A Tale of Two Poets I, Let me see your Vagina..
You ever date a guy and realize that he has a vagina?
This is a story about #75 and how he lost to #76.
I like two things out here in the world: poetry and poets. The poetry circle in this city is VERY small. Two or three different poetry events and you pretty much have run into everyone worth seeing in the city.
I actually met #75 on the Book (Facebook) after some poetry event in the city. He seemed nice enough, but niceness really wasn't what I was interested in at the time. He was an erotic poet. Jackpot right? I was looking for something a little freaky and thought that he was living through his poetry.
Pause: For anyone else who dates poets, it's is important to find from where the motivation for their poetry comes. Mine for instance comes mostly from real life situations, but i try to put a vague spin to give a double meaning. #75's motivation comes from his damn imagination.
So we went out on a date (I paid for my own lunch). Within 2 weeks he was in love with me. Did I mention he didn't even get the "P"? I was a little leery about giving him this wholesome goodness, but I was still really intrigued by the eroticism in the poetry. I wanted some of THAT vision. So against my better judgement, I........well, you know.
What a mistake?! Not only was it not worth it, well let me just stop there. FALSE ADVERTISEMENT! It was terrible and boring. I could've done better in a room by myself.
Now here's where the story gets complicated.
You all remember the Trayvon Marting tragedy? I was up in arms when it all happened. I watched all the news reports, Nancy Grace, CNN, etc. Him and I decided to hold a rally (the rally idea was before the terrible sex). All events need advertising so we went to one of the weekly poetry events in the area to make it known. I walked in right behind #75.
Hello #76.
Pause: As humans we usually make a decision about whether someone we meet is "do-able" within the first couple minutes of meeting. I made that decision in the first 3 seconds, and to see the look on #76's face, so did he.
So here's where #75 officially lost. He gets up in front of everyone and begins to talk about our rally. "Blah, blah, blah.......if you have any questions, feel free to ask me or my beautiful friend Janel." All #76 heard was friend.
#76 on the portable mic said, "Wait, wait, wait! Did you say that was just your friend?" The answer didn't even matter at that point.
Later that evening, #76 approached me and asked me for my number (He also invited me to a party, but he's a big guy and I was kind of scared. Don't judge me). Now me being the good and respectable woman that we all know that I am, I explained to number #76 that I would be inclined to tell him the dynamics of this conversation if ever asked. #76 shrugged, "Not a problem, I'll tell him myself."
Pause: He has a loud, booming, speaker's voice.
"Hey, hey! #75, I'm hitting on her!"
Now any woman in that position wants the man to say something. Take up for me. Defend my honor. Tell this big dude to fuck off. SOMETHING! I got nothing--this bitch-made, cake ass dude did and said nothing. So I gave #76 my number. I mean, why not? #75 doesn't seem to mind.
So #76 and I begin conversing on a regular. #75 gets wind of it, gets mad, and proceeds to take his frustration out on me, ME. "How could you do that?" (Do what? You didn't seem too concerned at the time. Grow a set.) "He is my friend!" (Ummm, no he's not. Trust me!) "I thought you loved me?"
WHOA!! Y'all know I don't do the "L" word unless it's "lick"! You, Sir, are tripping! Oh, and please put your vagina away, it stinks.
Ignoring my request, he, then, proceeded to show his vagina to #76 which we still laugh about to this day. Who starts shit on Twitter anyways?
I shouldn't laugh though--it's not nice to laugh at those less fortunate than me. I mean, how do you live without common sense?
He stalked me after that, left me voicemails until my mailbox was full. He would even call me from the one of the 6 payphones in the city to try to get me to answer. 427 phone calls, 21 voicemails, 32 Facebook messages, 15 emails, and 863 text messages later, he finally got the hint. I hope he's not reading this.
If he is, #76 would like to thank you for introducing us.
This is a story about #75 and how he lost to #76.
I like two things out here in the world: poetry and poets. The poetry circle in this city is VERY small. Two or three different poetry events and you pretty much have run into everyone worth seeing in the city.
I actually met #75 on the Book (Facebook) after some poetry event in the city. He seemed nice enough, but niceness really wasn't what I was interested in at the time. He was an erotic poet. Jackpot right? I was looking for something a little freaky and thought that he was living through his poetry.
Pause: For anyone else who dates poets, it's is important to find from where the motivation for their poetry comes. Mine for instance comes mostly from real life situations, but i try to put a vague spin to give a double meaning. #75's motivation comes from his damn imagination.
So we went out on a date (I paid for my own lunch). Within 2 weeks he was in love with me. Did I mention he didn't even get the "P"? I was a little leery about giving him this wholesome goodness, but I was still really intrigued by the eroticism in the poetry. I wanted some of THAT vision. So against my better judgement, I........well, you know.
What a mistake?! Not only was it not worth it, well let me just stop there. FALSE ADVERTISEMENT! It was terrible and boring. I could've done better in a room by myself.
Now here's where the story gets complicated.
You all remember the Trayvon Marting tragedy? I was up in arms when it all happened. I watched all the news reports, Nancy Grace, CNN, etc. Him and I decided to hold a rally (the rally idea was before the terrible sex). All events need advertising so we went to one of the weekly poetry events in the area to make it known. I walked in right behind #75.
Hello #76.
Pause: As humans we usually make a decision about whether someone we meet is "do-able" within the first couple minutes of meeting. I made that decision in the first 3 seconds, and to see the look on #76's face, so did he.
So here's where #75 officially lost. He gets up in front of everyone and begins to talk about our rally. "Blah, blah, blah.......if you have any questions, feel free to ask me or my beautiful friend Janel." All #76 heard was friend.
#76 on the portable mic said, "Wait, wait, wait! Did you say that was just your friend?" The answer didn't even matter at that point.
Later that evening, #76 approached me and asked me for my number (He also invited me to a party, but he's a big guy and I was kind of scared. Don't judge me). Now me being the good and respectable woman that we all know that I am, I explained to number #76 that I would be inclined to tell him the dynamics of this conversation if ever asked. #76 shrugged, "Not a problem, I'll tell him myself."
Pause: He has a loud, booming, speaker's voice.
"Hey, hey! #75, I'm hitting on her!"
Now any woman in that position wants the man to say something. Take up for me. Defend my honor. Tell this big dude to fuck off. SOMETHING! I got nothing--this bitch-made, cake ass dude did and said nothing. So I gave #76 my number. I mean, why not? #75 doesn't seem to mind.
So #76 and I begin conversing on a regular. #75 gets wind of it, gets mad, and proceeds to take his frustration out on me, ME. "How could you do that?" (Do what? You didn't seem too concerned at the time. Grow a set.) "He is my friend!" (Ummm, no he's not. Trust me!) "I thought you loved me?"
WHOA!! Y'all know I don't do the "L" word unless it's "lick"! You, Sir, are tripping! Oh, and please put your vagina away, it stinks.
Ignoring my request, he, then, proceeded to show his vagina to #76 which we still laugh about to this day. Who starts shit on Twitter anyways?
I shouldn't laugh though--it's not nice to laugh at those less fortunate than me. I mean, how do you live without common sense?
He stalked me after that, left me voicemails until my mailbox was full. He would even call me from the one of the 6 payphones in the city to try to get me to answer. 427 phone calls, 21 voicemails, 32 Facebook messages, 15 emails, and 863 text messages later, he finally got the hint. I hope he's not reading this.
If he is, #76 would like to thank you for introducing us.
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