24
Jan
11

because my linesister used “longsuffering” in a sentence, today…

“…because I’m a wild animal…I’m trying to tell you the truth about myself…” –Mr. Fox
In my mind, a relationship is a contract.
Any type of relationship, really—-be it casual, serious, platonic, or romantic.

You and I agree to embark upon this relationship journey, and we make promises to hang in there when the road gets bumpy in exchange for the assurances we give each other when first we determine to be with one another.
Now, at common law, in order for a contract to be viable, there must first be a “meeting of the minds,” and “mutual assent.”
All of that is really just fancy talk for, “everyone’s laid their terms on the table” and “everyone agrees to all of those terms.”
Now, when something gets fucked up, the maligned party typically makes some allegation of breach—that is to say, that someone has done something in violation of the contract.
And while people breach contracts all the time—the ability to be casually dismissive about the oaths we make to one another is as attractive to mankind as shit is to pigs—upon closer inspection, one often finds that the failure was not in the contract execution at all. Our failures are generally at the outset. We can’t get the “meeting of the minds” part right.
This is especially true of relationships.
So I’m gonna start putting my dealbreakers out on the table at the beginning. Apparently I haven’t been clear enough these last 30 years, but I’m all about self-improvement (not really. Take that down and count it as Number 1: “hates self-improvement.” Feel free to make “lies about liking self-improvement” Number 2).
I’ve taken the liberty of compiling an exact list of my neuroses for your viewing pleasure. If you hate me after having read it, take heart. Now you know we’re not compatible and voila! Meeting of the minds.
*****
I don’t wanna be too accountable for anyone’s feelings and emotions. I am shockingly insensitive when it comes to other people’s feelings and emotions. Note my adverb choice, there. As in, the shit surprises me, even.
I need to be able to come and go as I please. Without question or comment. But, more importantly, without your insistence on tagging along. I’m well aware that you’re available to accompany me. Unless I indicate otherwise, you are not invited.
I don’t want you to talk too much in my house. I live by myself. My dogs and I typically move in silence. While this is generally true of any time you pass, here, it is most especially true when my shows are on. If you are confused about something that you’ve seen or feel as though you are not current with the plot, kindly hold your questions until commercial break when I will happily answer roughly three of them. When queries exceed the three question maximum, you are welcome to my ON Demand cable services, or wireless internet, provided I am using neither at the time. Good luck with that, by the way.
While we’re on the topic, don’t ask me too many questions. Period. I talk a lot. In all likelihood, you know all you need to know. My belief that you’ve asked one question too many or asked something inappropriate for our particular intimacy level will be evident by the silence with which I greet said question. At this point, don’t bother repeating yourself. I heard you just fine.
If you don’t know where something is, ask me. Don’t go opening drawers and leafing through my shit.
I’m a southern black woman. Stay out of my kitchen. You may use the microwave, take food from the cupboards, and go in and out of the refrigerator. If you need something prepared on top of my stove or in my oven, ask me to use stove/oven, and I will get up and prepare whatever you need for you. If there are dirty dishes in my sink, simply place your dirty dish with the other dishes. If there are no dirty dishes in the sink, wipe your dish out and put it in the dishwasher. DO NOT—DO NOT take your bowl to the sink, run a little bit of water in it, and leave it there. What.THEFUCK.is.that? If you recognize that your dish needs washing before putting it in the dishwasher, wash that shit then and there. If you don’t wanna wash it, just leave the shit in the sink and let that food cake up dry. I can’t rightly call it, but there is something so patently disrespectful about running that little bit of water in that bowl. It’s like you’re insulting my intelligence. Like you want me to think that you’re courteous enough to recognize that the dish needs extra washing, so you’ve run the water, but in reality, you don’t wanna wash the dish and really don’t give a damn. On everything, don’t you dare run a little bit of water in the bowl and leave that shit in the sink.
When I say that I cannot do something, that I do not want to do something, that I do not like something, that I do not have time for something, do not contradict me. Assume that, at 30, I know what I mean when I say it. For example: Johnny2Thumbs: “Let’s go out, tonight.” Me: “I can’t. I have to relax my hair.” Johnny2Thumbs: “Didn’t you just relax your hair a couple days ago?”  Inquiries like this fall under the aforementioned “inappropriate” category. Don’t worry about when last I relaxed my hair. What is going on in my scalp ain’t none of your damned business. Again, such queries will be met with silence. Again, don’t bother repeating yourself. I heard you. I assume my silence is preferable to the “What the fuck did I just say?” the South Hampton Roads in me inclines me to respond with.
Don’t tell me what to do.
Know what?
Scratch that.
No, really. Go ahead. Tell me what to do. I’m curious to know whether it will turn out the way you expect it to.
If you expect to have sex when you come over, you damned well better get here when you say that you will get here. If you show up at 1 when you were supposed to be here at 8, just forget it. By 1, I’ve already given away that sex you were supposed to have at 8. Even if I’ve only given it away to myself.
Unless I love you…and I mean, have articulated that I love you while good and sober, do not yell at my dogs. They’re a bit rowdy, so I will turn a blind eye to the occasional stern chastising. But don’t yell at my dogs. If you don’t like dogs, that’s fine. DC is a big city, and I bear no delusions about being indispensable. I appreciate your time, but me, Topher, and Cooper would be much obliged if you’d roll out. We don’t want your kind here.
If you have a problem with me, I better not find out via your status message on facebook, twitter, or gtalk. Cause me and my friends are gonna label you a bitch. Then we’re all gonna EL.OH.EL.
Generally speaking, rejoining a comment I’ve made with “So what you’re saying is,” is more often than not, a critical misstep. I know, from experience, that this is the part where you take something that I’ve said, and bastardize it completely, so that it doesn’t even remotely resemble what I actually said. More to the point, I know that you know I didn’t say whatever you’re about to say. You’re about to get cute. And by “cute” I mean “ridiculous.” I manipulate words for a living. This is probably going to get embarrassing for you pretty quickly.
There is really no point in yelling at me, or getting an attitude with me. There is nothing weaker in my eyes than a hysterical display of emotion. You don’t want to be weak in my eyes. That’s when I get uncontrollably disrespectful with my behavior. I mean it. Uncontrollably. I couldn’t help it if I tried. This, in turn, will make you even more upset, prompting another outlandish display of emotion, furthering my downspiral into a bottomless pit of disrespect. This shit is impressively cyclical. More to the point, I have an awful temper. I have lost it approximately 5 times since 2002 (up until that point I lost my shit with a frightening degree of regularity. Pledging puts a lot of stuff into perspective). So, whatever you’re going on about will, in all likelihood, fail to bring my temper out. If you do manage to bring it out, you will bear witness to the most radical display of hatefulblackbitch you have ever imagined, which will, 8 times out of 10, be immediately followed by the dissolution of our friendship. I don’t pass time with people who bring out the worst in me. Finally, if you are prone to sulking, I will grant you one “What’s wrong?” If you say “Nothing,” I expect you to perk up. If you don’t, and we are at your house, I will leave. If you don’t and we are at my house, you will leave. I’m not going to sit idly by as you work out all of your emotional complexities. I am not the Glee Club. I’ve never been in Glee Club. I didn’t even know what the fuck Glee Club was until Fox educated me with a show. I love that show.
If there is something special/different/crazy you need to do during sex, we need to discuss it, first. I don’t like surprises when I’m naked. I’d wager most women don’t. Don’t try to put anything in my butt. This is non-negotiable. Anything. Like, in the world. Nothing. Don’t go in my butt. I’m not kidding. Call me sentimental, but, *whisper* I’m saving it for my husband. I want my first butt time to be with someone special, who I choose to cleave to for all eternity. Or, worst case scenario, someone from whom I can expect to derive half of all disposable income should this shit go terribly awry. If I’m not married in 15 years, we can revisit this one. I’ll likely be giving away butt sex to anyone who will take it at that juncture.
If you have some expectation of monogamy, you better call that shit like “Shotgun!” Don’t assume anything with me. I’m shady as they come.
When I tell you that I am shady as they come, I’m not trying to be cool, I’m trying to be honest. This will seldom happen due to previously disclosed shadiness.
I do not advise writing me poetry. I’m tragically immature. My linesister kicked it with this boy, once, while she was living in New York, and he used to write her poetry while he was on the train, on the way to her house. That was six or seven years ago, and the shit has not ceased to be funny to.this.day.
So that’s it.
The heart of me.
And if you can’t remember anything else I’ve said in this whole list, please, please don’t put a bowl in my sink and then run water in it.

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13 Responses to “because my linesister used “longsuffering” in a sentence, today…”


  1. January 24, 2011 at 3:10 am

    “DO NOT take your bowl to the sink, run a little bit of water in it, and leave it there. What.THEFUCK.is.that?”

    LOL I stay doing that shit. It’s really hilarious for that to be a sidebar in an argument. I cheated on you AND…that. Because I like ignoring the 1st part and explaining why I do that. And I always say “It needed to soak some” and the only answer to that is “shut up.” The key is just a little water though. Not enough to look like it accidentally got filled while you were running the sink. No, just enough to say “I care”…that much.

    Awesome though. *sets alarm for 15 years from today* Wait…nevermind.

    No, really, I was joking. Seriously.

  2. January 24, 2011 at 3:16 am

    I have to say your blogs always keep me laughing! This entry is comical but yet so true at the same time. Don’t leave dishes in my sink period!

  3. 3 teetos
    January 24, 2011 at 3:27 am

    Ok…so, I’m printing this out and putting a copy on my fridge. As people walk through my door, I’ll just point at it and say “Please reference that during your stay here. Thank You.”

  4. 4 saranah holmes
    January 24, 2011 at 11:53 am

    Lololololololol!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  5. 5 ~ Y
    January 24, 2011 at 2:59 pm

    Hysterical!

    Funny, I get annoyed at my husband when he places his dish in the sink and doesn’t run a little water on it – because by the time I discover it later, the food is so hardened/caked up that it becomes that much more difficult to get clean! Hahahaha!!! I never looked at it from the other perspective though (that the person was trying to front like they were gonna wash it).

    • 6 sundaze
      January 24, 2011 at 3:20 pm

      This is how I feel too!! Don’t let some nasty food dry up on my plates unless you plan to be on dish duty later.

      Hilarious post.

  6. 7 Donn
    January 24, 2011 at 3:02 pm

    I love you.

    But magonna wait ’til you’re handing out the butt sex to all comers.

  7. January 24, 2011 at 4:29 pm

    this is hilarious. i don’t know if it was meant to be but i found it quite comical. besides the comic relief it was real. a lot of people don’t know how to be true with themselves and their expectations.

  8. January 27, 2011 at 6:57 pm

    You’re back in your power alley. Good post.

  9. 10 sourpatchkid
    February 2, 2011 at 11:51 pm

    “…By 1, I’ve already given away that sex you were supposed to have at 8. Even if I’ve only given it away to myself.”

    that line is amazing LOL.

    i love how openly shady you are. we need more openly shady people in this world!

  10. 11 YEPStars
    February 5, 2011 at 6:38 pm

    Love the truthful hilarity of this post…I did let the dish in the sink slide once…because he used hot water with a little soap…and his six pack abs distracted me.

  11. 12 Maurice
    February 7, 2011 at 8:37 pm

    another great post…I can’t stop laughing about the bowl in the sink comment… please keep the posts coming!!!


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