I used to like H.E.R.

“It could all be so simple/ but you would rather make it hard/ loving you is like a battle but we both end up with scars/” Lauryn Hill, Ex factor.

I simply love that song Neyo has done called “Do you”. I also hate the fact that it triggered a thought in my head about the women that I have dated. Do they ever think about me at all? I know that some of the girls I have dated or I have been in relationships think that I am a total dick by the time we are through and must therefore have some very unsavoury thoughts if at all they think about me now. 


I went out with this girl once, hereon referred to as Iman. This girl was fine I tell you. The kind of fine that makes you want to compose benga songs in praise of her mama, village, clan, even the makers of the blankets that kept her warm at night and assured that she would live to the ripe age when you met her! She was like a female version of me, loved drinks, ocassional recreational drug use (I haven’t done that in years so she was alone on that one), partying hard and a bonus that she knew all the right people on account of her line of work. That meant I got invited to all manner of events. 


Here comes the ‘me being a dick’ part. I was once invited to a fashion event and I happened to get access backstage. I was seeing all these leggy models changing clothes and so I decided to get a jump off. In my mind I figure Iman will never suspect that I want to hit, oh how myopic! After the show guys were rolling to a party and I hop into Iman’s moti as we head to the residence. When we are there I notice the jump off was there too. I sneak off, get my mack on and the chile seriously hints that she would give me some brains. I quickly ask Iman for the keys mumbling something about leaving a jacket in the ride. I scoop the mama and off to the parking lot for some head. I head (pun intended) back to the party and the jump off disappears. I am in the clear. 


I kick it the next weekend at a party hosted by Iman and when I walk in fashionably late (I actually had to stop by the local for a quick naps) who is Iman talking to? You got it, the jump off. I try to duck but naps results in delayed reaction, kind of like weed does, Iman calls out, “Bella I need you to meet someone!” Ka mbaya, mbaya. I majestically walk over as the jump off says to Iman that she has met me already and that my name is Dick Johnson, I lied about my name to her, I was being naughty but when she didn’t get the joke I ran with it. Iman tells her bila and that my name is Bella, her boyfriend. In the movies this is where they splash their drinks on my face and storm off but this ain’t the movies. Both these mamas were from Umo so they were mean as f***. Iman slapped the taste out of my mouth and the jump off sucker punches the wind out of my diaphragm. The beatdown was stopped by another of her pals. 


After a week of sulking and my constant begging she forgave me, call me what you want but I couldn’t lose my access to those industry parties. We then had a rocky relationship with constant fighting coz she couldn’t trust me and rightly so. Bearly a month later I met one of her pals, lets call her Mrs.P. She was a pretty well connected mama in the entertainment industry and so was her husband, she got me tickets to go for the red carpet opening of club liquid and I told her I will make up for it by hanging out with her the following weekend.


I am such a prick that the 4 tickets I was given I took 2 jump offs and a pal and not my girl Iman. The funny thing is that I was catching with one and had gotten interest in the second but I didn’t know how to get out of the fling with the first. Anyway skip to the next weekend when I and the ziza are kicking it at my moms digs. I get a phone call from Mrs.P to go outside. I open the gate and there she is, leaning on her moti clutching 2 bottles of 750ml vodka. Smitta would have been proud. 


We drink and then go to hang out at the local a bit then she went digs, all so innocent. On Monday as I make my way to work I get a call from Mr.P asking if I was diddling his wife and I am like wtf? He threatens me and calls Iman to tell her what’s up. I am called by Iman to give me the boot. Turns out that the moti had been spotted by one of Mr.P’s pals parked outside my mom’s gate so they called him to ask if he was there. He told them the wife had taken it to the garage and when they told him that my mom’s digs was no garage he put 2 + 2 and got 5. He then checked the celly when wifey was asleep and got some flirty messages I had sent. How many times do I have to say it, DELETE, DELETE, DELETE. 


I am no longer invited to industry parties and I am also so broke I can no longer hit the clubs I used to those days. It’s been like a year and a half since I went to a half decent shindig. All coz I am a prick and karma comes back to you hard. 


I wonder does she think of me at all. The thing is I actually liked all these girls at one time or the other except for the ghetto bj jump off.


Pamoja!!!!


P.S. The above story is loosely based on actual events in my life. Any similarities to actual persons you may know is purely coincidental. This goes for readers who know me personally, stop the guessing games I have camouflaged the characters mad!

Advertisements

One Response to “I used to like H.E.R.”

  1. Bleeding maiden Says:

    I am no longer invited to industry parties and I am also so broke I can no longer hit the clubs I used to those days. It’s been like a year and a half since I went to a half decent shindig. All coz I am a prick and karma comes back to you hard…………. the title of the blog is I used to like her!! Is her then the industry party? You seem to regret that more than the girl!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: