2002-02-04 | 6:58 p.m.

corduroy licorice believed in a balance of power. that's why he always kept an equal number of AAA and D batteries in his storage cabinet at all times.

***

you know that old saying that it's a woman's perogative to change her mind?

remember bobby brown's hit song, my perogative?

that was a great song.

but anyway, back to the woman's perogative.

i changed my mind like revolving doors this weekend.

i decided not to call desert storm after all.

the clincher for me was the overwhelming sense of dread that swept my being at the mere thought of picking up the phone and dialing his digits.

overwhelming dread creation is not something to look for in a friend.

so i just wrote him a second e-mail response saying that i wasn't up for a movie night after all. i let him know i felt bad for waffling, but felt intimidated by such concentrated time together. over the last couple of years, we've only spoken briefly. short and sweet, babee. but we've made our peace and are on pleasant terms. time to leave well enough alone.

even though i left the door open to change my mind once more, he will probably be royally pissed at me. his royal pissedness. he's a toxic kinda guy and no protective steel drum can prevent the eventual leaking of his bitter battery acid. i've been corroded enough by negative contact with him, thank you very much.

ironically, this weekend i watched a movie that brought back a classic desert storm moment. it was my best friend's wedding. we had seen it together on one of our dates mid-relationship. i remember as the opening musical sequence played across the screen, i had my elbow on the armrest and was resting my chin on the top of my left hand. desert storm glanced over at me, shook his head and said, "how do you do it?" referring to what some might call a graceful (others, prissy) pose. but it wasn't a pose for me, just something i do 'cause it feels comfortable. but he, in his thinly veiled sulfuricness, had to call me out on it instead of minding his own beeswax and watching the damn movie.

during the film, julia roberts trys to convince cameron diaz not to marry the groom-to-be by telling her that she and he are too different.

she describes the groom going to a restaurant and ordering creme brulee, then realizing he didn't want that "annoyingly perfect and sweet" concoction (cameron) after all. he wanted comfortable, familiar jello (julia).

as desert storm and i walked home that day, he told me, "honey, you're creme brulee and i'm jello." an innocent enough statement, but i knew what he was inferring. that we didn't really go together. i was the annoyingly sweet, chin-resting-on-the-hand girl. i knew it was a dessert-related put-down when he said it to me, just as when julia said it to cameron. desert storm perceived me to be a high-maintenance froufrou custard, while he flattered himself as being a keeping-it-real-on-the-gangsta-tip gelatin. *sigh*

this weekend, seeing that scene and remembering our conversation afterwards, i felt more strongly than ever that calling him and spending time with him would be bad idea jeans. i guess my hard-headed creme brulee crust just got whacked with the spoon of good sense. so no jello for me. sorry, cosby.

while congratulating me on my decision to diss the pisser, my friend l-girl pronounced that gloria gaynor is now belting out tunes in my honor.

that's right. i'm a survivor. not gonna give up. but if you do me wrong, i will dis you on the internet. i'm not better than that. (however, to my credit, i will nickname you after a war to conceal your identity. i'm good like that.)

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