The unfortunate thing for the girl involved is that she fell in love with this guy in high school and knew nothing else.

She had not yet developed the skills to negotiate her romantic relationships. And it’s cost her. Dearly.

Yes, I said it.

Whether you think so or not, when you enter into a relationship with someone the tone of that relationship is set by what you demand, ask for or don’t ask for. Together, whether you spell it out or not, you have set up and agreed to the terms of your relationship.

I’ve been thinking about the demands I’ve given said and unsaid, and I’ve thought about terms I’ve accepted in the past.

The negotiation factor is so important, because as I pointed out to my friend, even if the couple I mentioned do get married, something very dangerous can happen.

Nothing is going to change and the same dysfunctional shit that dictated the relationship will still guide it.

Worst of all, the woman, will think because she’s his wife, NOW she can make demands that she wanted before and was afraid to ask for, feel she has every right to express it, and it’s his duty to do it. Period.

The man, he’ll be shocked because he thought by finally marrying her, he finally gave her what she wanted, so why is she still trippin? Why is she worse?

This is the metaphor I gave to my friend about the poor young lady being in this relationship for so long, and not really having the ability to get out there, get experience and learn the game.

Say you’ve been working at McDonald’s for twenty years. Say you started out at 15 making minimum wage.

Let’s say, you have been promoted several times and now you are a manager. And instead of making $4.00 an hour, you were told, hey managers make $10 an hour that’s what they make.

You accept those terms because you like being called a manager. You don’t go to salary.com. You have a suspicion that you may be underpaid, but no, you trust the company you’ve been working for. You’ve been loyal. You are there early and you stay late.

You trust they are giving you a fair shake because you’ve done everything right and you’ve been with them for so long.

Then you hear the loud new girl on fries got a raise and she makes $12 an hour. She comes in late. She’s rude to the customers. She never volunteers to stay late. She leaves early.

You mumble and grumble, how is this possible? She even hooks the homies up with free food.

Then you find out, when she took the job– a job that doesn’t even require the same amount of responsibility– she wasn’t going to take it, unless she got $12 an hour.

And they agreed.

You are salty because you realize you never asked for what you wanted, or made people think twice that maybe they’d have to live without you and your services one day. You never demanded anything, so in return, they gave you what they thought you should have. You played no role in it whatsoever.

And once people start deciding what they think you should have, without you setting boundaries, even when they give you less, in their mind they think it’s more than fair. What’s the difference to you anyway? You never established your value.

Now I’m not saying in relationships women need to throw around ultimatums, or threaten to leave. You can’t play that card willy nilly at work, and you can’t do it in relationships. But we tend to get mad when we see young women, playing by different rules looking like they are winning, looking like they got what they want.

“Good girls,” who don’t ask for anything at all, waiting for that man to finally “see” them, and see how loyal and loving and supportive they are, need to learn a thing or two in negotiation from the “Bad girls” that these men tend to cheat on them with.

I’ve been the girl, in college who tried very hard to get men who only wanted to have sex with me to see me for the smart, talented, pretty, funny young lady I felt I was.

I think they did think I was all of those things. It wasn’t personal, they just wanted sex. And because I wanted them to “see” me, I was available at 2 a.m. I’d answer my phone, I’d open the door, I’d open my legs. I’d drive out in the rain in the middle of the night to give them what they wanted.

How can they not see how great I am? Surely, they’d want to date me, exclusively.

And even if they slept with other women that I knew and took classes with, or lived down the hall from, I still thought, I had the magic lady parts and the heart to win him over.

I wondered about the people in the relationship that started the whole convo. They’d been together on an off for more than a decade. The man, no closer to marriage, because of his own struggles with settling down; the girl, hoping that after all of her years of service aching for the title of wife, not realizing, if she gets it, her benefits and raise may be way below average, because she didn’t negotiate from the start.

As for people already in relationships, you are going to change. You are going to grow.

You better sit down from time to time and review your situation.

You need to find out what that person needs and wants from you, and you need to express your needs and wants. You should praise them for the great things they do, and respectfully explain the not so nice things you don’t like, and let that person do the same.

And if things are changing, say so. If things are going in a weird direction you don’t like, say so.

There should be no fear in speaking your mind respectfully in your relationship. You want that person to be happy and they should want you to be happy. Everyone needs updated information to do their jobs properly.

If your man or woman is putting in that work, give em a raise. Give em a bonus. Go out of your way to show your gratitude.

If they are slacking on the job, you can’t keep quiet then fire them with no warning.

Give people chances to improve. Be clear on your expectations and don’t back down.

You don’t want to be that disgruntled “manager.”

When you really love people, even if you do for them something you didn’t feel like doing, you know you’ll feel worse if you don’t do it for them anyway, your feelings, time, money, lack of energy be damned.

And when you do it, you are actually glad you pushed through to make the person you love happy and your relationship lives to see another day.

It’s really quite simple. It’s the theory of reciprocity is the foundation of truly loving someone and being an active participant in a relationship.

Nothing is free.

People, with the exception of babies, do have to earn your love and the perks that come with it.

Even as a child grows and learns to share, show and give love, parents are getting a return on their investment too.

If this person loves you just as much as you love them, you can think of a million moments where they were in the same position and dug deep for you and in my opinion, that, more than just the warm, fuzzy, feeling we confuse as love is what propels us to fight the urge to be lazy, selfish bastards and give that person what it is they desire.

So I have all kinds of problems with people who have no real history with me making demands, or asking me to change myself or straight up asking me for anything or expecting anything, or having critiques about me.

Expect nothing, appreciate everything.

I was placed in a very uncomfortable position this morning and via text, of all places. I should have woken up to a “good morning beautiful text.”

Instead I was told I’d get more head if I went completely bald.

If you’ve been with me on this blog for a long time, you know how I feel about shaving and men coming out of their faces making demands on how I maintain my yard. https://29tolife.wordpress.com/2012/08/23/tmi-alert-a-hairy-situation/

I took a deep breath and shared my views and how like a box of chocolates, hey, depending on how I’m feeling you never know what you’re going to get.

I don’t want anyone to choke on a hairball, but to hold my pleasure hostage and impede one of the most successful methods of getting me off, because you want me to look like a porn star, or six-year-old, or six-year-old porn star, I got beef.

All I ask is that you keep yours clean and wash your balls and under your balls.

This expectation of women makes me angry. And when you tell me what to do with my nether regions, I feel like it’s an omen of things to come. I feel like there’s some control stuff going on and you want to see how much I bend to what you want.

Fortunately, I know better. I’ve had men in my life who loved it any way I served it up.

One even liked it after I worked out, because the sweat turned him on.

So having enough confidence in myself this time has made me speak up and set the record straight.

Some women might say, hey, it’s not that big of a deal. You want the guy to eat you out right? He wants to eat you out? He’s successful, and wants to do it. Do your part so he wants to continue to do it. Take the L. Someone else will keep it bald and buff it everyday to have a man like that.

And that’s a valid point.

I just don’t appreciate the double standard. Maybe some days I don’t want to squirm in my seat at my desk because of the coarse, prickly hairs growing in that I can’t scratch in public. I’m sure they will frown upon me putting a back scratcher in my pants. Someone will be offended.

Thing is, I’m not anti grooming down there. I’m not.

I’m particularly pissed at his specificity to the matter. And I’m livid at having to read this shit at 7 a.m. ( Here’s some context. This all started from a conversation last night about me baking pies, and him asking if I want him to eat my pie again…)

He said bald.

So with that in my mind, he acknowledged that I had maintenance going on down there and that he wasn’t picking hairs out of his teeth, but in order for me to enjoy his services more regularly, I had to go all the way.

I said what I had to say honestly and then I left it at that.

But I was fuming for most of the morning, including now.

We are supposed to go see a movie tomorrow night. But I’m feeling some kind of way. Am I being unrealistic and immature? Or do I have the right to feel comfortable sexually?

That’s a no-brainer. I want to feel comfortable.

And maybe he isn’t the one. Maybe for just the right one, I’d get a Brazilian every day. I doubt it, because I feel the right one is going to love me, and my puss no matter what kind of hairstyle she’s rocking that week.

I ranted to a close male friend and he confirmed that I was right.

But now this has me thinking, what may not be a big deal to other people is a big deal to me. Every time I’ve tried to please other people who did not go out of their way to sincerely please me, left bitter, awful tastes in my mouth that spread resentment all over my body like an aggressive virus.

So instead of questioning my ability to love, my capacity for giving and my aptitude for submission to a future husband, I’m going to be selfish for a moment and be a grown woman for once and say, “I want what I want. Someone is going to give me that.”

I’ve also decided that people who really love you and know what you like, love and totally hate, they simply won’t ask you to do something they know you don’t like. They wouldn’t want to put you through that much of an inconvenience.

At least that’s how I feel and that’s how I treat the ones I love.

Clarence: “One day, I was walking down the street, just walking along, feeling good. I walk around a corner, A man walk up, hit me in the chest. I fall on the ground, right. And I look up and it’s Dr. Martin Luther King. I said ‘Dr. King?’ and he said ‘Ooops, I thought you were some body else.’ “
Sweets: Oh man, you lyin’. You ain’t never met Martin Luther the King.
Clarence: Knocked the wind out of me, yes he did.
Sweets: No, he didn’t.
Clarence: Yes, he did.
Sweets: No, he did not!

Well. No, someone did not hit me in the chest after I walked around the corner, but it felt that way. And I was left feeling like the wind was knocked out of me, just the same.

I was rushing off to the metro near my job, to meet up with friends in DC after work. I looked great, felt great, like my friend Clarence and all of a sudden, I hear a man cat-calling me.

I’m grown. I aint got time for that. So then, the voice yells my name.

I twist around to see where this is coming from.

Lo and behold, it’s Kyle Barker.

Damn. Dressed like Harrison from Scandal (Always has. He’s been wearing gingham dress shirts for ages. I joke with him and call them picnic basket and graph paper shirts), looking so good and smiling that million dollar smile.

Oh he has a great smile.

So, I smile say hello. He asks me what I’m doing here and I tell him that I work nearby. He’s shocked because basically he works in the building across the street from me. He asks me how long have I been working in that building, and I tell him rolling my eyes, six years.

So we laugh at the coincidence. He asks me where I am going and tells me to hop in and allow him to drop me off to the metro. He has to switch out of the turning lane to get back toward the Metro, but he does. As we get closer, I tell him where he can drop me and he says, no, he wants to wait for another car to move out of the way to keep me in the car longer. I laugh him off and switch subjects.

I ask him if he’s still djaying and to let me know when he’s having the next gig. “Maybe I’ll grace the place with my face,” I said playfully.

“And your ass too?”

“And my ass too.”

He tells me he likes my hair and continues to look at me like a desert cart. I’m taking in the view myself. Damn, sir. Trying to fight instant flashbacks of old, naughty behavior, I’m calm, I’m cool. However if he saw or felt what was going on in my panties, I would have been a goner. My cover completely blown.

The sun was shining, I had on an amazing, super flattering Ann Taylor dress. It was, the peeerfect moment you pray for to have the man who pisses you off yet, curls your toes see you. I mean, I would have never calculated that moment for myself so well.

I was laughing at the irony. Kyle Barker hadn’t really crossed my mind. And BOOM. There he is.

Fine.

But before I drifted into my primitive thoughts and had Ciara’s “Body Party” playing in my head on repeat, upon entering his vehicle, the smell of stale weed met me in his car. I had to laugh about that too. He’s fine, he’s smart, he’s educated and has a good job, but him and that damn weed.

I used to smell it on him and taste it on his lips, back in the day. But I didn’t care, not one frigging bit. He put it all the way down.

I was having an Olivia Pope moment. He’s my Fitz. He’s my Mr. Big. No matter where I go, or what I do, I can’t seem to escape his draw. The magnatism.

He makes me primitave. It’s intense, the desire. He’s no good.

We’ve gone over this numerous times on this blog. No good. But uh, uh, uh. He’s fine.

So we make a little more small talk, I keep it short. Got places to be. I bid him adieu. So he purposely says the corny line, like, “I hate to see you leave, but I love seeing you walk away.”

I laughed, and casually said, “Thanks for the ride, darlin.” And stomped off like a true G.

And like a true G, I never turned around to look back at him in the car.

Yes, hunty! Go in and let have! I was giving it everythang, strutting to the Metro like he didn’t phase me. (Inside, I wanted to straddle him in the car. I need Jesus. For real.)

Oh rapturous fabulousness!

And in honor of our ridiculous fauxlationship, Wale’s Bad. Shout out to Olivia and Fitz and Olivia and Jake… Bad girl…

Since I mentioned Body Party, why not?

I woke up this morning and sat straight up in my bed.

This time I dreamt of my ex from freshman up until the summer leading into junior year of college.

Again I was in the South. Totally in New Orleans. I was hanging with my ex as comfy and cozy as can be. We were affectionate and exchanging our usual quips and jokes rapid fire. His mom was there, but in real life she loved me. In the dream, not so much because she said I didn’t speak to her right away when I got in the house. His younger brothers were there too.

Everything felt like real-time, but his youngest brother kind of stayed around the age of 12, but his middle brother was the correct age. Anyway, Mom was throwing a lot of shade and making reference to my “expensive clothes” and my “expensive bag.”

I was laughing, because I wish I had expensive clothes. What I consider expensive and what other folks consider expensive are totally different things. One of my friends said I could save more money if I didn’t go shopping as much as I do. But my response was that I shop at Marshalls, Ross, and H&M. I’ll buy tons of clothes for like $60. And I like Macys. But I’m not a high-end girl, by any means.

Anyway. This dream had me really crazy because I’ve decided to go with all of this. I’m deeming this week Ex Appreciation Week.

For better or for worse, I chose a handful of men and made them my life and my world. I shared my hopes, dreams, love, mind and body with these folks and they had an impact on my life.

It is what it is.

I’m thankful that 2 out of the 4 of them, I could have a drink with and actually enjoy their company with.

The other two, well, you know about them.

As for Greece, I told you folks about a great dream I had the night before last.

Well, I was talking to one of my besties last night and what does she suggest?

A trip to Greece. I didn’t mention my dream at all. She just brought it up.

So I’m freaked out.

I don’t think I’m clairvoyant by any means, but I do feel like maybe there is something in Greece that I need to see or do to give me some inspiration and direction. So it looks like I need to get my ducks in a row and figure out how to get to Greece.

So, I came to a very interesting revelation last night.

After going out with a co-worker last night, I realized how fun it is to flirt with men outside of my race as long as all parties are interested in the flirting and don’t have any real expectations.

Maybe Olivia Pope and President Fitz of the hit T.V. show “Scandal” are changing hearts and minds and finally making interracial voyeurs finally come out and be open. Maybe I’m one of them.

I am a black woman. I love black men. I prefer dating black men. I haven’t really ever gone out on dates with men of other races. Either guys I’ve dated may be mixed with black or they may have been Latino. All of my serious relationships have been with men who identify as black.

I often tend to feel that way because usually black men are the majority of men who approach me or try to ask me out. There have been a few occasions where I was in a conversation with a white man and I was completely oblivious to the fact that he may have been flirting or interested, because I honestly assume I’m not their type and I assume that there’s no way they’d be interested.

And even if I sense it, I have a tendency to also unfairly assume that white men see me as some exotic fruit. Remnants of American history and the relationship between white slave masters and black women upset me. A sign goes off in my head that says they see me and think, “good for freaky crazy, fetish sex only.” It makes me nervous and uncomfortable. There are some white women who may be afraid of a group of black men and that they’ll rape them. I get nervous if I’m in a room filled with really drunk, white men. Will they feel like they have the right to rape or disrespect me? I’ve had male friends who would say, “Let’s leave before they all want to start hanging us.” Or “Let’s leave when they start talking about Obama. It can only go downhill from here.” And we’d laugh, but it’s a real thought. It was not that long ago, that things like that happened in this country and on a regular basis.

Inhumanity, wrapped in revelry was a serious American pastime for a long time. Lynchings were celebratory events. People took photos, had smiling children and took pieces of the corpses home as souvenirs. So yeah, I don’t want to lump people in with folks a few generations ago, but the history does not completely elude me. It guides how I feel I am viewed by white men.

We are all more alike than we know. I think we are all curious about each other. They want to know if black women are really freaky, are our butts really that big? What do our private parts look like? And hell, behind closed doors me and my friends have wondered how big are they, are they pink? Like piglet pink? Do they perform oral sex better and like it way more than black men?

I just really believe that for whatever reason, they just aren’t attracted to me. So if someone else points it out, I’ll be like, for real? Wow. Cool, I’m crossing demographics.

Well in addition to chatting up some white guys who were interested, I want to include a caveat in this story.

The white men who make it known they are interested in me tend to be working class, not usually college-educated guys who are exceptional at various specialized, blue-collar trades. They tend to have grown up in diverse areas, they may have a child or two and are conversant in slang. I’ve yet to date, what I call a regular 100 percent white guy. The kind of white guy who shops at Hollister, knows how to make his own beer, was in a fraternity, who did not grow up around black people or tries to imitate hip hop culture. (I already know there is no such thing as my idea of the 100 percent stereotypical white guy, but it’s what I tend to imagine.) Those white guys never seem to approach me and I feel like I’d have more in common or share the same values with them than the ones who go out of their way to quote rap lyrics, or wear gold chains or drive tricked-out impalas. I don’t even mesh with a majority of black men who fit that description.

I’m amused, because these men shatter stereotypes across cultures and remind me, people are indeed people and that black people do not have a monopoly on trifling behavior.

More on trifling behavior in a moment. This story is going to get good.

These two men convinced me and my friend to join them at a Mexican bar and restaurant because one of them wanted to prove that he could do a mean Bachata for “a white guy.”

So fine, we didn’t pass this up.

One guy is very interested in my friend. My friend is Latina. He didn’t have any cash and managed to sweet talk one of the waitresses into giving him $5 so he can hit up the jukebox and find the proper tune. The other friend, who was the “self-proclaimed” wing man, mentioned this restaurant wasn’t his scene, but he was taking the L for his boy. After trying to get my number earlier and it not working out, we simply chatted about stuff and the more he drank, the more sad and frustrated he was.

He basically said, he’s been through a lot and I’m a classy lady. It’s not that he wasn’t interested in me,  or that I wasn’t attractive, but he’s going through a lot and, well I’m a classy lady. He emphasized that I was classy. I rubbed his arm and I told him, “It’s really ok. Really.”

But on the other side of me at the bar was a latino man speaking to me in Spanish. I guess he noticed things weren’t going so hot with the guy I was originally talking to and that he’d go for it. I stumbled through the conversation, apologizing for messing up the language, while others at the bar chimed in to fill in words for me. Everyone was amused. Everyone wanted to help me communicate or tell me which word was missing. They seemed pleased that I knew what I did, and that I actually tried. When I answered one of their questions by saying, “Yo no se, estoy baracha” (I don’t know, I’m drunk) the bar erupted in laughter. Two men asked me to dance about two different times and I obliged.

My earlier male companion egged me on to dance, since I was not interested and he got the hint, and so I danced, twirled and laughed and spoke mangled Spanish.

In Spanish, I thanked my dance partners for their patience with me and for being such good teachers.

They were tickled by this and their appreciation and approval showed prominently in their pants. Men.

I was mildly grossed out, but not really, because I was tipsy, but at the same time, I felt like I was an ambassador for Black women. I was getting my Susan Rice on.

We all aren’t always angry, or mad or loud like most of the black women on t.v. Sometimes we want to branch out and try new things and test our Spanish if someone is willing to listen. We want to laugh and flirt, and have someone lead us off our bar stool, by the hand and be spun awhile. We want to listen to other kinds of music. We want men of all backgrounds to find us genuinely beautiful and attractive and interesting.

I was glad to swap stories with two white guys who I would never normally talk to. Maybe they got to see something different from what they are used to, and to me that’s cool.

So in some convoluted way, I’ve talked about a lot of things here, I want to shout out the men I talked to in English and Spanish last night who helped me have a fun night, but didn’t act all pissy because I didn’t want to hang out with them again. Everyone just appreciated the moment, a dance was a dance. A conversation was a conversation.

But back to trifling behavior. The guys we originally showed up with, well the one I was talking to showed me a ridiculous switch blade he carried in case someone tried to steal his diamond chain (he likes the bling) I was suddenly chillin with Paul Wall. And I nodded and kept cool and said, hey, “I guess you got to do what you got to do sometimes.” He smiled proudly and took a sip of his drink.

I cashed out with the bartender and made sure he knew in English and Spanish that I was only paying for my drinks. Frick and Frack had a couple of beers and a shot of patron each.

At the previous bar, those two offered us a drink, but we said we were good and they said, well at least stay longer and have half a drink (they bought one drink, had the waitress put it in two glasses).

After hearing one of them talk about how he hadn’t paid a gas bill and that he still had one more notice before it was cut off, I had a feeling these guys were shady and I didn’t think either one of them was going to spring for my $8 tab.

So, me and my home girl headed to the bathroom at the Mexican bar, and when we returned, Frick and Frack were gone. They kept making jokes about skipping out on the bill, before they left and it appears that’s what they did. The bartender looked confused, and a bit annoyed as my friend settled her tab, only paying for her drinks and explaining she was only paying for her drinks.

Frick and Frack rode off into the night in their tricked-out Lincoln.

We were hysterical in laughter.

People are people. Gente son gente.

sippakorn/freedigitalphotos.net

Welp. We all know I’m back out there trying to date. Trying to see what’s what.

I was texting one gentleman caller and he seems to be a nice guy, but a recent text messed me up completely.

He used the word “presents” instead of “presence.”

Being a writer, I try not to be jerky about texts and emails from non-writers.

I’ll let it slide when people misuse your and you’re, or there, their and they’re. It picks at my nerves, but I let it go.

But when people do it regularly, it does make me slowly lose ounces of respect for them.

Presents and presence are two totally different words that mean two totally different things.

Santa gives out presents.

Folks request your presence at their fancy tea or brunch and the honor of your presence at their wedding. Now you can go to a registry and buy them presents, but that’s all you can do with that.

Your presence at this meeting is mandatory, says your boss.

When teachers take attendance and the proper kids don’t want to just simply say, “here” (or in this dude’s case, “hear”), they don’t say, “presence” they say, “present.”

I’m a snob.

In my account of the situation to my bestie, via text, I did say that my vagina instantly becomes dry when men abuse the English language. Fine men suddenly grow warts on their chin that only I can see because they used the word mines in a sentence. Not mines, like a place of work for miners…(and they are of age to work in a mine because they are not minors). He meant as the possessive, mine but I guess, his logic is if the item in his possession is plural, then add the -s. Mines.

Ok. The English language is kinda tricky…

I’m not surprised things didn’t work out with my ex. He always misused worse and worst. Whatever should have been worst, he used worse and vice versa. IT MADE ME CRAZY.

I would try to repeat what he said by using the proper word to show him an example– without being mean– but he never took the hint. And he was college-educated. Ugh.

So this does make me a snob?

Meanwhile, Lancelot will be returning from his mini vacay in Vegas, where he casually mentioned winning $4,000 (wonder how much he lost though) and I’m sure, I’ll be connecting with him soon.

His texts were grammatically correct and he’s coming home with $4,000.

Moisture is returning to my nether regions…

I am a snob and a gold digger.

Last night, I prayed for my love life. I’ve started to do that more. For some reason, I never did. I always prayed for good health and peace of mind for my family and loved ones, prosperity, favor at work, but for some reason, I left God out of my love life.

So, last night, I prayed for a partner who was serious about loving me and protecting me and sharing his life with me.

Apparently, like an annoying little sibling, the Devil was on the kitchen phone (I know, I used to eavesdrop on my older sister).

I wake up late today, and I wake up to a good morning text from, none other than “Kyle Barker”.

You all know him. The suave, good-looking, intelligent man who rocks my world, but makes me a mess. Per the usual, we had a drag out some time last year and haven’t spoken for several months. I had said enough was enough.

But the other part to this that makes it so odd, is I thought about him as recently as yesterday.

A friend mentioned a few days that I should just hook up with him and rid myself of this serious lusty itch, I’ve got going on.

I said I couldn’t lower myself to call. I had too much pride and last year, I had nearly made it an entire year, without having sex. I owed it to myself to be strong. He wasn’t really worth it.

I had to hold myself accountable.

A simple good morning, and I was swirling. Questions, all over my head. What do I say? How do I respond. Be cool, ice-cold.

I said I was surprised to hear from him and that I thought of him just the other day.

To which, he replied he hoped I thought good things and that he was changing his number.

To which, I replied, my thoughts were good enough, however, when it came to him, the lines of good and bad often mingle and become murky. Then I told him I hoped all was well with him.

Then he threw down the gauntlet, said he missed me.

I would have been ok, but why did he say that?

I asked my best male friend what the deal was and if he was lying. My boy says he’s lying.

I know God works fast, but He isn’t the author of confusion.

He wouldn’t have me be with someone incapable of protecting me and my heart and this person has been careless in the past. This person has always confused me if nothing else. This person never really actively pursued me in the way I now realize a man should.

So maybe today’s text exchange was a test of sorts, to see just how much I’ve grown. If I can think for myself and be strong enough not get caught up in someone who always made me feel so weak.

I won’t blame the Devil, this time.

Either way, it’s going to be on me.

Today is the day a friend sends me a tweet about some happy chick tweeting to the rest of us single dopes that there’s hope if we don’t settle because she’s engaged to her dream man.

Another person I know just posted their blissfully happy professional engagement photos.

I ain’t happy for none of you broads today. I’m going to get an ice cream sandwich.

Maybe tomorrow, I can be all gracious. But today, I’m a hater of love.

Solange- “Somethings Never Seem to Fu**ing work”

Solange double play (she’s so good at those it’s over records), “I Told You So”

I’m glad our exchange was via text. When he flashes “that grand piano of his” as Dorothy Dandridge would coo, in Carmen Jones, it’s curtains for me.

Here’s the thing. Kyle hasn’t really gone anywhere. I just haven’t been paying attention too him as much.

He’s kept up with me, sending quick texts, how are you? How was your weekend? How’s your family in NY after the storm?

After he crushed me other times, saying he sucks at relationships, he didn’t want to be a rebound, he’s putting me in the little sister box, I just gave up.

Kyle Barker is the Big to my Carrie.

I ain’t gonna front. We have energy, but the back and forth, the tug of war is exhausting.

So after a few texts yesterday where I said it was nice of him to ask about my family, he said something like, he tries.

To which, I replied, “I plead the fif.” (See Dave Chappelle)

He asked me early this morning, “Why are you so hard on me, baby?”

I basically said, I have my reasons, but they don’t matter anymore.

He asked me not to speak in code and elaborate.

So I did. I said in a nutshell that I’ve been crushing on him since forever and that it’s wack he won’t return my affections. And I kept holding out hope that at the very bitter end, we could actually be something real. But I accept the situation, and I’m over those dreams and aspirations for real this time. He brought up the fact that I was in a delicate situation, post breakup and he did not want to be a rebound.

He said the fact I talked about my old relationship so much, it “factored into his decision.”

I told him I cut ties with my ex and I’ve been dating and right now there is someone leading the pack and I want to see where it goes. He advised me not to mention my ex as much (which I’m not doing anymore anyway).

He sighed.

I thanked him for the advice and said, it’s not a big factor anymore and I don’t mention my ex, unless I’m asked these days.

Then out of nowhere, he says, “You’re a good woman, you deserve the best.”

What? A straightforward, non-sexual compliment??? So what are you saying, Kyle? We’ve been going through all of this, you actually wouldn’t mind being in a relationship with me, but I had to get myself together and prove I’m over my ex?? What’s going on here?

I’m picking the guy who is showing interest, who calls me, who plans to see me and won’t take an entire day to respond to a text.

Oh, Kyle.

Seriously???

Kyle is going to have to play the background. New guy has my attention and I’m excited about that. Just as I was ending my convo with Kyle, New Guy sends this text:

“…But random note. I have known you a short time, but I think you’re a really great person. You have great drive and such a positive energy. (Sounds like a hippie, right, lol) But I mean it. Have a great day, lady.”

That seals it. New Guy deserves my attention. If Kyle Barker is going to be around, he’ll be around. If our paths cross romantically one day, then fine. But right now, I really, really want to see where it goes with New Guy.

RELATED KYLE BARKER POSTS TO BRING YOU UP TO SPEED…THE SAGA CONTINUES

https://29tolife.wordpress.com/2012/06/15/the-simpsons-test-hints-hoops-and-bread-crumbs/

http://29tolife.wordpress.com/2012/06/04/my-funny-valentine-im-max-hes-kyle/

Like just watch and listen and they will talk themselves out of your life, panties, etc., because they are so ridiculous, you just can’t fathom yourself dealing with them.

I’m going to tell the full story and hold myself accountable.

This dude I was supposed to be going out on a date with who I already figured was a hot mess, has been pressing me for a booty photo.

I have a wonderful plentiful butt. I get compliments on it. Fine.

He wasn’t satisfied with the lovely photos of my face. He just had to know if I had an awesome body.

I wasn’t going to do it. I haven’t sent booty pics in a few years, and when I did it was for long distance boyfriends who missed it like a best friend.

So basically there was a text exchange. He keeps calling me guarded and it’s so hard to get close to me.

Um, fool.

We talked on the phone for the first time ever in life last night. And sent a few messages.

Getting to know someone takes time. It just does.

I almost wish he’d cut the crap now and say,

I want to say all the things you want to hear, because frankly I want to smash. But because I think you are intelligent and classy, if I say that, I know you’ll shut me down.

I’m patient enough to bear with your Victorian prudish ass, because the most difficult ass is the most satisfying.

But no. He won’t do it.

So when I called him on it and said don’t make me out to be a Victorian prude we just talked yesterday, and one day does not a close relationship make, I get a voicemail.

This cat cancels our date and says we should postpone until it seems like I feel more comfortable… My translation: more open to the idea of letting him hit.

We have a control freak and a freak freak on our hands people.

This dude has a particular pace in his head of where he thinks this should be going if we are having good conversation and I guess this dude was thinking he was on pace to smack it, flip it rub it down within the next two weeks.

I won’t say I got played.

I laid all of this out in the previous blog. I knew he was ridiculous. I was just waiting for him to eliminate himself. I was waiting for him to lose his cover of being this nice guy who wasn’t a shallow gym meat head that couldn’t spell for shit. I wanted to show myself that my gut is right and to trust it from here on out.

So, I could either just fade him out.

Or call him back and let him know that I don’t think I’m the woman he’s looking for.

I’m fun. Ask my friggin friends. Fun as hell.

I can be crass.

I love Ghostface.

I can be sexual, downright nasty. Shameful. Ask my boyfriends and lovers.

But I’m not sharing any of that with someone after a few messages and a phone call.

He gave some sorry spiel about not wasting each other’s valuable time and he feels we shouldn’t force a date if I’m not all the way comfortable because he wants the date to be awesome.

Whatever. You want to get some.

Wanna see the messages we exchanged to end it all? I know you do. I love yall so.

Me: I got your message. I’m still at work so I didn’t want to call back. You are cool, but I don’t think I’m the woman you really want. I can be honest about that. I’m guarded for a number of reasons. I was engaged and it didn’t work out. I’ve worked hard on myself to heal. I haven’t had sex in a year and when I do, I want it to be epic and I want to be comfortable.

I think you have a very clear vision of where you want things to go and i applaud your ability to do that. I don’t think I’m going to get on your pace in a time frame that is satisfactory to you. So it’s ok if we don’t hang. I enjoyed talking to you, but the more I think about it, you don’t want the kind of girl I am. I’m just me and I accept that.

Him: You see me? I’m Hot! Prudes are no fun, holler at me when you want to relax and get acquainted. boo.

Him: I’m bored. I won’t give you my attention anymore. Good bye. Next… lol.

Me: And there it is! Thank you.

Him: No fun! And your prudish. LOL Peace.

Him: Be good and take care. Your very prudish.

Him: Date women ma. I’m gone. Like the last guy now. Learn to act right, really?

Me: Thank you for confirming who you are and what you are about. I shared something honest about myself to give you some insight and you are carrying on like you are. It’s ok. It’s clear, I’m not your type. We can end the convo.

Him: What am I doing? You’re not even sexy! Geze! Yuck! Prude girl with no ass! Lol

Him: I’m too cute for you. now that I really look closely to you. Do your hair and hit the gym boo, peace.

I think in his texts, this fool went through all of the stages of grief in less than 15 minutes. That has to be a record.

Welp. Here we go. I’m back in the dating world. I didn’t even have to go get a drink to get that dose of cold water to the face.

Who’s next?

Years ago, if this would have happened, I would have tried to prove to this man just how cool I was and how prudish I was not and I would have been miserable.

I dodged a bullet and a potential STD on this one. Go me.

This is progress.

I’m cured.

I could have pretended that I’m above doing stupid things and I’m better than letting a man like this even have some of my time, but I wrote this blog to hold myself accountable and to keep record that I don’t have to put up with anyone’s shit and that I should always trust myself above all else, because I’m right. What I feel is correct.

I tried to tell myself be open-minded, to give people a chance, but most of these men are hideous.

If they are good-looking, they are primping and posing with no shirt on, and I don’t want them either. Or they have 3 or 4 kids. Like they are 26, and have 3 and 4 kids.

I’ve already been yelled at and put down because I don’t want to give my number just because they said my photo was pretty. I’ve been told I am immature and playing games because I’m not ready to give my full first name, after I already said up front I don’t want to until I feel more comfortable exchanging more messages. I feel that I have a unique name and because of what I do for a living, folks can look me up and find out a lot of information. Excuse me for knowing stranger danger is real.

Then I have guys who are 24 years old grilling me about my life plans and successes and aspirations because they are super ambitious and their latter 20s, which are truly humbling years haven’t happened yet. They are so excited about just completing college and so proud of that, it’s like they are really trying to quantify my success and measure it by their scale.

No me gusta.

It’s flattering at first. All of the pings and the men saying they think you are pretty, beautiful and stunning even. I think a couple hundred men have viewed my profile in just two days and about 90 of them have actually tried to reach out.

Most I weren’t interested in, but it gave me a high. I kept checking the site to see who else admired me and actually wrote to me in their own words instead of using the stock responses.

But if I see another profile talking about how they don’t want to deal with drama, or they are drama-free, or how they don’t want to play games, they want women and not little girls, I’m going to scream. These men are regurgitating the same crap over, and over and over again. Those are what I call the “drinking game words and phrases.”

This truly has offered a number of lessons in social anthropology and psychology.

Some of the arrogant men want to pick me a part and almost make me prove I’m worthy to talk to them. It seems that a lot of these men are defensive and sensitive and jaded. I really thought they had more options. Or these men are just the losers of the world. I can’t call it. I’m already having ptsd because now I’m super careful of everything I say if I choose to write a man back and I feel I have to explain why I don’t want to give my name, number and address off the top.

You would think having a pick of hundreds of profiles would help me narrow down the field. Only two men have seemed remotely interesting, but there’s still something about both that leave a sour taste in my mouth. I may go out with one of them.

Now men I don’t even know and have never seen in person can be rude? Or too pushy? Or send me poems already? It’s almost laughable that I almost got into an argument with one man who just really had to have the last word and continue to berate me.

Then I had to realize, hol up. I can just delete this fool. Why am I getting bent out of shape?

Delete.

This is supposed to be fun right?

This isn’t where I’m going to meet my husband, this is just a place to meet folks in the meantime, so why the hell do I care?

Because I do want to meet my husband someday and not think the perfect man for me was actually killed by a drunk driver last night.

I have a feeling that I’m not going to survive the three months, because I’m not feeling this online dating. Maybe I should have chosen another site, but I was just encouraged to try something and get out there.

I think I’m going to go back to the drawing board and just start putting more effort into my outfits, hair and make up every time I go out.

For some reason I feel like online dating was a lot more fun in college. I actually used it to either talk to guys at my college who I was nervous to approach in person, or meet guys from my college I would have never otherwise met. It was great. Everyone seemed more attractive and with far less baggage.

Online dating now, it’s a whole other story. I feel like I’m in a virtual rehab facility/halfway house where people are still recovering from bad situations, relearning how to integrate into society.

So what does that say about me?

Am I desperate?

Am I lazy?

Am I now ugly and uninteresting where when I go out, quality men (who I like in return) just can’t see my aura and gravitate to me.

At the urging of my home girl from the illustrious Kiss and Hide blog, I picked up a book that claims to help you get to your soul mate in seven weeks. It’s called, “Calling On the One.”  Now I don’t know if my soul mate will come a calling six weeks and six days later, but the author is speaking some serious truth about self work. And I’m about that.

I will agree, that when you open yourself up, when you are honest with yourself and real about your limitations, but play up your strengths, you will give off a certain confidence, you’ll reevaluate what’s important and that will open you up to looking at the people around you differently, and maybe even your guy will be closer than you think or someplace you didn’t expect.

Right now, I’m a dog chasing my tail.

I’m dangerously close to throwing nearly a year of celibacy out the window for a guy who turns me on like nobody’s business but has no interest at all in a real relationship.

So I press on.

I don’t think I’ll check for my messages as frequently, because at day three, this crap is already getting old, and I’m getting older too…

Okay, I am impatient and acting like a child with a Christmas toy, but I’m sorry, I can tell already this is wack.

Someone give me some encouragement. Stick it out for the three months and occasionally check the emails and accept a date or two? Make the best of it? Or call it quits now?

What say ye?

The song is simple. Donnie is professing his love for a chick who has no interest in him.

He has all this love to give and he sings about how wonderfully he’ll treat her and all she has to do is simply turn around instead of chasing someone else, who is basically doing the same thing to her– not turning around to see how great she’s trying to convince her object of affection she is.

It’s the silly circle DMV line/waiting room of love most of us find ourselves in.

We pine for someone who either isn’t ready, or just isn’t interested, while someone is pining for us, chomping at the bit to prove to us why we should give them a chance. Usually, we don’t or if we do finally turn around, we either see what the person was trying to show us all along, or we settle, or we still keep ignoring their pleas for our affections and remain at the mercy of whomever we have googly eyes for standing ahead of us.

I love this song and the lyrics because basically all of the characters are simultaneously in the other person’s shoes.

Whenever I hear the song, I see Donnie, the girl and the other dude walking in a line. Donnie is jumping up and down and singing his heart out, while the girl ahead is running after some other dude, and the dude is ignoring them both.

Then I swap those people out and I put myself in the girl’s position, some poor guy who really liked me, and some guy that I can’t seem to shake in the other positions.

Oooh, one more swap came to mind! Myra, Steve Urkel and Laura Winslow.

Steve did try to turn around and he held it down with Myra for a while, but he couldn’t shake Laura. And poor Myra loved her some Steve before Laura had her aha Turn Around moment. This is a great scene where Steve finally puts Laura in her place.

Either way you get the point. “The Colored Section” came out well after Urkel and the Winslows faded to black from primetime television, but I can’t help but wonder if Steve and Laura and Myra were his inspiration. LOL… (Check Myra trying to appeal to his love for Polka music here.)

*I posted the blog, but realized, it would be silly not to show the clip where the ultimate Turn Around of all time takes place. Laura says yes! Steve’s speech is dope.

“You’ve got your back turned to me. You’re searching for the love of somebody else. They’ve got their back turned to you, they’re searching for the love of somebody else. I take a quick look behind, I see a line, but I just pay them no mind. I wish the fool in front of you would disappear so you could…(can’t figure out the rest).”

Clever, clever, clever, Donnie.

I know.

We all had high hopes. But it just didn’t feel right. He did something last week that led to a super lapse in judgement, involving a run-in with tow guys and the police, and a lackluster make out session, and the sense that he was too impressed by me, was a little too much.

He said he understood, but he still wanted to check on me from time to time and that he’d miss me.

I told him I don’t know what he was looking for down the line, but I had a feeling no matter how long we dragged this out, I wouldn’t be as all in as him.

It sucks. It sucks a lot because he was really, really sweet and kind. But he deserves more from someone who will be just as invested him. My heart wasn’t all in.

So here’s the deal.

I do think I’m ready to date and meet some great guys and I have a friend who is quite enthusiastic about me going out on the scene.

I’m not so excited about hitting the bars and parties. Actually, I dread it. It’s so not fun anymore. Don’t like it.

So, thanks to the good folks at Goldstar, where I get discounted tickets to all sorts of awesome stuff, I’ve figured out there’s a lot of interesting things going on that still involve a few cocktails, but involve cultural things, new music, art and things I dig, where there may be a greater likelihood of me even meeting someone who is interested in the same thing. It won’t be a meat market.

Tomorrow night, I’m going to check out an African hip hop artist at the National Geographic in D.C. I think it will be a lot of fun and inexpensive and I’ll be exposed to something new. Whether I meet someone or not, I still feel like I’ll get my money’s worth and I’ll be comfortable.

Next week, one of my awesome guy friends will join me to see the awesome jazz artist Robert Glasper, who has done some fabulous collaborations with R&B and hip hop artists. The music is unbelievable.

I won’t lie, I do feel somewhat self-conscious. Men aren’t chasing me down like they used to. Somewhere down the line, I gained 20 pounds and I really didn’t notice. I don’t think I look bad, but there is a difference. I’ve changed my hair, so it’s no longer long and straight, but short and curly. But I like my hair this way. I think I look good, but I guess in an unconventional way. So I’m not thrilled about going to some of D.C.’s hot spots trying to wear 5 inch heels and squeeze myself in to a freakum dress while surrounded by long weaves and rail thin music video girls.

I don’t want to push anything up or suck anything in. I want to be able to go out and look cute and comfortable. I just don’t have the desire to go all out to get men’s attention. You either see my light or you don’t. Am I being lazy? Will I not meet anyone awesome because I’m not trying hard enough, or am I old and jaded?

I drink Makers. Not apple martini’s. I like to argue about politics and social problems, I can’t dumb myself down. I like to talk about the books I’ve read, or the concerts or museum exhibits I want to see. I have opinions. Not to say that most of the men in D.C. are shallow, they dig all of that. But the ones that are 28-46, they are greedy, they know the demographics of the city and they know they are at an advantage when it comes to women and the numbers.

So, is my plan a great compromise? Go to more of the cultural events I already love to go to and maybe I can meet someone there?

Yesterday, after the immature text war I had with my ex, I was approached by a co-worker who is always talking about the imminent shake up of our company. Today she heard one of our top-level execs in another state was clearing out his desk.

No email that he’s no longer with us. No other facts, that’s all she had.

It set off a firestorm of hysteria. I was already reeling from just being sick and tired of being at an emotional stalemate about my past relationship and wanting to just end it and walk away for good. No being a supportive friend who wants to hear quarterly updates, no Facebook, just free and clear. So this information about the job did not improve my mood.

I instantly thought of a top 10 list that Forbes put out about signs that your company is going to go through a massive shake up. One of those rules mentioned top dogs, resigning, getting fired, or seeing them clean up their LinkedIn profiles. So I went into full panic mode.

Shit was going to go down.

Welp, let’s get to this morning. It was a false alarm. He was indeed cleaning out his desk, but ridding it of several magazines he has no doubt collected over time. No resignation, no firing.

Ridiculous. So I’m irritated. If I don’t hear anything from the boss or see a company wide email I’m not entertaining any more end of the job world talk. I’m through. I’m going to keep applying for other jobs, so I can get the hell out before things get worse. That’s it.

Boom.

As for “Relationship Closure” another thing I promised in today’s headline, I’m going to try to make this brief.

My ex wants to hang on to his pain, and my pain and punish himself forever.

I told him I forgave him a long time ago, and him inflicting emotional pain on himself will never settle the score or make us even, it’s only going to make him have a horrible life.

We both have to move forward. I still love him, but going on two years just in limbo, or having him tell me every three months that he loves me and he can’t get his shit together is not helping me.

I’ve grown from this and I’m not willing to just roll up and die anymore because I’ve been hurt.

He says it’s easier for me to move on because I wasn’t the one who inflicted the pain.

I asked him if he learned anything at all, and he asked how can he learn and grow from hurting someone so badly?

I told him if anything, the lesson should be that if you ever get the chance to love, you will do everything in your power not to hurt someone so badly, you’ll fight for what you want, you’ll appreciate what you have, and you will have faith to try and get up even if you fail.

I told him I didn’t know the person I was talking to. I was crying that it killed me that he couldn’t see the good in him that I could still see, even after all he put me through. But I can’t make him see it, I can’t make him forgive himself, I can’t make him believe in himself, I can’t make him trust himself and trust God.

And that’s when I knew. The gulf between us had grown into a black hole.

Any man who loves me has to completely love and know himself first, so that when he is with me there isn’t any doubt, there isn’t any fear, the thought of failure in loving me will not exist because if he’s loving me to the best of his ability every day, he isn’t failing. He can’t.

That man has to know that.

I can’t squander my love and my sanity and my mental and physical health on someone like that. And it hurts me right now.

Believe it or not, I want him to succeed and be happy and healthy.

He said “it wouldn’t make you feel better if things were the complete opposite and I was totally happy after all of this.”

I said, “Dude, I love you so much and yes I have pride and ego. The greatest extent of bad I would want to happen to you is to have a flat tire every month for two years. And there, that’s real.”

“But in terms of you having all of this anguish off of hurting me, you not growing, you not learning, you making yourself a martyr, that doesn’t please me. That doesn’t make me feel better. You have to heal. That’s what real love is, that’s what deep love is, that’s what it is to love someone on the level I love you. It’s sick to want you to carry on like this for the rest of your life.”

“I’m a fucked up person, that’s the real me,” he said.

“Baby, I’m not ready to let the pain of you and me kill me. I’m not ready to die. I want to live. I have to live. I can’t have you have this hold on me. I can’t go into another year feeling like I can’t really dig into new relationships because I’m hanging on to you, or worried about you and what’s going to happen to you because you are talking the way you are talking. You have to get help, you have to talk to somebody.

You don’t have to feel like you have no purpose. Even if you have to pick one thing to thank God for everyday when you get up, start there. But you got to want more for yourself. You got to want to do better.”

He replied he doesn’t want anything. That he is no good to anyone.

I didn’t know what else to say. I cried and begged him to get it together, not for me but for himself. To dig deep and heal his wounds from us, from his past, from his family, because the road he is on is dark and horrible.

I cannot join him any longer. Even though we haven’t been together for going on almost two years, I was still with him on this path.

This is really the end for me.

I’ve come too far and I see it. I can’t look back. I can’t wait for the fantasy I once had. I don’t want to say that it’s a hopeless situation. God can turn anything around. But what can you do with a person who does not want to save themselves?

I see him drowning. But I told him as much as I love him, I can’t put myself out there for him again or say we can start over. I can’t put myself out there to save someone who is so far gone. I barely survived the last time.

Still crying, my last words were, “I’ve got to hang up now. Goodbye.”

The last time I struggled with a situation like this, I had to have an ex tell me he let his ex suck his dick, move a little person into his house, and impregnate her, before I got the hint.

It’s over boo.

Dead, decomposing horse, turning to glue.

So here I am again. Yall have been on the journey you’ve seen me get up, fall down, get riled up over my ex-fiance.

Welp, no more.

I told yall I hate Facebook. But I admitted I stalk from time to time.

I was strongly considering unfriending him, feeling quite empowered. It was time. No need to keep torturing myself or looking for something. I guess a Mary J. Blige concert will do that to you.

Well, this fool went to Vegas.

He had an interesting exchange with a woman who said, she still couldn’t figure out how he got her panties,

to which he replied, “The bigger mystery is how I stole that ass.”

Ok, before yall jump on me, the relationship is over. I know. But neither one of us unfriended the other, and barely a month ago this fool is declaring how he is trying everything under the sun to have work assign him to come to me and how we need to have this grand talk and all sorts of nonsense.

So, I unfriended him. I sent him a text basically telling him never to speak to me again and that I thought we could be friends, but popping off on Facebook is some ridiculoussness and while it’s been almost two years since our split, I’m still feeling disrespected. Keep whatever happened in Vegas in Vegas. I told him I must have been nuts to keep hanging on, but he no longer has to worry about that. Send me your new address and I’ll send you the ring.

So he texts me from a different number asking what he did wrong.

First of all, if you didn’t take the time to at least look at your most recent posts regarding Vegas on Facebook before asking me that, you don’t deserve a refresher. Put quite simply, you are a dumbass. I put it out there. I’m not trying to be vague. I said, foolishness on Facebook and Vegas. Put it together, please.

Either way, he can really say whatever he wants now. I won’t see it. Good luck. Please take photos of the two of us down now, that’s all I ask.

My friend told me to go home sick if I’m really messed up.

I will not do that over his ass again. I won’t.

I actually want to punch a punching bag or do some push ups. I want to fight and beat up on something.

I don’t know who this dude is at all anymore.

So thank you God. I hear you. Dang. That was harsh, but effective. Can’t hate.

I liked my new short, curly hair, my high cheekbones, my gap-toothed smile.

I felt good.

So good, I practiced my speech for whenever my ex plans to drop in on my life.

I’ll give him back the ring and say how holding on to it is holding me back. How I thought keeping it would be a reminder that at some point in time, someone loved me that much and thought so highly of me.

Now, that’s not what that ring means. A ring is a thing and a symbol of what ever we choose.

The ring lost its original meaning of a promise to stand with me and love me forever, when he just left me hanging.

The symbolism of the ring kept changing for me over the course of me dealing with my pain of his abandonment.

It was a symbol of hope at one point. After all, he told me to keep it because he wanted to put it back on my finger some day.

It was a symbol of failure because the relationship was really over. He wasn’t going to get himself together anytime soon. He was too busy thinking of himself, his own self-preservation, finding his own way, a better job, dealing with his family issues.

It was a symbol that it belonged to me and not him and that I would be damned if he gets the satisfaction of getting any of his hard-earned money back.

I even hate the fact that the word forever is inscribed on the inside.

And now it’s just a pretty ring in a box.

Some people say the best way to get over an old man is to get under a new one.

While I’m not chomping at the bit to be in a relationship, I can appreciate the attention of someone who is genuinely interested in me.

That genuine interest and the knowledge that you always have something to offer someone else and that person will appreciate it, respect it and not let it go, and will fight to keep it will give you the confidence to finally get over the old man.

When a relationship ends, you often blame yourself first and think of all of the things you did wrong, or could have done better even if the demise of the relationship wasn’t even your fault.

Having a new person in your life, who is encouraging you and complimenting you from an honest place (not just trying to have sex) will help you see yourself through new eyes.

In the scenario with my ex. I also see myself looking across the table and saying to him. I’m not the same person. You preferred my hair straight and long. I love it short and curly. You preferred me 20 pounds lighter. I’m a solid six pounds lighter, but I’m steadily working on me and I don’t think I look bad.

I’m nothing like who I was when you were with me, and you had a lot to do with that. So who knows? You may not even like who I am now.

And I’m not quite sure if who I am now, will even like you.

I really thought I couldn’t live without you. And once I stopped crying, and took one step at a time, once I realized that I could laugh and smile again, it got easier.

Silly me. I thought I couldn’t live with out you, meanwhile, you didn’t give me much of a choice. You just left.

There was a time I saw nothing but darkness. The thought of me not mourning over us was impossible to conceive.

I’m thankful for the moments when I think of nothing at all, where I just feel sunshine on my face, or warm shower water running down my back.

I remember when I could feel nothing but pain.

I’m so glad I can taste a really great meal, smell a sweet smell, and hear happy music.

It would have been tragic if I let you take all of that with you when you left. Makes me think of the poem from from “For Colored Girls” “Somebody almost walked away with all of my stuff.” (Alfre Woodard killlllled this.)

I wish you the best. And I really do love you. But you proved to me the extent of your ability to love me and it just wasn’t good enough. I do believe you gave me what you thought was your best at the time.

However, I believe that I deserved better than that then, and I certainly deserve better than that now.

And now, this lovely Amy Winehouse jam. “Take the Box” This is from that early “Frank” album. So no, no beehive hair. I would have done a more recent live version, but you can’t hear the lyrics as clearly.

It’s a really cool museum with all kinds of random art, much of it made out of discarded items, transformed into amazing works.

The other reason why this museum really resonated with me is the fact that a number of artists they feature, are struggling with or have struggled with life long mental illness, incarceration or some really troubled pasts.

I told my date, (yes, the older gentleman) that I appreciated the museum’s transparency about the artist’s illnesses and instead of just brushing off this very fragile and often purposely ignored segment of our community, they see the good in them, even the brilliance and put it on display. These people still have much to offer us, even if we don’t understand them, or we’re even scared of the more negative ways their illnesses manifest. It brought so much more humanity to it.

The odd thing is, while the museum–especially its shop– is totally a freak show filled with the wildest gifts and oddities from all over the world, the respect of the art is very real and is serious business. As a daughter of a mother who is suffering, it touched me on another level that was kind of hard to describe to my date.

That aside, on their movie nights, they waive the $15 admission and you can roam the hodgepodge gratis. So that was pretty cool. They put a large screen on the back of one of their buildings facing a lovely grassy hill that’s part of a neighborhood park. It was a beautiful night and I enjoyed every moment.

Ok. Let’s get back to Elvis.

I guess the movie “Blue Hawaii” was selected because it was the 35th anniversary of his death yesterday.

So I’m in no way dissing the legend to all the fans, but I want to bring up some interesting things I noticed.

The movie begins with a gorgeous woman speeding to the airport in a spunky little red convertible to welcome her man home from a two-year stint overseas for the Army.

Well, Elvis is Elvis and has to make an entrance. As this chick walks up to the plane, like literally as it’s rolling up (which was also hilarious in the post 911 world where we get anal probed prior to boarding and none of our families have even been able to hug us at the gate since Clinton was in office). Elvis is tonguing down as stewardess, I mean flight attendant, I mean, hell this movie was like in the sixties, so a stewardess.

His woman is furious. He flashes her a smile, doesn’t deny what happened, changes the subject, and now his old lady is kissing him too. I don’t even think the dropped food five second rule elapsed. She basically kissed that stewardess too, letting him plant a good one on her. But she’s happy again, and now beaming once he tells her, “Now that’s a kiss.”

I instantly thought of the much hated hip-hop producer and star of reality show Love and Hip Hop Atlanta, Stevie J.

*Background. This dude has a baby’s mother (Mimi) who he claims to love dearly, but he basically screws one of his musical artists he’s developing and claims to love her too. He does this openly. He even got the artist pregnant, but was kind enough to take her to the clinic to abort the child. Classy. He even managed to get BOTH women into counseling with him. At the same time. Yup. Are you seeing the parallels here?

Back to Elvis.

So much like Mimi, Elvis’s woman asks questions she already knows the answer to, like, were you faithful when you were overseas?

Elvis, being the true playa pimp he is, actually went into song about how he was almost faithful, for the most part during his tour of duty, and to a happy up beat version of “Aleuette” no less.

If this ain’t Stevie J. I don’t know what is. But Elvis does it, far, far better!

Like Stevie makes this weird face, looks deep in their eyes, and no matter how disrespected both of these women have been, and even in public, all is well, and this jerk wins again. He doesn’t skip a beat.

Elvis even has this broad singing along providing backup during his, “Yes, I did cheat on you song” at a certain point.

Throughout the movie, Elvis is getting much Hawaiian tourist booty shuffled in his face, and his woman puts on a sourpuss for awhile, when she feels she’s been disrespected and then boom he flashes that smile, sings a song, and she’s singing and dancing along.

I swear Stevie J. watches this move in footie pajamas while eating Lucky Charms.

Another hilarious scene, which is jacked up is while he’s telling his best buddies about one of his overseas jump offs, in song, his woman is wading deep in the ocean because his “I know I effed up while I was gone” gift of a bikini top had drifted back to shore so she was stuck out in the water so she wouldn’t show her fun bags to the men. My date was cracking up and basically blurted, “Elvis is singing a p- story!” When I told him to repeat himself, he wouldn’t. However, he told me those are basically the fireside chats men have about their dalliances with women who are not the women they really love.

To Elvis’ credit, as he’s learning to get himself together and stand on his own two feet, not getting a cushy job for his father’s massive pineapple company, he does start resisting temptation.

When a sticky situation presents itself and it looks like he may have cheated, his woman is almost one foot out the door until she finds proof he didn’t cheat and boom. Elvis kinda sorta asks her to marry him. He even says something slick, like, “You realize that’s a proposal, right?” (Anyone remember Jim Jones’ mumble, non-proposal, shut up ring offering to his long time, long-suffering boo Chrissy from Love and Hip Hop Season One? Anyone?) How romantic.

Then there’s the big, Hawaiian wedding at the end.

In this movie women, tell Elvis they aren’t wearing any panties, and he literally spanks a really bitchy teenage female tourist into non-bitch for the rest of the movie. Like when he said, “You need a good spanking.” The nasty-minded crowd dotted on the lawn went nuts from their blankets and lawn chairs. And as he proceeded to put the spunky blonde over his knee and spank her until the scene faded to black, with her kicking and screaming, the laughter was echoing through the streets at a fever pitch.

Needless to say, I was totally entertained and couldn’t help but think, the man credited with “stealing” from black blues and rock and roll artists, was ahead of his time. The fact that these lusty hip hop artists, are doing the same thing, and it just looks much, much worse, reinforces there is nothing new under the sun and well, Elvis is Elvis and could virtually get away with everything. King indeed. Slick S.O.B.

Stevie J., round up Mimi and Joseline for a movie night, son. Might as well.

All three of yall can learn “Almost, Always True” together.

Please enjoy the old school trailer for “Blue Hawaii” here:

I’m slightly annoyed but entirely enlightened.

I was talking to two of my close friends. I said the magic words, “I think I may keep so and so around. I like him.”

So and so is the older gentleman, and we’ve been spending a nice amount of time together lately.

The most we’ve done is a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek.

We’ve been trying all kinds of restaurants, he’s teaching me to play golf, we have gone to the casino and we have a really long list of museums and other things to check out and experience together. It’s no drama. He’s open and honest.

Words are powerful. As soon as I said what I said yesterday, I knew the universe heard me loud and clear, and would challenge me to hold me to it or back down.

As soon as I said it, I then followed up saying, “I can feel my ex coming. I haven’t heard a peep for too long, and now that I’ve said that, he’s going to pop up.”

I should have also included that I wanted a million dollars, because just as I was saying goodnight to my date after going out for seafood and then playing a few rounds of the Scrabble card game Scrabble Slam, my ex-fiance sent me a text.

You know the good ol’ how are you one.

I knew it.

I felt it, I knew.

His testosterone levels must have dropped, he felt a tingle in his balls, because I was having a really good time with someone else.

So I’m an active participant in my own torture. I return the message and then he asks to call.

So fine. We talk.

He let’s me know about his new job and he does his signature move of dropping information on me nonchalantly.

First, I said something snarky, so he playfully joked he would use all of the frequent flyer miles he’s racking up with his travel-heavy gig and come “hunt me down.”

To that I replied, “I’m at the same spot. There’s no hunting down necessary. No body is scared of you. Besides, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I guess he saw this as a challenge.

So then he brings up the fact his company is headquartered 15 minutes from me. Duh, the last time we talked is when you hit me over the head with that info and then disappeared for three weeks, leaving me to deal with it, by sobbing uncontrollably and leaving work for the day. So no reminder is necessary.

He decides to announce that he’s told his superiors that anytime there is an opportunity to go to Maryland, he wants to be the person assigned.

Now, before when he mentioned this it seemed he would be assigned to go there from time to time, now he’s asking to be the one sent ANYTIME.

So he drops information, and I really didn’t react. I think I said something else snarky or changed the subject completely. He said I was acting stank when he just disclosed that he basically volunteered to be sent to Maryland as much as possible.

In my mind, I was asking myself what does this have to do with me? A year ago this information would have given me hope. Oooh, he asked them to send him to Maryland every time they need someone to go out there. Now, I just feel tired. Big deal.

The question is what are you trying to do once you get here?

What is your plan surrounding me?

At this point, I’d rather him go all out and say whether or not he wants me back and deal with my reaction than for him to drop all these hints waiting to see how I’ll react.

You’ll get a reaction out of me if you said, “I’m moving to Maryland permanently and I will do whatever it takes to be in your good graces again.” If he can do that or play P.M. Dawn’s “Die Without You” on two kazoos out his ass in two-part harmony, I’ll strongly consider he is really serious about me.

For right now, what he is shoveling me is filler.

And if you’ve seen me have a bad crab cake, you know how much I detest filler.

I honestly wanted one face to face over dinner to hash out some leftover stuff and move on, while looking ridiculously hot, give him blue balls and go home in triumph.

Even if he came back to Maryland for work after that grand event, I wouldn’t jump if he said he was in town.

But there he goes, upping the ante just slightly to get a reaction out of me. My reaction was not sleeping well last night and waking up annoyed this morning.

If he wanted to see me, he would have seen me by now. Long distance was hard enough the two years we did it. Now with him having a job where he’s gone and traveling four days out of the week, every week, he has no time for me.

He didn’t even mention any progress on his plan to obtain guardianship of his nephew, so I guess that isn’t even on his mind right now. He seems very much focused on himself… Oh that’s a newsflash. So that also pissed me off.

Dating the older gentleman taught me somethings. He treats me wonderfully. Like really great and we haven’t even rubbed up on each other. I may end up with a new car if I drop that thang on him. LOL. Just kidding. But I even told him, hey it’s so nice to be treated so well. I really appreciate it. The older gent said, “You deserve much, much, much more.”

Well hot damn.

He’s right.

While my ex is trying to earn frequent flyer miles to hunt me down, or come to my state when he gets assigned to do so once again illuminates that I am not a priority.

Following the first weekend we spent together, he wanted to see me so bad, he was on his job that Friday after booking a ticket in the morning and boldly walking off his job (his boss was out) to catch a flight. He even said if his boss called in to check, he could have gotten fired.

So if you had the balls to do that off of our first meeting, and you actually asked me to marry you, you would have found a way to come see me if you really wanted to.

I deserve much, much, more. So with that, I really think I’m almost done. I still love this man, yes, but really. I’m tired.
One of my favorite grown woman artists. Tweet. This is a gorgeous song. I’m going to cry, because this is one of her not well known tracks and it’s so on point. Lord this woman is a beast.

We covered a lot of ground in D.C. and had great drinks, great food, great company and non-stop entertainment– even at a grimy Wendy’s at 3 a.m.  Don’t ask.

Naturally, I was exhausted from all of the revelry.

This morning, one text took my breath away and threatened to steal all of my progress and my healing in one swoop.

Long story short, my ex fiance has a new job that will include a lot of traveling. That I knew.

He informed me his company is headquartered 15 minutes from my house.

That’s right.

Life and timing bite me in the ass, yet again.

Two years ago, he and I would have gone Katniss and Peeta on anybody any time, anywhere for that kind of opportunity that could lead to him flying to see me on the company dime and in business class, and maybe after currying a little favor and impressing his employers, him eventually being able to move here for good.

I felt sick.

I was going to explode.

I quickly had to make my way to my work mom/mentor’s office where I could cry uncontrollably behind a closed door.

She sat quietly while I sobbed.

It all hit me at once. I was shaking.

I was crying and shaking and reacting because, fine. I still love him. But I was working to accept that I needed to get over it.

Just a week ago, he and I texted each other and nearly said our last rites. We literally talked about how our paths were diverging and how it seemed we were being pushed apart by circumstances, but never emotionally.

Maybe the irony of such a fresh discussion where it seemed both of us accepted our lives that would hardly ever intersect again in a meaningful way is what caused my emotional breakdown this morning.

I’m not dreaming of romantic movies and happy endings where all of this drama, all of the suffering and headaches lead us back to one another.

I don’t even want to be hopeful, to only be crushed again, and it really being my fault this time for being stupid.

I’m just mad at fate.

There was a reason it didn’t work at the time, but this latest twist in our story is downright painful, spiteful and mean.

I’ve been actively trying to move on. If you have been reading this blog, my struggle has been well documented and brutally honest.

What’s going to happen now? Your guess is as good as mine.

This is as far as I can go writing today. I’m sure you’ll understand. And now this song will be on repeat for the rest of the day…

A friend forwarded me an article about settling, and the women who really want to get married need to get on board with settling for the guy who actually likes you. Like, likes you a lot.

The premise of the article is basically the fact that women keep chasing these good-looking, charismatic, emotionally unavailable men who keep stringing them along just enough and showing signs of serious relationship material to only yank the carrot again. The author concludes, “The truth is, when you finally abandon your propensity to desire men who don’t like you and instead make up in your mind to settle for the men who do, you’ll quickly realize that you didn’t settle at all.”

I had to think about this.

There were good men in my life that I didn’t give much of a chance, and I blamed a lot of things. Bad timing, not over the last relationship, not enough spark (my personal fav). But then there were times I tried to give these guys a chance because I knew it was the right thing to do, but something still nagged at me.

I’d step on the sidewalk and my heels would click clack, “He ain’t it.”

Birds would chirp and dogs would bark, “He ain’t it.” The hum of my ceiling fan would whisper it to me too. So, I’d say forget it and put the man out of his misery.

It’s no secret on this blog that I tend to love men who are jerks, who are difficult.

I bragged to my friend that even though I loved assholes, I knew for a fact, they loved me back.

Then that heifer has the nerve to hit me with some heavy stuff.
“Yep, your assholes loved you back, but did they love you “enough”? And are you satisfied with being loved back or are you really looking for the guy who will love you enough?”

Well. Damn.

It was a revelation really. I think you can ask any of my exes if they still love me or have love for me, and they will tell you yes and without hesitation.

But none of them loved me ENOUGH.

The words stung at first, but then it made me feel better.

It was soooo simple really. Terribly simple, and I never saw it that way before, considering I’m always talking about relationships, and I dissect them here on this blog.

But I feel the only drawback to the men who have the potential to love me even more than enough is, I’m not sure if I can love them enough.

My friend also pointed out that people use “settle” like it’s a dirty word.

“It makes it sound like you are getting nothing that you want. “

Another good point.

I’m going to have to continue to chew on this for awhile.

For now. I leave you with the classic. “Settle for My Love.”

I’m already an asshole for naming this post what I named it.

*I am in no way trying to make fun of Aspergers’ Syndrome. It’s a very real thing that people struggle with everyday.

But a particular aspect of the syndrome in terms of social interaction and appearance of disregard for others feelings kind of fits in totally with what I’m trying to explain today.

I went from not speaking up enough and suffering through ridiculium in my early dating life to just saying whatever the hell is on my mind now, in my 30s.

I’m a real jerk. But I kind of feel like I’m not. I’m just finally standing up for what works and what doesn’t work for me. I can’t lie anymore, I can’t pacify.

I knowingly exchanged numbers with a man, who seems to be nice.

He seems to be trying but I say what I please to this man, with very little regard to his feelings.

Why?

Because I now care more about my feelings. And I can’t stand when folks don’t come correct.

Dating is like a job interview and it should be damn it. You should do your research, you should put your best foot forward. You shouldn’t embellish your skills or achievements and you should be honest and realistic about your not-so-excellent qualities.

But like an interviewer, if you turn me off, you turn me off. If you’ve got potential or that certain something, then for what you lack in certain areas, I’m going to give you points in other areas. If you don’t dress well, or tell off-color jokes early on,  or show up late or unprepared, I can’t take you seriously.

I can’t take you seriously because you didn’t take yourself seriously or the great opportunity I’m trying to give you seriously enough.

Back to this guy.

He’s pissed me off too many times this week before we’ve even gone out.

Oh yeah, he already planned a date and then canceled because he realized there was a basketball game he wanted to see on television.

He realized how dumb his voicemail sounded, so he followed up with a phone call saying so, and that “I was more important than basketball.”

My Aspergers’ kicked in and I told him, “You don’t know that yet.”

He also sent a random text saying, “I want a wife to get me a visa.”

Here comes my relationship Aspergers’…To which I responded, “Are you foreign? Or do you have no credit?”

Then he wanted our first date to be at a barbeque he was invited to.

I told him no and that it was too personal. I don’t even know him and bbqs are already awkward when you don’t know anyone there and then they ask you, “Who’d you come with?” Then I have to say, “Oh so and so. This is our first date.”

But even after all of that, I was willing to go out with him after work to have a little food and some drinks today.

It is a well-known place that shows sports events on massive screens.

But then one of my boys pointed out it was 50-cent wing night.

That’s when I lost it and decided I needed to cancel.

Then about an hour later it hit me that this dude was just telling me about a really expensive meal he had at a downtown DC restaurant just days ago.

And I get 50-cent wings….

On the first date.

No bueno.

So to cancel, I sent the following text.

“I have to cancel. Something just doesn’t feel right. I also have a feeling you may be significantly older than me and I should have been more honest. I’m not really interested in dating men with kids. It’s not fair to take it any further when I already feel this way. I’m sorry. You seem really nice. But I got to follow my gut. I’m really sorry.”

He didn’t cuss me out. He just said, “Ok. Have a good one.”

Took it like a champ.

My boy said I was ice-cold.

But I just don’t have the time or patience. I think I did him a favor. I know what I don’t want. I know the feeling I get when I really like someone.

This ain’t it.

Let me have it. Am I a jerk?

My ex (ex fiance I am still recovering from) sends me a text asking if we can talk later today.

He’s been going through some tumultuous family drama, and me being me, I agreed.

As soon as my mind started spinning, and my chest started to tighten, consumed with whatever he wants to talk to me about, I was pinged with another text.

This one from a male friend with whom there is an undeniable mutual attraction, but we find a way to argue everyday.

Aside from saying good morning, he said something that hit me like a tranquilizer dart.

“R you ready for a wonderful day?”

I was on the verge of the spiral, when I remembered all I’ve been gaining for nearly a year and a half, the pain, the setbacks, the small and large victories.

I realized I haven’t felt this good about myself in a long time, and with one text message, I was about to worry and second guess myself into oblivion.

I couldn’t go back. Regardless of what my ex has to say (and yes, I will talk to him because I said I would, and yes I actually care about him to offer my support) I’m going to remember something a fellow blogger L from Not So Skinny Genes said in a recent post that resonated with me since I read it.

“I will be the same amount of happy that I am right now, or I will be happier than I am right now. Because I’ve spelled everything out, and presented the option… regardless of their choice I will be able to feel confident that I didn’t hold anything back. There were no surprises. I valued myself.”

I already applied this theory to dealing with a difficult friend earlier this week, and I’m going to apply it again, when facing my ex later on today.

“R you ready for a wonderful day?”

Even though I fight with this guy friend on a regular basis, there are times he says things that just hit me over the head.

There was so much irony in the timing and who it came from.

“R you ready for a wonderful day?”

It was like he was opening a brand new door in my mind that had to have been there all along, but suddenly appeared out of nowhere today.

Was I going to choose to spend my entire day obsessing and agonizing over what my ex has to say 8 or 9 hours from now and letting that affect me and ruin my day?

He no longer has that right.

As another friend pointed out, he relinquished any right to me owing him anything when he spontaneously said he didn’t think he had what it took to be a good enough husband for me and simply walked away.

I choose my wonderful day.

I choose door number two.

“R you ready for a wonderful day?”

To which I replied,

“Yes. Yes, I am. Ironic. I got a text from someone who could potentially ruin my day and/or everything I’ve been working so hard to rebuild and you say that. It’s a good reminder. I’m ready for consistent wonderful days.”

I tell myself and I tell you that this is an age of discovery and an age of the beginning of accepting yourself for who you are, for real.

I talk about trying not to make yourself crazy if you aren’t married yet. Or if you are married, it’s not a big deal if you haven’t cranked out kids yet, or if you haven’t cranked out a brother or sister for the kid you already have.

I keep this theme of you are enough, and it all is timing. It’s better to be where you are then where you think you are supposed to be and totally unhappy.

Well today, I don’t feel that way.

Today, I feel like I should be married to a great man who protects me and helps me pay my bills, like the huge, expensive car repairs I’m staring down the barrel of over the next several weeks, because well I don’t have nearly $2,000 just lying around.

I would have it if I didn’t pay an ever growing rent alone, or put gas in my car, or eat or survive.

I love my independence, but the shit is expensive.

While I say this, I know better. My married sister always tells me, that yes, financially your husband helps you out, but more often than not, your bills are bigger. You have two cars that break down, you have a much larger home, that requires more resources to operate. Your money is gone to handle business whether you are single or with someone, so there isn’t much of a difference, but having their support is what matters and makes you feel better.

I’m sure my married and divorced readers can attest to my sister’s wisdom.

It’s not just about the money.

Going through this time of separation from my local friends, it would be nice to have someone to hold me and say it’s ok, you’ve got me, or that they will come around, or whatever.

I cried myself to sleep last night, because I wanted to stop loving someone. It’s been a year, for crying out loud.

But why did he have to recently say he still loved me?

Why did those words keep ringing in my head?

Since he said those tragic, beautiful, hopeful, dreadful words, why did I shut myself off from men who were either just as good-looking as him, who definitely had more money and more assets and better careers?

Why do those exact words, coming from him, mean more to me than the combined incomes, good looks and success of all of those other men combined?

Because I guess I hate myself equally as much as I love him. I’d have to hate myself to go through such torture.

But what does him still loving me mean anyway? What would be different this time?

What set me off? Why am I so emotionally unstable today?

My car repairs, and being a stupid Pandora by doing what I said I wouldn’t do.

Go on Facebook to look at who wished him a happy birthday. (I already know. I should have de-friended him a long time ago. I couldn’t do it, and neither did he. If he did first, I would have been mad. So round and round we go.)

Not only did one bitch wish him a happy birthday, she went on about how glad she was to celebrate with him and how they would have to finish their conversation later. And ended with a damn smiley face.

Smiley face.

It mocked me.

It taunted me.

This chick probably still dots her i’s with hearts.

I need to stop. I use smiley faces too.

But see? See how ridiculous one can become because of stupid feelings?

Feelings  make normally very rational women, turn into her worst enemy…

A hormonal, estrogen rage-induced, emotional nut bag.

Think a pink incredible Hulk with a weave, skirt, painted fingernails and toenails, ripping an encyclopedia in half with just her kuckles.  I’ll name her, Estrogena. The Hulk is so scared of pissing her off, he’s not even on Facebook. He deleted his account when he still didn’t change his relationship status a day after they became official.

A year later, with all the progress, all the fasting and praying, and bad mistake making, and enlightenment and business-starting and promotions; all the feeling stronger in my faith, all the relearning to love me, all the going to Zumba, all went out the window in one moment.

None of these amazing things I accomplished by my own strength and intellect mattered.

Facebook. One wall post that could have meant absolutely nothing, or absolutely everything on top of  an enormous bill for car repairs, and having to acquiesce to another year of living in this apartment, paying more than I think it’s worth, having to put off said car repairs for two weeks, winging it, praying the wheels won’t literally fall off my car (as the repair man warned) between now and then.  Finally, contemplating having to give up one or both vacations I had been looking forward to in order to be fiscally responsible, pushed me to my breaking point.

I told a dear friend I’m at the point I may go back to trans fats, heavily drinking and mindless sex with worthless men.

Then, I said I’d write.

Then work out, then take a shower and pray and cry while I’m in it and let the water and my tears become one indistinguishable rush of liquid on my face.

So here I am, writing.

Today, being 30, independent, alone, momentarily emotionally unstable and being fully aware if it, ain’t shit.

Smiley face.

Folks start buying the jerseys, tee shirts, hats, and they pay exorbitant fees to step foot in a stadium they never bothered to before the championship game.

The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon actually works the opposite way. It attracts losers. Not in the sense that you are hopeless and wack, but those who have literally lost in love.

Bitter, angry women hop on, and even take turns driving the thing. And boy are they enthusiastic about how love sucks and is one big joke and that all men are the same and they are better off alone. They buy the shirts, the hats, and they spread the word far and wide that love is a lie and that no one can possibly have a healthy relationship because they didn’t.

Every man is going to lie and cheat and be shiftless, or lack ambition, or not want to grow up.  Chicks with the unlimited pass on the I Don’t Need A Man Wagon believe that it’s better to be angry and give up on men completely and paint them all with the same brush, because the next man is bound to screw it up too.

I don’t hate on the I Don’t Need A Man Wagon. I just hate on folks who never leave it.

In the case of a sports team on a winning streak, bandwagon fans help fuel the economy. Local restaurants are making money hand over fist, street corner bootleggers are getting paid for their wares, even the homeless are getting a few extra bucks outside the stadium. Everyone wins. Bandwagons bring people together for a common cause and generate a larger excitement.

The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon spawns blogs, books, kickboxing classes and single gal vacation packages. The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon pays for new hair cuts, freakum dresses, penis cakes, MAC makeup binges, and endless boxes of girl scout cookies, birthday cake ice cream, SPANX and all sorts of alcohol. The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon could probably form a serious PAC if they wanted to.

So the I Don’t Need A Man Wagon is necessary. It’s a traveling triage unit for broken and bruised female egos. Like sports bandwagons, the IDNAM wagon is fueled by emotion and the desired outcome of winning is always left to chance, so therefore it’s very unstable.

The key is to knowing how and when to get off and move on, which is what bandwagon riders do best anyway.

While on the ride, we all know when even the potential hint of love comes around again, we are going to yank that “this is my stop” rope and leave the rest of those whining, pitiful hags on the wagon with the quickness.

David Castillo Dominici/freedigitalphotos.net

I don’t know what’s going on today, but I read two articles that have just annoyed the crap out of me.

I told yall before that I’m hard on men, and they need to act like men. I’m not even trying to diss gay men (before anyone tries to start that mess), because I know gay men who handle their business, who work hard, who don’t complain and who are probably the most respectful and protective of women in their lives and honor and love those women, so this ain’t for them.

This applies to the punk ass men, I have been reading about today in this one article from phillymag.com.

It’s a lengthy read, but my goodness, it goes on and on about how young men these days aren’t motivated really and aren’t that responsible and how they are more than likely living at home with their parents and how women today are more likely to have their shit together than the men they have to choose from.

I’m just sick and tired.

I guess it didn’t help that a man approached me while eating my dinner alone the other night who was very awkward, and put himself down at least five times during our convo. For the icing on my cheesecake, when he asked me for my phone number and I said no, he asks me for a ride to the Metro. Like I didn’t just turn him down and reject him. But somehow, I’d give him a ride…um. Sure.

This is what we’ve come to.

What does this fabulous bachelor do for a living?

He took a deep breath, then said he was on his computer all day. But he actually schedules movers.

Fine, make an honest living. I’m not mad at that, but step your game up. Have some confidence and have some pride. (He told me I use big words, he doesn’t read, but he isn’t stupid.) Geez.

Because he said he said he does mixed martial arts, I decided to have another larger and more sane suitor walk me to my car once I closed my tab. I didn’t want to get attacked in the parking lot.

So back to these triflin ass men. Not all men are triflin, but we as a society are letting them slip, making excuses for them, doing everything for them and now we got a generation of hot ass messes, blaming the economy, blaming the rise of women in the workplace and everything else for their descent.

Um, you are descendants of cavemen. Have you ever seen those old school pics of the men who built skyscrapers eating lunch a gazillion feet in the air on just a beam??? They went and handled business and they weren’t going to complain about stupid stuff.

These dudes were eating lunch. On a beam. In the air! And you’re having a crisis because you aren’t working because you’re better than the jobs that are available, on your mom’s sofa, eating a sandwich she made for your pitiful ass, wearing clothes she probably washed for you (old funky, triflin, waste of flesh).

Those men aren’t better than you punk asses because of what they were able to physically do and their ability to provide and you aren’t better than those men because you have a college degree and/or can change diapers. Manhood has a lot of shades, but I still think there are some concrete things that cross race, income, culture.

You must be able to financially and emotionally take care of yourself and your family.

You must have something in you that compels you to protect and defend yourself and your family (be it physically or in addressing disrespect) even if it means getting your ass whooped as long as you stood up.

You should have pride in who you are.

Cavemen were living under the most ridiculous of circumstances, but they got out there and they made shit happen. Cavemen did not go back to their mother’s caves until they got on their feet. You don’t have to fight wild animals these days in order to survive. Cavemen had far fewer resources and luxuries than you broke ass college graduates still camped out at mom’s house because you still trying to pay back 100k in student loans and too prideful to take other jobs to help out.

Boo hoo.

Man UP!

So I go through my day, and another story crosses my path.

There are a bunch of punk ass fathers who are complaining about a Huggies diaper commercial that is making fun of fathers trying to change diapers.

The punk ass dads who claim they are so secure about being at home dads are the ones making the biggest fuss.

What on earth do you have to prove??? You aren’t a punk ass because you are at home taking care of your kids, that’s awesome, you rock.

You are a punk ass because you’ve decided to organize the rest of the punk asses to complain. You should have spent that time organizing a play group.

You are a punk ass because by creating this stir, you are telling people you are in fact insecure about being involved, hands on dads. I watched the video, and I didn’t see anything crazy. Most dads who are involved in their kids’ lives have changed diapers, most of which may not do it all the time.

And just because they are living the at home dad life, for most households, the majority of childhood duties are still being handled by women and will continue to be that way. There are dads who actually would be lost and going nuts if they had to handle their infant for two days without the aid of the mom. That’s just what it is.

Huggies punked out, pulled the ad and apologized. But that’s to be expected.

Their products are made specifically to take other people’s shit.

Maybe I’m an insensitive jerk, who is clinging to old school gender roles, yet wants to have her cake and eat it too, but damn fellas, these types of articles are becoming way too commonplace now.

Those men of the cavemen times, the Dark Ages, Slavery, and the Great Depression were just like you in a lot of ways, grappling with sense of self, wanting respect, feeling pressure.

Being a well-adjusted, non-whining ass contributor to society, your women and your kids is in your reach.

MAN UP.