I just want to see a black guy in public that ends up not being an everyday black guy.

This is getting ridiculous.

I sit here, a humble woman. A humble woman wearing a Thunder t-shirt, a thunder necklace, and orange nails. My face is smeared with wrinkle cream that's endorsed by the NBA.

I'm not racist, but I

Wait a second, when people start sentences like that they usually follow it up with something offensive and stereotypical that makes people cry. Kind of like when I start a sentence with "Bless her heart". You can be damned sure "her baby looks like John C Reilly" is coming out next.

But not in this case.

I'm not racist, but I want every black guy I see in public to end up being Kevin Durant. Especially when these black guys are tall and wearing a hat and sunglasses.

It's not fair. I don't get to run into Thunder players and that's the only true thing I want out of life. I don't need money, trim thighs, a 2013 Gwagon, or baby smooth skin on my face. I DO need to watch Kevin Durant picking up a prescription from Walgreens.

I have been to a few Thunder games, so I have seen them in person. That's not even close to what I want. It doesn't have to be Kevin Durant. It could be any other play who currently plays for the Oklahoma City Thunder.  I would prefer him to be Kevin Durant or James Harden or someone who is not Russell Westbrook.

I'm not sure why it is, but Russell Westbrook angers me. I will scream at him to pass to KD the whole game. When he misses a shot I yell at him and call him mean names. When Kevin misses a shot, I post "It'll be okay buddy face, keep your head up!" on his Twitter. I'll yell at Russell the whole game how much he sucks,  then I see he scored more points than anyone the whole game.

Anyway, I'm getting off point.

I was at the nail salon today. The same nail salon I was patronizing when I saw Kevin Durant's mom. She's kind of a big deal because KD LOVES THE ABSOLUTE SHIT OUT OF HIS MOM. I thought she would be my "In", but she ended up kind of hating my soul.

Mary: You're Kevin Durant's mom, right?
Wanda: Yes, I am.

Mary: Uh, do you know how much I love him?
Wanda: No I don't.

Mary: Can I please come hang out with ya'll on Mother's Day? I'll bring a pie or something. Please.

Wanda: You just made me lose at Scramble with Friends.

Mary: Can we call Kevin?

Wanda: As much as you be stalking us you should know he's at practice!


That's pretty much how the whole conversation went. I compare it to my yorkie, when he jumps up and tries to kiss me on the mouth,  I kick him in his mouth and don't feed him.

At this nail salon, a hot black girl and her man walk in. Her man is tall and wearing sunglasses and a hat. He doesn't take them off when they sit down for their pedis. I start to realize that this means he's famous and I need to attack.

I adjust my seat so I can see behind his sunglasses.

Eh, he's got acne scars. I don't think my boys have any scars. They're perfection and I want to tuck them into bed at night while singing them a Judy Garland song. Except Russell Westbrook.

Maybe he plays for the Heat? Maybe he came into town early so his hot girlfriend could hit all the awesome OKC shopping.

I google Heat players on my phone and alternate staring at him, straining my neck, and looking at my phone. I look in the parking lot to see if he had a nice car.

I'm starting to get frustrated and consider asking him to take a pic with me. Then I can judge his reaction on whether or not he's famous. It's a pretty solid plan. If he's confused and scared, he probably works at Big Lots and is 35. If he seems slightly annoyed but says yes, he's gotta be someone famous and I can figure it out later based on the facebook comments I'll get after I post the picture.

I am about to put my plan into action when I realize his girlfriend is staring at me with the hate of one hundred thousand Pentecostals in her eyes. Her expression says,

"Why are you staring at my man? I specifically chose this man because he has good credit and acne scars and a big gut so I don't have to deal with you trying to steal him with your emerald green bedroom eyes."

That's when I realized he had a gut. A pretty large one. He wasn't anyone famous or athletic.

So the moral of the story is:

Whenever someone posts on Facebook that they saw Kevin Durant at Dillards, or the movie theatre, or at the Mercedes Dealership, or in a parking lot at Cool Greens. Don't get jealous. Don't throw your computer in an it's not fairish kind of rage.

I vow to stop staying at home taking pictures of myself and watching documentaries and go everywhere I possible can, all the time, when they have a game at home.

Maybe then, and only then, will I finally stalk a tall black guy who actually deserves it.