mouth the words, “You trying to leave?”

 Look, I’m a lawyer (though lawyers probably make up 70% of the drug-purchasing population), so you’re never going to catch me saying anything positive about drugs (in print), whether they’re perceived to be innocuous or otherwise.

 My personal stance, for a myriad of reasons running the gauntlet from political to practical is—“legalize it.”

 In saying that, I will, however, note 2 caveats. First, I didn’t adopt this viewpoint until I started practicing criminal law a few years back. Second, because I still take criminal cases, I will probably ultimately renege on this perspective. Frankly, the more people smoke, the more people will have to hire me when they get busted smoking.

 Don’t judge me too harshly. I’m generally a live and let live kinda broad, but hey—I’m a capitalist first.

 Fooler—

   I scored a 25 on your thug test! You’re killing me. You have to make a provision for “reformed” thugs, and take some points off for that. Here’s my situation. My “reformed” thug still drops the “n-word.” Even when we’re in public. It embarrasses me but he maintains that it’s just a word black people use. I don’t think I’ve seen you use it. What are your thoughts on it?

 Wow. Okay.

 A “25,” huh? Girl, if he’s dropping the n-bomb all out in the open around old people and whites,  how “reformed” could he be? I think I need to add some points for that shit.

 It’s funny that you should ask this given the week that I’ve had. I make it a practice nnnnnnnnnever to use it unless I’m in the company of my closest (blackest) friends. Frankly, I’m ashamed that I ever use it at all.

 I will say, that it takes time and practice to grow out of. That shit is so thoroughly ingrained in our collective black psyche. In my opinion, we’re all a product of two generations of black entertainers who use it for sport, and one generation of musicians who use it for endearment.

 Now, as I’ve hinted, this past week was a rough one, for me, and for the first time in my professional life, I used it TWICE at my job.

 This horrible client of mine got me so upset that I forgot myself, while on the phone with my extremely non-black, Nicaraguan secretary. Said secretary was innocently trying to relate some recent ridiculousness my retardemus client had inflicted on my office while I was away at court. I kept telling my secretary that I’d handle it when I got back, and she—agitated by him—kept countering with, “But, Mr. X said,” “But, Mr. X said.” Finally, pushed to my limits by work, and this petulant man’s incessant demands, I yelled out, “I don’t give a FUCK what that crazy nigger said.”

 It was followed by this monstrous silence.

 I must have apologized one thousand times.

 The second time happened the very next morning when I went to my office and opened up my msn.com news page and saw that Lawrence Taylor had gone on a sodomy bender. Before I realized my assistant was at my door; before I even knew what was happening, I let out a harsh, “AWWDAYUMNiggaDAYUM.”

 *sigh*

 Again, I apologized another one thousand times.

 Tell him that it makes you uncomfortable. Don’t be harsh, or condescending, or overly-critical—but let him know. Don’t say, “Shhh!!!” or “Stop!!!!” Grown people hate it when you tell them what to do, particularly in public. And if he is truly a “reformed” thug, he might give you that, “Who in the fuck do you think you’re talking to” side-eye which is equally embarrassing. So just tell him that it makes you feel awkward. Generally, when you tell a man that something he’s doing is making you ill at ease, he’ll stop.

 Now,  if he hit’s you with a shoulder shrug “I don’t give-a-fuck” or “Ain’t no thang to me,”  you know what to do—

 That’s right.

 Add +6.

 P.S. I’m sorry to anyone reading this who’s disappointed in my revelation.

 But for real—

I gotta at least get a pass on the LT one…

 Fooler—

Is it me, or do you date a lot? What’s up with that? I just asked out a girl at my job yesterday and I’m trying to take her out Saturday night. Any recommendations? What’s the best date you ever had?

 That’s a lot of questions.

  1. It’s you.
  2. I like boys.
  3. Honestly, this really depends on the girl, so, without any real information about her I’m reluctant to give you any suggestions by way of activities or venues.

 If I were to offer any advice to a man taking out a woman for the first time, it would be to take her flowers. Men don’t do it anymore. It’s kind of a lost art. Even chicks who don’t dig flowers will appreciate the gesture. It says, “You’re not just some broad I want to bone. Those bitches don’t get flowers. You, I kinda like.”

 Hmmm. The best date I ever had.

 I asked an acquaintance to a firm dinner last year. I was having a rough time of it, and I really didn’t want to go to the dinner, and it was one of those over-the-top black tie affairs that generally make me overwhelmingly uncomfortable.

 I was so shocked when he agreed to go. He was a little bit older than me, and fairly well versed in occasions like this, so, he was perfect as far as appropriate dates were concerned. And my Lord, could this man hang a tux.

 We arrived at the restaurant, and were immediately swarmed by partners and their curious wives. I was so nervous I drank two to three glasses of champagne during the cocktail hour. Each time my glass was empty, he made sure I had another in hand (for the record, I don’t think he meant for me to down them at the rate I was going).

 When we sat down to dinner, we were seated with some members of my firm, and this random solo practitioner and his wife. My date, possessing precisely the type of aesthetic  that makes middle-aged white women tingle, struck up a conversation with the solo’s wife. Meanwhile, I fidgeted nervously and took to the wine.

 Now, while I didn’t mind him talking to her at first, the more time that went on (and the more I drank), the more aggravated I became. I mean, this bitch was totally bogarting my date. I couldn’t, for the life of me understand why she thought it was acceptable  to be on this non-stop campaign of not-shutting-the-fuck-up.  I was shooting her every manner of nasty black girl look, but she was so befuddled by my date’s eyelashes, she hardly noticed.

 When the salad course came, the waiters placed little pewter pitchers of dressing sporadically about the table. When I moved to put my own pewter down, a previously unforeseen rift in the table caused it to tumble, and deposit vinaigrette all over the white table cloth. I clumsily attempted to place my napkin over it and rub the mess out, and I could feel the heat rising about my neck. Never even missing a beat, my date placed his hand over mine and whispered, “Leave it. It’s fine.” He then diligently returned to the conversation he was having with Overly-Aggressive-Desperate-Housewife—only, before I knew what was happening, and without him so much as turning his head in my direction, he slid his own dinner napkin off of his lap, and placed it in mine.

 My heart burst into one million pieces.

 I tried desperately to subdue the Miss Celie smile that threatened to break my face in half, and contentedly picked up my fork and knife to begin on my salad.

 When I went to cut into some foreign object—that I will assert to this day had absolutely no place in a salad—be it pear or parsnip or some other such nonsense, I overestimated, and before I knew it, my weighty knife went clanging to the floor.

 My date, still seemingly firmly gripped in the bowels of this woman’s mouth space, never looking up or inclining his head, gently slid his knife next to my plate.

 What remained of my heart burst into a million stars.

 And, ultimately, the woman shut the fuck up.

 And it was a great night. Not because we had done some spectacular anything, or gone on some awe-inspiring outing.

 It was his consideration and thoughtfulness when I was at my worst, that made it amazing.

 Even sassy-mouthed bitches need to be taken care of every fair to fair.

 Even when (especially when) we don’t say so.

 Here is my fooler question..

I’ve been dating this chick off and on (and by dating I mean the white people slang version of the word) for almost two years. I’ve been with men, but there is something about THIS broad that warms me in all the right places.

This bitch is certifiably crazy, possessive, and an overall psycho. But I love it. Seriously it attracts me to her. Makes me lust for her even more. But now she wants to be in a relationship, and I would like that, but that takes the whole “dating” thing to another level I’m not sure I want. Now she has cut me off from the sex because I won’t give her an answer. What a selfish bitch!!!

What do I do???

 Wait. Before I answer. Let me get something out of the way first.

 Hahahahahahahahaahhahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahaha.

 Ha.

 Wait. There’s still a little left. Hold on.

 Hahahahahahaahahahahahahahhahahahahaahahahahahahahahahaha.

 Okay. I’m ready.

 I’ll hit up the bigger issue first, and then we’ll move to your Fatal Attraction fetish.

 You, my friend, are in the gray zone.

Which, if you haven’t guessed it, is a no-no.

 We all do it from time to time, but it seldom ends well.

 Here’s my theory. Relationships should be black or white. No in between.

 You’re in-betweening this chick right now.

 You either wife her or fuck her.

 That’s it.

 If you select option A, you make a respectable woman out of this broad, you half-hearted lesbian, you.

 If you select option B, you screw around with her, don’t engage her on any significant level, and keep your interaction purely physical.

 The problem is, that no one ever wants to do this. When we find someone we’re attracted to mentally as well as physically, we want to kick it with them, and talk to them all the time, and blah blah blah, in addition to the 90s era boot-knock. Meanwhile, we’re reluctant to get into a full-fledged relationship because we have commitment issues, we’re not sure he/she is worth the hassle, or, you know, said party is fucking certifiable.

 Wife her or fuck her, homie. Two years is an awful long time to not be sure.

 Now, as to her being crazy….

Ummmm….I’ma give this one a firm two thumbs down. But, hey, to each his own. “Relationship” means that I’m going to have to sleep with you. Not simply sex you. Sleep with you. As in, be able to comfortably close my eyelids, with the knowledge that I won’t wake up in the middle of the night dead. Or, with you hovering over me, just watching.

 So, I personally don’t go for the mfs I have to monitor at all times. Like, if we’re going out with my friends, I have to be able to trust that you’re not going to kirk out if your dinner roll is cold. I have to be confident in our ability to agree to disagree; confident in my ability to leave my car in the lot wheels un-slit, paint job un-keyed. Can a crazy bitch give you such assurances?

 And nooooooooow she won’t even give up the drawes.

You can’t even see it, but I’m shaking my head, so slow and deliberate.

A crazy bitch-

Who you have been sleeping with-

For TWO YEARS

won’t give

up

the

drawes.

That’s just plain foolishness.

 Look, if you don’t take any of the advice I’ve offered above, please—whatEVER you do—don’t beg.

Please don’t beg.

 Just take it in stride, and see how long she can hold out.

 You know that the person who begs loses, right?

 Girl, please don’t beg.

Fooler—

The thing I like best about your blog is that you seem to say everything everyone is thinking, but is too scared to say. Are you afraid of anything?

 Hmmm. Yes.

 In no particular order, I am afraid of:

 1. caterpillars

2. the partners of my firm finding this blog

3. disappointing anyone who’s placed his trust in me

4. forced anal sodomy

5. caterpillars

 Hey Fooler—

 I promise you I sent that post you wrote about getting your back beat out to every woman I know. Here’s what I want to know. You said you wrote another post but wouldn’t publish it. Why? Now you’ve got us all curious. Will you post it, please?

 Wow, every woman you know? LOL. Thanks, I appreciate it.

 Can’t tell you why. If I could tell you why, I’d be able to post it.

 And no, I can’t publish that one. Not ever. Please see the preceding question, answer #2 for details.

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6 Responses to “lesbians, reefer, and the “n-word”, oh my! fooler fridays…..”


  1. May 15, 2010 at 2:20 am

    May GOD Bless!!! Mark

  2. May 15, 2010 at 3:57 am

    if not for anything, this sentence right here literally made me spit out my beer laughing:

    ” If you select option A, you make a respectable woman out of this broad, you half-hearted lesbian, you.”

    why oh why? you are one funny chick.

  3. May 15, 2010 at 12:04 pm

    Just want to say what a great blog you got here!
    I’ve been around for quite a lot of time, but finally decided to show my appreciation of your work!

    Thumbs up, and keep it going!

    Cheers
    Christian, iwspo.net

  4. May 15, 2010 at 4:41 pm

    Girl, your advice column puts my advice column to SHAME. Hahahahaha!

  5. May 18, 2010 at 5:40 pm

    Way to dance around the dank question… I’m dancing around with dank right now.

  6. May 31, 2010 at 8:41 pm

    Just want to say what a great blog you got here!
    I’ve been around for quite a lot of time, but finally decided to show my appreciation of your work!

    Thumbs up, and keep it going!

    Cheers
    Christian,Diet Guide!


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