April 5, 2011 by Manny Wordsmith
Right into the groove.
It’s been awhile but I haven’t missed a step. I’m still an abrasive skater moving through life, riding the highs and lows as they approach and seamlessly grinding from one pool of disoriented selfish women to the other. I’m surrounded by gorges of snow bunnies, who desperately climb over each other, just to try to figure out how a black guy like myself made it way out to them in the burbs. But time they figure out that I’ve always been here, it’s like my Black card is stripped from me and Billy Dee Williams no longer wants to meet up for 40s and blunts night at the Booby Trap. So my love life is a mess. I seriously attempt to juggle flaming chainsaws every time i step into the bar. One trip or misstep usually calls off all bets, leaving me armless and on fire. I can hardly keep up. Most of these girls have the attention span of a gnat and only concentrate on partying. And that’s fine as long as they don’t think I’m P.Diddy or Waka Flaka Flame when they meet me. I can guarantee neither of those guys have problems with drunk white girls confusing their personalities.
But I’m a nerd and usually unaware that it’s impossible for me to talk my way into a girl’s panties. So I drown them in so much sarcasm and wit, that they’d rather make me do their political science homework than let me have recess under their skirts. The fact that I even get close enough to see the edge of the park sometimes riddles me. But when I’m in the zone I can impress them for about…I don’t know 48hrs? I can hold a bit of mystery for that long. Sometimes I can get the recess time before the whistle. But After the clock strikes I’m like Cinderella leaving the ball. But instead of turning back to the dirty step-sister that every one ragged on, I turn back to Carlton Banks! No matter how well I played four-square. So it’s just downhill from there. I become “that guy” and get ignored when we’re in the same bar together. Or the girls will play sick when I inquire about a second date. I go from Denzel one night to Steve Urkel the next. I can admit the quality of the women I chose is lack luster. They’re more Ke$ha than Jennifer Hudson. More Paris Hilton than Molly Ringwald. Not quite sure what I meant by that last note, but I’ll assume the drift will eventually catch a sail…So I guess I get what I get because of what I choose…right? How can a sewer skank appreciate class when all she knows are rats? That must be it. That or I have some severe body stank that I’m unaware of. Either way I need to find a new field to play on. Preferably with a nerdy woman who is more than capable of doing her own fucking homework.