Alright, alright, alright…
Granted, I’m not the most successful nigga around when it comes to females (or life in general), but I have learned a few lessons throughout my time on this planet. But I recognize that I still have a lot to learn. So, what I’m going to do here is let people in on a few lessons I’ve discovered – more often than not through complete, utter failure. I’ll go through the stories and then give the moral at the end.
Lesson #1 – QUIT BEING A BITCH!
(the intro’s a little long, but trust me, I’m going somewhere with it)
This one’s fairly recent…and still stings a little.
So, I’m a sophomore in high school, in what essentially equates to a gifted program on steroids. The kids in this program are essentially separated from the other (read: regular/”traditional” in our lingo) kids in the school, unless you have electives with them.
So, my school’s SGA was essentially a club that functioned as an elective, with a given class period and everything. At the end of the year, we take applications and sort through them, and decide who we’re going to let in, and who’s not gonna make it. One way we decided was through a lock-in, where we tested each candidate at how well they were able to do the things that we had to do on a daily basis.
The current members were split into teams, who oversaw teams of about eight people. So, being a two year veteran who was basically there since inception, I was made to help lead as much as possible. One person in my group was this cute blonde girl (I’m leaving names out for a reason), who I noticed from jump. I got to know her a little bit, but nothing really sparked. Come the first day of my junior year, I walk into class and who do I see staring? Same chick from the lock-in.
We got to be really good friends, exchanged numbers, started texting – you know, all that high school shit. Finally, the first big event of the year rolled around – Homecoming week. Our football team wasn’t very good (matter of fact, they were trash), so all that the kids were focused on was the Homecoming dance. Me and my niggas (damn the fact I went to a white school) were all rolling dolo (read: were bitchless), but we still got fly as hell and mobbed up for the dance (read: we carpooled).
Periodically through the night before I got to the dance, I was getting these texts asking me where I was, but the number didn’t seem familiar, so I kept saying I was on my way (I had lost all my contacts a few days before). When I finally did get there, it all made sense – this girl was, essentially, waiting for me to get there.
The beautiful thing about my school was that, as strict as they were about some things, the way we danced was NOT one of them. These hoes got as wild as they wanted to, and the chaperones basically gave no fucks whatsoever. The DJ started spinning such classy tracks as “No Hands” and my personal favorite, “Grind On Me.” Naturally, we got to work.
My nigga…after I left, I could’ve sworn I was in love. I thought the Lord was smiling on me for like the next three weeks, bruh. I played Best I Ever Had for four days straight after that. And that’s when shit between us intensified. Texts got flirtier, we weren’t doing shit in class (I hardly ever did shit in class, so it was normal for me), and our friends got to speculating – like the real niggas we were (I am), we adamantly denied everything – nevermind what they saw at the dance.
Deep down inside, I knew there was something – but I kept denying, and denying…and eventually it bit me in my ass.
In the summer between my Junior and Senior years, we got to talking more and more, and Skyping – you know, all that high school shit. But there was one issue – towards the beginning of the summer, the Lord smiled on me again – it started raining bitches. I met a bad mixed joint on some random shit during my SATs who I thought was feeling me, and the girl I thirsted for throughout my first two and a half years of high school admitted that she used to have a massive crush on me and *STILL* thought I was cute. None of my homeboys could tell me SHIT. I just knew I was the man. But I never thought that being the man could be so taxing mentally – which one should I choose?
The real nigga response: ALL OF ‘EM, NIGGA! AT THE SAME! DAMN! TIME!
My response: None of ‘em…until I get an UNAVOIDABLE, UNMISTAKEABLE sign.
While I was going through my own little dumbass dilemma, the lock-in girl went through two or three boyfriends through the second half of my junior year, and that summer (although we admitted that we had feelings for each other…like the bitch nigga I tended to be, I said “let’s wait and see” just to buy some time). As she began dating these dudes, and they hurt her over and over, I realized how jealous it was really making me – which was a mad weird thought for me, because I’ve never been “the jealous type.” And I realized where my heart truly was.
By that time, she had told me she broke up with her boyfriend – naturally, I started rubbing my hands together like Birdman because I just KNEW that it was all mine, but I had a plan.
Make shit official at basically the one year anniversary to where shit first sparked off.
It’s about two weeks before my Senior year’s Homecoming, and I’m at the football game with a few of my boys (which, surprisingly, we were actually winning a few games), and I text her to find out where she’s at. She flags me down and I walk over to her, where she introduces me to her friend – which just happened to be a dude. Being the idiot I am, I thought literally nothing of it.
The week before, I’m steady plotting – when I’m gonna tell her everything, what I’m gonna say, how I’m gonna say it. I had everything figured out…but nah. About three days before the dance, we had “generation day” for our Homecoming spirit week – Freshmen dressed as babies, Sophomores in normal clothes (who gives a fuck about the Sophomores), Juniors dressed in business attire (for adults), and Seniors, well – you get the idea.
So, I go to the spot that we normally meet to talk and shit before we have class in the same area. I see her walking up in her business clothes or whatever, and my nigga – my brain short circuited. I lost every single possible thought, idea, and memory that I had conjured up for the past three weeks. I started fumbling over my words n’shit, and I think a little bit of drool dropped out the corner of my mouth. But I lost all train of thought for two reasons –
1) She looked bad as hell.
2) She had a rose in her hand.
Everybody knows that in high school, once you buy a chick flowers (or some weed or something) you own her. So all plans of mine just went out the window. It was basically #Sadderday (for you Twitter niggas) on a Tuesday. I let the right girl for me (at the time at least) slip through my fingers…again.
Matter of fact, I just liked a picture of them on Instagram a few days ago. Go figure.
Basically, the moral of the story is – if you think it’s right, don’t wait. Take a chance, and go for it. What’s the worst that can happen? Rejection? A break up? All of those do suck…but nothing sucks worse than regret. Besides – if you do it right, you could write a song and make millions – shit, it’s worked for Drake thus far.
Til next time,
Jordan (@TheJayRafael)
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