As I said, I have been single for a while. Its not a real loss for women, I mean they won't want for my paltry feelings for sure. Why does this blog feel like a Dashboard Confessional song with a few dirty jokes here and there? Where was I? Um, I was on the plane yesternight, coming home from work, and there were these two men, well I guess. I mean they were like an Alabama advertisement for George Bush AND rohypnol all rolled into overtanned skin and pleated Docker™ shorts. They even were sporting the flair of fratboys all over-Oakley razorblade shades--And not in an ironic way that Beck wears an R2D2 underoo shirt.
Anyhow, enough fashionista persecution, I was sitting on the left side (in first class, because I have more miles on me than a one legged hooker on desert island) and they were across the plane on the right (stage right, in rock terms). So these guys who talked so loud that my snoring was drowned out, were hitting on this middle aged woman (a cougar, in Pensacola-speak) and she was lapping it up. She was throwing back her thick dyed blonde hair and her Mr. T-thick gold chains (I swear I saw a Burt Reynolds charm on one of her necklaces) jingled and jostled. Her laugh even joined their volume too. But these guys weren't just getting all Ron Burgundy, they were using PUNS! And for the life of me I cannot recall anything in particular, just trust me, it was puns and more words for boobs than i have ever heard.. These plebes even were drinking their own duty-free booze oout of the bottle. I guess my story has lost its edge. Let me retell...these guys yell-talked the whole flight. It wasn't good talk, it was stuff like "hey have you ever joined the mile high club?" and I kid you not "Can you show us where milk comes from?" (that one made me nearly jump up and curse former President of the Confederartion Jefferson Davis, just to enrage these limp Arnold Palmer School of Sexism..>Now wait , don't get me wrong, I like to attempt (and fail) to flirt and keep it light, but these guys. I cannot articulate. It was amazing. I even asked the stewardess to ask them to shut the hell up.

I just got back from work. It was a 5 day trip but should have been straight thru to the end of june. Basic math: six thousand miles, nine hours of sleep, five airports, three hotels (saw that guy from Fame at one of them, Slash at another), two Jamba juices, one beck show,one ridiculous rental car, three near misses with said rental car, one messy donut, one insane dinner with forty people (some from a band called Queen) and lastly one left behind suitcase cause an actress wouldn't use the potty elsewhere (long story)
If you are lucky/bored enough to check out this blog, then you probably know what I do for a living. I mean, I get paid large sums of money to date older men.
No, I don't . I got in a few hours ago and cannot sleep.
Right now I am at a steak and shake watching a woman named Melonee mop the floor. She is talking on one of those blue tooth tumors that people put in their ears (makes them look like they work on the Death Star). She is talking to someone on the other end of the phone. I cannot really make out what she is saying. A couple of choice phrases are : "I am fixin" and "git that baby quiet" and "Gonna git me some.." It is too, as loud as my friends from flight 101.
I sit there for a few minutes, stabbing some eggs.
I think about Proof. I really miss that guy. We were friends. He was my ambassador of hiphop. And I was his ambassador of white people. We always joked about that. about not hanging out with folks of other races. He was a light. A true signor, as the italians would say. I was going to visit him in Michigan and pay my last respects, but I can't do it. I didn't want to see the circus that i knew his funeral was. I didn't want to see him fallen and expired. Call it escapism. I prefer to think that he is just out on the road and in the studio for a long time and our schedules cannot mesh (the usual M.O.) Everytime him and Bruce would go out on tour, I would respectfully be invited and have to decline. The feeling of being invited to such a closed set of folks, so regarded by so many and so human to so few, is a true tast of honor; at least to me. The last time we saw each other was at some awards show. It was the inevitable hugs and jokes, usual questions (are you being looked after? how are your seeds? what are your next 4 moves? -those mine to him) & (when you gonna come back? why can't you hang out with us black folks? Can I send you my latest beats/ryhmes?-him to me) We'd change numbers (mine the same for years, his constantly changing due to "drama" and forgetfulness (I cannot tell you how many phones were lost in my brief tenure)...We'd leave each other the funny, late night message sporadically spread throughout the seasons. On the odd occasion I would hit his town, I knew he would roll in with 8 to 10 guys. He would always introduce me as the "only many to make him cry" and I would get embarassed but extend the maximum hospitality our facility (and whomever I was working for ) would allow. (The "make him cry" story I am going to hold onto, to maybe one day sit with his children and tell them about their dad from my eyes, the guy that I knew. I will tell them that story and a few others for sure, time allowing) Hmm. Where was I ? I dunnot. Its these near light/late dark hours that i think about Proof and others people that have passed through me/me through them.
let me say this about this blog thing. I really adore that some of my friends read this and I do appreciate the comments. I just cannot bring myself to comment back or address this. I like to just put these words, or whatever words find the end of my hands onto this "page" and leave them-as is where is..so if you think i am ignoring something you write or say, i am not. Not to get too sanctimonious and precious. I think this blog is better not spoken about- at least not outloud.
Fleeing.  ¶ 4:28 AM