I am Michael ... Wilbon

So I go to my neighborhood version of Cheers last night better known as Fridays for a few LITs (better known as Long Island Iced Teas, aka the drink that's four-fifths alcohol if made properly).

I neeedd to kick back after a long day, and before a long weekend of working this Champions Tour event in Kansas City.

So anyways, all of the formalities are now done with so I can continue. There I sat at the bar talking to one of the bartenders, and a gentlman trying to make conversation askes me a question:

"So did you here about George Foreman?" he said.

I shook my head because I hadn't the slightest clue as to what he spoke of.

"He's making a comeback," he said.

"Are you serious? George Foreman? For what? He's got enough money off of that grill that he should be good. What is he going to fight for? He's going to kill himself or be killed."

It stayed on my brain for a while, even while tipsy. Is dude about to start the Champions (Seniors) Boxing Circuit? What's really good?

So anyway, I went home after about three drinks, and turned on ESPN News, which is what I fall asleep to every night. I saw the deal about Lakers' forward Lamar Odom's sixth-month-old baby. How sad.

I woke up this morning to the death of Randy Walker, the Northwestern football coach, scrolling across my screen.

And then on the screen came Evander "The Real Deal" Holyfield. I didn't even need to turned the television volume up to know that the gentleman at the bar had made a grave mistake. He called Evander, George.

But it's ok. We all look alike to them anyway. Speaking of which, I'll be signing autographs as Michael Wilbon next weekend at Friday's. I wonder how many people will confuse me for him.

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Today I Didn't Even Have To Use My AK

.... I'd Have To Say It Was A Good Day."

Everybody knows I love poker and most of my close friends know I'm alright at the game.

Last night I ventured into uncharted territory, playing in a "high stakes" cash game, and walked away positive about 2-hun, an Ice Cube type good day.

But the evening enhanced itself becuase of two moments.

1) While playing, I decided I wanted to be Phil Ivey, the best poker player on the planet by most accounts, and put on my I-Pod. Yeah, me and YRUN2DP (The I-Pod's name as well as this blog) were going to have a chill session.

The dealer promptly told me that I wasn't allowed to wear headphones. Seriously. He then joked about how he wished I could turn it up so he could hear it.

"You wouldn't want to listen to this," I said jokingly.

"Yeah, I don't like that rap stuff," he quipped back illiciting evil stares and chimes from everyone at the table. "What? There's too much violence. I like the beat. But it's too violent."

This was an older white male, like the old guy in Ocean's 11 and 12. I had to get him.

"You know, I don't even like rap music," I said speaking truthfully. "I prefer soul music. But right now I'm listening to something you would like. Frank Sinatra's Mack The Knife."

Now I lied about that last part, but his look said he was stunned that I even knew what Mack The Knife was. Impressed, nonetheless, he nodded his head not understanding that I had baited him.

"You know what Mack the Knife is about, right?" a fellow player asked the dealer, who knew he'd been duped. "It's about a serial killer."

2) There was one other priceless moment, that actually cost me a few dollars. A dealer dealt me a 9-2 offsuit, a hand not worth playing.

Disgusted by my lack of good cards, I mucked my hand so hard the it showed.

"Dude, you should never fold that hand, you have to play that 9-2 off every time," said this gentleman to my right, of course he was being sarcastic.

I looked at him with a slight smirk because, well, I like sarcastic assholes because I can be one of the best.

Then the flop came. 9-9-2. Everyone at the table busted out in laughter as if there had been a bad beat or something. Sarcasm Sam and I high five each other because it was the funniest thing to happen all night.

Inside though, I was pissed.

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When We Knew ...

that there was something direly wrong with Eddie Murphy.

Forget Johnny Gill. This is when we knew.

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Just A Thought ...

and a stupid one at that. But I think I may have stumbled upon why some blacks don't use proper grammar.

The song Gettin Some Head by Shawnna of Disturbing Tha Peace. It's talking about "receiving oral sex," the proper way of saying it. Put it like this, what if the hook went like this (sing it in your head):

I was receiving some head,
receive, receiving some head
I was receving some head,
receive, receiving some head
I was receiving some head,
receive, receiving some head
I was (She's the kind of girl who will make your toes fly)

So, yeah. That doesn't quite sound right, does it?

My second question for the evening comes from an interesting observation from the family of Kaduk's. K-duck's broham asked him why there are so many black actors portraying elderly black women in movies.

He asked me, and I started thinking. There's Madea (Tyler Perry) and Big Momma (Martin Lawrence). Both carried guns as well. I don't quite understand what the obsession is with a black man playing his grandma or someone old enough to be that person. But there are, in my opinion, two too many black guys playing those roles and making a crapload of money off of those characters.

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Is This Cheating ....

Reading through a few other blogs and piecing together a few other conversations I've started thinking about this term "emotional cheating."

It's why I haven't posted in a few days. I want to figure it out, and I think I may have a clue now. What's different about emotional cheating from good ol' filandering? It's not about the physical. It's about your heart, and giving/sharing your feelings with someone who is not your mate/girlfriend/boyfriend.

I just really wonder if there's no physicality to it, if it's really cheating. I mean, if you're not doing anything but talking with someone other than your spouse/mate about your relationship and what you feel, is that really cheating? I don't think so.

No doubt, I'll be the first one to say that you and your mate must be best friends, and should be able to talk freely about all things and do all things in front of each other without embarassment from talking about periods to making use of lavatory systems in front of each other.

But I'm not so sure that when you talk with someone else about your relationship problems and seek happiness there that it should be considered going outside the relationship.

I have a plethora of platonic female friends. I talk to some of them often about most everything that's going on with me. I enjoy their company. So does that mean that I'd have to give up the depth of those friendships when I'm in a relationship just because there's some sect of my happiness that is derived from those people, and they're there to comfort me in moments of relationship despair? I think not.

If you're really grown you shouldn't have to get rid of platonic friends of the opposite sex for your relationship. You should be able to, again if you're adult enough, to not cross the physical boundaries.

And if you cross those lines, then you shouldn't be in your relationship. Point blank. But you're going to have friendships/relationships with other people - male and female. Should they be overly emotional where you're eluding or conspiring to physically cheat? No. If that's the case, you might as well cheat and be done with the relationship.

Ha finuto. that's one of the few things I can say in Italian. It's I have finished.

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Inappropriate Dialogue

"Y'all Niggas is gay" ~ Riley Freeman, The Boondocks

If you haven't heard, Ozzie Guillen, the manager for the Chicago White Sox, called Sun-Times columnist a fag a few days ago to a group of reporters while the tape recorders and cameras were turned off.

My thoughts? Boo-fucking-who. Is it inappropriate? Yeah. It is. But in society we do this everyday - use words that are "derogatory" to describe what we think of someone. Look no further than the words of Riley Freeman for my example.

Aaron McGruder, the creator of the Boondocks, had Riley purposely call two white dudes "gay niggas" to imply that they were weird and ignorant, literally. Most people just thought it was funny, and it is. But there was more intent beyond being funny and being a black dude who could get away with using the word "nigga" over and over again on cable television.

Same can be said with Ozzie Guillen. Dude, who is clearly an idiot for thinking that since he goes to Madonna concerts that its okay to call people gay, clearly didn't mean any disrespect to homosexuals.

He meant to and should have just said what he said today: "(Mariotti) is a piece of shit."

That would have worked. Ozzie wouldn't have been fined or reprimanded. He should have watched his mouth. He shouldn't get a break because he's Latino. He shouldn't get a break at all.

But I think it's a situation where we have to look ourselves as well and wonder how many times we've said something offensive or that's not politically correct. We do it virtually everyday, but in the confines of comfort and not in the public eye.

I guess I just think it's a double standard because Aaron McGruder can get away with saying something like that in a sketch little happen, but Ozzie Guillen can't call Mariotti a fag without reprimand.

It must be noted that I agree with both McGruder and Guillen. Those two white dudes in the Boondocks were ignorant and weird (they tried to kidnap Oprah and nabbed Maya Angelou instead), and Jay Mariotti is weak (at least I think he is for not going in the ChiSox locker room to face the music).

Oh yeah, I know you're wondering why there's a random picture of Chris Rock on this post. I haven't been able to post pictures like I wanted to with my top five comedians, and it finally worked. So I thought I make use of this feature although I didn't feel like lookin for a picture of Ozzie Guillen or Mariotti.

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No more "Curls for the Girls" ...

So last night I told Heathclaire that I planned on chopping off my bushel of hair today.

She lauded me with this faint "yay" (notice that it's not "YAY!") almost as to say "You should have done this weeks, maybe months ago. Now you might actually look right," but without saying it really. She didn't say anything aside from that - like twice.

It never seemed like she was a fan of the curls. But there are some out there including my moms. I always get compliments on it when I'm out, and I like it. But it had to go.

You see, understanding my hair is like aloof men understanding women. It ain't really happening - unless it's explained. Unfortunately for you, I'm not going that far into to detail except to say that I don't have to wash my hair every day to be able to make it look the way I want it to look.

It's gone or as K-Duck or any other Chicago Southsider would say "He gone!"

I went to my cousin barbershop, and I had to remind him of his joke about my hair whenever I let it fro out: "I'm your No. 1 fan" from The Incredibles.

But then we actually got into a good discussion as we always do. The question of the day, well, I've been asking it to random friends for the last few weeks, but ... Who are the five best comedians (stand-up) since Eddie Murphy?

Now, my cousin, the barber, is a comedian. No joke, he opened for Cedric the Entertainer just last week, and does shows all around the midwest. So his opinion matters. We actually ended up not being to far off from each other. Here's my top five, and a few stragglers. Our top four consisted of the same guys.

Honorable Mention: Katt Williams, D.L. Hughley, Bernie Mac, Kathy Griffin, Cedric the Entertainer and Adam Sandler.

5. Lewis Black - The most sarcastic white man I've ever seen, and you wouldn't think tight, sarcastic white men would be that funny, but Lewis Black pulls it off well.

4. Martin Lawrence - His movies are all whack, but if you have seen You So Crazy, then you you get the hype. Dude is mad crazy, but his real life stories are funny as hell.

3. Dave Chappelle - He's raw. Insightful, and not afraid of race issues at all. He's probably the edgiest of any of the comedians on the list, and I think that's why people love him as much as he does.

2. Jamie Foxx - All I have to say is, Have you seen I Might Need Security? If you haven't, then you couldn't understand why he's right here. But he's supposed to be.

1. Chris Rock - like fine wine, gets better with age and actually talks about the important things in life without a problem - politics, relationships, etc.

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I'ma Make It Do What It Do

"You gotta feel bad for Stan Van Gundy." ~ Rmattwill

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For One Win ...

The quote of the day:

"I packed one suit, one shirt and one tie, and that it." ~ Pat Riley, Miami Heat Head Coach, before his team went out to win Game 6 against the Mavericks and clinch the NBA Championship.

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Being Emotionally Available ...

"I don't believe you're emotionally available ..."

Her simple phrase flowed out of her mouth as though she had climbed into my mind, and plucked my thoughts away. The message was concise. "It seems like you're still there, so you can't be here."

Ass backwards. That's what I thought of me not being emotionally ready for something new.

"My mind has one track, and it says (insert name of the young lady I was speaking with)," I said at some point later.

But how do I prove this to be truth? I tried explaining that my cup of Double B emotions is as dry as the Sahara, that it's been nearly a year or so since I really had a sincere faith in that "situation."

Yeah, I've had a faint hope, but that has been predicated off of investing the better part of four years of my life in that "situation." That cup isn't half full or half empty. It has been obliterated.

"I can't grow in that situation anymore," I said. "I can't learn anything else. It's helped shape me into the man I am, but there isn't much else there for me."

That is truth. The only thing left there is an unwarrant desire for Double B to see me happy with someone else to see what she screwed up. But even that's childish and unnecessary. Dude, I want that girl to be happy and to find what she wants, understanding I can't be a part of it. I have to be happy myself ...

I so understand that, and I am past the idea of hurt feelings and being "emotionally available" to that "situation." I know this. I'm happy by myself. Content with who I am, happy about where my life is headed and feel like I'm ready for someone to share those experiences with now.

The question is: how do I prove it? How do I gain the trust of someone new? Yeah, I know what I have to do. I have to just be myself, and have faith. I understand that it will take some time, but the way I see it, it should be worth it. Maybe it will work. Maybe it won't.

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The Best of YRUN2DP?

I often have lists on this blog so I figured that I could be lazy and list the five posts of mine I have enjoyed the most. Hey, you've probably missed some of it. Here we go, here's the best of what I've posted (per my opinion) since October 2005 ...

5. Still Jonesing (Oct. 2005): No, it's not about you know who. But this post speaks to the lack of good black movies.
http://dmansmi.blogspot.com/2005/10/still-jonesing.html

4. Said I'm So Sick of Bad R&B (March 2006): My top 20 R&B/Soul albums are listed. It's a pretty thorough one I'm say.
http://dmansmi.blogspot.com/2006/03/said-im-so-sick-of-bad-rb.html

3. My Letter to John Mason (May 2006): My ode to the Runaway Bride's husband after they finally broke up.
http://dmansmi.blogspot.com/2006/05/my-letter-to-john-mason.html

2. How to Be A Player (March 2006): Ask Q-Boogie, she knows. This is her account of using her playerrific skills.
http://dmansmi.blogspot.com/2006/03/how-to-be-player.html

1. All Eyez On Me (Nov. 2005): The beginning of an ardous list of 50 different things about me. These are the first ten, and ten of the toughest to get out. If you start, you should read all 50. Most of them still hold true to this moment.
http://dmansmi.blogspot.com/2005/11/all-eyez-on-me-for-few-days.html

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And in the fourth quarter ...

I like to Mike Jordan'em." No this isn't another D-Wade post, though later today that could be the case. Just read the story below, and you'll understand.

By VICK DAMONE, JR.
The YRUN2DP Press

"And in the fourth quarter, I like to Mike Jordan'em."

OVERLAND PARK, Kan. - Jay-Z turned Michael Jordan into a verb with the phrase above, and claims he always comes through in the clutch. Well, Dame Scott did so in similar fashion Saturday afternoon at the College Blvd. Bowling Lanes.

Facing sure defeat, Scott delivered a strike and spare in the tenth frame, and edged out a 113-112 win over "tough as nails" Tiff. The victory secured dinner and a movie to be paid for by the loser.

"My first game is usually a bad one anytime I bowl," Scott said. "Honestly, I didn't think she would be as good as she was. She told me she bowled a 68 last week. Who knew she was capable of this. I had to step my game up a bit earlier than expected. But I have to give her credit, she played a consistent game."

He did face a real scare though. Scott trailed heading into the final frame by 14 points. His last ditch effort gave him hope, but it was Tiff's last second blunders that actually gave Damon victory.

After bowling nine solid frames, she knocked down just five pins in her final one. She needed seven to win. Once at the destination for meal, Fridays, she had to pay for, Tiff refrained from commenting about her game.

"Don't talk to me right now," she said repeatedly when asked questions after the game.

The two had trash talked each other all week long, and Scott said he was just relieved to walk away with a narrow victory.

"You know, I'm speechless right now (clearly not the case because he's talking)," he said. "You can look at it and say she gave it to me because she messed up in the final frame, but I also had to put myself in a position to win.

"I can't help that she went Dirk Nowitiki in her final frame and I came through like D-Wade. That's just how I do. I did that, and now she must pay."

Arrangements for the movie have not been set just yet.

As they left Friday, it appeared to be on bad terms. Scott ran out after her screaming this phrase:

"You gone pay what you owe Tiff! You gone pay what you owe!"

Vick Damone, Jr. is a senior staff writer for YRUN2DP. He can be reached at dmansmi@gmail.com or by leaving a comment below.

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Tennis Ball, Part 2

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You Can Smack Me Up Against The Wall...

I'm not going to say anything. Just watch it.

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Finally ...

I walked into Vivace, aka The IceBar, laced with the searsucker suitjacket, DKNY tee and jeans.

I actually changed clothes, well, shirts three times in order to find the look I was going for, and I finally got it. See my efforts were directed at impressing the young lady that this playlist was meant for, considering she slid into town for an early weekend.

We kept the first embrace short, but sincere and somehow, within 30 seconds of me getting to the door, found ourselves on the makeshift dance floor grooving to the sounds of a dynamic two-man band.

The song sounded so familiar as if I'd just heard it, but i couldn't quite put my finger on it. Then the chorus kicked in ...

"Me ... and ... Miss ... Miss Jones. We gotta a thing, going on ..."

The corners of my lips turned upward with a slight showing of my teeth. Freddie Jackson's classic couldn't have been a more fitting song for the moment.

Just the start of a good evening that seemed as though it would take care of itself.
--- Thursday, about 11:45 p.m.
We slide into Blonde, three guys two girls, and find a way past the $10 cover for men. Yeah, a $10 cover for a club in Kansas City on a Thursday night. Go figure.

I hadn't stepped foot in Blonde for almost six months, but little had changed. Superficial fronters dancing with their ignorance vailed behind the music because they really don't have much to say and aren't about much more than you see. Yeah, not necessarily my spot, but some of the music hit the spot.

The DeeJay caught us all off guard with MowtownPhilly, a Boyz II Men classic. We crooned out every word as though our names were Michael, Wanya and Nate.

Two and a half Bacardi and cokes later, I'm in chill mode with my peeps, making eye contact and non-verbal convo with newbies ready for the chance to truly unleash the jones.
---
Friday, About 2 a.m.
Blonde is closing. It's finally time for good conversation, no matter how late. Otts' patio, next to Blonde is the next destination. There you can hear yourself think, talk, chew, swallow. A brand new enviroment in comparison to Blonde.

Now, it's just the young lady and I.

We talk in circles about life, personal struggles and other random ish. We close down Otts at 2:50 with an unhappy wait staff. After about 20 minutes in the car, the young lady asks if I want to head somewhere ... Chubby's.

Somewhere in there, on the way to Chubby's or before that or when we got there, the conversation finally begins ...

"I think I'm ready for something new," I said, blindy hinting around the idea of me being with the person before me. "I feel like that's what I want."

Then the truth came out.

"I don't think that you're emotionally available," she said to me. It was something I'd heard before, but she just kind of threw it right at me as though she were saying 'you're not ready to commit to me or anyone else' (although we hadn't completely expressed "like" at this point) but not really saying it.

Somewhere in the mix, she gets to a point where I can tell she's about to talk about "us" and I just stop her dead in her tracks before she can really let it out.

"You know I am like stupid about you, right?" It really wasn't a question, but I made it one to alleviate the pressure I felt. Finally, I let out what I'd been trying to say for a few weeks now. My actions said it, but I hadn't really expressed it through words.


"Yeah," she replied with a smile on her face. "I've kind of picked that up."

She didn't say much more to it at that moment, just that she felt comfortable with me. I told her that I don't think I've ever been so relieved to tell someone what I felt about them. I also said that I felt as though I was/am emotionally headed in her direction, and don't feel like I have any ties.

She knows my "situation," as do some of you. I don't talk about it or write about it much because there's little to report. I'm not really emotionally there, or for that matter there at all.

"If given the chance, I want to make things work here," I said. "I don't play games. I don't go back and forth. I just want to be here."

The conversation flowed for a few more hours (5 a.m.) before all was said and done. It's one of those things that could take some time - maybe it will work, maybe it won't.

I can tell you I feel no different than I did yesterday aside from relieved. I feel like I've stumbled upon rarity as far as women are concerned. This woman is real, honest and maybe most important, just a good person. It will be interesting to see how things unfold because one of a million things could happen. I'll say this much, I'm perplexed and intrigued and there's absolutely nothing "wrong with the thing I and this young lady have going on."

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Beware of Fourth-Grade Fractions

So I recently engaged in a convo with an unnamed friend, you'll understand why the person is unnamed after this comma, about herpes. (I told you)

I don't know how it became the topic of discussion (the second time it's emerged in a conversation in the last seven days). I just flowed with it. Aside from the effects that you read about or see in high school health classes, I don't know much about it. I know the basics, and I know I don't want it.

There's one fact I do know, and I threw it at this friend.

"You know one in four people supposedly have it," I said.

The friend, a female, paused.

She finally responded with "Damn, I should have had it three times by now. I'm shocked I don't have it."

I started thinking to myself, is she telling me that she's slept with 12 people but in a roundabout way? Yeah, that's the math alright. She really thought that through.

"I guess that means you boned a dozen dudes, huh?"

We both started laughing hysterically. Her quick math proved to be the most creative way someone has ever told me how many people they've added to their list.

I told her how many times I should have caught it per the percentages so she could know my DC, though I think she already knew. And no, I'm not giving you my number or the number of times I should have caught the herp so you can figure it out for yourself.

But really, they say journalists don't like numbers. Ha. Think again.

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Can We Talk for Four More Minutes?

Belizeanchica (who now has me No. 8 in her myspace profile) called last night, and I ranted and raved about a variety of different things: the situation, Ms. New Booty, the job hunting, the book. a whole lot of just stuff.

I had a non-chalant somber mood for most of the day, and it showed in the conversation. But then, while flipping the channels, something magical (not really) happened. Tevin Campbell's Can We Talk came on VH1 Soul.

"Turn to VH1 Soul," I said. Belizeanchica could because she didn't have that channel.

I turned the TV up as loud as I could so she could hear it. I have this issue with playing music over the phone and thinking the person on the other end can hear it as clearly as I can. It's one of my most favorite things to do, and I'm sure I annoy my fair share of friends with it (sorry).

But back to the song. I sang this song to some girls in the sixth grade (back before I got all the bass in my voice, and couldn't sing tenor any more) to prove that I had a voice. It was my favorite song of the sixth grade.

I started singing as though I still had a flattop fade and Cross Colour jeans hugging my 26-inch waistline.

"Last night I, I saw you standing, and I started, started pretending, I knew you and you knew me too ..."

I sang the entire song, ad-libs and all. To my surprise, Belizeanchica, who woulda been in the second grade when the song came out, knew every word as well.

This is a moment when you wish 90s Black Music History was either a major at a University or a category on an Jeopardy episode you were a contestant in.

Answer: Finish this Tevin Campbell lyric, "Gir next, next time you come my way,"
Question: "I'll know just what to say, Can we talk for a minute, girl I want to know your name."
---------
So not long after Tevin went off the air, a song that I loathe came on - Avant's Four Minutes.

The best jeopardy answer for Avant.
Answer: Relative most likely to have portrayed R. Kelly in the Sex Tapes?
Question: Who is Avant.

That is this man's honest claim to fame. Sure he has a few albums out. But I just want someone to name a song that's going to last the test of time on any of them, please.

And he had the nerve to mimick Marvin Gaye's What's Going On album cover. Have you heard Four Minutes? Does Avant seriously think that song is anywhere close resembling any track on any Marvin Gaye album?

I think what bothers me most about this song Four Minutes is it's premise. Dude only has four minutes to get to his girl and say what he's gotta say before she out for good.

My issues with this:
1. If all you have is four minutes, it's too late.
2. If you're three minutes into the song, you don't have four minutes any more. You have one.
3. If you're not in her vicinity, i.e. you're on the phone and on your way, you've lost.
4. By the time you finish this song, i.e. four minutes later, you can't still be singing "I only got four minutes" because four minutes has passed. She's gone, and with her other man.
5. This premise is idiotic, and isn't deserving of air time. It's not as ignorant as Laffy Taffy, but it's close.

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And In The Fourth Quarter ...

... I like to Mike Jordan'em." Just for all of you Heat haters out there. Fourty-two and 13. Fifteen in the fourth. Got Wade? Get some. Enough said.

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Where Are Y'all Going?

I've always had a problem with this one way people say they are in a relationship with someone:
"I'm going with him" or "I go with her" ...

It's pretty annoying. I'm always left to wonder "where are you going with him? To the moon? To class? On a trip to rediscover the Underground Railroad?"

I've never said it, well, at least I don't remember saying it. But it does bother me tremendously. Enough so to where I started thinking about where in the world this phrase "I go with him" derived from. ...

You know me, I overanalyze everything. So this time, I decided not to do that. I employed the help of Yahoo! Answers. I posed the question "what does going with someone mean?"

Yahoo! Response? It gave me the answer to the question "What does going down on someone mean?" Yeah, thanks Yahoo!.

So I decided to do a little more research in a dictionary. Apparently saying you go with someone means is similar to saying two colors go together or match well. I guess it makes sense.

But the first thing that comes to my mind is where you're and your friend are headed. But whatever, I guess I have to open my mind a little.

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My Apologies ...

I left one young lady off of my "trenchcoat with a suit of birth" list. Jill Marie Jones. How could I forget? Please forgive me. (notice how I didn't use the word sorry).

I think in coming days I'm going to come up with a few list like this to rival a fellow blogger's. If you get a second, go to www.theinfiniteink.com, and read the four or five lists Nikki has up. It's probably a good read for females.

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"Crazy. Deranged." ...

I have a sincere question tonight:

How many calls to a person without an answer/call back makes you a crazy person? (please leave an answer in the comments section)

In my last post, I talked about how if I didn't like someone and wanted them to know it, I simply just stopped answering the phone and cut off all contact with the person. (June 13: this only applies in a short-term, getting to know you situation, not long-term stuff)

But in this sense (and also thinking about when you just start talking to someone new), how soon is it okay to call someone when they haven't answered/returned your phone call?

It's always been a cardinal rule of mine never to call someone twice for any reason before they call back. The person you dialed knows that you called them especially if you left some sort of message, a page or voicemail. They'll call back if they wanna talk or respond.

I always thought it made you look desperate/crazy if you called more than once. It kinda falls into that whole category of just showing up at someone's front door (another no-no in Damon's book unless your name is Gabrielle, Halle, Eva (Mendes, Longoria or Pigford) and you're wearing a trenchcoat with a suit of birth underneath it). That's crazy as well.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'll call people more than once for my job because that's what it requires of me. But on the personal side, it's hard to do. I feel awkward, like a bugaboo, and no one likes that status. Hell, it take enough for me to pick up the phone and call anybody these days anyway. I just let most of the people who want to talk to me, well, call me unless I have a sincere interest in you. Then I dial.

As silly as it seems, I think the "not calling game" a part of the relationship tango that men and women play that should be respected. Don't call me more than once, unless you happen to be that person who want to call me 100 times a day just cause I wanna hear your ringer. You're okay, whoever you are (since I don't exactly know who you are).

Otherwise, you'll be considered "Crazy. Deranged."
--------
So I went over my mom's this afternoon, and I pulled out some vinyl. That sound is still richer than any other. Screw the tape, the compact disc and digital music. The vinyl sound is where it's at.

I listened to the first record my brother and I ever owned, Michael Jackson's Bad album, which was bought for us as a joint Christmas present. I have it on my I-pod, but it's not the same.

Next up was Luther's (He doesn't need a last name at this point) Greatest Hits. I threw in a little Earth, Wind and Fire. Some Smokey, and it was officially a groove session. Oh yeah, my mother actually had some real Vic Damone. No joke. ...

It got me thinking back to how my Dad used to watch the games when he was still a bachelor (after my parents were divorced). Every Sunday afternoon, he turn down the television volume, put some Sade or Frankie Beverly on wax, and watch the Chiefs or whatever football game was on.

If you want to know where I got my love of soulful music, there it is. It's rooted in me.

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Five Reasons Why ....

you should never use the "It's not you, it's me" statement.

5. Because it's really you.
4. The person you're leaving will try even harder to make things work believing they can "fix you."
3. If you're your best Public Relations Agent, isn't this a self-smear campaign in a way?
2. You come off as the crazy person.
1. Because the other person knows you're lying because they know they have issues/are crazy, and they won't stop chasing you anyway.

Five reasons why you should say "it's not you, it's me" ...

5. Because this statement actually works even if it's a lie.
4. Telling someone that they're the problem makes you seem like an asshole, and maybe you are.
3. If the person is crazy, do you feel like dying in the moments after you tell him/her you want to split? use this statement.
2. Because it's someone else completely, like the girl you just met last week and has been intriguing you with her convo ever since.
1. Because it's the damn truth. (I know this is the same reason as another in the other section, but really, it makes sense)

Funny, I don't think I've ever used this phrase to let someone know it was over or ending. Whenever I've felt like ending a situation, I would just stop answering my phone. What? I know it's an asshole move, but it is the most effective method with the best message.

It says, "In my life, you are no longer welcome. I'm not placing blame on you or I, but just know it's over, and the fact that I'm not taking your phone calls should be a serious indication of this fact. I'm just saving you as much energy and time as I possibly can. If I answered the phone, I'd just lead you on further. I apologize (Never say I'm sorry because you give the opposition the chance to say "You are sorry." They can't say "You are apologize."). Have a nice life."

Now it's rare that someone gets this treatment. But it has happened a few more times than I would have liked. But there are some crazy females out there I tell you. Crazy.
----------
On another note, Prime is a great movie. It doesn't have the bullshit fairytale ending.

I remember Kduck saying that Walk The Line was Ray but for white people. Prime is How Stella Got Her Groove Back but for white people, aside from the realistic ending.

Although Stella's real-life story blew up anyway. Dude end up playing for the same team, and Terry McMillan and dude ended up playing their story out in front of the whole world on Oprah (well, maybe 97.3 percent of the female population).

Note: This is a perfect example of "it's not you, it's me" can be a truthful statement. If dude (sorry, can't remember his name) had said told Terry McMillan that it was her fault, she would have backslapped him straight again.

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A Solid Playlist ...

So back when burned CDs were in style, I thought one of the best ways of wooing a woman I liked was to burn a CD conerning how I felt.

Nowadays, that won't quite work. You have to build a playlist, and I guess that's better because you can make use of more songs. Well, here's one that I came up with today. It's infused with some of my favorite tracks of the present and past (and actually the future).

If you don't know an artist or a song, I implore you to step your game up and find this track. There's some good stuff on here. Let me know what you think.

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"You (Non- PG 13 Word)ed Mia ..."

... is a line that led to a pummelling of a Best Man from a groom becuase well ...

He "(non-PG 13 word)ed Mia," the groom's bride to be. Most of you know this situation from The Best Man. It's my favorite line in the movie, I think.

But a fellow blogger recently wrote about the idea of dating a friend's ex (or in this case, sleeping with their bride to be), and whether or not it's okay. Now, let's get this out of the way: unless the bride is Halle Berry, there' s no reason for the Best Man to sleep with the groom's fiancee, and even that's a stretch.

Now dating a friend's ex: I don't think that should be done either, except for in extreme situations.

I remember back to middle and high school, the formative years, how friends would switch out boy and girlfriends like boys trading baseball cards or girls borrowing clothes. It was the thing to do.

I never really understood it. Why would I ever want to lay hands on a woman one of my boys had been drooling over. That's just wrong because you hurt people's feelings.

I didn't follow through with something this ignorant in high school nor college. Actually, I've never officially done it. But I did come close after graduation.

One of my boys had been feeling this girl for a while, and when they stopped talking on her accord he asked me to do damage control: talk to her and see where her head was. She seemed to be good people from the times we met.

And once we started talking, things kind of clicked, that good converastion, ya know? And at that time I thought it was extremely rare, and it still is, that you find people you can just talk for hours about anything and not want to get off the phone or leave that person's presence.

Well we both knew we liked each other. She knew nothing was going to work with this guy. But we also knew we weren't going anywhere more than friendship to make sure we didn't hurt our mutual friend.

She and I talked about it. Cleared the air, and definte our situation as just a friendship. We'd hang out every now and then - go stepping, drinking and chill out - but no romanticism in the place. Be adults, and that would be the end of it. Right?

Wrong. A day after our talk, our mutual friend asked me what was up with me and his ex. I don't lie, and I figured that telling the truth would be the best thing to do, so I did...

and I lost friend. Dude couldn't understand how I could even like her. In some ways, I felt him because I wouldn't want any of my guys after my exs - anybody I've slept with or talked to either - either, but it happens. It's probably happening right now.

It's a part of life. I thought I'd done him justice by not acting. But I was wrong.

Maybe I should have gone the whole way so he could have attempted to hold me over his balcony and scream at me about how I'm not God and how he could kill me. But this isn't a movie, and Taye Diggs role in the best man will not be the story of my life.

I've never slept with a friend's ex, and never will I.

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The Top 8 Obsession

MySpace is officially the new crack. Okay, let me rethink that statement. If Facebook is crack, MySpace is like baseball player's HGH.

Let me briefly explain. Belizeanchica, who has apparently given up on blogging and fills her daily log with hours of slacking, recently got into the MySpace craze. She, of course, added me as a friend, and I told her she needed to fix her Top 8 because it had all dudes in it, no females.

For those of you who don't know what a top 8 is, MySpace allows you to order your Top 8 to 16 friends by preference. It's like ranking your peeps as though they were in the USA Today Top 25 football poll. Yeah, it's ignorant.

People really get upset because they're not in the top 8 of friends they would consider to be good friends. I've had my fair share of my friends tell me off about it quaintly.

One guy even said, "that's (non PG-13 word) up because you're in mine."

When he said that I kind of shrugged my shoulders while thinking What am I supposed to do. I don't think you should be in my Top 8.

But I didn't say it. That would be mean.

I digress.

So after I told belizeanchica that she needed to rearrange her top 8, she did it and told me when she had finished. I went to her page to see her rearrangements.

I just knew I'd be in there, and the person that should be wouldn't.

"No this (expletive or Non PG-13 word) didn't," I thought. She left me out.

"And she put America's second biggest Liar in their! You've gotta be kidding me."

This happened on Friday. I knew she did what she did on purpose to draw a reaction out of me, and I wanted to hold off for as long as I could.

Yeah, it I lasted until today.

"What the (non PG-13 word) is that?" I asked. "How is he in your Top 8 and I'm not. This is a joke."

She started laughing hysterically. She got what she wanted, a rise out of me and my blood pressure (not really).

Then she said she'd added me later.

Meanwhile, I've made a few noticeable changes in my Top Friends of my own. It's weird because MySpace and Facebook cause third-grade arguments like this daily.

But the good thing is that you can catch up with people you haven't seen since the third grade and lost college friends. Case in Point: I'm recently caught up with my kindergarten crush (I'm dead serious) and I've gotten alot closer to a few people I went to Mizzou with that I rarely conversed with in CoMo.

So there are some good points. I won't complain. I'm in the Top 8's of the people that matter most, and that's what's important. ... Oh yeah, if you want to peep my MySpace page, it's www.myspace.com/dmansmi ...

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Fear Is A Bitch ...

While chilling out with her boyfriend, Boughetto Gurl decided to get a little too cutsy, and let down her guard.

She's been with ol' dude for like two months, but she kept her wits about her during this time. Until a few days ago. Boughetto Gurl saw something on her man's face, I think she said it was in his nostril. She promptly picked it off like somebody's momma.

"That's love right there," she said.

It opened up a can of worms, she wasn't ready to handle.

"So do you love me," he asked?

She closed shop like Mariano Rivera in the bottom of the ninth of a World Series game, and didn't say a word.
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The next morning she began questioning me about the male throught process around this "when do you say I love you" mindset, and I came to this conclusion:

If you love someone, it shows in your actions and not necessarily what you say. It's kind of like the opposite of a man telling a woman he loves her without doing any work to get in her pants. His words are his actions, and that really doesn't (shouldn't) suffice.

But flipmode. If you're picking things off or out of your mate's nostrils, you love them. You don't have to say it because you put your hand on someone else's nose says it all.

Boughetto Gurl didn't quite agree. Through all her previouscats, she's decided that playing that "love" card before her boyfriend does isn't the right thing to do.

I disagree. That just means you're scurred (scared).

When you're not afraid, you saying you love (or hell, even like) someone is not hard. The "scaredy-cat lack of action" card, is one you need to cut up as though you maxed out your spending limit.

I mean really, what does saying I love (or like) you first really hurt? Not saying it in a moment like this could lead to dissension, issues, unrest. Sure, you don't want to fall blindly into love. You want your eyes open, but if you're with someone, don't you want to be in love with that person?

I don't know. When I feel the whole love thing coming down, I usually don't have a problem saying it because I know the woman I love will come around to saying it eventually especially if it's secure in how she treats me. Now, like is a different issue becuase you can't really be sure.

I'm dealing with this issue of my own now, this thing called like, and I want to be brave, drive out the fear and make it "do what it do." But I feel like I did back in seventh grade, the first time I ever told a young lady I had some interest, and was rejected. Yeah, my first heart break came in seventh grade, and lasted about two hours.

I digress.

The moral of this story: Fear is a bitch, conquer it.

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It's Like an Interest-Bearing Account ...

What's good people? Nothing much here.

So yesterday I had a couple of good random conversations (not necessarily with the someone I want to have stimulating talk with, but that's a story for another post). One was with a good friend who has never had a real relationship, the other was with two random females about my age at Friday's while watching the Heat lose (damn!) game one.

The second one, I could probably write a book about. But the first one was quaint. We simply came up with a way to determine what a relationship, considering she's never had one, really is.

You know I have an analogous mindset. I want everything to tie together like shoestrings (see I did it right there).

So I started thinking aloud. Being in a relationship is like ... ... ... ...

Yeah ... I initially drew a blank. I couldn't connect it to anything, but then I started thinking about money for some reason.

"How about this: being in a relationship is like you giving your mate $1,000 and he or she giving you that same amount in return for no other reason but to trust you with it," I said. "That $1,000 they hold is your love. It's your time. Your emotions. Your physicality. Your conversation. It's you within the relationship and vice versa. All of that is in that mix somewhere. You're just trusting that they won't take the money you've given them and invest somewhere else or share it with someone else because, of course, that trust is then broken. And their are penalties for that. But you work through the struggles without laying hands on those $1,000 investments because you want them to earn that interest. It's like a CD, you just want them to leave it alone as you are leaving theirs alone as well, and watch it, or the trust, grow ..."

"You really just compared a relationship to money," she says.

"Yeah. But think about it. A relationship is just building trust in a person to know that they'll always be there for you."

"So it's like choosing a bank," she says.

I say "Yeah" as I nod my head, although she can't see it because I'm on the phone.

"How do you choose the right bank?" she asks.

"Honestly, you're probably going to make a few mistakes before you actually find the one you'll be with for years to come. But when you read the fine print for what it really means, you'll know."

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God's Will 101: Scrapping Every Plan You Had for Your Life

Jeremiah 29: 11-13
11 For I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. 12 Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. 13 You will seek me and find me; when you seek me with all your heart.

I remember my first time hearing this passage – my last semester of college. I sat in Mizzou’s Black Culture Center computer lab unsure of what my next move in life would be. I literally had no clue.

If you’ve read this blog, you know I was amidst one of the most trying times in my life. My father was stricken with some sort of rare incurable, slow moving cancer. My mother’s mother was gravely ill. I had just received an offer for an internship at Newsday in Long Island, New York, that I didn’t really expect, and wasn’t sure if that was in the direction of my heart. My personal life seemed to be in shambles, and I knew not where to look for help. In those dark moments, I turned to the only light had ever really known.

I immersed myself in a chat with a good friend about my options, and she sent me to the aforementioned passage.

It struck a chord within me. The connection between this passage and another one, Psalms 37:4, shed some light on my situation.

Psalms 37:4
Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.

I knew that if I wanted what I believed to be in my heart – to come home and write for the local paper I grew up reading – I had to follow a direct and narrow path of His righteousness and His will. I had to let all aspects of my life go, and Let Him work his miracles.

When I did, it was done.

All of the ignorance I knew amid my struggle ceased to be. Everything I truly desired within my heart I received. I could testify for days on this small frame of my life, but in the end, the only thing that’s left is the message – desire him before all, and he will give you what floods your heart.

I know a few of you – myself included (don’t think I’m writing this and not heeding my own message within my own current struggle) – are amid a moment where open and promising doors are closing or things aren’t going as planned.

All I can say is don’t be discouraged. In the end, your plan never was meant to succeed. It has and will always fail you. The only accord you can follow, is that of the Maker’s, understanding that He has a plan for you and I, for all of us.

It consists of a means of an end of just hoping for a bright future, even though we currently dwell in an unforgiving moment.

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Yup, In My White Tee ...

Yup in my white tee [x12]
[Hook x2]
I slang in my white tee
I bang in my white tee
All in the club spitting game in my white tee
I bling in my white tee serve feigns in my white tee
Fuck a throwback i look clean in my white tee
…

So I walked in the mall today, just making one of my frequent trips to Panera for a writing getaway/excursion. Being that it’s summer time, the kids are in the mall all day.

As I got to the door, I experienced my first attack of the grouped together white tees. Understand now that I shelter myself from ignorance (is that really feasible?). I keep myself away from most things I consider to be unnecessary like grocery store or Wal-Mart lines on a Saturday afternoon (I always go at night).

I avoid white tees by not going to hood-infested clubs or bars, and for all-intensive purposes, staying out of the hood-infested areas whenever possible.

But on this day, I couldn’t avoid the white tees, because the white tees were all around me.

I started thinking to myself that song is talking about how these dudes actually feel liberated in their white tees because they can’t really afford much else or the throwback they really wanted. These idiots could sow up two more t-shirts if they just cut that one down to their ankles into thirds.

Yes. The white tees were at their ankles. No joke. They could have made a dress. There’s nothing wrong with wearing a t-shirt. Nothing wrong with it at all until you can’t see your pants legs at all because of the t-shirt’s length. That’s when we have a problem.

But what makes it worse is that they’re just doing it because they heard it in a song. Hip Hop sets trends, and this is an unfortunate one. This is one of the best examples as to why rappers need to watch some of the things they say because idiots like these kids mimick what they do/say.

You end up with a sect of the population wearing white tees longer than sundresses. And I don’t care if you’re slanging, banging or spitting game in your white tee, that is all bad.

I just want the day to come when you'll be able to wear a white tee, a fitted one or a tee under a sports coat, in a club and not be harassed because of knee-dangling white-tee wearers.

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At Least I Didn't Look Like A Fool ...

There I sat at the bar at the wedding reception immersed in a conversation with a booze-infested bride's maid named Lisa.

My mindset remained far from that of a Wedding Crasher (so stop thinking it), though she would have been a perfect candidate for Vince "I'm happy to have Brad's hand-me downs" Vaughn or Owen "Doesn't any else know that my nose is crooked as hell" Wilson.

After about four vodka-lemonades and some other spirits, Lisa decided she would tell me her life story (well at least the part about her divorcing her husband of less than a year, and how she let him have everything but the furniture she came into the relationship with).

With nothing better to do, considering that I knew all of seven people at the wedding, I listened.

"I gave it all to him," she said confidently. I think it was the alcohol. "The house. The boat ... He was just a lazy fuck. He didn't do anything."

"... I guess all you really need is your sanity," I replied. "If you don't have that, you don't really have anything."

"You know?" she said. "Anitra (the bride) said you would be a good conversation."

"Oh yeah? What else did she say about me?"

"She also said you'd be the best dressed person at the wedding," Lisa said.

Slightly befuddled, I questioned when she said this about me. Lisa said the night before.

"I wish I would have got the memo," I thought, sitting there with a well blended concoction of a yellow dress shirt, tan slacks and a sear sucker sport coat with a tie to pull it all together. "I would have brought my game to another level."

She looked me up and down for a second.

"You did just fine. You look good, and Anitra was right."

I'm black, but if i was white, I woulda blushed. After that, compliments on my attire poured in one after the next, and I felt alright (aside from the massive sweat caused from the sunlit room and six-hour reception/party. Don't worry, I refused to take the searsucker off and let the sweat show).

I guess we can look at it this way: I may have felt like a fool at my first Catholic wedding, but at least I didn't look like one.

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Skipping CD: I (Hate) Text Messaging

I called HeathClaire Huxtable on Saturday night to check in on her trip to the Lou, also hoping that she could keep me company as I trekked back from the Lake of the Ozarks to Kansas City.

HeathClaire doesn't answer. Figures. She was probably out kicking it. But she responds with a text message that says:

"What do you want?"

I think to myself, "That's not something HeathClaire would say, unless she's upset. What's really going on? What the hell did I do to her?" I get like that when I really don't want to upset someone. I try to figure out what I could have possibly done wrong, although I know I didn't do anything wrong.

I call her back (I hated when people answer phone calls with text messages that don't say "I'm busy at the moment, I'll call you back in a few."

She comes back with another text: "I'm indisposed at the moment."

I think to myself, "This is her and I really pissed her off in a major way. She used indisposed in a text message. What did I do?"

So I respond with my own two text: "(I want) to talk and clear the air because it seems as though I've upset you."

then ... "I understand that you're occupied. Just call me when you get a moment so I can iron things out."

I felt like Chris Rock ("Maybe I did still my own car").

But clearly the joke being played on me had gone on long enough. I receive another text, that says "Vickdamone, this is (HeathClaire's friend) Kemyeezy I was just messing with you! How are you doing? She's dancing."

I didn't want to believe it. I didn't believe it.

It was funny, but how rude as Stephanie Tanner might say. See, this is why I hate text messaging. You really can't be sure who is texting you.

Needless to say, Kemyeezy (aka Doghouse Resident 123456) is on my bad side at the moment, and she's not coming out anytime soon. ...

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Bewildered ...

CAMDENTON, Mo. - Before Saturday, I had never attended a Catholic wedding. The bride and groom, Anitra and Dan, are really good friends from my first year back in Kansas City after graduation.

They are normal, good people. Anitra went to Mizzou with me, though I didn't know her at all until we were at the Star, and her new husband Dan, well he's a cool guy and a spitting image of the Ken doll.

So I didn't expect anything out of the norm for the wedding. Nothing crazy happened, but for a Baptist-bred young black man attending his first Catholic wedding, I must say it was an experience.

Three-fourths of the time I didn't know whether to sit or stand because half of the people, those of the Catholic denomination, in the audience were standing and the other half, the rest of us believers and non-believers, were sitting.

I didn't know when to pray. I didn't know when to clap because it seemed like everything was split in half. Half of the wedding party would be on their knees ( I didn't know Catholic church had cool knee-saving benches to kneel on) and the rest of sat their looking clueless.

So about halfway through the ceremony, I learned that Catholic weddings take a full hour because of Mass, which actually isn't a bad I idea.

"You know, I want to have an hour-long wedding, too," I told my co-worker Brandon, who made the trip to the Lake of the Ozarks with me. "Who wants to waste all of that money for 15 minutes? I don't. I need to make it worthwhile."

I started thinking: "Do I need to make the switch to Catholicism to have an hourlong wedding?"

An answer came in the means of communion. In the Baptist world, communion is a "first Sunday, chill in your seat, sip a little grape juice, eat a mini-saltine, sing a little hymn"-type affair.

Not so in the Catholic world. You file in line like you're about give up the goods, offering and tithes, but they give you something instead. Well, if you're not of that denomination, they ask you to cross your arms, and they bless you.

Well, I was one of maybe two people who did it (the rest sat in their seats and refused their blessings). But I felt so awkward and out of place. I didn't know whether to bow, and head back to my seat.

It was one of the most awkward moments of my life. I think before my next Catholic wedding, I'm going to figure out what happens in the ceremony, so that I can be better prepared.

Anyways, congrats to Dan and Anitra! You two are two the best people I know, and you definitely know how to throw a party.

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But We Get Up ...

Ed's Note: There is some truth to this but not all that much. It's mostly sarcasm, but take it however you wish to take it.

So one of my fellow bloggers called me mean for posting the video of the kid passing out during last year's spelling bee.

But it was an inspirational moment for me. Honestly. I saw it, and thought of the great Donnie McClurkin song, "We Fall Down."

The chorus says: We fall down, but we get up. For a saint is just a sinner who fell down, and got up.

Little man in the spelling bee passed out, and got up and still spelled his word. He fought through the adversity, and still did what he came to do, although he didn't win. He gave his all, and when he fell, he got up.

So stop hating. lol.

Oh yeah, congratulations to Katharine Close, who one this year's title. She's pictured above.

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Who Said Spelling Wasn't A Sport ...

ESPN aired the National Spelling Bee yesterday, and in its honor, and that of Akeelah and the Bee (a movie I have yet to see), I give you my most memorable moment from any spelling bee anywhere.

You shouldn't laugh, but you will, and I won't fault you.

Just click the link: http://media.ebaumsworld.com/spellingbeefaint.wmv

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Worst Moments in Miz-ery ...

I gave you my five best Mizzou Moments. Here are the five worst.

Ed's Note: These really aren't the Five worst. Just the worst of what came to mind in a moment. There are probably a few more, I just don't feel like thinking them through.


5. Clubbing in CoMo. If you've never been clubbing in Columbia, then you wouldn't get this. But you either have to kick it hard out of your element or kick it hard within it, but with the ignorant sect of your element. Not tight either way. And college parties were played after I crossed.

4. Eating dorm food everyday freshman year. It was all bad. No matter where you went, it didn't get better. But somehow - i guess cause that what I had to eat without a stove or car - I ate it everyday. I think I gained weight from eating too many patty melts and not enough salad and healthy stuff. The Freshman 15 hit me hard, and if I could go back, I think I'd redo this aspect of my freshman year experience.

3. Getting on the Internet. Now, find a synonym, and you might understand.

2. The Incident with Cut-Your-Throat Gurl. I think, check that, I know I lost one of my best friends over a stupid incident. The long and short of it, the ex-boyfriend of female friend of mine stepped to me about something unnecessary, I told him something he didn't need to hear to get him off of my back. Said female friend - otherwise known as, yeah - comes at me and goes crazy, leaves, calls my cell phone and earns said name. It sucked because I'd never been in a situation like this before, and didn't know how to handle it. Needless to say, I mismanaged it and lost a good and loyal friend who would have been nice to have throughout the tough times.

1. Big XII Trip to Oklahoma. I found out my grandmother was dying and my father had some random cancer on the same trip. Not to mention there was a 15-hour bus ride back to Mizzou because of a snowstorm. The parties at Oklahoma we're whack, and the hospitality was whack as well.

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