Why I'm Always Going to Make the First Move

Reck a nize.

I have zero shame or fear.

Along with the part of the brain that recognizes loneliness and that part of the stomach that says, "Stop ramming burritos into your mouth, you're hurting me!" I was born without shame or rational fears. My willingness to put myself out there and/or embarrass myself knows no boundaries. One time I even karaoked 99 Problems to a room full of gay black gentlemen at George’s Place in Baton Rouge. Please don't confuse this behavior with confidence – it's just blatant disregard for what's going to happen next. I don't care if I make an idiot of myself. Or if you're not interested. Or if you've already got a boyfriend. I'm still going to do it. Because why the fuck not? What's life without risk? And chances are I’ll say something about dicks or break into the Tootsie Roll to get your attention. You might as well humor me and let me steamroll you with my hilariousness. I’m not saying that you’re making a good decision, but it’s easier than fighting it.

I'm too impatient.

My patience is limited to drinking at the bar while we wait for the hostess to tell us that our table is ready. Otherwise, it’s hard for me to wait for anything. It hurts my soul to sit on hold with Apple, and I would rather a swift kick to the balls than have to visit the DMV. Most of the time, I’m going to make the first move because I’m not going to wait for you.

I'm feeling empowered and I need to channel it.

Sometimes it’s not even about you. Sometimes I’m just competing in my own private Olympics. Certain variables can make me feel brave enough to just go for it. That Karmin song “Brokenhearted” or a table tap of Andygator can give me just enough boost to throw caution to the wind. There’s a genuine power that comes from the ability to impress one’s self. I want to go there. And then I want to nod my head and think, “Jesus. I can’t believe that went so well.” It’s my version of win-win.

I'm better at it than you are.

I run more game than President Snow. This is my wheelhouse. Imma do me. 

My daddy told me to.

I learned at a very young age that things were not going to come easy for me. Being born with a fluffy red afro and a walk like Christina Hendricks was the beginning of an uphill battle for this little homo that could. So I trained myself to be assertive so that I could take the things that I wanted. And thanks to my father, I learned that girls are no different than elections or attention – they are acquired by those who want them. He taught me that no woman was out of my league, which was both noble and stupid. His confidence was a double-edge sword, though, and was often mistaken for misogyny, which my mother detested and I thought was hysterical. I can remember watching this dude handle the check-out lady at Walgreens and thinking that he was gifted with more charisma than George Clooney. And even though I had to adapt my dad’s heirloom advice toward members of my own sex, I do my best to honor him. So if you see me relentlessly flirting with a guy who’s clearly some Czech tennis player/underwear model, it’s because I have a dad who taught me that I could do anything. So I’m going to try.

Ryan and the Wolf

Fiona Apple’s first album in seven years, “The Idler Wheel…” will finally be available next Tuesday. But that doesn’t matter because NPR started streaming it earlier this week, and it’s the only thing I’ve listened to for the last three days. And let me tell you, it’s a carousel of torture. Bitch brings the break-up album to a new level. Alanis Morissette could choke on it, and Adele can bow the fuck down. Miss Apple puts them to shame. And I will eat shit if it isn't nominated for Album of the Year or at least the perched atop a dozen Best of 2012 lists.

Miss thing serving up squid hat realness.

My favorite track is “Werewolf,” a song where Apple compares her lover to a werewolf, a chemical, and a shark only to turn around take the blame for making him that way.

"I could liken you to a werewolf the way you left me for dead,
But I admit that I provided a full moon.
And I could liken you to a shark the way you bit off my head,
But then again I was waving around a bleeding an open wound."

I think my affection for the song comes from its mystery. Is she taking the stance of a Lifetime movie protagonist with the “he hits me because I deserve it” mindset or is she taking ownership of her own toxicity? Of course I’d like to believe the later. Mostly because this whole sentiment hits close to home, and I’d like to count myself in the company of Fiona Apple.

I’ve been there. And sometimes I feel like I’m still waist deep in it. That revelation that everyone has the power to poison — even you.

Especially you.

If you’ve even been in love, then you understand what a slippery slope manipulation can be. You learn where a person’s buttons are and then you have to tell yourself not to push. Once you find a chink in their armor or a way under their skin, it’s hard to forget where it is.

Human decency is only as good as your refusal to exploit others. That sounds like the theme of a Coen Brothers movie, but it’s the bleak reality. And now I’m starting to feel like Gretchen Weiners during her “we should totally just stab Caesar” rant. I have no idea how I made the leap from Fiona Apple to here. Fuck it. I made some vaguely intelligent observations and managed to sound brooding and introspective. Psych ya.