Is That Yo Chick?

Florida Evans said it best. "Damn, damn, daaaaamn!" I have to do it. I'm calling out all the green-eyed monsters that lurk in doorways, at restaurant tables and gender divided club lines. Recently, I went to a function and bore witness to (in my humble opinion) the ugliest of the seven deadly sins. Why do chicks feel that they have one-up each other as soon as a dude is in the vicinity? I don't get it. There are so many subtle moves that would appear harmless to the untrained eye...mostly the male eye. But if you know them like you know your own face- it's easy to spot. A too long glance. An extra loud laugh. A sudden need to draw attention to a body part by absently running their own hand over it. It's really quite funny. It's almost as though the guy is not as attractive until it seems that he may have a girl with him. Then it's on to Operation: Make Him Look.

The success of this mission depends greatly on how oblivious or observant the target is. He may just overlook how much the hyenas are stalking their prey- or he might feed into it. I'm going out on a limb here to say that This Bug has no trouble in the looks department. ( Yeah, I said it.) So if the gentleman at my side can have his head on swivel for any ole flirt-in-a-skirt, chances are he's not at my side. That being said, it doesn't mean that the average male cannot fall victim to the trickery of feminine wiles. But This Bug does not fux with the average male. He usually has a keen eye for these sort of traps.

At the end of the day- confidence is golden. The women who attempt to set these snares are rife with insecurities. They seek attention. Need the validation. It fills a void. It's sort of sad. I can remember being out with male platonic friends and watching some females calculate what I was to the man in question. The minute they deduced that we were just friends- it took the wind out of their sails and they gave up their game. I guess they figured, 'Where's the fun in that?' . But I've seen it swing the other way at times. My illustrious stint in bartending made me privy to all sorts of crafty behavior. I'm talking trifling shit, People. As soon as Wifey walked off to the ladies room, dude sprung into action. Took the number, palmed the ass and never looked that way again once the main girl reentered the room. There would be no traces of that exchange for the rest of the night...but you knew what was undoubtedly coming later on down the line. Ladies, if this sounds familiar to you, remember what Fat Joe said. Jealous Ones Envy. It's not cute- and you're playing yourself. And Fellas, you're not special. Don't get caught up. She's just lining up the next one if you don't take the bait. But like Kellz & Jay said...

That's the Power of P.U. I see you.

Tsk, Tsk

Let me begin by stating that the names have not been changed to protect the innocent. Neither have they been changed to protect the guilty. As a matter of fact, I'll just simplify things by omitting names altogether. How's that? Now let's begin.

This all started last week. I'm awakened by a text message early in the morning. T'was composed of useless drivel about baseball tickets for sale. Sidebar: This Bug hates baseball. Anyone who knows me- knows that I would rather eat a plate of sautéed toenails than watch 'America's Favorite Pastime'. Give me a boxing match any day and you're talking my language. Anyway, it was obviously a mass text, so I initially paid it no mind. However, the sender was someone that I have been ignoring for close to a year now. And I recently learned that said unnamed person told some outright lies about yours truly. Out of loyalty to my reliable source, I chose not to confront this person. I'm bigger than that, or so I'd like to think. But this jackass interrupted my sleep. I don't take kindly to that sort of thing. So in true Bug form, I responded with one word: unsubscribe. Yes, I know this is functional only for emails--but I decided it was a few shades more diplomatic than replying with: Hey Asshole, you're a lying pile of shit. I'll never buy your stupid baseball tickets. Lose this number. I chose the high road in my opinion. By the way, you can put your eyebrow down. This Bug is well aware that the even higher road would have been to ignore the text completely. But this douche bag woke me up in case you forgot.

Who knew the firestorm that little eleven letter word would ignite? I'll spare you the gory details. But after a brief exchange; everything from my looks, intelligence, direction in life and professionalism came under fire. All this while outlining his profitable endeavors of baseball tickets, Chihuahua breeding (take that, Michael Vick !), his pricey Batmobile and so on. There was also the classy move of detailing the monetary amount he has gained from his textually active solicitations. Have you ever been embarrassed for someone because they didn't have the good sense to be so for themselves? This is how my morning began: Poseur in inbox, check. Superficial texts, check. Auto-Deleted Loser, check!

Seriously, I have an active imagination but I could not make any of this up. Now is as good a time as any to note that this grown man (in the chronological sense, anyway) lives at home with Mom and Dad. It was downright laughable. Here was someone whose extensive knowledge of me could not fill a thimble, attacking my character simply because I had struck a nerve by requesting to be left alone. That ego wasn't just bruised- it showed signs of blunt force trauma. Apparently the gloves were off as far as this individual was concerned. The last word was imperative to him. I let him have it, then I let him have it. Because I honestly could not believe that this childish tirade was coming from a person so long in the tooth.

As quickly as it began, it ended. I went about my day as usual without missing a beat. The funny thing is that he felt the need to apologize the same day via a third party. As if it could not get any more 7th grade. Upon hearing the pleaded case, I actually felt sorry for this paltry excuse of a man. On several occasions, true colors were revealed to all within earshot after as little as three Heinekens, myself included. Experience has taught me that some feel the need to overcompensate when things of substance are sorely lacking in their lives. The armchair psychologist in me says that this guy is Freud's wet dream. Maybe his mother didn't hug him enough as a child. Perhaps she hugged him too much. Who's to say? I don't know and moreover, it's not my concern.

I've also learned that if you are a person of integrity, there is little that others can do or say to insult you. Water seeks it's own level. I feel no need to list my goals or accomplishments to someone who holds no relevance to my life whatsoever. I don't deem it mandatory to take the pride of someone who is already so clearly at a loss in the self-esteem department. Not so long ago I declared myself a remarkable woman, flaws and all. And for those who would sooner smash the mirror than take a long, reflective look and attempt to love what is staring back at them; my guess is that they are going nowhere. Fast.