Beyond all obstacles, I'd made it!
Having missed the past 19 annual picnics, I had finally made it to the Chosen Few Annual House Music Picnic! If I said House Music was my LIFE, it would be an understatement.
The event and the great emotions it brought about, would be another blog, for another day, entirely. Right now, I'm keeping with the theme of this (Knucklehead Magnet) blog. I have to share, or it will fester!
Well-groomed, good-looking & flirting with my friend, Bri. Eventually, I could sense that she was growing tired of his very aggressive advances (some young folks simply can't hold their alcohol), She said to him "You get no more alcohol!"... and as if his manhood had been shot down, he digressed, tail between his legs and feeling a bit defeated.
Next!
I don't even remember what he first said to gain my attention.
Oh YEAH! He had a beetle on his shirt! I attempted to brush it off. In a fit of 'dont-dare-insult-my-manhood' rage, he backed up and shouted:
"I am a MAN! I ain't afraid o'no BUGS! Leave 'my' bug alone!!!"
lol
I kept my distance. Not because he was offensively intoxicated, but because I was afraid of that damned bug.
My fear incited his ignorance, lol. He did a shimmy/harlem shake dance towards me, with his chest protruding where the bug was located. I screeched and evacuated his personal space, immediately...
...but he followed me.
I don't remember the point where his personal space & mine, had become one. A 'close-talker', is what I think they'd call him. We: (Me, "Bri" and "Guy #2"), decided to haul our coolers & belongings to the front gate of the picnic area, while 'Miss Red' fetched the car.
Knucklehead, responsible for carrying a cooler, had disappeared behind us. We stopped & searched for him, only to find he'd stopped to beg for food from another family in the park, as he carried the cooler by one handle. In the process, he broke the handle off, and dropped the cooler twice, resulting in the 'vat' of pasta salad inside to burst open. All the while, he never missed a beat of gnawing on the piece of pilfered chicken thigh.
Finally outside the front gate, we parked our belongings and waited for our ride. I introduced myself to a 'massage therapist' that had been working at the picnic that day. He went on to educate Bri and I about charlie horses & lower back pains caused by large asses, lol. He demonstrated, pointing to the areas of the body responsible for posture & discomfort. I think he said something about the 'laterius posterius' (the chances of that being right, is about -.00045%, plus my 'spellcheck' alarm just went off, lol) He then hands me his number, which strangely, looks very familiar.
Yet... another blog, for another day.
Knucklehead waits out the masseuse's 'educational moment' and steps in to provide me with his version of a 'professional massage', grabbing my shoulders with what felt like the claws of wolverine. I pull away, in pain, and he follows. I cringe... pull away... he follows me. I scream ouch... pull away... he follows me. I remove his hands from my shoulders... he puts them back. I yell stoppit... he doesn't.
I'm not exaggerating.
The masseuse (still seeming vaguely familiar) looks on, observing, but not saying a word.
Our ride is here. Hooray!
We begin to load stuff into the back of the van, and Knucklehead is again, nowhere to be found, or distracted... something like that. His broken cooler, abandoned. I go back to get it. Masseuse motions that 'he's got it' and not to worry. At that very moment, Knucklehead goes Baby-Ike-Turner on me. His teeth gritting tightly, lips pursed tighter, he begins:
(and you have to read this with your teeth gritting & lips pursed, or you miss the whole effect)
What da fck is wrong witt you womannn! I am a muthafckin MAN! How da fck is you gon' have some other man goin to get MY muthafckin cooler gattDAMMITTT!!!" ...stomping his right foot HARD on the emphasis beats, as he leaned against the van with one hand! FIRE in his eyes!!! lmao!
The cooler belongs to Red, by the way.
I motion to the Masseuse... Just LEAVE it! LEAVE the cooler THERE!!! And he nods in accordance.
Knucklehead fetches the broken cooler.
Okay, so let's take these negroids (Knucklehead & Guy #2) home ASAP!
Who decided Knucklehead would sit behind ME?!
He began to stroke my hair, saying he 'liked' it. All I could smell was the remnants of chicken on his hands. All I could imagine was him rubbing it off in my hair!!! Now I'm angry, and I say:
"Didn't you just eat a piece of chicken? Keep your hands off my hair!"
He continued (not surprised, are you?)
He then went on to massage my shoulders (again). I asked him to stop. He didn't. It felt like my tendons were being ripped apart. I pulled away. He leaned forward. I pull his hands off my shoulders. He puts them back. I snatch away. He waits a moment then starts again. I yell at him. I figure he'd just gone deaf.
Finally, in excruciating pain, and despite my urge to strangulate him, we arrive at the guys' home to drop them off! Yes! The worst is over? Bri goes inside with Guy #2 to take a potty break. Red and I are babysitting Knucklehead outside the house. I get out to stretch and bring the circulation back into my legs and feet. Knucklehead snatches my shoe off, and shouts "OOH!" in excitement... as if he had never seen a white sock before. Hopping on one foot across wet & muddy grass, I snatch my shoe back and hop back into the car. Before I am able to close the door, Knucklehead dives in face-first and snatches the shoe off before I get it on all the way.
Then he grabs my sore-from-dancing-and-200-charlie-horses foot and presses his wolverine claws deep into the flesh. I scream in pain and push him away. I just tell him "Don't do that. I'm, uhhh... ticklish!"
Let's pretend to be surprised now....
He comes back and grabs the foot again. I snatch the foot away. He grabs it again and presses deep into my sore foot. I push him away. He comes back. I put the shoe on. He takes it off. I snatch my foot away. He comes back and presses deeper. I bellow in pain and it echoes the whole block down. He continues. I snatch the shoe.
Now, I hold the shoe in my right hand, teeth clenched, Knucklehead with his claws into the flesh of my right foot.. There is an awkward, albeit very brief pause before Red (still a lady, but not half as tolerant) says sternly "Hit him with the muthafckin SHOE!" lmao!!!!
I prayed...
Yes... PRAYED that it wouldn't resort to that. Knucklehead, oblivious, continues on.
And on.
And on.
And on and on and onnnn and onnnnn (Journey-style)
I closed my eyes, in pain, and prayed again for enough strength to endure the pain he dealt, hoping that Bri had not been taking a number two in the bathroom... and that she would return and we'd all go home. I swear I nearly cried from the pain of his awful, intentions-were-good, but head-is-too-hard, foot massage.
Then I was sure this evening would not end. It felt like it had gone on for hours, and that it would last for an eternity more. Nothing was pointing towards this evening ending, and this arse going away. But it DID! Finally end, that is.
After (yet another) debilitating shoulder massage, fight for my right shoe, an Ike Turner moment, chicken grease in my hair, the smell of busted pasta in the back seat, and...
Topping the evening off, he plunged his head through the car window and attempted to kiss me, dead center of my face, without permission and against my firmly established dislike for him and everything he stood for.
TWICE!
And if the night hadn't been horrible enough, he brought his voice down an octave and before departing, asked me...
"Can I have your number?"
Before he even got '...ber' out, Red was laughing.
As if.
