Actually I think I remember the reason: a friend of mine somehow tracked down the source of the Smoove B photo, a press shot for some minor r&b group -- maybe he told me they were from Minneapolis or something.
Later that night, I was sitting at home just trying to figure out what the fuck happened, when the phone rang. ... This guy comes on and says, "Is this Jim Anchower?" Now, usually when someone says that, I hang up and don't answer the phone for the rest of the day, since anyone who uses my last name is some bill collector looking to corner me. But I was a little baked, so I say, "Yeah?"This guy comes back saying that this girl is nothing but trouble. It took me a while to figure out exactly who he was talking about. It ain't like I got girls crawling all over me, but I ain't even made out with the black chick yet. He told me that if I freaked her doggy-style it would be the biggest mistake I ever made. I'm gonna be straight: Until then, I hadn't thought about how I was going to freak her one way or the other, but no one tells Jim Anchower how not to freak someone.
I would have told him so in so many words, but he kept on talking. He went on and on about how theirs was some kind of unicorn love, that he was a king and I was trying to come between him and his queen and that he was going to make some sort of feast for her and buy all kinds of sheets and pillows. I was waiting to get a word in, but after like 15 minutes of "love her up" this and "do her" that, I started to get a little worked up.
So I hung up on him, and before he could call back, I gave her a call to see if she wanted to go out. ...
Since then, we've gone out a few times. That dude, I guess he's her ex-boyfriend or something, keeps calling me and telling me I about how I shouldn't stand in the way of true love. He usually goes on like that for a minute and then starts wailing and moaning softly and talking about recipes and fabrics and shit.
― nabisco, Friday, 7 December 2007 17:46 (sixteen years ago) link