Objection: Nic, Part One.

I am not the type to blow up a phone but this bitch has me passed worried. As the best friend, with the fresh scratches to prove it, you would expect the newly left at the alter bride to be with me drowning her sorrows in some Henn and watching "Will and Grace" or some shit, with ME. Instead, I've been sitting outside the reception venue, FOR HOURS, blowing up her phone. No, a text message saying "I'm OK" will not suffice! Bitch, where the hell you at?

Wait. Pause. Who am I? How rude of me. My name is Nic[ole], and I'm Chris' coofless best [wo]man. We've known each other for about 15 years now? Not like I can FIND her so she can correct me....

I just don't know where things went wrong. Here I am, in the sexiest tux I've ever worn in my damn life, walking my best friend down the aisle. The most shit we expected to put up with today was the sideways glances we would get walking down the aisle. First of all, everybody thought I would have turned her out ages ago, but it wasn't even like that. I'm not even the type to-- PAUSE-- this ain't about me. Secondly, this Baptist church is just too holy for my dyking ass to be giving away the granddaughter of the pastor, who I winked at when I gave her away. And thirdly, because I'd slept with 3 bridesmaids and the best man (at the same damn time), but hey...

But for Thomas to bud in when the pastor, her GRANDFATHER, mind you, says "does anyone object to this union... " Lawd, my heart bout jumped out my chest. For her maid of honor, her sister, Christine, to be standing there cradling her pregnant stomach, which happens to be Thomas' child. Could we have gotten a warning sign, a Batsignal that some bullshit of this proportion was going down? I was so in my head after Thomas' well rehearsed "I love you and I would never want to hurt you but-- " speech that I didn't even notice Chris stomp his ass at the alter, then proceed to her own, pregnant sister.

Now, I swoop in and play captain save a heaux. I drag Chris by her arm and veil, swinging. She manages to get a good cat scratch on my left cheek. If I didn't love this heaux, I woulda drop kicked her right there, but, you know... After I managed to calm her down and get her back into the limo, I went inside to do what the maid of honor should be doing, dealing with the guests. Once I got them packed and headed on their way, I went back outside to check on Chris. The limo was gone. That's when I started blowing up her phone. Calls, texts, voicemails. And all I get is one misly text back, "I'm OK." When I find her ass....

After calling her one last time, I put my phone down in disgust. I look up to see a cab pull up and the new bar across the street. A woman who looked just like Chris hopped out....Wait, that IS her! And I bought her those damn shoes. And...who is this pretty Ricky looking muhfugga with his hand on her booty?

Oh. Hell. No. Objection!!! I run across the street. I'm not losing her before I even get the chance to get her....again.

Objection: Chris, Part One.

Ok guys, here is the new series, #Objection. Fall in... Enjoy!

Ever notice the way alcohol clings to a glass? Especially brown liquor, it doesn’t flow as easily as milk or water, but it claws at the glass. It reminds me of the Venom in Spiderman when the church bell rings, the venom tried to break away from Peter in the movie, but that’s not the point of my thoughts. Not that I’m a big super hero fan, but randomly thinking of things is all I have the time to do at this point. Hennessey is my drink and the shot glass is begging me to devour it. My mouth waters and my throat longs to feel the burn in sweet anticipation of its passage into my life. Isn’t it funny how easily people can come into your life, spend time in it and when either of you grow past each other, the pain of letting them go is the most difficult task to encounter? Yes, I’m currently in my feelings and I’m trying to decide which shines brighter, the light dancing on the top of my shot glass or the light ice skating on my diamond ring. Bottoms up and I slam the counter with the empty glass . The bar tender looks at me and asks if I would like another, I nod yes and he pops open another bottle. After drinking an entire bottle and shots from a second, most bars would have cut me off, but this bartender takes a shot with me. He’s very cute, tall and slim with nice teeth. He’s already made over a few hundred dollars in tips and hasn’t asked me how I was going to pay for anything. I can tell he’s a good dude; raised right. He has the sexiest little dimple on his left cheek, and it makes me warm all over…. but then again that might just be the alcohol. The crowd takes a gasp followed by a slew of curse words as the sport announcer yells ‘goal’ for what seems like three days. I sink deeper into my feelings…

The crowd’s gasp is what the church sounded like when my fiancé decided to tell me he couldn’t marry me because he loved my sister and she was going to have their baby. Seriously, you would think shit like that happens in movies, but no it was and is my real life. I thought she was crying tears of joy, happy to see her sister start a new life, but now I know they were tears of agony. Really, who does shit like that to their own family? Who waits seconds before saying vows to confess their undying love for your sister? My life is not real; wait… its too real. It’s so real that I threw a right hook to his cheek and a knee to Thomas' baby making jewels. He fell to the ground and I’m not sure if I flew across the church to my sister or what, but I caught the back of her curly hair and punched her until I was lifted away… At least the brutality part is what my friend told me I did, but I cannot recall. If I had to appear in court I would honestly say I had a moment of temporary insanity. Who wouldn’t in my shoes? Anyway, my name is Christian, I didn’t act like one in church, my fiancé confessed his sins at the alter on our wedding day, and I am sitting in a bar drinking until the pain goes away. My friends call me Chris; I’m a woman’s woman. I love my independence, my intelligence and my ability to mesh well with anyone. No one from my wedding party or family knows where I am, but my phone has been blowing up for the past two hours. I’ve only spoken with three people to let them know I was ok. I think I’ve convinced them well enough that I am actually better than I can admit. My eyes are puffy because of the tears I cried before arriving at this bar, but because my make-up is water proof, at last look, I was still pretty. I’ve taken off my wedding dress in exchange for my honey moon sexy, black dress and stunning seven inch Loubs my best friend bought for me.  I’d been working out for a year and lost weight in all the right places, even toned up for the god’s honey. Snatched was what I do and I did it quite well, even in situations like these.

My next shot arrives and the smoke in the room fills beyond my tolerable limits. I grab a couple of crispy bills in my purse and hand it to the bartender. His eyes are kind; his tone was rich and soft asking me if he wants me to call a cab. I decline and we stare at each other for what seems like a few minutes. I’m not sure if he is part vampire or witch, but he had me in a trance. It seemed as though he was reading my soul or admiring the fact that I can hold my liquor so well. He flashed that cute dimple and said hang on for a minute. I start to object, but where the hell do I have to go? A pretty young thing high fives him on his way out, I gather it’s a shift switch and he unties his apron. He runs to the back where the smell of wings or pizza triggers the realization I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I need a meal so I don’t feel like a total mess in the morning. “Look, I don’t usually do this, but do you mind joining me and a few of my friends tonight? If you don’t have anything else to do, I just want to meet a new friend.” Thinking to myself, that’s why Mark created Facebook, I #minuswell join him. Since his friends were a few blocks up he suggested walking, until I stood up. He was tall, let’s just say he was well above six feet and my heels helped me meet him nearly eye to eye. He was admiring my height, body etc… it was written all over his dimple. He held out his hand and complimented my shoes, and suggested we ride to the next bar to meet up with his friends. As we walked to the taxi he described how he and his friends try to meet up and share laughs, drinks and stories, their usual. During the ride we had small talk, name exchanges. His name was Jayden, but goes by Jay. He graduated with honors from a local university a few months ago with his master’s and studying to pass some sort of test for a job promotion. This job was what he does to support his habit, but he never actually said what that habit was actually. I’m not sure why I was so vague with my answers, but I didn’t let him know that only a few hours ago my life had completely changed. I just want to have a good time and start the process of healing a broken heart. He seemed fun and his friends sound like cool people. I just hope the bottle and a half of Hennessey won’t obstruct my ability to be social…

Adventures of a College Educated Misfit Part 23

--On being a sensitive

1990 - Age 2

Mom:  Sydney, where is my, uh--?
Me: Coin purse?
Mom: Yea. You seen it?
Me: Nope.
Mom: Then how you knew what I was gonna say?
Me:  *shrugs*

This may not seem like much, but it's one of my mom's favorite stories to tell about my sensitivity.  The story about my grandfather creeped out too many of my family members, lol.

If you've known me for long enough, or follow me on the twitters, you have heard/saw me ask the following question:

 "What am I?"

And I mean that with all seriousness.  I know where I am.  I know how I am, kinda.  But I do not know what I am.  I don't think I'm an alien or a robot or anything like that  but Ii have this deeper spiritual connection that I can't place, and I hate it.  I hate that I don't know what it is and I hate that it creeps me out.  I think I would be more grateful for this gift if everything in society didn't label it wrong or strange and something you should be afraid of.  I mean, not that I give 12 fucks about what anybody thinks, but that's now.  During my "formative" years, my visions and dreams scared me and I silenced most of them as much as I could.  Now it's like the shit is back and it won't be long before I see dead people again.

Where is this coming from?  Well, after seeing my friend's dead dog run across her backyard, have countless dreams and visions and the creepiest warning signs of person disaster, I started taking a closer look at myself.  After a conversation with my mom when she asked me to read her (and not shadily) and after realizing a psychic used all my power to amplify he's reading, I started wondering what I should look into and learn.  But, most importantly, when I start feeling what somebody else is, from a distance away, I freaked.

Now, I've always been able to pick up on the feelings of others and that has dictated my behavior.  Some may call that being fake, I call it covering my ass.  I don't want to have to deal with anger and sadness that isn't mine.  And when my actual feelings are extremely low, I just stay away from people.  I can't control my feelings and yours so I am most likely to blow up or break down.  Both really bad.  Imagine how this plays into me being in crowds.  Now, think how I've behaved if you've ever seen me in one... Yea.  Sometimes I can manage, sometimes with the help of something, other times...

Where am I going with this?  Oh.  I'm really grateful for the people who know of my strangeness and embrace it.  Encourage it and me to become closer.  And no one does this more that my mother.  But I guess I want to take the time to apologize to those who don't fully understand or fear it.  Not because I'm sorry for what I said or did, or how you may feel about it.  Not even that you aren't ready to accept it at all.  Hell, I guess I'm not apologizing.  I'm challenging you to be open and accept what you cannot hear, see, or feel.  To embrace whatever fear and doubts you have with light and love.  Be able to accept my visions as what they are and not an attempt to cut down your character.  I'm laying part of myself on the cutting board while showing you yourself.  And I know you're wondering how I would deal with that.  Well, at first I'd be defensive, as accepted/expected.  But I readily see my flaws through my own eyes or someone else's.  I am open and ready to change, to improve, and maybe that's why my gift has returned.  Who knows.

Misfit.  Out. 

The Quickie Chronicles - Golden

He was only in town for the night.  I'd met him months before at a moon convention.  I learned of his love of goddesses and thought it only to be a ploy to get the goods.  I thought he didn't need it because, well, here I was in his hotel room.

I sat on the edge of the bed, hands on my knees.  He stood facing the window, curtains drawn, sunlight shining on his caramel face, with a blunt hanging out of his mouth.  He turned around, facing me, and held the blunt out for me to take.  I stood, taking it from his hand, and continued walking towards the window.  I stood in front of him and looked out.  His arms found their way around my waist and I remembered the days we met.  The walks in the park after the conference.  Stolen moments under bridges, parade stands, street corners.  I knew then that this would never be anything, not even sexual, but we were drawn to each other like nothing I can explain.  We had no choice but to fall even though we knew the eventual outcome.

I sighed and relaxed into his grip.  I rested my head back on his shoulder and blew smoke in the air.  He grabbed my chin and angled my mouth to his.  I remembered his lips.  I remembered his kisses.  Deep and passionate, like air itself.  I pulled away, put the the blunt out on the window sill and threw my arms around him.  I got a little carried away.  Slammed us both against the wall, my hands pressed firmly against it over his head.  On my tip toes, I rested my warmth on his pelvis.  I lifted one thigh to his side and pushed deeper.  He pushed away.

I took a few steps and just stood there staring at him.  I waited for him to make the next move.  He pushed against the wall and ripped down my shorts and panties.  We continued kissing.  He grabbed my ass.  I jumped up and swung my legs around him.  I could feel him pressed up against my wetness and I fought hard against his belt and zipper to free him.  I took no time, made no precautions before allowing him inside of me.  I banged against the walls with clinch fist as he took his time invading every corner and secret place I possessed.  I clawed at his back and nibbled on his shoulders.

My legs kept slipping so he put me down.  I began walking over to the bed.  He pushes me over and my hands barely manage to catch the edge of the bed.  He grabs my hips and pulls me towards him.  I began to bounce my ass against his pelvis.  He grabs the hair nearest the nape of my neck, hard.  I arch my back and bit my bottom lip.  I'm trying to keep my balance and hold on to this bed while he continues to find ways to enter me even more deeply than I could have imagined.  I give up on maintaining any type of rhythm or control.  I fall face first on the bed, arms stretched out to kingdom come pulling at the sheets.  My knees buckle beneath me so bad I just fall to them.  I try to sit back on my ankles.  He trails gentle kisses across my back.  He tries to get my to move my hips.  I just lay there and play dead, I don't think I can take much more.

After much coaxing, he gets me to get up and lay across the bed.  Here comes my favorite part.  Ankles next to ears.  He kisses me deeply before reentering me.  We just stare at each other for a few seconds before he starts rolling in and out of me and I find the strength to raise my hips to match every stroke.  I relax my legs over his shoulders and let the bed do the bouncing for me...

We lay across the bed, naked, basking in the last of the days sunlight.  The sunlight reflect through the glass onto us like a prism.  We were truly golden like the goddesses above.