Friday, July 23, 2010

"i'm polyamorous."

holy mother of god let us finally get back to the sexy shit. take off your panties, because I MET A HOT GODDAMNED DUDE. and, in the two conversations and multiple email correspondence i've shared with him, he doesn't seem to be too motherfucking stupid. i'll get the marching band and the float while you start up the parade.

and he's my absolute favorite kind, too: AN INCENSE-BURNING HERBAL TEA DUDE. oh, mancake. be still my heart. SO EFFING GREAT. when's the last time one of these sensitive lotharios occupied the space in the bed next to mine, wearing linen pants and gently strumming his guitar after sex and reciting original poetry while i brush my teeth in the morning? five years ago? that's too goddamned long. thank fucking horus, bitches. I CANNOT WAIT. back to searching for a dude's clove-scented testicles through a tangle of dreadlocked pubic hair! suffering a concussion after being struck in the back of the head by the giant ankh he wears around his neck and refuses to take off during the coitus! eating vegetarian meals! rolling my eyes while he meditates! a grown man wearing sandals! chai tea lattes! carrot juice smoothies! badu on the hi-fi! the words "mother africa!" comparing the curl patterns of our natural hair! unironic dashikis! black soap, shea butter, and egyptian musk oil! tarot cards! palm readings! spiritual advisors! headwraps! djembes and rainsticks! crocheted pants! rooftop gardens! nose rings! babies in slings! renewable resources! hip hop ciphers! marijuana by the pound! excessive consumption of mangoes and other tropical fruits! astrology! numerology! chakras! chlorophyll! dried sage! recycling! reusable sanitary napkins! record players! listening to nina simone on those old record players! spiritual healers! calming crystals! nappy beards! vibing to the roots! nag champa! turquoise necklaces! amber pendants! yoruba masks! maternity statues! zulu textiles! locs down to the ankle! earth shoes and tunics! honey! yoga! chanting! proverbs! paintings like the one on good times!

i lurve the circular way in which herbal tea dudes talk. just try to get a straight answer out of one of them. SERIOUSLY. a simple question like "what do you want to do for dinner?" could yield a three-hour dissertation on the african diaspora. that shit is FASCINATING. and exhausting. sometimes i just want to get boned for three hard, solid minutes in the back end, not have my sweet ambrosia sipped under the watchful eye of the somnolent moon. or whatever it is these dudes are constantly blathering on about. i don't like a whole lot of conversation when it's time to get a belt wrapped around my neck. don't bother pointing out the sanguine taste of my flesh, just GET YOUR DICK OUT. good lord. that fruity talk really shrinks my fucking boner. because here's the thing: herbal tea dudes are usually REALLY EXCELLENT IN BED. they're totally respectful and sensitive and considerate, downright feminist when it comes to the art of smacking butts. they take their time and listen to you and take pains to do it 100% goddamned right, and they always make sure to gaze deeply into the chocolate abyss that skims the surface deep within the windows into your soul (THAT IS A DIRECT FUCKING QUOTE), so that when you write a poem about it later you properly convey the smooth earthly essence of his carnal nature and desire.

or something like that.


what did you say? that doesn't make any sense?! well, lover, therein lies the point. every time i wrap up a conversation with an herbal tea i scratch my head and think, "WHAT did he just say?" i mean, i've spent entire conversations nodding like a child. a child with the comprehension level of your average labrador. because these dudes are speaking WORDS, and those words are in ENGLISH, but the way they string them all together doesn't make a lick of actual SENSE. it's like if you hear a sentence read backward. you know the words, and individually you understand what the fuck they mean, but "you fuck to want i" doesn't really MEAN anything. if you mull it over for five minutes it'll totally dawn on you in an "aha!" kind of way, but herbal teas never GIVE you five minutes to process and find the pieces of food in their verbal diarrhea. they're rambling right along into the next twisted, broken arm of the conversation.


and this way they can never REALLY be held accountable for anything. it's a neat fucking trick, right? crafty beavers. because if you are unclear about what i've said to you, i can always later convince you that you misheard the words or misinterpreted their intent. that shit is GENIUS. samantha walks it like i talks it, so if i say some shit to you or about you or in regard to your mother and you come back at me with it, i can't play dumb and giggle my way out of it. i'm forced to own it. but these dudes don't have to.

if he says, "i wasn't really digging the energy you put out when we were vibing as venus rose into the ninth house last week,"

and you confront him later (after thinking about that shit for SIX WHOLE DAYS trying to determine whether or not it was an insult) by saying, "peace, brother, but i don't like the way you criticized my energy the last time we spoke,"

he could turn right back around, cup your face in the palms of his infinite understanding, stare into the black beams of god's promise that are shining out of your eyes and say, "no, queen, you misunderstand me. i was just making a note of how the shift in the astral plane had darkened your sun in my sky. it's all love, beautiful. for real."
*blink*

"um. okay. i guess we're cool then? let's have some tantric sex."

i'm going to contradict myself a little bit and say that while ordinarily i absolutely refuse to listen to a whole lot of unsolicited talky-talky from anything equipped with a penis, i make a slight exception (a VERY slight exception), for herbal teas. they are my aural trainwreck, as i virtually CANNOT TURN AWAY when one is talking. especially if he is passionately defending something DUMB AS HELL. or explaining what he does for a living. because they rarely have real jobs. i've never met an herbal tea IN MY ENTIRE LIFE who was like, "oh yeah, sista, i analyze stocks at charles schwab" or whatever. they always have some bohemian street hustle, either working for some poorly-funded grassroots community organization you've never heard of out of a storefront that never appears to be open (and also supplies the community with red and green knit caps (with a rendering of THE CONTINENT woven into them, DUH) and tubs of fair trade shea butter and rollers of oil) or spending all day painting abstract portraits of fat black naked women and overcharging guilt-ridden white people for them.

speaking of the tangled conversational webs these cats weave, when "i consider myself polyamorous" came out of this little teapot's spout i almost choked trying not to goddamn laugh. amazing. and HILARIOUS. i want every part of this. it's totally obvious when a dude is used to dealing with a chick who's a fucking idiot. i'm not over here picking out picket fences and golden retrievers, my king, i just want to have a hot time, too. no need to lay the extensive noncommittal groundwork that goes with dumb girl territory. i'm brilliantly smart and easily bored. i wouldn't get married to helen, and i've lived with that bitch for almost two whole years. and i'm planning to murder her in her sleep the day before we become officially commonlaw so she can't do the same to me and run off with her new boyfriend toting half my fucking shit.

that's the kind of tricky thing you say to someone who can't use her brain cells to their full capacity so she still hears "i'm still a really great dude" when what he's really saying is "i want free reign to put my penis in vaginas that aren't yours." and i don't give a fuck about that shit. do what you want, just don't be fucking sloppy. or sloppy at fucking. can't we all just start saying what we want? here is my answer, VERBATIM, to the query, "what are you looking for in a dude?"


"i would like to hang out with some dudes who might possibly be smarter or more interesting than i am who have a healthy understanding of the words PERSONAL SPACE. and no mesh shirts."


was that really so hard? my entire dating philosophy distilled into two glorious sentences. be smart and leave me the fuck alone. no need to wrap it in a bow and surround it with a bunch of glittery, flowery nonsense. that dilutes the fucking message. and will force me later have to tell you AGAIN. i don't have time for that. and really, does he? the more time you waste explaining the how the lunar phases affect my subconscious while i nod once every five seconds and daydream about kittens frolicking through a garden, the more time that could be spent sewing his eco-friendly line of all natural hemp yoga pants.

you know i'm totally gross about politics and conspiracies, and there is nothing sweeter on earth than asking an herbal tea dude to talk to you about something you just saw on goddamned CNN. it's like brain candy, and feel free give yourself a thousand million points directly from my "you're awesome" account if you can get him to come to a point that doesn't involve either the freedom of some random political prisoner that you've never heard of or a well-placed quote from dead prez's first record.

and my new herbal tea dude is the REAL FUCKING DEAL, man. he's taken on a generically africarab-sounding name and everything. because you know you can't trust him if he still has his slave name, right? he doesn't have to go all the way back to africa, only halfway. confused? okay, i'll show you. david jones? SAD. david al-tayyib jones? HAPPY. sheikh david al-tayyib ala' al din? LOCK THIS DUDE IN YOUR HOUSE AND NEVER LET HIM LEAVE. because he is obviously perfect. i LOVE that shit, man. hanging out with a dude called "faraj ibrahim" whose mother refers to him as "terrell" is fucking priceless. cracks my shit up.

okay, THIS DUDE. he has about six names, and not a single one of them is christian. squee! no poetry (YET), but he did talk to me about a propositional story concept based around a fictional african queen after asking me what my novel is about. and my novel is not about africa. or a queen. but i do enjoy being propositioned. i think he's a shade more down to earth than a traditionally-brewed herbal tea, but he DID ask me to text him my birth date and time so that he could have a comprehensive astrological birth chart drawn up just for me. i called everybody in goddamned evanston to figure out the exact time i shot like a rocket out of my mom's ass, and i almost burned my fingers off sending him the info.

and half an hour later my inbox was full of delicious astrological goodness, and you know how much i fucking love a full inbox. yowza. there are charts and graphs and all this extraterrestrial fancy talk that is 100% confusing to me, but i died and went to heaven anyway. love it. and just a couple hours ago he sent me all of my NUMEROLOGY info, TOO.


check it, jerks:


Your Life Path Number is 6
Your Life Path Number represents the path you should take through life and the talents and skills you have to make your journey a rewarding one.

Your Path will lead you to build a warm home life and a stable, rewarding career. You live responsibly and learn to maintain a balance between what you give and what you receive. You are sympathetic, caring and able to give good counsel. These are qualities others will come to you for many times in your life. You see the beauty in the world and in those around you. Enjoy your vision.

Your Life Destiny Number is 5
Your Destiny Number sheds light on those things you must accomplish in your life to be fulfilled.

A 5 Destiny number indicates you will move through life on a stream of change. It is your destiny to explore the limits of your personal freedom and promote free will for all. You will encounter change throughout your life, and where many would see this as instability you will embrace it as the coming of new opportunities.

Your Soul Number is
3Your Soul Number describes your deepest desires and dreams and the person you truly want to be.

You desire to make people happy, laugh, and be all they can be. You want to create, have fun, and remain ever enthusiastic. You are a lover of life, and will do all you can to ensure those around you are aware of just how grand a gift life is.


now go kill yourselves, because this shit is totally awesome and true. i'm not a sardonic asshole piece of shit AT ALL. i am a lover of life. bam.

if i can stomach him in person for more than thirty-seven minutes, this is going to be BIG, HILARIOUS FUN. and even if it isn't who the fuck cares?! this dude talked both about chess and his encyclopedic knowledge of star trek: the next generation. WIN. i'm tired of writing about my stinky asshole and how much this fucking humidity is wearing out my ankles. thank god i got a pedicure and started shaving my legs again. so let's hope this rules.

on second thought, all this shaving might be wholly unnecessary. herbal tea dudes know how to appreciate god's natural gifts, including copious leg hair and a finely cultivated bush. i can burn my bras and throw out my deodorant, too. we have plans for early next week, and i will chronicle them here for your amusement. ie, to incite your seething envious rage.

let the tea bagging begin!