Friday Night

Right now, the man situation is looking bleak. Like the cabins in the cartoons from the '40s and '50s where a little mouse and a wolf might be snowed in together, and the only thing within sight for a temporary solution to the hunger is one lonely can with one pathetic bean. Looking at it makes you mad, but you know that one bean is better than nothing...for that particular moment. So, you gobble down that one fragment of satisfaction and have a smile on your face. Then, as the minutes tick, you're still just as empty again. Nothing much has changed except you have the memory of savoring the taste and texture of the bean.

That's what the situation is like when it comes to men right now. I know Nutcase isn't the one for a variety of reasons. Mostly, he likes a big kid or at least an overgrown teenager, and he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Sometimes, he's like a butterknife. Despite recognizing all of this, he still seems more appealing than just waiting and waiting for the right one. Nutcase is Mr. Right Now, but only for the sex. He's decent-looking, nice, and tries hard, but I'm one picky heifer, and my friends confirmed that for me when I told them about our Friday night encounter on Saturday morning. I guess I should give some of the sordid details of the encounter before going into my persona.

I've been looking forward to Friday night all week because we were supposed to hang out on Wednesday night, but his baby mama (ooh...big strike for me) dropped his son off without much warning. That actually left me missing him on Thursday, and I told him. It was actually true. So, that made Friday night much sweeter. Well, it should have been, but it started off all wrong.

When Nutcase made it to the door, my outside light was on, and he parked next to my car. Unfortunately, my inside light was not on, and that was the signal that I was still getting ready. I didn't say, "Don't knock on the door," because I don't need my neighbors thinking some crazy situation is going on because someone is banging on my door like a drug bust is going down. I didn't think I needed to say that in this situation because I was being discreet. Instead, when I finally step out of the shower, I think I hear the Fulton County Marshall at the door because that is a lot of banging. Nutcase, who arrives a little earlier than he should have, is banging on my door like he's crazy. I was lucky that the neighbors weren't there. What did I do? Let him knock until he got tired and waited in his car, which he did. Maybe it was mean, but I was dripping wet, I don't walk on floors barefoot, I was still naked, and I did not want to expose myself to the elements to rush to open the door. Maybe I could have yelled out of the window, but it's the same concept of exposing myself to the elements as far as I'm concerned.

So, I open the door and let him in. I don't wait for him because I'm not done upstairs. So, he waits in the dark because I was in such a thoughtless hurry that I didn't turn anything on. Neither did he. Nutcase was literally in the dark with no lights or TV. I took it as him not being bright enough to flip a switch or even stand up to turn on the torchiere lamp that has always been behind the couch. Just in the dark listening to the music I'm listening to as I wash my face.

Those two things alone drove me out of my mind. This is the guy who I don't wanna be with who could potentially be the one I wind up with forever? You know the unwritten rule is that the person you don't want to be with turns out to be the one you marry. God only knows what happened to the person(s) you were so enamored with that you would be willing to pull off a bank robbery or trip up an old lady with a cane if that were to make them happy. So this could possibly be my guy if he stepped the game up? It made me so mad to think of it that I couldn't hold him, squeeze him, let him touch me, hug me, or kiss me.

We wound up watching a little TV, then we moved on to dominoes, one of my favorite games in the last three years. I'll tell anyone how good I am: "I'm going to kill you and your little feelings. You'll walk out of here sucking your thumb because I'm about to fuck you up with these bones." Yeah, I talk a lot of shit about the game I love to play because I'm pretty good at it. I can't talk that much shit with spades, but confident doesn't describe how I feel about my dominoes skills. Therefore, it thrilled me that Nutcase knows how to play dominoes. Thank you, Jesus!!! Someone to play bones with regularly! I love it!

Long story short, Nutcase claims that he has played but he forgot a lot because it's been so long. So long that he's forgotten how to score by 5's and how to count up his total in advance before he puts down the domino so his opponent can't call out the score and take the points. I wanted to smack him. You ain't gotta lie to be down, but Nutcase apparently thinks so. That made my stomach churn even more than ever.

All of this leads to what we both have been waiting for. But after being so irritated, can I really lay back and open myself up to him? Just thinking it over as I ascended my stairs towards my very clean bedroom made me feel like the mouse again. This is all that I have. This one bean will satisfy me for a while, but I may hate that I did this in the morning. But I may hate myself more for throwing away this opportunity because I don't know when it'll come again. I'll have to be like that mouse again and cut the bean into paper thin slices to stretch out the enjoyment of this rare chance. Damn it!

I succumb, but I'm reluctant as hell. Especially when Nutcase gets in my bed when I step away. This dude has pulled back my sheets and the fitted sheet. He's laying on my mattress pad! He really can't differentiate a fitted sheet? My mind went to a dark place.

"Get up!" I yell. "You're on my mattress pad! Are you sure you're okay?"

Nutcase rises and says, "Damn! My bad. I've never dealt with anyone as fussy as you."

My immediate response: "You'll never deal with anything as good as what you're about to get."

That quieted him. Then he made his move and the rest was chemistry. (Yeah, whole different subject from history.) It's almost like someone made our bodies for one another because we're off the chain together. We both make each other scream and make noises that we've never heard before. There's an intensity in our motions, touches, looks, sounds, and anything else in between that would make the most brilliant fireworks look like sad little sparks. I'm still surprised that no one knocked on my door to ask if everything was okay in my place. Yes, Friday night was good.

Saturday morning rolls around, and I gotta share with someone. My big (play) sister, Ree Ree, has got to hear this. So, I call to share, and she tells me I'm too picky. "You ought to appreciate the fact that he didn't turn on anything because that means he has home training. He doesn't just walk into your house and start touching everything all over the place. I don't see that as slow. That's bonus points."

"Ree, he didn't even ask me if he could turn on the light. If he had, I would've apologized for the mistake."

Ree Ree spits at me, "Lying little girl, you wouldn't have apologized for shit."

Moi: "You know me so well. So, I guess I was kinda being a terrible hostess."

Ree Ree: "Exactly ! You're being mean because you're justifying your dislike of him with any little thing you can find. If the shit ain't working, then cut it off and move on."

I hate psychological people like Ree Ree, but I think she's right. Next, I call my homie from my one year of teaching, the Mixologist. The first time we went out together was at a former coworker's birthday party, and she drank more than a little bit and mixed up all kinds of alcohol together. She should've been wasted after mixing different drinks like that, but she never appeared drunk one time. She even impressed the birthday boy (totally unintentional), and they exchanged numbers that night.

I ask, "So what would you have done if you entered someone's place and they had no lights and no TV on for you, and they left you downstairs?"

Mix quickly says, "I woulda got back in my car and left yo' ass by yo'self."

That throws me off. "Damn. I was that bad then?"

Mix: "Hell yeah. That was rude as hell. Disrespectful, too. But you don't really give that much of a damn about him right? No relationship out of it right?"

Moi: "Oh hell naw!"

Mix: "Then forget about it. You're gonna move on eventually anyway. You're like me. Can't really date blue collar guys, but you're picky as hell."

Moi: "I didn't say I can't date blue collar."

Mix: "You might as well keep them off your list the way you treat him."

I guess I should, but I can't because my dad and my brother are blue collar. So are both of my brothers-in-law, not to mention I intend to go blue collar when I become a truck driver once that rear-end collision is 3 years old and hopefully won't affect truck companies' opinions of me. So, it's not just about blue collar. It's about stimulation. Yes, Nutcase can definitely treat me to sexual ecstasy every time our bodies meet, but that's not enough. I've known that for years because I need good conversation, thoughts and ideas that can impress me and even get me to see the light on why their point of view makes sense. I need evidence of a thought process, and I don't see that with Nutcase. I need mental and emotional stimulation.

I don't want to be one of those fool girls that marries someone because "my biological clock is ticking." Let that motherfucka tick-tock until it doesn't tick anymore if that what it takes for me to avoid sharing and possibly creating an unhappy existence with another lonely person. I deserve better than that long-term, and although I don't think so highly of him, Nutcase deserves that same decent life, too. If I decide to have kids, my children don't need to witness a marriage of convenience or desperation that will probably never show how to love and respect someone you're supposed to are for.

I don't know how this will end, but it can't go through Christmas. It'll probably wrap up before December. If I really want something real, then I know I have to make some real effort. Stringing along a dude that's crazy about me is not the way to find the real satisfaction that I want. The satisfaction that's more like a pantry full of all of the staples you need to make it through each week and month but then there's appealing items that you never thought you'd care for but they become your favorite things. Either way, that pantry has everything you want (crushed pineapples and cookies) and need (canned milk, flour, and bread) and even things that you hate but they're good for you (green beans, lima beans, and turnip beans but I'll hurt you if try to bring some beets).