Pussy Don’t Run Me

Posted on February 16, 2012 by

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Said Ibrahim.

Sunday morning.   Landlord Gilbert is at work.

In the oven, my tater tots.

On my mind, the self-described finest mujer that I’d met.

Ibrahim was in the kitchen in front of my opened-door room.

Ring!  Ring!

I moved in to take my tater tots.

Somehow we got into a conversation about his homey Jarrod.  He was talking about how Jarrod was trying to hit on some Asian girls at the club.  There were four or five of them.  Ibrahim, seasoned vet of the womanizing wars, was skeptical of Jarrod’s efforts.

Jarrod was fiending for some pussy.

“When they’re with their girls, you ain’t.  You gotta get them isolated.”

“If it were me, I’d just ask them for their number, if you’re interested in talking get in and get out.  Sweet and simple.”

I always have a good time when talking to him about what he observes.  This time it was all about people in the club.  A very observant man he is.

Him being an imposing 6’2, 230-lb figure himself, you’d think he would attempt to impose his bravado and be relatively impervious to happenings around him.

“Everybody an MMA fighter now,” he said lampooning the stereotypical tough-looking macho man standing on the dance floor looking around or checking their texts as if they’re busy.  In his eyes, they take up the dance floor.

“What it is they just got no swag,” he says.

He very much operates like a linguistic Anthropologist.  Notices a lot of stuff, and then almost presents a funny caricaturesque representation of the person.

One of the things he notices is people and their inability to talk to each other.  He talked about an experience at Trader Joe’s where he simply said hi.

The man is a low-maintenance about everything except his appearance.  He trims every last hair, the remnants of which I cringe at the sink at every morning, much like he might cringe at my long strands of black hair.  He has a dislike for any scars, much less tattoos.  Very protective of his face.

He noticed that these two young white women, perhaps scared of the tall big black man, could only manage a half-hearted, shivering “hi”.

“Nobody could talk to anyone!  These humans…”

“People just aren’t comfortable in their own skin.”

Ibrahim, a cheap guy in the eyes of my landlord Gilbert, is always quick and proud to talk about never spending any money.  I think of him as a bit of a consumer deconstructionist;  he knows what he values, and repeats it to me every time:  shelter, food, transportation, some women.

“I walk in with 5, I walk out with 5.”  He was bragging about a weekend in Huntington Beach with free bars and how he spent nothing; except on parking.  A good, successful night for him.

He mentioned how the artist Ne-Yo once bragged on TV, “see America, you work hard and succeed, and you too could spend $1000 at a strip club.”  He said, “how the hell do you spend $1000 at a strip club?  You figure that a lapdance is $20, where does the rest go?  You ain’t gettin’ none, and you’re paying for it.”

I felt pity and happiness all of a sudden for Ne-Yo. I replayed in my head my first time at a strip club…in Las Vegas on Christmas 2005 with my cousins — that was fun.  But in retrospect, it was a bought feeling.  A bought relationship.

The idea of “bottle service” was and still is stupid to him.  He talked about how people spent like nothing to

He talked about the logic of people bragging about reserving a VIP booth.  He’s just standing a few feet away, and he didn’t even have to drop the $600 or so it took to reserve a booth.  He would cross the line and he too would be a VIP.

And of course what would a conversation with Ibrahim be if he wasn’t talking about women.

He talks about them with a bluntness.

When I first met him, he was seeing two women at a time.  Nothing shady, but apparently he made his relations that clear to both of them.

In the club, he makes clear every time that he’s 37 years old, and gives a hint that sometimes he’s just too old for some of the women in the clubs.

I asked him, “what do they talk about?,” curious as to what these type of relations were like being that I’ve had a very limited number of them and with women I’d consider to be outliery and as weird as I was.

He makes a chattery motion with his hands and says “Nothing!”

In particular he’s as I have myself, have grown weary of women 25 and younger.

He was talking to a dancer who was bent on chasing his dreams.  Good for her, who was he to shoot her down?  He just wasn’t interested.

He had been chilling with an Asian girl, and she asked him if he smoked weed.  He replied in the negative to which she asked again in surprise, “You don’t smoke weed?!”

Another girl asked him if he was on Facebook.  “Facebook, what am I going to do with Facebook?  If it’s just about bullshitting, I could just bullshit on the street.”

In recent weeks, he’s been seeing a Latina woman.  She’d come on some hard times and had re-connected with him.  He’d been going through his own hard times as well, as I mentioned in the Hard Times at the Micro-United Nations.

As he was “smashing her from behind,” she’d said “Ibrahim, I want you to cum inside me!  I got my tubes tied, don’t worry.”

Screeeeeeeech, Ibrahim got graphic, thinking in his head “Bitch, I will choke you,” uncharacteristically chauvanistic of Ibrahim to express.

In his head, perhaps the idea that having of a woman suddenly having control over his life and affairs with a kid.  He described “edge of the bed syndrome” when after going at it and going inside, regretting it, sitting at the edge of the bed, and hoping the woman is not going to become pregnant.

He didn’t want that.

“Pussy don’t run me,” he said.

Perhaps, also, in his head, the idea of providing for and caring for a kid.

He’s talked to me before about the unwieldiness of humans.  We’d talked about how he’s watched crazy videos of decapitations and the violence humans are capable of.  He’s talked about rather than dealing with the complexity that is humans, he’d just rather deal with dogs, like Gilbert’s dog, Jacy.

Before this conversation, he’d been talking about Jarrod’s roommate.  Jarrod’s roommate did not pay rent and had 4 kids.  He had no desire to work.

I asked what Jarrod’s roommate did in the meanwhile.

“Well, he has 4 kids.”

“Hah”, I responded.

“He REFUSES to work, but he’s always free to let his nut go.”

I don’t know how much he’s into having kids.  He’s had a dispute with his brother.  He says his dad has taken money away from me.  To him, blood relations have meant disconnection and dispute.  Bringing his own blood in, perhaps is the same.

“I’m not going to do that until I’ve already decided that I was going to have one already.”

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