It's All About De's Big Mouth

It may not seem like it here but I'm a closed book in the real world.
I don't talk about my real feelings very often. I don't open up to my friends and I don't cry on many shoulders.
But sometimes, I find my mouth having a mind of it's own and suddenly, I realize....I've fucking shared my feelings. Deep feelings! The next day, much like after a drunken encounter...I'm regretful. "God, why did I say that?".

I went to dinner with my sister, brother in law and my late nephew's girlfriend. As we were waiting for a table, I felt a really bad headache coming on so I took one of my prescribed Fioracets. Later, at the table, I forgot about the Fioricet and had a margarita.
It wasn't long until I started feeling dizzy. Shit! I just mixed alcohol with a barbiturate! Oh well...I sort of liked that crazy dizzy feeling.
It was then that I found myself talking....and talking....and talking.
I actually wasn't as chatty as I thought but more than usual I'm sure.
On the way home, I'm not sure what we were talking about that brought up the subject but suddenly I found myself telling them how I am kind of closed and it's hard to break through my shell and how guys see that as a challenge so they really bend over backwards to break through and worm their slimy little way into my heart. Then, once they're in, the game is over and they want out.

Now, to most of you, who aren't as neurotic and screwed up tighter than a 40 yr old mason jar, this is no big deal. You tell this kind of stuff to your friends all the time. To me, this was like letting the whole world know I had genital warts or something (which I don't!). But it was so completely personal to me that this morning, I was so embarrassed that I even said it.
I think there is something so fundamentally wrong with me.

Speaking of big mouths....
The other day I was talking to my neighbor. She lives downstairs and two apartments over from me.
She had some trouble with the people who use to live right above her back before Christmas and finally she had to call the police after a really bad fight where the guy was beating the hell out of the woman who lived their.
Typically, when the police has to be called to your apartment for something like domestic violence, the apartment managers quickly send an eviction notice and that's what happened in this situation.
So, now, she's got new upstairs neighbors and I asked her on this day, if her new neighbors were better than the previous ones.
She replied that they were much quieter but she's never even seen them.
"They seem to be a really nice couple." I told her.
"What do they look like? What color are they" asked my friendly, African-American neighbor.
I hesistated for a moment, searching for the most politically correct response because I am nothing if not politically correct.
"Dey black!" I blurted out.
If I could have physically pulled those words from the air and shoved them back into my mouth, I would have, but it was too late. There it was. "Dey black".
I am not a racist person at all. I'm probably the most tolerant, culturally sensitive person you'll ever meet but somehow, my mouth was having a Chris Rock moment.
I tried not to show how appalled I was at myself and she didn't seem to care about my faux pas but I smiled and beat a hasty retreat back to the comfort of my apartment.
"Dey black?????" I kept repeating to myself.

I think it's better that I always keep in mind....

"Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech."

Posted by De at June 18, 2005 10:59 AM