Monday, February 13, 2012
My Angry Vagina
My vagina is angry.
MY vagina is angry.
My VAGINA is angry!
My vagina is ANGRY!
I had been practicing these lines over and over. I was auditioning the next morning for the part of the Angry Vagina in The Vagina Monologues.
I hadn’t auditioned for anything in a while and wanted to make sure I was on point.
Two years ago I was asked to be a “Celebrity Vagina” in the Monologues. I was honored!
They paired me up with two other local “celebrities” and we each shared the introduction. I was kind of disappointed because I really wanted to have my own vagina.
During rehearsals, I watched with admiration at the other cast members as they ran their lines for their monologues.
I decided that if they have open auditions again, I would try for a part.
I especially wanted to do it because I like the fact that the play raises awareness about sexual violence against women.
Considering the way things have been going in my life, and until recently my vagina hadn’t exactly been swinging from chandeliers I was perfect for the Angry Vagina! I love this particular monologue because she’s vulgar, raunchy and expresses a lot of what many of us women feel.
Plus, she gets to say “Motherfucker”!
Growing up in the suburbs, I’ve never really mastered the art of cursing. I tend to over enunciate and pronounce each consonant. I’ve always admired people who could curse… the way it rolls off their tongues, the intensity and smoothness at the same time. They make it seem effortless.
When I try to curse it seems so forced and unnatural.
One time I got into an argument with a girl in high school and I told her that she was a “damn lie”. She laughed at me, turned to her crew who had her back just in case things jumped off and announced, “Look, she can’t even curse right!” I was humiliated.
It became my goal to curse like a champ.
William worked with me the day before the auditions.
To prepare, I found a pdf. version of the script online and re-typed the whole script; double spaced, Arial, bold, 14 point font. I italicized certain words that I wanted to put more emphasis on and separated certain lines so in case I needed to glance at my script I knew exactly where to look and find my place.
I woke that morning and dressed for the part. I teased my hair, went a little heavy on the eye-liner, wore large hoop earrings and a cute, but sexually explicit t-shirt with jeans.
I was ready.
I felt confident.
On my way to the auditions I stopped at McDonalds. I am sort of addicted to the Caramel Mocha’s and figured I grab one.
When I pulled into the parking lot I debated whether to leave my cell in the car so that it wouldn’t be a distraction. I opted to take it with me, just in case someone decided to break into my car and with my luck it would have happened just because I left it in there.
I arrived on time, Caramel Mocha in hand and signed in.
They had me fill out an application, a name card and took a head shot of me.
I sat in a room with about twenty other women. Some seemed to know each other already. I looked around the room at their faces, made eye contact with some, smiled and nodded hello. I sat at a table and laid my script out to run through it in my head.
A young lady sat across from me at my table. She introduced herself and we began chatting.
I coolly sipped on my Caramel Mocha that was not warm anymore, but I didn’t want to toss it. It was sort of a security blanket for me.
Then, because I am addicted to my cell phone, I can’t go without checking email, facebook or text messages (and I’m hardheaded), I reached into my purse to grab my phone. As I was pulling my hand out, I knocked over my half-full Caramel Mocha and slowly it spilled all over my 14 point font, Arial bold, double-spaced script! Some of it splashed onto my jeans and my cute t-shirt, but I was more focused on the damage to my script. It was a total loss. A couple of women helped me clean up and one of the production assistants assured me that they had scripts in the audition room.
I was devastated, but even worse, I was angry at myself! Why didn’t I print up a second copy? Why didn’t I throw out that coffee? It had gotten cold and I wasn’t even drinking it anymore.
I was called into the room; still reeling from my chemical spill, I introduced myself to the three women at the table. I quickly told them that I had ruined my 14 point font, Arial bold, double-spaced script!
“No problem”, One of the women assured and handed me a 8 point font, single spaced, Calibri script!
I panicked.
I began sweating; I couldn’t read the fine print!
My heart raced.
I had certain lines memorized and would look away from the paper, but as I glanced back down I lost my place… about four or five times!
I felt defeated and deflated.
I apologized and then kicked myself for doing so because you NEVER apologize for making a mistake (or four or five) during an audition! The women told me to keep going and assured me that I was doing well.
They’re just being nice, I thought and panicked even more. I made my way through the script, thanked them and left the room.
I grabbed my coat and purse from the waiting room, ran to my car and began pounding on the steering wheel.
“DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!”
It’s times like this when I need the loving, supportive arms of a man to fall into… Climb into his lap, pouting, whimpering and whining, “Whyyyyyyy me??”
He’d wrap his arms around me, pat me on the bottom, promise me that it wasn’t so bad and make some sort of joke about my vagina being happy instead of angry.
Since I didn’t have a loving, supportive man to turn to, I called someone who I knew would understand; my cousin Beverly.
“Awwwwwwww, honey… that’s SUCH a Carrie Bradshaw moment”, Beverly groaned as I gave her the replay of my audition fiasco.
I recalled the Sex and the City episode where Carrie was asked to walk the runway during Fashion Week and fell flat on her face in front of hundreds of people and flashing light bulbs.
Beverly tried to help me find the humor in my humiliation and we laughed and chatted as I drove to the mall for some retail therapy.
Nearly three weeks passed since the audition and I hadn’t heard anything from the director.
I would occasionally have flashbacks of that day and hindsight would always say, “I should have done this or I should have done that.” I chalked it up as a loss.
Then, one Saturday as I was enjoying a little time out of town I had a missed call on my cell.
I checked the voicemail.
“Hi, Single Mom, this is Theresa from the Vagina Monologues. Today was our first day of rehearsals and we missed you. You’ve been selected for the part of the Angry Vagina and I’m not sure if you got the email I sent. I know that a lot of people said it had gone to their spam folder because the subject heading had ‘Vagina’ in it. Please give me a call back and let me kmow if you’re still interested in the part”.
I was screaming in my hotel room and called Beverly to share the good news!
I then went on facebook and announced, “I am the ANGRY VAGINA! WHOOO HOOO!”
Some people got it; others thought I had lost my mind.
I have been paired up with another woman and we are splitting the monologue.
Again, I am sharing my vagina!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Three Hundred Dollars or Best Offer
Another Valentine’s Day is fast approaching.
Although I’m not one who is big on this manufactured holiday, it does bother me because it reminds me that another Valentine’s Day is passing; girlfriends and wives are pressuring their significant others to shower them with flowers and chocolates, everyone is booed up and it’s another year that I’m single.
I want to make something very clear because a month or so ago I received an email from a concerned friend that seemed to feel as if I am too focused on having a man in my life. She advised me to stop looking (which I’m not doing) and Mr. Right will come along. I often joke that I don’t LOOK for trouble; trouble seems to FIND ME.
My blog is titled “The Single Mom Saga” BECAUSE I am a single woman and it’s about my life AS a single woman! With Rick leaving the house a few months ago, I am officially an empty nester, but I’m still a MOM and I’m STILL single.
It really does bother me when people ask me with all sincerity, “Why are YOU single?” They then start to run down my qualities, characteristics and my resume and then follow it up with, “What’s wrong with these men?”
I’m not sure if they think it’s a compliment or if they pity me.
I am FAR from vain, conceited or full of myself, but I don’t need to be reminded that I got it going on!
I know that I am an attractive woman. I know that I’m intelligent, funny, confident, sexy, nurturing and talented.
I can throw down in the kitchen and I’m not “shy” in the bedroom. I’m a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets. An added bonus is that I enjoy sports and probably love football more than some men!
I know what I’m working with and yes, it does bother me when men take it for granted, don’t appreciate it or pass me by for the chick that can’t boil an egg and can only talk about what happened on Basketball Wives last night.
I don’t dwell on the fact that I don’t have “a man”, but there are times when life makes it very clear that I’m single and I’m ALONE.
I am getting over a serious cold. Being sick and vulnerable exposed me to my innermost thoughts and made me all too aware that I am by myself. My father was there for me when I needed him and William even stepped up and brought me some food, but at my lowest moment, I sat in my bed and cried.
I wailed.
I was alone and had no one to care for me… No one to comfort me. My dad is my dad… and William is, well… WILLIAM.
I can’t rest my head on their laps and have them run their fingers through my hair. I can’t ask them to climb under the covers and spoon with me.
It’s nice to have friends, family and other support units, but sometimes it’s nice just to have strong, loving arms hold me and tell me everything will be alright.
In a previous post I came up with this theory that I’m cursed and blamed it on my immature, adolescent behavior towards a classmate that had a crush on me.
I have a new theory: My bed.
After my separation and divorce, I slowly cleared out any items in my home that the ex-husband and I shared. This included the bedroom furniture, living room furniture, the kitchen table and more. He also, in his childish and vindictive way, went through some of my belongings and took (stole) items that he felt were owed or belonged to him (jewelry, engagement and wedding rings, photos and even lingerie).
I live in a different house than the one we shared. I bought my own home a few years after our divorce. Ninety nine percent of my furniture and belongings are new. There are a some minor items from my marriage that came with me to my new home, but the one MAJOR thing that I brought with me into my new home and my new life was my OLD mattress!
It hit me one day, while lying in bed that maybe… just maybe… that mattress is the source of my failed relationships!
The bed plays a significant role in a marriage and is symbolic in a sense.
In some cases, a marriage is not signed and sealed until it’s consummated.
The bed is a sacred place between a husband and wife and no other man or woman should enter into that bed.
I think that if the ex-husband had the opportunity he would have dragged the mattress out of the house with him along with my lingerie.
When I moved into my new home, my first purchases were bedroom furniture for Rick and myself. I refused to bring my marital bedroom set into my new home and my new life. I sold the old set in a yard sale the following spring.
My home was built in the early 1900’s and has lots of charm and character, but with that comes a narrow staircase. I wasn’t able to get my queen size box spring past the landing and had to buy a split box spring. The mattress was a tight squeeze, but it made it up the stairs.
I have only had one major relationship since my divorce and that three year romance ended tragically. Since that break-up I’ve been single for nearly six years.
Luke Skywalker, Deputy Dan and the Corporate Thug were my serious attempts at love and commitment, but each of them proved unworthy. There have been others that briefly entered my life, but left just as quickly.
If you are a follower of my blog, you know that I have had some funny and some not-so-funny tales of tragedy and triumph in my dating life.
I blame my failed attempts at love on the mattress!
Once I made the connection I quickly called the local newspaper and purchased an ad in the classifieds:
For Sale – Queen, double-sided pillow top mattress, firm and in good condition. $300 dollars or best offer.
I got a few bites, but each potential buyer thought the box spring was included with the purchase and walked away.
I’ve decided that if I can’t sell the mattress, I’ll just put it on the curb.
Right about now I just want it out of my house.
If this Sealy Posturepedic is bringing me bad juju, then I want it gone!
I have a bed in the guest room and I’ll sleep there until I can afford to buy a new double-sided pillow top.
I was told years ago that I have an indomitable spirit and I will not give up faith that the right man will come along (once again, I am NOT looking!).
I met someone a few months ago and he has SO many qualities that I enjoy and love, but I know there’s no real future for us. There are a number of factors preventing us from living happily ever after, so right now I am enjoying the time we share. I know it will end eventually and when it does I know that I’m the one that will be walking away with my heart broken. It’s my decision.
There has also been an interesting turn of events with someone I met a few years ago, but I will just have to wait and see how it all works out.
So, for this Valentine’s Day or Single’s Awareness Day (S.A.D.), I am organizing a day of glamour for me and my friends. We will have a professional make-up artist glam us up and I’ve scheduled a professional photographer to give us our own personal photo shoots.
In the meantime, I’m having a blowout sale and slashing prices on a double-sided pillow top queen mattress (box spring not included).
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Love and Hip Hop
One of the fun parts of my job is that I get to meet all types of people from all types of backgrounds and careers.
I've interviewed singers, rappers, dancers, choreographers, writers, comedians, politicians and every day people.
One thing that I've learned is that so-called "celebrities" are no different than you or I.
They wake up in the morning, just like we do and they put their pants on one leg at a time, just like we do.
I've never been one to be star struck and it takes a lot to impress me.
There’s been a few times when I've been hit on by entertainers and athletes, but I try to always maintain a certain level of professionalism.
I dated a professional football player for a while and I met Mr. Goodbar through my job, but those were the only two times that I ever mixed business with pleasure... until this past summer.
I pulled all sorts of strings to get back stage at an old school concert to interview the performers.
I've learned over the years that the artists that have been around awhile are a lot more accommodating and friendlier than some of the artists just coming up. Some of my best interviews have been with the seasoned veterans in the music industry.
While waiting backstage with my videographer, a performer who is the third member of an 80’s hip-hop group happened to walk by.
He had on a butter yellow linen outfit; his skin was golden brown and those infamous eyes glowed from a distance.
My heart skipped a beat and for a moment I reverted back to a nineteen year old girl.
“Oh, my God, it’s HIM!” I squealed as I grabbed my videographer’s arm.
Just as quickly as I said it, I caught myself and regained my composure. I couldn’t believe that I actually reacted that way.
“I’m going to see if we can get an interview with him”, I turned, smoothed out my clothes and announced to my videographer, in my MOST professional voice.
“Okay, you do that”, my videographer chuckled.
I grabbed my microphone and note pad and walked over to him.
I introduced myself to him, told him where I was from and politely asked for an interview.
Without hesitation he agreed.
I was a bit surprised because I’d always heard that he was standoffish, but he was very polite and pleasant. He told me that he had to do a quick set on stage, but would be right back.
When he returned, his brow was glistening with sweat and he was wiping it off with a white face cloth.
I escorted him to a quieter area and we began the interview.
We discussed the differences between artists today and artists from his era.
He shared his frustration with some of the new performers and how he thought that they could still sell CD’s without all of the cursing and violence in the songs.
We wrapped up the interview and I politely thanked him for his time.
He gave me a hug and we walked back towards the stage together.
He complimented me on my style and grace and told me that he liked what he saw.
I laughed, thanked him and told him that he probably says that to all of the girls.
He said that wasn’t true because he doesn’t meet too many women like me.
I thanked him again and walked away; chalking it up to him being a smooth talker that’s been around the block so many times he could have run the New York City Marathon about fifty times.
I had gotten all of the interviews I needed and my videographer and I began to pack up.
As we were leaving, I went over to the DJ and thanked him again. He thanked me for my professionalism and asked if we could get together. I politely declined.
He told me that he was going to be in town throughout the weekend and leaving that Monday morning. He said he didn’t know what there was to do around here and asked if he could take me to dinner.
Now keep in mind that at the time I was going through a MAJOR dry spell and was also in my eighth month of self imposed celibacy.
Dinner in the company of a man sounded pretty enticing.
He gave me his number and I sent him a text message later that evening.
We made arrangements to get together after he got back to his hotel and settled. I picked him up and we went for drinks before dinner. We were seated in a sexy, dimly lit corner with a sofa and two small tables placed in front of us. From the moment we sat down, he was extremely “hands on”. I had to throw up the yield sign a few times to get him to slow down.
He kept remarking on how impressed by me he was and then proposed that he was going to make me his “baby”.
After dinner I drove him back to his hotel.
During dinner, in the car, on the way to his hotel and upon arrival at his hotel, he asked multiple times if I would come up to his room. I had flashbacks to 1987 and how I would have jumped at the opportunity if he had asked back then, but this was 2011 and I am not a middle-aged groupie.
He thanked me for a nice evening and expressed his disappointment that I wouldn’t join him in his room. He leaned over and kissed me and I didn’t object. The kiss lasted for quite some time and his hands began to have a mind of their own. Again, I lost myself in the moment and I felt like a nineteen year old girl making out in the car.
I let him get to second base before stopping him. I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away. I took a few deep breaths and turned away from him. I guess I felt that if I kept looking at him I might be tempted and go upstairs with this man.
It had started to rain and I was watching the precipitation trickle down my car window. It helped settle me and I came to my senses.
“Look what you do to me”, He declared.
I turned to face him and there, in the front seat of my car he sat with his pants unzipped and his extremely erect penis in his hand! The light from the parking lot shone directly in the car onto his Johnson as if it had its own spotlight.
I freaked!
“Oh my God!” I shrieked, “Put that away!” I placed my right hand on the side of my face to shield my eyes from the sight of his woodie.
He apologized and very carefully placed it back in his pants.
I told him that I needed to get home and again he expressed his remorse for exposing himself to me and said that he respected me even more that I wouldn’t go upstairs with him. I’m sure that he still has groupies throwing themselves at him and as a matter of fact, I had just read an article earlier that day about some of his sexcapades with groupies. All the more reason for him to head on up to his room… alone.
We spent time together for the next two days and when it was time for him to go I drove him to the airport. I waited with him in a quiet lounge in the airport where we chatted and made plans to visit very soon.
We kissed a little more and I said goodbye to him at the security entrance.
Over the next few months he called regularly.
Each conversation would always begin with, “You good, Boo?” And I would assure him that I was.
We made several failed attempts to see each other. He is always on the road performing and the two times that I was in his area, he was away. There were also a few times when he was close to my city but my schedule wouldn’t allow me to see him. Every time we spoke he would declare that he wasn’t giving up on making me his baby. I informed him each time that in order for me to be his baby it would require us spending quality time together and getting to know each other.
I’ll be honest; there were times when I gave in to the fantasy of actually being his “baby”.
I joked with friends that I would be the newest cast member on “Hip-Hop Wives”, but I also feared whether he would be able to take care of me. It’s a pretty well known fact that most of the early hip-hop artists didn’t plan well for the future and many of them were taken advantage of by either their record labels or their managers or both. I mean, do they have a Rapper’s Retirement Plan or Hip-Hop 401k?
As 2011 was coming to a close, I began my annual closet cleaning and the DJ was the first to go.
Although he is a nice guy, our two worlds just don’t fit together. I was also tired of the empty promises. If he really wanted to see me bad enough I’m sure he could have made a trip. Unfortunately for me, I tend to meet men with careers that require them to be on the road more than they’re home.
Eventually I grow weary of the false hope and move on.
I called him and told him that it was over.
He couldn’t understand why at first, but as we talked more he accepted my decision and told me that he admired me even more.
He asked me if we were still cool and I assured him we were.
He told me that he would keep in touch, but I doubt it.
It was nice to live that teenage fantasy… even if it was over twenty years later.
I've interviewed singers, rappers, dancers, choreographers, writers, comedians, politicians and every day people.
One thing that I've learned is that so-called "celebrities" are no different than you or I.
They wake up in the morning, just like we do and they put their pants on one leg at a time, just like we do.
I've never been one to be star struck and it takes a lot to impress me.
There’s been a few times when I've been hit on by entertainers and athletes, but I try to always maintain a certain level of professionalism.
I dated a professional football player for a while and I met Mr. Goodbar through my job, but those were the only two times that I ever mixed business with pleasure... until this past summer.
I pulled all sorts of strings to get back stage at an old school concert to interview the performers.
I've learned over the years that the artists that have been around awhile are a lot more accommodating and friendlier than some of the artists just coming up. Some of my best interviews have been with the seasoned veterans in the music industry.
While waiting backstage with my videographer, a performer who is the third member of an 80’s hip-hop group happened to walk by.
He had on a butter yellow linen outfit; his skin was golden brown and those infamous eyes glowed from a distance.
My heart skipped a beat and for a moment I reverted back to a nineteen year old girl.
“Oh, my God, it’s HIM!” I squealed as I grabbed my videographer’s arm.
Just as quickly as I said it, I caught myself and regained my composure. I couldn’t believe that I actually reacted that way.
“I’m going to see if we can get an interview with him”, I turned, smoothed out my clothes and announced to my videographer, in my MOST professional voice.
“Okay, you do that”, my videographer chuckled.
I grabbed my microphone and note pad and walked over to him.
I introduced myself to him, told him where I was from and politely asked for an interview.
Without hesitation he agreed.
I was a bit surprised because I’d always heard that he was standoffish, but he was very polite and pleasant. He told me that he had to do a quick set on stage, but would be right back.
When he returned, his brow was glistening with sweat and he was wiping it off with a white face cloth.
I escorted him to a quieter area and we began the interview.
We discussed the differences between artists today and artists from his era.
He shared his frustration with some of the new performers and how he thought that they could still sell CD’s without all of the cursing and violence in the songs.
We wrapped up the interview and I politely thanked him for his time.
He gave me a hug and we walked back towards the stage together.
He complimented me on my style and grace and told me that he liked what he saw.
I laughed, thanked him and told him that he probably says that to all of the girls.
He said that wasn’t true because he doesn’t meet too many women like me.
I thanked him again and walked away; chalking it up to him being a smooth talker that’s been around the block so many times he could have run the New York City Marathon about fifty times.
I had gotten all of the interviews I needed and my videographer and I began to pack up.
As we were leaving, I went over to the DJ and thanked him again. He thanked me for my professionalism and asked if we could get together. I politely declined.
He told me that he was going to be in town throughout the weekend and leaving that Monday morning. He said he didn’t know what there was to do around here and asked if he could take me to dinner.
Now keep in mind that at the time I was going through a MAJOR dry spell and was also in my eighth month of self imposed celibacy.
Dinner in the company of a man sounded pretty enticing.
He gave me his number and I sent him a text message later that evening.
We made arrangements to get together after he got back to his hotel and settled. I picked him up and we went for drinks before dinner. We were seated in a sexy, dimly lit corner with a sofa and two small tables placed in front of us. From the moment we sat down, he was extremely “hands on”. I had to throw up the yield sign a few times to get him to slow down.
He kept remarking on how impressed by me he was and then proposed that he was going to make me his “baby”.
After dinner I drove him back to his hotel.
During dinner, in the car, on the way to his hotel and upon arrival at his hotel, he asked multiple times if I would come up to his room. I had flashbacks to 1987 and how I would have jumped at the opportunity if he had asked back then, but this was 2011 and I am not a middle-aged groupie.
He thanked me for a nice evening and expressed his disappointment that I wouldn’t join him in his room. He leaned over and kissed me and I didn’t object. The kiss lasted for quite some time and his hands began to have a mind of their own. Again, I lost myself in the moment and I felt like a nineteen year old girl making out in the car.
I let him get to second base before stopping him. I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away. I took a few deep breaths and turned away from him. I guess I felt that if I kept looking at him I might be tempted and go upstairs with this man.
It had started to rain and I was watching the precipitation trickle down my car window. It helped settle me and I came to my senses.
“Look what you do to me”, He declared.
I turned to face him and there, in the front seat of my car he sat with his pants unzipped and his extremely erect penis in his hand! The light from the parking lot shone directly in the car onto his Johnson as if it had its own spotlight.
I freaked!
“Oh my God!” I shrieked, “Put that away!” I placed my right hand on the side of my face to shield my eyes from the sight of his woodie.
He apologized and very carefully placed it back in his pants.
I told him that I needed to get home and again he expressed his remorse for exposing himself to me and said that he respected me even more that I wouldn’t go upstairs with him. I’m sure that he still has groupies throwing themselves at him and as a matter of fact, I had just read an article earlier that day about some of his sexcapades with groupies. All the more reason for him to head on up to his room… alone.
We spent time together for the next two days and when it was time for him to go I drove him to the airport. I waited with him in a quiet lounge in the airport where we chatted and made plans to visit very soon.
We kissed a little more and I said goodbye to him at the security entrance.
Over the next few months he called regularly.
Each conversation would always begin with, “You good, Boo?” And I would assure him that I was.
We made several failed attempts to see each other. He is always on the road performing and the two times that I was in his area, he was away. There were also a few times when he was close to my city but my schedule wouldn’t allow me to see him. Every time we spoke he would declare that he wasn’t giving up on making me his baby. I informed him each time that in order for me to be his baby it would require us spending quality time together and getting to know each other.
I’ll be honest; there were times when I gave in to the fantasy of actually being his “baby”.
I joked with friends that I would be the newest cast member on “Hip-Hop Wives”, but I also feared whether he would be able to take care of me. It’s a pretty well known fact that most of the early hip-hop artists didn’t plan well for the future and many of them were taken advantage of by either their record labels or their managers or both. I mean, do they have a Rapper’s Retirement Plan or Hip-Hop 401k?
As 2011 was coming to a close, I began my annual closet cleaning and the DJ was the first to go.
Although he is a nice guy, our two worlds just don’t fit together. I was also tired of the empty promises. If he really wanted to see me bad enough I’m sure he could have made a trip. Unfortunately for me, I tend to meet men with careers that require them to be on the road more than they’re home.
Eventually I grow weary of the false hope and move on.
I called him and told him that it was over.
He couldn’t understand why at first, but as we talked more he accepted my decision and told me that he admired me even more.
He asked me if we were still cool and I assured him we were.
He told me that he would keep in touch, but I doubt it.
It was nice to live that teenage fantasy… even if it was over twenty years later.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop
I am the type of person that believes you should live your life with no regrets.
Sadly, I can’t say that I am practicing what I preach.
I’ve done lots of things in my lifetime; some that I am not too proud of, but I don’t regret them happening because I learned from each experience.
There is, however one major regret that I have and I make no apologies for it.
I regret ever getting married.
I believe that when you end a relationship you should walk away with something positive from that experience. Even if the relationship ended badly, there had to have been some good times along the way. Can you look at the time you spent together and say, “He made me a better person”? I’ve ended relationships and although my heart may have been broken by that person I can say that each one made me a better woman and I walked away with wonderful memories or experiences that I can carry with me for the rest of my life. I can’t say that I’ve come away with anything positive from my marriage (except for my son).
I often joke that my ex-husband snuck under my radar.
I always thought that I was pretty perceptive when it came to sizing up new men in my life, but the ex was flying in stealth mode and my radar couldn’t detect that he was no good.
When he first approached me, he passed himself off as a soft-spoken, sensitive, caring, compassionate, intelligent, upwardly mobile, Black man.
I grew up in an upper-middle class household with two parents.
He was raised by a very loving and overly-doting single mother. She did everything for him and because of that, he didn’t know how to be self-sufficient, resourceful or independent. He didn’t have a significant male role model in his life, which in turn affected his ability to be a good husband or father.
He saw me as a representative of the kind of woman that he wanted in his life and the image that he wanted to portray. Keep in mind that this was the late 80’s. The Buppie (Black Urban/Suburban Professional) lifestyle was in. Cliff and Claire Huxtable were the couple du jour. Spike Lee was directing movies portraying college educated, upwardly mobile Black men and women, Queen Latifah was Living Single and a BMW was more than just a luxury car, it was a Black Man Working.
My ex-husband wanted all of that and thought that by being with Denise Huxtable, he had a piece of the pie, but he wasn’t willing to take the proper steps to obtain the whole pie.
He dropped out of college with a little more than a year to go and got into a job that was very unstable and unpredictable financially.
When it was good, he reaped the benefits, but when business was bad, it affected our whole family. He was financially irresponsible and we suffered because of it. Too often I would come home from work to find the gas and electric shut off or I would be in the grocery store with a cart full of food to learn that there were insufficient funds to feed our children. Defaulted student loans prevented us from buying a house and the IRS froze our accounts. I begged him to find a regular 9 to 5, but without a degree he wasn’t able to command the salary he was earning in his current job or he would get passed over for jobs for the person with a degree.
His bad choices not only affected him, but our children and me as well.
One evening I got out of bed and drove to the airport in my pajamas to pick him up. He was returning from a business trip. Since this was after the 9/11 Attacks, sheriff’s deputies were scanning license plates as they pulled into arrivals. My husband got in the car and we drove off. Just as we were exiting the airport property, a deputy turned on his lights and signaled for me to pull over. He approached the car and told me that the registration on the car was suspended. I apologized and told him that I had no idea and that the car was registered in my husband’s name. He acknowledged that he was aware of whose name the car was registered, but since I was driving he would unfortunately have to arrest me. My husband made the decision to sit there in the passenger seat and not say a word. I was asked to step out of the car, in my pajamas. My husband kept his mouth shut. The deputy escorted me to his car and put me in the back seat. My husband still said nothing. The deputy apologized and pointed out that I should not be sitting in his car. He all but told me that my husband was an asshole for not stepping up or speaking up to defend or protect his wife. I asked him if he could arrest my husband for being an asshole. He laughed and said that he wished he could. He ended up letting me go because I had connections in the police department, apologized and warned me not to do anything where he would have to be called to my house later that evening. I should have left my husband then.
Years ago a woman whom I greatly admired and respected told me that it seemed as if I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I told her that in my world it wasn’t just one shoe. I never knew when it would happen, but just when I felt as if things were settling down in my world, that things seemed to be going well for me and my guard was down, not just one shoe would drop; the whole damn closet would come tumbling down on my head.
I began to feel like George W. Bush.
I grew tired of dodging shoes and getting hit in the head and I told my husband that I wanted a divorce.
I just posted last week about how I didn’t want to carry any negativity or unnecessary drama into 2012, I had just come to terms with being an Empty Nester, I am happy and enjoying my newfound freedom and now the other shoe has dropped… hard.
It’s looking now that I will be starting off the year with this man front and center in my life.
The Friday before Christmas, I was served with child support papers… at work.
My ex-husband is taking me to court and is expecting me to pay him child support for our now 19 year old son. Unfortunately, the state where I live allows child support until the dependent is 21 years old, whether they are in college or not.
The male ego is fragile and delicate and must be handled with care.
He still resents (hates) me for leaving him and even though he has “moved on” with his life and is blissfully happy with the Golden Coochie, he will take any opportunity to stick it to me if he can. Opportunity knocked when my son moved in with him this past summer.
What self respecting man would take the mother of his son to court for child support after she’s already raised him? I’ve done all of the hard work and he steps in after I’ve shed all of the blood, sweat and tears to play Super Dad.
One full week after my son moved in with his dad, the ex was sending me nasty and harassing text messages proclaiming that HE was going to be the one to turn HIS son’s life around, with our without my help, that HIS son didn’t need ME bringing any drama into his life, that HIS son needed to focus on school… Oh, and that I owed him four hundred dollars for HIS son’s text books and if I didn’t pay he would gladly take me to court.
After telling him that I refused to have any conversations regarding OUR son via text, I chose to ignore his remaining nasty messages. He wrote in his court petition that he tried to “settle this outside of court”, but I wasn’t willing to negotiate.
I just want him to go away.
He’s like a cockroach that never dies.
Judge me if you like, but I believe that he is taking up valuable space and polluting the air.
Just like a roach, he adds no value to this planet.
Since I always seem to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, maybe the next time it does I can just use it to squash the cockroach… Yeah, I said it.
Sadly, I can’t say that I am practicing what I preach.
I’ve done lots of things in my lifetime; some that I am not too proud of, but I don’t regret them happening because I learned from each experience.
There is, however one major regret that I have and I make no apologies for it.
I regret ever getting married.
I believe that when you end a relationship you should walk away with something positive from that experience. Even if the relationship ended badly, there had to have been some good times along the way. Can you look at the time you spent together and say, “He made me a better person”? I’ve ended relationships and although my heart may have been broken by that person I can say that each one made me a better woman and I walked away with wonderful memories or experiences that I can carry with me for the rest of my life. I can’t say that I’ve come away with anything positive from my marriage (except for my son).
I often joke that my ex-husband snuck under my radar.
I always thought that I was pretty perceptive when it came to sizing up new men in my life, but the ex was flying in stealth mode and my radar couldn’t detect that he was no good.
When he first approached me, he passed himself off as a soft-spoken, sensitive, caring, compassionate, intelligent, upwardly mobile, Black man.
I grew up in an upper-middle class household with two parents.
He was raised by a very loving and overly-doting single mother. She did everything for him and because of that, he didn’t know how to be self-sufficient, resourceful or independent. He didn’t have a significant male role model in his life, which in turn affected his ability to be a good husband or father.
He saw me as a representative of the kind of woman that he wanted in his life and the image that he wanted to portray. Keep in mind that this was the late 80’s. The Buppie (Black Urban/Suburban Professional) lifestyle was in. Cliff and Claire Huxtable were the couple du jour. Spike Lee was directing movies portraying college educated, upwardly mobile Black men and women, Queen Latifah was Living Single and a BMW was more than just a luxury car, it was a Black Man Working.
My ex-husband wanted all of that and thought that by being with Denise Huxtable, he had a piece of the pie, but he wasn’t willing to take the proper steps to obtain the whole pie.
He dropped out of college with a little more than a year to go and got into a job that was very unstable and unpredictable financially.
When it was good, he reaped the benefits, but when business was bad, it affected our whole family. He was financially irresponsible and we suffered because of it. Too often I would come home from work to find the gas and electric shut off or I would be in the grocery store with a cart full of food to learn that there were insufficient funds to feed our children. Defaulted student loans prevented us from buying a house and the IRS froze our accounts. I begged him to find a regular 9 to 5, but without a degree he wasn’t able to command the salary he was earning in his current job or he would get passed over for jobs for the person with a degree.
His bad choices not only affected him, but our children and me as well.
One evening I got out of bed and drove to the airport in my pajamas to pick him up. He was returning from a business trip. Since this was after the 9/11 Attacks, sheriff’s deputies were scanning license plates as they pulled into arrivals. My husband got in the car and we drove off. Just as we were exiting the airport property, a deputy turned on his lights and signaled for me to pull over. He approached the car and told me that the registration on the car was suspended. I apologized and told him that I had no idea and that the car was registered in my husband’s name. He acknowledged that he was aware of whose name the car was registered, but since I was driving he would unfortunately have to arrest me. My husband made the decision to sit there in the passenger seat and not say a word. I was asked to step out of the car, in my pajamas. My husband kept his mouth shut. The deputy escorted me to his car and put me in the back seat. My husband still said nothing. The deputy apologized and pointed out that I should not be sitting in his car. He all but told me that my husband was an asshole for not stepping up or speaking up to defend or protect his wife. I asked him if he could arrest my husband for being an asshole. He laughed and said that he wished he could. He ended up letting me go because I had connections in the police department, apologized and warned me not to do anything where he would have to be called to my house later that evening. I should have left my husband then.
Years ago a woman whom I greatly admired and respected told me that it seemed as if I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I told her that in my world it wasn’t just one shoe. I never knew when it would happen, but just when I felt as if things were settling down in my world, that things seemed to be going well for me and my guard was down, not just one shoe would drop; the whole damn closet would come tumbling down on my head.
I began to feel like George W. Bush.
I grew tired of dodging shoes and getting hit in the head and I told my husband that I wanted a divorce.
I just posted last week about how I didn’t want to carry any negativity or unnecessary drama into 2012, I had just come to terms with being an Empty Nester, I am happy and enjoying my newfound freedom and now the other shoe has dropped… hard.
It’s looking now that I will be starting off the year with this man front and center in my life.
The Friday before Christmas, I was served with child support papers… at work.
My ex-husband is taking me to court and is expecting me to pay him child support for our now 19 year old son. Unfortunately, the state where I live allows child support until the dependent is 21 years old, whether they are in college or not.
The male ego is fragile and delicate and must be handled with care.
He still resents (hates) me for leaving him and even though he has “moved on” with his life and is blissfully happy with the Golden Coochie, he will take any opportunity to stick it to me if he can. Opportunity knocked when my son moved in with him this past summer.
What self respecting man would take the mother of his son to court for child support after she’s already raised him? I’ve done all of the hard work and he steps in after I’ve shed all of the blood, sweat and tears to play Super Dad.
One full week after my son moved in with his dad, the ex was sending me nasty and harassing text messages proclaiming that HE was going to be the one to turn HIS son’s life around, with our without my help, that HIS son didn’t need ME bringing any drama into his life, that HIS son needed to focus on school… Oh, and that I owed him four hundred dollars for HIS son’s text books and if I didn’t pay he would gladly take me to court.
After telling him that I refused to have any conversations regarding OUR son via text, I chose to ignore his remaining nasty messages. He wrote in his court petition that he tried to “settle this outside of court”, but I wasn’t willing to negotiate.
I just want him to go away.
He’s like a cockroach that never dies.
Judge me if you like, but I believe that he is taking up valuable space and polluting the air.
Just like a roach, he adds no value to this planet.
Since I always seem to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, maybe the next time it does I can just use it to squash the cockroach… Yeah, I said it.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Funny How Time Flies
The holidays are here and another year is winding down.
My kids are getting older; they’re working, going to school and both live away from home.
Fond holiday traditions are quickly becoming distant memories of the past. Something as simple as going out to our favorite tree farm to pick out a Douglas Fir has become a task and a half with coordinating schedules and conflicting personalities.
2011 really has been a blur to me.
This year went by TOO fast!
I promised myself and you all that I would do more writing in 2011, but that didn’t happen. I haven’t posted anything new since September 8th and I apologize. I have some very supportive friends and loyal readers of my blog and many of you have just stopped asking when I’d have something new for you to read.
Events from this past summer affected me in so many ways and for a while I actually went into a brief depression. I was ANGRY and had been taken to a place emotionally that I hadn’t been in many years. I made some decisions that probably weren’t the smartest and did some things that I’m not too proud of as a way of dealing with my emotions.
Because my head wasn’t in the right place I also had no desire to write, but someone who recently came into my life sent me a message after reading my August 19th post about my boys (Unconditional Love). His message read, “Never let your emotions dictate when you should or shouldn't share that talent.”
I always tell my boys that if you want something bad enough, nothing or no one can get in the way and that includes yourself. I have been getting in my own way.
2011 really wasn’t entirely a bad year.
Looking back, I don’t have too many complaints.
There are a few things that I’d like to change in the upcoming year.
I’d like for my financial status to improve.
I’d like to find unconditional love and I’d like to have a stronger and closer relationship with my family.
I’m taking small steps toward making more money and that will all come in time. I just have to keep my eyes on the prize.
I started graduate school in January, which proved more overwhelming than I thought it would be. I guess because I did so well while earning my undergraduate degree that I thought getting a Masters in my field would be a walk in the park.
I did a bit more traveling in 2011 and continued the tradition of an annual birthday getaway. I allowed a friend to come along this time. Chola and I embarked on a six day Caribbean cruise and we didn’t throw each other overboard. It was a memorable trip with plenty of pleasant surprises.
I’ve grown to embrace my empty nest and the few times that Rick has been back home I realized that I missed him, but I didn’t really miss HIM.
It’s taken a while, but I have embraced my newfound freedom.
I don’t have to cook if I don’t want to and I can eat when I want or what I want.
I have the TV and the DVR all to myself.
I can take long bubble baths in quiet and solitude. I can dance around the house naked if I want to and if the opportunity arises I can dance around the house naked with a man!
Speaking of dancing naked with a man, I stuck to my vow of celibacy… even when Deputy Dan made a repeat and very brief appearance this past summer.
I must say that I was very proud of myself and the strength of my will to not give myself freely to a man that is not deserving of anything that I have to offer.
I remained chaste for eleven very long months.
I learned a lot about myself during that time, but I also recognize that I am a very sexual person and intimacy, passion, sensuality and sex are a big part of who I am as a woman. I felt that I’d lost a part of myself.
Another part of me that I felt I lost was my bond with my youngest child. Until recently, things had been going well between us.
Since his sudden departure we’ve spent a little more time together trying to heal our relationship.
We went to an NFL game together and he spent a few days back at home during Thanksgiving break.
I even allowed him to house sit for me when I went out of town for a few days.
That all changed when he expected me to celebrate his birthday with my ex-husband. He wanted us all to go out to dinner and I refused. After the harassing text messages and threats of taking me to court, I was not going to break bread with that man.
Rick is well aware of everything that went on between his father and me and I was very surprised and disappointed that he expected me to be in the company of the man that caused me so much stress and anxiety this summer. Since our separation and divorce I invited the ex to several significant events in the kids’ lives, but only ONCE in those nine years have we ever shared a meal together.
When I tried to reason with my youngest child, he shut me down and was extremely disrespectful and rude. I was hurt and reached my breaking point. I am tired of putting my children first and them not doing the same for me.
In the middle of a parking lot, on a cold December evening, I let out years of hurt and frustration. Hootie was there to comfort me and calm me down. I sobbed, screamed, and wailed; my body heaving in my child’s arms… all the while Rick sat in the car choosing not to get out.
Hootie drove Rick home that evening and had a long talk with his little brother. I’m not sure how much good it did since I haven’t heard from Rick since then. I don’t know where our relationship is headed in 2012, but I refuse to carry all of this negativity into the New Year.
Nothing has changed for me in the romance department.
It dawned on me one day during a conversation that I was having with William that I had asked God to send me a man who is able to fulfill all of my wants and desires, but I needed to be a bit more specific.
I asked for all of these fabulous characteristics; loyal, strong, respectful, emotionally available (NOT a commitmentphobe!), God fearing… But I didn’t clarify with God that I need him to at least be in the same TIME ZONE as me and please God, allow him to be SINGLE!
I have wondered at times if Karma was coming back on me for things that I may have done in the past and I had a revelation yesterday while sharing teen angst stories with my girlfriend Chola that there was a chance I might be cursed.
There was a boy that liked me in junior high that I had no interest in and ZERO desire to be with. I was a bit cold towards him and in my defense I realized at the ripe age of thirteen that I had to be (moderately) cruel because being nice to him would only send the wrong message.
He was the type of guy that would still think he had a chance even after I told him his odds were one in a million because there was that ONE chance out of the million.
At Abbie Feldheim’s 13th birthday party, we had an intense game of Spin the Bottle going on and as fate would have it I spun the bottle and it landed on my hopeful suitor. The room went silent and all eyes were on me, anticipating my response.
“I’m not kissing him,” I defiantly declared and pushed myself backwards from the circle.
My crush was crushed.
He bolted up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom. What I didn’t know was that while we were all downstairs continuing with the party, he was upstairs on Abbie Feldheim’s phone calling my MOTHER! He professed his love for me (TO MY MOTHER) and lamented over the fact that his feelings for me were not being reciprocated (TO MY MOTHER).
I wonder now if that night, in Abbie Feldheim’s parent’s bedroom, did this scorned adolescent put a curse on his unrequited love that she never find happiness in the arms of another man?
I hope that’s not the case and maybe I need to track down my old classmate and apologize for any pain I may have caused him in order for me to right any wrongs.
I REALLY have to find a man because William has now made me into a “case” where he’s starting to feel so bad for me that he thinks I need to get another dog or take in a foster child so I won’t be alone (Yes, he’s actually said those words).
He’s even seen me talking to random men and asked me if the guy was single and why I am not interested in that guy.
Oh my God, he’s turning into a Jewish Grandmother!
As each year comes to an end I try to take a long, hard look at myself, my life and the people in it. If there are any relationships that are unhealthy for me, if they do nothing but cause me stress or heartache or have no added benefit to my life I will not carry them with me into the coming year.
I try to resolve any issues with those closest to me and begin the New Year with no baggage.
I’ve said goodbye to a few people and am cleaning out my closet for the New Year.
My summer fling with Deputy Dan was just that; a summer fling.
I’m really NOT “that chick” who keeps saying, “I’m done with him this time, REALLY I am”, yet she keeps opening the door every time he shows up on her doorstep.
I’ve deleted certain people that I thought might have had boyfriend/husband potential, but turned out to be a waste of my time and Luke Skywalker is a distant and fading memory.
A few people that I thought were my friends proved not to have my best interest at heart and we’ve had to go our separate ways.
There’s quite a bit I need to take care of before year’s end and I hope to start off 2012 with positivity and happiness.
It’s been said that how you begin your year is how it shall be throughout.
I’m going to ring in 2012 dancing NAKED!
My kids are getting older; they’re working, going to school and both live away from home.
Fond holiday traditions are quickly becoming distant memories of the past. Something as simple as going out to our favorite tree farm to pick out a Douglas Fir has become a task and a half with coordinating schedules and conflicting personalities.
2011 really has been a blur to me.
This year went by TOO fast!
I promised myself and you all that I would do more writing in 2011, but that didn’t happen. I haven’t posted anything new since September 8th and I apologize. I have some very supportive friends and loyal readers of my blog and many of you have just stopped asking when I’d have something new for you to read.
Events from this past summer affected me in so many ways and for a while I actually went into a brief depression. I was ANGRY and had been taken to a place emotionally that I hadn’t been in many years. I made some decisions that probably weren’t the smartest and did some things that I’m not too proud of as a way of dealing with my emotions.
Because my head wasn’t in the right place I also had no desire to write, but someone who recently came into my life sent me a message after reading my August 19th post about my boys (Unconditional Love). His message read, “Never let your emotions dictate when you should or shouldn't share that talent.”
I always tell my boys that if you want something bad enough, nothing or no one can get in the way and that includes yourself. I have been getting in my own way.
2011 really wasn’t entirely a bad year.
Looking back, I don’t have too many complaints.
There are a few things that I’d like to change in the upcoming year.
I’d like for my financial status to improve.
I’d like to find unconditional love and I’d like to have a stronger and closer relationship with my family.
I’m taking small steps toward making more money and that will all come in time. I just have to keep my eyes on the prize.
I started graduate school in January, which proved more overwhelming than I thought it would be. I guess because I did so well while earning my undergraduate degree that I thought getting a Masters in my field would be a walk in the park.
I did a bit more traveling in 2011 and continued the tradition of an annual birthday getaway. I allowed a friend to come along this time. Chola and I embarked on a six day Caribbean cruise and we didn’t throw each other overboard. It was a memorable trip with plenty of pleasant surprises.
I’ve grown to embrace my empty nest and the few times that Rick has been back home I realized that I missed him, but I didn’t really miss HIM.
It’s taken a while, but I have embraced my newfound freedom.
I don’t have to cook if I don’t want to and I can eat when I want or what I want.
I have the TV and the DVR all to myself.
I can take long bubble baths in quiet and solitude. I can dance around the house naked if I want to and if the opportunity arises I can dance around the house naked with a man!
Speaking of dancing naked with a man, I stuck to my vow of celibacy… even when Deputy Dan made a repeat and very brief appearance this past summer.
I must say that I was very proud of myself and the strength of my will to not give myself freely to a man that is not deserving of anything that I have to offer.
I remained chaste for eleven very long months.
I learned a lot about myself during that time, but I also recognize that I am a very sexual person and intimacy, passion, sensuality and sex are a big part of who I am as a woman. I felt that I’d lost a part of myself.
Another part of me that I felt I lost was my bond with my youngest child. Until recently, things had been going well between us.
Since his sudden departure we’ve spent a little more time together trying to heal our relationship.
We went to an NFL game together and he spent a few days back at home during Thanksgiving break.
I even allowed him to house sit for me when I went out of town for a few days.
That all changed when he expected me to celebrate his birthday with my ex-husband. He wanted us all to go out to dinner and I refused. After the harassing text messages and threats of taking me to court, I was not going to break bread with that man.
Rick is well aware of everything that went on between his father and me and I was very surprised and disappointed that he expected me to be in the company of the man that caused me so much stress and anxiety this summer. Since our separation and divorce I invited the ex to several significant events in the kids’ lives, but only ONCE in those nine years have we ever shared a meal together.
When I tried to reason with my youngest child, he shut me down and was extremely disrespectful and rude. I was hurt and reached my breaking point. I am tired of putting my children first and them not doing the same for me.
In the middle of a parking lot, on a cold December evening, I let out years of hurt and frustration. Hootie was there to comfort me and calm me down. I sobbed, screamed, and wailed; my body heaving in my child’s arms… all the while Rick sat in the car choosing not to get out.
Hootie drove Rick home that evening and had a long talk with his little brother. I’m not sure how much good it did since I haven’t heard from Rick since then. I don’t know where our relationship is headed in 2012, but I refuse to carry all of this negativity into the New Year.
Nothing has changed for me in the romance department.
It dawned on me one day during a conversation that I was having with William that I had asked God to send me a man who is able to fulfill all of my wants and desires, but I needed to be a bit more specific.
I asked for all of these fabulous characteristics; loyal, strong, respectful, emotionally available (NOT a commitmentphobe!), God fearing… But I didn’t clarify with God that I need him to at least be in the same TIME ZONE as me and please God, allow him to be SINGLE!
I have wondered at times if Karma was coming back on me for things that I may have done in the past and I had a revelation yesterday while sharing teen angst stories with my girlfriend Chola that there was a chance I might be cursed.
There was a boy that liked me in junior high that I had no interest in and ZERO desire to be with. I was a bit cold towards him and in my defense I realized at the ripe age of thirteen that I had to be (moderately) cruel because being nice to him would only send the wrong message.
He was the type of guy that would still think he had a chance even after I told him his odds were one in a million because there was that ONE chance out of the million.
At Abbie Feldheim’s 13th birthday party, we had an intense game of Spin the Bottle going on and as fate would have it I spun the bottle and it landed on my hopeful suitor. The room went silent and all eyes were on me, anticipating my response.
“I’m not kissing him,” I defiantly declared and pushed myself backwards from the circle.
My crush was crushed.
He bolted up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom. What I didn’t know was that while we were all downstairs continuing with the party, he was upstairs on Abbie Feldheim’s phone calling my MOTHER! He professed his love for me (TO MY MOTHER) and lamented over the fact that his feelings for me were not being reciprocated (TO MY MOTHER).
I wonder now if that night, in Abbie Feldheim’s parent’s bedroom, did this scorned adolescent put a curse on his unrequited love that she never find happiness in the arms of another man?
I hope that’s not the case and maybe I need to track down my old classmate and apologize for any pain I may have caused him in order for me to right any wrongs.
I REALLY have to find a man because William has now made me into a “case” where he’s starting to feel so bad for me that he thinks I need to get another dog or take in a foster child so I won’t be alone (Yes, he’s actually said those words).
He’s even seen me talking to random men and asked me if the guy was single and why I am not interested in that guy.
Oh my God, he’s turning into a Jewish Grandmother!
As each year comes to an end I try to take a long, hard look at myself, my life and the people in it. If there are any relationships that are unhealthy for me, if they do nothing but cause me stress or heartache or have no added benefit to my life I will not carry them with me into the coming year.
I try to resolve any issues with those closest to me and begin the New Year with no baggage.
I’ve said goodbye to a few people and am cleaning out my closet for the New Year.
My summer fling with Deputy Dan was just that; a summer fling.
I’m really NOT “that chick” who keeps saying, “I’m done with him this time, REALLY I am”, yet she keeps opening the door every time he shows up on her doorstep.
I’ve deleted certain people that I thought might have had boyfriend/husband potential, but turned out to be a waste of my time and Luke Skywalker is a distant and fading memory.
A few people that I thought were my friends proved not to have my best interest at heart and we’ve had to go our separate ways.
There’s quite a bit I need to take care of before year’s end and I hope to start off 2012 with positivity and happiness.
It’s been said that how you begin your year is how it shall be throughout.
I’m going to ring in 2012 dancing NAKED!
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Why Can't We Be Friends?
I have a lot of male friends.
In my personal experience, I’ve learned that most of my male friends are more loyal than some female friends that I’ve had in the past.
For some reason, I connect with men in a way that I can’t with women.
As a little girl, my mother and grandmother dressed me in ruffled dresses with little ruffled ankle socks and patent leather Maryjanes.
I was supposed to be the sweet little girl with the bows in my hair, but all the while I wanted to do what my male cousins were doing.
I wanted to ride Big Wheels and pop wheelies and jump ramps and race the boys and all of that stuff.
I went through my tom-boy phase where I beat up the neighborhood boys, but there’s also been that girly side where I played with Barbie, organized a Michael Jackson fan club and fantasized about Erik Estrada and El DeBarge.
Somewhere around the age of fourteen I began to develop curves.
Boys still wanted to be my friend, but I didn’t really know WHY they wanted to be my friend.
I was a pretty naïve young lady and it wasn’t until my late teens that I realized what I was working with and why guys wanted to be my friend.
About a month ago, a man I dated nearly four years ago called me.
He wanted to apologize for how things ended between us and explain himself (That's a WHOLE other blog topic!). We’ve talked a few times since his apology and I’ve determined that I’m not interested in rekindling any kind of romance with him, but I think we could be good friends.
“Oh, I don’t think he’s gonna like being put in the friend category,” William pointed out.
There’s no spark and zero connection. He’s not relationship material, but I think we’d be great friends,” I said optimistically.
“Oh, he’s gonna be waiting on that night where you had one too many glasses of Chardonnay and make his move!”
“Then he’ll be cut off. You know that’s not gonna happen. Once I’ve determined that he’s a friend, I’m not crossing that line."
I draw a line in the sand with my male friends.
I DO believe that men and women are capable of being friends without there being a physical relationship involved.
Yes, more than likely the male may have sexual thoughts about the woman, but as long as he keeps his thoughts to himself, I don’t have a problem.
I make it very clear with men that once they are put in the friend category there will be no Harry and Sally, no Joan and William and no Max and Kyle! If they don’t respect my wishes to be friends and make attempts at crossing or blurring that line I will end the relationship.
Don’t get me wrong; I HAD a Friend with Benefits situation and it actually worked out pretty well (sort of).
Contrary to the recent movies this past summer, we did not agree to a no-strings-attached relationship and then both realized how much we loved each other and didn’t want to see the other with anyone else, professed our love and kissed in a train station as the music rose to a crescendo and the screen faded to black.
Things ended in the classic Single Mom Saga way…
In my early twenties, I had a male friend that I met through my cousin Beverly. He and I became very close; we talked on the phone every day and hung out often.
One night at a house party we kissed in the kitchen.
We both stood there kind of stunned and laughed it off.
A couple of days later, we discussed “The Kiss” over the phone. He laughed at how he was surprised that I could kiss so well and I said the same about him.
We blamed it on the alcohol and kept it moving.
We continued to hang out and a few months later we ended up in bed. I’m not sure how or why it happened, but we both agreed that our friendship was important to us and that we could handle being FWB’s.
It actually worked out well! There were no jealousy issues, he did his thing and I did mine.
This went on for a few months. I would see him out at the club, booed up with a girl and I didn’t have a problem with it because I knew that at the end of the night he would be going home with me.
We kind of gave each other high-fives on how well we were handling such a delicate situation.
All good things must come to and end and ours ended when he crossed the line… My FWB lived with his parents and I had my own apartment.
He called me one evening and asked me if I might let him use my apartment to “entertain” a girl! I told him that he was crazy and that was the end of our great arrangement. We still remained friends until he got into a committed relationship with a girl who had serious jealousy issues and we went our separate ways. We eventually lost touch.
“Maybe he wanted to bring her over so you all could have a ménage a trois,” Chola laughed.
I hadn’t thought about that and as I look back on the situation twenty years later, that’s probably NOT what he was thinking.
I ran into my old FWB last fall while waiting in line at a movie theater. I was there with my friend Latifah. I pointed him out to her and in true Latifah form, she called him over!
We hugged and stared at each other in amazement. We hadn’t seen each other in almost twenty years.
“I wanna know why you played my girl!” Latifah playfully demanded.
Embarrassed, I stood there looking at Latifah with my mouth wide open.
"I’ma leave ya’ll two alone so ya’ll can catch up,” Latifah announced, waved her hand at us and walked away.
“What’s she talking about?” My Former FWB asked.
I reminded him of the night that he surely must have bumped his head and called me in a state of complete confusion and asked if he could get his freak on with SOMEONE ELSE in MY bed.
He was stunned and immediately apologized.
“I really don’t remember doing that. I am so sorry. I guess you can chalk that up as me being young and stupid,”
“More like young, dumb and full of… well,” I teased.
“Yeah, yeah… You’re right about that,” He agreed.
We talked for another minute and the asked for my phone number. I hesitated and he said not to worry about it, but before he walked away, he wrote down his number and handed it to me.
Latifah sauntered back over, happy that she might have made a love connection for me.
I told her what happened.
“Are you going to call him?” Latifah inquired.
“No,” I said as I watched him walk into the theater and hand the attendant his ticket. “We had our fun. I'd rather hold on to those memories."
In my personal experience, I’ve learned that most of my male friends are more loyal than some female friends that I’ve had in the past.
For some reason, I connect with men in a way that I can’t with women.
As a little girl, my mother and grandmother dressed me in ruffled dresses with little ruffled ankle socks and patent leather Maryjanes.
I was supposed to be the sweet little girl with the bows in my hair, but all the while I wanted to do what my male cousins were doing.
I wanted to ride Big Wheels and pop wheelies and jump ramps and race the boys and all of that stuff.
I went through my tom-boy phase where I beat up the neighborhood boys, but there’s also been that girly side where I played with Barbie, organized a Michael Jackson fan club and fantasized about Erik Estrada and El DeBarge.
Somewhere around the age of fourteen I began to develop curves.
Boys still wanted to be my friend, but I didn’t really know WHY they wanted to be my friend.
I was a pretty naïve young lady and it wasn’t until my late teens that I realized what I was working with and why guys wanted to be my friend.
About a month ago, a man I dated nearly four years ago called me.
He wanted to apologize for how things ended between us and explain himself (That's a WHOLE other blog topic!). We’ve talked a few times since his apology and I’ve determined that I’m not interested in rekindling any kind of romance with him, but I think we could be good friends.
“Oh, I don’t think he’s gonna like being put in the friend category,” William pointed out.
There’s no spark and zero connection. He’s not relationship material, but I think we’d be great friends,” I said optimistically.
“Oh, he’s gonna be waiting on that night where you had one too many glasses of Chardonnay and make his move!”
“Then he’ll be cut off. You know that’s not gonna happen. Once I’ve determined that he’s a friend, I’m not crossing that line."
I draw a line in the sand with my male friends.
I DO believe that men and women are capable of being friends without there being a physical relationship involved.
Yes, more than likely the male may have sexual thoughts about the woman, but as long as he keeps his thoughts to himself, I don’t have a problem.
I make it very clear with men that once they are put in the friend category there will be no Harry and Sally, no Joan and William and no Max and Kyle! If they don’t respect my wishes to be friends and make attempts at crossing or blurring that line I will end the relationship.
Don’t get me wrong; I HAD a Friend with Benefits situation and it actually worked out pretty well (sort of).
Contrary to the recent movies this past summer, we did not agree to a no-strings-attached relationship and then both realized how much we loved each other and didn’t want to see the other with anyone else, professed our love and kissed in a train station as the music rose to a crescendo and the screen faded to black.
Things ended in the classic Single Mom Saga way…
In my early twenties, I had a male friend that I met through my cousin Beverly. He and I became very close; we talked on the phone every day and hung out often.
One night at a house party we kissed in the kitchen.
We both stood there kind of stunned and laughed it off.
A couple of days later, we discussed “The Kiss” over the phone. He laughed at how he was surprised that I could kiss so well and I said the same about him.
We blamed it on the alcohol and kept it moving.
We continued to hang out and a few months later we ended up in bed. I’m not sure how or why it happened, but we both agreed that our friendship was important to us and that we could handle being FWB’s.
It actually worked out well! There were no jealousy issues, he did his thing and I did mine.
This went on for a few months. I would see him out at the club, booed up with a girl and I didn’t have a problem with it because I knew that at the end of the night he would be going home with me.
We kind of gave each other high-fives on how well we were handling such a delicate situation.
All good things must come to and end and ours ended when he crossed the line… My FWB lived with his parents and I had my own apartment.
He called me one evening and asked me if I might let him use my apartment to “entertain” a girl! I told him that he was crazy and that was the end of our great arrangement. We still remained friends until he got into a committed relationship with a girl who had serious jealousy issues and we went our separate ways. We eventually lost touch.
“Maybe he wanted to bring her over so you all could have a ménage a trois,” Chola laughed.
I hadn’t thought about that and as I look back on the situation twenty years later, that’s probably NOT what he was thinking.
I ran into my old FWB last fall while waiting in line at a movie theater. I was there with my friend Latifah. I pointed him out to her and in true Latifah form, she called him over!
We hugged and stared at each other in amazement. We hadn’t seen each other in almost twenty years.
“I wanna know why you played my girl!” Latifah playfully demanded.
Embarrassed, I stood there looking at Latifah with my mouth wide open.
"I’ma leave ya’ll two alone so ya’ll can catch up,” Latifah announced, waved her hand at us and walked away.
“What’s she talking about?” My Former FWB asked.
I reminded him of the night that he surely must have bumped his head and called me in a state of complete confusion and asked if he could get his freak on with SOMEONE ELSE in MY bed.
He was stunned and immediately apologized.
“I really don’t remember doing that. I am so sorry. I guess you can chalk that up as me being young and stupid,”
“More like young, dumb and full of… well,” I teased.
“Yeah, yeah… You’re right about that,” He agreed.
We talked for another minute and the asked for my phone number. I hesitated and he said not to worry about it, but before he walked away, he wrote down his number and handed it to me.
Latifah sauntered back over, happy that she might have made a love connection for me.
I told her what happened.
“Are you going to call him?” Latifah inquired.
“No,” I said as I watched him walk into the theater and hand the attendant his ticket. “We had our fun. I'd rather hold on to those memories."
Friday, September 2, 2011
Big Things Come in Small Packages
**WARNING** This blog post contains subject matter that may not be suitable for all readers. If you continue reading and find yourself clutching your pearls or are offended in any manner, you can't say that I didn't warn you.
I believe in giving second chances.
I’m a Scorpio and we Scorpions are known for our loyalty, faithfulness and devotion, BUT once we’ve been crossed or our allegiance has been pushed to its limit, we will walk away and not look back.
I decided to give Cat Man a second chance.
I mean, we had been getting along so well before the whole feline fiasco and we had so much in common.
He apologized to me for his reaction to our hypothetical cat conversation and promised that he wouldn’t disappear again if he was upset with me.
Since I had been suffering from separation anxiety over my son Rick moving out and dealing with the added bonus of Rick’s father harassing me via text message for money after his son had only been living with him for five minutes, I decided I needed to get away.
A girlfriend recently relocated to a new city and offered her home as a sanctuary for the weekend. I really needed to escape everything for a few days and gratefully took her up on her offer.
I told Cat Man that I would be running away and he told me that he only lived an hour away from my girlfriend’s city. He proposed that we meet while I was visiting my friend.
Things were looking up!
As I prepared for my trip, Cat Man and I talked several times a day and emailed on a regular basis.
We began a daily routine of sending “Photos of the Day” to each other. Sometimes I would take a self-portrait or have Chola be my photographer. He had been falling behind on his daily pics, I jokingly pointed this out to him and told him to get on the ball.
On this fateful day, he sent me three pictures of himself sitting in the driver’s seat of his car. In each shot he flashed that beautiful smile that first attracted me to him. In the last picture he decided to be a little silly and pose with his hand on his chin. Because of the angle of his cell phone, his hand was very prominent in the shot and me; being the Scorpio that I am, just had to say something about the size of his hand… BIG MISTAKE… HUGE!
“I actually have small hands,” He stated. “Why? what does the size of the hand mean?”
“The same thing they say about big feet,” I laughed uncomfortably.
“Well, I’ve heard the thing about big feet, but never the hands. Must be a Northern thing.”
I wanted to explain to him that the theory is the length of a man’s hand from his wrist bone to the tip of his middle finger is approximately the length of their magic stick, but I could tell this conversation was tanking slowly and I was trying to back quietly out of the room.
“Well, I have small hands,” he began. “I’m pretty average all over. I wear a size eleven shoe and I’m 5’8”, so I guess I must be small.”
“Everyone has their own definition of what small is,” I assured.
“What’s your definition of small?” Cat Man inquired.
“Oh, Gawd…” I thought, “Are we really going to go down this path? If we begin to cross the Rubicon, there’s no turning back.”
I sighed, “I don’t know… I have small hands, so I guess maybe if I wrap my hands around it and I can’t see the tip, then it must be small,” I held my breath and waited for his response.
“Is that a deal breaker for you?”
“I don’t know,” I paused. I could feel myself getting warm and my hand was sweaty on the phone. I knew nothing good was going to come of this conversation. “I mean, I guess if he knows how to work what he has, then it’s okay?” I phrased in the form of a question.
“So, I guess I’m small by your definition,” He said flatly.
Cat Man had a tendency to joke a lot and I wanted so desperately to believe that he was joking this time.
“Stop playing!” I laughed.
“I’m not. I’m looking at it right now and I have a small penis.”
We went back and forth like this for a minute or so and I don’t quite remember how the discussion ended. What I do recall is him hanging up the phone sounding dejected.
I didn’t hear from him the next day and on the second day we finally connected.
We shared small talk; everything from pre-season football to the weather.
I tried my best to avoid the testes topic at all costs.
“So, are you going to ignore it?” Cat Man asked, with a bit of annoyance.
“Ignore what?” At that point I really thought we had moved past it and didn’t realize he was going back there.
“The penis issue,” He reminded me.
My heart sank and I felt a knot growing in my stomach. I sat on the steps of my office building assuring him that it didn’t matter and that I just wanted to meet him, see how things go and take things from there. We talked a while longer and he told me that I should get back into my office. I didn’t have a good feeling about things.
Fast forward to our date:
He had to drive a little over an hour to meet me and had car trouble along the way. He called to tell me that he would have to change our dinner reservation and after a two hour delay we finally met face to face.
My girlfriend drove me to the restaurant and as he approached her car and we laid eyes on each other, he smiled the prettiest, whitest smile I had ever seen on a man. Seeing Cat Man’s smile made me forget about any size issues that I had swept under the rug.
Dinner was great. We stared at each other for quite some time.
He was handsome and I just wanted him to smile at me all evening.
I was cold and he slid over to my side of the booth to wrap his arms around me to warm me.
We shared an appetizer and fed each other bites of our entrees.
After dinner we went for a walk and found a park with a beautifully lit fountain. We sat down on a bench and talked for a while.
Everything was perfect.
And then he kissed me.
It was so romantic and magical.
Normally I prefer taller men, but I am almost 5'4" and Cat Man is an inch or two taller than me when I’m wearing three inch heels. I didn't care about his height at all. I felt comfortable and safe with him. He’s handsome, has a wonderful body, dresses well and ohhhhhh… that smile (sigh).
The evening came to an end and we said our goodbyes. As he walked away, he turned and flashed another gorgeous smile... I melted.
I enjoyed the remainder of my weekend with my girlfriend and made the journey home.
Cat Man and I fell back into our regular routine. We talked on the phone and emailed each other several times a day.
Tuesday afternoon I was sharing with him that I was looking forward to Friday because Mia was going to be bringing Hootie, Jr. over for his first sleepover with me.
My house has been very empty and lonely without Rick there.
I described to Cat Man how big Hootie, Jr. is and that people mistake him for a toddler when he’s only eleven months old.
Cat Man asked if Hootie is tall and I explained that both my boys are not very tall and they both blame me for giving them the short gene.
Hootie is 5’9” and Rick is 5’10”.
I didn’t think much of it, but right after me saying that, Cat Man announced that he had a headache and was getting off the phone.
That was three days ago and I haven’t heard from him since.
I’m done.
I sent a mass text message to my girlfriends this morning and declared the end of my celibacy!
The message read, “I’m tired of saving myself for Mr. Right! It’s been almost a YEAR! The next man that looks like he’s working with something is GETTIN’ IT! Cat Man has issues… He’s TOO old to be worrying about if he’s gonna grow anymore (in height OR in his pants!)”
William says that he’s saying a special prayer for whoever that man may be because if I’ve waited this long and he doesn’t handle business properly, there’s going to be hell to pay.
I believe in giving second chances.
I’m a Scorpio and we Scorpions are known for our loyalty, faithfulness and devotion, BUT once we’ve been crossed or our allegiance has been pushed to its limit, we will walk away and not look back.
I decided to give Cat Man a second chance.
I mean, we had been getting along so well before the whole feline fiasco and we had so much in common.
He apologized to me for his reaction to our hypothetical cat conversation and promised that he wouldn’t disappear again if he was upset with me.
Since I had been suffering from separation anxiety over my son Rick moving out and dealing with the added bonus of Rick’s father harassing me via text message for money after his son had only been living with him for five minutes, I decided I needed to get away.
A girlfriend recently relocated to a new city and offered her home as a sanctuary for the weekend. I really needed to escape everything for a few days and gratefully took her up on her offer.
I told Cat Man that I would be running away and he told me that he only lived an hour away from my girlfriend’s city. He proposed that we meet while I was visiting my friend.
Things were looking up!
As I prepared for my trip, Cat Man and I talked several times a day and emailed on a regular basis.
We began a daily routine of sending “Photos of the Day” to each other. Sometimes I would take a self-portrait or have Chola be my photographer. He had been falling behind on his daily pics, I jokingly pointed this out to him and told him to get on the ball.
On this fateful day, he sent me three pictures of himself sitting in the driver’s seat of his car. In each shot he flashed that beautiful smile that first attracted me to him. In the last picture he decided to be a little silly and pose with his hand on his chin. Because of the angle of his cell phone, his hand was very prominent in the shot and me; being the Scorpio that I am, just had to say something about the size of his hand… BIG MISTAKE… HUGE!
“I actually have small hands,” He stated. “Why? what does the size of the hand mean?”
“The same thing they say about big feet,” I laughed uncomfortably.
“Well, I’ve heard the thing about big feet, but never the hands. Must be a Northern thing.”
I wanted to explain to him that the theory is the length of a man’s hand from his wrist bone to the tip of his middle finger is approximately the length of their magic stick, but I could tell this conversation was tanking slowly and I was trying to back quietly out of the room.
“Well, I have small hands,” he began. “I’m pretty average all over. I wear a size eleven shoe and I’m 5’8”, so I guess I must be small.”
“Everyone has their own definition of what small is,” I assured.
“What’s your definition of small?” Cat Man inquired.
“Oh, Gawd…” I thought, “Are we really going to go down this path? If we begin to cross the Rubicon, there’s no turning back.”
I sighed, “I don’t know… I have small hands, so I guess maybe if I wrap my hands around it and I can’t see the tip, then it must be small,” I held my breath and waited for his response.
“Is that a deal breaker for you?”
“I don’t know,” I paused. I could feel myself getting warm and my hand was sweaty on the phone. I knew nothing good was going to come of this conversation. “I mean, I guess if he knows how to work what he has, then it’s okay?” I phrased in the form of a question.
“So, I guess I’m small by your definition,” He said flatly.
Cat Man had a tendency to joke a lot and I wanted so desperately to believe that he was joking this time.
“Stop playing!” I laughed.
“I’m not. I’m looking at it right now and I have a small penis.”
We went back and forth like this for a minute or so and I don’t quite remember how the discussion ended. What I do recall is him hanging up the phone sounding dejected.
I didn’t hear from him the next day and on the second day we finally connected.
We shared small talk; everything from pre-season football to the weather.
I tried my best to avoid the testes topic at all costs.
“So, are you going to ignore it?” Cat Man asked, with a bit of annoyance.
“Ignore what?” At that point I really thought we had moved past it and didn’t realize he was going back there.
“The penis issue,” He reminded me.
My heart sank and I felt a knot growing in my stomach. I sat on the steps of my office building assuring him that it didn’t matter and that I just wanted to meet him, see how things go and take things from there. We talked a while longer and he told me that I should get back into my office. I didn’t have a good feeling about things.
Fast forward to our date:
He had to drive a little over an hour to meet me and had car trouble along the way. He called to tell me that he would have to change our dinner reservation and after a two hour delay we finally met face to face.
My girlfriend drove me to the restaurant and as he approached her car and we laid eyes on each other, he smiled the prettiest, whitest smile I had ever seen on a man. Seeing Cat Man’s smile made me forget about any size issues that I had swept under the rug.
Dinner was great. We stared at each other for quite some time.
He was handsome and I just wanted him to smile at me all evening.
I was cold and he slid over to my side of the booth to wrap his arms around me to warm me.
We shared an appetizer and fed each other bites of our entrees.
After dinner we went for a walk and found a park with a beautifully lit fountain. We sat down on a bench and talked for a while.
Everything was perfect.
And then he kissed me.
It was so romantic and magical.
Normally I prefer taller men, but I am almost 5'4" and Cat Man is an inch or two taller than me when I’m wearing three inch heels. I didn't care about his height at all. I felt comfortable and safe with him. He’s handsome, has a wonderful body, dresses well and ohhhhhh… that smile (sigh).
The evening came to an end and we said our goodbyes. As he walked away, he turned and flashed another gorgeous smile... I melted.
I enjoyed the remainder of my weekend with my girlfriend and made the journey home.
Cat Man and I fell back into our regular routine. We talked on the phone and emailed each other several times a day.
Tuesday afternoon I was sharing with him that I was looking forward to Friday because Mia was going to be bringing Hootie, Jr. over for his first sleepover with me.
My house has been very empty and lonely without Rick there.
I described to Cat Man how big Hootie, Jr. is and that people mistake him for a toddler when he’s only eleven months old.
Cat Man asked if Hootie is tall and I explained that both my boys are not very tall and they both blame me for giving them the short gene.
Hootie is 5’9” and Rick is 5’10”.
I didn’t think much of it, but right after me saying that, Cat Man announced that he had a headache and was getting off the phone.
That was three days ago and I haven’t heard from him since.
I’m done.
I sent a mass text message to my girlfriends this morning and declared the end of my celibacy!
The message read, “I’m tired of saving myself for Mr. Right! It’s been almost a YEAR! The next man that looks like he’s working with something is GETTIN’ IT! Cat Man has issues… He’s TOO old to be worrying about if he’s gonna grow anymore (in height OR in his pants!)”
William says that he’s saying a special prayer for whoever that man may be because if I’ve waited this long and he doesn’t handle business properly, there’s going to be hell to pay.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
