Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Duck Season is now Open

Hunting season started. Well, for me anyway. I am currently hosting readings for the coveted role of "my other half". Released from my Karmic prison - I became a "Bookie". Booking anybody and everybody with a heartbeat and a fancy for me and i over booked. Contestant #1 was passed in this romantic game of spades, which left me contestant #2.

(Chuck Woolery's voice - cue dating game music):
Tell it to them Bob:
"Contestant #2, is a strapping Irish/Italian gentlemen. 34 Years young! He loves romantic walks in the park, and arroz con pollo whenever he can find it. Let's say hello to JOHN!"

I wanted to go out to the city. I needed the city. The boros are running me ape sh*t, and I don't do cages. I am a bird. A fat little mocking bird sometimes. But I'm like a bird, I need to fly away. So, I settled on meeting him at highline. It's SEX AND THE CITY. It Screams Samantha, and reminds me of Carrie. It's where I had my "dating coming-out" party.

Like Cinderella I needed some things to make my transformation complete. My little white mice in the form of all the trinket-chachka jewelry I purchased from AFAZE at Herald Square. My pumpkin - the sequined, sheer brown tie top from Charlotte Russe. I then raced home, to perform the 3 "S's".

(If it can round my corner, it's coming on! )

I got all gussied up. Let my hair down from the unruly mass of roped dreadlocks and used mousse to twist them into pretty ribbons and ringlets. I dabbed on my signature scent, and Kitt and I made it to the L train.

Something about the train at night. The freak's shall inherit the train.

At my utopia, I waited for 20 minutes for my Klansman to show. He was not exactly what his picture portrayed. So he began to explain his savvyness with photoshop, hoping the Siegfried and Roy airbrushing wouldn't sway me. He chided me about not having photos that accurately reported the depth of my dimples. He was charming, in the beginning. Then the "Dukes Of Hazzard" came and joined us. I am not talking Bo and Luke, I am talking Johnny Walker and the good Ole Capt Morgan.

This is the part where I should of noticed the white hood on his back. This is the moment I wrinkled my nose and wished I was Bewitched.

"So what are the demographics of your friends?"
"Your so articulate, you don't sound Spanish, where'd you learn how to speak?"
"Did you pick this place, because your part Thai?..."
"What are you? Your so mixed looking. I can't place it"
"Is your hair really coarse? It looks soft, is that how it is naturally?"

Yes, I am that class of idiot that let him make it to the 5th question. I am that huge brown asshole. The one who didn't just whip out my mandatory door knockers from my back pocket, and spray him with my mace-like "Sofrito spray". I should of began to respond to him with:
"NO YOU DI-ANT!!!!!!!" In my highest pitch Rosie Perez. I should of made a scene. Moved my neck like an ostrich and rolled my eyes while I sucked my teeth.

I did none of these things. I did much worse. I drew in my breath and sent fire up his ass. My tongue forked as is customary when I get pissed. My blood boiling, I began my onslaught of deliberate insults in the same even tone that I ordered my drink. THe kind that makes you think your hallucinating, because I keep such a sweet look on my face. But it's in the eyes. The eye's always show the hail storm your about to go through with no umbrella. They glazed over like a Shark.

"I guess because your white, you have that mandatory (1) black friend to keep you from not being racist, right?"
"Does your mom screw the mailman?"
"I bet your mom would turn her nose at me, for having rice and beans written all over my face right?"
"Is this date to piss off your parents? Or wondering what a Spanish chick is like in bed?"
"Is it true about the rhythm thing? If so, does that hold true in the bedroom as well?"
"What about size?"

Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm Angry. I pulled every insecurity my klansman had, and sent his KKK ass back to his corner of the Boonies Bronx where he belonged.

No second interview asshole.

Good boy! GOod BOY! (scratching my hunting dog's ears)
Chasing that nasty little skunk away! Nobody wants a skunk! That wasn't a fox boy (petting my hound). We gotta get back on the Fox's trail.


The Daily Rant said...


What an asshole. Um, didn't he know you were "brown" before he met you? I can't believe he was asking all those questions.

But you did good girl...gave it RIGHT back.

Man, what a waste of a sheer brown tie top from Charlotte Russe!

Ciao, chica!

CocteauBoy said...

Okay; I am in love with your blog, too! Of COURSE you can link to me! WHOOSH!

-troy aka CocteauBoy

Anocsanamun said...

Apparently, I passed the paper brown test. He was more worried about my friends, and should we get married - what my side of the reception would look like.

Anocsanamun said...

Thank you Troy.
Wee'z Ma-yeed NAW!!!!!!

Axinar said...

What am *I*??? Chopped liver???

Anocsanamun said...

No your my prom date!

Axinar said...

Been a while since I poured myself into a tux [[Grin]]

JD said...


I completely identify, being a mixed-race gal myself.

Three cheers for you!

Herald Towers said...

I love AFAZE in Herald Square. I've found some hidden treasures in that place!