The Single Mom Saga

Love and Hip Hop

2012-01-12T14:22:00.001-05:00

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.

Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop

2011-12-27T16:25:00.001-05:00

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.

Funny How Time Flies

2011-12-22T20:35:00.001-05:00

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!

Why Can't We Be Friends?

2011-09-08T13:36:00.004-04:00

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."

Big Things Come in Small Packages

2011-09-02T15:26:00.004-04:00

**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.

Unconditional Love

2011-08-19T12:27:00.000-04:00

On February 14th, 1985, I died.

Not too many things come easy for me. I’ve pretty much had to work hard to get what I want and fight even harder for the things that I really want.

I guess that’s pretty much the same for me carrying and giving birth to my children.
I had extremely difficult pregnancies with both my boys and while carrying my first son, Hootie, I died.
I had gone into premature labor during my sixth month. I don’t quite remember exactly how many weeks along I was. My due date was April 18th. I had gone grocery shopping that morning and was looking forward to a romantic Valentine’s Day, but instead, I died.

After carrying groceries up two flights of stairs, I felt a funny cramping feeling and called my doctor, who told me to come to his office. He gave me a pelvic exam and told me that I was in labor and already three centimeters dilated. He ordered me straight to the hospital.
That’s where I died.

The hospital gave me a medication to stop my contractions. They told me that there were risks with the treatment to stop my labor, but never would I have thought what happened next.
A nurse checked my blood pressure every few minutes as I lay silently in a sterile room by myself.
I was alone.
There was just me, the medical equipment and the sound of my baby’s heartbeat coming from the fetal monitor strapped to my abdomen.
There was an occasional whoosh as Hootie, who at the time I called Gertrude because I didn’t want to know the sex of my baby, rumbled around in my uterus. The nurse returned to check me again and this time she asked me how I was feeling. I think I told her that I was cold and she said that she would be right back and before she left the room she asked me not to go to sleep.
The next thing I remember was the sound of bells ringing and doctors rushing into the room, each doing different things.
It was weird because I lay there calmly as the doctors and nurses moved about the room with a sense of urgency. I watched, but hadn’t really realized that I was watching from a different perspective.
I had coded.
I had a full view of the doctors and nurses, frantically working to save the life of a young, unwed mother and her fetus, but I was watching from a corner of the room.
The doctors managed to revive and stabilize me and I was packed up and shipped off to a hospital that was better equipped to care for a high-risk pregnancy.

After several weeks in the hospital, at-home bed rest and another extended stay in the hospital, Hootie was born by cesarean section, five weeks early.
He was such a beautiful baby boy. His skin was smooth and caramel colored. His hair was jet black and lay flat on his head. He didn’t have a wrinkle or a flake anywhere on his body.
He was perfect.

I remember visiting him in the nursery one evening. It was dark and Hootie had been placed in an isolette. No one had told me and I was surprised, angry and a bit protective of my helpless child. I took him out of the isolette, sat down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, held my baby and cried. It was just me and him, against the world.

Nearly seven years later I went into premature labor around the same mark as my first pregnancy. This high-risk pregnancy included mandatory home bed rest, a month long hospitalization, home bed rest again ( this time with a home health aide) and my own personal prenatal unit in my living room equipped with a fetal monitor, Terbutaline pump, Sharps container, electronic blood pressure pump and all the supplies I needed.

Labor was just as difficult. I developed preeclampsia and after several hours of pushing and “weighing all of our options”, I had an emergency c-section.

I love both of my boys dearly and as children I didn’t have many problems with them. They both live with ADD and ADHD and I was always their biggest advocate; meeting with teachers, counselors, school psychologists and administrators to make sure my children did not fall through the cracks and received the quality education they deserved.
My boys are equally smart and both test very well (they didn’t get that from me). They each have their own strengths and their cognitive tests are off the charts. I am so proud of my boys and their potential, but it disappoints me sometimes that they don’t live up to their potential.

They are both grown now and I can’t say that my relationship with my children is the best. They made up for being such perfect babies and children by giving me hell in their late teens. Hootie sometimes talks to me and treats me more as his peer than his mother. Rick sometimes speaks to me in a condescending and petulant tone.

I don’t believe either of them truly gives me the respect that I deserve.
I have sacrificed for my boys in so many ways that they don’t know. I have fought for them, defended them, protected them and would have even given up my life for them.
I haven’t heard from Hootie in several weeks and generally when I do it’s because he wants or needs something from me.
Rick has turned 18 and recently graduated high school.
We haven’t been getting along lately because he refuses to abide by the simple rules I have in place for him. He has consistently broken the rules and lied to me on several occasions.
I can’t tolerate liars and it hurts even more when I’m being deceived by my own child.
I’d had enough and told Rick that we couldn’t continue living like this.
His solution to the problem was to move in with his father and spring this news on me without any warning. Instead of being mature and addressing his problems at home, he opted to go where he figured things would be easier for him; to live with the man that never played an active role in his upbringing or education.

I was crushed and I still am. I think about everything I’ve done to ensure my child’s welfare and happiness.
I don’t have the happiest childhood memories and I did my best to make sure my children did, but I realize that no matter what you do or how much you give, your child will determine his or her own happiness.

My house is empty.
I have a hard time going home after work and I’ve been doing things to occupy my time. Once spring broke I began walking around my neighborhood to get a little exercise. With Rick being gone now, my walks have gotten longer.

My house is quiet.
I try to fill my house with noise. I turn on the television, the radio, talk on the phone… But sometimes I just sit. I listen to the sounds of silence. There is no rap music seeping through the bedroom wall, no basketball bouncing in the driveway, no video games blaring from the three season room. There are just the nighttime sounds of crickets, an occasional dog barking on the street behind my home or an airplane flying above.

I worked so hard to get my house and make it a home and now it’s empty to me. I wasn’t prepared for Rick’s sudden departure.
The plan was for him to attend community college for two years and then, hopefully transfer to Morehouse.

We as mothers devote so much of our lives and our time to our children and once they’re gone, there’s a void.

Esmerelda joked with me the other day about being an empty-nester and I immediately told her that wasn’t funny.
She quickly apologized.

They say that the ones you love the most, hurt you the most and I truly am in pain. I don’t think my boys will ever realize how much their mother loves them or how much they’ve hurt me, but I will love them until the day I die… A mother’s love is unconditional.

Must Love Cats

2011-08-17T16:01:00.000-04:00

A couple of months ago I decided to try online dating.
I’d tried it a few years ago and was pretty successful.
I met a couple of oddballs, but there were also a few winners.

I met my friend Tex online and I hate the fact that he lives all the way in Texas because that man is BEAUTIFUL and he is definite proof that they grow them big in Texas. Our only issue was that we were geographically challenged and agreed that it would be best to not pursue a relationship. We’re still friends and catch up occasionally.

This time around wasn’t so promising and I cancelled my membership at the beginning of my third month.
Two days before my membership was to expire, a man sent a message that caught my attention and after browsing his photos I decided to respond. He had a smooth, chocolate complexion, a bald head, a strong jaw line, with a mustache and goatee and a beautiful white smile with dimples to complement his smile.
His name was Thomas.
We exchanged messages on the site for the next two days and on the last day of my membership I felt comfortable enough, took a chance and gave him my personal email address.

Everything was going great.
We emailed each other for about two weeks and I felt it was time to give up the digits. He was surprised because in my online profile I clearly stated that I will not exchange phone numbers right away and he told me he wasn’t going to ask or push.
We talked and emailed several times a day. I couldn’t have been happier. Thomas said all of the right things and from what I could tell was everything I wanted in a man.

We were talking on the phone late Sunday afternoon.
I didn’t call him because I know he goes to early service and he knows that I go to eleven a.m. service, so he called when he thought I’d be home and situated.
As we were talking, he was puttering around his house, taking care of chores.
He walked outside. I could tell because I could hear the sounds of his neighborhood.
One thing I heard clearly was the meow of a cat.
When I heard it a second time, I asked if that was really a cat I was hearing.
He said that it was and explained that it was a neighborhood stray that benefits from the kindness of residents on the street.
I breathed a sigh of relief.

I hate cats.

Yes, I said it. All you feline friendly people out there can “boo” all you want, but I hate cats.

The truth is that I am severely allergic to cats and other animals with fur and dander, but I seem to have the most severe reaction to cats and cats seem to know this as soon as I enter a room.
They sidle up to my leg, purring and meowing, like they’re all sweet and loveable, but what’s really going on is they’ve told their other cat buddy, “We got another one Morris! Watch me make this lady start wheezing and sneezing. Let’s see how fast we can get her up outta here.”

Thomas began to describe the cat and how cute he was.

I told him that I thought cats were cute, but explained to him that I am allergic.

“You can take a pill,” Thomas noted.

“No, I can’t,” I plainly stated.

“Really, you can,” He began, but I interrupted him and told him about my adventures in Phoenix when I went to help Jelly Bean plan her baby shower and how she has cats and kept coercing me into her condo.
The first couple of times weren’t that bad; a little sneezing and itchy throat, but the third time I entered her den of dander I felt my throat tighten and my lungs constrict and then I started wheezing.
I was traumatized and refused to cross her threshold again.
I then went on to share with Thomas two other Cat catastrophes.

“But what if I wanted to get a cat?” Thomas asked.

“I guess it was nice knowing you.”

“You wouldn’t take a pill for me… For us?”

“Nope.”

“Really? We can’t come to some sort of compromise?” Thomas pleaded.

“What kind of compromise would there be?” I questioned. “You don’t have a cat, you know that I have severe allergies, yet you want me to take a pill or get a shot so that you could GET a cat?”

“Yes,” He sheepishly replied.

I had to stop and ask him if he was serious because Thomas and I had a tendency to joke with one another often. When he made it clear that he was serious and that he couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t take a pill for his hypothetical cat, my whole attitude changed.

“What if I was allergic to your dog?” Thomas argued.

“She’s hypoallergenic!” I exclaimed.

“But what if she wasn’t.”

“I’ve had Zoe for seven years; long before I met you. I wouldn’t get rid of a member of my family. If you had an allergy to dogs upon meeting me, then I guess you would have to decide if you wanted to be with me, but we’re talking about a dog that exists. You’re talking about a cat that you don’t even own yet.”

“Yes, but I want to get a cat one day. I really like cats,” Thomas proclaimed.

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this and I thought it had to be a joke.
Was I getting punked?

This so totally reminded me of the eharmony girl who in her profile video proclaimed her love for cats.
This couldn’t be happening, I thought.

We both got quiet. There was an awkward silence.

His son entered the room and asked him a question. He used that as an excuse to get off of the phone and told me that he would call me back.

That was Sunday afternoon.

By Tuesday afternoon I was fed up and pissed off.

Was he really mad at me over a hypothetical cat?

I told William and Chola what happened and they both cracked up over my cat conundrum.
I explained that I had called Thomas once and sent him two emails. I’d heard nothing from him since Sunday.

“I don’t trust a man that likes cats anyway,” William said, sounding suspicious.

As we talked, I was inspired to send Thomas the link to the youtube video of cat girl. I figure, he really likes cats and she really likes cats… maybe it would be a match made in cat heaven!

“If you send that video you know it’s over,” William declared.

“I haven’t heard from him in two days, William. We used to talk every day, several times a day. I sent him an email asking him what was wrong and practically begged him to talk to me. Clearly, it's over.”

I hung up the phone with William and copied and pasted the link in an email to Thomas.

The subject heading read, “She Likes Cats” and in the body of the email I wrote, Enjoy… You two just might be made for each other.”
I finally got a response.

Want to see Cat Girl for yourself? Click the link below and enjoy!
She Really Loves Cats http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTTwcCVajAc

Cup Half Full

2011-07-28T12:21:00.000-04:00

Years ago when I was married I got a seasonal job for the Holidays at Victoria’s Secret so that I could have some extra spending money. My husband said that me, working at Victoria’s Secret, was like an alcoholic working at a liquor store. A good portion of my paychecks went towards shower gels and body lotions. I acquired quite a collection.

My husband was never very good at selecting gifts for me, but one year he got it right. For Mother’s Day, he bought me a big, fuzzy robe, shower gel, lotion, fuzzy slippers and a comfortable bra and panty set. A very wise salesperson at Vicky’s pointed him in the right direction and he earned major cool points that Mother’s Day. Unfortunately, because of my excitement and complete satisfaction over his gift, and the fact that I called ALL of my girlfriends to tell them how wonderful my husband was… EVERY gift for EVERY special occasion from then on came in a pink, striped box or bag.
It got to the point where I would have been very happy to never see another bubble bath or thong from that store again.

Since my addiction is stronger than my stubbornness, I eventually returned to my favorite lingerie store. I’ve gained weight over the past three years and although I’m not happy with where some of the fat has settled, I am quite pleased with my sudden “developments”.
Thelma and Louise, as they have come to be known, have blossomed to the point where my cup had runneth over and it was time to be fitted for new bras. Lingerie shopping is a lot more fun now and my décolletage sits proudly in a 36C.

This past weekend I needed to get a strapless bra and headed straight to Vicky’s. My favorite salesperson was working and she pulled a couple of different styles for me to try on.
While I was in the fitting room I heard the salesperson call over her headset for another clerk to bring her a 32A.
As I looked in the mirror, sucked in my tummy and debated which bra fit best, I thought, “Either a mother is treating her daughter to her first bra at Vicky’s or there’s a woman here who could benefit from the Miracle Bra”.

I exited the dressing room and handed the salesperson the bras I didn’t want. While I was there I figured I may as well get some panties, so she pointed me to the sale table.
As I picked through the table, the salesperson approached a woman across the table from me and asked her how the 32A worked out for her.
I looked up and there she was… The Golden Coochie, in the flesh!
Miss 32A!
I immediately dropped my head and pretended I was inspecting the panties, but I was SCREAMING inside! I wanted to laugh SO hard, but couldn’t.
My ex-husband was always a breast man.
When we were together I was a comfortable 34B and he was okay with that, but if they were bigger, he wouldn’t have complained, that’s for sure.
I always used to say that more than a mouthful is a waste, but her little mosquito bites couldn’t satisfy a tick!
Her three kids must have been bottle fed.

I knew that she had a small bust after seeing her “spread” in the book that my twelve year old had stolen from his father’s house but I never would have imagined her to be training bra size. (http://singlemom28.blogspot.com/2011/05/ex-factor.html )
As a matter of fact, MY first bra was a 32AA, which is bigger than a 32A, so her bust is smaller than a pre-pubescent twelve year old! I think I even wrote in a previous blog that I assumed she was a AA cup. Who would have thought?

The Golden Coochie looked directly at me as I stood across the table from her. She knows what I look like because of the job that I have and I’m sure she’s seen pictures of me. I’ve never met her in person and unfortunately for me, the only photos I’ve seen of her were in her “pictorial”.

My first close encounter with her was about two months back. I had VIP tickets to a concert where the daughter of a legendary singer, who is also a legend in her own right, was performing.
This was an elegant affair and as I got comfortable in my seat and waited for a girlfriend to arrive, I saw my ex-husband walk down the aisle, accompanied by the Coochie. The ex-husband’s outfit was comical. He wore an oversized black and white graphic tee with embellished jeans and a black fedora with a white band around the top. The fedora was way too small for his very large head and his bulging belly protruded through his graphic tee. He looked like a sad, middle aged man, clinging desperately to his youth.
The Coochie sported a satin/rayon looking short set. Her pencil thin legs extended from her shiny black shorts and her matching jacket covered what looked like a (padded) bustier.
An R&B concert was going on about a mile down the street. This couple was dressed more appropriately for that event. As the performance went on, the Coochie exited the theater at least two times. I’m sure this wasn’t her type of music and she actually wasn’t even born when most of the songs were released.

It’s funny because when I was married I used to joke with my husband that when I turned forty he would trade me in for two twenties. I never would have guessed that after our divorce he would actually begin dating someone young enough to be his son’s sister. The Coochie is five years older than my oldest son Hootie and thirteen years older than Rick.

There was also a part of me that wondered how I would feel if my ex-husband hooked up with a gorgeous, supermodel type woman who was successful and perfect in every way. Even though I was the one that initiated the divorce, the ego sometimes gets in the way and jealousy comes into play. I know now that I have absolutely nothing to be jealous of.

“Please, Single Mom, hurry up and finish your book because this stuff is hilarious and it only happens to you! I hope you’re going to put this somewhere in the book”, Esmerelda laughed.

I had called Esmerelda after leaving the mall. I had a first-class laugh and needed to share my amusement with a good friend.

“She’s a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee”, Esmerelda snickered. “Does she even NEED a bra?” Esmerelda continued.

"They would deny her membership to that committee", I snorted.

I laughed right along with her and we both tried to imagine what foreplay was like between the couple.

As she exited the store, the Golden Coochie carried an itty-bitty, pink and white striped bag. I didn’t even know the store carried bags that small.

Call Me Crazy

2011-07-20T15:18:00.000-04:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about my break-up lately.

I don’t really know if it can be called a true break-up, considering there were no parting words.
There was no yelling, no cursing, no name calling, no hysterical crying… Well, maybe I did a lot of that alone in my bedroom, shower and car, but he wasn’t around to witness it all.

The last time I saw my ex-boyfriend’s face was Monday, June 26, 2006. He had come to help me drive my youngest son Rick to camp.
From the moment he arrived I knew things were over between us and when we made love that last time, it was like he wasn’t even in the same room or bed with me.
I had lost him.
The day after he left, I uncovered his lies and decided that I couldn’t take the heartbreak anymore.
I changed my cell and home phone numbers and blocked him from emailing me. I couldn’t handle anymore lies or deceit.
I packed up any belongings that he’d left at my house, along with our photo albums and anything else of sentimental value and shipped them to him, next day delivery… on HIS Fedex account.

I’ve often wondered if I will ever be able to fully and completely give my heart to a man again. I’ve even questioned if he destroyed my ability to love.

Five years have passed and I still think of him. It’s not every day, but sometimes there are little reminders of the special moments that we shared.

I used to joke that the quickest way to get over a man is under another one.

After my heartbreak I decided to live my life like a man… I was going to start dating and sleeping with whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted and wasn’t going to give a damn.

I learned though that I was playing myself.
The “no strings attached” lifestyle was not for me. I was lying to the men I was seeing and most importantly, lying to myself.

Shortly after the breakup, I met Luke Skywalker.
He told me from the beginning that he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship and I acted like the nerdy, wannabe kid in school, trying to pretend that I was cool and could hang with the big boys.
“Oh, no… I’m not looking for a relationship either”, I lied.
Although I didn’t really know it was a lie at the time. I told that same fib for another three years.

I held on to hope that Luke would see the light and realize I was the best thing since the Wonderbra, but that didn’t happen. After a turbulent, off and on five years with Luke, I finally gave up on him just this spring.

There was also Deputy Dan, whom I met September 22, 2007.
I remember the date because ironically, we met while I was attending the birthday party of the Corporate Thug, whom I had also lied to and said that I wasn’t looking for a serious thing and that I was a “big girl”.

I met the Corporate Thug shortly after starting my new job. He had just opened a new business and told me from the get-go that he wasn’t interested in settling down anytime soon.
Deputy Dan was also a believer in being friends with benefits because he had only been divorced for a little over a year. The problem with Deputy Dan was that he had been in a relationship for so long that he didn’t know how to do anything BUT relationship things. He shoveled my walkway, fixed my flat tire, took me to lunch, took me out on my birthday and gave me flowers. We had sleepovers and would cuddle in bed, watching football.
So when he suddenly remembered that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, it hit me hard.

A couple of very close friends are currently going through the healing process after devastating break-ups and I think that’s probably what’s had me thinking about my love life, or lack thereof.
I feel like I’ve been chasing men for the past five years.
In all my years on this earth I can’t recall too many times where I’ve chased a boy or a man.
Even when I was a little girl and the little nasty boys wanted to play “hide and go get it”, I always walked away or sat and watched all the little girls desperately running after the horny boys and laughed.
At nine years old I had enough pride to not run behind a boy.

“You haven’t been doing any chasing”, William assured.

“Since Darren and I broke up I’ve been unlucky in love. Luke, Thug and Deputy Dan”, I listed.

“Those are just three men you’ve dealt with over the past five years, but you’ve written more ‘Dear John’ letters than anyone I know “, William teased.

William started listing names of men that I’ve had to let down gently over the past two or three years.

I started to laugh, because he had a point and it made me feel just a little bit better that maybe I’m not some desperate little girl chasing boys on the playground.

“You just didn’t like them as much as you liked The Big Three”, He said.

“Yeah, but they had issues”, I noted.

“Luke, Deputy Dan and the Corporate Thug had issues too”, William countered.

“No… they’re just commitmentphobes, those other guys had ISSUES”, I laughed, putting an emphasis on the word, issue.

“Maybe that’s it! Maybe you’re attracted to unattainable men!”

“That’s not it at all… I don’t just look at a man and say, ‘He looks like he wants to be friends with benefits and play with my emotions, Yup that’s just what I’m looking for’. I can’t tell that he’s emotionally unavailable. It’s not like he has a stamp on his forehead.”

I’m not sure if it was Albert Einstein or Benjamin Franklin that said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results”, but I’m wondering if maybe I’m a little ‘touched’ because I seem to be running into the same old wall over and over again like a windup toy, banging my head like I don’t have any sense.

One of The Big Three has come back into my life again and I’m wondering if I’m crazy to even give him another chance.
Am I going into this again expecting a different result?
He knows how I feel about him and he knows that there’s no special benefit package with this ‘friendship’ that he’s trying to rekindle. I don’t want to be his friend; I want more and he knows it.

I keep thinking of that scene from ‘Brown Sugar’ that makes all of our hearts melt, when Dre calls Sidney at the radio station and professes his love for her by saying that he doesn’t want to be her friend anymore.

I WANT THAT!

I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay with being friends, I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay with him getting in relationships with other women, but I certainly don’t want to be his consolation prize. I’m tired of him playing with my emotions!

I want to be Sidney and I want him to be Dre and I want him to tell me that from the moment I sat down next to him that he knew we would be together!
I’m not going to chase him and I’m not going to let him have his cake and eat it too. It’s either all of me or nothing and I hope he chooses wisely.
Call me crazy.

Id, Ego and Super Ego

2011-06-12T22:56:00.001-04:00

This week, yet another politician has learned that maybe it would have been a smart move to keep his Weiner in his pants and several weeks before him came the surprising revelation that the Governor of California had a love child and kept his mistress in plain sight for a number of years.
A southern Bishop recently settled a multi-million dollar suit where it was alleged that he had inappropriate contact with male members of his congregation and another New York State Congressman resigned after shirtless photos surfaced that he had sent to a woman he was communicating with on a Classifieds website.
And let us not forget, mes amies, the French dignitary and head of an international trade organization that was arrested and charged with allegedly sexually assaulting a New York City chamber maid.
Each of these men is married and has families.

While watching a morning news program, a certain charming Greek news anchor was discussing why so many politicians, Heads of State, CEO’s and even members of the clergy have been caught in compromising positions and why they even put themselves in those positions in the first place.
He chose a word that accurately describes the dominating characteristic of men in power; Hubris. Wikipedia defines Hubris as, “Extreme haughtiness, pride or arrogance. Hubris often indicates a loss of contact with reality and an overestimation of one's own competence or capabilities, especially when the person exhibiting it is in a position of power.”
I sat up in my bed, nodding my head in total agreement and shouted, “Amen”.

My career has exposed me to all types of people in all sorts of careers. I have never been one to exalt any man or woman because what I’ve learned through my encounters is that celebrities, Senators, athletes and artists are humans JUST like you and me. They are mortals, not gods and they all have the same issues as we do (sometimes more). And contrary to what some of them may believe their shit does stink (which I discovered after entering a unisex bathroom after an R&B artist I’d just interviewed had exited).

The quote, “politics makes strange bedfellows” is fitting when it comes to my former relationship with Mr. Goodbar. He and I had an unusual relationship.
Devoted readers of my blog know that I met Mr. Goodbar while he was working for a politician who, at the time, had recently been appointed to a high ranking state position following the resignation of his predecessor who liked to mingle in the Mayflower.
The vertically challenged official made a preemptive strike by airing “most of” his dirty laundry before the media had an opportunity to dig anything up. His address to the media and his constituents was spoken in the past tense, but I later discovered his past wasn’t dead.

Mr. Goodbar reported directly to this particular politician and had worked for him for a number of years. They had a close bond and there was a strong trust between the two of them. Mr. Goodbar was extremely dedicated and devoted to his boss and was deeply appreciative for the opportunities that were given to him.
He would find out later on that the love they shared for one another was not unconditional.
While on the road, Mr. Goodbar always stayed in an adjoining hotel room to his boss. I never quite understood the purpose of that and it made me uncomfortable knowing that a door divided the two rooms, especially when I was visiting him.

One evening, Mr. Goodbar and I were sitting on his bed, talking about our days and catching up with each other after not seeing each other for several weeks.
As I was filling him in on my life I heard in the distance what sounded like moans. I ignored it and kept chatting.
It was now Mr. Goodbar’s turn to share what had been going on in his world. He sat on his bed, propped up by two pillows and his hands tucked behind his head. I was sitting on the side of the bed, next to him, looking down into those big brown eyes and his unfairly long lashes.
I heard it again… this time even louder, “Ohhh, ohhhh, OHHHHHH!”
Mr. Goodbar kept talking, “OHHHHHHHHH,” the female voice sang.
Mr. Goodbar kept chatting, didn’t blink and didn’t skip a beat.

Okay, if he wasn’t going to say anything, I wasn’t either, but the next morning I made a discovery that was troubling to me and needed to be addressed.
I had gone down to the restaurant to get breakfast while Mr. Goodbar had a briefing with his boss.
I returned to the room to pack my things and discovered the adjoining door was open. Curiosity got the best of me and I poked my head into the other room just to take a peek.
I went back into our room and continued gathering my things. As I was tossing a receipt into the wastebasket, something shiny caught my eye. I looked into the wastebasket to find a juice bottle and underneath that, a satin nightgown with lace trim. My heart skipped a beat and I pulled the negligee out of the garbage. There was an overwhelming aroma; a combination of sweat, sex and perfume.
Somebody had a good time.
I inspected the label, not sure what I was going to find, but what I learned was the diminutive Democrat was into bigger women. The lingerie was an extra-large.

Mr. Goodbar returned to our room after his meeting and I couldn’t help myself. I had to say something.
“Babe, I was packing and throwing out some things and I found a nightgown in the garbage can. I’m not really sure what to think.”

“Don’t worry sweetie, it’s nothing for you to be upset about”, He tried to assure me.

“It’s a nightgown”, I repeated.

“Sweetie, listen… Sometimes my job requires me to look after my boss and clean up after him.” He went on to explain his loyalty to his boss and some other things about what goes on behind closed doors, but I can’t even remember everything he said because I was too astonished by what I was hearing and personally experiencing.
I mean, here I was with a salmon nightgown version of the infamous blue dress. Granted, Mr. Goodbar’s boss wasn’t the President of the United States, but this was too much for me.

A year later, Mr. Goodbar’s loyalty to his boss didn’t account for much when he found himself the center of an investigation.
His boss basically distanced himself from Mr. Goodbar and left him to deal with his crisis alone.
My heart broke for Mr. Goodbar and I did my best to support him emotionally, but since we lived in different cities, I wasn’t able to really be there for him.

Mr. Goodbar’s Hubris had gotten in his way and of course his troubles centered around a woman. I don’t really know the circumstances surrounding his case. All I have is his side of the story.
I was upset as well, because people who knew me and knew that I was involved with Mr. Goodbar looked at me with pity.
He and I were not in a committed relationship, so what he did when he was away from me was his business. I just didn’t want people thinking that I was the “other woman”.
One of my favorite new television shows is “The Good Wife”, a series about a woman whose husband is a politician and gets caught up in a sex scandal. She struggles emotionally with the embarrassment of her husband’s public humiliation and whether or not she wants to stay in her marriage.
Had Mr. Goodbar and I been in a committed relationship, I don’t know whether I would have been able to stand by my man as some politician’s wives have done.

I had a conversation with a male friend last week about men and monogamy. He cited several high profile incidents of adultery by athletes, politicians and religious leaders. I explained to him that they are all men in powerful positions and have taken advantage of the concessions given to them, the exaltation by their constituents and the influence they have over others. Women will throw their panties at them, men will bow down to them and at some point they feel as if they are above the law.

I am not one to judge anyone and what they do behind closed doors.
I just think that when you are in a high profile position or have a job where your morals and values may come into question, it might be wise to think before you act.

As you know, my relationship with Mr. Goodbar did not end on a high note (Flipping the Script, 10/21/10). I was not his Carrie and he was not my Mr. Big.

Call it ego, Hubris or just plain horny, we haven’t heard the last of political sex scandals. A female politician tweeted plainly to her fellow colleagues, “Just keep it in your pants”.

Letting Go

2011-05-26T11:54:00.000-04:00

Today was Oprah Winfrey’s last show after twenty-five years on the air.
That means that when her show first aired, I was a teenager.

That’s also when the path began to be laid for my future and my impending “Oprah Experience”.

When I was a junior in high school I did a presentation in my psychology class on Anorexia Nervosa. After addressing my class with a slide show and speech, my teacher pulled me to the side and asked if I ever considered going into communications.
It wasn’t something that I’d ever really given serious thought to.

I had been influenced by a popular radio D.J. in my area, “Sunny” Joe White.
I loved his style, his delivery, his personality and his baby blue convertible Mercedes!
I spent a lot of time in my bedroom as a teenager and I spent a lot of time listening to my favorite D.J. as well.
I joined my school’s radio station and was bitten by the bug.

Years later, my dream became a reality and I began a career as a radio “personality” and later a news reporter and talk show host.
My two major influences were “Sunny” Joe White and Oprah.
To this day, whenever I’m interviewing a guest I always try to make it as conversational as possible and make them feel comfortable.

I always wanted to be a guest on the Oprah Winfrey Show and I would peruse her website daily to find topics that were the perfect fit for me to appear on her show.
After months of searching, I found it; “Have you let yourself go? Do you need a makeover?”
My co-host, Bud and I devised a plan for me to get a makeover and get on the Oprah Winfrey Show. I mean, hell, I was hosting a morning show; I woke up at four a.m. every morning and sat in a small studio with just me, my co-host Bud and microphones. There was no reason for me to get cute every morning. I rolled out of bed every morning, took a shower and threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

Bud took some pictures of me and sent them in, along with a letter about how he was tired of looking at me every morning.
I also sent in a letter stating that I realized the first step in recovery was realizing I needed help.
I never really knew what would come of our little scheme, but we must have done something right because a few weeks later I got a call from one of Oprah’s producers!

We probably talked for an hour or more. I figured if we were on the phone that long, that things were looking pretty good for me and pretty soon I’d be getting a wardrobe from Neiman Marcus and my hair styled by Andre Walker.
She asked me about my life and I explained to her that I was newly divorced, in debt up to my ears, my oldest son was leaving for the military, my life revolved around my kids and I didn’t have any time for myself.
Somewhere during our conversation I began to get emotional and tried to hold back tears. I apologized.
“Nooo… cry… go ahead, let it go”, the producer urged.

A light bulb went off in my head and I realized that I had forgotten what I was dealing with; this was the Oprah Winfrey Show! In her twenty five years on the air, there must have been enough tears shed to fill the Gulf of Mexico!
If tears were what it took to get my makeover, then I was going to channel Tammy Faye Baker!

She asked me to produce a video diary of my life for a week.
I taped myself waking up at four a.m., at work, picking my son up from school, taking him to football practice, grocery shopping, sitting in parent/teacher conferences and much more.
They gave me a Fedex envelope and shipping number to send the tape.
After a few days I got a call from the producer that they would like me to do another week’s worth of taping.
I felt encouraged.

During that time, my boyfriend and I were planning a trip to Tobago for my birthday. I had been having trouble getting my passport because my birth certificate didn’t have a raised seal on it and since I had a name change, my original birth certificate was at the state capital, very close to where my sister was living at the time.

I called my sister, asked if she would pick it up for me, faxed a consent form to the birth certificate office and waited for my sister’s call.
Nothing…
Later that evening, I called my sister to find out what was up.
Long story short, she was told when she got to the birth certificate office that it would be about a forty-five minute wait and my other sister convinced her that I did not NEED a passport to go to Tobago (I didn’t NEED one to go to Tobago, but since this was after 9/11, I needed one to get BACK into the U.S.!).
She told me that she couldn’t wait forty-five minutes; she had to get home to do her laundry because she didn’t have any clean panties! I expressed the importance of me needing this birth certificate and that it was a five minute drive for her, compared to a six hour round-trip drive for me.
She wasn’t sympathetic.
I was livid and before I went to bed that night, I turned on the video camera and began my rant.
“I’m sick of this (mess)! I’m tired of having to do everything by myself! I try to help people out whenever I can, but when I need a little bit of help I’ve got no one to rely on… no one to turn to.”
I went on for a few minutes, shut off the camera and went to bed.
I had a six hour drive ahead of me the next morning.

Several weeks passed. My boyfriend and I were returning from our Caribbean vacation and had a layover (ironically) in Chicago when I turned my cell phone on and was bombarded with text and voice mail messages from my girlfriends.

“Girl, you on Oprah!”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were gonna be on Oprah?”

“Oh my God! Turn on the TV, you on Oprah, girl!”

The next message was from Oprah’s Producer, “Hi Single Mom, thank you very much for sending in your video diary. We have not selected you to be on the show, but we will be using portions of your video diary. The show will air next Thursday. Thanks again.”

By the time I had received the messages, Oprah had already aired in my city.
Luckily, my boyfriend was on Pacific Time and was able to set his Tivo from his computer.
He sent me the segment and I was able to watch it when I got home.
WHY, WHY WHYYYYYYY??? Of the hours upon hours of tape I’d shot and of ALL of the activities I was involved in, did they select my angry rant?
I’d forgotten who I was dealing with… This was the OPRAH WINFREY SHOW! OF COURSE they would opt for the emotions!

Before each commercial break, the show aired video montages of women who had “let themselves go”, along with their names and (shudder) ages.
There I was, ranting and venting my frustrations.
Little did I know how my outburst had been interpreted.

The next morning I returned to work. Loyal listeners of my morning show that had seen my rant on Oprah began calling the station.

“Girl, keep your head up!”

“It’s gonna be alright girl… We all go through it.”

“Be strong girl.”

It was my guess that since I had been away for a week and then they saw me pitching a fit on Oprah that they must have thought I was having a breakdown or something tragic had happened in my life during my weeks absence.

Little did they know that my tirade was all over dirty panties.

The Oprah Winfrey Show is done and I’ve missed my opportunity to sit on her stage. I guess I can still say that even though I didn’t actually set foot in Harpo Studios, I was STILL ON the Oprah Winfrey Show… That counts for something, right?

The Ex Factor

2011-05-23T00:22:00.000-04:00

It seems that I’ve been breaking a lot of my own blog rules lately.

First, I said that I was going to keep my posts strictly PG, but then I go and write about swinging from chandeliers and how size really does matter and how some men can’t seem to perform under pressure.
My other rule, which was one of my original rules, was to not get personal with my posts. A few men in my past have done a dirty deed or two and I’ve vented my frustrations in my posts, but with the exception of those who know them personally, they are anonymous characters in my blog.

I am breaking another rule and frankly, I don’t give a damn if I do.
I am blowing my ex-husband out of the water!

My marriage was in no way perfect and truth be told, it was bad from the very beginning. I’m not going to relive fourteen years of misery, but let’s just say that in the end I decided I could do bad by myself and I actually ended up doing ten times better.
My career skyrocketed, my salary doubled, I bought my own home and although my boys may not be perfect, I raised, loved and supported them with minimal support from the ex-husband.

He was ordered by the court to pay a certain amount a week for child support. When he didn’t live up to his responsibility, the judge ordered his wages to be garnished. I paid for summer camps, sports, private school and took them on vacations. He has not been actively involved in their lives and even while we were together, he was an absentee father.
In his defense, I think that because he grew up without a father or a strong male presence, he didn’t really know how to be a husband or a father.

Less than a year after we separated he met a woman. I don’t know if she looked at him and saw “Sugar Daddy” or "sucker" stamped on his forehead, but she put it on him. Not soon after hooking up, they moved in together; her, her two kids, him and an unborn child.
What I didn’t know was that she had him believing that this child was his.
She didn’t work.
He provided for her and her three kids.
He paid all of the bills and even bought her a car. I didn’t care what he did with her or FOR her, as long as he was taking care of his responsibility as a father.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t holding up that end of the bargain. My oldest son Hootie was the first to recognize that the ex-husband was putting her children before his own and wanted nothing to do with him. My youngest felt a sense of loyalty to his father and continued to hold on to hope that his father would eventually see the error of his ways.

The ex-husband and his girlfriend have broken up more times that I even know. Most of the information I get comes from my son Rick (I don’t ask. He is usually venting and I’m listening and offering support). The only info that has come directly from the exes’ mouth was when he discovered the third child wasn’t his and he was putting her out (for the third time of about five… that I know of). She was a chain smoker, battled alcoholism and alleged drug addiction; she allegedly cheated on him and is a beauty school drop-out.
My friends and I joke that he went from a PhD to a GED.

We’ve also wondered how and why he would stay with a woman like that and my girls and I have come to the conclusion that she must have a golden coochie. That’s right, I said it. She must be putting it on him so good that he can’t see or think straight.
He also needs to be needed.
I’ve always been an independent woman and when the chips are down, I’m going to handle my business. The ex-hubby couldn’t accept my independence, but if he had stepped up, taken off his Underoos and put on his big boy pants and had been a man, I would have gladly stepped back and watched my man take charge. I tried, and all that got us was frozen bank accounts, tax liens, insufficient funds and our power shut off.

One Christmas, when Rick was twelve years old, I bought him a new comforter and bed set. He had gone over his dads and while he was away I went into his room to make his bed. As I was tucking the sheets onto the mattress, I began to pull out a bunch of crumpled school papers, candy wrappers and something that looked like a library book. Upon closer inspection and to my horror and disgust I discovered that it was a coffee table book with a scantily clad woman in several stages of undress.
When I looked at the name of the “model”, I quickly realized that it was the ex-husband’s girlfriend.
Each page had a different pose.
There she was in WalMart lingerie.
The next page, the strap of her rayon/polyester blend teddy had fallen off, exposing her double-A cup breasts.
Another page showed her spread eagle, exposing that golden coochie that has successfully managed to make a grown man toss aside all dignity, pride and self-respect.
When I called him to tell him what I’d found, instead of expressing his shock and disappointment in his son, he got angry with me and told me this was not the “day” to be discussing this and before hanging up, assured me that his girlfriend was a “model”. So I guess since she was a “model” that made it all okay for his twelve year old son to be looking at his nekked girlfriend and doing Lord knows what while flipping through the pages.
A male friend advised me that the ex-husband was embarrassed that I had seen his nude girlfriend in compromising positions and thus his reason for lashing out at me.

I don’t know whether the ex ever addressed the matter with our son, but I mailed the book directly to the girlfriend to let her know that I had seen the eighth wonder of the world; her golden coochie.

This is Rick’s senior year of high school and he has not been the most responsible young man. His grades have been horrible, he’s been skipping classes and lying to me.
As you already know, I can’t tolerate liars in my life; even coming from my own child.
I have busted Rick in two very serious lies this week. The first; that he was skipping tutoring and was somewhere where he wasn’t supposed to be.
The second; was that he damaged my brand new car that I haven’t even made my first payment on yet.
To make matters worse, he didn’t come to me to tell me what he had done. He instead tried to cover it up and hide the scrapes and scratches with SILVER NAIL POLISH.
After further investigation and interrogation of his friends that were in the car with him (Yes, his boys rolled on him), I called the ex-husband to ask for his support and intervention because his child might not have lived to see another day. I asked if he could please come in my house (keep in mind that I DO NOT invite him into my home… EVER) so that he and I could sit and talk with our child and find out what the hell is going on with him.
The ex informed me that once he dropped Rick off from his weekend visit that he didn’t have time to discuss the welfare of his child because he had “people” at his house.
I assured him that his girlfriend wouldn’t mind if he took the time to handle matters with his son and he told me that he wasn’t going to jump when I say jump, that I “always” ask for things when it’s convenient for me, that things are “always” on my terms and that he doesn’t have to answer to me (when I originally called him I asked him where he was because I wanted to know if he was in a place where he could talk).
I reminded him that I don’t ask him for (squat) and that I don’t need (squat) from him and that it was a shame that he couldn’t take a few minutes out of his time for his son.
Then it dawned on me; the golden coochie was pulling him. It’s like the songs of the sirens, luring him into the abyss. I promptly told him nevermind and hung up the phone.
Rick is all too aware that his father puts the coochie and her brood before him. He recently stopped going to visit his father for nearly a month. He later sat with his father and in a very mature and respectful manner reminded him that HE is not the step-child and that HER kids are.

Shortly after we separated, I tried giving the ex some sort of direction so as not to alienate his children. That backfired, so I’ve left it alone.

He was angry with me for a long time because I was the one that initiated the divorce.
He has given me his behind to kiss on several occasions and I’ve been the better person and turned the other “cheek” each time.

They say that success is the best form of revenge and my revenge has been sweet.

Dial "M" for Murder

2011-05-15T22:53:00.000-04:00

I really need to play the lottery more.

Too often I’ve had experiences that make me question what kind of luck I have. I’m not necessarily sure if it’s good luck, bad luck, strange luck, or if God just has a weird sense of humor.

I met a man.
As usual, he doesn’t live in the same city as me, but he said he had family here.
Shortly after meeting he told me he’d be coming to my city for the funeral of his uncle. Oddly enough, that same day I had gotten an email from our neighborhood block club president that one of our neighbors had died. I asked him by chance what his uncle’s name was because it would have been a really freaky coincidence if his uncle and my neighbor were the same person.
He was.
Not only did his uncle live on my street, but after more conversations we learned that we were both raised in the same southern county, he went to my rival high school, he knew some of my relatives and I knew some of his.
All of this came from a chance meeting.

We had planned on spending some time together after his uncle’s funeral, but he never made it here. Bad weather had shut down airports along the East Coast and flights were cancelled. He was devastated that he couldn’t make it for the funeral and also claimed that he was upset that he wasn’t able to spend time with me.
I assured him we’d have other opportunities to get together.

We made plans for him to come this weekend and in the meantime we continued to talk almost every day.
I figured that there were WAY too many coincidences and that there had to be something more behind our meeting.
Was he heaven sent? Was this the man that I’ve been waiting on for so long? I didn’t know, but I felt that if he was being sent to me and there was a good chance that he was the one, I had to accept this blessing put before me.

He would occasionally say some things that bothered me and I told myself that I should let it go because I’m not perfect and I’m sure that I probably say some things that he might not be particularly fond of.
He also began to develop a mild case of the bugaboos.
If I called him and he didn’t answer, I would leave a message and wait for him to call. When he returned my call and I wasn’t able to speak to him at that moment or if I happened to miss it, he would continue to call me at least two or three more times within an hour and send three or four text messages.
If I wasn’t in a position to speak, I’d send him a text message letting him know that I was busy.
Fifteen to thirty minutes later I’d receive a text, “Are you still busy?”

When I decided that I couldn’t take it anymore and had to tell him about himself, I called my cousin Beverly to vent.
She and I were on the phone for about an hour or more and during that time I had THREE calls from my Southern Gentleman.
Beverly tried to calm me down and urged me to call him and let him know how I was feeling.
I wanted to, but his relentless calls made me not want to call him back right away and the more he called, the more he turned me off.

I finally was able to tell him how I was feeling and he insisted that he didn’t want to be a bother or a nuisance and would back off from calling me so much. What he did was the extreme opposite; he stopped calling me all together.
He would still send me text messages or an email wishing me a good morning, but he would not talk to me on the phone unless I was the one that had dialed his number. When I pointed this out to him, he said he hadn’t realized that was what he was doing.
He went back to blowing up my phone again.

He made a reservation at an area hotel and was considerate enough to ask which was closest to my home. He was even thoughtful enough to ask what would be a good time for him to arrive so that he wouldn’t interfere with my work schedule.

Maybe I’ve been spoiled by the few good men that I was lucky enough to have in my life, but whenever I was involved with someone that didn’t live in my city, he would take the time to research restaurants, museums, nightclubs or shows in my area and ask me which places I’d like to go. I’m slightly old-fashioned and I like for the man to take initiative. I in turn would show him the special places in my town. My Southern Gentleman instead, asked me what I had planned for him when he arrived and where was I taking him.

He was supposed to be arriving on Friday so I called him Thursday afternoon to find out what time he’d be landing. I thought it was unusual that I hadn’t gotten his itinerary yet. He didn’t answer, so I left a message.
A few hours later (which was unlike him), he called to tell me that he’d been really tied up at work because he’d been coping with a tragedy.
His secretary had been murdered. Even more heartbreaking was that her eight year old daughter had also been killed.
Both, by the hands of his secretary’s husband, who then turned the gun on himself and committed suicide.
I was horrified! I couldn’t believe something so horrible could happen to someone and I felt even worse for my Southern Gentleman because he lost someone that had worked so closely with him for years.
He told me that the funeral would be held on Saturday and he gave me more details about his secretary and all that she had done for him. He said that he still wanted to come see me and I convinced him that it was the right thing for him to stay and be supportive of his secretary’s family.

The next day I was at work and the journalist in me wanted to know more about this terrible situation surrounding his secretary’s death. I began to Google certain topics, “murder suicide” and the city where he lived.
I couldn’t find anything.
I tried, “man kills wife, daughter, self”, followed by the city where they possibly lived.
Nothing.
I kept searching, using different variations of double homicide, murder suicide, but still kept coming up empty. Finally I sent him a text message and asked for his secretary’s name.
More than an hour went by with no response (again, unusual for him), so I sent him an email and asked for her name. Another hour passed and I finally got a text from him with the name, Melanie Black.
Immediately, I Googled, “Melanie Black double homicide” and the possible city where I thought she may have lived.
I found several articles and a couple of stories on local television news websites about a Melanie Black that had been shot by her husband, who then turned the gun on himself, but Melanie Black had survived and there was no eight year old daughter involved in any way shape or form.
I checked several sources, but still found the same story.
I double checked the text message he sent to make sure I had read the name properly.
Yup, Melanie Black.
I reached out to a friend who is a reporter in that area and she confirmed that there was no such double murder/ suicide in that area and if there was, a story like that would have been all over the news. Especially since there was a child involved.
I was done.
The one thing that I can’t stand is a liar.

After calling Beverly to vent AGAIN, I decided to call him on his lies. Originally I had just planned on blocking his phone number and emails, but a lie that unbelievably horrible needed to be addressed head on. I wanted him to know that I knew he was a liar. I didn’t want to talk to him because I didn’t want to hear any more of his lies, so I sent him an email. At the top of the email I had pasted the links to several of the articles about Melanie Black. I then proceeded to tell him how much of a liar he was and that I never wanted to see him or speak to him again.

As typical, he responded with an email, calling me crazy and asked why I would think he would make up a lie like that. He then told me that my “investigative work” was way off and suggested I double check my sources.
Three emails later, he pledged that he was a good, honest, loyal, trustworthy man and that he didn’t “have time” for all of this drama in his life.
I finally replied and asked him to produce evidence of his secretary’s death.
His answer was that maybe I had time to be surfing the internet, but he didn’t and would not be granting my request.

My last email to him simply said, “Goodbye.”

I’ve asked myself if maybe I could have made a mistake, but too many things didn’t add up:
1. His delay in replying to my text message and email when I asked the name of his secretary (I concluded that he was busy Googling articles to cover his ass).

2. He told me that she had been killed either Monday or Tuesday of this week, but the stories I found about Melanie Black were from a week and a half earlier.

3. He told me that she had an eight year old daughter and that the daughter had been killed. I found ZERO articles about a child being murdered and still can’t understand WHY he would make up such a story.

4. If his secretary, the woman that had worked so closely with him for so many years had been tragically killed either Monday or Tuesday, WHY hadn’t I heard anything from him sooner about her death? Why did he finally say something on Thursday evening?

5. I understand that we all deal with tragedies differently, but he didn’t seem the slightest bit upset and had “insisted” that he’d rather be spending the weekend with me than at a funeral (I believe that he knew I’d insist he stay for her funeral and pretended to be disappointed that he couldn’t come).

I also noticed for the first time that his signature on his email had his office address and website, but his “office” number was his cell phone.
Too many things don’t add up and I’ve had enough bullshit in my life to smell it a mile away.
I logged on to my email this morning to look up some info that I needed.
There was yet another email from the Southern Liar saying that he would be sending me a program from his secretary’s funeral service.
He should be banned from Kinkos.

Catch 22

2011-04-25T15:58:00.000-04:00

My blog began at the urging of my friends who had been listening to my dating horror stories for years.
Some of the things that take place are quite unique and I often have people ask, “Did that really happen?” Other situations are pretty common and I think the reason most of you enjoy my blog is because you can relate to the story that I’m telling in one way or another.

Regular readers know that I try to keep my posts at or around a PG13 rating. Only once have I taken it to an adult status (Break Glass in Case of Emergency 4/27/10), but another subject keeps rearing its ugly head over and over that it needs to be discussed, so this is where I add my disclaimer; The subject matter of this blog post contains adult content (sex, adult language) that may not be suitable for all readers.
Reader discretion is advised.

I’m jaded, cynical, pessimistic and just plain tired of dating.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s the thrill of victory once I’ve successfully captured the attention of a potential suitor.
I enjoy the anticipation of the first phone call where we talk for hours and learn more about each other; his favorite foods, his likes and his dislikes. He tells me during our initial conversation that he’s so surprised that he’s been on the phone with me for so long because he’s really not a phone person, but he just feels so comfortable with me (sound familiar?).

I enjoy the anticipation and preparation for our first date, making sure every hair is in place, make up is just right, manicure, pedicure, brows waxed… Do I wear a dress? Does it look like I’m trying too hard? Do I show leg? Do I show cleavage? Do I leave something to the imagination?

I love the exhilaration of the first kiss… You never know when it’s coming and if he does it right, he doesn’t ask. He just goes for it.
One of my favorite kisses was my first date with Luke Skywalker. We were walking to his car and I was so busy running my mouth that while he was opening my door for me I didn’t see what was coming. I clearly felt comfortable with him because I was gabbing like we’d known each other for months. I guess he felt comfortable too, because after he opened my door, he put his hand on my waist, turned me around and planted one of the most passionate kisses on me in my top five kisses list! I generally don’t kiss on the first date, but hell, Luke went for it and I had zero objections!

So, I meet a guy, there’s chemistry, a connection, a physical attraction, the first date goes well… even the first kiss. I’m on a high that I never want to come down from. If this sensation could be bottled, I’d have a stockpile in my basement to feel this way forever.

I decide, “This is the one” and then comes the quandary; when do I say when? You all know what I’m talking about. When do we give it up? When do we go all the way? Knock the boots? Do the wild thang?
We have final say as to when it will happen.
Truth be told, we all know after that first meeting or that first date when we’re going to give it up. We call ourselves being “good girls”, holding out, making them “respect” us. We also know that introducing sex into a relationship too soon makes a man brain damaged. Everything they did before they got us is quickly forgotten, so we want to hold on to that attentive, romantic, communicative man as long as we can.

Steve Harvey says to make a man wait the 90 day probationary period and I’m all for that, but here’s the thing. IF WE WAIT, what happens if things are going SO well, the passion is unbelievable, each time we see each other we have to stop from ripping each other’s clothes off and have to go home and take a cold shower or “take matters into our own hands”?
What happens when his probation ends, you invite him over, got a baby sitter for the night, have candles lit, you’re shaved and waxed in all of the right places and you’re ready to get it IN, for the entire night, you see his headlights in the driveway and you have Betty Wright, “Tonight is the Night” playing in your head?
What happens when you open the door dressed in a little sumpin’, sumpin and it’s on and popping before you make it up the stairs!
Hands are everywhere, kissing, touching, temperature’s rising and then you reach down to say hello… there’s nothing there??
Come on now! You know what I’m talking about… What happens if you wait all that damn time and he ain’t working with anything?
Better yet; what happens if you wait all-that-damn-time and he ain’t working with anything AND the little bit that he has, he still doesn’t even know how to use?

Close your mouth because we’ve all been there and you can lie to yourself all you want, but we all know that we want to be satisfied.
Good sex is a must have for most women.
Yes, dammit… SIZE DOES MATTER! Yes, I’ve heard it all before, 'it’s not the size of the ship, it’s the motion in the ocean', but I don’t want the S.S. Minnow from Gilligan’s Island, we all know how that worked out for them.
I want the Royal Caribbean!

Too many times I’ve consoled friends that have had their bubbles burst after waiting their set probationary period only to discover that the man of their dreams could only satisfy her IN her dreams.
How many girls’ nights have you been to where one of your girls has had one too many glasses of Moscato and puts out a BDR (Bad Dick Report) on the man she’s been seeing the past two months?
We’ve all had that “Waiting to Exhale” moment where Robin goes to bed with her co-worker and sixty seconds later wished she had chosen a V-8 instead.

Esmerelda called me almost in tears after she’d finally decided to take the next step with a guy she’d been dating for a while. To make matters worse, she’d been celibate for months, but decided that this guy was worthy.

“Now what do I do because I don’t even want to see him anymore?” Esmerelda whined. I tried to comfort her, but I had no words.
Thinking maybe that it might have been a fluke, Esmerelda gave him another chance… Ten minutes of her life that she’ll never get back.

It’s a double edge sword.
We’re dammed if we do and we’re dammed if we don’t. If we decide to forego the obligatory probationary period, we run the risk of being just another piece of ass and staying in that category or they hit it and quit it.
If we wait, we will either be pleasantly surprised or greatly disappointed.

I’d developed a theory for determining the size of a man’s package based on how he is built, but it’s not scientifically proven as of yet.

“Women put more importance on sex than men,” William stated.

“I find that hard to believe,” I argued.

“With most men, we get some, okay… If it’s not good, it’s not like we’re going to break up with them. With women, if it’s not good, they’ll walk away in a minute! ‘Oh, NO! I can’t live with that for the rest of my life!’ He mocks, imitating a dissatisfied woman. “Let it be little and he doesn’t know what to do with it, oh she’s done.”

I asked William what the equivalent of a small penis is on a woman, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

“We can see what ya’ll are working with; breasts, ass…,” William laughed.

“Yeah, and we can’t see what ya’ll have until we unwrap it,” I groaned.

This is why I’m tired.

I’m tired of playing “Let’s Make a Deal” and guessing what’s behind door number one. I’m so sick of meeting a man, getting my hopes up and being let down. I spent many years in a relationship where I wasn’t satisfied and I know now what I want and what I won’t settle for.

“Oh, no…” My friend, Chola exclaimed. “I would cheat on him if he wasn’t working with anything!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I explained. “If I get involved with someone and wait so that we can get to know each other better and I start falling for him and discover his 'shortcomings' I may come out my mouth like Salt N Pepa, “Pobre, pobrecito. Que diablo eso (Poor little guy, what the hell is that)??”

I'm saying all of this because I recently met someone and I want so desperately for things to work out in a BIG way (Not too big, I'm not greedy). Right now we're in the 'getting to know each other' stage and he's saying and doing all of the right things.
I'm going to make him wait, but I'm just keeping my finger crossed that he has ALL of the right things.

Psalm 23

2011-03-02T14:53:00.000-05:00

I remember when I learned I was pregnant with my youngest son, Rick.

My husband and I went to visit some of his old college buddies in the Midwest and while we were there we did a lot of partying and drinking. The night before we were scheduled to come home we went to a night club and then stopped at White Castle for a late night snack.

The next morning I woke up with horrible stomach pain and nausea. My husband bought me some ginger ale to help settle my stomach, but by the time we got to the airport and boarded the plane I was a hot mess! Thank goodness that there were two restrooms on the plane because that’s where I remained for the duration of the flight. By the time we landed, I wasn’t able to stand or walk and I swore I would never eat another White Castle burger ever again.

My husband took me to the hospital where the E.R. doctor asked if I would be able to pee in a cup. I gave him that, “you must have lost your pure-Dee mind” look. Since I was dehydrated there was no way they’d be getting anything out of me anytime soon. They drew blood and a while later the doctor came in to talk to me. He began asking me questions about contraception and the date of my last period. Again, I looked at this man and wondered where he’d earned his medical degree. Clearly I had been poisoned by White Castle. Why was he asking me about my menstrual cycle?
I nearly fell on the floor when he told me that I was pregnant! It was Easter Sunday and I told my husband when he came in the room that the Easter Bunny had brought us a special present.

I had a very difficult pregnancy, went into premature labor at six months and spent the remainder of my pregnancy on bed rest, but delivered a healthy baby boy full term.

Rick and I always had a special relationship.
He’s my baby boy and I call him my comic relief because he always has a way of making me laugh.
He’s eighteen now and we butt heads a lot more often, but I love him dearly.

A few weeks ago I was sitting at home on a Saturday afternoon when I saw an article someone had posted on facebook. It was about a car accident involving two teenage boys from the suburban town where we used to live. The boys were seniors at the area high school. One was dead and the other had been taken to the hospital in critical condition.
I frantically read the article, praying I wouldn’t see a familiar name. We moved to that town when Rick was three years old and he had grown up with most of the kids there.
Because it’s a small town and small school district, the kids know each other well. I volunteered in Rick’s elementary school, chaperoned field trips, attended Cub Scout meetings, school plays, athletic events and birthday parties.
I saw a lot of Rick’s friends grow from pre-schoolers to high-schoolers.

The newspaper hadn't released the boys' names.

I called the news room where I used to be a reporter and asked the assignment editor the names of the boys.
She put the phone down to check.
My heart began to race.
“Please don’t let it be anyone we know, please don’t let it be anyone we know.”

I heard her pick the phone up and as she read the first name my heart dropped, my hand went to my mouth and I began to sob.

“Oh my God,” I wailed.

“Did you know the boys?” She asked.

“Yes,” Was all I could say and I sobbed some more.

I had just seen one of the boys at a black tie affair back in November. I hadn’t seen him since junior high and he had gotten so tall. He looked so handsome in his suit and I told him so. He asked how Rick was doing and asked me to tell him hello.
He was now in the hospital in a coma.

The other young man played football with Rick. He was a beautiful boy. My last memory of him was at a football game with a huge puff of brown hair jutting out of the back of his helmet.
He was dead.

That evening I picked Rick up from work and on the way home asked if he had heard anything about the accident.
He said he’d seen a few things on facebook, but didn’t really have much information.
I told him what happened and asked him if he was okay.
I asked him how he was feeling and we had a discussion about life and death.
Rick told me that he knows everyone has their “time”, but he was having a hard time understanding how it could be someone’s time that was the same age as him.

Over the next few days Rick rode an emotional rollercoaster. It was hard to see my son in pain and even harder when he shut me out. He spent hours in his room talking on the phone with a friend. My only comfort was that he at least had someone he could open up to.

Five days later we attended the funeral.
The high school cancelled classes for the day so students could say goodbye to their friend and classmate.
Rick wept periodically throughout the service.
He would occasionally drop his head and wipe tears from his cheek. I offered him a tissue, but he wouldn’t accept it.
It was a beautiful service and I cried a couple of times, but tried to hold back the tears and be strong for my baby.

The coffin was opened for viewing and I watched as hundreds of students passed by to pay their respects.
Some couldn’t look in his direction; others gave the Catholic sign of the cross as they passed. Tearful girls held each other and his teammates wept over the loss of a brother. Students, teachers, coaches and complete strangers all came to pay their respet to this popular young man.

His mother was the last to stand before him. Several minutes passed and music played softly as she had a private conversation with her first born son. She positioned items to rest with him in his coffin, adjusted his suit, stroked his face and said farewell to her baby.

The coffin was closed and the pallbearers gathered around. They each grabbed a handle and lifted it to their shoulders and prepared to carry him out. The finality of it all was too much for Rick and he began to sob. I pulled my child to my shoulders, just as I had done when he was a baby and comforted him. His body heaved in my arms and I held him tighter.
Tears rolled down my face and the sanctuary filled with the cries of hundreds of broken hearts.
The interment was closed to anyone outside the family because it would have caused traffic issues, but we managed to go with members of my family who were Godparents to the young man’s mother. Rick was able to place a flower on his friend’s coffin and say a personal goodbye.

On the day of the funeral, the surviving boy was released from the hospital and transferred to a rehabilitation facility. I asked Rick if he’d like to go visit him and he looked at me with eyes full of hope and joy.

The ride home that afternoon was a quiet one. Rick asked if he could spend time with friends and I wasn’t going to deny him that. He left the program and obituary resting on the arm of the sofa so I took it upstairs and placed it in a drawer for safekeeping.

The morning of the accident I remember being upset with Rick about something that he hadn’t done that I’d asked him to do the night before and I was SO annoyed with him. I wondered what this mother’s last words were to her son the morning he left to coach a youth basketball league. Was she upset with him as I was with Rick? Had he forgotten to take out the garbage? Did he tell her that he loved her? Was she able to say the same?

It will be hard at times, but I’m going to be sure from now on to make sure I tell my boys how much I love them… especially when they walk out the door because we never know if it will be our last opportunity to hold our babies.

What Have You Done For Me Lately?

2011-01-31T12:22:00.000-05:00

I just got back from visiting my very dear friend Jelly Bean. She's having her first baby and I went to help host her baby shower.

Money has been very tight for me because it’s my son Rick’s senior year and this boy has been costing me an arm and a leg at black market prices.
It took a little coaxing from William and other friends to convince me to ask Luke Skywalker if he’d be able to set me up with a buddy pass to get out to see Jelly Bean, but I gathered up the courage and called him.
He immediately agreed to help and I hung up the phone with the biggest, cheesiest grin on my face.
I said this before and I’m saying it again; I know that it didn’t really take much effort for Luke to set up the travel arrangements for me and it didn’t cost him any money, but it was the fact that he said “YES” that means so much to me.

My flight had a layover in his hub city and I had hoped we’d be able to see each other.
I haven’t seen Luke since he flew up here to take me to lunch for my birthday in 2009. He’d made attempts to come see me since then, but each time he tried to come, he was bumped because he was flying standby.
I became discouraged and so did he.
What really bothered me about the whole thing was that he’s a single man with a pilot’s salary.
I understand; why pay to fly if you don’t have to, but if you’ve got the money and you really want to see someone as bad as you say you do, then get up off your wallet and pay for a ticket! If you want something bad enough, nothing should get in your way of your desires.
He’d asked me several times to come visit him, but in my mind I figured if he couldn’t make an effort to come see me, then why should I SPEND my hard earned money when I don’t make nearly as much as him to buy a ticket?

It was wonderful spending time with Jelly Bean and seeing her with a little Baby Bean growing inside of her. To my surprise, Luke called to check on my stay not once, but twice. He asked about my layover during my return trip and I told him that I would be in his city for a little over two hours. We made arrangements to meet up.

I felt like a giddy school girl from the moment I boarded the plane.
As the plane made its approach my excitement began to intensify.
During the flight, I was waiting in the galley to get back to my seat and struck up a conversation with the flight attendant in first class. She asked me where my final destination was. I told her where I was headed, but that it all depended on whether or not I was able to get a seat on my connecting flight. She asked why and I told her that I was flying on a buddy pass.
“Oh, an employee or a pilot?” She asked.
“A pilot,” I answered proudly. I wanted so badly to tell her his name and tell her all about him, but I contained myself.
“Well, while you’re waiting would you like a snack? One of the perks of flying on a buddy pass,” She kidded.
She didn’t have to ask me twice, considering we were on a three hour flight and the only thing they were serving in coach was soda and juice.

As soon as we touched down, I sent Luke a text message to let him know we’d landed. He called back and asked me to meet him in baggage claim.
It seemed to take forever to get from my gate, out of the terminal, to the trains and to baggage claim.
My eyes scanned the busy terminal. I didn’t realize how crowded it was going to be.
I walked around a little, trying not wander too far away from our meeting spot.
“Pssssst!”
Stunned, I quickly turned around to see Luke standing behind me with an enormous smile on his face.
I smacked him on the shoulder and followed it with a hug.
Since we haven’t seen each other in so long, I didn’t know whether to give him a kiss on the lips or on the cheek. We both went for the cheek.
After all of the excitement and anticipation, I noticed that I was nervous and a little uncomfortable.
He looked good.
He had cut his hair. Luke used to wear a low afro, which made him look much older and a little out of touch. He was now sporting a brush cut and I could see that he actually has a nice curl pattern with a slight wave in his hair. The brush cut took a good five to seven years off of him.

He asked if I was hungry and after being on a three hour flight with little food, I was ready to eat a horse. We went to a restaurant in the airport and ordered drinks before our meals.

“Why do you stare at me?” Luke asked.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I guess because we haven’t seen each other in such a long time, I’m just taking it all in.”
We shared small talk; I showed him the pictures from Jelly Bean’s baby shower and talked about us.
“Do you have a wife and five kids at home?”
He nearly choked on his soup.
“No!” he laughed.
“Four? Three kids? Two? Do you have a wife?”
“Come on now,” Luke pleaded, his southern drawl seeping through. “I wouldn’t do something like that. You oughta know me better than that.”
“I don’t know,” I began. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s up with you, why you are so elusive. My Kavorka must not be working.”
“Kavorka? What’s that?”
“It’s when you are irresistible to the opposite sex.”
He began to chuckle again.
“Awww, you know I can’t resist you!” Luke teased.
“Ha! If you couldn’t resist me, you’d be telling me how you can’t live a day without me and we’d be together. I’m hoping that in 2011 you come to your senses and fall madly in love with me.”
“Come to my senses, huh? You have a way with words, you know that?”
We talked some more and tossed around the idea of me possibly coming back down for a visit.
Luke paid the check, we gathered my things and he walked me to the security checkpoint.
I can’t even begin to tell you what was said at that moment. All I remember is that we kissed. It was such a wonderfully romantic, tender kiss. I do remember thinking that I was glad Luke didn’t have a problem with public displays of affection and for a hot second, I actually considered accidentally - on purpose missing my flight.

Doing Me

2010-12-30T12:54:00.000-05:00

Another year is coming to an end.
The older I get, the faster time seems to fly.
As I browsed through my 2010 blog archive I realized a few things; One, I haven’t done much writing this year. Two, my life is a soap opera and three, my dating life is still crap.

2010 began with Malik making an appearance in my office (She’s Got Papers, 1/8/10) to tell me that he and his wife were getting a divorce, that I was the love of his life and that he wanted a future with me. I didn’t welcome Malik with open arms since he’d burned me in the past and I’m glad that I didn’t because my happily ever after never came with Malik. After a two hour phone conversation with his distraught spouse, I learned that he was still with his wife and that I was his contingency plan because they had been having problems. She’s called me a few times since she’s given him the boot. They’re going through a contentious divorce and she’s got a new man. Good for her!

Although I’ve tried to put it behind me, I had an exchange student living with me in the first half of 2010. I put up with a lot from Hakeem; Attitude, laziness, disrespect and extremely high grocery and electric bills. Hakeem made it to the one yard line, on the third down, with thirty seconds to go in the fourth quarter when he fumbled the ball. He was SO close to the end when he really started smelling himself and gave me his behind to kiss. I couldn’t take anymore and kicked him out, three weeks before it was time for him to go home (I Don’t Care Where You Go… 6/24/10). Hakeem has since reached out to both my boys on facebook and apparently he’s back in the states trying to graduate from an American school so he can go to college here. His mother has emailed me a few times and has assured me that regardless of the outcome, she considers me her sister and she’s grateful for me welcoming her son into my home.

We welcomed a new member to our family in September (A Mother’s Work 3/9/10). My son Hootie and his girlfriend Mia are the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy. Hootie Junior is adorable and while I still am not happy with the circumstances surrounding his conception, Hootie Junior is precious and I’m enjoying watching his development. Hootie, SENIOR, however has been getting on my nerves with the overprotective, first time dad, I think I know everything and I'm the only one in the world that's EVER had a child attitude. I hope he gets over that VERY soon!

In October I went to Jamaica for my birthday. I had a wonderful time and it was ALMOST what the doctor ordered. I’ll leave the details for my book… Until then, what happened in Jamaica, STAYS in Jamaica!

Men have come and gone in 2010. I’ve joked with friends many times that I have no problem meeting men; it’s keeping them around that’s the challenge.
In my case, either I find the man that’s emotionally unavailable or a commitment-phobe (What’s New Pussycat 1/22/10) or I get the polar opposite; the needy, clingy, stalker type (Zero to Sixty in Five Seconds 9/5/10).
My last correspondence with Biker Boy was probably around the end of August, but that didn’t stop him from continually texting me. I told him that I wasn’t interested and had no desire to see him. I blocked him from calling or texting and thought that was the end of things until I had to get a new cell phone that doesn’t have the block feature. I realized then that he hadn’t given up.
I asked a guy friend with a Marine Corps, Drill Sergeant type voice and a Denzel Washington, “Training Day” type personality to give Biker Boy a call. He told Biker Boy to back off of his “woman” and to not call or text me anymore.
I haven’t heard a peep since.

In September I accidentally dialed an old flame while trying to delete his number from my cell phone (Freudian Slip 9/30/10). This led to flirtatious phone calls and text messages for several weeks. We decided to meet face to face one evening and as soon as our eyes connected, so did our lips. We had a hot and steamy encounter in a playground and although it was momentarily exciting, I realized that nothing had changed. His goal was to get me in his bed again and I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. He knows that I want more than what he’s willing to give and I’m not willing to settle for less. There were a few text messages here and there after our rendezvous, but they eventually stopped.

Mr. Goodbar and I have not spoken since our argument in October (Flipping the Script, 10/21/10). He called to wish me a happy birthday on my voice mail, but he had the date wrong and called two days early. I didn’t bother to send him an email to thank him for thinking of me… on the wrong day. The thought of having to send him an email instead of being able to pick up the phone and call him pissed me off and was enough to keep me from writing him. I don’t know how his personal/legal situation turned out and I guess I don’t really care. Regardless of the outcome, I’m glad Mr. Goodbar came into my life. The times we spent together were always special and I really loved his Corporate Thug Swag. I learned a LOT about politics from him and there were some things about politics that I wish I hadn’t learned. I found out that when it comes to full disclosure, there’s still a whole heck of a lot they (politicians)haven’t told and hotel walls can be pretty thin.

I’m still holding out hope for Luke Skywalker. We talk occasionally and he is setting me up with a buddy pass to fly to Phoenix for Jelly Bean’s baby shower. I know it’s not like he’s bought me a diamond ring or anything, but I appreciate the fact that he was willing to help me out. Luke and I haven't been intimate in over three years and we won't be until I know he's committed to me. I’m not hopelessly devoted to Luke and I’m not sitting in my house pining away for him. I’m going to continue to date and if he ever gets his act together and I’m available, maybe we can see where things might go. I’m hoping for big things in 2011 with Captain Skywalker.

I don’t know what 2011 has in store for me, but I’m going to do my best to make things happen. I try not to make New Year’s resolutions, but set goals for myself instead.
My goal is to just do me… I’m going to try my hardest to not worry about men and why I’m still single, because I know that I’m fabulous and would make any man happy. I know it’s not me and that I’ve just got bad luck when it comes to the types of men that I meet.

I’m going back to school for my Masters in Communications and my first class begins late January. I’m going to keep my nose to the grindstone and work my way through grad school. Once I set my sites on something, there’s no stopping me.

I hope to get my blog website up, fully functioning and expand its readership. Look out for The Single Mom Saga on the web at www.singlemomsaga.com (Spread the word!).

I’m fabulously single and I’m going to make the most of it. I went to Jamaica by myself this year and it was quite an adventure, to say the least. My goal is to get more stamps in my passport in 2011.

I realize that it’s just me against the world… I don’t have help or support from a husband and if I need to get something done the only person I have to rely on is myself.
That’s why I’m just doing ME in 2011!

Show Me the Money

2010-12-15T11:45:00.000-05:00

Sometimes being a single mother has its advantages; I don’t have to consult my ex-husband on every little decision I make, I have the freedom to do with the kids what I want, when I want and basically, what I say goes when it comes to disciplining them.
An added bonus to single parenting is that I get every other weekend to myself!
Those are the minor perks, but most of the times, being a single parent completely SUCKS!
Doctor appointments, social, school and athletic events are all chauffeured to and from by me.
I also have to deal with the attitudes, mouthiness and defiance and I don’t have a tag-team partner to step in when I’ve had enough and need to step out of the ring.

I live in a single income household and the only extra money comes from child support.

The other day I had a male friend drop by for a visit.
We were sitting on the couch catching up on each other’s lives and we somehow got on the topic of our kids.

I began complaining about how it’s my son Rick’s senior year of high school and that he has senior pictures, class ring and a special ceremony for graduates coming up in March that has to be paid for in January. In total, I’ve got about two thousand dollars in expenses that need to be taken care of right away and I need help.

“Sometimes I feel as if my ex-husband thinks that since child-support is taken from his pay, he doesn’t have to help with any other child care expenses.”

“Don’t get me started on that topic,” Jayden interrupted.

“Oh no…” I began. “Let’s get started on this topic.”

I sat up on the sofa, tucked my right foot under my left thigh and folded my arms.

This topic of child support used to come up quite often when I hosted a radio talk show.
If a man (or woman) is paying child support, does that mean they only have to pay the court ordered amount and nothing else?
If little Johnny or Susie needs a new pair of shoes and the custodial parent doesn’t have the money, is the child shit out of luck because daddy already paid child support for the month and ain’t giving up any more than that?

I knew this was a sensitive subject for Jayden because of his own situation.
Jayden has a son a year behind Rick. He has always been involved in his son’s life and taken care of him financially. Unfortunately, Jayden’s ‘baby mama’ has had him in and out of family court for one reason or another and regardless of what he’s done for his son, the court doesn’t usually have much sympathy for the father. Jayden’s son lives with him now and he doesn’t have to pay child support anymore, but it wasn’t easy stopping the support order. It took a year for him to get the court to suspend payments and although her son was no longer living with her, Jayden’s ‘baby mama’ kept every penny of the money.

“You have no idea what I’m going through,” I started. “You like to joke and call me rich, but you really don’t know my financial situation. I’m not going to tell you how much I get in child support, but when you consider all of the added expenses I have for Rick, child support doesn’t even cover a quarter of it.”

“Like what?” Jayden challenged.

“My ex-husband hasn’t bought school supplies in years. He used to at least help with SOME items, but I haven’t seen not a notebook, bookbag or pencil come in this house from him in a while. He hasn’t bought him school clothes, football cleats, nothing,” I listed.

“Doesn’t child support cover all of that?” Jayden asked. “I mean, I’m just playing devil’s advocate here,” He explained.

I wondered if he truly was playing devil’s advocate or if that was how he really felt.

“No!” I exclaimed. I was trying to keep calm, but I was getting heated. “There are groceries and all of the other things that add up. When we were going through mediation, we agreed that he would cover Rick’s health insurance and I would pay his co-pays.”

Jayden nodded in agreement.

“He’s always at the doctor for something and when he was playing sports, the boy was forever getting hurt. When he hurt his knee, I had the hospital bill, Radiology bill, physical therapy bill and prescription co-pays. He began going to see a counselor and that was eighty dollars a visit. My ex-husband changed his insurance plan to where he gets less deducted from his check for higher co-pay; Great for him, not so good for me.”

I started getting angrier and I could see a look of concern on Jayden’s face.

I explained to Jayden that we also agreed if Rick was to go to a private school, we would each pay half. That didn’t happen. A month before Rick was to begin school; my ex decided that he didn’t want to pay.

“Was this in writing somewhere?” Jayden asked.

“Yes, it was in our divorce papers.” I tersely replied.

“Signed by the judge? Stamped?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Why didn’t you fight it? If it was ordered that he pay half the tuition, you should have taken him to court.”

“That would have just cost me more money,” I explained. “I just figured that Rick is old enough to see what his father does and doesn’t do for him. I don’t trash talk his father in front of him, but Rick clearly sees what’s up and has said a few things of his own. (Screw) it! I’m not going to argue and fight with him. I’ll find a way to get it done and that’s what I always do. If he didn’t see the importance in his son getting a quality education, then that’s a shame.”

Jayden began to give his take on the topic from a male point of view.

“If I’m paying let’s say, a thousand dollars a month in child support and I’m paying for his extra-curricular activities and clothes and sneakers and she’s telling me that she doesn’t have any money? Where is this money going?”

“Do you believe that a mother should use her child support to pay part of her rent or mortgage?” I asked.

“Nope,” Jayden stated plain as day.

“But if it’s helping to put a roof over your child’s head, that’s not okay?”

“I guess so, but I just don’t want my money paying for the other kids that she has.”

“Well, that’s kind of understandable,” I laughed.

“If you calculate how much money I’ve paid in child support over the years, he has nothing to show for it. She didn’t even have a savings account set up for him.”

I could see where he was coming from and agreed that the boy should have at least had some money in the bank.

“I guess in my little perfect world I hope that just because two parents are no longer together, they can still work together to raise their child. Even if you don’t live with the child, you should still have some sort of responsibility. If I have to make a way to buy him some shoes or send him to camp, why can’t he do the same?”

Jayden agreed that children need fathers in their lives, but we agreed to disagree on the child support issue.

He’s a good friend and I appreciate what he does for his son.
If only there were more men like him.

Flipping the Script

2010-10-21T15:03:00.000-04:00

The last time I saw Mr. Goodbar, we shared a wonderfully romantic evening.
That was eight months ago.
He has been caught up in a personal case that has consumed his life and most of his time.
When everything exploded, my heart broke for Mr. Goodbar because it turned his world upside down and ended his career.
I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there. There are two sides to every story and I’ve only heard his. All I know is what I have personally experienced and that is of a man who is loving, caring, compassionate, supportive and extremely devoted to his family, friends and his job.

On the surface, Mr. Goodbar may look foreboding and intimidating.
He is tall, with very strong features and has a booming Barry White baritone, laced with a New York accent.
I love a Black man in a suit; especially when he knows how to put it together and carries himself with confidence and swag. That’s Mr. Goodbar; a whole lot of chocolate, in a designer suit!

When we met, I didn’t really know what road our relationship would take. We live in two different cities, several hours away. His career path is set in a different direction than mine and there would be no way he’d relocate to my area. I own my own home (which I worked hard to get) and I have no intention of leaving it anytime soon.
I also have a teenage son finishing up high school, so I’m really not planning on any major life changes in the near future. There really was no clear definition of what type of relationship he and I had.
I liked to romanticize it like he was my "Big" and I was his "Carrie"; the Black versions.

Since the trouble started for Mr. Goodbar, I haven’t been able to call him. He is no longer working and he changed his phone numbers.
Originally he told me that it wouldn’t be good for me to have his number because he didn’t want me to get caught up in his case or have my name or number come up during any pending investigations.
I understood… at that time, but as months passed and the spotlight seemed to be dimming on him, I wasn’t as understanding.
Our only means of correspondence was by him calling me from a private number or me emailing him, asking him to call.
I asked him why I wasn’t able to have his number and he gave me the same explanation.

I also began to notice that he would only call me while he was out, away from home. Once he arrived home, he’d wish me a good night.
I became increasingly suspicious and resentful.

I’ve been planning a birthday getaway to the Caribbean. For years, I’ve wanted to get away by myself, just me, myself and my thoughts. I don’t want to worry about girlfriends and whether they’re having a good time. I don’t want to have to follow their schedule or give in to what they want to do when I’d rather be doing something else. Most of all, I don’t want to worry about a man disappointing me, hurting me or just plain not making my birthday trip a special one. If I don’t have a good time, I have no one to blame but myself.

A lot of people have not been able to understand this and most men I know swear that I must be going with another guy. Mr. Goodbar is one of those men. When I told him that it was just me, myself and I, his response was, “Git da f*** outta heah!”
I assured him that it was the truth and it led to a discussion/debate about how I would feel if he announced he was going to the Caribbean by himself.
Knowing how I feel about getting away, I wouldn’t have a problem with it.
I also would understand, considering his current situation, his need to get away by himself.
Plus, I don’t have any papers on Mr. Goodbar, so he could do whatever he wants… which he’s probably doing already.

His delicate ego was fractured and he told me that he needed to get off the phone. At that point I was disgusted and was more than willing to end the conversation.
I chuckled to myself as I thought about how he traveled all over the country and the world in his previous job.
He met celebrities and dignitaries, attended parties in the Hamptons, professional sporting events and entertainment awards ceremonies. I longed to be on his arm at some of these events, but I never cried about it.

I was understanding and patient when he was busy with work and couldn't talk, but since he's been out of work he hasn't been as considerate.
He called one evening while I was trying to negotiate an interview with a spoiled, self-absorbed artist that likes to beat up on stage crew (but I digress) and I didn't really have time to talk.
He accused me of being short, even rude with him.

In the past, I’ve invited him on trips that I was taking or events I was attending, but I would always get the same excuse that with the job he had, he couldn’t just drop everything and get away. I gave him six months notice for Jelly Bean’s wedding in Arizona, but I ended up traveling alone.
I also couldn’t understand how he could be upset about me taking a trip by myself when there is no clear definition of what our relationship is.

I didn’t hear from Mr. Goodbar for almost a week. I became increasingly angry and resentful and sent him an email telling him that we needed to talk.
He called two days later.
We chatted, had a little small talk and then he asked me what I wanted to talk about.

“I hope you receive everything I’m saying and that we can talk openly and honestly without any tension.”

“Sure,” He guaranteed, “What’s on your mind?”

“After I didn’t hear from you last week, I began to think a lot about us and what it is that we have and I really don’t know. What do we have? Where are we going?”

He began to tell me that because of everything he’s going through he doesn’t know what the future holds for him and that I have to be patient and if I can’t be patient, he’d understand if I wanted to walk away.

Wow.

I reminded him that I had distanced myself from him last year and he asked me not to give up on him. Shortly after that, all hell broke loose with his situation.

Then he took it to another level by saying that he needs people in his life who are supportive and that if I care about him I wouldn’t be asking such questions.
I assured him that I was supportive and that I truly do care about him.

That’s when he REALLY flipped it and said that if I care so much, how come I never once asked him if he needed anything or never asked if he needed help financially.

Double WOW.

He began to make me out to be some sort of selfish woman who he’s helped out many times and bailed me out of predicaments I was in with no question or hesitation.
He actually had me doubting myself for a minute.
It wasn’t until a couple of days later when I remembered the things I’d done for him and how I recently offered to include him on my cell phone plan and give him Hootie’s old number because Hootie was no longer on my plan.
Of course he declined my offer because that would mean that I would have access to his call records. He didn’t admit it, but I’m sure that was his primary reason for not accepting.
I’m not the type of person that keeps a tally of what I do for people I care about, so I had forgotten about the things I had done.

I told him that I have been going through some major financial issues and that was why I hadn’t offered any support to him.

“Even if you didn’t have it to give, you still could have extended the offer,” He countered.

Hunh?

Then he completely turned the interrogation lamp on me by questioning why I hadn’t told him what I was going through.

I told him that he had his own worries and I didn’t want to burden him with my problem.
That’s when he accused me of hiding things from him.

Amazing.

I could tell this conversation was going nowhere but down and that my attitude was tanking right along with it. I became very short with him and finished every sentence with his name, “Yes, Mark”, “No, Mark”, “I already told you that, Mark.”
It wasn’t looking good.

We ended the conversation with him telling me that he would leave it up to me to decide what I want and if I want to continue any sort of relationship with him.
What is there to continue? I haven’t seen him in eight months; I don’t have his phone number and can’t call him when I need to hear his voice. There’s really no future for us. Everything is fine as long as it’s on Mr. Goodbar’s terms… I can’t live like that.

I told him I would think about it and haven’t contacted him since.
Neither has he.

Freudian Slip

2010-09-30T12:03:00.000-04:00

When it comes to spending money, I suffer from buyer’s remorse and will be sure to research the item I’m purchasing, poll friends, get advice and second opinions. Some might say I’m slightly neurotic.

I needed to get a new cell phone and after two weeks of searching and researching, I found a phone that suited my needs.

A lot of my newer contacts didn’t transfer and old numbers that had been deleted did.
I spent the evening going through my address book and alphabetically adding each contact manually. My next step was to RE-delete the numbers that had been previously deleted from my old phone.

The first number I tried to delete was that of one Corporate Thug (A Thin Line Between Love and Hate 7/28/08).
He and I had a hot and steamy / off and on relationship for nearly two years, but sadly that’s all it was.
It ended with me being angry with him over a business dealing and I haven’t spoken to him in almost two years.

Keep in mind that I am still trying to get the hang of my new phone and it’s not as user friendly as the manufacturer touts.
I swiped my index finger across his name to access the delete box, but my cell began dialing his number.
I quickly tapped the end button on the screen.
I swiped his name again… It dialed again.

Damn, damn, DAAAAAAMN!

There was no way the call could have connected because I caught it in enough time to disconnect.
My battery and my patience were both getting low, so I powered the phone down and put it away.

The next morning I was running late for a training class and threw my cell in my purse.
After my class I noticed there was a new text message and was surprised when I saw that it was from the Corporate Thug.

“Did you mean to call me yesterday?” His message read.

I had completely forgotten that my stupid phone had dialed him last night. Damn.

“No. I got a new phone and old contacts that had been deleted transferred to this phone. I was trying to delete you, but kept calling you.”

“Lol.” He replied.

“I was hoping it didn’t connect.”

“Lol. Well it did connect so before we go back to not speaking to one another, why don’t you take a second to tell me how things are going? How’s Rick? How’s the job? Life?”

“Damn, that’s a lot of info. That would require calling you on purpose.”

“Lol. Just answer the question. Why the hell haven’t you called me b4 now anyway? And how the hell does my number mysteriously pop up? You must’ve been at the airport (another smiley face and inside joke between him and I).”

“I told you… Got a new phone and deleted numbers got transferred. You’re like a cockroach! You won’t go away! Hehehehe.” I gave it right back to him.

“LOL. So you weren’t subconsciously trying to get your life back on the right track? Freudian slipping?” He inquired.

“On the right track??? LOLOLOLOL!” He had to be kidding. He was kidding, right?

“To answer SOME of your questions,” I began. “I am good, hate my job, Rick is a senior at a public school and I’m going back to school for my Masters.”

“When did he leave the Catholic school?? I thought you had your masters and PhD? You fooled me (another smiley face). I’m glad you are well. I moved.”

“He was miserable there. He’s Mr. Popularity at his new school and thriving academically. Where did you move and why?” I asked.

“See, now we’re talking (more smiley faces). I moved to the DMV area. I work for the government. Engineering stuff. Glad to hear he’s thriving. So how could you cast me away so easily? I used to give you what you wanted… LOL. All over town.”

“He’s got a big egooooooooo… such a huge ego,” I sang.

“Lol. Is he wrong? At the park… in the parking lot,” He began listing places we’d been. “Good times,” He continued.

“Seriously though,” I began. “I wish things had worked out differently for us… and you were AIGHT,” I ribbed.

“It’s nice to hear you say that. I’m smiling. It’s unfortunate. My apologies.”

“Thank you. So… what’s going on with you? Are you still in a ‘relationship’?” I inquired.

“I’m at a fork in the road… Not sure what to call it. What about you?”

“Same here. I don’t know what you would call it,” I said, thinking about Mr. Goodbar and the unusual 'thing' he and I have.

“Awwww, see what you’ve been missing for the last damn near two years? I feel you though. This relationship (crap) is for mortals only. People who give a (care).”

“I want a relationship. You already know that. I just don’t want the lies and BS.”

“You don’t want a relationship,” he chided.

“Okay, Smarty. What do I want?”

“A puppet. You want what you want when you want it.”

“You think you know me so well… Wrong! I may not want someone up under me 24/7, but I genuinely want someone in my life to love me for me. Seriously.”

“Lol. Ok. In the meantime what do you want?”

“Someone to spend quality time with, hang out with, share laughs with, have great sex with.”

“Lol. THERE it go!” As if he just had an a-ha moment.

“Freak. For a hot second I missed you,” I confessed. “POOF, gone!”

“Lol. Mission accomplished… My work here is done. So just AIGHT?”

“Yup.”

We continued chatting, but because the discussion took a turn from PG-13 to R, I’ve omitted those parts.

I realized that I wanted to end this text conversation on top… It was time to walk away with him wanting more. Although I have zero intention of getting involved with him again, flirting is fun and even more fun when you know they really want you.

“About to get in the car. No texting and driving. It was fun chatting with you. Maybe I won’t delete you.”

“You won’t.”
He’s right.

Zero to Sixty in Five Seconds

2010-09-05T22:53:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago I went to an area street festival to take pictures.
Each year they start the festival off with a parade.

New to the parade this year was a Black motorcycle club.
Oh, how sexy it was to see thirty Black men on all sorts of motorcycles from Harley’s to crotch-rockets.

I’d seen this club a couple of times before.
One time they were hanging out in the parking lot of a restaurant, and to my surprise they were playing chess.
I found out that most of the men in this club were businessmen and other Black professionals.
There they were, Black men, all shades of brown, wearing black leather vests, engines revving… I could feel the rumble from their engines under my feet.
It was so exciting, exhilarating, stimulating and just damn hot!
My camera clicked away.

As they rolled by I spotted a brown skinned brother with a light blue, button down oxford underneath a black leather motorcycle vest, cuffed jeans, bald head, bedroom eyes, beautiful smile with white teeth and dimples.

I don’t know if it was the heat from the sun, the heat from the motorcycles or the heat from the excitement of the moment, but we caught each other’s eye and I gestured to the back of his motorcycle and mouthed, “Give me a ride.”

He smiled and told me to get on.

I had on jeans, but managed to swing my right leg over the back of his bike.
I also had on sandals with a three inch heel and planted them on the foot pegs.
I rolled through the parade on the back of his bike, snapping pictures and holding on to Biker Boy’s shoulders.
“Let me know when you want to get off.” He said over the noise of the engines.
I nodded and held on tighter.

Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I let him ride me another block and tapped him on the shoulder.
I tried to make a graceful exit, but it was a bit difficult with jeans and heels.
He helped me down, I thanked him and he rode off.

After the parade, my sister pointed Biker Boy out.
He was sitting in a parking lot with his boys.
“Go get your man’s number.” My sister teased.
She didn’t have to say it twice. I was already looking for someone who had a pen and some paper.
I went over to a vendor, who had both and sauntered over to Biker Boy.

I explained that I would be at the festival most of the day taking pictures of the day’s events and that I didn’t have my cell phone on me. I handed him the paper and pen and asked him for his number.
He told me that he’d recently moved to town and was working at the University.

“What do you like to do in your free time?” Biker Boy questioned.

“Since it’s football season, I like to watch the games or go to a game when I can. If you don’t like football, it was nice meeting you.” I toyed.

“Nah, I’m not really a fan.” He joked.

I knew he was playing, but went along with it.
“Well, gotta go!” I teased, threw my hands up in the air and turned away.

“Get back here girl!” He demanded and playfully pulled me back to him.

We chatted and laughed a little bit more and I told him I needed to get back to my sister.
“Don’t forget your pen!” He called after me.

Since the ink had run out when he was trying to get my number, the pen was useless.
“You can keep it.” I laughed and kept walking.
He chased me and I tried dodging him as he attempted to stick the pen in the back pocket of my jeans.
I liked that he was playful.

It was very hot and muggy that day, so I went home to freshen up, relax and take a cat nap before heading back to the festival.
I sent Biker Boy a text message before dozing off, “Thanks for the ride… Now you have my number.”
I turned my phone off and went to sleep.
When I woke up, I turned my phone back on and received notification of two text messages and a voice mail message.
His last message read, “Where’d you go?”
I wrote back and told him that I had taken a nap and would be back at the festival in about an hour after I showered and changed.
After I got out of the shower, I called Biker Boy to let him know I was going to be delayed.
He was disappointed and asked when I’d be there.
I didn’t have an exact time and he kept pushing, which began to annoy me slightly.
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way.” I told him and got off the phone.

Back at the festival, I was busy taking pictures and trying to sweet talk the maintenance man from the neighborhood church to let me use their ladder to take bird’s eye shots of the crowd. While trying to close the deal with the maintenance man, Biker Boy called.
I couldn’t interrupt my negotiations, so I rejected the call.
Biker Boy called right back.
I let it ring.
He called two more times while I was on the ladder, getting my shots.
Once I was done, I returned his call and told him that I was busy.
Without an apology, he told me that he was still at the festival and asked if he could see me.
We found each other in the crowd and he took me down a side street so we could talk quietly.
“It’s crazy how we hit if off like we did. Isn’t that weird?” He Inquired.

“No, sometimes it’s just chemistry.” I dryly replied, but I wasn’t really feeling any chemistry with him anymore.

“Why is someone like you single?” He questioned.

I gave him the whole, “Good men are hard to find around here” explanation and asked if he was single.
He told me that he had been seeing someone off and on, but it wasn’t anything serious.
“I wonder if she sees things the same way.” I inquired.
He tried to assure me that “it wasn’t like that” and that things were going nowhere with their relationship.

“Time to go.” I thought to myself.

“You’re so beautiful!” He exclaimed and repeated several times, all the while staring me down.
I began to feel uncomfortable and told him that I needed to get back to the festival.

“Can I see you later tonight?” He begged.

I explained that I was going to dinner with my sister and that I was trying to spend as much time with her while she was in town.
He asked where my sister and I were going to dinner and trying to be as evasive as possible; I lied and told him that we hadn’t decided on a place.

He hugged me and attempted to kiss me, but I turned my cheek.

Later that evening, during dinner with my sister, I received two phone calls PLUS two text messages from Biker Boy.
I grew increasingly annoyed.

Early the next morning, a pleasant dream was interrupted by a text message reading, “Although we’ve only known just a day, it feels like we’ve been dating for a long time.”
DATING??
That was it.
He had woken me up and I was beginning to see flashing neon signs warning me that danger was ahead. I had to nip this in the bud.

“Good morning. I got your text and we need to slow things down. We just met, but things are moving at light speed.”
He apologized, said that he would give me space and back off.

I got another text that afternoon, “Did I run you off? I’m just saying hello.”
I didn’t reply.

Monday morning… “Good morning. What happened? I want to be your friend. Call me sometime, okay?”
Ignore.

I received two more messages that afternoon… “Hey Boo, I like your pretty eyes and they way you look at me. I like your pretty smile and the way you feel in my arms when I hold you. Just tell me what is wrong.”
BOO? The way he holds me?
He gave me a HUG!

I sent him a message informing him that I was at work, VERY busy and I will call him when I leave (to shut things down!).

His reply, “That’s better.”
WHOA!

I began to hear Glenn Close’s voice in my head, “I will not be ignored, Dan!”
I started thinking that I might find a bunny boiling on my stove soon if I didn’t handle things gently with Biker Boy.

How could a seemingly intelligent, educated, professional man turn Fatal Attraction after spending no more than forty-five minutes with me?

I called him that evening and told him that he and I wanted different things and that he was in a completely different place than me. I told him that he was moving way too fast for me and it concerned me, considering that we just met. I also explained to him that I felt like he was pressuring me and that he really upset me by not giving me my space when I asked for it.
He apologized and said that he wouldn’t call me anymore. He said he would love for us to be friends, but would wait for me to call him.

The conversation ended amicably and all was good in my world.
No dead bunnies.

That was Monday.

“I miss talking to you”, Appeared in my inbox Tuesday evening.

He said he wouldn’t call, but didn’t say anything about texting me I guess.

The next morning while I was getting ready for work I received another text… “Good morning Boo, why are you running from me? I won’t hurt you. I’ll leave you alone before I do. Trust me. I know it’s hard for you to trust me, but don’t take the easy way out.”

He won’t hurt me?

Twenty minutes later… “Don’t misunderstand, “I’m not a stalker. I just like you and want to get to know more of you, but if that’s not what you want, just tell me. Don’t hide.”

That was it. Now I was pissed (and beginning to get creeped out).
I had been handling him with kid gloves, but guys like him need to be cussed out before they get the message.

I called him back and his voice was filled with joy when he answered the phone.
Before he could say anything else, I lit into him, “You told me that you would not call me anymore or make me feel pressured, but you’ve called and texted me several times. You are upsetting me and I’m starting to get angry.”

“Why?” He asked, sounding like a hurt child.

Was he serious? He seriously didn’t get it.

“Why? Because you said you would respect my wishes, but continue to disrespect me by calling and texting me. I’m beginning to get a little concerned.”

“No,” He began. “You don’t have to be concerned. I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t call me or text me anymore.” I demanded and hung up the phone.

A week and a half passed without a peep from Biker Boy… until yesterday, “I’m single now. I really would like to give it a shot if it’s okay. If not, I understand. I really blew it with you. Call me or text me sometime.”
Biker Boy has been blocked.

Friends and family have expressed their concern, but I’m hoping this is the end of things.

I don’t look for trouble or men, but they both seem to find me and they usually go hand in hand.

Flying Blind

2010-09-03T13:07:00.000-04:00

I would not want to be a college student in this day and age.

Nowadays, it’s a much more competitive environment. Colleges are looking for strong SAT scores, high GPA’s, extra-curricular activities and community involvement.
Once a young person gets into the college of their choice, they are then competing with other students who are just like them or even better for scholarships, grants and eventually jobs.
This is why I open my doors to student interns. I remember what it was like for me in college and especially after graduation. If you don’t have some sort of hands on experience in your field, you are at a great disadvantage when it comes time to apply for jobs.
I believe in putting my interns to work.
They don’t fetch me coffee or my lunch.
I don’t have them doing meaningless, tedious work like filing or alphabetizing my rolodex. My interns get thrown into the water right away and they either sink or swim.
I’ve only had a couple of sinkers over the years.
Most recently, Nadia.
Nadia came highly recommended from a former professor.
After spending two years at a Historically Black College, Nadia came back home and is attending a local college. Just like previous interns, Nadia felt comfortable enough to open up to me about her life and her struggles.
It really means a lot to me that my interns don’t just see me as their supervisor, but as someone they can talk to.
I’ve established great relationships with my interns and after their internships have ended, they’ve graduated and moved away, I still get occasional updates from them.
Nadia had her own issues that she needed to work out and it interfered with her internship. Sadly, I had to let her go. She came to see me after I fired her and we had a nice talk. She told me that she will always remember the advice I gave her, that she loved me and asked if I would be her mentor. The fact that I had to let her go, but she still wanted to have me as her mentor really touched me. I admit that I cried that afternoon.

A few weeks later, Nadia emailed me with an update on college and the goings on in her life. Towards the end of her email, she began to tell me about her best friend’s father and how he’s a nice man and a great father and is looking for a good woman. She told him about me and because of the job that I do, he knew of me and was interested in meeting me. She gave me his phone number and told me that he was expecting my call.

I was a little upset with Nadia for putting me on the spot like that, but I have been hoping to find a good man LOCALLY and what if he really was ‘the one’? I didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.

I waited a few days to call, but before I did, I tried to get a little info on this guy from people I know who work in the same field as him. I didn’t have any luck reaching my sources, so I decided to go ahead and give him a call.

When I first called him, he was sleeping and told me that he’d give me a call back the next day. My plan was that if he didn’t get back to me, I wasn’t going to bother. I’d take it as him not being interested and keep it moving.

He was a man of his word and called the following morning. We chatted for a while and the conversation flowed. He had a good sense of humor and I felt comfortable talking to him. He gave me a call later that afternoon and I decided that it might be best to meet him right away.
If we continued the phone conversations for several days or longer, I might discover more interesting things about him and find myself attracted to a man I’ve never met.
Then what would happen when we finally do meet and there’s no chemistry?

I asked if he wanted to meet for ice cream.
Going for ice cream is casual, it’s not really a date and if things aren’t going well, I could leave as soon as my ice cream is gone.
He agreed.

“You already know what I look like, but I have no idea who to look for.” I noted.

“Nadia didn’t tell you what I look like? Oh… You’re very trusting!” He quipped.

He was joking, but I thought about that for a second and he was right, I truly was flying blind here!
I had no idea what this man looked like and here I was going on a blind date with him.

“She knows what type of man I’m attracted to.” I wasn’t sure if I was assuring him or myself. “So, what do you look like?” I asked a second time.

“Well, I’m light skinned…” He began.

“How light?” I interrupted. Light skinned might be trying to make a comeback, but Nadia knows that I’m attracted to men with darker complexions. I could hear the buzzer ringing loudly, like he had just given the wrong answer on ‘The Family Feud’.

“I wear glasses, I’m chubby and I’m short.” He continued. BUZZZ, BUZZZ, BUZZZ!

I started laughing because I figured he had to be joking.
He was just saying all of these things because Nadia told him that I like big, chocolate, melt in your mouth, Corporate Thugs and he was lowering my expectations so I could be pleasantly surprised.

“How short?” I asked, playing along with his little game.

“About five feet, four inches.” He answered. “When I have lifts in my shoes”. He added.

Now I KNEW he was joking because there’s no way he could have been a Marine and a police officer and be the size of Prince.

“Okay, well I’ll be on the lookout for you. See you at seven.” I said and hung up the phone.

As I was getting ready, one of my informants finally called me back. I double checked on the whole height thing and my informant stated that he was about 5’9”.
Five-nine is a little shorter than my liking, but I could at least wear heels and he’d still have two or three inches over me.

I decided that since we were just meeting for ice cream, I’d wear something casual. I put on a pair of cropped pants, a cute, embellished t-shirt and a pair of beaded flip-flops.

I was running a few minutes late and called him on the way to the ice cream shop to let him know I was a little behind. When he answered, he told me that he was going to be late as well.

I arrived at the ice cream shop and waited in the parking lot for a few minutes. Several minutes passed and I began to grow impatient. I called him back and he said he was about three miles away, so I decided to wait inside. He’d lost several cool points for being more than fifteen minutes late.

Women’s intuition is something else.

Sometimes we have this sixth sense that is right on point and when I saw him walk through the doors of the ice cream shop, I knew right away that he was the man I’d been talking to on the telephone.

He was light skinned, wore glasses and was chubby; just like he’d described.
He was also short.
I didn’t realize just how short until I stood up to greet him and as I did, my head passed his.
I had a good inch over him!
Keep in mind that I had on flip-flops and I am also five-three!

My source was way off with this one because this guy was nowhere near five feet, nine inches!
If he was five-nine, then that would make me five-ten and I missed my calling as a runway model!

He had on a Farmer Brown plaid shirt that was tucked into a pair of Wranglers.
He also had on enough gold to accessorize the entire Borough of Queens and as we sat and ate our ice cream, I noticed that he had fingernails.
No, not manicured and clipped fingernails. He had nails almost as long as mine!
I was done.
I tried to salvage the evening with conversation, but as hard as I tried, that was going nowhere.

I thanked him for the ice cream and left.
No hug. No handshake, not even a fist bump.

“Do you think your intern set you up with this guy to get back at you for firing her?” Esmerelda choked between laughs.

I didn’t know for sure, but I called Nadia to find out what the heck she was thinking.

She apologized and asked if she should retire from the matchmaking business.
I responded with a firm, “Yes”.

Friends have tried fixing me up with men they thought might be good for me, but each experience was a bust.

No more blind dates.
I’m done.
I may not have the best of luck on my own, but at least I know what I’m getting into… with my eyes wide open.

Pardon the Interruption

2010-06-30T14:23:00.000-04:00

Neither of my children have had perfect timing.

I went into premature labor with both my boys and after months of bed rest, they each decided when they were ready to make their entrance into this world.

When you have your first child, seasoned parents warn you, “When your baby’s sleeping, you should be sleeping.”
I didn’t heed that advice in the beginning and would take the opportunity to clean or watch television or anything but nap as my child rested peacefully.
Then, just as I would doze off into that first stage of deep sleep, the baby would stir.
I’d lie there hoping if I kept still and quiet he’d go back to sleep.
No chance.

It’s like they know…

Think of all the times your children have interrupted something you were doing or had planned; whether it was something as simple as you sitting down to eat your nice, hot meal and they announce they have to go potty, it’s NOT number one AND they need you to wipe their bottom… or your husband comes home with concert tickets for your favorite performer, you’re dressed, ready to go, babysitter is in position and Junior walks into the living room looking pale as a ghost and projectile vomits all over your new outfit.

I’m telling you, they know…

Now that I’m single and my boys are grown, I still find myself strategically planning my alone time.
Hootie has moved out and is living with his girlfriend Mia.
Rick is still at home, but spends every-other-weekend over his father’s house.

If I want to lie on the couch and catch up on my DVR, soak in the bubble bath with candles and a glass of wine, have the girls over or even have some grown and sexy time, I would prefer that neither of my children is around.

When Hootie went away to college, and then into the military, it was a lot easier planning Mommy time.
Once he moved back home, my social life came to a screeching halt.
Hootie could go out six nights a week, but the ONE night that I decided to have guests over or maybe even have the company of a male companion he would choose to stay home.

One night in particular, I asked him to hang out because I had plans at home.

“Where am I supposed to go?” Hootie whined.

“Are you serious right now?” I asked. “Go to a movie, go hang out over a friends' house, go do something! You act like I’m kicking you out on your behind in the cold or something.”

“I don’t have any money to do anything and I don’t have much gas in my car.”

I stood there in disbelief. Was he trying to get me to PAY him to leave?

It was easy getting Rick out of the house because all I had to do was say I’d drive him and his girlfriend to the movies and give him money to treat her to ice cream after. I was not about to do the same with my grown son.

“I don’t care where you go, but I will be back here by nine o’clock and I would like for you to be gone.” I demanded.

Needless to say, when I returned home that evening, his car was still in the driveway. I was livid.

Hootie is famous for ‘blocking’ my Mommy time.
He has since he was a baby.
When he was two years old, he caught Mommy and Daddy in a compromising position. Hootie was supposed to have been napping, but walked into our bedroom, ordering Daddy to get off his Mommy!

Now that he’s moved out (hopefully for the last time), he has still managed to interrupt my Mommy time.

He dropped by unannounced twice to grab some things out of the attic. One of the times I was napping and the other I was relaxing on the couch, enjoying a great movie.

He doesn’t have a key anymore, so each time he comes by without warning and knocks on my door, I don’t exactly give him a warm greeting.

I had a special gift for Hootie and planned on wrapping each box separately and presenting each present one at a time until the last box was unwrapped and he saw his surprise.

The surprise never happened because he showed up at my house prematurely, while I was still at work and the unwrapped boxes were sitting on the couch.

He called me on my cell to let me know where he was.

“Hi, I’m at the house, where are you?”

“Hootie, clearly it’s only 5:00 and I’m still at work.”

“Okay, well Mia and I are here.” He announced.

I became instantly annoyed. “Why are you there now when you know I don’t get home until at least six o’clock?”

“Rick is here…” He began.

“I don’t care if Rick is there. You just showed up, my surprise for you is on the couch and I’m sure you’ve seen it!” I interrupted.

“I saw the boxes, but I quickly looked away and asked Rick to hide them so I wouldn’t see what it was.” Hootie explained.

“It doesn’t matter now.” I sighed. “Clearly you saw the Kodak box and figured out what it was.”

Rick tried to assure me that he hadn’t spoiled my surprise, but I’d had enough.

“You know what Hootie? I’ve been thinking about this and I love you dearly and I enjoy seeing you, but you’ve got to start calling me before you come over.”

“Oh, come on… Are you serious?” Hootie protested.

“Yes I am.” I stated. “You’ve never had the best timing and each time you’ve come over recently I was trying to relax. If I’m lounging around the house in my underwear or if I’m soaking in the tub, I don’t want to be interrupted. I don’t go over your grandfather’s house without calling first. It’s a matter of respect. And what if I have a man over?

“Well, that’s already happened.” Hootie coolly replied.

“Yes, and it’s not going to happen again because from now on you’re going to call me before you come over… Plain and simple. I’ll be home in fifteen minutes so I can give you your surprise”. I hung up the phone before he could argue his case any further.
There was no more discussing the matter.
I need my space and he’s got to respect it.

My life feels like that Viagra commercial where the couple has decided that “the time is right” and just as they’re heading upstairs, their adult son shows up with the wife and grandkids.

They chose the right family for that commercial because I’d probably shut the door in their smiling faces and lock it!

Rick has about five years left before his privileges expire and he’ll be standing out in the cold with his brother.

I don’t care where you go, but you gotta (You know the rest…)

2010-06-24T17:37:00.001-04:00

Ten months ago I welcomed a tall, lanky teenage boy into my home.
I had always wanted to host an exchange student from a foreign country and this opportunity seemed to come at the right time.

Loyal readers of my blog (you know who you are…) know all about Hakeem.
I chose not to post all of the ups and downs of his ten month stay, but let’s just say that his time with my family has not been the smoothest.

When I learned more about my future exchange son, I was a bit concerned about cultural issues because he is African and has been raised Muslim.
I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable in our home and I worried that he might have thought we were too liberal or we were exposing him to things that went against his Muslim beliefs.
I soon learned that I had nothing to worry about.
As much as his mother would like him to be, Hakeem is not a practicing Muslim and since he has been away from home hasn’t made an effort to pray, attend mosque or participate in any holidays.

When we picked Hakeem up at the airport, he had on khaki pants and a khaki safari shirt with Nikes.
Rick was pleased to see that Hakeem had good taste in kicks, but felt Hakeem needed a little help with his wardrobe.
Hakeem noticed how the boys tucked their jeans inside the tongues of their sneakers, but since he didn’t have jeans, he would tuck his khakis inside his shoes.
It was cute to see him try and be like the boys around him.
That cuteness soon faded…

I took Hakeem shopping one day and while we were out he said he needed new underwear. It didn’t dawn on me until MUCH later that the underwear Hakeem had were perfectly fine; Fruit of the Loom tightie-whities.
Hakeem wanted boxer shorts and I thought it was great that a fifteen year old boy was making an effort to have new undies.
Silly, naïve me…

Christmas came and all of Hakeem’s presents were new clothes.
Even my ex-husband and former mother-in-law gave him new outfits.
Hakeem morphed into a jeans sagging, boxer-short showing, high-top wearing, wanna-be thug.
I found myself constantly telling him to pull his pants up.

As his clothing changed, so did Hakeem’s attitude. He became more rude, insolent, belligerent, lazy and just plain horrible.
There were a couple of times that we had to have representatives from the exchange program sit down with us to help us work through some of the issues we were having. They asked if I would prefer Hakeem went to live with another family, but to me, that felt like giving up.
I thought we could get past any of the problems we were having.
Things never really got better. There was always underlying tension.

Hakeem made no effort to make friends and physical activity was the least of his interests.
If he had it his way, he would prefer to watch MTV, Nickelodeon, The Cartoon Network and play video games all day.
There was nothing more annoying to me than coming home after a long day at work to see him sitting in the same spot and staring at the television.
When I told him I didn’t want him in front of the TV when I got home from work, he chose to go in his room and sleep instead.

During school breaks, I had to tell him to get out of his pajamas and put clothes on. He would stay in his pajamas all day watching television.

“He’s not feeling homesick, is he?” Antoine asked.

“NO, the boy is just lazy. Even his mother said that’s all he did at home.” I sighed. “I've actually been thinking about sending an e-mail to his mother about how he's been behaving.”

“Really? What’s been going on? Do you think he has issues because you’re a female?”

“No... Just issues. I had to write him a note the other day telling him about his behavior. I told him to take a good look around and see how good he has it here and then check his manners. He can be rude, defensive and short... I opened my doors to him and I DON'T have to keep him here if he continues to have an attitude. I am not going to allow him to lie on the couch all day when there are TWO full garbage bags in the kitchen, dishes in the sink, toothpaste all over the mirror in the bathroom, clothes on his bedroom floor... And when I tell him to do something, he wants to respond in a loud and disrespectful way towards me? I think not...”

“Really? He trips like that? And you haven't cussed him out yet? Oh, hell naw!”

“It's just different when it's not your kid. They tell you to treat the exchange students just as you treat your own children, but I can't knock him out.”

Sometimes I can't figure out how much is him trying to be like American boys... Or at least the one's he sees in school.
I went to his school for Career Day.
He didn’t know I’d be doing a presentation in his class. The bell rang and the students were filing into the room. As Hakeem walked into the room, his teacher told him to take his hat off. He had a black knit cap sitting on the top of his head… Not pulled down… It was resting on the top of his head like a nipple to a baby bottle!

He didn’t see me standing in the corner.
I walked up behind him as he was about to sit at his desk.

“Give me the hat.” I demanded, with my hand extended.

He had a look of surprise on his face and handed the hat over.

“Now pull up your pants.” I ordered.

“Dang! I’m glad my mama ain’t here!” A girl in the classroom exclaimed, all the while laughing at Hakeem’s humiliation.

The boys’ last day of school was this past Friday and Hakeem was supposed to be leaving for Africa, but I asked the liaison from the exchange program if he could stay for the Fourth of July.
I figured, what were a few extra days with him if I’d already done ten months with this child? I figured wrong.

Hakeem is no longer with us.

I had reached my breaking point and Hakeem chose the wrong day to be defiant.
I told him that if he wasn’t going to do what I said then to pack his bags and go.

He chose the latter.

I told him to call his liaison to come get him, but she wasn’t home.
Since he wasn’t able to reach her he called the State Department.
That’s right, the U.S. Government State Department.
That’s like grounding a child and they go and call Child Protective Services on you!
Once I discovered who he was on the phone with, I remained calm, but wished I could strangle him right then and there.

I called another representative from the exchange program.
She came to get him for the evening so we could have a night to cool off.
I told her that if he apologized he could come home.
He wasn’t willing to do so.

This child lived in my home for ten months, ate me out of house and home, caused me more stress than my own children and now wants to give me his behind to kiss.
I told the rep that she could keep him.
Our liaison and her husband were fed up with his antics and they refused to allow him to finish out the remainder of his time with them.
She told me that she was actually surprised he lasted this long and hadn’t been sent home months ago.

I wrote an email to his mother, but got no response.

My hope was that since he and my son Rick were so close in age, they would develop a bond that they would keep throughout their adult lives.
I had hoped he would become my third son and his future children would be my grandchildren that I could visit in Africa.

I can’t really say that he will be missed.
They haven’t been able to find anyone to take him until the fifth and at this point I’m not too concerned.
As the saying goes, “I don’t care where you go, but you gotta get the hell outta here!”

Party of One

2010-06-18T14:21:00.000-04:00

I went to a free concert in one of our area parks last night.
I had been looking forward to seeing this group since it was announced earlier this spring, but after working a full day yesterday, I was tired and not really in the mood to go to the show.
I decided that I would have regretted not going because this group doesn’t perform in our area often and the last time they were here I really enjoyed their performance.

I went by myself and although I didn’t know anyone, by the time I left I had made a bunch of new “friends”.
It was a lot of fun dancing with complete strangers, rocking to the music and laughing with them at some of the people who had a little too much to drink during the show.

I shared my experiences with Antoine and William this morning and they both asked if I went to the concert alone.
Although it might have been nice to have a friend join me or maybe even a male companion, I had a fabulous time by myself.

I do a lot of things solo and it amazes me that there are so many people (especially women) who are uncomfortable doing things alone.

Towards the end of my marriage when things weren’t very happy at home, I would go off by myself to the movies, dinner, the gym or whatever.
My ex-husband’s work schedule varied and if I got home from work and saw his car in the driveway, I would head to the nearest movie theater to see what was showing.
I also kept a bag in my car with my work out gear, just in case I didn’t feel like going home after work (which was quite often).

On Sundays, I would wake up early in the morning to get the grocery shopping done, go to the gym for about three hours, walk around the mall or catch a movie.
I spent a lot of time at the gym; just me and my mp3 player.
When my ex-husband and I split up, I was in the best physical shape of my life!

Last Friday, an R&B icon performed at a sold out concert.
This was another one of those times where I would have regretted not going, so after not being able to get a free ticket from my job, I went down to the box office to purchase my own.

“Just one?” the gentleman asked.

“Yup, just me.” I happily replied.

Since the show was just about sold out, there weren’t too many good seats available. The guy scanned the seating chart to see what he could find for me.

“I’m looking to see if there are any orphan seats in some of the lower sections.” He explained.

“Orphan seats?” I questioned.

“That’s when a whole row has been purchased except for one single seat in that row.”

How awful, I thought, but if this man could get me a better seat in a good section, an orphan seat it is!

“Well, find me an orphan seat!” I encouraged.

The man found a good one for me; I purchased my ticket and bounced out of the box office feeling like Charlie from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory with the golden ticket in my Nine West bag.

The concert was amazing and I must say, so was I!
I wore a dress that showed off 'Thelma and Louise' and they put on quite a performance!
I figured if I was going to go alone, the girls and I would strut in there looking fabulous.
I ended up sitting next to a woman who was on her own that night as well. She and I didn’t know each other, but we became fast friends as we swayed, clapped, cheered and sang along to the classics.
After the show, I thanked her for being my ‘date’ for the evening. She laughed and did the same.

That Sunday I had dinner with my good friend Patricia and told her all about the concert.

“Why didn’t you ask me to go?” Patricia complained.

“Because I didn’t want to hear you say, ‘HOW MUCH?’”
All Patricia could do was laugh because she knew it was true.

That’s the reason why I choose to do a lot of things by myself; because I don’t want to have to worry about whether my friends are having a good time and if they’re not having a good time, I don’t want to hear them complaining when I’m actually enjoying myself (or at least trying to).

There’s also the matter of going with a friend that likes to talk during a movie.
I have ADD and I need to focus and take everything in.
There’s nothing worse than sitting next to someone who’s having a detailed conversation with you just as the plot is revealed.
I paid ten dollars and dammit I want to get my money’s worth!

After my last birthday (there was a bit of drama during my birthday dinner with the girls), I decided that I wasn’t going to rely on my friends or whatever man that happens to be in my life at the time to help me have a happy birthday.
I’ve always wanted a Caribbean birthday getaway so I went to my local travel agent and booked a trip to Jamaica.
If I don’t have fun, there’s nobody to blame but myself.

While talking to Luke Skywalker the other night he asked me three different ways if I was going alone.

It’s crazy how some men seem to have a hard time accepting the fact that I am taking a trip to Jamaica by myself. I guess to them, single woman plus Jamaica equals “How Stella Got her Groove Back” or they are reminded of Eddie Murphy’s warning about sending your woman to the Caribbean by herself where there’s a good chance she might be seduced by Dexter St. Jacques and his “three” legs.

“Yes. What part of yes don’t you understand?” I defiantly asked.

“Why do you want to go by yourself?” I guess this was curious to him or his ego was being challenged.

“Because I don’t want to worry about a man or anyone else. I can get up when I want, eat when I want, sleep when I want… I want to go alone, have a good time, relax and just DO ME.” I retorted.

I guess once he had determined and was truly convinced that I was not going to be in the company of another man in Jamaica, Luke Skywalker asked if he could join me.

I wasn’t really surprised that he tried to invite himself.

“Why should you go with me?” I defiantly asked.

“I’ve never been to Jamaica, so I figured you and I could discover the island together.” Luke answered.

Considering he’s a pilot, I was surprised to hear that Luke had never been to Jamaica. He said he’s been to most of the other Caribbean islands and has flown into Jamaica, but never vacationed there.

Luke has been trying to win me back since the whole, “I’m going to be a daddy, I’m not going to be a daddy” incident and I haven’t made it easy for him.

“I’ll think about it.” I told him. “If you truly make an effort to spend more time with me and things are going well, I might not have a problem with you joining me for PART of my time in Jamaica. I really have been looking forward to some alone time, so I hope you understand that I would prefer if you come for only a couple of days.”

Luke was pleased with my decision, but truth be told, I don’t really see the two of us strolling hand in hand on the beaches of Montego Bay.

I don’t know why some people (women especially) have such a hard time doing things by themselves.
Let go of the stigma!
It’s all in your head.
Who cares what people think if you get seated at a table for one in a restaurant or you walk up to the ticket window at the movie theater and ask for one ticket for the next showing!
One is NOT the loneliest number!
Sometimes you can be in a relationship and still be alone. There’s nothing wrong with a little alone time.

Try it, you just might like it.
I rather enjoy my own company.

With Friends like That...

2010-06-03T15:16:00.000-04:00

When I was nineteen, I enrolled in our area community college.
I was so excited and ready to take those first steps towards my future.
On my first day of school, I entered the counseling office to meet with my advisor. I had on a cute little neon green, ribbed dress with a mock turtle neck, a denim jacket, bare legs and neon green flats. These of course, were the Eighties, so I was rockin’ my little outfit!

You never know who’s watching you and what I didn’t realize at the time is that there was another young lady sitting in the waiting area sizing me up.
I didn’t notice her, but after we became friends, she told me that as she watched me bounce into the counseling office she wondered why I was so happy.
I guess my happiness bothered her.

We were introduced later on by a mutual friend. The three of us sat in the cafeteria talking. Our mutual friend suggested we do something after classes that day, but I said I had to pick my son up from day care.
It was at that moment that the young lady from the counseling office (Dawn) decided that I must not be so bad since I was a single mom like her.
I was now at ‘her’ level so she let go of some of her jealousy towards me. That was the basis of our friendship.

Dawn and I became what I thought were the best of friends.
We did everything together; spent the night over each other’s apartments, shared each other’s clothes and shared our secrets.
Dawn and I were so close that we started calling each other sisters and our toddler sons became instant cousins.

Dawn was on social services, but did her best to hook her apartment up as well as her wardrobe.
Her place was furnished better than mine and I had a full time job. Her attic was used as her ‘dressing room’ because she had so many clothes the only place she could store them was in her attic.
Dawn was very good at ‘working the system’. Whether it was getting money from the County, men or friends, Dawn knew how to manipulate and connive.
She would switch price tags on items in the store and if it came down to it, she would simply take it.

Dawn met men of position; Men who were successful and established in their careers.
Her goal was to find someone that would take care of her. I actually believed that she would meet that one guy who would be able to give her the colonial style home in a cul de sac with the Lexus in the driveway.
Dawn would do whatever it took to get a man, even if he was someone else’s. It didn’t matter if he was married or dating her best friend.
Yes, Dawn had sex with a guy I was dating. I cut him off and forgave Dawn because at that time I believed that men come and go, but friendship is forever.
I was so wrong.

As the years passed, Dawn and I experienced all sorts of life changes.
She had another child, I got married, she had a third child and I earned my degree. I was growing and Dawn was still trying to get over.

I finally accomplished my goal of getting a job in my field of study.
This was a very high-profile job and I began to make a name for myself in my community.
The young woman that sat in the counseling office fifteen years earlier sizing me up finally showed me who she really was, and it wasn’t my friend.
Yes, I had seen all of the things she had done in the past, but I believe in seeing the good in people and even though she had crossed me before I never thought she’d burn me the way she did.

It first began with a phone call.
I was sitting at home one evening when Dawn called and we began chatting as we always did. It wasn’t until she started bringing up things that she and I had done in the past and then began reminding me of my past indiscretions, that I thought something wasn't right.
I sat there wondering why she was bringing all of this up when it dawned on me; this bitch has me on three way!
I didn’t know who was on the other end, but what I did know was that I was going to get off the phone. I told her I needed to start making dinner for the kids and hung up the phone.

Maybe a month later, I got another phone call. This time the call was from my boss. He asked if I knew someone that worked at a particular place and I immediately told him that my friend Dawn did.
I felt like I was on the old game show, ‘This is Your Life’ as my boss ran down excerpts of my life and my marriage and other intimate details my boss shouldn’t know, but Dawn did.
I was stunned.
Dawn was out there running her mouth and putting my personal business out on the streets for anyone who wanted to listen.
This was the woman who was supposed to be my best friend; my SISTER. I could have easily confronted her; told her that she was no good and cussed her out, but I just walked away.
Dawn must have figured out that word had gotten back to me because she didn’t call me again.

Years later, I was in the grocery store when a young woman approached me. People ‘recognize’ me when I’m out running errands and depending on what I’m doing at the time I try to be polite and say hello.
This young woman came towards me as if she was going to hug me and feeling as if my personal space was about to be violated, I pulled back.

“Do I know you?” I asked, surveying her face.

“Oh wow, you don’t know your own Goddaughter!” She replied.

It took a second for my brain to comprehend and when it did, “Ashley?” I couldn’t believe that Dawn’s third child, my Goddaughter, was standing before me. She was all grown up and beautiful, just like I thought she’d be.
My ex-husband always joked that if Dawn couldn’t do anything else, she could make pretty babies.

Ashley and I chatted for a while and she told me she just graduated high school. She said she was living with her mother, but wasn’t happy about it.
I gave her my phone number and gave her strict instructions to not give my number to her mother.

That evening I called my sister to tell her I had run into Ashley.
My sister told me that Dawn was living with a man, had a fourth child and that she was even drinking.
I couldn’t really believe Dawn an alcoholic until I saw it for myself.

I invited Ashley to a Memorial Day barbecue I was having at my home.
I left a message on her voice mail and didn’t know if she would actually make it to the barbecue.
As we were sitting on my patio that afternoon, I heard my dad greet someone walking up the driveway.
I turned to see who it was and as I did, I saw an older version of Ashley peek around the corner of my house.
It was Dawn. I was stunned!
Behind Dawn, Ashley stood frantically waving her arms in the air, mouthing, “I’m sorry!”

Dawn came up to me and I slowly got out of my chair to greet her.
She hugged me and as she did, I smelled the strong scent of alcohol. This was not the cute woman I knew ten years earlier. She was heavier, her eyes were yellow and she was missing teeth. The worst thing though was seeing her drunk.

I hugged Ashley and told her I was glad she came. As we embraced, I whispered in her ear, “I’m gonna kick your butt.”

“I’m sorry Auntie.” Ashley explained, “I was so excited when I heard your voicemail that I ran outside to tell my brother and when I did, mommy heard me and told us that she wanted to come. We tried to leave without her, but couldn’t.”

I couldn’t be mad at her.
I was upset that her mother knows where I live now, but I’m hoping that she has enough sense to not ever step foot on my property again. If she does, I may just have to tell her what I should have told her ten years ago.

I called my sister to tell her about my surprise visitor.
She told me that the man Dawn is living with is emotionally abusive and reminds Dawn everyday that she’ll never amount to anything.
He won’t let her leave with their daughter.
With no job and no money, Dawn is stuck.
My sister believes that Dawn started drinking because of her situation at home.
I wouldn’t wish anyone to ever have to go through emotional abuse… or any kind of abuse for that matter. Not even Dawn.

For years Dawn tried to catch herself a man that would take care of her. In a cruel twist, she got what she wanted.

As the Single Mom’s World Turns

2010-05-12T16:29:00.000-04:00

I am having a heart attack.

I’m sitting in my office… alone… short of breath… chest pains… I am going to die and no one is going to find my lifeless body until building services comes in to empty my garbage at six p.m. By then it will be too late.

If I go, I want you all to know that Malik did it.
I’m not sure what the charges would be; involuntary manslaughter, second degree homicide, but he is the cause of my heart attack and early demise.

“You’re not having a heart attack.” William assured me. “It’s probably an anxiety attack. What the hell happened?”

My office is tucked away in a slightly secluded section of the building.
We have security, but sometimes I would feel safer if Barney Fife and the Mayberry Police Department were in charge of protecting our building.
People are often roaming the hallways and sometimes even wander into my office unannounced.
I’ve been told several times that they were supposed to be installing a panic button. I could have used it today.

I was on a phone call when there was a knock at my door.
I turned to see Malik standing in the doorway and I was so caught off guard that I don’t remember if I ever said goodbye to the person I was talking to.

“Do you have a minute?” Malik asked.

“What are you doing here?” Was my response.

When I last spoke to Malik’s wife, she told me that she had the man running scared. She lied to him and told him that she had transcripts of our text message conversations and she was monitoring his every move.
Crazy thing was, he actually believed she was capable of all that.

“Is that how you greet me? Can I have a hug?”

“Is this fool on crack?” I thought to myself.
If only Martika knew her wayward husband was standing in my office right now.
After the whole mess in January, she called me and sent me several text messages asking me if he’d called or popped by.
I assured her each time that he hadn’t.
Now, here he was, looking pitiful, standing in the middle of my office, asking me for a hug.

“I will not hug you. What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“I’m in town taking care of some business.” He answered.

He looked horrible. His clothes were dingy; he had several days of stubble on his face and large bags under his eyes. He looked beat down and wore out. I saw no trace of the sexy, handsome, physically fit, well dressed man I knew years before. Hell, Malik seemed as if he had aged ten years since I last saw him three months ago!

“So what’s the deal? Are you back home?” I inquired. I genuinely hoped they had made up for the sake of their children.

“No. I have my own place now. She’s made it very clear that she doesn’t want me back and hasn’t forgiven me. She’s actually seeing someone now.”

I wanted to laugh in his face and say, “Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?”, but I took the high road and said nothing.

“I just wanted to come by and see you. I didn’t want to call you or text you because it was too soon and she had…”

“She didn’t read our text messages.” I interrupted.

“Yes, she did.” Malik disagreed.

“No. She didn’t.” I plainly stated.
I looked Malik dead in his eyes and said in the flattest tone possible, “She could not get access to our texts. The only way she could do something like that is if she subpoenaed your records. She lied to you and the player got played.”
Oh, it felt so good divulging that juicy bit of information to him.

I swear it was like something out of a soap opera or a Spanish Novella where the character overdramatizes their gestures for that theatric effect.
Malik stumbled backwards as if he was about to fall out, he grabbed my file cabinet and leaned against it to support himself.
His eyes were wide and his brain was probably going a mile a minute.
The only thing missing was the organ crescendo and the camera zooming in on a tight shot of Malik’s face to emphasize the shock of what he’d just heard.

He couldn’t confront Martika with this revelation because then he would have to tell her that he came by to see me.
There was a part of me that delighted in seeing him in such a state because when everything went down, he had no problem throwing me under the bus in a desperate effort to save his marriage. He tried to make me out to be a harlot and a home wrecker, but I was in no way going to get romantically involved with him again unless the ink had thoroughly dried on his divorce papers and the assurance that he’d really changed.

With this new-found information floating around in his head, he had nothing else to say.
“I gotta go take care of this stuff before it gets too late.” Malik extended his hand to me as I sat in my office chair.

I looked at his hand and then up at him.

“I’m not hugging you.” I reiterated.

With that, he took my hand and held it in his.
While I was sitting there thinking how dry and hard his hand was, there’s no telling what was going through his mind. Probably, “Damn, my wife won’t take me back and I messed things up for good with Single Mom too.”

Three months ago, I really wanted to believe that he had changed; that he was genuinely in love with me, that he wanted to start a life with me and that it was going to work this time.
That was all a fantasy in my soap opera world.

Malik walked out of my office hopefully for the last time.

Okay, so maybe I’m not having a heart attack, but I tell you what, this time it’s not a broken heart.

Break Glass In Case of Emergency

2010-04-27T16:05:00.000-04:00

When I began writing my blog, I decided to make every effort to keep the storyline PG, but sometimes there are certain topics that come up time and time again that need to be discussed.
The blog post below is of a conversation I had with my BGF (Best Guy Friend) Antoine.
'Toine likes to use salty language and I have deleted his potty-mouth vocabulary and substituted the words with something more PG-ish.
There is also an issue covered in this posting that I’ve been apprehensive about discussing, but it’s a reality with a lot of us single women… enjoy.

Antoine and I have a morning ritual where we chat with other once we get settled into our offices.
We usually talk about our weekends, our families, what we did the night before or whatever else is going on in our worlds.
Somewhere along the line we started greeting each other as a food item similar to our complexions… Since he’s dark and chocolaty, I will usually call him Chocolate Mousse or something along those lines.
Each day, it’s a different food item.

“Morning, my Double Fudge Brownie... with nuts.”

“You love the nuts, don't you?” ‘Toine laughed.

“Yes... nuts are great.” I sheepishly replied.

“Funny. So, whassup? What’d you do last night?” Antoine asked.

“Not much... “ I answered. “My Allergies are kicking my butt. You should see my eyes. I just chilled last night. I haven’t done much of anything. Talked on the phone last night with an old girlfriend ‘til about eleven and then went to bed.”

“You have a boring life now that you're not seeing anyone.” He plainly stated.

“Gee, thanks!” I laughed.

“I'm just saying. I used to love to hear all of the juicy (stuff) that used to go on in your life with these (fellas). There is no more, except with the occasional drama you have with some of your girls, but (shoot)...I haven't seen a blog in months, which was our window into the man issues you had in your life. I miss that (stuff)! If you were a reality show, you would be CANCELLED!”

“Wow… Thanks! So, I guess I won't tell you about Deputy Dan coming over Sunday.”

“What? Really? How did that happen?” Now Antoine’s ears had perked up.

“I invited him over, but it ended with us not being on speaking terms again.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Antoine chuckled.

I ignored his sarcastic comment and continued with the details, “He came over for dinner, we chatted, watched basketball, ate dinner... Then I brought up the whole thing about us and he's telling me how he can't be with me because I'm a ‘good woman’ and he'll (crap) all over me and do I really want him to be my boyfriend just so he will cheat on me and he cares about me too much to do that and blah, blah, blah... BUT he's in a relationship now with someone else.”

“Did ya’ll do anything?” Antoine asked.

“Nope... We didn't do anything, but he certainly came prepared with Magnums (yes, Magnums) in his pocket.” I replied.

Deputy Dan came over my house expecting to swing from the chandelier and that probably would have happened had I not known about his relationship.

Confession: about six months ago, I called Deputy Dan because I was having a “Break Glass in Case of Emergency” moment (You know, where you have someone you know who can be there for you when you’re in ‘need’… kind of like a fire alarm; it sits behind the glass, waiting for the moment when you need to grab the hammer and shatter that glass to get to the alarm and pull that red lever).
I knew Deputy Dan was very capable of responding to my alarm.
I know that it sends the wrong message to him, but at that time I didn’t care. We were both single, I had a fire that needed extinguishing and he has a very big hose.
I got what I needed and sent him on his way.

I had seen Deputy Dan with this woman about a month ago at a black tie affair.
I bumped into his parents during the cocktail hour and his dad gave me a warm hug. He asked, like he always does whenever he sees me why I am not with his son and I reply as I always do, that his son doesn’t know how to act.
Not once did his parents say that Deputy Dan would be arriving later – with a date. So needless to say reality had straight pimp slapped me in my face when I saw him sitting at the table with his parents and some woman that looked like she had just gotten her hair done at the church-lady salon.
I thought she was just his date for the evening and didn’t think it was any more than that. I was very jealous though.

“What did you say to him when you found out he brought condoms?” ‘Toine was all into this now.

I said, "So, you're in a relationship and you came over here expecting to have sex with me, which means you would have cheated on her with me.
I told him that I don't want to be the girl he (screws)... that I want more.
I mean should I feel special that he’s trying to protect me when I know he’s with someone? He said that he knows who he is and I'm too good for him to be with because I don't deserve for him to cheat on me.
I KIND OF feel bad for the woman he's involved with right now.”

“Wow… That’s a crazy situation. He’s doing that because he loves you!” Antoine exclaimed.

“There you go with your LOVE theory again” I sighed. “You are a sucker for love!”

“Hopelessly into it...I honestly believe that he loves you and he got out when he did before he hurt you. Kinda like him being a Lycan (werewolf) and as much terror he brings to other regular people, he stays away from you when the moon is full so that he doesn't hurt you from his terror.”

Antoine totally threw me with that one and I lost it. “NO you DIDN'T bring Twilight into it! PRICELESS!” I laughed hysterically.

“I’m for real!” Antoine defended.

“I don't know…” I began. “I think sometimes I am too skeptical and suspicious of men. Part of me doesn't buy the whole, ‘I'm trying to protect you from my whorish ways, but I really care about you’ thing.”

“I think it’s true with him though because you guys were really doing well. Some real ‘relationship’ (stuff). Then he suddenly backed off and its NOTHING that you did...I think he just fell deep and couldn't handle being true to you because you are a good woman and he just simply walked away from it with NOT wanting to hurt you in his mind. I applaud him for that. He really thinks he was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, key word is THINKS!” I countered.

“But you know we don't always THINK completely. When we think, we actually think we're doing the right thing. Maybe he did go about it the wrong way by just walking away from you, but he had good intentions. I totally respect him for that.”

“I hate all you men... “

“But we all LOVE you!”

Babies Having Babies

2010-04-23T14:24:00.000-04:00

Faithful readers and friends know that my oldest son Hootie is about to be a father.
When he told me, I called him all kinds of stupid, but the fact of the matter is that the baby is coming whether I like it or not.

This is something I am trying to accept with each passing day.
My cousin Beverly (as in Johnson, but not THE Johnson) advised me not to be mad at the fruit and I told her that I wasn’t… I’m mad at the tree and the seed! One of the big problems is that I know nothing about the tree.

I’ve made it a point to not meet or get to know Hootie’s girlfriends because history has proven that his relationships don’t last any longer than six to eight months (I’ll be nice and extend it to a year, but no longer than that).
Around the four month mark, Hootie is guaranteed to come to me with, “She’s the one… I want you to meet her.”
I usually nod my head, mumble, “Okay Hootie” and continue with whatever it is that I was doing.
Hootie also had a tendency to troll the trailer parks and his choice of girlfriends was never really the greatest.

I think Hootie and Mia (as in Hamm, but not THE Hamm) got to maybe the five month mark when she got pregnant.
Not to be pessimistic or cruel, but had she not gotten pregnant, I question whether they would still be together.

So, after expressing my extreme disappointment, I told him that I’d like to meet this young lady that is going to be the mother of his child (polite way of saying his baby-mama).

“Mommy, she wasn’t raised like us...” Hootie tried to explain.

“What, you think I’m gonna curse her out? I want to meet the girl. I think we DO need to establish some sort of relationship, but best believe I will be very frank with her.” I warned.

Weeks went by and Hootie never got around to bringing Mia by.

Then one day while I’m at work, I get a text message from Hootie telling me that they will be having their first ultrasound THE NEXT DAY, that Mia’s mother will be there and he wanted me to be there as well.

Part of me wanted to go, but another part of me felt uncomfortable because my first time meeting this girl would be in a doctor’s office with her feet up in stirrups.
I mean really, how uncomfortable is that??

I prayed on it, sought advice from the Vagina Mafia… I even called my pastor!
I started to feel a lot better about things so I decided to go to the ultrasound.
I left the office around 3:05... The appointment was at 3:30 and not too far away.

On the way there, I got a text message from Hootie asking if I was on my way because they were getting called in to the examining room.
I was furious!
I told him that he gave me 3:30 as the time.
He didn't apologize and say, "My bad" or anything... It was more like, "I don't want to get into that with you right now."

I pulled over into a parking lot, thought about it and turned around to go home.
I sent him a message and told him I wouldn't be able to make it in time.
As I was driving home, he sent me another message saying that I could still make it.
Long story short, I went back to the hospital.

When I got there, they were already in the examining room but hadn’t gotten started because the doctor had been called away for a delivery.
I was fuming and really trying to calm down.
As the nurse opened the door and led me into the room, Mia’s face lit up and she gave me a warm greeting.
Hootie introduced me to Mia, who was sitting on the end of the examining table.
Mia’s mother introduced herself and I sat down next to her.
There was awkward silence and I was really angry with Hootie for how he handled the whole situation, but “kept it classy” and my mouth shut.

We all made small talk until the doctor entered the room.
He asked us to leave so he could go over some personal medical questions and give Mia a pelvic exam.
While we were in the waiting room, Mia’s mom and I got to know each other a little better and we talked about how she and her husband were dealing with the baby news.
She told me that her husband didn't speak to Hootie for a long time after their announcement.
She said that whenever Hootie went over their house, her husband would get up and leave the room.
She was upset as well, but is excited now because it is her first grandchild.

They called us back into the tiny examining room that is built for three small people, yet there were six of us crammed in there.
Since I was the last one to walk into the room, I somehow ended up positioned by Mia’s feet.
I wondered whether the ultrasound would be performed internally or not and when I saw the doctor pick up the probe, I got my answer. What happened to the old fashioned gel on the belly??

I asked Hootie and Mia’s mother to move over because I really didn’t want to get up close and personal with this girl!

We were all very surprised at the development of the baby for nine weeks!
He/She has a head and little stumps for arms and legs and was even waving one of her (Yes, I believe it's a girl) arms!

Mia’s mother started crying, so I smacked her on the arm and warned that she better not cry this entire pregnancy, although I completely understood why she was crying.

It was beautiful to see and I'm not excited like Mia’s mom... But I am ACCEPTING.

Since then, I’ve seen Mia one other time when she came to our house for Hootie’s birthday dinner.
I like to prepare my boys’ favorite meals for their birthday and Hootie’s happens to be chitterlings.

“Girl, you know you were wrong for trying to serve that girl chitterlings! You know she wasn’t going to eat them!” One of the women in the hair salon chided as I gave a report of my son’s impending fatherhood and his birthday dinner.

My stylist called me evil and accused me of trying to “start something”.

I assured her that I “most certainly” wasn’t and that I had also made two roasted chickens, stuffing and green beans so that the expectant mother would have something else to eat other than the chitterlings.

“Well did she eat them?” The women in the salon asked.

I confirmed that she did and they all howled!

“Well, you KNOW WHY she ate them… ” One woman under the hair dryer started.

We all looked at her, waiting for her to share her logic.

“Because that baby’s half Black!” She hollered.
The salon filled with laughter again, women were slapping each other up and nodding their heads in agreement.

I saw Hootie the other day and he told me they would be finding out the sex of the baby next week.
He looked so cute, standing there, nodding his head in excitement, with an adorable smile on his face.
I stood there looking at him and wanted to be happy for him.
My baby’s having a baby… I’m ACCEPTING.

Looking for Mr. Goodbar

2010-03-10T13:43:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about the day I met Mr. Goodbar.

I remember him standing off to the side during a press conference in all of his chocolate gloriousness.
His hair perfectly groomed, suit pressed, shoes polished and power tie working.
He looked so good!

Most of you know the rest of the story; how I plotted a way to introduce myself to him, our first date, lobster and him coming to me rescue in Times Square.

As 2009 came to an end, I decided to clean out my closet and let go of people whom I felt I had no future with.
Mr. Goodbar hadn’t been let go, but I did decide to put him in the back of my closet.
I stopped calling him and decided to move on.
If he called, he called. If he happened to be in town, maybe I’d see him, maybe I wouldn’t.

There was a black tie affair going on in January and Mr. Goodbar called to ask if I would be attending. He said he’d be there and wanted to see me.

I bought a gown, got my hair done, called my connections to get a ticket and invited a girlfriend to come along.

Shortly after dinner was served, Mr. Goodbar arrived.
Once again, he looked fabulously delicious.
He sat at our table and tried to give me as much attention in between his work responsibilities.
He was there for work, but wanted to spend as much time with me as he could.

I asked him if he would be staying the night and he said he would be.
He told me where he would be staying and that he would arrange for me to pick up a key at the hotel front desk.
By now, this was something I was used to.
He said he wanted to see me later and kissed me on the lips in the middle of the ballroom.

My girlfriend and I enjoyed the rest of our evening and said our good nights, I made my way to Mr. Goodbar’s hotel and got the key from the registration desk.
Once I was in the room, I called him to let him know I had arrived.
He was in a debriefing meeting and said he’d be joining me shortly.

I walked around the room, taking it all in.
His garment bag lay neatly across the back of the desk chair.
In the bathroom, his toiletry bag set open on the vanity. He had a lot of products, but considering how well he’s put together, I can’t be mad at him.
Outside the large picture window was a beautiful view of the city skyline and the river.
I lay on the bed in my evening gown, flipping through the channels while waiting for Mr. Goodbar to walk through the door.
My heart started racing as I heard his key in the lock.
He walked into the room still looking good enough to eat.
I’d decided that nothing was going to go on between us, but he certainly was looking quite tasty!

“What are you watching?” He asked as he crawled on to the bed.

“Just channel surfing.” I answered.

As I flipped through the channels, he saw a show he likes to watch and asked me to stop. He tried to explain the inner workings of the main character to me.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” Mr. Goodbar asked.

“I did thanks. It was good spending time with you.”

“I told you that I wanted to see you. I’m glad you could make it. You know why I kissed you out there, right? I wanted everyone in there to know you were with me.” He proclaimed.

“I was actually kind of surprised by that.” I noted.

He rested his head on the pillow and looked up at me. “Why don’t you call me anymore?”

Wow.
I was caught off guard by his question, but explained to him that I hadn’t heard from him as often as I used to and it felt like I was doing all of the calling, so I backed off.
I also told him that I understood he was busy and with the job he has he’s always on the go.
However, I did tell him that because he’s always on the go and on the road, I began to think I was just another one of his area code chicks.

“Is that what you think you are to me? Do you really think I go around from city to city meeting women? I don’t have time for all of that.”

I pointed out how we met and that there certainly had to be other women who found him just as attractive as I did and introduced themselves to him just as I did.

Mr. Goodbar lay there looking up at me and told me that he meets women all the time, but that he cared about me.
He asked me if I was seeing other people and since I had cleaned out my closet, I could honestly say that I hadn’t been.
He asked me to give him another chance and to stick by him. He began pouring his heart out to me and I started to cry.
Here was this man who to some can appear intimidating or imposing.
He has a strong presence about him and tries to come off as if he’s hard, but he has a heart and he was opening it up to me.

I’ve been burned by too many men to count and because of it have become quite cynical when it comes to things men say to me.
I often wonder what their ulterior motive is or how many other women he’s said these same words to, but as I sat there looking down into his big brown eyes (with extremely long eyelashes I might add) I wanted to believe that everything he was saying to me was genuine.

We talked for hours about so many things. We talked about our childhoods, teen years and shared other personal moments from our lives.

That was the last time we saw each other.

A few weeks later Mr. Goodbar called to tell me that there were some things that I might be hearing on the news that he said were not true.
He told me I might not like some of the things I hear and that he would understand if I wanted to walk away.

We talked for hours that night.
I asked questions, he answered.

We spoke a few times after that, but recently things have really blown up and Mr. Goodbar is keeping a low profile.

I missed his call one night and haven’t heard from him since.
So many people have called me, emailed and sent text messages asking if I am okay. The whole thing has been hard to deal with and I have been on an emotional roller coaster.
I hate that I let him back in and at the same time I hate that I haven’t heard from him.
I sit here trying to think of a clever way to end this blog post, but I guess the only thing to say is, “To be continued”.

A Mother's Work

2010-03-09T15:37:00.000-05:00

I know that it’s been a while since I last posted a blog, but I’ve been on such an emotional roller coaster lately that it has been difficult for me to really focus on writing.

You ever have one of those days where you just stand there in the middle of a room and ask yourself, “When will it end?” Those days seem to be coming quite frequently for me lately.

Things have been horrible at work recently and I don’t know how much more I can take.
One day I was trying really hard to brush my shoulders off, but with not much success.
While dealing with work issues, I received news that my son Rick is not doing well in school.
Since this is his junior year, it’s vital that he gets good grades or colleges won’t look twice at him.
I was very disappointed at the news and called him when he got home from school to let him know that he and I would be having a serious talk that evening.

The work day finally came to an end and the only thing on my mind while driving home was Rick and how he is slowly sabotaging his future.
As I’m driving, I get a text message from Hootie, my oldest son that reads, “I need to talk to you, can I come by later?”
I let out a long, exasperated sigh because with Hootie, it can be nothing but bad news or drama.
“About what??” I reply, but I get no response. My hope was that since he didn’t respond, he wouldn’t call or come by. I had enough to deal with.

I make it home and call Rick into my bedroom.
We talk for a good hour.
I tell him how disappointed in him I am, warn him that he may not be able to get into the colleges of his choice and that he needs to handle his business quickly.
While we’re talking, I see Hootie’s jeep pull into the driveway.
I let out another sigh and mumble a few words to myself.
I have a feeling what he wants to tell me, but I’m in NO mood to hear it…not now or within the next ten years.

I send Rick on his way and tell him to have his brother come up.

As I look back on that evening… I can’t even tell you how he broke it to me, but as I expected, the news wasn’t good.
Hootie got his girlfriend pregnant.

I sat there on the side of my bed, looked at him and said, “I knew it.”
I called him all kinds of stupid and asked how he could have unprotected sex and not even talk to his girlfriend about contraception.

“I can’t believe I’m standing here having this conversation with my mother.” Hootie states.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with my son!” I counter, “Especially since I’ve talked to you about this so many times! When you went into the military, didn’t I tell you to NEVER trust what a girl tells you? Didn’t I tell you that even if she says she’s on the pill to wear a condom? Hell, DIDN’T - I - TELL - YOU that I don’t care if you can’t feel it, to wear two or THREE? So don’t stand there and say you can’t believe you’re having this conversation with your mother, because if you were man enough to lie down and get some girl pregnant, you’re man enough to talk to me about contraception!”

Hootie and I talked for quite a while and I made him call all of his grandparents to break the news. I wasn’t going to do his dirty work for him.

After discussing his plans and how he was going to take care of his child, I gave him some phone numbers of people I know and suggested he give them a call about possible jobs.

He thanked me and went to break the news to his brother.

Later that evening I head down stairs to turn off the lights and lock up the house. I sit down in the living room to gather my thoughts.
It’s dark and the only thing I hear is the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.
Hum, whoosh, hum, whoosh (SNIFF), hum, whoosh, (SNIFF)…
Something doesn’t sound right.
I walk into the kitchen, curious as to what that sound is and where it’s coming from.
As I enter the kitchen I find Rick sitting at the kitchen table sobbing and wailing!
This is too much to handle.
I look towards heaven and silently ask God why he’s playing with me.

“Boy, what is wrong with you?” I ask in complete frustration.
In between tears and sucking snot, Rick begins to tell me that he sees his future and he doesn’t like it.
“I see the mistakes Hootie made when he was my age and how one bad decision totally altered his whole life. If I continue the way I am, I could be Hootie.”

I had to channel Carol Brady and Claire Huxtable on this one; give him the comfort he needs, but also tell him that he’s damn right and what he does right now can affect his future so he better get with the program!

“You are not Hootie, but you should really thank him because you’ve seen the mistakes he’s made and hopefully you will learn from them along with your brother.”

I counseled Rick for a while and told him to get ready for bed.

After he left the kitchen, I sat there listening to the dishwasher and realized that I hadn’t seen my exchange son Hakeem all evening.
He must have realized that there was some heavy stuff going on and it might be best to keep his distance.
Poor thing is probably wondering what the heck he got himself into and is thinking American families are crazy!

I figured I should hurry up and get in bed before something else happened. I turned off the lights in the kitchen and slowly walked up the stairs in the dark, glad the day was finally over.
As I’m lying in bed, I pick up my cell phone to see what’s going on in the world of facebook.
Hootie’s status reads, “What a mother I have. IDK what I'd do without her support. I've had talks with my mom that I never thought I'd have, and yet I don’t know what I'd do without them. I heard what I needed to hear even if it’s not what I wanted to hear and I'm better for it...It's hard to accept that sometime's there are things that I'll never understand. But I'm working on it. Thanks Mommy”

What’s New Pussycat?

2010-01-22T16:23:00.000-05:00

facebook has become a great way for me to communicate with friends I don’t get to see every day.
It’s also a way to find long-lost friends and family members.

In some cases, it’s a way for people to make love connections.

There have been a few guys that have made it very clear they would like to be more than my facebook friend, but I won’t let it go any further than an occasional comment on their status updates.

I’m pretty careful not to accept the friendship of someone I don’t know.
Sometimes if they are the friend of a friend, I will give them the benefit of the doubt and confirm their request.

I’m not sure how or when it happened, but I accepted the friendship of a gentleman I didn’t know.
I do know that we have one facebook friend in common, and I’m thinking that is why I confirmed him.
Every now and then he would comment on my status and I became a little curious about him.
I went to his page to see what I could learn about this guy in the Obama jersey.
I perused his albums, inspected his info page and read his interactions with his friends.
I noticed he had quite a few female friends, but I admit… He intrigued me.

One evening I had to rush my son Rick to the hospital.
They kept him overnight for observation and to run tests.
I posted a status update asking my friends to pray for my baby.

I received a number of people sending their thoughts and prayers and Felix (you’ll understand the meaning behind the name as you continue reading) was one of them.

A day later, I received a text message from a number I didn’t recognize saying, “I hope your son is doing well. I have boys too and I know how it is.”
I don’t really remember how I learned it was Felix texting me.
I was a bit taken aback, but also pleased that he had made the effort to look up my number (which I promptly removed from my info page) and reach out to me.

We began texting each other and soon the texts grew into phone calls.
I thought things were looking up for me considering Felix’s area code was right down the Thruway from me, but then he busted my little bubble by telling me he had moved away about seven years ago and is in a completely different state.
He assured me that he comes home to visit often and would like to take me out.
I was all for it.

One day during a phone conversation, Felix and I got into a discussion over when and why I originally accepted his friend request.
That’s when he confessed to me that he happened to be in my city on business a couple of months back.
He said he was in his hotel room sleeping with the TV on.
He said he wasn’t in a full state of sleep and remembers hearing a voice that caught his attention. He opened his eyes to see me on the screen. He looked me up online and saw that I was on facebook.

“He’s a facebook stalker!” Esmerelda exclaimed.

I laughed and had to admit that even though I was flattered, I was also a bit concerned about his intentions.
Esmerelda and a few other members of the Vagina Mafia, including William expressed their fears.

“What can he do?” I asked. “He lives in a completely different state. Granted, there’s ways of finding people if you really want to, but I don’t think he’s up to no good.”

He’s a good looking guy, kinda has that John Legend thing going for him… he’s tall, slim, in shape, well dressed, confident with a hint of arrogance (on some days it’s a little more than a hint), has crazy sex appeal and some metrosexual tendencies that are not enough to cause alarm.

Felix and I have seen each other twice and each time has been amazing.

There’s a lot I like about him, but there’s one thing (or should I say several things) I have a problem with… his female friends.

I’m all about having friends of the opposite sex.
I actually believe I get along better with men than I do women, but Felix’s female friends take it to the extreme!

“He’s like the male cat sitting in the window with all of the female cats in the neighborhood climbing up on the fence, meowing, purring and shaking their tales at him, trying to get his attention!” I vented to William.

“So who is it that you’re upset with, him or them?” William asked.

“I can’t be mad at Felix.” I answered. “I mean, he’s single… he can do what he wants or WHO he wants. What bothers me is how unabashedly forward these women are. They have no shame writing little comments on his facebook page or posting certain things laced with innuendo. It’s like they’re all trying to see who can meow the loudest. He’s got a whole bunch of pussies up on the fence!” I exclaimed.

Felix and I have talked about the whole ‘Pussies on the fence’ situation.
He’s told me that some of the women he’s had previous relationships with, some are just old friends and others would like to spray their scents if they could.

William laughed hysterically, “What would you do if you were out with Felix somewhere and one of his pussies came purring up to him and rubbing up against his leg while you’re sitting right there?”

I envisioned spraying her with a hose like some people do with stray cats.

“Well, you know…” William started, “Stray cats only keep coming back if you feed them.”

William sat there giving me that look like, “You know what I’m talking about.” And I certainly understood.

Felix has pointed out that I also have what he calls, ‘facebook fans’.
I admit that I do, but none of them are as brazen as his litter.

I have to decide whether I’m going to be up on the fence with the other pussies (which is highly unlikely) or if I’m going to be the mouse for Felix to chase.

She's Got Papers

2010-01-20T16:35:00.000-05:00

Since Malik’s visit, he has called me and sent text messages several times a day.

It has been nice knowing that a man genuinely wants me and that he plans on making every effort to show me how much he cares.

A week after he first poked his head in my office door, he came back to see me again.
I was very busy and we didn’t get an opportunity to spend too much time together.

The weekend rolled around and Malik called to ask if I was free.
I told him I was going to a Martin Luther King event and he asked if I had a date. I asked if he had planned on accompanying me and he said there might be a good possibility.

He arrived near the end of the event and we decided that we would meet at a sports bar afterwards to watch the NFL playoffs.

When I got to the sports bar, he was already seated and waiting for me.
I sat across from him, ordered a drink and some appetizers before excusing myself to the ladies room.
I don’t know why, but I felt awkward being there with him.
I got back to the table and we talked casually while watching the game.

At one point, I noticed that Malik had taken off his wedding ring.
I know he told me that his marriage was over and that he and his wife were separated, but technically, he is still married.
Seeing the indentation on his left ring finger of where his wedding ring was supposed to be, sent a bad feeling through my body.

“You took your wedding ring off.” I stated plainly.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, since we are sitting here in public and I’ve got a ring on and you don’t”. Was his logic.

“Actually it makes me feel MORE uncomfortable knowing you took your ring off because of ME.” I explained.

“Would you like me to put it back on?” He asked.

“Yes.” Was all I could say.

He reached into his pocket and tried to slip the ring back on his finger without drawing attention to himself.

That stuck with me the rest of the evening.

We watched the game, said our goodbyes and he made the hour drive back home.

We continued texting and talking throughout the weekend.
That Monday was a holiday and I had some running around to do.
I noticed that I hadn’t heard from him all day and I was really surprised because he’s usually blowing up my phone.

That afternoon, I sent him a text saying, “You’ve been quiet.”

He replied that he hadn’t been feeling one hundred percent.

I told him to feel better and that I’d talk to him later.
I didn’t hear from him that evening.

I dreaded going to work Tuesday morning, but managed to drag myself in.
I was pretty much running from the time I arrived and left my cell phone in my purse the whole day.

At the end of the day, I checked my phone to see if I had any messages.
There were nine new voice mail messages.

I went through them one by one… Esmerelda, Condoleeza, my mother, Condoleeza again…

Then when I got to the last message I hear, “Hey Single Mom, this is the wife of the (N-Word) that you keep calling or whatever you got going on. I’m Markita. How about you call me so we can discuss transport of the mother-(bleeper) that you keep (bleeping) with? I look forward to your call.”

By this time I had pulled in my driveway.

I sat there motionless for a second… not really sure if what I just heard, I really heard.

I gathered my things, went in the house, took off my shoes and made my way up the stairs to my bedroom.
I closed the door, stood there for a moment looking at my phone and prayed,
“Lord, I want to call this woman and reassure her that there is nothing going on between me and her husband, but please give her a rational mind and allow her to hear my words. Please don’t let this woman be ghetto.”

I replayed the message and scribbled down her number.

I bravely dialed the ten digits and waited for her to answer.

“Hello.”

“Hi, this is Single Mom.” I paused and waited for the cuss out to begin.

“Hi, I’m Markita. I’m glad you called.” Wait, what? The Lord had answered my prayers!

“Before we go any further, I just want you to know that there is absolutely NOTHING going on with me and your husband.” I assured her.

She and I talked for about an hour… She told me that they have been together for fifteen years and that she never once thought he would try and cheat on her.
She said they were considered the Huxtables of their town.
He coaches youth football and she coaches the cheerleaders.
They even give couples counseling at their church.
She told me that they’d been going through some problems the last few months and she began to notice a change in him.
That’s when she suggested they take some time apart, but he said he didn’t want to leave her.

She told me how he had received a text message Monday (The one I sent) that worried her and when she asked him about it, he gave her some lame story.

Her next move was to go through the phone bill and that’s where she saw my number listed hundreds of times.

When she confronted him, he tried to throw ME under the bus by saying I had been pursuing HIM.

I told her how long I’d known Malik, that we had an extensive history, how he reached out to me over the years, how he called me last May and finally how he just showed up in my office two weeks earlier.

I also told her that he told me that their marriage was over, he had left her, and how he said no one else besides me would ever make him happy.
I wasn’t trying to hurt her, but if this man was going to make me out to be the Jezebel, I wanted her to know everything he said and did.

She and I discussed the timeline of his lies and compared notes.
While we were on the phone, he called her on the other line.
She put him on speaker so I could hear him and asked him to clarify a few things.

“Oh, you were leaving me?” She asked.

“You didn’t want to be with anyone but her?”

“No one else made you happy, but her?”

"That car you are driving down the Thruway to see her,I PAY the car note!"

"That cell phone you've been using to call her and text her five hundred times, I PAY the bill."

"So, you leaving ME??"

It was silent on his end.

She told him to speak up and that he had a lot to say earlier.

“Yes.” He answered. “Yes, I said all of that.”

My heart broke for Markita.

We talked for a little while longer and I told her that I was very sorry this had to happen to her.
I reassured her that nothing ever happened between me and Malik… Not even a kiss.
She said it didn’t matter. He had hurt her to her core and she wouldn’t be able to forgive him.

We hung up the phone and I sat in my room for hours.

Yes, I am angry with Malik for lying to me and involving me in his mess, but my heart breaks for his wife and daughters.

I’ve been cheated on more times than I can count… even by Malik, but I would never wish that on anyone.

I had a hard time falling asleep last night, but when I finally did; my dreams were all about Malik and Markita.
Whatever decision she makes, I hope it’s the right one for her and their children.

Cleaning Out My Closet

2010-01-08T15:33:00.000-05:00

2009 really wasn’t a good year for me and even though I am very aware that the changing of the calendar doesn’t automatically wipe the slate clean, I really wish I could start fresh every January 1st.

There were a couple of people that had come back into my life during 2009 that I had not mentioned (Yes, I have been holding out on you all).

Luke Skywalker and Deputy Dan made cameo appearances in 2009.

It was nothing major… lunch here, dinner there, phone calls and text messages.

Deputy Dan was kind enough to bring me medicine when I was sick, Captain Skywalker flew into town to take me to lunch and then flew right out, but that’s as far as it went for either one of them.

I told both that neither was worthy or deserving of anything more.

My hope was that it would be a race to the finish line to see which would come out in front.
Deputy Dan came out the blocks strong, but faded in the end.
Luke Skywalker tripped coming out the gate and picked up speed.
In the end, both were disqualified.

I thought long and hard about it and realized that I had held on to the notion of happily ever after for too long and I was not going to live that fairytale with either one of them.

It was easy to walk away from Deputy Dan, but completely ending things with Luke was very difficult for me.
I really thought we had a future together.

As the clock struck midnight and 2009 came to a close, I felt good.

I had cleaned out my closet and was ready for a fresh start.

Little did I know what was waiting for me a week later…

So there I was, conducting a meeting with my staff when a face from my past poked his head in my door.
It was Malik (Beetlejuice 5/26/09).
I asked him to wait outside my office and told him I would be done in about five minutes.

I wrapped up the meeting as quickly as possible and invited Malik in.

He told me that he was in town handling business and remembered that I worked downtown.

He began talking, but wasn’t really making much sense.
He started telling me about his marriage, that he was leaving his wife and how things haven’t been working out. He then went into talking about the things he wants in life.

I was confused and didn’t really know or was afraid to know where he was going with his rambling.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to cut to the chase.

“Why are you here? What do you want from me?” I asked.

“My wife asked me if there was someone else.” Malik began, “At that point, I felt I could honestly say no, but when I thought about it later on I realized that there is someone else and there always has been.”

My heart raced and I suddenly felt short of breathe, “Oh God, oh God, oh God…” I repeated over and over in my head.

“I know now that if I can’t have you, I don’t want to be with anyone else.” Malik declared.

I was stunned.
I mean, years ago I longed to hear those words come out of Malik’s mouth.
I sat there in my chair, motionless and silent.

He went on to tell me that he knows he hurt me, how he wants to make up for all of that and love me the way I deserve to be loved.

He asked if I am currently in love. I told him I have not given my heart to anyone since my ex-boyfriend mishandled it three years ago.

“I want to make you love again. I want to prove that I can be good to you and for you. ” He pronounced.

So much was said and right now it’s still all a blur.
I remember him holding my hand and telling me that he wanted to be my best friend. I remember crying and him begging me not to cry.

How I longed for him to love me all those years ago and now here he was, in front of me pouring his heart out twenty years too late.

We talked for more than an hour.

Before he left he asked if he could hug me.
He wrapped his arms around me and at that moment it felt so right.
Then he kissed me on my forehead and we said our goodbyes.

He called me today to see if I was alright.

I told him that I didn’t get much work done after he left and that I had been doing a lot of thinking.

I told Malik that I am sorry his marriage is over, but I don’t want to be the reason or be any part of the reason he leaves his wife.

He said he understood and reassured me that was not the case.

We talked for a few minutes and he said he had to go.

I hung up the phone and sat at my desk in a state of bewilderment.

I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t know if I am willing to give him another chance.

If it didn’t work the first time, who’s to say the second time around will be better?

So much to think about…

Culture Shock

2009-12-18T17:42:00.000-05:00

For those of you who know me or who have been following my blogs, you know that I have welcomed an exchange student in my home.

Hakeem is a fifteen year old boy from Africa.

He has been with us since Labor Day and it has been quite the rollercoaster ride.

Contrary to what he’s been told back home, Hakeem is not the man he thinks he is.
Most of the ups and downs we’ve experienced since his arrival have been based upon his immaturity and irrational thought processes.

Don’t get me wrong, Hakeem is not a bad kid.
He doesn’t drink or smoke or get into fights at school… although, he did get kicked out of his English as a Second Language class for arguing with an African girl.
The argument began and escalated because Hakeem insisted SHE did not know the Pledge of Allegiance.
No, Hakeem did not get into some deep debate over politics in West Africa or the plight of the Sudanese.
Hakeem was removed from the classroom because since HE himself did not know the Pledge, he could not believe this young lady was capable of knowing something he didn’t.

Hakeem is a handsome young man with a bright smile.
He’s tall and lanky and can eat like a horse!
I don’t know where the food goes, but I’ve had to ration out the provisions in the pantry to prevent the boy from eating us out of house and home.

Hakeem and my son Rick were getting along for about the first month, but the honeymoon ended quickly.
Rick stopped inviting Hakeem to hang out with his friends and Rick’s friends preferred not having him around.

When in certain social settings, Hakeem tends to get a little over-stimulated and can become hyper. This doesn’t go over very well with other teens.

He also doesn’t have great skills with the young ladies and has burned a couple of bridges that might have led to a potential romance.

Hakeem and Rick have butted heads a few times and almost went to blows on one occasion. We had to have representatives from the exchange program come to conduct an intervention.

One particular afternoon, Rick came home from school and decided to take a nap on the couch.
Hakeem had stayed after school and arrived about an hour after Rick.
I was sick and had not gone to work that day.
I was in the kitchen making chicken soup when I heard, “Rick, Rick, Rick, Rick, Rick, Rick…”

I stopped what I was doing to see what Hakeem needed.

“I need the television remote.” Hakeem stated.

I looked on the couch where Rick was sleeping and saw the remote tucked behind his legs.
I retrieved the remote, handed it to Hakeem and went back to making my soup.

A little more than an hour later I hear Hakeem’s baritone voice billowing up the stairs, “You always do this, why do you always do this?”

I get out of bed and head downstairs to see what is going on.
As I am going down the stairs, Rick is heading up the stairs, shaking his head and throwing his hands in the air, completely exasperated.

I go into the living room and ask Hakeem what the problem is.

“He is always ignoring me!” Hakeem yells.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I asked him for the remote and he just ignored me! He always does this!”

I stood there in disbelief.
Didn’t I just hand him the remote after he called Rick’s name about fifty-five times?

“Hakeem, he was sleeping. I gave you the remote when you asked for it. What is the problem? That should have been the end of it.” I say.

“He was ignoring me!” Hakeem repeats.

For whatever reason, he was focused on the fact that he thought Rick was ignoring him and wouldn’t let it go.

“If you were calling my name over and over while I’m trying to rest, I think I would ignore you too.” I counter.

Hakeem folds his arms and looks away.
Hakeem didn’t speak to me for a couple of days, but I didn’t exactly lose any sleep over it.

While talking to one of his teachers, she told me that Hakeem had been upset with her and had been giving her the silent treatment.
She laughed and said that she has to deal with kids and their mouths all day long, so if one student decides he doesn’t want to talk to her, it’s not going to break her heart.

I don’t exactly know what his home life was like in Africa.
What I do know is that he comes from what is considered a middle class family.

Hakeem was quite familiar with American culture before arriving in the States.
He plays video games, watches Youtube, MTV, knows all the popular singers and rappers and makes every attempt to dress like American boys.

I’ve been told that Hakeem’s behavior is a cultural issue, but from what I’ve witnessed the past three months, it’s not all about culture.

Hakeem is a spoiled, childish young man that has a lot of growing up to do.

I can only do so much to ensure he has a pleasant stay while he’s with us.
The rest is up to him and I don’t think he’s mature enough to realize that just yet.

You Can't Hurry Love

2009-12-18T14:30:00.000-05:00

Before I begin, please accept my apologies for not posting any new blogs in almost two months. Since my birthday I’ve been dealing with a lot of personal issues and neither had the time or the motivation to write any new blogs.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, quite a few people asked how my birthday getaway went and if a love connection was made.
Here goes…

Well, I was greeted at the airport by Bryant and we were both happy to see one another.

I think one of the sweetest things is to see a couple embrace each other after they’ve both been anxiously anticipating their reunion.

I love to people watch at the airport and while waiting at baggage claim, I usually spot one person standing there with that anxious look on his or her face… scanning the terminal for their husband, wife, partner or significant other.
Then, suddenly the expression on that person’s face changes from anticipation to elation as they spot their special person in the distance.
They stand there for a moment, smiling… and as the other person gets closer, they begin to run or walk towards them, greeting them with a warm hug and depending on the relationship, a welcoming kiss.
That was me and Bryant.

Bryant and I had been counting down the days since our whirlwind weekend.
I was really happy to see him and was looking forward to spending the next three days with him.

We went to his place so I could freshen up and change out of my winter clothes into something more suited for the climate.

Bryant lives in a modern high rise building overlooking the water and a beautiful view of the city skyline.
He has a loft condo with high ceilings, concrete floors, floor to ceiling windows and much more. It looks like something I’ve seen on HGTV so many times.

That afternoon we had lunch on the beach and in the evening, dinner at a wonderful Italian restaurant.

The following day, we went to breakfast, did a little window shopping (since I’m broke) and then he gave me a guided tour of the city.
We went back to his place, laid by the pool and did absolutely nothing for a couple of hours and then went to meet his friends for dinner.

My last full day with Bryant was spent at the beach.
I am not a high-maintenance woman and my idea of the perfect getaway is to do absolutely nothing!
That’s exactly what we did… We baked in the sun for nearly half of the day and just talked.
It was perfect.

We went to dinner and watched the Halloween freak show that goes on there every year and called it a night.

My flight was scheduled to leave very early in the morning, so it was an early evening for us.

The next morning he drove me to the airport and we said our goodbyes.

That’s where it ends.

Bryant is a wonderful man. He is sweet, caring, giving and so much more, but I’m not able to give him what he wants.

Spending three straight days with someone is a fast way to learn whether or not you are right for one another and I believe that Bryant and I are better off as friends.

I’d made the mistake of telling my mother about Bryant and without ever meeting him, she decided that he was a great catch and urged me to give him a chance.
My own mother actually said that I might eventually “grow to love him.”

I had to stop and check the calendar to make sure we were still living in the 21st century. I couldn’t believe that my mother was encouraging me to settle.
Does she think things are that bad for me?

He was supposed to come home last weekend, but wasn’t able to make it.
My plan was to talk to him face to face, but since that wasn’t possible, I had to handle things over the phone.
It wasn’t easy, but I knew it wouldn’t be fair to lead him on.

Bryant has different emotional needs than I do and I’m just not able to meet his needs.
Then there’s the geographical issue… I’ve been in a long distance relationship before and sadly, it did not end with happily ever after. I don't think I am prepared for another cross country romance.

I told Bryant that I was glad we hadn’t crossed ‘that line’.
He insisted that we had.
My response to him was that kissing was only stepping on the line. If things had gone any further between us, it would have made our relationship so much more complicated.

Please keep in mind that I am leaving out a lot because of my respect for Bryant.
This blog makes things seem so simple, but it was a lot more complicated.
I knew that if we had continued down that path towards a serious, committed relationship, it would end badly and I didn't want to ruin what we had.

It was difficult for me to end things with Bryant.
I’ve been disappointed too many times to count and was not looking forward to doing the same to him.

We’ve chatted a few times on facebook since “the talk” and I hope we can continue the great friendship we have.
I guess, like the last text message Bryant sent me said, “Time will tell”.

Never Say Never

2009-10-27T18:10:00.000-04:00

I’m packing for a birthday getaway.

My hope was to go somewhere sunny, warm and tropical this year, but my plans didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped.
I am headed to a sunny, warm, tropical location, but it’s within the continental United States.

I also had planned on being alone.
I didn’t want anyone with me, no distractions, no stress and no worries.
It was just going to be me, alone, on a beach with a drink in my hand… but where I’m going, I won’t be alone.

It’s kind of funny how things work out.

In July I received a friend request on facebook from a guy I knew while doing a college internship.
He was SO not my type and we were constantly butting heads.
My boss at the time told me that the reason this young man was always starting something with me was because he liked me.
It’s like the little boy on the playground that keeps pulling the girl’s ponytail or pushing her down in the sand.
Sometimes boys have funny ways of showing their interest in a girl.

Well, I wasn’t trying to hear what my boss was saying at all because this guy was what I called an Al B. Sure wannabe.
This was back in the days where ‘light skinned was in’ and he just knew he was God’s gift to women.
He had the curly hair, groomed mustache, wore suits just about every day and carried a briefcase just about everywhere he went.
He had BUPPIE written all over him and I couldn’t stand him.

Twenty two years later, there he was on facebook requesting my friendship.
He was twenty years older and instead of looking like Al B. Sure, he had matured into Bryant Gumbel (what a lot of people close to me don’t know is that I had THE biggest crush on Bryant Gumbel before he left his wife).

He sent the friend request in mid-July, but I actually had to take the time to think about whether I really wanted to accept his friendship.

Now that I look back, it was interesting that I didn’t ‘ignore’ his request right away.
I’m not sure why that was.
I left Bryant’s request there for a few weeks and then decided that what happened way back then was in the past and I needed to let go.
What would it hurt to accept his friendship?
So, I did…

We chatted a few times, Bryant commented on my status updates and I did the same.

One Friday night I was home alone playing around on facebook when I received an instant message from Bryant.
We chatted for hours and shared abbreviated stories about the past twenty-two years of our lives.

Bryant told me he would be coming home for his high school reunion and asked if I would be around.
I told him I would be, but was a bit apprehensive.
I didn’t know what to make of his inquiry.
Was he asking me out? I figured if we went out, it would just be two old acquaintances getting together to catch up and laugh about old times.

As the days passed, we chatted more on facebook and exchanged phone numbers.
We talked on the phone and shared a lot of personal stories about our lives, loves and loves lost.
Somewhere along the line, I started looking forward to chatting with Bryant on facebook.
My heart would skip a beat when I saw a message in my inbox from him. I even began anticipating his arrival.

We set a date to meet for dinner and possibly go out for drinks and dancing afterwards.
He asked if I would like for him to pick me up, but I felt it would be best if we met at the restaurant.
When I got there, he was waiting at the bar.
Bryant stood and gave me a hug.
The hostess led us to our table where we enjoyed a great meal and conversation.

He asked if I still wanted to go out for drinks and I really didn’t want the night to end so we rode together in his car to a great spot in the downtown nightclub district.
We sat in the lounge at the bar where we talked over drinks.
One of my girlfriends happened to be there with a group of women and came over to say hello.
Bryant bought us all a round of drinks and for the rest of the evening, the party was in our little corner of the lounge.

As night turned to morning, I began to feel the effects of the alcohol and told Bryant I was ready to go home.
He drove me back to my car and thanked me for a fun evening.

I’m not exactly sure what was going through our minds at that time, but we both lunged for each other and began kissing. We stopped briefly and looked at each other with puzzled expressions as if to say, “What the hell just happened?” I guess we both thought it wasn’t so bad, so we grabbed each other again and started kissing!

We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

The next morning I gave Esmerelda all the details.

“You drunk kissed.” Esmerelda coolly explained. “It doesn’t count.”

Esmerelda was right. Bryant and I were both under the influence. It didn’t count.

We didn’t see each other Saturday, but met up at a sports bar on Sunday to watch football.
After my experience Friday night, I decided to order a glass of iced tea and not the kind from Long Island.
We had a great time watching the games even though my team lost.

Bryant walked me to my car and we kissed again.
It was a sober kiss, it was real and it was nice.

Bryant was leaving that Monday and before heading to the airport we met at a park near my house.
It was a beautiful fall afternoon and we stood in the park hugging, holding hands and kissing.
He asked if I had decided what I was going to do for my birthday and it was right then and there that I made the decision to visit him.
He told me he would love for me to come and I immediately made arrangements.

Since Bryant left, we’ve been counting down the days ‘til my visit.

We talk on the phone, text, e-mail, chat on facebook and instant message every day.

So here I am packing to see a man I never thought I would be interested in and didn’t think he would ever be interested in me.
Never say never…

Does Size Really Matter?

2009-10-04T12:49:00.000-04:00

Big things come in small packages... I can think of two; diamonds and Porsche's, but when it comes to my preference in men, Mama like 'em big!

They say size doesn’t matter, but I say, “Don’t believe the hype!”

Don’t get excited, this blog is not about to get X rated.

I am a petite woman; 5'3" tall, but I am attracted to men at least six feet or taller.
They should have some sort of athletic build, whether he's lean and muscular or built like a full back.
I'm not sure what it is really... Maybe it's because I'm petite and feel safe and secure in the arms of a big, burly man.
I guess subconsciously, that’s what I think a man should be.

I am extremely strong-willed, independent and self-sufficient.
I need a man that in my mind; can handle who I am as a woman, but also take charge when need be and remind me that he's the man and he's got this...

Just about everyone has an M.O. (modus operandi) when it comes to the type of person they are attracted to.
I have occasionally strayed from my M.O. because I believe in giving people a chance.
I might be missing out on the love of my life because I dismissed him for being too short, too thin or too heavy.
The tallest man I've dated (Mr. Goodbar) stands at six feet, six inches tall.
The shortest man I've dated was my date last night.
He's a nice man, educated, good job, owns his own home and currently in business school working on his M.B.A.
He's funny, intelligent, and has a great personality, but if I am five foot, three and taller than him in two inch heels, we have a problem.

I felt uncomfortable.
Body language says a lot and mine spoke volumes.
Mr. M.B.A. took my hand to lead me through a crowd and I kind of felt embarrassed as we walked past people.
I lowered my head and didn't make eye contact with the bouncers at the door or anyone we passed.
If I were with Mr. Goodbar for example, I would probably have held my head up high and looked at all the women as they lusted after my man.

I LOVE the fact that he took my hand so we wouldn't get separated, I enjoyed that he put his arms on my shoulders to guide me.
It shows that he's a gentleman; he is chivalrous and knows how to look after a woman.
If only he were six or seven inches taller!
I feel horrible because I actually had a good time with him, but I'm just not physically attracted to him!

Then there's the exact opposite of Mr. M.B.A.

Years ago I met a guy who had just graduated from a Big Ten college where he played football.

He was tall (at least 6'4"), athletic, built like a linebacker, and cute in a jock kind of way.
I'm not really sure how, why, or when we stopped seeing each other.

Fast forward twenty years where I run into this guy at work.

It took a minute to recognize him.
Sometimes time and age has a way of changing a person.
I'm sure you've probably heard the saying, "He's twice the man he used to be".

He really had become twice the man he used to be!

We chatted for a little while and exchanged e-mails.
He asked if I'd like to get together one night and I accepted.
We decided to do dinner and a movie.

I asked a girlfriend and her husband if they'd like to meet us after the movie for dinner and make it a double date.
She agreed only because she is extremely nosey and wanted to meet my date.
Her husband agreed to join us because he’s been anxious for me to meet a guy and settle down so he can have a playmate.

Well, we went to the movies and let's just say that it was a tight fit for him in the theater seat.
He spilled over the sides of the chair and into my seat.
I wondered if it bothered him or if he was just used to it.

After the movie, we met up with my girlfriend Julie and her husband Dave for dinner.
My date excused himself and went to the men’s room.
I knew it was killing her because I don't think she waited for him to get two paces from the table before she let me have it.

"Girl, what are you doing? He is NOT your type at all!" She scolded.

Julie’s husband shares the same name as my date and he threw in his two cents by laughing and saying, “Give Big Dave a chance!”

Julie slapped her husband on the shoulder yelling, “Look at him! He’ll crush poor little Single Mom!”

Dave countered with, “Big men need love too.”

“Not at the risk of killing my friend!” Julie argued.

Julie and Dave have been together a long time and Dave is all about “Big Love”.
Julie is maybe five feet, nine inches tall and wears maybe a size two or four.
Dave is probably the same height as Julie, but might tip the scale at around 250 pounds.
He jokes about the fact that it wasn’t his looks that attracted his wife to him.
They are a great couple and hopelessly in love.

Granted, when they met in college Dave was a little lighter, but he’s always been ‘thick’.
Julie saw more than just Dave’s size and as he ‘grew’ over the years, Julie attributed his weight gain to ‘good lovin’.

I read or saw on T.V. somewhere that women are more forgiving if her man gains weight, but men - since they're more visual creatures - can not handle the extra padding on a woman.
Once again, the double standard.
It's just not right.

Why is it that men can be picky or particular about what it is they want or don't want in a woman, but we women are called superficial if we prefer a man that's over a certain height or has the body of Adonis?

I feel guilty for discriminating against a man because of his size, but to me, size does matter.
I have to be physically attracted to a man in order for a relationship to work for me.

I refuse to settle and if it means I might be losing a good man in Mr. M.B.A., that’s a risk I’ll have to take.

The Call of the Wild

2009-10-02T14:32:00.000-04:00

I don’t know what it is, but lately I have become more aware of my age.

The biggest reminder came in the form of my cousin’s twenty one year old daughter.

She’s a New York City party girl, petite, stylish and oozes sexuality.
I look at her and I am so proud of who she is and what she is doing with her life. She is interning at a company owned by a huge record mogul and clothing designer, she’s going to school, working, and attending every party and event in the City.

She invited us out to one of the trendy nightclubs in the City where she has a connection.
It was crowded, loud and dark and I knew immediately I wasn’t going to have a good time.
I decided to make the most of it, but was about ready to fight the next person that stepped on my foot, bumped into me or grabbed my arm.
At the end of the evening, I stood waiting for my cousin’s daughter and her friend as they exchanged phone numbers with two young men they’d met that evening.

“Are those your younger sisters?” A guy asks, admiring them from afar.
In my fantasy, I did a leg sweep, took him out by the knees and down to the floor, grabbed him by the ears, with both hands and pounded his head into the floor until he lost consciousness…

One day I was sitting at work minding my own business when Patricia sends me an e-mail with a flyer to an event at a local nightclub promoting “Cougar Night”.

“Oh, hell naw!” I said to myself. I couldn’t believe she sent it and actually thought I’d even consider attending.

Patricia called me later to see if I wanted to go with her.

“I refuse to go somewhere where they are intentionally inviting mature women to corral them into a bar and watch the desperation on their faces as they try to hook up with somebody’s son before the last call. It’s a joke!”

I could see if the rules for admission were twenty five and older because they didn’t want the knuckleheads up in there, but this place was advertising ‘Cougar Night’.
I kept picturing a club full of forty-plus women with black sequined tops, breasts pointed in a southward direction, leopard print mini-skirts hovering above wrinkled knees, hair teased to the rafters and two inch press on nails painted candy apple red.

“Yeah, but we don’t look our ages.” Patricia pointed out.

“True, but you’re not going to find me up in there. Have fun.” I never did find out if she went, nor did I want to know how it was.

Why is a single woman over the age of thirty five labeled a cougar??

Is it that the world thinks we are so desperate for some that we are lurking in the bushes, tracking the scent of young men, waiting to pounce on the first ‘victim’ to fall into our traps?

That certainly is not me.
First of all, I have a cut off limit. I definitely will not date anyone born in the same decade as my oldest son and I will not consider anyone under the age of thirty seven, but so what if a woman wants to go out with or even marry a younger man!

Hollywood made such a big deal when Demi Moore hooked up with Ashton Kutcher. They’re still together, so she must be doing something right.
George Clooney prowls the preschools for his flavor of the month and he gets voted Sexiest Man Alive.

Why is it that as women get older, society deems us less attractive, but a man gets older and becomes ‘distinguished’?

One day, while venting to Antoine about my dismal dating life, he threw the ‘C’ word at me.

“The only thing that I can think of is you need to be a COUGAR and find you a young brotha and mold his ass.” ‘Toine proposed.

“Oh, I HATE the term COUGAR! It sounds like we're some kind of predator or something. Why is it men can go out with much younger women and they’re just called lucky bastards? We women have to be some predatory animal that eats its prey.”

“Because that's what y’all are!” ‘Toine teased.

“That's such a double standard and you know it... How are we cougars? If that's the case then YA'LL are dirty old men!” I argued.

“But you already know that it’s a double standard so why get mad at it.” Antoine plainly stated.

“Because I ain't no damn flesh eating cat!” I yelled.

I also don’t hunt for younger men. Young men tend to be attracted to me.
When I tell them that I am old enough to be their teenage mother and that us getting together is wrong in so many ways, I hear the usual, “Age ain’t nothing but a number” line.

That doesn’t work for me.
Maybe I’m missing out by not giving the younger guys a chance, but I’m kinda feeling like I’ve been there and done that already and I am not going back to the table for seconds.
I also am not in the mood to train or mold anyone like Antoine suggested.
My boys are grown.
I’ve already raised one son and the second has one foot out the door.

I recently took the kids to an amusement park.
I enjoy most of the rides, especially the roller coasters.
I’m not very good at playing the carnival games and think most of them are a rip off.
There is one game that I enjoy playing and I am guaranteed a win each time.
You pay three dollars and the person has to guess either your age or your weight. If they are wrong, you get your pick of the prizes on the shelf.
There’s about five of these games scattered throughout the park and I went to each one, paid them my three dollars and walked off with a plush new stuffed animal.

What a boost to my self esteem!
The first person guessed my age as twenty six, the second, twenty four and each one after was not too far off from the others.

I had a racket going and was loving it.

The day they start guessing my age within a five year difference is the day I quit.

I know I look good for my age and I’m not trying to relive my youth by hanging out at clubs with a bunch of twenty one year olds.
I had my day and it’s their turn.
In twenty years some of them will be right where I am now.
Yes, I’ll be twenty years older as well, but you know what they say, “Black don’t crack”!

Coming to America

2009-09-18T13:57:00.000-04:00

I’ve always wanted to adopt a child from Ethiopia or take in a foster child.

When I was in high school there was a foreign exchange student in my class and I thought that was such an exciting thing!
Imagine being a teenager and going to a foreign country, experiencing a completely different culture and not having your parents around! How great is that?

Taking in an exchange student was also something I wanted to do and an opportunity recently fell into my lap.

The previous owner of my home sits on a board for an exchange program.
She called me to ask if I’d be willing to take in a young man from West Africa.
I jumped at the opportunity!
To my surprise, she had already called my house and spoken to my borderline spoiled-materialistic-self centered son Rick who also thought it was a great idea and he gave her my number at work.

We went through the orientation process, interviews and background checks.
During this time, I exchanged e-mails with my new ‘son’.
His e-mails were written in broken English, but he seemed to be very polite.
We shared pictures of our families and talked about what his experience would be like in the United States

He’s been with us now for about two weeks and we’re still in that ‘polite’ phase.
I speak to my new son ‘Hakeem’ in that soft, mommy tone and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to him.
I’m sure Hootie and Rick are rolling their eyes each time I am courteous to my new son.

There have been moments though where I’ve had to bite my tongue really hard…
The first was when I was getting ready for work and opened up my drawer in the bathroom to get my toothbrush and noticed his toothbrush cozied up right next to mine!
It took a moment for my brain to really comprehend what I was seeing.
Then I stood there a bit longer trying to figure out what to do.
I couldn’t just throw out my toothbrush. I didn’t have a spare.
I thought about just forgoing brushing my teeth and ‘freshening up’ with some mouthwash, but couldn’t bring myself to do that either.
So, I started brushing, but couldn’t get the thought out of my mind… My gag reflexes were in overtime. Tears were pouring down my face as I forced myself to finish.
“Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over matter…” It didn’t work. I cut it short and threw my toothbrush into the garbage can.

William laughed uncontrollably as I shared my brushing incident.

“I woulda put some toothpaste on my finger and pretended it was my toothbrush!” He laughed as he sat in my office using his forefinger as an imaginary toothbrush.

Hakeem has since been evicted from my drawer.

I’m not sure if it’s really a big deal in Africa, but the handful of males I’ve met from the Motherland have had a strong view on manhood and what being a man is. Hakeem is no different.
One night we were all watching an NFL game and while listening to the crack of pads and the grunts of linemen, Hakeem sat there with a look of amazement, admiration and respect repeating out loud, “Those are MEN! Those are MEN!”
I laughed silently.

Another evening when the boys were all home, I decided to gather them all in the bathroom and break down the rules to this species that urinates standing up.

“Okay,” I began. “I am the only woman in this house, there is only ONE bathroom and there are THREE men in the house.”
Once the key word ‘men’ was uttered, Hakeem vigorously nodded his head!
Translation: “YES! YES! WE ARE MEN!”

Don’t get me wrong about this young man.
Even though he has never been to the United States, Hakeem is very familiar with American culture. Especially pop culture. He knows the hot new songs and the artists. He watches Youtube, plays video games and loves basketball.
At home in Africa, his mother would beg him to go play soccer with the other boys. Hakeem preferred the basketball court.

Hakeem is Muslim and I respect his beliefs.
Some young people on the other hand, may not exactly understand everything about the Muslim faith.
Rick was going to his girlfriend’s birthday party and invited Hakeem to come along. When I pulled into the parking lot, I told Hakeem to get out of the car and he asked why.
“Don’t you want to go to the birthday party? Don’t you want to hang out with other teenagers and meet some girls?”
Hakeem has the same sarcastic sense of humor as Rick and answered, “I don’t like girls.”
“Boy, get out my car!” I demanded.

Later that evening, I pulled into the driveway of Rick’s girlfriend’s home to pick up my two boys.
Rick came running out of the house, anxious to share some juicy teen gossip with me.
After the party, a group of them went back to Rick’s girlfriend’s house to hang out and watch movies.
“We were all watching ‘Lord of the Rings’ and this girl went and sat between Hakeem’s legs!” Rick reported. “Hakeem didn’t like it, told her to get up and pushed her off of him.” Rick continued.

I didn’t know where he was going with this. Was Hakeem serious when he said he didn’t like girls?

“I told the girl to back off and that Hakeem was Muslim and that she shouldn’t be so aggressive. She kinda chilled and left him alone. The next thing I know, she and Hakeem are cuddled up on the couch watching the movie!” Rick eagerly revealed.

I was stunned.

“But that’s not all!” Rick continued. “When you pulled in the driveway, we were all saying our goodbyes and hugging everybody. I turned around and they were kissing!” Rick shrieked.

I didn’t know what to say. I sat there thinking, “Oh Lord, this boy’s mother’s gonna kill me! She sends her son to me, trusting he’ll be in a good home and the boy gets turned out!”

When I asked Hakeem about the night’s events, he began to tell me how the girl sat on his lap and how the girl kissed him.

I interrupted him and asked why he was blaming the girl. “Don’t you play a role in anything that happened tonight?” He just laughed.

I’m gonna have to break him out of that one. He wants to be a man so bad, he’s going to have to MAN UP and accept responsibility for his actions.

Hakeem was the only male in his home.
He lived with his mother, aunt, sister and cousin. He's now in a home where the males outnumber the females.
What he hasn't learned yet is that I wear the pants in the house.
Don't worry, I'm not going to strip him of his 'manhood', but I guarantee by the time he leaves my home, he'll have a whole new respect for women!

Damsel in Distress

2009-09-14T15:48:00.000-04:00

I take pride in being an independent woman, but every now and then I long to have a big, strong man wrap his arms around me and say, “Baby, let me take care of this for you.”
I love it when a man can step up and relieve me of some of my stress and worries.
Unfortunately, I am single and if I want anything to get done, I have to do it.
If I’m in a tight situation, I have to work it out and if there’s a problem, I’ve got to figure out a resolution.
Sometimes I long for a two income household to ease some of the financial load.
It can be overwhelming at times; most recently this weekend.

Without getting into too much detail and putting people on blast, I was in a huge bind and hundreds of miles away from home.
A person whom I trusted and believed would come through for me did not and there I was in New York City with very little money and two kids.

I recently took in a foreign exchange student and it was his first time to the Big Apple. Even though my money was low, I didn’t want his trip to be a complete waste. So we went down to Times Square since he said he’d always wanted to go there.
We walked around Times Square and took in the sights.
I bought him a six dollar ice cream cone and both boys seemed happy.
I wanted the kids to enjoy themselves, but all the while I was worried how I was going to work out my situation.

The kids and I went to get something to eat and while waiting for our food, William called to see how things were going. While telling him the whole sordid story, I got another call.
I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Mr. Goodbar.

I know, I know… I haven’t mentioned him lately.
That’s because there really hasn’t been much to tell. Mr. Goodbar and I have an unusual relationship.
It’s off, it’s on, it’s hot, and it’s cold… I kind of got tired of the emotional rollercoaster, but there’s something about all that chocolate in an expensive suit that keeps me holding on!

A few of my friends and I have commented on the fact that each time I’ve made a trip to the City (for whatever reason); Mr. Goodbar has always been out of town. The conspiracy theories started flying among the Vagina Mafia and even William.
I just thought it was weird that he was always conveniently away each time I happened to be in his home town.
He insisted that it was a coincidence and nothing more.
So here I am in the middle of Manhattan and he’s calling me. I decided to take the call.
He knew I was in town and was checking to see how things were going.
I told him what happened and he went into 'man mode'.

“Where are you?” He asked.

“In Manhattan with the kids, getting something to eat.” I answered.

“How long are you going to be there?” He continued.

“We just ordered our food and then we’re going to walk around for a while.”

“Okay, well I’ve got to finish up a couple of events and I’ll meet you in Times Square. I’ll take care of you.” Mr. Goodbar said in the most compassionate, caring, sympathetic voice.
I wanted to cry right then and there.

All morning long I had been scrambling trying to find someone to help me and not once did Mr. Goodbar come to mind. I hadn’t even planned on calling him this trip. Now here he was on the phone telling me, “Baby, it’s going to be alright because I am here for you.” WHAT?? I wasn’t ready for that and tears began to well up in my eyes.

“Okay.” I sniffed.
He told me he’d call when he was on his way and we hung up.

The kids and I did a little more sightseeing and Mr. Goodbar called to tell me to meet him on the corner of 41st and 7th.
Perfect, we were right down the street.
We got to the corner, but I didn’t see him. I looked around some more and then called him.

“Hey, we’re here.” I told him.

“I see you, I’m pulling around the corner right now.”

There he was, like a knight in shining armor riding in on his black horse, he pulled up to the curb in his government issued SUV with tinted windows.
He stepped out looking all good in a dark suit, white shirt and red tie.
He walked around the back of the vehicle towards me and the boys in all of his chocolate deliciousness and leaned over to give me a hug and I inhaled the soft scent of his cologne.

I introduced him to my exchange student and he politely chatted with the boys asking them if they were enjoying their visit to the City.
He asked if we needed a ride to my car and we all climbed in the SUV.
He navigated the streets of Manhattan towards my car and pulled over.
The kids thanked him and got into my car.

“It’s good seeing you.” I said.

“You too.” He responded. “I know we’ve been missing each other, but we finally caught up this time.”

“Yeah, and perfect timing.” I agreed. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, and here you are.”

He handed me some cash. I didn’t bother to count it, just thanked him and put it in my purse. We talked a little longer, kissed and I got out of his SUV.

“Wow! He’s your ‘Big’ to your ‘Carrie’!” Esmerelda excitedly observed.

“You’re right.” I laughed. “Our relationship is scarily similar. I’m a writer; he’s this busy executive who’s always in a suit and we have this love/hate thing going. It’s funny!”

I recently read Steve Harvey’s “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man”, and in it he advises women to let a man be a man.
He suggests we step back sometimes and let the man “fix” things in our lives; Let him take care of a problem we’re having and then show him our deepest appreciation and gratitude.

I certainly don’t have a problem with that.
Mr. Goodbar came through for me and I appreciate him more than he realizes.

Facebook Follies

2009-09-02T16:34:00.000-04:00

Currently there are over 250 million active facebook users and nearly 120 million log on to facebook at least once a day.

I know a few people who have become what could be defined as “Facebook Addicts” and might actually need a facebook intervention.
I became a “user” late last year.
I guess you could say I am a “casual or social user” and very aware of my level of use.

After watching a segment on a morning news program about the growing number of older adults becoming facebook members and the horror it is causing their teenage and adolescent children, I decided to join just to get under my son Rick’s skin.

I joined and the first two people I ‘friended’ were Rick and Hootie. My always loving son Hootie immediately confirmed my friendship, but Rick ignored me and to this day we are not friends.

Since joining facebook, I have found long lost loves, friends, family and today I even connected with old high school classmates that I haven’t talked to in years.

There are drawbacks to being a facebook user though…
You might recall my incident with the jilted guy sending a message to my facebook inbox expressing his dissatisfaction with me for blowing him off… Yeah, not a good move (on either of our parts).
He has since been blocked.

Other facebook ‘friends’ have had similar situations where they’ve had to block unruly friends and their unwanted comments.

Then there are the users who want to put their business out there for everyone to see.
If you and your man break up, do you have to announce it on facebook and put him on blast? Seriously… How old are we?
If you feel the need to do all of that, I hear MySpace is looking for members.

And what’s with the ‘It’s complicated’ relationship status? Really? You gotta put it out there like that?

My most recent facebook dilemma has come in the form of friend requests from people whom I don’t want to offend, but would rather not befriend.

There’s a guy I know that really likes me and sent me a friend request.
I’m not feeling him that way and don’t want him to take my accepting the friendship as anything more than what it is. I also don’t want him knowing who my friends are and having a window into my world.

My sister recently warned me that our mother might be jumping on the facebook bandwagon. I told her that I most certainly would not be accepting my mother’s friend request.
Do I feel bad? No.
Rick didn’t accept mine and there’s no love lost between us.

Then there’s Malik. You might remember him from a few blogs back. Malik is the ex that called me to apologize for hurting me all those years ago and who is also married now with kids.
Malik sent me a friend request followed by an e-mail that read, “I sent you a friend request on FB please accept me as a friend. Please be careful. It is closely monitored.”
Just to be clear, he’s not talking about the facebook police. He’s talking about his WIFE!
I in turn responded with, “Then it is probably advisable that we do not become facebook friends.” I clicked ‘ignore’ with no hesitation.

“Facebook will get you in trouble!” William exclaimed. “I’m not trying to accept anyone’s friendship that I don’t know because I’m not trying to hear my wife’s mouth.”

He’s right.
facebook has probably caused a lot of arguments between a lot of couples. I can personally recall friends that found pictures of their men that had been “tagged” at some party or somewhere where he wasn’t supposed to be when he said he was doing something else.

Then there’s the comments posted on your man’s wall from random women, “Oohh… You’re looking good in them jeans!” Or, “Missed you last night.”
And why is she poking my man?? I think some women do it to mark their territory, others do it to stir up trouble and then there are those that are just clueless.
If you want to write something personal, send it to their inbox.

There's also the matter of "unfriending" or removing someone from your friend list. I have done this a couple of times after being crossed by a person or two.
I've also had it done to me, but this person doesn't know that I KNOW she unfriended me. I learned we were no longer friends while trying to send her a message.
Some see it as a slap in the face, but wouldn't it be more like a slap in the facebook?

“Luke Skywalker is on facebook.”

“Reeeally…?” William said in amazement. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know… I was kind of surprised because I didn’t expect him to be on facebook. He’s not the facebook type.” I explained.

“Shoot, none of us is the facebook type!” William countered. “You’re not the facebook type, I’m not the facebook type, hell… my wife is not the facebook type and she was on there at two o’clock in the morning!”

“You’re right. I remember when I said I would never get on facebook or MySpace. Still won’t do Myspace, but I’m on facebook all day every day.” I agreed.

“So what are you going to do?” William asked.

“I don’t know.” I answered, seriously contemplating what to do.
If I become facebook friends with him, what if I see pics of him and all sorts of women? What if he has an album with pics of his baby?
I hung up the phone with William and sent Luke a friend request.

Say it Loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud!

2009-08-19T15:45:00.000-04:00

I absolutely love being a Black woman!

I love the complexion of my skin and I have to thank my high-yellow father and my milk chocolate mother.
I am a combination of the two of them.

I love how we all come in every shade of brown and black.
That’s one of the many things I appreciate about our race; the different pigmentation, shapes of our noses, fullness of our lips, hair color and texture and all of our lovely curves!

I have an intern that is beautiful in so many ways.
The first thing you notice is her smooth, chocolate skin. She’s got beautiful almond shaped eyes that come in a unique shade of brown. Once she starts talking, you realize she has a bubbly, vivacious personality and she is very intelligent. She’s a joy to work with and I know that as long as she stays on the track she’s set in front of her, she will go very far.

She and I have a lot in common.
We were both raised in the suburbs where we were one of only a handful of African American students in our class. We didn’t have much of a connection as teenagers with girls our own color. They didn’t like the way we talked, looked or dressed, so we tended to associate more with the white girls.
Because our options were limited, we also dated white boys.
High school is generally where our similarities end.
I moved to Florida where I discovered a whole candy store of chocolate!

My intern has been in a serious relationship with a white guy for nearly two years. I’ve only known her for about two and a half months, but during this time I have seen her come into the office several times looking puffy-eyed, tired, sullen and disheveled… basically, busted!

The next time it happened, I asked her what was going on.
She told me they had been arguing and that it’s a pretty common occurrence. When it happened again, I asked her if she wanted to talk.
She said it was the same old thing, but this time she shared with me that he said if they break up, he ‘will never date another Black girl again’.
This really bothered me and I told her that she might want to think about moving on.
For him to say something like that to her, he’s probably thinking things much worse. Then, without going into too much detail she said that he actually has said worse. That did it! I told her if she had to pack her things and come live with me, she wasn’t going to go back to him.

Things were fine for a while. She had been coming to work bubbly and upbeat… her usual self… until yesterday.
At the end of the day she, William, another intern and I were sitting in my office and her boyfriend came up in conversation.
This time he left the keys, a note, took his stuff and said he was out. The issue of race was mentioned again and that’s when she revealed that he said, “I’m never messing with anymore Black women and that’s why I hate all Black people”. I almost fell out of my chair.
William jumped up and was about ready to either shake my intern or slap some sense into her.
“That’s like him telling you that he hates you, your mama, your grandmother, your sister and anyone else in your family. That wasn’t enough for you to tell him to get the ‘f’ out?” William shouted.

She quietly sat there and told us that she loves him and doesn’t want to lose him. We tried counseling her for a good hour, but I don’t think much got through to her. She believes there’s no one else out there for her and doesn’t want to go through the pain of a break-up so she’d rather endure the emotional abuse she’s receiving from him.
I’ve analyzed her ten times over and believe there’s a number of reasons why she’s with him. Basically, until she looks in the mirror and tells herself that she doesn’t like the way he’s making her feel and that she deserves better, she’s not going to let him go. Only she will know when she’s had enough.
This breaks my heart.

I don’t care if the next man she dates is Black, Hispanic, Asian or another white man.
Whoever she is with though MUST shower her with love and respect.

When my intern’s semester ends, they usually go on their way and I will hear from them occasionally via e-mail.
I can’t do that with this intern. She’s stuck with me and hopefully she will realize that she is a beautiful, intelligent, strong, independent Black woman that has so much to offer this world!

Call Me a Hypocrite

2009-08-03T14:04:00.000-04:00

I met a guy through an organization I belong to.
When we met, I never really thought anything else about him. He wasn’t really my type.
I hosted a barbecue at my house for this same organization and he was on the guest list. I still wasn’t even thinking twice about this guy. It was a pretty fun day and I saw a different side to him. I don’t know what it was… Maybe I got caught up in the festivities of the day, maybe it was the sangria, but we ended up exchanging phone numbers.

We went on a total of FOUR dates which consisted of a handshake, a hug and ONE kiss.
During this time, I realized there was absolutely no attraction on my part towards him and then I discovered that he was way too needy.
We got into an argument about his dissatisfaction over my slow response or lack thereof to his text messages.
After telling him that I can sometimes be busy and that I actually have a life, I realized that if he is carrying on this way while we are still getting to know each other, he is not the man for me.
I decided to slowly back off.
When he called, I was busy and would ‘call him later’. Later never came.

I figured I had to break it to him gently, but didn’t really know how to go about it.
I’m usually on the receiving end, so this is hard for me.

Well, it took a little too long for me to find the right words because Saturday, while at the salon, I went on Facebook and there was a message in my inbox from him. Keep in mind that he is NOT and never has been my Facebook friend, but my Facebook account is not private.

Here’s what he wrote;
I would much rather have had this conversation in person or by phone but it does not look like you intend to return my phone calls.

That saddens me because you are an amazing woman. You're gorgeous, smart, funny, sexy and cool -- what I like to call "5 kinds of fine." But if you're not feeling me, I have to accept that and move on.

I happen to think you're making a mistake -- that you won't find a better man than me. I have the heart of a lion. All I need is the right woman to shower with my love and affection. Unfortunately, it looks like that won't be you.

But what deeply saddens me, Single Mom, is how coldly you dismissed me without even the courtesy of a phone call to let me know what was on your mind and in your heart. I believe I deserved better than that. If you're honest with yourself, I think you'll agree.

I hope you find what you're looking for.

I was stunned!
The women in the salon were naturally curious, so I shared the message with them. Comments ranged from, “He’s WAY too needy”, to “That was a total chick move!” (Chick wasn’t the actual word used…) and “He’s acting that way and he didn’t get the booty?”

I felt like a hypocrite.
How many times have I complained about men who love to play Houdini?
They pull disappearing acts the moment they get what they want from us or they’re not feeling us and here I go and do the same thing.

Esmerelda and William had plenty to say on the matter.
“Think about how many women have pulled that same move! We’ve all told guys off in a letter or an e-mail about how we are a good woman and if he doesn’t appreciate it, then he doesn’t deserve us. You’re the guy and HE’S the girl!” Esmerelda said.
And then she said karma was going to come back on me. Thanks…

William’s reaction was more of the same, “Can you blame him? I told you so… I understand why he wrote you that. If you had just told the man you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t be getting cussed out on Facebook.”

Now, instead of trying to break it to him gently and giving him the “It’s not you it’s me” speech, I have to find the words to respond to his message. Ignoring it would make it worse.
Damn, now I can’t even give him the dreaded, “I hope we can still be friends” line.

The Number You Have Dialed...

2009-07-09T16:28:00.000-04:00

In an older blog post, "You Can't Move Forward if you Keep Looking Backwards" 8/27/07), I wrote about how it's not advisable to reconnect with old-flames.
If it didn't work out the first time, chances are it's not going to end any better the second time around.
Like I said before, contrary to what Shalamar said, the second time around is NOT always better than the first time.
I try to live by that rule, but I do confess that I don't always practice what I preach and have bumped my head a few times.

Well, last week I was sitting at home watching the news and there was another story on a plane crash and its investigation.
There have been so many incidents with planes lately and Congressional hearings on pilots and their flight times.
All of the recent news events made me think about Luke Skywalker.
I know he's alive because there hasn't been any reported incidents with his airline and his name hasn't been on the news, but I decided to reach out to him and let him know that he was in my prayers.

Yes, Luke Skywalker is the man that hurt me last year by announcing his impending fatherhood.
He is the same man I had deleted weeks before his confession because I realized that he and I wanted different things from each other.
I wanted a relationship, he wanted a booty-call.

Even so, I would never, ever wish anything bad on him like getting hurt or God forbid, his plane going down.
Despite his one negative flaw of being a ho, he's a good man (If that makes any sense).

So... I sent him a text message telling him that he was on my mind because of all of the news coverage and I hope he is safe. I told him I will keep him in my prayers.

To my surprise, he responded.
"Thank you for thinking of me. I'm doing okay. I was thinking of you too and I hope you are doing well. Did you ever move into your house? I'm truly sorry about how we ended."

I didn't know what to say, so in situations like that it's best not to say anything at all and that's exactly what I decided to do.

I was sitting at home last night watching TV when my cellphone rang.
I looked at the display and there it was; a 904 area code.
I was kind of surprised and had to think quick.
Should I answer it? Should I let it go to voicemail?
I let it ring three times and answered.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy, Monica!" He said in a sing-song way, with that sexy deep voice and Southern drawl that most pilots have.

"Excuse me?" I wasn't sure if I heard correctly. Maybe he really said my name, but my ears heard something else.

"Monica?" He repeated.

With every bit of disgust in my body I quietly told him he had the wrong number.
He apologized and I hung up the phone.

I sat there on the couch and thought about it. I couldn't just let that one slide, so I picked up my cellphone and angrily started typing, "You called Single Mom, NOT Monica... Is it really that hard to keep track?"

I really wasn't in the mood to hear anything he had to say and didn't want to subject myself to the anxiety of anticipating a response, so I turned my cellphone off.
I turned off the TV, went upstairs and got in bed.
I called him a few names except a child of God before falling asleep.

The next morning I turned my phone back on.
My phone immediately started vibrating and ringing, letting me know I had messages.
There was a voicemail and text message.
I read the text message first, "PLEEEEASE forgive me!" It read, followed by a sad face.
Then I listened to the voicemail message.
"Hey Single Mom, I am sooooo sorry about that. Please forgive me. It was a simple mistake. I was calling Monica because she is doing my taxes and I must have accidentally dialed your number. Please forgive me. Please call me back."

"Monica's doing his taxes and HE'S doing Monica!" William laughed after hearing the whole story. "You gonna call him back?"

"Really? Why should I?" I questioned. "We weren't talking before all of this. I sent him that text message last week because he was on my mind."

"Yeah, and when he read that text message from you, he probably thought he was back in there again! That's how we men think." William chided.

William was right and it probably wasn't a good idea to even send the original text message.
No matter how hard I try to justify it, I should have never made contact with Luke Skywalker.
I should have left the past exactly where it was; in the past!
I try to learn from my mistakes and the moral of this story is, Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. ~ George Santayana

We Are Fam-I-Lee!

2009-07-07T10:56:00.000-04:00

Family has always been very important to me.
I grew up in a large extended family and a lot of my first cousins are like big brothers to me.
I was an only child for the first eight years of my life until my sister Condoleeza was born.
Then came my baby sister, Bird four years later.

We all have different personalities.
Condoleeza is Miss Corporate America. She is by-the-book, prim and proper, extremely frugal, slightly neurotic and very pragmatic. She's also a neat-freak and our best advice to people is to not set anything down around Condoleeza because you may have a hard time finding it after she's picked it up and put it away.

Baby Bird is kind of all over the place. Because she's the baby, she's spoiled and a bit self-centered.
I remember a time where I was desperate and needed Bird to pick up my birth certificate from the state office for me. She lived five minutes away, whereas I lived three hours away.
She went, but left because she said she had laundry to do and had no clean panties.
I ended up driving six hours round trip to get my birth certificate.
I wanted to send her a big bag of Fruit of the Loom for Christmas so she'd never run out of panties again!

If you were to ask my mother, she'd probably say I was the wild child because I refused to abide by many of her rules.
Anything she said, more than likely I would do the opposite.
What my mother didn't realize is that I was really paying attention and to this day carry the values she instilled in me.

Condoleeza and Bird are highly emotional women.
We each handle stresses differently, but when Condie and B. reach their boiling points, it's best to grab your ear plugs or just walk away.

Of my sisters (and my mother), I'm the more level-headed one.
They usually let their emotions get the best of them and when the four of us are together, it's a hot mess.
Bird sometimes enjoys being the instigator and she put that hat on today when I posted a comment on Facebook about a Michael Jackson poster I had as a little girl.
Our mother saved it for me, but now it's missing.
My mother's theory is that Condoleeza may have thrown it out when she was helping my mother move.
Me: "I may have to whoop somebody's behind!"

Bird: "For the record, she meant your other sister, so direct your whooping that way! I was the one who found the Thriller record (yes, record!) and safely wrapped it in paper and placed it in the middle of the box so it wouldn't get cracked if dropped.
Oh, and ask your sister to write you a check for $5,000. Because that's probably what the poster is worth now. She also sold your Black Barbie (the first one I think!) at a garage sale for 50 cents. Then a week later on Oprah we found out it was worth as much as $500. So ask for that money too!"

Me: "Bird, why are you telling me all of this?? You KNOW my blood is boiling right now... And you KNOW she sold our crystal bowls that grandma told her to split between the three of us. Oh Lawd, I see what the future looks like at Mommy's funeral and it ain't good!"

Bird: "Yeah, I'm mad at that too. Don't forget to add the money from that to the tally. But I don't wanna get my hands dirty. You handle her and I'll pass the plate for your bail."

Me: "Wow... Sorry little sis, we stick together on this one. Ride or die!"

Bird: "I said I'd bail you out! Handle your affairs! If we both go down there won't be anyone to help us!"

Me: "I think Mommy would have our backs on this one. It's time to woman up!"

I think between me and Bird, Condie doesn't stand a chance.

I remember one Christmas when my mother had three boxes under the Christmas tree and told us to each pick one.
We opened the gifts and each had very beautiful Pashmina scarves of different colors.
Bird kept eyeing Condoleeza's Pashmina and decided she wanted Condie's.
Condie wasn't budging.
Now keep in mind, we were grown women at this time!

I don't remember what words were said, but what I clearly recall is Condoleeza reaching her point of frustration, throwing the box with the scarf in it straight at Bird's head and connecting.
The shrieks began followed my mother telling both of them to grow up and shut the hell up.
All the while, I sat there on the couch with my Pashmina wrapped around my neck and watching the melee.
I still have my Pashmina.
I wonder if after all of that, they still have theirs.

I love my sisters dearly and even though there may be minor skirmishes, we truly love one another in our own crazy ways.

I just finished watching Michael Jackson's memorial service and death always brings a family together, if only for a short while.

My sisters and I have been talking about taking a girl's only trip somewhere for quite some time, but keep finding reasons to put it off.
With the sudden passing of Michael Jackson, I have this sense of urgency.
We don't know how long we have with our loved ones.
I don't want to look back and regret not taking that vacation with my sisters.

So if my sisters are reading this, let's stop making excuses, grab our passports and turn Paris upside down! Laissez les bon temps roulez!

Date Night

2009-07-02T14:58:00.001-04:00

I was asked out the other day by an acquaintance and after thinking about it, decided why not?
We exchanged phone numbers and set a date to meet for lunch.
Since he works not too far from me, I recommended a spot close to our offices.

On the day of our lunch date, I left my office a little later than I had hoped.
I felt bad because I didn't want to make him wait.
Finding parking was difficult, which added to my arrival time.

After finally finding a spot and walking towards the restaurant, I reached into my purse to see if he called.
That's when I saw the text from him, "Hey, did you say we were meeting at Tribute?" The name of a restaurant similar to the one where we were supposed to meet, but not where I was currently standing.
I immediately called him and tried my hardest to be patient.
"Hi, I just got your message. No, I'm at Trinity".
"Oh, I'm sorry", he apologized. "I thought you said Tribute! I sent you a text message."
"Yes, I keep my cell phone in my purse most of the time while I'm at work." I answered.
"I'm right down the street, I'll be right there."

While I waited, I sent William a text message saying that my date had lost several cool points for going to the wrong restaurant and sending me a text message instead of calling me directly.
He got there sooner than I expected and we enjoyed a nice lunch.
He seemed like a pretty cool guy and we had similar interests.
After lunch, he walked me to my car and we shook hands.
I thanked him for a nice lunch.

Later that afternoon I got another text from my date thanking me for having lunch with him and then he said that he was in the mood for seafood and asked if I would have have dinner with him.
Seafood! he didn't have to ask twice!
I answered with a polite 'yes'.

On the day of our dinner date, William came to visit me in my office.
"So, are you ready for your big date?"
"Yeah, I'm trying to figure out what to wear though."
While I was saying that I was thinking of wearing my green dress, William said at the same time NOT to wear the green dress.
"Why?" I asked, laughing the whole time.
"That dress is for when your car breaks down and you need a co-signer!" William explained. "You only wear that dress when you're going in for the kill."
"Oh, so it's like my trump card?" I asked.
"Yup, unless he's the man you know you want to spend the rest of your life with, DO NOT wear that dress because you won't be able to get rid of him." William warned.
"Okay, Okay... I won't wear the dress!" I laughed.
I went home and thoughtfully selected four dresses from my closet.
Rick helped me make the final decision, a strapless maxi dress.

Although my date asked if I would like to be picked up, I drove myself to the restaurant and made it at seven o'clock exactly.
I sent him a text message asking if he had arrived.
He walked out of the restaurant and I completely approved of his outfit.

Our dinners were horrible, but the conversation was great.
We both smiled and thanked the server when she asked how our meals were.
I was glad he didn't complain and make a big deal about the quality of the food.
"That's a good thing." William said when I gave him my post-date update.
"If you guys had complained, you would have ended up with new meals with boogers and spit all up in it."

After dinner, my date and I walked along the lake and then he walked me to my car.
He went to shake my hand and I told him he could give me a hug.
As he hugged me, he did the 'pull back' that men do and I had to make a quick decision as to whether I was going to let him kiss me on the lips or give him the cheek.
I gave him the lips.
"Awwwww... No!" William shouted. "You save the lips for the third date!"
"Sorry!" I laughed. "I forgot the rules."

We got in our cars and headed home.
When I got home I sent my date a text message thanking him for dinner and asked him to let me know he made it home safely because he lives in another county.

He called and we spoke for a few minutes before saying goodnight.

After hanging up the phone, I went to Facebook and updated my status.
"Just got home from a REAL date."

The comments came in from my cynical female Facebook friends.
"Yeah right, and Ed McMahon came knocking on my door saying I won a million dollars! Real dates are about as real as leprechauns & unicorns."

"Do tell! I thought those were urban legend."

"Wait, there are real dates out there? Who knew?"

"My Mom told me about real dates after she wondered how you know you are not going to meet a serial killer on Match.com."

He asked me out on another date.
I'll let you know how it goes.

Have You Seen My Childhood?

2009-06-26T13:44:00.000-04:00

Michael Jackson is dead.

In years to come people will ask, "Where were you when you learned Michael Jackson died?".
I had just left the grocery store when I got a text message from Jelly Bean Benitez saying that Michael Jackson was dead.
I thought it was one of those crazy internet hoaxes and kind of dismissed it until not even five seconds later I got another text from my son Rick saying the same thing.
I frantically started calling friends to find out if what I was reading was true, but no one was answering their phones.
The next call I made was to my friend Gloria.
Gloria grew up with and is good friends with the Jacksons.
I figured if anyone knew, she would be the one.
I dialed her number and when I heard her wails on the other end, it was immediately confirmed.
My childhood idol, my first crush was dead.

My earliest memory of Michael Jackson would probably be as a little girl living in Florida.
I remember my cousin, who was eleven months older than me, dancing and singing to the Jackson 5.
I admired my cousin and thought he was so cool because he sounded and moved just like Michael Jackson.
I also remember my fifth birthday party. We were all dancing in my living room and I had on a suede vest with tassles just like Michael's.

I had the poster of young Michael with his larger than life and perfectly-picked afro. He wore that same suede vest and a multi-colored, over sized collar shirt.
I wonder what ever happened to that poster?

Later on when the Jacksons had their variety show and their younger sister Janet was introduced, my cousin and I would do our own little skits pretending we were Michael and Janet. I used to do Janet's impression of Mae West.
Those are happy memories.

My first album was Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall". I think it was a Christmas present.
My first ever concert was the Jackson's "Victory" tour.
It was in Providence, Rhode Island.

Michael Jackson was a big part of my childhood.

As a tribute, the local radio station played continuous Michael Jackson songs.
It was great listening to his collection and reminiscing.
I listened to the radio all night.
It was quiet in the house. Rick was sleeping and it was just me, alone in my room listening to the radio.
That's when they started slowing things down and I began to get emotional.
First it was, "Got to Be There" and then "I'll be There" and the killer..."Ben".
I lost it.
I sat in my bedroom and sobbed.
I wasn't crying only for the loss of one of the greatest musical icons in history, I was also crying over the loss of my own childhood.
So much of my youth included Michael Jackson.

He wrote a song titled, "Have you Seen My Childhood?"
As I listened to the lyrics, I cried because although he was a big part of some of the happiest times in my life, Michael Jackson missed out on those same joys.
He was a sad, lonely child that wanted nothing more than to be a normal child.

As Michael grew older, I began to distance myself from the man morphing before us on television.
His nose, cheeks, hair, skin... That was not the Michael Jackson I grew up with and I didn't know that man in the videos.
My childhood crush had beautiful brown skin, a full nose and lips and a perfect afro.
In my mind, Michael was my boyfriend until his younger brother Randy came along and I decided that maybe Michael could be my brother-in-law instead!

My tears last night were for the boy that missed out on his childhood and the man that was so misunderstood.

Sometimes we don't think of huge stars like him dying.
I wasn't supposed to outlive Michael Jackson, but it seems the great ones always die young and tragically.
In my mind, he was supposed to live forever.
It may sound sort of trite or cliche, but Michael Jackson's legacy will live on forever.

Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for the world that I come from
'Cause I've been looking around
In the lost and found of my heart...
No one understands me
They view it as such strange eccentricities...
'Cause I keep kidding around
Like a child, but pardon me...

People say I'm not okay
'Cause I love such elementary things...
It's been my fate to compensate,
for the Childhood
I've never known...

Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for that wonder in my youth
Like pirates in adventurous dreams,
Of conquest and kings on the throne...

Before you judge me, try hard to love me,
Look within your heart then ask,
Have you seen my Childhood?

People say I'm strange that way
'Cause I love such elementary things,
It's been my fate to compensate,
for the Childhood (Childhood) I've never known...

Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for that wonder in my youth
Like fantastical stories to share
But the dreams I would dare, watch me fly...

Before you judge me, try hard to love me.
The painful youth I've had

Have you seen my Childhood....
Written and Composed by Michael Jackson.
Produced by Michael Jackson.

My Two Dads

2009-06-21T12:16:00.000-04:00

Today is Father's Day.

I've been blessed to have had two fathers in my life and regardless of all of the ups and downs, I'm glad each one has been there.

I don't know the whole story, nor do I really care to know when I was conceived and the circumstances surrounding it.
I know that my mother and biological father split while my mother was pregnant with me.
Without airing my parent's dirty laundry, I'll just say it wasn't a pretty split.
I've chosen not to get involved in the "he said/she said" drama between my parents.
I've heard little bits and pieces from both my parents and some relatives.
What I do know is that I wound up being collateral damage.

My mother sent me to Florida to live with my grandmother and somewhere around the age of four, I met my "daddy".
He was my daddy in every sense of the word.
When I look back on my childhood, I can say that I was a happy and content child.
When my mother became pregnant with my sister, daddy took me to Toronto so we could have some Father/Daughter alone time.
I cherish that.
I remember a picture in the family photo album of me leaning over to give my daddy a kiss... Another one of those special moments.

Everything was great until daddy got a job offer in Massachusetts and my world changed completely.
Daddy had to leave us and start his new job while my pregnant mom, little sister and I stayed behind until our house was sold.
Once we relocated in Massachusetts and had reunited with daddy, I could tell that our family dynamic had changed.
Again, not to air my parent's dirty laundry, this was the beginning of a lot of unhappy years for my parents and myself.
By this time I was twelve years old and an adolescent girl really needs to have her daddy around.
Mine wasn't... At least not emotionally.

It was also around this time that I began to suspect that something wasn't exactly right.
I began to have doubts and suspicions about my daddy and whether he truly was my daddy.

Then out of the blue, my doubts were confirmed.

While doing the dishes (my usual chore), I got a phone call from a girl claiming to be my cousin.
I thought I knew all of my female cousins, but she announced that she was a relative from a family I never knew.
She told me I had a father living in another state and asked if I wanted to speak to him.
I told her that I didn't and she asked if I was scared.
When a thirteen year old's courage is challenged, he or she will usually try to prove how brave they are and that's what I did.
I told her I wasn't and for her to put him on the phone.

He got on the phone and began to tell me how I was his first born child and how much he loved me.
He told me that he chose to stay out of my life because I had a father and family in Massachusetts and didn't want to interfere in our lives.
I listened to everything he said.
He gave me his address and phone number and I stashed it away in my jewelry box for nearly three years.
I kind of resented him reaching out to me at an age where I was already confused and trying to figure out who I was.

When I was sixteen I decided to reach out to my "other" father and we began writing to each other.
I guess he told one of my mother's relatives that he and I had finally connected.
This relative told my mother and so began almost two years of turmoil in my home.

My relationship with my dad in Massachusetts had all but deteriorated and I longed to get to know my "other" father.
When I was eighteen and felt no one could really tell me what to do, I went to visit my "other father" and I have been here since.

I went through phases of disillusionment, anger and dislike for my "other father".
Over the years our relationship has evolved and I have grown to respect and appreciate the man he is.
We have a wonderful relationship now and I try to let him know how much I love and appreciate him.
I choose to look past whatever happened between my father and mother.
That is between them.
I missed out on eighteen years with my father and I am going to make the most of the time we have together.

I look back on my childhood and think about the happy times I had with "daddy".
My parents are divorced now and "Daddy" is no longer in mine or my sister's lives.
Even though he's not around, I'm grateful for the joy he brought in my life as a little girl.

Children can't choose their parents, but I'm glad that I had not one, but TWO fathers in my life.

Anyone can make a baby, but it takes a real man to be a father.

Mr. Right

2009-06-09T15:56:00.000-04:00

It's been nearly three years since my relationship ended with the philandering ex-boyfriend.
It doesn't hurt anymore, but it has left me very guarded and cautious.

Although I enjoy going out with guys and hope to one day find "the one", I'm not really at a point in my healing process where I'm ready or able to fully commit my heart to a man.
This conversation has come up a few times with a couple of different people lately.
Most recently with William...

"You know, I was thinking about you the other day and I don't really think you're ready to settle down."

"You're right." I agreed. "I'm not ready to settle down. I'm not looking to have someone move in with me right now or get married."

"Then what is it that you want?" William asked.

"I want a relationship and what comes with it. I want someone to do things with, someone to cuddle on the couch with and watch the game, someone to take me to events instead of having one of my boys be my date. I want someone I can call and ask what he's doing and he'll come over. I want someone to spend time with..."

"But live in separate households." William interjected.

"Exactly! I was ready to do that with my ex-boyfriend. After my divorce, I swore I would never get married again and then I met him. We were wonderful together. We talked of buying a house together and getting married. I never loved a man the way that I loved him. So when he hurt me, I was broken. I lost weight, couldn't sleep, I was devastated."

"But what about Mr. Goodbar?" William asked.

I let out an exasperated sigh, "That's going nowhere. When we're together everything is great, but he's always working and traveling. I'm always going to see him, but can never get him to come here. The only time he comes here is when it's work related. He expects me to be committed to him, but how do I know that he's committed to me? I don't! I spent three years in a long distance relationship where I committed my heart and soul to a man that was not faithful to me. Until I'm in a relationship where I know that MY MAN is hopelessly devoted to me, I'm not going to give all of myself to him. Mr. Goodbar is not Mr. Right... He's Mr. RIGHT NOW."

"You're not going to find him here." William plainly stated.

"Wow! Thanks for the encouragement!"

"No, seriously... the type of man you're looking for comes few and far between here. You're going to have to meet someone in the D.C. or Virgina area."

William was right. The kind of man I want doesn't come by too often in this area.
Although I am not interested in getting into another long distance relationship.

During the conversation I had with "Malik", he even brought up the issue of the endangered species type man that I need.
"You need a man that is nerdy... He's got to be smart and a "Yes Man". You need a mama's boy, but that will eventually drive you crazy because you also need a man that's not gonna take any mess, will let you know he's the man and also respect your independence."

"I need a Corporate Thug." I explained.

"You're right." Malik agreed.

I wish I could take little bits and pieces of men I know and put all the pieces together to make the perfect bionic man.
He'd have the brains and sensibility of one guy, the perfect sense of humor from another, the drive and commitment of the next man, compassion and sensitivity from someone else, honest and integrity from one more, sensuality and sex appeal from that one and from the last guy; swagger and confidence.

As I sit here writing this, I'm laughing to myself because it sounds like I just described President Obama!

My Mr. Right or my Bionic Man will come along eventually.
Until then, I'm not going to invest much emotionally in someone that doesn't deserve my love.

Mr. Goodbar called me today before I left the office.
He's having a rough week dealing with billionaires buying politicians and political defectors.
I told him I hated hearing him sound so worn out.
He asked if I would come see him.
Six months ago I would have bought the next train ticket there without hesitation.

I feel bad for him, but in the infamous words of Janet Jackson, "What has he done for you LATE-LEEEE?"

Bumper Cars

2009-06-04T18:09:00.000-04:00

It's a typical morning...
My alarm goes off at 5:10 a.m.
I lay there for ten minutes and go wake Rick up, get back in bed, turn on the morning news, lay there until 6:30, take a shower, get back in bed and watch the Today Show until 7:30, get dressed, brush my teeth, put Zoe in her crate and head off to work.

Same routine everyday.

As I'm driving to work, I realize that I forgot to grab the box of pomegranate green tea I just bought.
I'm only about a half mile from home, so I decide to turn around and go get it.
I zip home, grab the tea and a yogurt while I'm at it and hop back in the car.
As I'm driving, I see a police officer with a vehicle pulled over for some sort of traffic violation.
You know how you're driving by yourself and you just start thinking all sorts of crazy stuff based on what you're seeing as you drive?
Well, that's what I was doing.
Wow, tough way to start their morning... I wonder what they did... Hmmm... Do I have my new registration?... What would happen if I were to get pulled over or get into an accident and I don't have my new registration?...

I continue driving and end up behind an older model Saturn.
The exhaust from the car is pretty strong, so I get in the right lane, signal and get back in the left lane in front of the Saturn.

I look back in my rear view mirror at the girl driving the older model Saturn.
Wow... her window is pretty wide, I can see pretty clearly into her car".

Traffic is kind of congested because there's a lot of construction on the highway and people are taking the city streets, but now that the weather is warm there's construction on the city streets as well.

I'm about a mile from my office and three cars in front of me I see a construction vehicle with a bunch of orange cones stacked in the bed of his truck.
The light turns green, but ol' boy doesn't move.
Instead, he gets out and starts dropping cones!
"Are you freaking kidding me!" I yell (That's not what I really said... It was more like, "WTF??").
I look in my right side mirror to see if I can get in the right lane, but traffic is coming along at a steady pace. I'm stuck in this lane.

BOOMMM!!!

My head jerks forward, I clench the steering wheel and look up into my rear view mirror.
It's the girl in the older model Saturn.

It takes a second for me to realize that I'm not at Six Flags and she just ran into the back end of my car.
Please God don't let there be a lot of damage.
I get out of my car, look at the girl in the older model Saturn.
She kind of gives me a helpless look and I shrug my shoulders at her as if to say, "You couldn't help it."

I walk to the back end of my car to assess the damage and then get back in the car to dial 911.

"911, what is your emergency?" The operator answers.
"Hi, I was just rear ended." I reply.
"Where are you located?" She asks.
"Well, actually I'm right outside your call center." I laugh.
The operator tells me she will have an officer respond right away.

While I'm waiting, a gentleman on the sidewalk calls me over and says he witnessed the whole thing and that he would be willing to give the police a report.
Oh no... Do I have my new registration?
I run to check in my glove compartment.
I thank him and just then a VERY young police officer pulls up.

He has us pull into a parking lot so we're out of traffic and takes our information.
The guy from the sidewalk comes back over and says that he works for a collision shop and would be willing to help me out.
I thank him again and he takes my information.
I go over to the girl in the older model Saturn to see if she's okay and she says she is.
That's when her friend in the passenger seat yells through the window, "Excuse me, are you that lady...?"

Is she serious right now? Her friend just rammed the back end of my car and she's asking me this NOW?

I politely smile and tell her yes and she says to the girl driving the older model Saturn, "I told you!"

I get back in my car and send a text message to my friends, "I just got rear-ended and not in the good way!"

We're finally free to go, the officer gives us our accident reports, and I head to the office.

A few hours later I get a phone call from sidewalk guy.
He wants to know if I'm okay.
I tell him I am and that I've never been in a car accident before.
"What did your boyfriend say?" He slyly asks.
Oh-NO-he-didn't
"My boyfriend?" I laugh.
He explains that I must have been really upset and called my boyfriend to tell him what happened and I tell him I don't have a boyfriend.
He asks if I am interested in him fixing my car and I tell him that I'm not sure what to do yet because I'm still processing everything.
"Well, I'm sure this has been quite a day for you. You're probably going to need a drink after all of this."
Okay, I didn't think he was really going there, but he really, really IS going there!
"Well, I'm kinda drained from this whole experience. I'm probably just going to go home and crash." I reply.
He tells me to give him a call if I need him, I thank him and get off the phone.

All this happened two days ago.
Today I'm driving and see an older model Saturn coming in the opposite direction with a hood crunched up like an accordion.
I look in the extra-wide window and see the girl that rear-ended me!
What are the chances?

Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!

2009-05-26T17:21:00.000-04:00

Okay, so lately Becky, William and I have been having some interesting conversations about different people in our lives and some from our pasts.
Well, the crazy thing is that each time we talked about someone from our past, that person would pop up out of nowhere!
So we all decided that we would make a pact to not 'talk up' anyone we don't want to see anymore.
I was really starting to get creeped out.

So, one day we were in the cafeteria and I'm not really even sure how the topic came up, but I began to tell them about a guy from my past.
He and I had a wild and crazy, on again / off again relationship.
I loved his sense of humor and how he always made me laugh.
I used to call him my light-skinned Malik Yoba.
My Malik was tall, bald, sported a mustache and goatee, had a beautiful body and extremely handsome... No, he was FOINE!!

When we first met, he was working in a store in the mall.
As my cousin and I entered the store, Malik greeted us.
He asked my cousin if she would like a kiss and considering how sexy this guy was, who would say no?
My cousin happily said yes and he handed her a chocolate kiss.
He asked me if I would like one as well and always a fan of chocolate, I said yes.
He leaned down and kissed me on my cheek.
He asked me out that day and I declined.
He continued for an entire year to try get me to go out with him and finally I had to reward his persistence.

We had so much fun when we were together.
We spent our first date racing go carts.
That's pretty much how our relationship was; full of excitement and energy.
Everything was great... Until he cheated.

As soon as I found out I raced to the doctor to get an HIV test.
While waiting anxiously for the results, I had a little conversation with God and I begged Him to please allow my test result to come back negative.
If he would do this for me, I would never, ever, ever have sex with Malik again.
God came through for me and I have kept my promise to Him.

Malik tried to resurrect himself on more than one occasion and each time I shut him down.

Probably a week after my cafeteria conversation with Becky and William, I go to check my voicemail messages on my office phone and hear an eerily familiar voice... Malik.
He made a reference to a yellow dress I used to wear back in the day and said he was in possession of this dress and that if I wanted it I was to give him a call.
Part of me was excited to hear from him. It had been over ten years since I last saw or spoke to him.
I began to wonder what he was doing with himself.
Is he married? Does he have a family? ... What if he was calling to rekindle some sort of relationship?
I made a promise I couldn't break.

He didn't leave a number for me to call, so all I could do was wait and see if he would call back.
The next day a blocked number appeared on my caller I.D.
I knew right away it was him.

It felt good talking to him.
We reminisced,laughed and shared what's been going on in each other's lives... He asked about Hootie and Rick and he told me he saw me on his mother's Facebook page.
He said he Googled me and read all about my career.
He also told me that he's married and has four daughters.

"God is punishing me for everything I did when I was younger by giving me four girls." Malik lamented.

"You deserve it." I laughed.

Suddenly the conversation turned serious. "Did I ever hurt you?"

"Yes." I answered without hesitation.

"I'm sorry... That's why I called you. I was in church and we were doing this exercise where we had to think of one person in our lives that we hurt and the only person that came to mind was you. I am sorry for everything I did. It was never anything you did and I want you to know that. You are loving, caring and giving and a guy like me... or the guy I used to be will take advantage of someone like you."

Malik continued, "I thought that if we stayed together, you would never trust me and would question my every move. When I was with you, in my mind it was only you and me. I liked what we shared, but wasn't mature enough to appreciate who you were and what you had to offer and for that I'm sorry."
I silently wept as he released years of guilt.

I thanked him for his apology and wiped away tears.
He tried to lighten up the conversation, but it was definitely time to end our phone call.

I politely said goodbye and hung up the phone.
I sat there in my office for I don't know how long and sobbed.

I will not 'talk up' anyone else anymore.

Mr. Smith

2009-04-05T10:27:00.000-04:00

I have a husband and a lover...
My husband's name is Will Smith.
My lover's name is James Todd Smith, aka LL Cool J.

If I ever decide to leave my husband for my lover, I'll still be able to keep my surname.

Will is great hubby material because he's got a strong sense of family.
He's a devoted husband and family man.
He's supportive of his woman, has a great sense of humor, is passionate and is very sexy.
Not much needs to be said about my lover... Take one look at him and it's clear why this man excites me; those lips, deep dimples, devilish smile, abs, pecs, fully loaded guns and ohhhh... that tongue!

I've met many celebrities during my career, but have not had the pleasure of meeting either Mr. Smith.

The closest I've come to anyone resembling my lover is a guy who has been pursuing me for nearly two years.
He's got the body, intense eyes, fabulous full lips and works that tongue like his last name is Smith.

Unfortunately a number of things have prevented me from reciprocating his feelings.
My local LL has made it very clear that he wants a serious relationship with me and would like to build a future with me.
He is offering all of the things I am looking for, but my fear is that I can not give him what he wants.

Without going into too much detail, my local LL has never been married and does not have any kids. I have been there and done that... I'm willing to remarry if the right man comes along and Local LL certainly comes close to Mr. Right.
I am not willing to have more children and Local LL is such a wonderful man who deserves to have children of his own.

We have such a connection and the chemistry is strong, but each time I talk to him or see him I'm filled with guilt because I don't want to lead him on.

I've had the great fortune of sharing a kiss with Local LL and it took everything in me to keep from running off to Vegas with him and saying 'I do!'

Local LL and I could be wonderful together.
He knows how to love, respect and support a woman.
He appreciates a Strong Black Woman and all she has to offer.
He loves his mother dearly and has a relationship with God.
I know he sounds too good to be true.
I've thought the perfect man was a myth, but Local LL is real.

I hadn't talked to Local LL in several months.
I thought about calling him a few times, but figured it best not to open up Pandora's box.

While shopping in the mall with my son Rick, I saw a couple walking towards me.
Without my glasses, my long distance vision is limited.
As the couple walked closer I recognized Local LL.
He was holding the hand of a petite woman with shoulder length hair and friendly smile.
Local LL smiled as he approached me and gave me a hug.
I told him it was good to see him and introduced myself to the woman holding my man's hand.
She smiled and introduced herself.
We talked for a brief minute and I realized that she is the type of woman I could see being friends with.
What really killed me was that I couldn't hate her.
There was nothing about her that made me want to yank her by her hair and tell her to get away from my man!
She was sweet and they made a cute couple.
They seemed genuinely happy.

I'm happy for Local LL.
I hope she is the one for him and gives him everything he deserves.

Men like Local LL don't come along very often, but now that I know a man like him exists I know there's hope for us women.

Life is Like a Box of Chocolates

2009-02-23T12:19:00.000-05:00

“My mama said that If there ain’t nothin’ else I teach you, I wanna make sure you know how to cook, clean and sew… I know I keep talkin’ ‘bout my mama and I ain’t no mama’s boy, but…”

Smile, nod and be polite… Keep smiling… This will all be over soon. What time is it? I hope the server comes back over here soon.

“What are you ordering? I already know what I want. I don’t eat nothin’ but chicken. Don’t matter how it’s cooked; baked chicken, barbecue chicken, fried chicken. That’s all my mama cooked! I know, I’m talking about my mama again…”

Smile, be polite… Make a conversation out of this. “Really, and you haven’t gotten sick of eating chicken?”

“Oh no, I love chicken. Any kind of chicken cooked any kind of way! Chicken strips… “

This was my date Saturday night.
Bubba Gump is a colleague that works in the same field as me. I’ve seen him at different events and because there are very few African Americans that work in the business we do, I’m always very friendly whenever we see each other.

The first time we actually spoke, I was thrown by his incredibly strong southern accent mixed with three generations of geechie.
It was kind of disappointing because he’s not exactly an ugly man, but I just couldn’t get past the fact that I could only understand every other word he said.

Bubba is college educated, active in his fraternity’s graduate chapter and has a decent job.
He dresses like ‘mama’ lays out his clothes for him every morning; very neat, button down shirt layered with a turtle neck, pressed slacks and polished shoes.

Honestly, I feel as if Bubba is a fish out of water.
We don’t live in a major metropolitan city, but Bubba certainly does not fit in here.
He is a country boy that admits to eating ‘coon, rabbit, squirrel and anything else that his ‘daddy’ shot to put food on their table.

“What do you like to do in your free time? Do you go to clubs or anything?” Bubba asked.

“No, I really don’t go out that much. When I do, I usually go to the spot downtown.”

“Oh, I don’t feel comfortable there.” Bubba confesses.

“Why?” I asked, curious if he felt that it wasn’t a safe place to hang out or something.

“No, it’s such a classy place and everybody there is like you… You’re such a classy lady. I would always see you and would think ‘that’s a fine woman right there!’ You always dress real nice and I figured a woman like you must have a man in your life. I always wanted to ask you out, but was so intimidated by you, but I figured you only live once and I’ll never know unless I ask. So I asked and now we’re sitting here having dinner! Have you ever been to the place over on the west side?” Bubba rambled.

“No. I haven’t been there.” I answered.

“Why not?” Bubba inquired.

“I don’t know, I lived in Florida for a few years and that place kind of reminds me of the juke joints my grandmother always warned me to stay away from.”

Bubba laughed. “What do you consider a juke joint?”

“Well, if it only has one room, is dark, has kitchen tables and chairs and the D.J. sets his stuff up on a card table, that to me is a juke joint.”

Bubba laughed some more and agreed with me. “You’re right, but I feel right at home in there. I went there one night by myself and had the time of my life! I met so many people.”

Geechie is as geechie does… Oh, Lord forgive me!

Our food finally arrived. We ate, made small talk and finished our food.
I tried not to eat and run so I sat and chatted a little bit more after our plates were cleared from the table.

When I figured enough time had passed, I wrapped my scarf around my neck and reached for my purse.
Taking my cue, Bubba got up and walked me to my car.
I thanked him for a ‘fun’ evening and hit the button on my car alarm.
There was no goodnight hug.

I drove off looking at Bubba in my rearview mirror as he walked to his car.
As he began to get smaller in my mirror, out of nowhere I suddenly heard the theme from the “Dukes of Hazard”… “Just a good ole boy, never meanin’ no harm…”

Singles Awareness Day

2009-02-18T14:58:00.000-05:00

February 14th came and went this year without any serious bloodshed.
Considering what happened last year, I feared the worst.

While chatting with Moesha, we decided it would be fun to do a spa day on the 14th and invite all of our single friends.
Esmerelda’s line sister had come up with a unique title for the day and I told Esmerelda that I would be biting that idea; S.A.D. Singles Awareness Day!

Singles Awareness Day is not a day to climb into a pint of Haagen Dazs and throw a pity party. It’s a day to celebrate who you are as a fabulous single woman and appreciate the pluses that come along with being single.

Yes, it can be nice to have a warm body next to you every night, but if that warm body comes with a snore that registers 8.5 on the Richter Scale, I’d rather be single.
Dating can absolutely suck at times, but when I look at the big picture I’d rather be single than go through some of the things my married friends do.
Heck, most of my married friends try to live vicariously through my life or other single women they know.

I was not going to allow myself to dwell on the fact that I have no one special in my life or worry about whether Mr. Goodbar or anyone else was going to acknowledge the day by presenting me with a bouquet or an obligatory box of chocolates.

That being said, I compiled a list of single members of the Vagina Mafia and sent out invitations for a spa day.

When I called the spa to make reservations, I explained to the owner that a group of us would be coming in to celebrate S.A.D.
She thought this was such a fabulous idea, expressed how much she hated February 14th herself and made slots available just for us!
I scheduled morning appointments in case any member of the Vagina Mafia had special plans with a guy that evening, it wouldn't interfere with girl time.

Eighteen invitations were sent and six women responded that they would be participating... Christie Love was one of the 12 that wouldn’t.

While out for cocktails and calamari with Christie Love, I asked her why she was the first to say that she would not be attending our S.A.D. festivities.
“I’m very aware that I’m single and don’t need a day to remind me.” Was Christie’s reply.
She gave me the heads up that she would be out of circulation the weekend of the 14th and that I was not to not send in hostage negotiators or search and rescue teams this year.

After a long and stressful week, I was more than ready for our spa day and what a day it was!
Becky and I brought in a fruit platter, chocolate covered strawberries, crème pastries and mimosas.
We laughed, ate, drank and pampered ourselves.
Not once did the day turn into a bitch-fest about men.
I think we all enjoyed ourselves so much we didn’t even think of the opposite sex. They say time flies when you’re having fun and before we knew it, four hours had passed!

I drove home that afternoon floating on a cloud.

We all decided before we went our separate ways that we should get together again and not wait for S.A.D. 2010.
I think our next spa day should be somewhere in the Caribbean... Seriously, we’re single! We can do whatever we want... When we want!

The poor wish to be rich, the rich wish to be happy, the single wish to be married, and the married wish to be dead. ~Ann Landers

Weeklong High

2009-01-27T16:55:00.000-05:00

One week ago today I stood for eight hours in nineteen degree temperature, hand warmers tucked inside my gloves, three layers of clothing and two pairs of socks.
I hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours and didn’t drink anything for nearly 12 hours.

I’d do it all over again if given the opportunity.

One week ago today I was in Washington D.C. to witness the inauguration of our 44th President, Barack H. Obama.

A co-worker asked me if enjoyed myself.
I explained it to him like this; You know how a woman carries a baby for nine months, gets heartburn, hemorrhoids and back pain then goes into labor and suffers through unbelievably excruciating labor, but when that baby is born and placed into her arms for the first time and she looks into the eyes of her beautiful child she forgets all about the pain?

That’s how I feel…

There was nothing bad about the day.
Waiting in long lines at the Metro Station, cramming into a crowded Metro car, standing for hours, walking over 15 miles… It was all worth it!

The unofficial report is that on January 20, 2009 there were nearly 2.5 million people in the National Mall.
2.5 million people… not one incident and no arrests.
Everyone there was filled with anticipation and love.
People were friendly, helpful and polite.
I describe it as a cross between Woodstock and the 1963 March on Washington.

Besides the other 2,499,999 people, I shared the day with my youngest sister. Looking back, I couldn’t imagine sharing that historic day with anyone else.

When President-Elect Obama officially became President Barack Obama, cheers erupted, tears were shed and strangers hugged strangers.
I forgot about the fact that my toes were numb and that I hadn’t peed in I don’t know how long!

My boss tried talking me out of going.
His argument was that I wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything, I’d be so far away from the Capital Building and D.C. would be packed with millions of people.
I countered his argument by stating that there were probably thousands of people that couldn’t see or hear Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. give his famous ‘I Have a Dream’ speech, but they were there and a part of history.
I was a part of history.

We strategically positioned ourselves dead center on the other side of the reflecting pool.
We captured dozens of images of the Capital Building and the crowds.
I closed my eyes as President Obama gave his Inaugural Address so I might be able to absorb every word he said.

I couldn’t even say how many people have asked me about the whole experience. I know that I haven’t grown tired of sharing my joy.
It’s been a whole week, but I’m still floating and don’t think I’m coming down anytime soon.

Auld Lang Syne

2009-01-01T18:35:00.000-05:00

Should old acquaintance be forgot,and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,And days of lang syne?

What the heck does all of that mean anyway?

Another year has come and gone... As I sit here reflecting on 2008, I'm kind of glad to see it go.
Why do we think that with the change of a calendar year, our lives will somehow magically change?
Do we honestly think that with the New Year we get a clean slate?
Can we erase all of the bad things that happened in the previous year and with the coming of the New Year we get a fresh start?

Looking at the lyrics to Auld Lang Syne, my literal dissection takes it as meaning that we should forget about the past and never look back.

Reflecting on 2008, I'd prefer to forget all about Luke Skywalker becoming a daddy and Deputy Dan breaking my heart.
I'll cast aside all the memories of trying to get a mortgage during this crazy recession and the stresses of moving.
I won't dare think about being terrorized by Mickey Mouse and his gang.
Lastly, I'd love to have my cousin here - alive and well.

Not everything was bad.
I bought a house full of charm and character and I'm slowly making it my own.
I saw my grandmother for the first time in two years.
A friend gave birth to a healthy baby girl despite living with a debilitating disease.
I also reconnected with an old girlfriend that I'd lost touch with. My goal is to get her on an airplane and for the two of us to sit on someone's beach with drinks in our hands and gorgeous men catering to our every need.

The New Year doesn't have magic powers.
If it did, I'd love for the New Year to magically erase my student loan debt and give me a credit score over 700.
I'd like for 2009 to give me back my 2003 body (but can I keep my 2009 breasts and behind?).
Can I have the New Year knock some sense into my boy's heads and put them on the right track?
What I'd really like is for the New Year to wipe away all traces of cancer from my sister's body.

People look to the New Year with hope and excitement.
Resolutions are made and broken.
I too have made resolutions.
Even though I don't see the New Year as the magic cure to what ails me, I know that only I control my life and it's up to me to make the best of it.

I don't know what 2009 has in store for me and the people I love, but I wish everyone the best.
What I do know is that my best friend and soul sister, Jelly Bean Benitez found her true love and is getting married in May.
My older son Hootie came to his senses (almost) and is moving back home next week.

I've got my collard greens and black eye peas simmering on the stove right now because I'll take any luck I can get for the New Year.

So, instead of singing 'Auld Lang Syne', remember this; You can't change the past, only live for today and plan tomorrow.
Happy New Year

When Harry Met Sally

2008-12-19T13:42:00.000-05:00

Since I was a young girl, I've always had close male friends.
As I got older I realized that sometimes I relate better to men than other women.
These are guys that I have no physical attraction to and feel comfortable talking with them about almost any topic.
Guys are also great for giving you the male perspective when it comes to this "dog-eat-cat" world of dating.

There's a guy I work with who recently had his house broken into.
In a previous blog I called him "Clark", but he's more like our William from my now defunct but forever favorite TV show, 'Girlfriends'.
Over the past year he and I have gotten a lot closer and I consider him a good friend.
He is a devoted family guy and is married to his high school sweetheart.
I invited him and his wife to my birthday party and hit it off with his wife.

A neighbor noticed a maroon Impala in William's driveway around the time his house was broken into.
Since then, William has been on the lookout for that Impala.

While driving to work this morning, I spotted a vehicle matching the suspected Impala on my street.
I immediately got my cell phone out of my purse to tell William about my sighting.

"Oh, okay... I'll make sure to get that to you today". He said and hung up the phone!

Ummmm... okay, what did he just do? What just happened here? Oh-My-God, am I a 'Secret Friend'?

I called Becky right away and told her what happened.

"Oh no..." Becky reacted, "That's not right. It puts you and all of us in an awkward position."

While on the phone with Becky, William called.
"You know what that was all about, right?" He laughed.

"I do, but that's not cool." I objected.

"Oh, you know there's no way I could have told my wife you were on the phone. That wasn't about to happen!"

"I don't understand... I met your wife, she's cool and we seemed to get along great. Why couldn't you just tell her that Single Mom saw a car like the suspect vehicle and she was looking out?" I asked.

"Awww heeellll naw!" William shouted. "First thing out of her mouth would have been; 'Oh, Single Mom has your phone number?' That would have been an argument right there." William explained.

I got to my office and while sipping my morning tea, William poked his head into my office.

"I don't know if I want to talk to you." I said to him. "You are making me feel like I'm sneaking around."

"Awww come on!" William whined, "You have to understand, my wife is like that with just about any woman. She doesn't think a woman and a man can be friends."

"Oh, here we go with the 'When Harry Met Sally' theory." I sighed while rolling my eyes.

"I haven't seen the movie." William said.

I explained the movie to him and how Harry debated with Sally that men and women could not be friends because there would always be some sort of physical or sexual attraction coming from one person.

"Let me ask you this... If you were stranded on a deserted island with...let's say... Becky...and there's no chance of being rescued, would you...?"

"Hit it?" William interrupted.

"Yes."

"Out the park!" William exclaimed.

"Okay, so do you think that maybe the reason you haven't shared the fact that you have female friends with your wife is because in the back of your mind you want something to happen with one of your female friends and you feel guilty?"

William paused for a second, "You know you might have something there!"

"And you also have to recognize the fact that you alone put yourself in this position. You allowed your wife's jealousy to prevent you from introducing her to your friends and now you're sneaking around."

"Yeah, you're right." William agreed.

"So, what are you going to do? Are you going to let me and your wife hang out? Let her come over my house to watch chick flicks and have cocktails?" I pleaded.

"Oh no! Those two worlds will never collide!"
I tried.

Happy Birthday to Me

2008-11-06T12:22:00.001-05:00

My birthday was last Tuesday.

Since it fell on a weekday, I got up and got ready for work as if it were any other day.
I don’t believe in taking the day off for my birthday.
My name is not Jesus and my birthday is not a national holiday so taking the day off from work on my birthday is not going to happen.
Don’t get me wrong, I have taken a vacation during the week of my birthday, but if nothing special is planned I will be right at my desk.

We have a birthday list in our office and the person who last celebrated a birthday is responsible for planning the next birthday boy or girl’s special day.
A chocolate ‘Ding Dong’ cake was selected along with a variety of cannolis.

After my coworkers sang a perfectly harmonized ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, we all dug into the Ding Dong cake and chatted.
Our administrative assistant who sometimes steps into territory not meant for her asked whether Mr. Goodbar would be making a special trip to visit me for my birthday.
I had been planning a big birthday bash with an 80’s theme and was not getting my hopes up regarding Mr. Goodbar.
I had decided that this year my birthday would be focused on me and only me… NOT on whatever man is currently in my life and what little effort he might put forward in helping me have a happy birthday.
When I explained this to my busy-body admin, she countered with, “But you’ve been seeing him for a few months now. He should be doing something for your birthday and I don’t know if you have slept with him yet, but If you have then he really shouldn’t let this day go by without doing something special for you.”

Oh NO this heffa didn’t… She has truly overstepped her bounds.

“I really don’t care if he does or doesn’t do anything for my birthday.” I explained. “We’ve only been seeing each other a few months and we haven’t really defined what our relationship is. I’m not going to get myself down on my birthday worrying about what he may or may not do.”

I thanked everyone for the cake and the card and retreated to my office.

Later that afternoon, Busy Betty, the office admin, buzzed my office phone to tell me I had a delivery.
I expected the delivery to be from Becky because I had sent her flowers for her birthday and figured she was returning the gesture.
Waiting for me at the reception desk was a colorful arrangement of roses wrapped in cellophane. I cut open the plastic to retrieve the card, still expecting to read a birthday wish from Becky.

Bon anniversaire mon amour. Un grand bisou, Love M.G.

I couldn’t stop grinning for about two hours.
I hadn’t expected anything from Mr. Goodbar except maybe a birthday wish over the phone.

After work, I went home prepared to roll up my sleeves and do some serious painting in my house.
Since moving into my new home, my main focus has been making my house feel like mine… The bathroom was gutted, living room painted, three season room got a makeover and now the kitchen is going through some major work.

My incredibly sexy contractor assured me my kitchen would be done in time for my party and although I was incredibly stressed, I had faith in him.

So, for my birthday, I painted…. Picked up Italian food from one of my favorite places… sat on a box in the kitchen with my incredibly sexy contractor and ate Italian takeout.
That was my birthday.

My always wise son Rick, feeling as if I may not have been happy with the way my day worked out, reminded me several times throughout the evening that these are the birthdays you remember.
It's not about the gifts and well-wishes, It's the little things in life that you remember the most and painting my foyer with my son will go down in Single Mom's birthday history.
What did you do for your birthday in 2008?
Well Oprah, I’m glad you asked. I invested long man hours in making my house that I worked so hard to get into the home I’ve always wanted.
I couldn't have asked for a better birthday.

Invasion of the Exes

2008-09-29T13:49:00.000-04:00

I admit that I’ve got my issues…
I’m not perfect, but I think I’m a good person and when in a relationship, I aim to please.
I’ve joked about that fact that I don’t have a problem getting the guy, it’s keeping the guy that’s the hard part for me.
Funny thing is though that guys may come and go, but they eventually come back.

In a previous blog, I wrote about an ex that I ran into on my way to work (“You Don’t Miss Your Water… (8/27/07).
During our conversation, he expressed to me how he has been searching for that perfect relationship he and I had, but realized he’d never find it because that relationship would not be with me.

How sweet…

This same ex is still popping up.
He calls my office (my phone number is public information) and his calls are now becoming more frequent.
I tried being polite and told him there is no chance of us being together.
He is having marital issues and contemplating divorce. He has called me asking my advice or opinion on certain situations and I told him that I’m not the right person to help him.
This morning he called me to wish me a happy birthday. My birthday is a month away and I reminded him of that. He told me that he knew, but figured he wouldn’t see me and wanted to wish me a happy birthday.

Seriously?...

Then there’s my trip down Wisteria Lane (“Welcome to Wisteria Lane” 5/5/08).
I moved onto the same street as an ex and his new wife.
The fun part was the fact that I knew this bit of information and he didn’t.
I couldn’t wait for the day that our paths would cross.
Unfortunately, once our paths finally crossed, I noticed he kept rerouting his path onto mine.
He started by sending me e-mails.
I would see him out while I was walking my dog.
He would also drive down my end of the street if I was out working in the yard. Each time I was polite, but kept my distance.
He asked me out for coffee… I told him I didn’t drink coffee.
He invited me to lunch… I declined and told him it wouldn’t be a good idea.
Then he pulled out the big guns and asked if we could hook-up for ‘old time’s sake’… I responded with a strongly worded e-mail telling him that it would be a cold day in hell.

I didn’t hear from him for quite a while and recently saw a ‘For Sale’ sign in his front yard. The word on Wisteria Lane was that he and his wife split up.
I had a yard sale last week, and he showed up to check out my ‘goods’. He bought a couple of VHS movies for the kids and went on his way.
I saw him out this past weekend and got an e-mail this morning telling me how pretty I looked.
I clicked ‘delete’ instead of ‘reply’.

The shock of the day came this morning when I saw Deputy Dan’s name in my e-mail inbox.
At first it didn’t register.
I thought it might be one of my mother’s friends doing a ‘reply all’. I became even more confused when I read the e-mail asking me how I’m doing.
Why would my mother’s friend be concerned about my welfare?

Then it dawned on me that it was not a friend of my mother and that it was Deputy Dan replying to a group e-mail I had accidentally included him in.
I felt as if a vice-grip had hold of my heart and was squeezing tighter and tighter.
I don’t know if he was just being polite or reaching out to me.
I know that I still have feelings for Deputy Dan, but can never allow him back into my life or my heart.

It’s easy to handle unwanted advances from someone you have absolutely no desire to be with, but with Deputy Dan, there’s unresolved feelings.

I replied with, “I think I sent this e-mail to you by accident.” I didn’t quite know what else to say.
I don’t know his intentions for sending the original e-mail, but I’m hoping he doesn’t respond (at least ninety percent of me is).