Conversations in Passing: The Person. Capital P.

I had great conversations this weekend. Some revolved around people that you think are your soulmates in your head, but would never openly say it. Only because of the impact they have on you. Another one is about love. I'll separate them like egg whites and yolk.

On That Person.

That Person, is a person you've messed with before, or someone you've always wanted. Someone just outside of your grasp. You want them, like real desire-want. Not lust-want. You want them like if they told you that to have them, you have to walk to Wisconsin, or climb Mulanje mountain, you'd seriously consider doing it. It's beyond physical. Someone who you have seen in all their glory, and lights and bad angles. Someone you can say you "Accept as they are". Someone who has pissed you off before, but when the dust settles, you're that bish from the "House of Flying Daggers" who's crying after killing her lover asking him why he "didn't move? Why didn't you dodge? You knew I didn't really want to kill you! I was just mad." Someone who makes you crazy from wanting them. That Person, if they even HINTED at interest in you... you'd immediately break up with whoever you're with. Like, drop of a hat DUMP. #Noexplanationnecessary.

Everyone has That Person.
Shit, I've been a victim of That Person.

It's interesting knowing your lovers' Person and it's not you. You know it, and they know it. They didn't intend for you to know it, but because you have a Person too - you know the signs and symptoms of a hopelessly-in-want situation. The only person who doesn't know they are that Person, is That Person.

This is when the separation of topics is like egg whites and yolks. This is the bit of white in the yolk and the bit of yolk in the white.

If you were with Your Person, 9 times out of 10 it wouldn't work. For some reason, Persons always come attached with a fucking airline amount of over-weight baggage. This is why this thing blends into soulmates. They've moved your spirit so irrevocably, you think you would still be with them with all the baggage, but you try it, and you FAIL. Nobody can be with their "perfect" person. It's too real. It's too jaw dropping. It's too RAW. No matter what anyone thinks, in reality, Every relationship needs a thick layer of fabrication to coat it to protect it from damage. THAT'S why marriage is hard. It's ALOT of pro-bono acting, and who has the energy?

Meeting and loving your Person will also be an indicator to how much you love someone else. It becomes your temperature gauge. You start saying things to yourself like, "I like you - but if insert name called me right now, would I still be sitting here?" The answer is usually "No." and you proceed in your #non-chalant-about-you ways because #I've-loved-harder and #you're-not-inspiring-me-to. You know when there are true contenders when you think that thought and the answer is Yes. That is when you know like you know the sky is blue and peas are green and chocolate is delicious that You Have Met Someone.

I've experienced a twist of this. I once watched my lover see their Person and react to them. React to them in the only way someone hopelessly-in-want can. By hanging their head, and never shutting up about them - especially to me.
Now, I have a sexual chemistry radar. I can sense sexual energy, I can feel it tingle my skin. I sensed this connection between them, that of course he denies. She's his Person, he's not hers. It was fascinating to witness. Since he's not my Person either. I just took notes. Ladies and Gentlemen, I did not blow my top. I empathized. But I did lose the little I had for him. And you know it's little when you witness with your own two eyeballs something as intense as unfulfilled-desire-that's-not-for-you in your own lovers eyes and you didn't lose a wink of sleep about it. You didn't even change a facebook status over it. You didn't even bother to break up. Yes indeed, you're still fake-frolicking in fields of Lilacs singing "The hiiiiilllls are allllliiive! With the sound of Muuuusiiiiic..."

Whereas, had your lover been your Person, you probably would have been so stabbed you would have ended the show with a dramatic exit to have your heart tended to by the Emergency Heart-Repair Service at the Heartbreak Hotel. Where you lie naked and Doctor Ambrose snaps on a rubber glove on his right hand and puts one finger in your anus, making your chest pop open like the hood of your car. Propping it open with a rib bone at a forty-five degree angle as he pokes around in your chest, and asks you when the last time you had it cleaned was, and you say, "Never." and Ambrose takes out a thin, long and sharp stainless steel instrument and tells you to think about your Person while he shoves it into your aorta. Through the pain you start seeing ghosts of everyone you've ever loved rising from the depths of your beating heart. The deeper he pushes the instrument into your aorta, the more Ghosts of Ex's rise from your heart, and at the end of it all. Ambrose tells you it's good you cleaned your heart, because the pain will go, but the heart is still broken. "Maybe it'll mend itself" He'll say, "Sometimes, they do."

And he'll set the rib bone back. He'll shake his head, won't say a word, and he'll leave.

You can't be neutral on a moving train.

""It's that all talk, no listen" Policy. It's cool though, the next flight to Hiroshima is at dawn." -- APGB, March 14, 1.02am

Some ground rules. How do you know if you're a booty call, and not the main squeeze? Well.

1. You're never texted, or updated on this persons life. Never called just to talk, never told you're missed in any context other than the one listed below.

2. If you are contacted, it's probably after sunset, and it's not to meet in any public area... it's to expect some company for the evening.

3. If you are the booty call. Just know it's not a bad position to be in. All's is required is that you be aware of the fact that you're NOT the main squeeze because you're either not physically attractive, or you're mentally incompetent. OR. You got off on the wrong foot. That being said, if you are the booty call... Say as LITTLE as possible. You're not there to talk.

Read Below.

SHORT STORY: I decided not to inform him of my new homes location. So as to let things die naturally. When I had discussed this decision with a previous lover of mine, he had warned me that if he still knew anything about me, that my body would bring me down to my knees. He was right. I concluded that I couldn't let my body suffer for intellectual shortcomings, I asked him to come over. Him being overly eager to come over, happily obliged. I saw multiple orgasms in my horizon - under the sole condition he acts like he knows he's The Booty Call and Does Not Speak. Of course, history told me that he has no knowledge of this Job Description, because The Boy could not Shut The Fuck Up.

The Fates had spoken: This relation would die an unnatural death, HIROSHIMA.

PAUSE. (Commentary) - HIROSHIMA - The mental place where I move all fruitless projects to and drop a bomb on it. Nuclear.

He came to me, complaining of my less than good direction giving. Strike One.

PAUSE. (Commentary) - if you're here for sex, don't say anything negative. Walk in, be charming, be silent, and be seductive.

Due to that, the vibe was jeopardized. We had us some drinks. Apparently, this was the perfect time for him to talk more (Rolling Eyes)... eventually leading to a place of talking about Marriage. Him not accepting the marriage cycle of a hypothetical situation, a cultural mixation of American and African. Me not caring about his opinion. Him asking if his American Ideals have had no effect on my African Ideals. Me saying only the effects I've always wanted it to have have taken their rightful place, the rest I threw in the trash. Him not accepting these answers, undermining my take on his ideals. Me, anxious for dawn, when the next flight to Hiroshima takes off. Him, giving me another hypothetical situation. A choice, between a hard working man who fails at all things, or a rich man who's successful at all things but without the effort. Me choosing the logical option, Mr.Big. Him so rattled and upset by this choice, wrangles me for an explanation. Me explaining that I like Winners. That like the Lioness, if two males were to physically fight over me, I'd choose the victor, and never look back. Him being SO bothered by this, tells ME that I'M not who he thought I was (look who's talking, booty call) and decides to sleep on the couch. Me, unphazed. Nonchalantly retire to sleep and immediately erase all his contacts.

He arises in the morning and asks me what I'm doing in the afternoon. I wonder why he tries so hard to apply for the Main Squeeze position, when he couldn't even cut it for the Booty Call? I made something up and closed the door.

Hiroshima flight takes off.

ALL THE REASONS WHY HE CANNOT BE MAIN SQUEEZE:
- Physically ideal, Facially unattractive
- Mentally incompetent (all this fighting with the course of nature HAD to stop. It's not that he's unintelligent. He just doesn't get it because he refuses to broaden his perspective away from his own)
- Refuses to read and learn his Job Description.


CONCLUSION: As so eloquently put by my fellow Ninja
I think some people look for relationships in the wrong places and get confused when the result isn't what they were hoping. You don't aspire to date a guy/girl who's coochie/penis you happened to fall on at midnight after the club or on a drunken night.

Until proven otherwise you are to assume you are a one night fuck buddy

Then you're Booty Call buddies if you get a second phone call.

But That's It

I rest my case.

Unpretty Blog

I've been having alot of conversations about the female body image lately. Most men don't understand at ALL why most women never reach a confident place with their bodies. I don't know why either. All I know is that lately, I've been feeling pretty unpretty. It's the all over feeling. Sometimes it can be fixed with new clothing, but I have financial goals this year that have no space for splurging every time I feel unpretty. It can be temporarily subsided with drugs or alcohol but that's part of the problem... what I need to do is completely accept and embrace my body despite my very harsh opinions of it, because even if it was perfect, I'm willing to bet my pinky on the fact that I'd still find a way to criticize it. I could work more on my body, but like a millionaire once told me, the hardest part about working out is talking yourself into it. Today in particular, I'm still talking myself into it. I think the moment I start taking serious and follow-up steps towards the betterment of my appearance, consistency will come into my life like an answered prayer. I need persistence, and consistence, and diligence like a whore needs a dollar. How do I get it? By repeating my "good for me" actions, Never giving up, and happily doing it. I need to force laziness out of my system, it's starts with baby steps. Plus keeping myself busy will keep the critic in me quiet. She bores the shit out of me