*cue Mr. Good Shit*
Went to a bar one night during the NBA Finals to watch the game. A guy sat down next to me, ordered his drink, and asked me how the game was going.
"It's kinda fucked up." - me.
He laughed and proceeded with the "Get To Know You" questions: What's your name? Where are you from? What do you do? And so on...
He was in his early-30s (retracted several details) working towards his doctorate.
Nice.
Wasn't my type physically, but you know...don't judge a book.
We exchanged numbers before I left the bar. Went out a couple of times. Had a coffee shop discussion about the state of the world, our young black counterparts, personal histories, and such. 'Twas quite pleasant. *+1 for the ugly dudes*
The next time we went out was to celebrate an award he received in his program. Told him drinks were on me.
Met at the restaurant. Everything was going well until he randomly interjected into the coversation, "It's been over 45 minutes, and you haven't cursed."
Me: "Oh....? You've been timing it?"
O, how pissed I was! Mostly because he should have stated that he disliked my use of profanity... Partially because when we first met, my first sentence to him included the past tense of "fuck," but he still decided to ask for my number. Out of respect, I would have made a valiant attempt to censor my language.
Whatever the case, I gave him a 5 minute grace period and then went THE. FUCK. IN.
After a few minutes of profanity laced dialogue from me, he made another snarky comment about my language. I ignored it and salvaged the remainder of time we spent together.
The check came...
Yes, I told him the drinks were on me before we went out that day. However, we had ordered food as well. So. The check sat between us for a few awkward moments... Not really certain how long it was. All I do remember is that this man did not make a move toward it at all. He did not acknowledge its presence. I don't think he even flinched.
Let it be known: I had no issues with picking up the check in its entirety. There is something unattractive, however, about a man not attempting to take the initiative to at least offer to cover his part.
I spared him, and paid the check. Closing ramblings followed, along with a departing hug, and a subsequent decline in contact after that date. Our regular conversations dissipated into highly infrequent "Hey, how are you?" texts from one party and a non-response from the other.
Then one day post a "Hey, how are you?" text, he hit me with the "Send me a pic" text. Busy at work that day, I looked down at my phone in mild confusion as to why he wanted a picture of me after all of the random bs we seemed to subject each other to (e.g. my profane language, his broke-ass tendencies). My debate on whether I should send him a picture or not was cut short by my work duties, which ultimately decided for me that this was not the appropriate time.
Two hours after I got off work, he texts me the ellipsis (...); in this case, it stood for "Whassup with that pic tho?"
I resolved to send him a pic from Facebook. We weren't FB friends. It was my profile pic, so obviously I thought I was cute in it.
This negro responds, "Keep going"
Okay... At this point I have confirmed my suspicions that he is hoping for a provocative photo. An intrepid negro, he was. I deflected and told him we could trade a pic for a pic. Seemed fair enough.
He sent me a pic.
The picture highlighted all of the things that made him physically unattractive to me. My eyes cringed.
To save face, I told him it was a nice picture (referring to the megapixels and overall picture quality), and I was sleepy and that we would have to continue another day. Here, "I'm sleepy" served as a euphemism for ".....eww." I just knew this was an acceptable cop-out. I was trying to be as cordial as possible.
BUT NO! This is the response I received:
"Stop playing. I know you got some good shit in yo phone."
*record scratch*
YOU DID NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THE FIRST PICTURE I SENT YOU.
The picture I sent you was "good shit," and you failed to compliment or even comment on it. Matter-of-fucking-fact, if we have not had sex and/or are in a relationship, any picture I send you is a good fucking picture as far as you need to be concerned, Mr. Good Shit.
If I send you a picture in a baptismal robe, you need to tell me I look like an angel.
If I send you a picture of me in prison, you need to tell me I would make a cute inmate on OITNB.
If I send you a picture of me in the hospital with an IV in my arm, you need to tell me I look strong and that I'm going to pull through.
WAS THE PICTURE YOU SENT ME YOUR GOOD SHIT???
You shaped like a souffle.
You should be casted as Spongebob in the biopic of his life.
You look like you belong on a pottery wheel.
You look like a loaf of banana bread. Yeast face ass.
And you have the balls and the gall to tell me you know I have some good shit in my phone? Oh okay...
If that was your good shit, you didn't deserve the picture I sent you in the first place.
However, I KNOW I'm not the same venomous bitch I once was because I did not send any of that to him. I simply responded with:
Yes, I do. Good night.
Thank God for growth.
Part of me hopes he reads this blog post, though.
I spared him, and paid the check. Closing ramblings followed, along with a departing hug, and a subsequent decline in contact after that date. Our regular conversations dissipated into highly infrequent "Hey, how are you?" texts from one party and a non-response from the other.
Then one day post a "Hey, how are you?" text, he hit me with the "Send me a pic" text. Busy at work that day, I looked down at my phone in mild confusion as to why he wanted a picture of me after all of the random bs we seemed to subject each other to (e.g. my profane language, his broke-ass tendencies). My debate on whether I should send him a picture or not was cut short by my work duties, which ultimately decided for me that this was not the appropriate time.
Two hours after I got off work, he texts me the ellipsis (...); in this case, it stood for "Whassup with that pic tho?"
I resolved to send him a pic from Facebook. We weren't FB friends. It was my profile pic, so obviously I thought I was cute in it.
This negro responds, "Keep going"
Okay... At this point I have confirmed my suspicions that he is hoping for a provocative photo. An intrepid negro, he was. I deflected and told him we could trade a pic for a pic. Seemed fair enough.
He sent me a pic.
The picture highlighted all of the things that made him physically unattractive to me. My eyes cringed.
To save face, I told him it was a nice picture (referring to the megapixels and overall picture quality), and I was sleepy and that we would have to continue another day. Here, "I'm sleepy" served as a euphemism for ".....eww." I just knew this was an acceptable cop-out. I was trying to be as cordial as possible.
BUT NO! This is the response I received:
"Stop playing. I know you got some good shit in yo phone."
*record scratch*
FIRST OF ALL*
*universal foreward to "reading" a person; the overture to a song you do not want to be the subject of; I had to lean into the computer when I typed this because this section is dedicated to Mr. Good ShitYOU DID NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THE FIRST PICTURE I SENT YOU.
The picture I sent you was "good shit," and you failed to compliment or even comment on it. Matter-of-fucking-fact, if we have not had sex and/or are in a relationship, any picture I send you is a good fucking picture as far as you need to be concerned, Mr. Good Shit.
If I send you a picture in a baptismal robe, you need to tell me I look like an angel.
If I send you a picture of me in prison, you need to tell me I would make a cute inmate on OITNB.
If I send you a picture of me in the hospital with an IV in my arm, you need to tell me I look strong and that I'm going to pull through.
WAS THE PICTURE YOU SENT ME YOUR GOOD SHIT???
You shaped like a souffle.
You should be casted as Spongebob in the biopic of his life.
You look like you belong on a pottery wheel.
You look like a loaf of banana bread. Yeast face ass.
And you have the balls and the gall to tell me you know I have some good shit in my phone? Oh okay...
If that was your good shit, you didn't deserve the picture I sent you in the first place.
However, I KNOW I'm not the same venomous bitch I once was because I did not send any of that to him. I simply responded with:
Yes, I do. Good night.
Thank God for growth.
Part of me hopes he reads this blog post, though.