Here's how the presidential race will turn out. Donald Trump will become president. Its unfortunate but here's how it plays out:
First, let's be honest, Trump has zero competition from any other Republican candidate. Not because he has no political equals in his party but rather because Trump is playing of the fears of the extreme right. Politics is less about who you believe in and more about who you disagree with. Meaning, "No, I don't agree with everything candidate A says but I hate candidate B's guts. Candidate A for President!!!! Burn in hell, Candidate B!!!" Bernie Sanders will emerge as the Democratic nominee (in the face of a second failed presidential campaign in which it appeared she was the overwhelming favorite going in, Hillary Clinton will slip into a deep depression, leave politics, experiment with hallucinogenic drugs and become a TERRIBLE reggae artist with old white lady dreads and everything)
With Trump being the only thing standing in the way of a shift in political policies and corporate practices that could put a sizable dent in the pockets of the elite (seriously, how is it that from 2008 to 2013 General Electric made 34 billion dollars but had a corporate income tax rate of -9 percent during those 5 years?!?!?) they will launch a MASSIVE smear campaign against the “evil communist” Bernie Sanders in an effort to protect their ability to make money by scamming everyone else. Scaring those who still rely on mainstream media for their “news” and information (looking at you, Fox News) and convincing them that Trump is the lesser of two evils.
And just like that, Donald Trump will be elected President of the United States and, of course, through a series of political policies and actions usher in the anti-christ and kick of the end of days but everyone already knew that, right?
So for those of you unfamiliar with the typical comedy club performer hierarchy, it goes (from top to bottom) Headliner (the dude or chick you paid to see) Feature (the dude or chick who performs just before the Headliner and in some cases came with the Headliner) and the Host or the Emcee (the first person who hits the stage and, in most cases, has the least experience of the three.) For almost a year now, I’ve been actively begging comedy clubs for emcee work. Begging may seem like a harsh word to you civilians but relax. To a comedian, sending emails to club bookers as well as follow up emails upon follow up emails upon follow up emails is just apart of the game but it can feel like you’re begging. Not a big deal, though.
So I’d been emceeing since about maybe December of last year. Well I got my first shot at featuring for an actual comedy club on July 31st of this year. Thirty minutes of me on stage telling jokes. It's kind of like a promotion from an emcee: A lot more work, not much more money. But that's not the important part. It's a step in the right direction and a better view of the goal. And at first I’m super excited. But then the anxiety sets in: “I’ve had great 5 to 15 minute sets but I’ve never done a CONTINUOUS 30 minutes of material before...WAIT...DO I EVEN HAVE 30 MINUTES OF GOOD MATERIAL???? WHAT IF I DON'T???? WHAT THE HELL HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?!?!?!?! I DON'T WANNA DO THIS ANYMORE!!! From 100 to 0 that quick!
The good comedians have a pretty decent handle on their material. They can tell you how much time they have and of what topic. Example: “...I’ve got about 45 minutes of great material. I’ve got about a 10 minute bit about family, another 5 minutes about being a middle child, 15 minutes about work, 10 to 15 minutes about dating and I haven't even mentioned my 30 minutes of masturbation jokes!” Yeah, thats not me. I’m a prolific procrastinator. Yeah, I know I’ve got at least 30 minutes of material but I couldn't tell you how much of it is good enough to be considered for a 30 minute feature set. Not to mention my transitions are terrible at best but in most cases, they are non existent. Mike Paramore, a powerhouse of a comedian and one who travels all around the country for it, once told me that the mark of a professional comedian is good transitions. Making your time on stage feel like one big, related set to the audience as opposed to a collection of shorter stories/jokes...and I haven't worked on any of that.
Cut to the day of the first show, (oh yeah, I forgot to mention, there were a total of 3 shows that weekend...more anxiety!!!) I’m in the green room going through my jokes desperately trying to piece together 30 minutes that will bamboozle the audience in believing that I am an actual professional and not some open micer that stumbled in off the street. I’m pulling transitions out of thin air that are just making the fact that I don't have transitions more obvious. It's 10 minutes before show time and now I’m in full on internal panic mode. Like, I’m always stupid nervous before every show I do from open mics to paid gigs with big name headliners. But this was different. You know how you have those two voices in your head: “Oh my God, this is gonna be terrible!” “No no no calm down. You’re funny. You’ll do fine. Everything will be ok.” Well I had the two voices but they were just arguing back and forth about how bad I was gonna do: “What if I do so bad, they don't even invite me back to the club!” “That's the least of your worries. What if you get so nervous you pass out on stage, hit your head, slip into a coma and die?!?!?” OH MY GOD THAT COULD TOTALLY HAPPEN!!
We’re 13 minutes into the start of the show. The emcee is wrapping up his set and I’m up next. I’m questioning my entire career path because of a set I haven't even done yet. “This sucks! Why do I wanna be a comedian anyway?!?!? Why do I put myself through this?? I’m never doing this again. I’m gonna BS my way through this weekend and…”
“Please welcome to the stage, Bobbie Dodds!”
I get onstage. Out of habit I shake the emcee’s hand. On my way to the mic stand I look out at the crowd, who is still applauding and flash my big goofy smile at them. They chuckle. I make my first joke about how there are little to no black people in the audience and how, apparently, the owner of the club, Mark, has tricked me into being the centerpiece of an auction. The crowd erupts with laughter. I laugh at them laughing at the joke. And in that moment, there is no place on earth I’d rather be than on that stage being judged by that group of strangers.
Hey. Welcome back. Now that you’re up to speed on the history between her and I (and if you’re not caught up, check out “She has to hate me. Part 1) lets dive right into that night at the comedy club.
For those of you too lazy to read Part 1 and simply want to know what and who I’m talking about...too bad. Go read Part 1.
Ok. So I arrive in Toledo to do a show at Our Brothers Place, a bar downtown with a show room upstairs. Show starts at 9pm I arrive at 8:45pm. This is a Thursday, by the way. I would have loved to arrive earlier but between my wife and I we have two cars. Only one of which is capable of hitting the open road long distance...thats her car and she was at work. My 1996 Cadillac Deville has heart but physically she’s seen better years. All this is very important and will illustrate why you shouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later.
Show has started. The host, Kool Keith, is on stage warming up the crowd. I’m in the back of the room doing my normal pre-show ritual of rocking/pacing back and forth and talking to myself in a nervous display of embarrassment. I look behind me and who should walk in the door? None other than my baby mama. She stops briefly to talk to a friend of hers before making her way over to me. Now, to be all the way real, I don't care much for my baby mama. That is not to say that I don't like her. I have no feelings for her either way. She’s unimportant. Irrelavant. Nobody. Thats how I can allow the ignorant stuff she does and says to roll off my back. It's like if I heard a stranger didn't like me...so what. However, that doesn't stop me from showing her respect when she talks to me even though all the while she is being disrespectful and rude to me.
Inevitably she makes her way over to me. Hugs my dangling arm, puts on a very fake smile and belts a sarcastically enthusiastic, “Hey Bob!” Now about my baby mama’s sarcasm. The poor girl has never really been good with wit. So instead, she substitutes sarcasm. Whatever works for you, I guess. On a side note though: nobody respects the hustle anymore. If you wanna be good at wit, practice wit. Don't take the easy way out. Put the work in!!! But anyway. She’s here and if I know my baby mama, this is not gonna be pleasant for me at all.
I exchange pleasantries as I always do. Try to make a couple jokes at my own expense even. Just to show her that, “hey, look. although you may hate me for whatever reasons you’ve created in your mind, for the sake of this forced relationship we have to engage in, we can be friends.” But, unfortunately, everything just bounces off of her like a bitter Superman. Nothing from her but sarcastic cheap shots at me and fake smiles. But again...I don't care. I have a beautiful wife at home that gives me all the love and friendliness I need. I’m good. I’m trying to show you that you really don't have to hate me. We can be friends.
My baby mama has never seen me do stand up. I wasn't even sure if she knew I was a comedian. Despite my many attempts, we’re not friends on any social networking sites so I was inclined to ask, “How did you know I was here?” Come to find out someone informed her that I had a show in Toledo. Why someone is reporting back to her my whereabouts, I’m not sure. Doesn't matter though. I have nothing to hide. If you wanna know where I am, I have twitter, instagram, two facebooks pages and a website. I’m an open book.
“So, Bob, how long have you been in town?”
“About an hour.” I replied.
“So, when are you leaving, Bob”
“After the show.” I replied.
She said some other stuff but to be honest I had stopped paying attention to her. Once those “Bob’s” start coming out I kind of turn her off. Gotta know who you’re dealing with. I get on stage do my set. It wasn't a bad set, It wasn't a great set. My baby mama and one of her girlfriends sat in the first row. I honestly don't think they did that to throw me off or anything. It was a full room. There really wasn't a lot of places to sit. However, even if they were trying to make me uncomfortable, when I’m telling jokes, I don't look at individuals in the crowd unless I’m engaging with one person. I kind of look past them. It makes it easier.
Sets over. I get off stage. Say hello to my baby mamas friend who is a high school classmate. She’s always been cool people. No reason to act different with her. I walk back to the rear of the room to enjoy the remainder of the show. Not 3 minutes after I get off stage, my baby mama walks past and says, “Well, Bob, gotta go. Oh and maybe next time you’re in town you’ll go see your daughter.”
“We’ll see.” I replied.
Lets talk about that for a second. I arrived in Toledo on a Thursday (a school night) at 8:45 PM for a show that started at 9PM. I didn’t leave the venue until about midnight. I have to drive back home to Columbus because my wife needs her car to go to work in the morning. And since we’re throwing stones from our glass houses, why are you out at a bar on a school night with an 11 year old daughter at home? And I’m not even saying thats an issue but if you’re going to criticize how I’m handling my business, be sure you’re minding yours.
Moving on. Now as far as I knew, she had left the building. Ok. Cool. That could have been worse but I’m glad she’s growing up. Oh, silly silly Bobbie.
The show is over. Remember the show room is upstairs from a bar. You have to walk downstairs and through the bar to leave the building. By now I had forgotten that my baby mama was even at the show. I walk downstairs to leave the building to head home. Again it's midnight (on a school night) and guess who’s sitting in the corner of the bar with her one of her girlfriends by the door.
“SON OF A BISCUIT EATING BULLDOG!!! Ok...ok...maybe if you just keep your head down she won't see you and you can just leave.” I get outside I’m preparing to cross the street when I hear it.
But it's cool. I turn around and it's her friend. We stand out in the cold and talk for a minute and it's obvious that shes drunk. Which can only mean that my baby mama is drunker. And based on the dialog that she’s having with me, it's also obvious that her and my baby mama have been doing nothing but talking about me and what I do since they left the show upstairs (about two hours). Again I don't care. I am who I am. And I’m doing what I can do.
Her friend and I talk and talk and talk and she’s imploring me to have a conversation with my baby mama in the interest of closure because she obviously still harbors ill feeling towards me about cheating on her with “the other girl” (which you and I have established in Part 1 never happened.) And as I explained it to her friend, what my baby mama has constructed in her mind from a life more than 10 years ago is both irrelevant and not real. If it was real, it wouldn't matter because it's irrelevant and if it was relevant it wouldn't matter because it's not real. Everything that fell apart between her and I was her doing. I’m past it and she needs to be to. I’m saying all this to her friend.
Her friend then looks in the window of the bar and notices that my baby mama is not sitting at the bar where she had left her. Which could only mean one thing….she was on her way outside! Ok. she’s drunk and hurdling my way! I have to get out of here!! I hugged my baby mama’s friend and said goodbye. My baby mama exits the bar, obviously drunk. Her friend calls out to me as I’ve made it to the middle of the street “Bobbie, wait!” And outside, in front of the bar that I just performed at, my baby mama shouts out, “Naw Naw Naw, let his fat ass go! I got no respect for him!!!”
Two things about that: First, yeah I’m fat. No harm no foul. Second, Her respect is the absolute last thing I’m concerned about losing. Again, she’s irrelevant. It would be like losing the respect of one of the Kardashians. Who cares.
Anyways, after my baby mama said what she felt necessary to say, I looked at her friend with a look that said, “See why I don't talk to her?” Her friend looked back at me with a look that said, “Yes. Yes I do.” I shrugged, got in my car and left.
I really wasn't upset on the way home. But more so curious. What could I have done to make that better. And thats when it hit me: Nothing. There was nothing that I could have done and nothing I can ever do to make that girl at least respect me. She has to hate me. And here’s why.
You’ll recall in Part 1, I proposed to my baby mama about a week before she dumped me. What me and her had at the time was not perfect but for the sake of our baby together and in the name of family, I really wanted to make it work with her. (Thank God I dodged that mess. The girl is an emotional disaster!) She dumped me, I got over her. Meanwhile, she left me for a guy who had a live in girlfriend, who was selling her all these wolf tickets about how he loved her and how he was gonna leave his girlfriend for her and it never happened. She chased that man for years and years. He eventually left his girl, or vise versa, and never came through on the promises he made to my poor baby mama. Since then it's just been from one disaster of a relationship to the next. Every year or so she comes to me with a story about how she is planning on moving to some far away state to be with some boyfriend. And in the beginning I use to fight this for the sake of being able to see my daughter. But now I just say ok because I know, just like in the past, it's not gonna work out.
Meanwhile, I’ve been with my wife for over 5 years now. We have 2 beautiful girls together. We are very much in love. She is my Queen and I her King. We even call ourselves King Dodds and Queen Dodds. They are our GameTags on Xbox Live and everything. My world revolves around my Queen and I don't want it any other way.
You see? Everything I have with my wife, my 19 year old mind wanted with my baby mama and deep down, I think my baby mama knows that too. Am I saying she wants to be with me? No. I don't believe so. What I am saying is that the lifestyle that she so badly wants she was right on the doorstep of it all those years ago and she just walked away without opening that door. And I built that same lifestyle with someone exponentially better than her. And, in her mind, the loss of that lifestyle can't be her fault. It just can't. To be that close to the dream, no way she would have let that slip away. I must have done something! Today the reason to hate me is that she feels I don't see my daughter enough but when I was living in her city and getting my daughter every weekend she still hated me. And when I’m in a position to be ABLE to see her as much as I’d like, there will magically materialize a different, made up reason to hate me. She will always hate me. She has to hate me. It makes her feel better about herself. And like I tell my wife when she uses me as an excuse to friends and family why she can't go somewhere with them when she really just doesn't want to go: “I’ll be your bad guy if you need me to be. I’m fine with that.”
Before we get started here, you should know that I hate, “to be continued” endings. However, it was brought to my attention that when I write these blogs that they tend to get kind of lenghy. So to make it a bit easier to digest I’ve broken this up into two parts. You’re welcome :-)
Ok, so I have this thing with my baby mama where I'm nice to her and she tries her hardest to make me snap off on her. It's kind of our thing...well it's kind of her thing and I’m forced to play along until our child together is 18 years old. I’ve consistently maintained a winning edge in our little game/hostage situation by simply being the bigger person. And I say “bigger person” so she can use it to make an immature and lame joke about me being fat. It's my contribution to the game. I’m fine with that.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. In order to fully understand the altercation that she initiated with me at one of my recent comedy shows (yeah, she’s that kind of baby mama) you must first have at least a basic understanding of our past. A past that I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to leave exactly there...in the past. But I digress. Back to the beginning…
God where do I start? Ok, I’ll make this part short. We were in high school. I was a junior, she was a sophomore...I think. In the beginning she was terrible. Not as a person. I mean, she was nice and friendly and all but she was just a horrible girlfriend. From flirting with other guys behind my back to flirting with other guys in my face. She just was not girlfriend material...like at all. And no matter how many times I’d tell her that thats not cool she just wouldn't stop. I’m not confrontational so I just stopped bringing it up.
Then along comes this other girl. This other girl is better than my baby mama in every way imaginable without even trying...and she’s showing interest in ya boy. Now up until that point I’d never broken up with anyone before. My baby mama was my first real “girlfriend.” I wanted to break up with her then but I just didn't know how. I was kind of just hoped she would just go away. Stupid on my part, I know. Anyway, my baby mama gets wind of this and asks me to disassociate myself with the other girl. Uhh...no?!?! How many times did I beg you to stop flirting and you just disregarded my requests. Miss me with that mess...of better yet, break up with me so I can date this other girl with a clear conscience. (it should also be mentioned that, to this day, my baby mama swears up and down that I had sex with the other girl and as much as I would love to have that notch on my belt, I don't.)
Ok. So my baby mama gets pregnant my senior year. I disaffiliate myself from the other girl and focus on this family that I thought we were gonna try to make work. And from then until the baby is born, my baby mama and I are great together. I graduated in June, the same month the baby is born. She starts her senior year and everything turns to ka ka poo poo.
Ok, so this is the best part. After she graduates. I talk to one of my closest friends at the time to see if he will give her a job at the fast food restaurant he manages. This friend also happens to be dating “the other girl” from earlier in the story. No biggie though. Or so I thought. (Oh my God! Here comes the good part!! I’m so anxious for you to read it!!)
What I’m about to tell you next I found out about from my baby mama only after we had broken up. But for the sake of chronology I’m telling you now. So I’d come to the restaurant to pick her up after one of her closing shifts. I’m sitting in the parking lot in my car waiting for her and “the other girl” is sitting in her car waiting for her boyfriend/my friend. There are no other cars in the parking lot and no other people in the restaurant. My baby mama and my friend decide to take this opportunity to have sex with each other inside the restaurant while their significant others wait for them outside. (I told you that was the best part!!!) Looking back, I’d have to say, it was so player how she just got in my car and had me drive her home like everything was ok. I almost kind of envy her ability to be...we’ll just say, that way (See? Bigger person.) I later found out that it was her way of getting back at “the other girl.” I’m not sure how though seeing as how the other girl, to this day, knows nothing about the incident.
Moving on... So maybe a couple months pass and I propose to her. She says yes only to leave me a week later for a man whom she is aware lives with his fiance. Leave me to ruin another relationship? I talked all that stuff about her not being girlfriend material but I couldn't have been any better if she was willing to jump off of my ship just to sink a different ship. But whatever. Time passes. She makes a few last ditch attempts to get back with me that all fail miserably (she just couldn't leave other men alone, in case you’re curious). She did her best to keep me away from our baby to the point where I had to go downtown and tell the people to make her let me see my kid. It was a mess.
Here’s the thing. I’ve always been the type of person to get over stuff pretty easily. When she dumped me, I cried like a little girl, wished I was dead, all of that. I could tell you the name of every sad song that was playing on the radio at that time. It was a rough time for me but I got over it. Now I’ve been no saint since then. When I found out why she was leaving me and for whom, I called her every hoe, bitch, slut, tramp...anything I felt was synonymous with back stabbing Jezebel. Then when I found out she had sex with one of my closest friends at the time while we were still together, it was a wrap. But still I moved on. She did all these things, I’m the one who’s moved on and wants to be friends but she hates me. And again I’m fine with that.
She has her reasons for hating me, let her tell it. Now a days, her reason for hating me is that I don't see our child enough. Thats a fair statement. I don't see her enough. But two things about that: First, I see her when I can. We don't live in the same city and I can only do what I can do. Her coming down to a room I’m performing at and spazzing out afterwards isn’t helping the situation. Second, thats why she hates me today, but when I was living in her city and seeing my daughter every weekend she still hated me, like I slept with her friend or left her for someone else. Then it hit me: She has to hate me.
Now that you're up to speed and have a brief look into what might be the psychology behind the decision making process, lets talk about the spazz out at the comedy club...in part 2. I told you "to be continued" endings suck!
Ok, So when i was like a sophomore or junior in high school, I was involved in this afterschool program at the Frederick Douglas Center (The Doug) in Toledo called Y.O.P. It was an acronym but I have no idea what it meant. But anyway, one day they had a few of us read something out loud in front of some people. Let me first say that I was fairly advanced for my age. Always have been. Not sure if this was because of me being super smart or if TPS just had very, VERY low curriculum but everything taught to me in school always came very easily. For example, without trying, I graduated from high school with a 3.49 gpa. I never...not once took home homework. I say that to say that what ever it was they had us reading out loud could not have been that big of a deal considering how dope I was. That will be significant later. So we read whatever it was and one of the adults who worked at The Doug fetched me to his office. I say fetched because, although he was at the reading thing, he sent someone over to me to tell me to come to his office. I’d never met or seen the dude before but I had only really met the adults in charge of my after school program. He was a short, fat, black dude, not too dark but not light-skinned either, late 30’s early 40’s, balding and wore glasses. Picture a black George Costanza with a scraggly beard. If I remember correctly, dudes name was Dewey. So, I’m direct to dudes office, I open the door and in his little office he’s sitting behind a desk that takes up much of the room, is horizontally centered and is more so to the back of the room. His hands folded, he’d look like a low budget evil villain if not for a genuine, “I’m a good guy” smile he was wearing. He began to tell me who he was and why I was there. His voice was really soft, not like feminine soft but quite. Dude struck me as kind of weird but I was a kid. Keep it real, all adults were kind of weird to me in their own individual way. So, I’m in there right, and dude tells me that we was impressed with the way I presented myself in the reading and how confident I was with my reading and he wanted to give me a gift. Fine. Whatever. It’ll probably be like some paper or a binder for school or something stupid like that. I really didn't care I just wanted to get back to my friends. Dude said he wanted to give me a pager. Early 2000’s that was a hell of a gift. Thats whats up, right? Heck yeah I’ll take your pager! AND you gone pay the bill on it too?!? My nigga! We cool. So we talkin and he wants to know more about me and my interests so I tell him I always wanted to know how to play the piano. Thats when he tells me that he plays the piano at his church in addition to serving as a deacon and he’d be happy to give me free lessons. What?!?!? Dude! My nigga! All for reading a stupid excerpt from some stupid whatever it was?!?! What a deal right…? Right?
So a few days go by and Dewey comes by my house and drops off my new pager! We schedule my first lesson. Once a week, every week. Everythings great. I get to his house for the first lesson and, if i remember correctly it goes off without a hitch...the lesson itself, that is. Dudes house was a tad bit cluttered though. He had pet iguanas and lizards and snakes and stuff. Which he introduces me to as if they were contributing on the bills or something. Dude was serious about his reptiles. Along with the basics and mechanics of learning how to play piano, he was also teaching me how to play and actual song. I can't remember which song it was but I think my fingers still know. It's a very popular church song and if I said the title you would know which song it was. It’ll come to me later. Ok. so reptiles, lessons, day is over and I leave. I get a page from dude a couple days later and he wants to take me out to breakfast one day this week. Cool. I like to eat. We go to breakfast at a place called Maria’s on Secor by where the old movie theater use to be a couple days later. “ORDER MY STEPS!!!!” That was the name of the song. Told you it would come back to me. Anyway, nothing weird happens at Maria’s. Mind you, I’m still feeling this guy out. I don't know him but aside from being an old dude hanging out with a teenager he’d just met and the reptile fetish he seems like a normal dude. Then it gets weird...and other stuff.
Next lesson. I'm at dudes house and he tells me that he would like to buy me my own keyboard to have at my house to practice but until then he’ll give me a key to his house incase i want to practice while he’s not home. Not his apartment. His house. A key. To a teenager. He just met. Oh and the password to his home security system...again, to a teenager. He just met. Understand, he hadn't known each other a month yet. Ok. He’s a bit of a overly trusting guy but, whatever. I’m a good kid. I’m not gonna do anything unethical...right. Maybe he see’s something in me...Maybe God has placed it on his heart to take me under his wing...right. He’s a man of faith…(we’ll see) Ok, so key, security password, piano lesson, days done. I go home.
Next lesson. I’m in there, I’m playing the keyboard. I feel fine. But dude keeps telling me all throughout the lesson to relax and that I seem tense and uptight and is something bothering me. Which it wasn't. I was fine. Towards the end of the lesson he tells me that he can sense that I’m tense and it is effecting my playing. Then……..dude actually suggests that we practice in the nude together to combat the nervousness…….ummm…..nooooo…...yeah, thanks but no. I’m good. Lesson’s done, I leave.
WTF just happened?!?!?!? Did dude just ask me to play the keyboard naked with him?!?!? Yeah, definitely not comfortable with this dude anymore. Ok….benefit of the doubt time: I don't know...maybe he’s just a weird guy. He said he had other studentS that he does this with...I can't do it but is that reason enough for me to just stop these lessons? Just because the guys a little different?!?!? I’ll just do me and he can do him...as long as he misses me with that weirdness, right? I don't know. The other side of this coin is that I was in Teen Pep in high school which was an in school program that acted out and talked about unsafe and questionable scenarios with the students. The same scenario that I was in with this Dewey dude was one that we acted out...almost exactly except it was a coach and a player. So I’m also thinking…”is this grown ass man tryina get in my pants?!?!?!?!?” Nooooooo!!! Dudes a man of God, right?!?!? He wouldn't be trying to do anything like that. He just has some unconventional methods…...right?!
This internal battle goes on for a few weeks: do I go back for the lessons, do I not go back for the lessons? The only thing i knew for sure was that whatever I was gonna do, I was gonna be fully clothed when i did it. All the while I’m making up excuses to dude why i can't come to the lessons. He then tells me that he’s gonna deactivate the pager. He feels like I’m quitting and if that was the case then he missed judged me from the beginning. Looking back on the situation as an adult, dude was a perverted genius. So I agree to go back for the lessons fully clothed. And THIS is where it gets….well...just read on.
Next lesson. I get to dudes house and let myself in. His direction. As I’m coming into the house he’s walking out of his bedroom which is right off the dining room where the piano lessons take place. I think nothing of it. It's his house, he can be where he wants. As long as he’s got his clothes on, I’m cool. Before the lesson, for whatever reason, he voluntarily tells me that he is a part of program that teaches men in prison, through video tapes, how to masturbate…..and….ummm... fellatiate …...ooookkkay not sure why you’re telling me this but whatever. No sooner than I had thought that, I found out why. He then asks me...a 15 or 16 year old kid if he could fellatiate me as part of his instructional video?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? ummm….noooooo! TF is wrong with this dude?!?!?!?!?
Thank God for Teen Pep back in high school because the picture was starting to become clear. Dude praises me for that whack ass reading (told you it’d be significant). Buys me gifts (the pager.) Takes me to breakfast. Trusts me with his house. Then threatened to take it away when I started to retreat...dude was tryina sugar daddy me!!
It's now clear that I need to get out of here. But I don't wanna trip. Dude knows where I live, knows where I go to school and if he’s crazy enough to ask a kid if he can give him top then who knows how much more crazy he is. I make the decision to just play it cool and make it through the lesson without causing much of a stir and just never come back. Besides, I’m a big, 230 pound varsity football player. If dude tries something funny I have no doubt I can take him. Ok. So, I’m playing the keyboard. He’s not really teaching me he’s just kind of in the room and my back is to him. Although I’m playing, the majority of my attention is focused on where he is and what he’s doing. I’m on my toes. In the middle of the “lesson” if we’re still calling it that, I took a break, as I always do. Dude had the nerve to offer me something to drink. Why? So you can drug me and wake up tied to your bed face down?!?!? Nigga, no!!!! I didn't say all that though. Trying to keep a low profile. I politely decline. I think dude started sensing my “this nigga is a crazy pervert” vibe. Without saying it, I think he knew that this would be my last session with him. I think he made a mental decision like, “f*ck it. time to pull out all the stops!” Because believe it or not, it got weirder...much much weirder! He then shares with me that he use to be gay and that it was something that he struggles with. He then...proceeds to show me like a six second clip of him taking it in the ass…...me…..a 15 or 16 year old kid. He then chuckled and said, “he was tearing me up.” DUDE!!!! TF!!!!! Ok. It might just be time to make a run for it. Forget all that not wanting to trip stuff. I might have to trip and if he retaliates at a later date then I’ll just cross that bridge when I get to it. The first opening I get, I’m gone!
Ok. So I’m back on the keyboard. I’m basically just pressing keys. ALL of my attention is on dude and what he is doing. In case he tries to catch me slippin. I keep my back to him though. I don't want him to know that I’m on to him. Just in case surprise needs to become a weapon. His movements decrease and as far as I can tell he is in the corner of the room behind me and to my left. Again, I can't see him but I’ve been tracking his movements through noise like a damn bat or something. I’m sure he’s there. And he’s staying there. He’s not moving...as far as I can hear. Aside from him breathing it's quiet for a moment then I hear a sound...almost like someone is chewing gum really loud, but not really. Now his breathing is getting louder. I turn around and, no lie, this nigga is sitting on a dining room chair in the corner of the room, facing me, butt ass naked, beating off!!! Man, I got up and calmly walked out. I thought about running but I walked out calmly because at this point I wanted to give him a chance to try and physically stop me so I could be justified in beating him into the ground. But I left without incident and I never went back. Never told anyone at The Doug either...although I should have.
I saw dude years later at a bus stop in downtown Toledo. I was an adult by then. Not sure if he saw me. I didn't even recognize him at first. By the time I had realized who he was we had gone our separate ways. And THAT, my friends, is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me! ……….I KNOW, RIGHT!?!?!?!?!?
I'm a comedian. Have been for as long as I can remember. From pratfalls in elementary school to sharing stages with some of your favorite comedians today. I've always loved making people laugh. Sometimes at my own expense. As long as I get a laugh, it really doesn't matter to me. I'm a giggle whore and I'm fine with that. I knew very early on that it was my purpose in life to simply bring joy to people in the form of the oldest way to do so. It was liberating in a way. A lot of times as a young person, once you begin to understand that everyone has a purpose in life, you struggle to discover what your purpose is. That part was easy for me. The difficult part for me came as a young adult: now that I am apart of the working class, how do I take my purpose and apply it to my life? How do I become a person who does what they love for a living? How do I never "work" a day in my life because my career is my passion? How do I become a douche bag that gets to ask himself questions in third person in a blog and have it be considered productive?
As I became a young adult and life started beating the shit out of me, the focus became less about my passions and dreams and more about defensive survival. From about 18 years old to around 25, I wasted most of my time smoking weed, drinking and working dead end jobs and not giving a second thought to my career or my life after that current week. Maybe the biggest mistake of my life. (I fall short of calling it a regret because everything I've been through...well...you know how the saying goes. moving on...) My moment of clarity came to me in the Fall of 2009. I was 25 years old and working customer service in a call center for Alltel. I'd been there for maybe about a year but it had been my second call center job and I was hating life. I was on the phone with a customer who was asking me one of about a dozen routine questions a customer will ask and for whatever reason it was the straw that broke the camels back. I had reached my "same shit different day" threshold. I hung up on the customer and rested my face in my hands and let out a very loud "fuck this shit" sigh. As I sat there trying to decide if when I went all murder suicide on the place would I leave any survivors, a coworker took notice and engaged me. Not sure what to say, I just said, "I think I'm done." Which coming from someone who works in a call center to someone who works in a call center means absolutely nothing. When a coworker in a call center tells you he wants to quit, all that means is that the call center is doing what it was designed to do: discourage you from looking else where for work because anything you get will be just as bad, if not worse than this. You become a prisoner to the crappy call center monster and she whispers in your ear, "you might as well stay here where at least you know everyone." No...everything is normal with that coworker. Its the call center coworker that at one point was so adamant about leaving and optimistic about his chances of a happy work life and is now silently enduring the beating he's taking that should concern you. He is planning something that will be...we'll just say spectacular...yeah. But anyway, after hearing me bitch about being a loser, my coworker made the suggestion that I should try stand up comedy. A few open mics later and I haven't looked back.
So at 25 years old I found the answer. The challenge now becomes to find a way to stay motivated. Stand up comedy is a grind. A long and sometimes discouraging grind. But its what I love to do so I have to stay motivated. Its therapeutic. Whether I become a household name or nothing more than an open mic comic, I'll be doing this for the rest of my life. Which is cool...I really don't have anything else to do.