random acts of thought

PREFACE: JS, if you're reading this, I really don't mean anything I'm about to say maliciously, and I won't say squat that I wouldn't tell you to your face.

arrogance: JS called me out of the blue, and said he "missed" me. WHUUUTTT??!!! How can you miss what you've never had?! I appreciated the call, but uh, we've only met in cyberspace. Again, WHUUUTTT??!!!.
Ok, I just had to get that out first. Now, my second issue with JS: his arrogance. Mind you, this kid has stood me up twice, and made I don't know how many commitments to call me & not kept them. Frankly, he should be kissing my behind. But no, he sends me emails with home-made dinner requests, and wants them delivered to his house. Yeah, I'll do that...you just hold your breath, count to 11,000,000 and click your heels together and I'll be right there...

rants: I'm a lil sick (this week) of the following:
freaky a$$ big girls: I pulled up to my local Papa Johns, and here's this big, blonde-fade wearing, pierced chick showing off her latest tattoo in an area that should never see daylight, circled by a gang of brothas that wouldn't publicly admit letting her give them a blowjob. Damn. Excuse the vulgarity, but it was that ugly.
back-handed compliments: 2 examples. 1st - walking into the grocery, a brotha hollas "Damn, that's a whole lotta woman...". Then smiles. Why I didn't drop my panties & give him some right then, I'll never know. 2nd - Going thru the toll booth on my way home from work, the toll collector gives me my change, and says " I like your bo-dy" ( he had a pretty thick accent, so it came out as "baaah -deee"). Again, it was hard to pretty hard to resist him, but I managed...
arrogant men:of course, I want to be the most supportive, feminine creature of beauty that has ever walked the face of the earth, and that no man can resist. But if that involves me coming home from a hard day at work, cooking you a homecooked meal & delivering it...I'd rather be a stud. And if this were an isolated incident, it wouldn't be a rant. Ladies, stop believing the myths that the latest issue of Glamour/Mademoiselle/Elle/Allure/Redbook/Essense keeps feeding you..there are still good guys left, and you'd find them if you stop letting these other kids play you. You don't have to settle...you don't have to give up the booty...you don't have to pay them...you don't have to share them...sheesh...
bad poetry: just because you have DEEP THOUGHTS or can make two words rhyme...these things do not a poet make. I'm sick of porn-oetry (mental orgasms...heard it so many damn times it makes saying it's played seem trendy), nouveau consciousness (WATNMITH: why are there no mailboxes in the hood?...also trendy), dramatic-testimonies ( and the blood was as red, as the Eckõ shirt he wore when he flew my head....it just sucks...). You get the idea.

It's gotten so bad, I am almost determined to either write WATNMITH for real, and then go to some of these bourgie poetry readings and read it, record the response I get, then write a REAL poem about the responses...

Ok, brainfart's over... I'm gonna go write either WATNMITH, or servlets.