Before You Got Here

He said he got the hog maws, chitlins, collard greens, catfish, smoked turkey legs, ox tails smothered, suffocated, and strangled in gravy,

She got the homemade potato salad with the raisins in 'em with the Tostitos from Dollar General

And you wonder why someone may get cursed out so pleasantry and elegantly on Big Ma's back porch.

Momma' ain't raise no fool, but your momma is an astronaut and her head looks like a Psychonaut

Got elbows crisper than Uncle Leroy's 2 piece from Popeyes

Hey, I don't blame you I haven't been the same either since Jett Jackson died

And you wonder if she changed, but that's just the top layer

You was who you was

Before You Got Here.

I gotta' go to twerk-and-work at 6:53, because they little brown kids need a role model,

So why I'm STILL standing in the middle of a FedEx Kinko's on Christmas Eve.

But I ain't no buster, I still pulled up my sleeves and all I ask you is to call me when you get home.

She did Call, and she said "I HATE YOU JODY" 

Hello!

 Hello! 

I mean goodbye.

I was only here for a minute, so you can say hello to the "bad guy" since every protagonist needs an antagonist.

 I sent positive vibes your way, sweeter than some wild berry poptarts and cornier than a party-sized bag of Tostitos, hoping that a connection would last longer than Rondo's wingspan.

But now I'm sitting in a FedEx Kinko's parking lot, trying to update my resume after working at Dollar Tree for two weeks, wondering how this warm feeling in my tum-tum turned into rolly pollies.

I cried out, a more severe pain after I stub my toe on the coffee table, screaming louder than a theatre kid doing the 'Mr. Feanie' call. 

I only have a finite amount of "I Love You's" and when I say "I Love You" it 99% of the time means "I Love You", so "I Love You" but, eh, ya' know.

That's eternal sunshine but I guess suns explode eventually. Or maybe just dim out like the light in your eyes when you don't follow your childhood dreams and become numb.

Well, I thought about sending you the longest text message ever but I didn't. I just went for a run. I'll call later. Probably.

Goodbye!

I mean hello.

The Off-Season

The Off-Season is upon us. Two months of recalibration, remediation, relaxation, recovering or what have you. It's a time not to be taken lightly as expired sweet peppers and avocadoes sit patiently in my vegetable drawer, waiting for me to take them out behind the barn to end their misery. I was going to throw them out and clean out my fridge during the winter, but I had to get disfectant spray on layaway on the Dollar Tree. I'm definitely taking time now to reevaluate my close personal and professional relationships. My social, emotional, physical, spiritual simulations, needs, wants, and desires. As soon as I left school today, I felt that exhale finally happen like I was Loretta Devine trying out new swimsuits after a BBQ. I did get through the last school year with a relative smoothness but still fell into my vices quite easily, as they tend to send out false vibrations, playing with my emotions. I feel like for every 1 vice I have (let's call them Tom Cruises), I need about 10-15 positive things (let's call them Bill Murrays) to only REDUCE the effectiveness of the Tom Cruises. Not eliminate, just reduce. And not doing those vices isn't very helpful because then there's a fear I'll fall back into them and just dive deeply into it more when I get back to that level. I always come back to them, like a deadbeat dad after their son makes it to the NBA. For example: Tom Cruises: Overeating, Overdrinking, Maintaining a failed relationship, Undersleeping, Overexercising, Over Social-Mediaing, Not Drinking Enough Water, Ignoring Warning Signs of Anxiety, Saying Yes, Stealing disinfectant spary from the Dollar Treem, Not expressing Needs from a relationship because it's "inconvienent" Bill Murrays: Eating vegetables, checking in with friends, Hydrating, Running, Yoga, Meditating, Listening to (informational) podcasts, Calling parentseekly, Keeping up with my sleep pattern, Burning incense or sage, Getting/receiving hugs, Making my bed in the morning, Petting dogs, Cursing positive affirmations at my plants, Saying No, Writing this blog that only my mom and Dee reads, Listening to Hans Zimmer when I am doing mundane activities, Dancing awkwardly around people I love, High fiving people until their hands hurt, Making up secret handshakes with people, Knowing when to go home, Performing entries from this blog only my mom and Dee reads, (TBC) And I feel it more, ya' know? I feel this over indulgence as I round to my 28th birthday, I feel the uneasiness of it all. It's there and always ready to serve to medicate me but I needed to meditate. Yes there's Jon, Jonny, JODY, and Jonathan but there is really only one Jon. And I need to take care of him, I need to take care of me. Whether I am wearing a wig or not. And damn that fridge needed to be cleaned out so long ago So how does the Off-Season going to effect my Tom Cruise-Bill Murray conundrum this year? It won't unless I sent some intentions soon. Like right now. I think it's important to see everything from the lense on how it effects not only other people but me. It's all about me when it comes down to it. I came into this world with my parents, a brother, probably some white dude slapping me on sight, and oversized heads. But ultimate-ultimately I was alone. And I will die alone. My intro and outro. But that middle, juicy, meaty part between those things is where I get excited. I'm overworked, overanxious, underslept, sometimes more sad than not but I am here with a lot of joy and a lot of faith, which I need to extend to myself. I am and will continue to turn up. I don't have a choice in the matter. But I need to breathe. I need to slow down and be with myself and in this sh*t or I'm never going going to attain the 5th and final Jon. #savethetostitos

See How You Fly

"When I couldn't move, you showed me how to crawl. When I could walk, you showed me how to run. When I could glide, you showed me how to fly." Now see how they fly, from the mountains of Zion, roaring down the hillside, along the county lines, through Dollar General alleyways and flyways in the Mississippi where I saw Bobo and them earn their wings earlier than expected but were always accepted, But the King is dead, the tostitos are crumbled, and they tried to clip my wings. I howled that day for 3 summers and 4 winters, waiting for my chance at the throne and my seat at the table and I hobbled to Valhalla on one knee over 38 countries and 8,000 miles. I told them I was a humble knave, traveling along the piedmont for the past 13 years. And they told me "no" at the door like they worked for Fedex Kinkos. "No, no, no, no, no no" NO. I shook hands with Yahweh, consumed the blood of Christ, etched my body with ancient images, and I saw how they flew! I have done the spectacular and watched all 5 seasons of Living Single. What do you mean "no" I met the Oshun and she supplied with the ether and new bag of only a few crumbled Tostitos at the bottom. I asked "why" , they asked me "why would they let a knave fly" I told them "I can" They told me "if you can fly then you're not a knave. Walk first. Then Run. Glide. And THEN show me how YOU fly, King."

The Minstrel Show: Pt. 3

Call it a little fear of thunder and lightning when I didn't jump off the top rope.

If I ever told you I don't give a duck, I probably give two ducks

I still owe my Uncle the $5

Still can't get right, 

Still giving old ladies rides to HEB to get their Prilosec

I used to make brownies for my bullies

Because they needed a father figure,

And I've been in the basement with Big Tigger

After too many Bobcats casually whispered in my ear "n*gger"

When I came out to you, you responded with "faggot" 

But I was hoping I needed to swab my ears out or you froze like lag switch, 

She built like BBQ kettle chips, so I took her on a date to Sweet Yams

Took her to Dollar Tree and gave her the $20 and said you can get 19

They told me I could get my black card back after I develop HBP and stop gentrifying my cornbread

He said he's half-American, half- Italian, so I called him homemade olive oil mayonnaise

And vegan food is delicious, wait, wait, Noname Jonny said vegan food is delicious!

I told them check the science, them and Ted Cruz told me they would if they could

But they can't read...boycott the SATs and the GRE

New Girl is on the TV and I'm already on my second stout,

So Ima finna pass out 

The Autobiography of My Dead Dog Pt. 2

As stated a few years ago I only have one regret in my life. Full of the ups and downs of being a teacher, almost leaving college,  moving over 30 times in less than a decade, multiple relatives contracting cancer, getting tens of thousands of dollars into debt, shattering parts of leg when I was child; there's only one. Just the one,

In Denver I worked for this organization that let me run people's dogs. For money. Running. Dogs. Money. Wowzers.

This was the place where I met all of my friends from my brief 2-year stint in Denver; running huskies, shepherds, collies, malamutes, those two German dogs, and  that one pictured below. Which reminds me of red panda and an angel who liked to take naps every other mile.

This was my safe space in a city which I had troubling adjusting too. These were my friends and I needed them.

Back in 2009 I played basketball for my high school. I had finally recovered from my knee surgery the year prior and I was hoopin'. My dog, who had been with me during the turbulent 4 years at the time, waited for me everyday after school and/or practice. As soon as I would get home, he knew I was going to run him. No matter what. At the time, he was a chiseled little demigod, mixture of shar pei and mountain curr. Enough skin to be a chicken thigh at Popeye's enough muscle to be in a english-dub anime. Whenever he got amped up, he could clear me. Easily.

But he's dead now. He died a couple of years ago. Fat, depressed, and without me. As I played basketball and my popularity rose with the jocks and ladies, he was given away to a family. My father told me in the car after practice. I called his bluff. I would have lost a hand.

As that school year went on, I quit basketball. I forgot that I hated high school at the time. And I wanted my dog back but he was hundreds of miles away, making some other kid happy, which I didn't give two ducks about. 

Giving away my dog for absolutely nothing still looms on my mind, as it was the first time I gave away a friend for notoriety and to go on the dates with the Gina's of the world. And that date sucked. It was the first time I gave up a friend and the last time.

After logging in over 2,500 miles with dogs between 2017-2019, and building those relationships with them it meant the world to me. I laughed, cried, got pulled along black ice slabs, jumped into alleyways, with these dogs. I felt like I was trying to rebuild my dogs final moments, the moments I never had with him. Even when I shattered my leg and I couldn't run with him, he would walk with me. 

Slave Feet 10ks

I got negroes in very, very high places.

I remember because I was there, you were there, and you was there, I mean we all were

Wolfing down on hog maws a with the cornbread burnt on the sides like the back of Forest Whitaker's neck.

 

Then we heard Winchester rifles blooming,  blooming like some leopard orchids

Up along Greenwood District,

With no group chat to let y'all know we were free to go to Lennox Mall after dark.

I was going to drive us but he took the UPS.

And she was walking down Hancock, on some Tuesday morning.

I forget her name but she had fist comb up and a fist in the air, rattling off about the prison industrial complex and such.

But I was going to put my fist up, but I needed two hands to eat my fried chicken sandwich and I wasn't done yet.

While mayonnaise folks always wondered why we walked around with a built-in frown.

What a niggy know

When a niggy still get splinters from the ride over here, and still pissed off from the water casserole after waiting for a fortnight  or two or six or 12 or ten thousand

Ruby said they had better food at home, so she sent it back to Paula Deen

As I said, I have negroes in very high places.

Like John Witherspoon and Uncle Beaver

You had to be an angel in the next life to make catfish taste the most heavenly.

They keep reminding me that we ain't them, and I don't think like me

Chasing and yelling out "WHAT A NIGGY KNOW" as the Drake & Josh laugh track plays in the background

I didn't pay attention, I got 10ks to win with these slave feet

I won't bothering no one, massa' I was jus' chuckin' jivin' down MLK Boulevard suh'

Asking 'who that nigga' in dem Asics!'

And I let them borrow my stapler.

Nina Simone’s Inner Nina Simone

Sometimes you need to hear that you’re doing a good job and somehow KNOW you’re not wasting your potential. And be kind of a dick about it, 

The Jons and I were listening to “Igor” by Tyler and one of my favorite comedians Jerrod Carmichael referenced the concept of ‘wasted potential being detrimental to the soul’ (paraphrasing) which is not to be taken as a radial ideal. N*ggas continuously waste their potential every single day. Like most of the people I know in my Tier 1 and Tier 2 friendship will quickly take opportunities and then just as quick toss them in the garbage. The amount of people who loved doing activities or skills that are now lost for one reason or the other,

Why do people do that? Why do the Jons do that? Everyone does that sh*t.

One may look at self confidence and self esteem and self anything, really. You’re working a job and you’re doing great job and you’re numbers are high and you’re efficient and blah, blah, blah. At a certain point, nobody cares. People take that greatness for granted. Could you imagine be so proficient at something and people not acknowledging that you’re the lifeblood of a company. You’re probably putting minimum effort into it and you being more efficient than a heat pump. And nobody saying a thank you or a please or anything. 

At a certain point, free company yoga during a lunch break or a pizza party coddles you and suppresses you’re freewill cognitive ability. People over here in a cubicle selling paper in bulk and they can juggle knives with their tongue. Leaving no fingerprints,

Older people talk about working at a job for 25 years or talking about having kids and being married to their high school sweet heart. Some may call it consistency. Which is great and important but there’s also (I’ll call this a radical notion) that people don’t want to do those things. Sometimes people talk to Jonathan like making dance videos are embarrassing and “wait until I get older”. If I’m 48 and don’t love making dance videos over these past few years, please take my legs. Not everyone wants to be as miserable as you are,

2.82

I graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree from Georgia College (formerly known as Georgia College & State University) on December 15th, 2015. I majored in Environmental Science with a concentration in geography/geology. My coursework includes hydrology, hydrogeology, ecology, agroecology, independent research on groundwater contamination, chemistry, blah, blah, science. 

Upon completion of my courses, I received a 2.82 GPA, about 80-82 average or a B- scale. Now, do I believe my intelligence over 4.5 years is a B- overall as an adult? No. Did I believe that during my undergrad program? Duh. Let's dive into it,

College is hard. It's probably the hardest thing I have done since pretending I care about Tyler Perry movies. To me, I was an intellectually sound Jonny and I could comprehend things at a high level when my interest was strong enough. And the strong interest in science was such a huge deal and it was overwhelming what one could do with a degree in environmental science. It seemed like the opportunities were limitless. 

All of the times I badgered my peers for study groups, worked in your underground geology lair, stood at my professor's door clutching my marked up tests, asking graduate students about how to fix our broken spectrometers that are always broken, taking mental breaks at permaculture farms, nothing can take away from how beautiful everything was during that time.

Freshmen year wasn't the greatest for me, as I navigated the regular party scene, sleeping in a tiny room across with some yt dude I never met before, and my low appetite to do either one of those things. I went out every once in a while and tried to be social but did not care much. I was most notably known for going to the library at 3pm on Fridays and renting out every DVD from the circulation desk.

My school was tiny, so minute that I knew who was going to be in my class and who to sit with for labs. In my junior and senior(s) year, my 3 professors for (all) my upper level courses knew of me and I felt they did not believe in me. For my senior capstone when putting "eradicating invasive plant species on federal land" was dulled down to "mowing lawns"and got rejected by my advisor, I was not in the best of modes. Sometimes I think they saw me as a custodian, my side job in school. Of course nothing wrong with being a custodian but there is something wrong with someone who doesn't want to be seen as a custodian who is trying to become a hydrologist.

 But during those formative years and post-formative years, it took intentional minutes to convince myself I am smart enough and that I am an extra-ordinary negro. Sometimes I wish my professors sat and talked with me but there was never time for them to get to know me over lunch. I knew all about them, I wanted to emulate them. Just a little. As I became older and (sort of) wiser, I realized that I have my own path and own intelligences that may not show up on the stat-sheet. That may be a reason teaching has come to fluid to me and why my graduate program has been so much smoother than undergrad and why I pride myself off of helping students reach their full potential. Even if they think they're only Drew Gooden. You may not be LeBron James but I would like them to carry themselves like they are. Ya' know?

Unlimited Tostitos, Pt. 2

Do you ever just hear people say words out loud and you're just standing there like

"Nope."

I was listening to some comedian talk about "the older you get, the more you just spout of stuff you know nothing about" in regards to a regular conversation. For example I may ask someone who is the name of an actor in a movie, and I will get the runaround for 8 minutes in which most of the words are probably just a random sequence of sentences that have taken 8 minutes of my life. 

Because for a while I believed myself to be stupid, so I would eagerly await people to say words to me, all of the time. It was though I was waiting for little bit-sized bits of wisdom that I could enlighten myself with and be the next Nelson Mandela. Or Clay Aiken. 

But instead I received a lot of bit-sized bits of unseasoned trash. Am I eating trash? No. But listening to numerous professors in college saying incorrect facts or a mayonnaise amount of information helps me sift out the fecal matter. 

Can you imagine in that 8 minute time frame of me listening to someone say whatever, I could have created a blueprint for how to build a baby-sized space-shuttle? I could have created a cure for all the cancers. I could have won unlimited tostitos from a scratch-off from Food Lion. I could have took 10 seconds to google the actor in that movie (it was John Malkovich, duh!)

But instead I got this value-menu-Jonathan-Livingston-Seagull-probably-volunteers-to-picket-at-planned-parenthood-guy telling me about why Miller High Life is not only the "champagne of beers" but the "champagne beverage of all the beverages" and didn't even provide any scientific evidence. No articles from JSTOR or GALILEO or faux Wikipedia article.

As I may interject, as I am talking to myself, that most conversations are essentially useless. Unless we are talking about how to harness the power of unlimited tostitos, how is this topic helping us be better as people? 95% of conversation is small talk, and I have the faux Wikipedia articles to prove it. I'm a scientist, so I can throw out numbers and you won't fact check it. Believe me, I did independent research for my Hydrology classes. Nobody cares about where the numbers came from. *Wink*

Yes the phrase "constantly talking isn't necessarily communicating" always pops up in my head, but there are plenty of other talking points that help improve the human race, besides unlimited tostitos. (Reminder, I need to go to the store before they close!)

Here are a few constructive topics:

1. Did you delete your search browser lately?

2. What are your feelings towards the second season finale of American Idol?

3. Why aren't you trying harder, like, in general?
4. Do you not like to wear deodorant? 

"You Ain't Gotta' Lie" by Kendrick Lamar is the staple of this entire article. It's okay , you really don't have to lie!

I Asked God To Come and Get Me, But I am Too Uncool

Some of my favorite/worst memories of my childhood was waking up real early on Sunday mornings to go hear Dr. Lance Watson preach in Creighton. I would never have my hair combed by the time we would leave, so my momma would always drag the comb through my hair, almost making my scalp come off. Call it the first ever S-curl accident. Sometimes if we were a little early to get to church, me and my brother would get chicken biscuits from McDonald's. While we sped to church down 95 and across 64, listening to Momma Caesar I would steal my brother's hash browns for the extra saturated fat. There was this girl there at the 10am services, she had cornrows and braces like it was her first day out. She probably already knew how to shoot a stepback jumper, heavily contested. I never spoke to her, but she looks like a Jamillah. Oh, and there were a few kids from my school who went there and I would try to make eye contact but as soon as they looked up, I looked down. I always wondered where I got church shoes from. I felt like they always appeared and I never asked for them. I wish it worked that way for Gameboy Advance Cartridges. While we sat down, my momma would give me a crinkled dollar bill to hand-off to some old dude who smelled of moth balls. What was he chewing all the time? I always held on to the money plate longer than I needed too because it looked like his arthritis was starting to kick in. Whenever the music would play (there was a score for walking into the church to breathing in the church to squirming in the church to passing out in the church) I wanted to dance or any clap my hands. Never understood why I didn't do so, even to this day. It was a continuous struggle to get to church everyday but it was a spectacle when you got there. If I took one of my white friends with us like Adam or Alex, you would have thought we were watching a soap opera. Pastor rapping off bible verses, old ladies passing out, single mom's interpretation of snakes, drinking the blood and eating the flesh off of some dude you haven't seen but apparently is ubiquitous. And there were so many hats. I would be so proud to invite seasoning to their lives. And you swore you left refreshed and anew and accomplished as much as Nelson Mandela himself. You couldn't tell someone anything who just walked out of church, not a got-dern-ting. Saying bible quotes and giggling with your best friend named Brenda you saw twice a week. Once at bible study and another at the line at the Piccadilly's. The one at Southpark. Wait is it shutdown? Sometimes I would pay attention to the pastor to intentionally, like I would  be the next up there. Like Martin Luther or Allen Senior. T.D. Jakes would be my speech coach. Mase would serve as my financial adviser. Everyone from my 3rd grade class, family, and friends would be there. Screaming and hollering righteous and sweet sayings right up there at the pulpit, guiding someone to change their life. To see their mom or their kids again after too many years. God would tell me I was cool and said I had a seat with them at the gates because I was so cool for being patient. Jamillah would be there too.



Then I woke up.

"Unhappy" by Outkast has remained one of the songs played when I am normally, well, happy.

It Wasn't A Dream, It Wrulleeappen'd

Basketball will forever and always be in my life. Whether it be me as a little 10 year-old collecting any and every basketball card from the trading card aisles in Target; starting altercations during AAU tournaments because it was stimulating to me; or being in this whole separate community of potential JUCO all-stars that just wanted to waste time during those long summers in grade school.

Well let me be honest, I was never cut out to be a true basketball player. Yes I was mainly 6'2, 6'3 and had a firm muscular frame and Dennis Rodman-type caliber player, during most of high school but mentally I was out of it.

Basketball in high school for me was firmly about being accepted in a social circle. My first crush played on the girl's team, I wanted to be invited to parties, I wanted my brother (who was a D1 athlete) and dad to be proud of me, I wanted something to go back and relate to when I talk to other nigglets and my dad's brothers when we were just sitting around. And none of those things panned out how I wanted too because I honestly didn't want or need them to pan out in that way. I honestly had given up my dog so I could go hangout with people I don't even have as Facebook friends anymore.

But some of the more miraculous things happened from this sport. For years and years I recorded stats on every basketball player I could stuff in my little Jonny brain and would update them on my basketball video games on player's attributes and accolades. Surely enough, basketball was not the one thing my brother and dad wanted me to talk about all the time (of course we still gotta' talk our stuff). I met some of my favorite players like Ben Wallace, George Gervin, and Jeff Capel. I found my voice as a leader being the defensive anchor on my teams.

This seemingly simple-minded sport became a storybook to me, full of tales and heroes and villains. All of my jerseys, action figures, trading cards, ProAm games; missed dunks, completed dunks, game winners, broken ankles, broken bones, size-ups; long nights, long days, long weekends, long practices, long car rides...it is just a game. Nothing more, nothing less.

You may be born at a Level 98 Wizard basketball player or work hours and hours off and remain at a Level 2 Peasant basketball player. And if you are a Level 2 Peasant in basketball, you may easily enough re-imagine yourself as a Level 98 Wizard on an entire simulation made by other Level 2 Peasant basketball players that are Level 98 Wizard game developers.

Whatever happened on a basketball court for me was so impersonal and I didn't feel it on a spiritual or emotional plane at all. If I was getting after it on the offensive glass and pushing and shoving all of these massive players, getting dunked on by people 5, 6 inches taller than me, talking into their ear about their mommas', I turned that off instantly as soon as I put my slides back on. But you can imagine the culture that this game built that gives everyone dreams, hopes, stability, and a form of escapism. The passion that burns in their eyes, it may not burn in my mines.There was a passion of just trying hard and giving almost everything I had. If I gave everything I had to the game, what would I leftover for everything else?

Regardless, I will dunk on you.

"Basketball Jones" by various artists on Space Jam reminds me of the hoop dreams I never had,

How To Lose a Jon In 10 Days

I am firm believer that I am the LAST person in the solar system to be giving out dating advice, especially since I have continuously deflected dating in high school to get my K/D ratio at 1.2 on CoD (see what I mean?). So here are a few of my random quirks and backstories that have gotten (got?) me to this point as a 26 year-old man-child.

*Please be advised, once again, this is not dating advice. Because me giving out dating advice is like Steve Harvey giving out any advice. It just shouldn't happen,

I had the pleasure of growing up with Xbox live and a decent internet service. So my dating life conveniently was hindered in high school due to me playing Halo 3, Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2, and a whole slew of Rockstar games. The opposite sex was cool in my book, but me and Gtownboi88 had to set aside weekend nights to get those sweet, sweet achievements Xbox achievements.

As times progressed, I awkwardly and briefly stumbled into the dating scene when college started. I technically didn't have my first kiss until college since my teeth cut a girl's eyelid due to lack of aim on the first go around and it was bad. Well more pathetic because Google had failed me, 

Remember that Spongebob episode where he says "I'm ugly and I'm proud!" and Squidward subtly says "is that what you call it?" and he gains the bare minimum of self-confidence to exist? Yeah. But quick reminder that my mentality is "I am the sh*t but also I am a little sh*t" and that didn't fair well.

When post-college life came around, I had hit a stride and felt what I needed was attainable, and my communication came out of dormant. Punctuality became (essential) important, intention became tier 1, futures were discussed, but I noticed I started attaching myself to maybe 60%-75% of the a person. Like toxic traits were ignored and I only wanted to pick out the positive, beneficial ones. Maybe someone is intellectually, emotional, socially, and financially sound but romantically had some rough habits. Even though the communication was there, that trait didn't just lay around dormant. It still negatively impacted me. Which wasn't and still isn't healthy for me or any partner I was with,

It's also strange because I will get so jittery and happy when meeting that new person to where I get annoyed with my thoughts on whether I should text them or not. Every time I see that person, my heart would drop down to the soles of my feet. But also at a certain point, I had to think that I was only excited because someone chose to speak to me, and they could have literally done anything else today. (Yes, I know, Jonny is annoying)

Came to the hard truths, like understanding if people are too busy to date me at 27, what hope do I have of dating them when they are busy at 35. Humans will make time for you if they really want too. No one is that occupied. Unless you're The Rock (have you seen his IG?) people have priorities in life and it's okay if it doesn't involve me. People who I have known for years and years used to remain in my life because they create that time and space. But for years and years they hindered that growth to find someone. It's like I have been a dandelion being told dandelions are just weeds. When that's not that truth at all,

I still think there's more good women then men percentage wise, but it is vital to everyone's everyday life to just ask sometimes. You don't have to wait 10 days to do so. Seeing negative, undefinable bad tendencies in the first 5 minutes of a meet-up (one girl asked me if I was gay repeatedly because I wore a yellow shirt), it's okay to hit that step-back. Sometimes there are people that I meet over a dating app and wished that I met them at a Comic Con or in college. Just let them know how you feel, for better or for worse. And if someone asks you to stop talking to them, maybe (definitely) you should stop talking to them,

And it's okay to be intimate with someone you've known for years but there is a certain amount of respect for that friendship that has dissipated. I think that's real.

Almost everything about dating is nice to me. It can be stressful and a waste of time, but you get to meet someone new, someone who you talked to for a week or for a year and they are anxious to meet you. They don't know of your faults or mistakes, you get to make the same bad decisions all over again if you want to be that way. Or learn from them, that's probably better. It's like a weird time loop or Groundhog Day. You can change anything you want but it's always going to be the same result on your end. Just stay true to yourself but please, for the love of Jon, don't be a terrible. Yes, I am talking to you 21 year-old Jon,

The Emasculation of The Ignorant Black Man Pt. 3

I started getting tattoos around the age of 22. Sometimes due to the desire to have body art, some through tattoo therapy, and mostly because I thought "Why Not?"My goal still is to cover 30 % of my body with the ink, only rules I have are:

1.) Nothing above the collar bone

2. No names or identifiable faces

Here are the list describing every tattoo, where they are located, and why. Enjoy! (Yes I made a spreadsheet)

Tattoo	Body Location	Reason
Zebra Inspired Tiger Stripes (1st tattoo)	Entire left arm	I initially wanted to zebra stripes but the lady who did it added spikes for the stencil so I kept it. Growing up didn't know if I was a black with white stripes or vice versa. Only tattoo I wanted through college
Seagulls	Right forearm	From one of my favorite tales Jonathan Livingston Seagull , reminder to always keep working on love
Japanese Clouds	Right elbow	I thought they complimented the seagulls and the trees on my right forearm
Red Cardinal Perched on A Peach*	Right rib cage	An ode to the two states I grew up in as a child (Virginia = Red Cardinal, Georgia = Peach), not knowing if I would return back to them again after I had moved to Denver in 2017
Triangle Series Yoga Poses	Left back	My favorite series that I learned with my time getting my 200 hour yoga license. It helped me feel confident and long in my stature
Unicorn*	Left upper outer calf	Cheap tattoo from a random street festival. My only drunk tattoo
Rainbow Shaped 'J'	Upper left back	Rainbows make me happy !
Christmas Lights (Last Tattoo)	Right side of spine, along back	Very well known that I view Christmas Day as a high effort, low reward holiday. But Christmas lights have always made me calm and appreciate any setting or surrounding,
Silhouette of a Black Woman	Left side of back	Black women are dope. That is all.
Basic Bundle of Star Doodles	Left upper inner calf	I made this tattoo every time I made a NBA 2k character since 2010. In a way, I grew into the player I always created playing Xbox
Akindra Symbols from Black Panther	Back of calf	3 symbols that represent love, peace, and family. I don't recall the actual meaning but I can totz find the link
Artemis Wings*	Lower left outer calf	Sometimes I feel like I have Artemis wings in my legs when I am running, and that's a fo' sho' right on
Wings	Right shoulder	From one of my favorite players Andre Iguodala. Unfortunately didn't turn out as detailed as his
Moana Tribal Sun	Left man boobie	I actually did not know it was the sun from that film, I just thought it looked cool.
Darcy's Law	Right man boobie	The equation for how water flows through a porous medium that ruled my life to help me get my science degree. Kind of a joke tattoo for my Hydrology professor
Jaguar Shark from The Life Aquatic	Upper right back	That whole movie is a masterpiece and I wanted to get at least one thing from it
3 Apples*	Left rib cage	Apple a day keeps the doctor a way was what my momma' told me. Still going strong from this ideal
Black Spruce Trees	Right forearm	From my time in Alaska, it always learned back and forth and it was so flimsy. But it never fell.
Carrot	Front right calf	I am the only in my immediate family that does not have to wear classes. Coincidence?
Cornbread	Front lower thigh	My entire life. Do ya' have to ask?

Somebody Gotta’Love The Spiritual Immaculate Hoodrats

Oh yes, absolutely. Here comes Jonny with some rhymes about some mild insecurities, infatuation with fat booties, and night runs around the city.

Oh real quick, as I mentioned before, my love language includes but ain’t limited to double gin & tonics, Running 10ks, and cosplays. Cool let me start my ramble,

I’m probably here to talk about how people have gentrified cornbread or how much I miss my momma’s sweet, SWEET cocoa butter kisses on my left cheek,

I did slip on a banana peel like I was an extra in an infomercial, I’m sure every actor/actress is an extra on informercials. Grabbed every invisible ropes I couldn’t 

Find. No wonder no one rarely finishes rainbow road. 

Uh, I kissed a boy 👨‍❤️‍👨

Nah, I ain’t like it 🙅🏾‍♂️

Well, I still hate Jordan Howard and when my dad cries.

Still gotta’ fetish for the spiritual hoodrat immaculate ratchets, but only when they don’t receive child support 

And known to tell other people’s kids to stop acting up in Public settings 

But I have to remind you that I was the Last Black Superhero in Willacoochee & Arvada, 

I’m still dropping science whilst others drop English,

I heard the call and culled the heard, paid the piper, pied the payers, became the player, but Chance said players are quitters 

And the bat signal doesn’t show up when the sky is clear but I’m pretty sure Woburn and Flint’s water supply is still burning,

And the dog is dead, the girl is gone, the chicken is unseasoned, and I’m sitting off of 16th and Colfax with my brother. Wondering why he always has mayonnaise on his lips. 

If I say I don’t give a shit, I give 100% of the shits.

And if I ever told you I love you, 

And if I save a love you, I do. I do, I do-oooo-ooooo. 

If I say I don’t I love you, I don’t.

And I believe in you, and you, and you. But not you.

And I believe in Jonny.

An Xbox Killed My Dog

An Xbox Killed My Dog

Have you ever experienced something truly magical and enchanting. Mesmerizing, so awe-inspiring that your tummy felt like it was full of peanut butter cups and rainbows and unicorn vomit?

That was my DAWG, I mean my actual, literal DOG, Mac. Short for Macilious. He was a half sharpei, half mountain curr, all dynomutt of a dog. Medium-sized, sleek- -nay, matte black fur, built like a swamp possum who had a planet fitness membership. 

35 pounds that dog weighed after 2 years, would carry him around all-awkwardly like a teen mom off of MTV when he got too hott outside. Mac’s head would just bobble-bobble like a bobble head, as we would walk back to 80 Fairview Drive. That’s my boy; I mean that was my boy.

Mac did this thing where he would need to go outside. Like he would be in my room upstairs. Then I would creep all the way downstairs, just left him there. Until

I opened the door from the mudroom and yelled “skrrrrrrt skrrrrrrrt” and he would bolt all the way downstairs would and start chasing an imaginary deer outside. Oh, I would do these little drills with him for my own quickness and footwork and it helped me get on the basketball team in high school and then I became popular and got to go on a date with Gina Anderson and then I got a new Xbox and multiplayer then I started lifting a lot of weights and then my dad kept asking me “take the dog out son” then I would say” I don’t want him anymore” as I’m tapping away on my Xbox 360 controller playing NBA 2K11 then I went to school next morning after I walked him then I came back and Mac was gone,

“Where did Mac go,” I asked my dad. 

“He’s gone,” my dad said.

“Oh,” I said.

Well that was my boy, that was my boy. I got him 2 months after he was born when I was 13. Momma paid a quarter of stack for him, he was born on Halloween night. I went to 3 different high schools with him, he was my only friend. The dog that looked me dead in my face and told me “I’ll protect you” even though we both knew damn well he couldn’t box to save his life.

He’s dead now. Last time I saw him, looked like he was 55-60 pounds. 10 years-old died from depression. I had until He was 4. Shit. 

“Where did he go,” I asked my dad. 

“He’s gone,” my dad said.

“Shit,” I said.

Mac was sitting in a car, with some unfamiliar faces, going 3 states away and he had no idea where he was going or why his best friend wouldn’t ever see him again.

I was sitting in my room, thinking about this dog that was going 3 states away that I would never see again. Honestly, Fuck Gina Anderson. Then I turned on my Xbox,

Bundles of Jon Part 4

My name is Jonathan, half blank, half give a shit.

My name is Jonny, half black , half licorice.

My name is JODY, half black, half don’t give a shit.

My name is Jon, 

But listen, without the ‘H’, 

Half black, half ordinary negro.

These are my bundles of Jons, all of the Jonny bravos, Jon hamms, Jon-Jon, lil Jons, and John Henry irons.

I’m energetic, sometimes translucent, elusive, electric, engaging, enthralled 

Bothered, shocked, Baffled, appalled, and sometimes a straight goof, goof, goofball.

Some days I’m  informative like a Stewart, sometimes I’m going HAM like Ham, 

I’m good and bad for your heart, like John Candy,

I go well with Tater Tots like a Heder, irrationally emotional like a Bernthal

I got lips like a Lovitz,

Fry some french fries like a Favreau

I’ll surf through it  like a Tsunami,

And boring like a bald headed black kid bearing a board and named Two-By-Four

BUT NO F*CKIN’ ‘H’ 

It’s just, I’m sorry. Wait no I’m not. Wait, yeah I am. Wait, no, yes, uh.

I apologize. 

I just love the Jons. It’s as though I couldn’t promote self-love so I promoted the 4 quarters that make me, me. I’m not on some Split or MPD stuff. There is no we’s, there’s only me’s. Jon is sweet, Jon is protecting, Jon is loving, Jon is brash. I’ll beat the sh*t outta of a super sucka’ but I’ll explain why I did afterwards. 

And when I say cull the herd, it’s what I do.