I was popular in my high school. I had a lot of friends and got along with everybody. There was just one problem. I’d never had a boyfriend. In fact, I rolled into senior year having never attended any formal dances and more importantly having never even been kissed!
So I was slightly interested and equally repulsed when a boy in my class showed an interest in me. He was not at all attractive to me (not even a little bit). Think of the phrase, “tore up from the neck up” and that would describe him. He was however, a starting player on the football team and he had a pretty decent body.
Long story short, I lost my virginity to this guy. I wasn’t in love (not even close) but I was suffering from very, very, very, very low self-esteem and I truly thought I might not ever have someone interested in having sex with me again. Of course, having just seen geriatric virgins on The Phil Donohue Show hadn’t helped either.
To make a long story short. The sex sucked. He told everyone in school that he’d deflowered me. And I was mortified. By the end of the year, I had one goal and one goal only. To take a cute guy to prom. It would be my sort of 'revenge'.
Two weeks before prom and I had a ticket but no date. A week before prom and no date. The Wednesday before prom a good friend of mine, Steffi, had her boyfriend, Darius, find me a date. I met him at the mall, he was cute and I was happy.
2:00, the day of prom Steffi calls me with bad news. Cute Boy has decided not to take me to prom. I’ve been stood up hours before the event. She gets on the three-way with Darius who gets on his three-way as we frantically find a guy to take me.
Finally, he calls Chris who agrees to take me. He said he would come over to my house to meet me then go home get dressed and come back. Well, I was still at the hairdresser when he came by but he did meet Shaft.
When I got home the conversation when like this. “Your prom date came by.” “Really? What did he look like?” Dad chuckles then says, “He’s short, dark-skinned with an earring and a funny haircut.” More chuckles.
For some reason, over the next hour, half of my family gathered in the living room. When my aunt who had made my dress, came to deliver it, I said to her. “If he’s ugly, I’ll die.”
Well, he was ugly. I looked from him to my aunt who just hung her head. He looked like Chris Rock’s unattractive brother (think about that for a minute).
Well, the evening got worst. It rained all night. There was a fire in the kitchen where we were having prom and the whole thing got cancelled.
I’m desperate to end this horrid night and he asks for my number. I said no.
A week later, Steffi is sleeping over. My dad was out late. We were talking to Darius and Chris who happened to be hanging out together that night. It got late and we all got off the phone. My dad came home right after and we all went to sleep.
About 3 a.m., there is a loud banging on the front door. We (Steffi and I) were scared shitless … but not Shaft.
Out of the darkness, comes my dad in his PJs, carrying a gun. He’s in stealth mode as he glides down the stairs with his back propped up against the wall. Then he drops down and runs low past the living room window through the kitchen and out of the garage door. He comes around the back way and pulls a gun on … Darius and Chris. Okay, if you had seen this, you would have sworn that my dad had been in Vietnam or at least had been some funky PI back in the day because damn if he didn’t have some smooth moves!
So, they apologize profusely, as I guess one would be likely to do while staring down the barrel of a gun held by a man who bears a strong resemblance to Shaft.
When he comes in the house, I knew I was in trouble. After all, it looked a lot like we knew my dad wasn’t home and had invited boys over.
I tried to appeal to Dad's sense of reason. I mean, I knew he was coming home so why would I take a chance and invite boys over that late when I knew he’d be back home shortly. I couldn’t tell if he was buying it, so I laid out my most convincing argument.
“But Dad, it’s Chris. I mean, if I was going to get in trouble with a boy, I’d at least want him to be half way cute.”
Dad thought about it and nodded slowly, “You have a point there.”
I didn’t get punished. I guess he figured having an ugly boy following me around like a puppy dog was punishment enough.
Yesterday’s story and video reminded me of a story about my Dad. I actually have several, hence why this is Part I. First off, growing up, Daddy earned the nickname Shaft from my friends. When we moved to our suburb in the early 70’s, we were one of the first black families there. With his turtle neck, short afro and leather jacket, he sort of looked like Shaft.
Then to paraphrase Isaac Hayes and for reasons that will be explained over several parts, “That ____ _____ is a bad mutha.” “Shut your mouth!” “I’m just talking bout your dad!” “And we can dig it!”
Anyway, let’s jump in the time capsule and go back to around 1983. Dad and I are out and about running errands together. This usually meant a trip to the DIY store, the auto parts story or to fix something at our rental property. We’d usually stop for lunch too.
Well, on this particular day, we stopped for ice cream. We stopped at the Dairy Queen in the seriously upscale part of town. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this but, I’m from so far out in the suburbs that it would make your nose bleed. Well, this place was further out than that.
The Dairy Queen is overflowing with Little Leaguers. Dad and I were like two specks of chocolate in an overwhelming sea of vanilla (and I’m talking DQ vanilla, not French Vanilla which at least has a little bit of color). As we are standing in line, someone from behind my Dad tugs at the wallet hanging slightly out of his pocket.
Before you can say, “Afro-pick!” My dad has spun around swinging and within seconds has his pal Dale Alexander in a headlock and a sea full of little leaguers and their moms are forever traumatized. Of course, this whole incident being a startling reminder of why they live so far outside of frickin town in the first place.
Dale is yelling for my dad to let him go. He said he’d been joking and just trying to get Shaft’s attention. I’d say it was post-traumatic stress. But my dad was no Vietnam Vet. He had spent a couple years in the Army but the only action he ever saw revolved around chasing German women near the base where he’d been stationed.
This video is currently circulating and I had to comment. In the video, we pick up an argument, already in progress, between an older white man and a younger black dude. We don’t know who started the argument or what happened prior but we do see what happens next. If you haven’t seen it, watch it first and then see my comments below.
1. The moral of the story is “You just never know.” You can’t look at somebody and make assumptions. I’m sure that Young’n was thinking that he could take Old Dude. He was WRONG. Boy, was he wrong.
2. The instigating videotaper had the nerve to say that they should press charges and that they ‘got it on tape.’ Hello? You got yourself on tape alright. You got yourself on tape instigating an argument, yelling racial slurs at Old Dude and then taking his bag. How does this prove anything in your favor?
3. The final moral of the story is, once the check your mouth has written has been bounced by your sorry punk ass, STOP TALKING SMACK. Old Dude beat the crap out of the Young’n. Old Dude busted his nose and sent him ‘leakin’ blood all over the seat and himself, yet the Young’n he is still talking about whipping someone’s ass and even killing him! Killing him? For real? If his sissy-fighting behind even approached Old Dude with a gun, Old Dude would probably snatch it away and beat him with it.
The title pretty much says it all. I’m a fat ass and no one (besides guys with a fat ass fetish) want to see my fat ass. However, I’m working on being less of a fat ass and once I reach my sex weight, rest assured, I will not be reaching for the camcorder.
Porn stars look hot because they have a teams of hair stylists, make-up artists, editors and directors whose main goal is to make them look good. Ever see homemade porn? I have. It sucks (no pun intended… although there was quite a bit of sucking going on). It sucks because the camera angles are lousy, the lighting is lousy, the make-up and hair are all jacked up. In fact, nothing says, “I no longer really feel like having sex,” than having to watch homemade porn.
Most of us, even the beautiful among us, need a little help to look our best. Clothes and make-up can hide a myriad of flaws. But, butt naked with bad lighting? All your sins are exposed. Reality is a bitch.
Exactly,what do you do with the video once you have taped it? Do you throw it on the big screen for a Freaky Friday night? Maybe. Then you know what happens? Little Johnny and his friends are playing in the living room and they accidentally press play on the DVD player and all of the sudden, your little sexcapades are blasted in living color on your 42” plasma screen, now your fat ass is bigger than ever and the detail is incredible! Not to mention the fact that your child has been scarred for life.
Maybe you and your camera-toting boy toy break up and he decides to show your video adventure to his boys at half-time during the Super Bowl (they weren’t that thrilled about The Who anyway). These tapes inevitably end up in the wrong hands.
If you need to see yourself so damn bad, do it in front of the mirror. Isn’t that why ceiling mirrors were invented?
Name: SDC Home: United States About Me: I'm a youthful 44-year old, who is infectiously funny, dangerously smart, wildly creative, hopelessly math-phobic, tactfully honest, occasionally politically incorrect, and cute to boot! See my complete profile
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