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21 more things = 42

The last post was the 21 things I KNOW at 42. At the end I said I'd consider writing 21 more things to make it 42 in total & then ...


With Ahmad Rappin' In the Background

"Back in the days when I was young I'm not a kid anymore
But some days I sit and wish I was a kid again"

My friend Sophie posted on Facebook how much she misses the good ol’ days when love was as simple as putting a check in a box. If the intended didn’t send a note, he sent 1 of his homeboys instead to inform you that he liked you, all the while he’s not too far off watching the whole thing go down & trying to look cool. Now, at least in the Chocolate City, you can’t tell the men from the boys upon first look. Nothing against homosexuals but men’s fashion has leaned a little too far to the left & I don’t know what I’m looking at. Those that aren’t dressed like teenage boys, who are dressing very homo while throwing around “no homo,” are running in ambiguous packs that rarely speak to women. The men who’re out here talking to women are the 1’s with little to lose & a hard candy coating built up by constant rejection. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t figured out that ODB’s (RIP) braids weren’t hot on him so they certainly won’t help your cause in 2010. All brands of toothless this & that will approach with no shame & then challenge you on your decision to “pass.”

It’s hard out here in these streets. Luckily for me, I’m not on the prowl. If I were, I’d be hotter than dragon breath because it’s not that there are no pickins, it’s that it ain’t nobody I’d pick from in harvest OR draught. For my sistas out here actively hunting down prospects…you have my sympathies.

No less than the day before Sophie posted her update I’d just thought to myself that I was gonna send 1 of those notes to the next boy I like & see what happens. It can’t go no worse than the reverse, man on woman “hey shawty.” In fact, if he’s got a good sense of humor & a long memory, it’ll make him feel warm & fuzzy & at least spark a nice conversation.

As I talked to New Crush, henceforth known as Benetton Boo, the other day he took in 1 of those good stretches that makes your whole body elongate. His sweater raised up & exposed his mid-section, giving up all his milk chocolate goodness. His navel (aka belly button when it’s an outtie) is small & cute & I’m sure I shouldn’t know this. We were standing, discussing the plight of black people, whether racism is still a valid claim for community ills, the length of functions in the Kulcha Set based on the time added on for “ashe,” & the reasons why he does but I do NOT eat Popeyes chicken. There was lots of laughter, several intense stares & a very focused description of how my ethnicity could be seen as ambiguous based on my watered down features (?). He took the time to throw in a comment about my lips while staring at them in a way that made me perspire a little & pray the moment stayed PG-13. I have a tendency to be fresh in moments where the heat is getting the best of me. I kept it cool under the fire. It’s my latest trick.

If ever it appears there’s an appropriate moment for the truth to be spoken & not just body languaged all over the place, I’ma break out my Sharpie & coolly write:
Will you go with me? Check Yes [ ] or No [ ]

& hope for the best.

Or not. I’ve actually decided it’s best to just admire this 1 from afar. I’ll save the note for whomever the New New Crush is, though it won’t be as much fun as giving it to the Benetton Boo. It’s all good though.

Watch me move.


  1. I might be overstepping my lurker boundaries but why not Bennetton Boo (Beau). Why wait for another?

  2. It's the public. The question is valid. But I can't Bennetton Boo the Benetton Beau because he's someone else's beau & I respect that.

  3. I'm pretty sure he appreciates you for that.