I don't want a nice guy.

Awwww, fuck! Rahtid bomboclaaaaaaaaaat!!! Shit, man! Fuckin A! I can’t believe this fuckin shit! You gotta be fuckin kiddin me…

I like to section myself off into quadrants. From the top of my ears to my bellybutton is the top half and my sternum separates quadrant one from quadrant two. Then from my belly button to my tippy toes makes up the bottom half and my crotch separates quadrant three from quadrant four. (My face and lower goodies are separate – last.) I am just starting quadrant three when I realize that I’m in trouble.

I have to take a shit.

Steups. Rahtid bomboclat! Don’t you just hate it when that happens?! When you’re taking a nice lil shower and then, BAM!, outta nowhere, Mr. Doodoo comes a knocking… I fuckin HATE that shit. Steups. I freeze and contemplate my options. There are really only two: rinse off, dry off, hop over onto the toilet and handle my business or squeeze my butt cheeks together so hard that I’ll eventually forget what had ever plagued me to begin with. I go with option two; I’m running late.

He was a nice guy.

Sania was having a work event back in Marchat a Haitian art museum in Downtown and when she invited me, I jumped at the opportunity. It was a nice little event, a lively group of Haitian people who told stories, read poems and beat drums in remembrance of the Haitian dream and the Diaspora. The fruit and cheese platter was a hit, too.

At some point that evening, Sania called me over to introduce me to a short, fair-skinned guy who had been helping out with the logistics of the evening’s program. Right after the introductions were made, Sania dashed off and he and I were left to chitchat about the usual boring shit: where you’re from, where you work, where’d you go to school… I had mentioned to him that I was impressed with the museum and the group who ran it and, so, I thought nothing of it when he asked me for my email address so that he could send me some more information.

He included his telephone number in that email. And I had either called him or emailed him my telephone number in a returning email ( I really can’t remember). I did this only because while we were driving back home that very same night, Sania had informed me that she had only introduced me to him after he had asked her to because he thought I was beautiful. I mean, I had to give credit where credit was due and, in my book, Buddy Boy had gotten an A++ for effort. Besides, what can one little phone call lead to?

Well, one little phone call could lead to two weeks of not so little phone conversations. They were actually delightful, talking to him for an hour every other night seemed to become a ritual; he was funny and had great conversation…a really nice guy. And after I lied my way out of a request to go out on a date that first weekend, I, reluctantly, accepted the same request a week later. After all, that’s what people do after getting to know each other over the phone for two weeks.

So here I was, showering and getting dressed for a date – my very first date ever. I didn’t want him to know where I lived and I didn’t care to go over to his place so I had asked him to meet me at the movies, instead.

I had totally overestimated the driving time and reached the movie theater a good bit earlier than he had. I bought two tickets for Drillbit Taylor and settled in a seat near the very top of the theater and waited for his call.

I rushed out into the lobby. I was anxious to spot him first but I think he saw me coming from a mile away. He would look sooooooooooo hot with dreads, I thought as I approached him.

“Hi!” I hugged him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Hello! I’m sorry I’m late.” He offered. I didn’t tell him that is was okay because I had actually totally overestimated the driving time. No need to let him off the hook so easily.

I handed him his ticket and we walked up to the usher, who recognized me with a nod. Then he ripped the other ticket and let us through. He settled in the seat beside me and the movie started shortly after. I laughed…and laughed…and laughed. And he laughed, too, even slapping his knee and letting a thunderous cackle escape his little belly. I liked that; I think people who don’t laugh at the funny parts in movies are stone-cold loser weirdoes.

After the movie was over he asked me if I had liked it and I nodded. “Yup.” Then he asked me what I wanted to do with the remainder of the night… Uh-oh.

“Well, actually, I’m kinda tired. I have a report due for work and I’ve been working on it all day. I’m gonna go home, get into bed and start working on it again first thing in the morning.” The report part was true; everything else was not. I hadn’t even started that report; probably wouldn’t start till 5AM Monday morning.

“Oh, no!” He looked genuinely disappointed. “I thought we could go get something to eat or go for a walk… but it’s okay. I understand.”

We walked to my car and I offered to take him to his car just to be nice. But he climbed in and, for some reason or another, I was slightly irritated. When we got to his car, he asked me to wait for him right before he disappeared and, when he returned, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Awwww. Thank you!” I smiled at him and smelled the flowers. That’s what the women on T.V. always do.

“Just a little something for you, cutie.” He blushed.

I drove off and waited till I was back on the Turnpike before I called Sania.

“So, how’d it go?”

“It was alright. He got me flowers… he doesn’t tickle my fanny, though. I mean, he’s a nice guy and I could still talk to him and hang out every now and then. But I don’t like him the way I think he likes me…”

“Well, you should tell him that right away. You don’t wanna lead him on or anything.”

I was slightly irritated. “Does it have to be all of that? I mean, I’m sure he’ll get a clue after a month of me declining his “advances”. No need for me to spell it out for him.”

“But why? You should just tell him right off the bat. You don’t wanna waste his time, Joanne.”

What the fuck?! How many worthless pieces of shit have I wasted my time on?!?!?! Steups.

“Well, I’ll talk to you later.”

When I get home, I realize that he’s text me. He had a nice time…blah, blah, blah…he’s really looking forward to seeing me again…blah, blah, blah…text him back so he knows that I got home safely…blah, blah, blah. Out of courtesy, I text him back telling him that I had a nice time, too, and that I had gotten home safely. After putting my phone to charge in my bedroom, I stroll into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Now, time to get down to business.

As I’m sitting there, handling my business, I think of what Sania told me earlier that night and I decide I’m going to stop answering his phone calls. I’m a non-confrontational person and I don’t know what other way to tell him without actually having to tell him.

Hmph. Is this what people do? Is this how it’s done? This whole dating thing… I haven’t been missing much, thank God. It kinda sucks balls. A total waste of twenty dollars…Hey! He owes me ten dollars for his ticket!...Oh! I had told him that he could pay me back on our next date, I remembered. Whoops! Damn, why’d I say that knowing damn well that there wouldn’t be another date. Steups. Bye-bye, ten dollars…

He calls me a handful of times during the following week and leaves a voice message each and every time. I finally decide to return the last call and I am beyond elated when he doesn’t answer; I don’t leave a message.

He sends an email and I wait a week before I reply. A quick, “I’m fine. How are you? Laterz!”

He’s emailed me a couple of times since then and even texts me every now and then to “check up on me”. So thoughtful…such a nice guy…

But I don’t want a nice guy.