If we're fuckin.
I read many blogs, and the question of whether men and women can be friends if the get it in has come up A LOT in recent weeks. I had been wanting to write about this, but I didn't know what to say. Until now. Well, until yesterday. I had wanted to be all modern, to say that yes, you can (shout out to OBAMA), but....
Hells naw. At least not with THIS CHICK.
I don't know of any word(s) to describe a relationship where people are not romantically commited but they get it in, but I know one word it ain't: friends. I say this based on what I have seen and experienced. If at least one of the partners is discerning, if they are not fucking willy nilly, then they have more than a friendship. Point blank. As far as I am concerned, I chose to make you and keep you as a partner. Every friend I have does not get that privilege, so consider yourself special.
Accept it, then FWC: fuck with caution.
The same way a romantic relationship has to be discussed between the partners, so does a FWB (friend with benefits).
Here are some of the issues that should be discussed BEFORE engaging:
* Birth control
* STI testing
* Dating: Are you actively searching? What stage are you in? Have you met someone you like?
* Am I the only person you are sexing? Are you using protection with them? (to ME, it matters)
* Finish this sentence: If I get pregnant, I will:____________________
(it CAN happen, better to be upfront about it)
The funniest shit is that the Million Dollar question is rarely EVER discussed between FWB's: Why aren't WE a match? If you have a friendship, consider this person attractive enough to bone, the reasons why you are NOT a good match should be laid out and agreed upon. Granted, feelings change, but if you are not moving forward "for the sake of the friendship" consider this: In most cases, the friendship is already changed. Once he has had his head in your crotch or vice versa, the game done changed.
More on this topic later....
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Hope.
I’ve been in love a few times. I’ve had the fortune of having my love be reciprocated for the most part, but some of those times, I have had the misfortune of loving a brotha who wasn’t smart enough to love me back the way I wanted to be loved.
When you love someone who doesn’t really love you back, or doesn’t know how, it’s a strange feeling. As the lover, you perform to the best of your ability every day, you go above and beyond the call of duty, and you exist on hope. The hope that one day, this lover will see you for who you are, will appreciate your love, your effort, will appreciate you, will see your true value and love you back, and make your dreams come true.
Unfortunately for me, as a WOMAN, I never had that luck.
BUT – as an AMERICAN, On November 4th, I felt the euphoria of feeling WANTED. Respected, understood…VALUED. It wasn’t a personal victory, but Barack Obama’s election as the 44th president of the USA was mine nonetheless. It wasn’t just mine, either. As soon as I heard Charlie Gibson make the prediction, alongside my own whoops of joy, and my son right next to me high fiving me, I heard pots and pans clanging, windows being opened to scream, people whooping and hollering, and because I live in the hood, celebratory gunshots.
In the moments that followed, between text messages, and a tearful phonecall to my best friend, where she put an image in my head that gave me chills – little brown girls playing on the front lawn in their two strand twists and cornrows – how great is THAT! Between Sen’ari chanting “Obama – not McCain”, before McCain’s touching (I was touched) concession speech, and before Obama’s speech at the park that made rivers of tears fall down my cheeks, I watched my Harlem neighbors rejoice, felt the happiness in my own heart. As I kissed my son’s hands, I marveled at how different his life could be from mine.
The next day, I was still on a high. I get off the train at 57th Street and Broadway, and just stare out while waiting for the bus. It seemed that in the 24 hours since I had last seenthis block, the world had changed. It really had. I see an older Black lady, which is rare, because I had never seen a Black elder there before – it’s generally little old white ladies waiting, and she must have seen what was in my heart. She asked me “Isn’t today a great day?” We smiled at each other knowingly, understanding what was in each other’s heart.
Yes, it was.
When you love someone who doesn’t really love you back, or doesn’t know how, it’s a strange feeling. As the lover, you perform to the best of your ability every day, you go above and beyond the call of duty, and you exist on hope. The hope that one day, this lover will see you for who you are, will appreciate your love, your effort, will appreciate you, will see your true value and love you back, and make your dreams come true.
Unfortunately for me, as a WOMAN, I never had that luck.
BUT – as an AMERICAN, On November 4th, I felt the euphoria of feeling WANTED. Respected, understood…VALUED. It wasn’t a personal victory, but Barack Obama’s election as the 44th president of the USA was mine nonetheless. It wasn’t just mine, either. As soon as I heard Charlie Gibson make the prediction, alongside my own whoops of joy, and my son right next to me high fiving me, I heard pots and pans clanging, windows being opened to scream, people whooping and hollering, and because I live in the hood, celebratory gunshots.
In the moments that followed, between text messages, and a tearful phonecall to my best friend, where she put an image in my head that gave me chills – little brown girls playing on the front lawn in their two strand twists and cornrows – how great is THAT! Between Sen’ari chanting “Obama – not McCain”, before McCain’s touching (I was touched) concession speech, and before Obama’s speech at the park that made rivers of tears fall down my cheeks, I watched my Harlem neighbors rejoice, felt the happiness in my own heart. As I kissed my son’s hands, I marveled at how different his life could be from mine.
The next day, I was still on a high. I get off the train at 57th Street and Broadway, and just stare out while waiting for the bus. It seemed that in the 24 hours since I had last seenthis block, the world had changed. It really had. I see an older Black lady, which is rare, because I had never seen a Black elder there before – it’s generally little old white ladies waiting, and she must have seen what was in my heart. She asked me “Isn’t today a great day?” We smiled at each other knowingly, understanding what was in each other’s heart.
Yes, it was.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Thanks... I think.....
I believe in closed door blessings. Sometimes, what you don't get is as important as what you do get.
Where's the story? Well, here it comes: A few weeks ago, after a brunch/dinner with friends, I had a heated discussion (ok - argument) with a friend. She is angry at Black men, because they don't step up their game, and marry sistas. That is a whole 'nother blog, and probably a series of blogs, to be honest, but in her frustration, she stepped up her insult game and took it to a place I wasn't expecting - the "baby momma". In case you haven't been reading, I am a baby momma, so I was listening intently when the point she was trying to make shifted from "these bitch ass niggas out here" (which I can relate to as I have referred to many a man as a bitch ass) to "baby mommas are contributing to this problem because they keep on reproducing with these niggas".
Screech - "whaaat?!?!?!"
Wow. I felt like old boy in Shottas: "ya gone too far, Biggs..." She took it to a place where it became reaaal personal. As I calmed myself down from reaching across that table and giving her an old fashioned beat down, I reminded her that my son was the product of a union where there was love. I was not a guest on Maury, he was not some dude I wanted to just fuck, and not all baby mommas were no ambition having women who settled for just being with anyone.
My BFF was there too, and after I stormed out, I was kinda mad at her because I felt as if she hadn't "defended" me. For the next few days, I was disgusted everytime I thought about the conversation. You know those memories that come at you while you washing dishes, stirring your chili, and they make you so mad you start talking all up under your breath? That's what I felt. Rage.
By this time, my BFF and I had spoken, all was squashed on that end, but I was still ready to not EVER speak to this other friend again.
Then she emailed me, apologized for her words. I didn't reply.
A few weeks pass, and my rage dies down, and one day, I started to reflect on what she had said. I realized that although she was mean, I agreed with her on some points. I did think that Black men drop the ball on marriage. I had wanted to marry my son's dad at one point. I wanted to be validated as a wife, I wanted to have that public recognition, and fuck it - I put in work.... I earned my ring!
In fact, I still do, to a man that will love, honor, and cherish me and my son, and want me to do the same for him.
From that conversation with myself, what I realized was that maybe I was projecting on her, and reading more into what she had said because I was feeling so unrealized in love. I was disappointed, feeling as if people looked on me and my son with pity, or underestimate the depth of my feelings or effort in the relationship because I was not a wife.
I had to accept that she had some valid points. I had been with a Black man who didn't mary me. I believe he loved me, but maybe not enough. This conversation forced me to examine anger issues and insecurity I thought I had suppressed. It also opened up a world of questions.
Why was I so angered by her comments? Was it because they had touched a nerve? YES. Was I hurt by what she said because it had some truth to it, in my own life? YES. Was I upset that despite my best efforts, shit came undone, that I would always be lumped in the "baby momma" category,and not that of "ex-wife", which carries more social clout? YES.
As I sat and reflected, I realized I had some things to work on: I had to accept that people will have their opinions about me, and more importantly, that I had some things to work on, to get my mind right, to fully deal with. I cannot control the past, nor can I let it control me. One failed relationship does not define me. It is up to me to make sure it does not.
Don't get me wrong: I'm still hurt by some of the comments. I thought they were harsh as hell, and our relationship has changed. Despite that, however, I was glad to have had the catalyst for that conversation I needed to have with myself.
Where's the story? Well, here it comes: A few weeks ago, after a brunch/dinner with friends, I had a heated discussion (ok - argument) with a friend. She is angry at Black men, because they don't step up their game, and marry sistas. That is a whole 'nother blog, and probably a series of blogs, to be honest, but in her frustration, she stepped up her insult game and took it to a place I wasn't expecting - the "baby momma". In case you haven't been reading, I am a baby momma, so I was listening intently when the point she was trying to make shifted from "these bitch ass niggas out here" (which I can relate to as I have referred to many a man as a bitch ass) to "baby mommas are contributing to this problem because they keep on reproducing with these niggas".
Screech - "whaaat?!?!?!"
Wow. I felt like old boy in Shottas: "ya gone too far, Biggs..." She took it to a place where it became reaaal personal. As I calmed myself down from reaching across that table and giving her an old fashioned beat down, I reminded her that my son was the product of a union where there was love. I was not a guest on Maury, he was not some dude I wanted to just fuck, and not all baby mommas were no ambition having women who settled for just being with anyone.
My BFF was there too, and after I stormed out, I was kinda mad at her because I felt as if she hadn't "defended" me. For the next few days, I was disgusted everytime I thought about the conversation. You know those memories that come at you while you washing dishes, stirring your chili, and they make you so mad you start talking all up under your breath? That's what I felt. Rage.
By this time, my BFF and I had spoken, all was squashed on that end, but I was still ready to not EVER speak to this other friend again.
Then she emailed me, apologized for her words. I didn't reply.
A few weeks pass, and my rage dies down, and one day, I started to reflect on what she had said. I realized that although she was mean, I agreed with her on some points. I did think that Black men drop the ball on marriage. I had wanted to marry my son's dad at one point. I wanted to be validated as a wife, I wanted to have that public recognition, and fuck it - I put in work.... I earned my ring!
In fact, I still do, to a man that will love, honor, and cherish me and my son, and want me to do the same for him.
From that conversation with myself, what I realized was that maybe I was projecting on her, and reading more into what she had said because I was feeling so unrealized in love. I was disappointed, feeling as if people looked on me and my son with pity, or underestimate the depth of my feelings or effort in the relationship because I was not a wife.
I had to accept that she had some valid points. I had been with a Black man who didn't mary me. I believe he loved me, but maybe not enough. This conversation forced me to examine anger issues and insecurity I thought I had suppressed. It also opened up a world of questions.
Why was I so angered by her comments? Was it because they had touched a nerve? YES. Was I hurt by what she said because it had some truth to it, in my own life? YES. Was I upset that despite my best efforts, shit came undone, that I would always be lumped in the "baby momma" category,and not that of "ex-wife", which carries more social clout? YES.
As I sat and reflected, I realized I had some things to work on: I had to accept that people will have their opinions about me, and more importantly, that I had some things to work on, to get my mind right, to fully deal with. I cannot control the past, nor can I let it control me. One failed relationship does not define me. It is up to me to make sure it does not.
Don't get me wrong: I'm still hurt by some of the comments. I thought they were harsh as hell, and our relationship has changed. Despite that, however, I was glad to have had the catalyst for that conversation I needed to have with myself.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I ain't no size 20!!!!
Except I am. At least according to RK Bridal.
It's hard for me to accept, and it's not right, but I have to accept - I am fat. Now, some will say "nah, girl...you are thick". Luckily, I can distract a fool by throwing some (double) D's on him, and I have a Black woman ass, but real talk: I am big. Bigger than I would like to be.
Lemme let you in on a secret - I thought I would lose weight through this breakup shit. It was one of the few things I was actually looking forward to, because women in my family tradionally lose weight when breakups occur.
Imma have to ask my momma if I was adopted, cause this fat on my ass went NOWHERE.
I used to fantasize about seeing my BD, being a slimmer size, having him watch me walk away like he did the (second) first time we met, like Gregory Hines watched Loretta Devine walk away in "Waiting to Exhale". Not so far.
Now, don't get me wrong: I am a bad bitch. At any size. I am a cute woman, and while my look would not work on everyone, I feel good about how I look when I go out.
The problem is, I am ready to feel GREAT. Good is not good enough anymore.
A few years ago, I was fortunate to be chosen for a weight loss study where I got 3 months of free workouts, food, and lost about 25 pounds in 3 months. The first week was torture, and by the end, I was loving the clearheadedness (is that a word?) that came with sweating and working out. The problem? I gained it all back.
It's just getting started that sucks. Moving my ass off the sofa is actually scary. It's funny how you can know something, and still feel powerless to do what I know I need to do.
I have been told "you can't keep doing the same thing and expecting different results", "don't talk about it, be about it", "just do it", and still, where am I? In front of the tv watching the Style Network. Bored, and shocked at my own complacency with something I hate.
Does this mean that I am not ready to be healthier, slimmer? I really don't know what I need to do to get more motivated. Maybe I am depressed and don't know it. Maybe I need to figure out what will motivate me to act.
Like Jessica Care Moore wrote: "I am pregnant with potential, but I birth silence".
RIGHT NOW. Working on yourself takes a lot more energy than I had initially expected. I'm coming to grips with the fact that I'm standing in my own way sometimes. I spent a long time blaming C for my success, or lack thereof, and all of a sudden, you wake up and you look at the mirror, and truly see that you are the captain of your ship, mistress of your destiny, and that realization can be just as scary a proposition as not having any power (or feeling powerless).
It's hard for me to accept, and it's not right, but I have to accept - I am fat. Now, some will say "nah, girl...you are thick". Luckily, I can distract a fool by throwing some (double) D's on him, and I have a Black woman ass, but real talk: I am big. Bigger than I would like to be.
Lemme let you in on a secret - I thought I would lose weight through this breakup shit. It was one of the few things I was actually looking forward to, because women in my family tradionally lose weight when breakups occur.
Imma have to ask my momma if I was adopted, cause this fat on my ass went NOWHERE.
I used to fantasize about seeing my BD, being a slimmer size, having him watch me walk away like he did the (second) first time we met, like Gregory Hines watched Loretta Devine walk away in "Waiting to Exhale". Not so far.
Now, don't get me wrong: I am a bad bitch. At any size. I am a cute woman, and while my look would not work on everyone, I feel good about how I look when I go out.
The problem is, I am ready to feel GREAT. Good is not good enough anymore.
A few years ago, I was fortunate to be chosen for a weight loss study where I got 3 months of free workouts, food, and lost about 25 pounds in 3 months. The first week was torture, and by the end, I was loving the clearheadedness (is that a word?) that came with sweating and working out. The problem? I gained it all back.
It's just getting started that sucks. Moving my ass off the sofa is actually scary. It's funny how you can know something, and still feel powerless to do what I know I need to do.
I have been told "you can't keep doing the same thing and expecting different results", "don't talk about it, be about it", "just do it", and still, where am I? In front of the tv watching the Style Network. Bored, and shocked at my own complacency with something I hate.
Does this mean that I am not ready to be healthier, slimmer? I really don't know what I need to do to get more motivated. Maybe I am depressed and don't know it. Maybe I need to figure out what will motivate me to act.
Like Jessica Care Moore wrote: "I am pregnant with potential, but I birth silence".
RIGHT NOW. Working on yourself takes a lot more energy than I had initially expected. I'm coming to grips with the fact that I'm standing in my own way sometimes. I spent a long time blaming C for my success, or lack thereof, and all of a sudden, you wake up and you look at the mirror, and truly see that you are the captain of your ship, mistress of your destiny, and that realization can be just as scary a proposition as not having any power (or feeling powerless).
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Back to life.... Back to (Present) Reality....
So there ya have it: Some of what happened to force me to evolve. It wasn't really my choice. I had to start running, or continue to get run over. Now, don't get me wrong: My son's dad is not the world's most awful person, and I am not perfect. I did tell him a few things that really got under his skin, and was probably a pain in the ass sometimes. Ok, definitely.
Yeah, that is my attempt at being fair to him. I have to see him waaay more that is comfortable, and I work REALLY hard at being chill. Sometimes, though, like today - he gets me so fucking worked up....OOOH!
I don't know why I'm thinking about our recent past, but I am... So here's more of my herstory....
When he asked/demanded that I move, I was so shocked and broke I didn't know what to do. I felt like I had no one. I lived/worked in the Bx, and my closest advocate lived in Bk. We had done this before, the whole "get out/i'm leaving" thing, and I told myself that if I left again, I wasn't coming back. We had left him, and I commuted with the baby back and forth from Bk to the South Bronx. NOT fun. I was exhausted, and so tired, after 3 days I asked to return. (I should have known then that shit wouldn't last, right?)
I'm terrible with money. Mind you, I am a certified, (and yes, I have one of those bullshit certifications - well, several of them...LOL!) financial literacy trainer. So that makes it worse because I know what to do, but don't. Still, I am no fashionista, Gucci wearing broad, so my money is not on my back, and say what you want, not at anyone's expense, either.
Suffice to say that since I found out right after the holidays that C was seeing that bitch (she will ALWAYS be "that bitch" to me), I was pretty broke. I had just finished buying gifts for his family, and there is a trailer load (shout to Shabba Ranks) of them. Seriously.
He admits that he is fucking HER, and wants me to move. Wooow.... Ok... Except had no money. No savings. No rich uncle, no mom nearby... His dad and stepmom offered to let me stay, and ummm.... NOT! See, he had taken to insulting me because he knew I didn't have anything, and to go to his fam would have proved him entirely too right. I wanted, maybe even needed to go, but I was too proud.
Pride. Humph... At that time, my pride was taking the world's worst beating. EVERYBODY knew that he was seeing this chick. The same chick who friended me on myspace, commented on my pic with him saying how we looked great together, and the NEXT DAY sent him a message with the lyrics to that Fantasia song "When I see you". I had complained to C, and he said I ws insecure, that she was cool, took her word over mine.
Thinking about it right now makes me upset, but it's on my mind, so..... I continue with this flashback....
So now I gotta start looking for a crib. But first, I need more money. So I ask for more work the gig, and look for a place. After seeing about 25 apts., I find one I like. No - love. It was in the Bx, where I was willing to stay because I want my son to be close with his dad, and he is close to his dad's family. It was a long term sublet, and the renter was single mom who was moving to Florida. The building was clean, had an elevator (which was MUCH better than the 5 floor walkup I had been living in with C), and the space was large enough to give Sen'ari his room, and make a studio space out of the living room. The girl is charming, her kid is sweet, and I am popping my collar because I'm hoping that only 6 weeks after I found out officially that I was being played, I am moving on with my life.
Go me!
To add to the success story, she is willing to take the deposit in two parts. WOOOORD?!?!?!? Awwww...shit! I'm FLOATING down the street. Packing shit in my mind..Life is sooo good. My girls are like "wow, Eve". I'm looking for daycare, thinking about how short my commute will be. So I give ole girl a deposit of $800 to show I'm serious about moving, and soon. I'm selling jewelry to come up with the rest of the loot, and desperate enough to consider turning a trick (or 2), because when I say I needed to get OUT of C's crib...I ain't lyin.
And this bitch bounced with my loot.
Cause yeah: in my desperation I gave her cash. I trusted, stupidly. I sooo wanted this. I needed to move!
Can we say DEVASTATED?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Now I'm completely destroyed. I have no new crib, and life at the old crib is just crumbling, deteriorating faster than I can even take. AND I HAVE NO LOOT!!!!! I have to start from scratch. I'm heartbroken, and broken. Emotionally, and financially.
I contemplated suicide more than once.
While all this is going on, I am watching C leave on his days off, go to her house, and not return for the night. I had kinda become used to it, when one day Sen tells me that while I was at work, ole girl came over, and they were all watching Norbit. WOOOORD?!?!?!?!?!?
Later that evening I'm on the comp, and I see that his Gmail is open. Fuck it - Imma admit it - I read his email. and because Gmail saves the chats, I saw where he would share info I shared with him: "Eve is coming home soon, so don't come over today". I would frequently smell weed when I came home, and would assume the baby was down for a nap (C was always making sure Sen had a nap) while he got his smoke on. Ok...I wasn't crazy about it, but oh well...a man needs stress relief in his home, right?
Until I realized that SHE was coming over to smoke with him!! Oh, HELLS NAW! This after one day he told me about a threesome episode they had while I was putting on mascara in the bathroom. At the time I thought I could stomach it, and said "ok" when he asked if I wanted to hear about what happened. So, I heard about her sexing the neighbor, him sexing her, him watching her sex the neighbor while stroking his dick...yeah...I heard it all. I saw the responses to the ads on Craigslist, and I began to get disgusted. With him, and with myself.
Because I still loved his fucking disgusting, possibly disease ridden ass.
But one thing I don't fuck with is disease. Now, I'll admit - he and I had sex VERY VERY early on in our relatonship, and the first time was unprotected. I was in shock that we had been so irresponsible, and right away, we had a battery of tests done, and shared them with each other. One of our early dates was to Duane Reade to get a whole bunch of birth control. In my stupid ass mind, I assumed that I was different. Because to me, he was. I thought I was special, that he didn't usually operate that way, that he would use a condom with ole girl.
Until he admitted that he didn't.
WOOOOORD?!?!?!?!?!?!
Ok, ummm....well... WOOOORD?!?!??!?!?!?
So operation "Eve get the fuck out" began again. In earnest. I had to save myself! So, I started stacking what little chips I could again, and resumed looking. At the end of March, I saw a nice crib in Harlem that I really liked. High ceilings, and an interesting neighborhood. I gave a deposit and got the keys.
A few days later, the check I gave the prospective landlord bounced.
On April 11th, the day after my bday, I gave him the money in cash. This time, I had the keys, and had already bounced a check, so I took a chance.
On April 19th, after telling C that I was moving the next day, I found movers on Craigslist who came and took most of our shit while he was at HER house. He came back to an emptier crib (I was nice and left a lot of stuff), the bed frame but no bed (LOL!), and no Sen'ari...no Eve.
I should have left the bed.
To this day, I have yet to sleep on it. It represents failure to me, broken promises, and truth be told, I really don't know what happened on it. But, I can't afford to replace it right now, and it's good to have for when company comes over.
So, now Sen and I are in a new space, making it do what it do.
In the process...Eve-o-lution.
Yeah, that is my attempt at being fair to him. I have to see him waaay more that is comfortable, and I work REALLY hard at being chill. Sometimes, though, like today - he gets me so fucking worked up....OOOH!
I don't know why I'm thinking about our recent past, but I am... So here's more of my herstory....
When he asked/demanded that I move, I was so shocked and broke I didn't know what to do. I felt like I had no one. I lived/worked in the Bx, and my closest advocate lived in Bk. We had done this before, the whole "get out/i'm leaving" thing, and I told myself that if I left again, I wasn't coming back. We had left him, and I commuted with the baby back and forth from Bk to the South Bronx. NOT fun. I was exhausted, and so tired, after 3 days I asked to return. (I should have known then that shit wouldn't last, right?)
I'm terrible with money. Mind you, I am a certified, (and yes, I have one of those bullshit certifications - well, several of them...LOL!) financial literacy trainer. So that makes it worse because I know what to do, but don't. Still, I am no fashionista, Gucci wearing broad, so my money is not on my back, and say what you want, not at anyone's expense, either.
Suffice to say that since I found out right after the holidays that C was seeing that bitch (she will ALWAYS be "that bitch" to me), I was pretty broke. I had just finished buying gifts for his family, and there is a trailer load (shout to Shabba Ranks) of them. Seriously.
He admits that he is fucking HER, and wants me to move. Wooow.... Ok... Except had no money. No savings. No rich uncle, no mom nearby... His dad and stepmom offered to let me stay, and ummm.... NOT! See, he had taken to insulting me because he knew I didn't have anything, and to go to his fam would have proved him entirely too right. I wanted, maybe even needed to go, but I was too proud.
Pride. Humph... At that time, my pride was taking the world's worst beating. EVERYBODY knew that he was seeing this chick. The same chick who friended me on myspace, commented on my pic with him saying how we looked great together, and the NEXT DAY sent him a message with the lyrics to that Fantasia song "When I see you". I had complained to C, and he said I ws insecure, that she was cool, took her word over mine.
Thinking about it right now makes me upset, but it's on my mind, so..... I continue with this flashback....
So now I gotta start looking for a crib. But first, I need more money. So I ask for more work the gig, and look for a place. After seeing about 25 apts., I find one I like. No - love. It was in the Bx, where I was willing to stay because I want my son to be close with his dad, and he is close to his dad's family. It was a long term sublet, and the renter was single mom who was moving to Florida. The building was clean, had an elevator (which was MUCH better than the 5 floor walkup I had been living in with C), and the space was large enough to give Sen'ari his room, and make a studio space out of the living room. The girl is charming, her kid is sweet, and I am popping my collar because I'm hoping that only 6 weeks after I found out officially that I was being played, I am moving on with my life.
Go me!
To add to the success story, she is willing to take the deposit in two parts. WOOOORD?!?!?!? Awwww...shit! I'm FLOATING down the street. Packing shit in my mind..Life is sooo good. My girls are like "wow, Eve". I'm looking for daycare, thinking about how short my commute will be. So I give ole girl a deposit of $800 to show I'm serious about moving, and soon. I'm selling jewelry to come up with the rest of the loot, and desperate enough to consider turning a trick (or 2), because when I say I needed to get OUT of C's crib...I ain't lyin.
And this bitch bounced with my loot.
Cause yeah: in my desperation I gave her cash. I trusted, stupidly. I sooo wanted this. I needed to move!
Can we say DEVASTATED?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Now I'm completely destroyed. I have no new crib, and life at the old crib is just crumbling, deteriorating faster than I can even take. AND I HAVE NO LOOT!!!!! I have to start from scratch. I'm heartbroken, and broken. Emotionally, and financially.
I contemplated suicide more than once.
While all this is going on, I am watching C leave on his days off, go to her house, and not return for the night. I had kinda become used to it, when one day Sen tells me that while I was at work, ole girl came over, and they were all watching Norbit. WOOOORD?!?!?!?!?!?
Later that evening I'm on the comp, and I see that his Gmail is open. Fuck it - Imma admit it - I read his email. and because Gmail saves the chats, I saw where he would share info I shared with him: "Eve is coming home soon, so don't come over today". I would frequently smell weed when I came home, and would assume the baby was down for a nap (C was always making sure Sen had a nap) while he got his smoke on. Ok...I wasn't crazy about it, but oh well...a man needs stress relief in his home, right?
Until I realized that SHE was coming over to smoke with him!! Oh, HELLS NAW! This after one day he told me about a threesome episode they had while I was putting on mascara in the bathroom. At the time I thought I could stomach it, and said "ok" when he asked if I wanted to hear about what happened. So, I heard about her sexing the neighbor, him sexing her, him watching her sex the neighbor while stroking his dick...yeah...I heard it all. I saw the responses to the ads on Craigslist, and I began to get disgusted. With him, and with myself.
Because I still loved his fucking disgusting, possibly disease ridden ass.
But one thing I don't fuck with is disease. Now, I'll admit - he and I had sex VERY VERY early on in our relatonship, and the first time was unprotected. I was in shock that we had been so irresponsible, and right away, we had a battery of tests done, and shared them with each other. One of our early dates was to Duane Reade to get a whole bunch of birth control. In my stupid ass mind, I assumed that I was different. Because to me, he was. I thought I was special, that he didn't usually operate that way, that he would use a condom with ole girl.
Until he admitted that he didn't.
WOOOOORD?!?!?!?!?!?!
Ok, ummm....well... WOOOORD?!?!??!?!?!?
So operation "Eve get the fuck out" began again. In earnest. I had to save myself! So, I started stacking what little chips I could again, and resumed looking. At the end of March, I saw a nice crib in Harlem that I really liked. High ceilings, and an interesting neighborhood. I gave a deposit and got the keys.
A few days later, the check I gave the prospective landlord bounced.
On April 11th, the day after my bday, I gave him the money in cash. This time, I had the keys, and had already bounced a check, so I took a chance.
On April 19th, after telling C that I was moving the next day, I found movers on Craigslist who came and took most of our shit while he was at HER house. He came back to an emptier crib (I was nice and left a lot of stuff), the bed frame but no bed (LOL!), and no Sen'ari...no Eve.
I should have left the bed.
To this day, I have yet to sleep on it. It represents failure to me, broken promises, and truth be told, I really don't know what happened on it. But, I can't afford to replace it right now, and it's good to have for when company comes over.
So, now Sen and I are in a new space, making it do what it do.
In the process...Eve-o-lution.
After the decision to bounce was made....
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Esta Vida Loca!
So, I have been crying, sleepless, tired, experienced a loss of appetite, and experienced my appetite returning (PMS is a BITCH!). I have come to grips with the fact that my baby daddy has a new chick, that I am still in love with him, and that they are seeking a third party for threesomes. I confronted BD about this, and he had the audacity to ask me if I wanted to join them.Ummm....Seriously?????WTF?!?!??!?!!?!?!?
I have learned some life lessons, and as I discover them, I will be sharing, so here goes.
1. Life will show you just how far you can go on "E".
You know how you learn your car can go 13.7 miles on "E"? By using all your gas and being stuck. If you are one of those people who will never discover that, awesome. For the rest of us, adversity lets us know just how much we can deal with. In the last month, I have cried myself to sleep more times than I can count. I have seen the sun rise and set repeatedly without catching a wink of sleep, and have allowed days to go by without eating a thing. This from a woman who used to pride herself on "never missing sleep, a meal, or crying over a man".
Riiiight....I have learned. There were days that the pain would literally collapse me and I would break out in sobs from the hurt, the pain, embarrasment, failure, all around devastation of this situation.
2. First you deal, then you heal (especially when you have kids)
If you are like me, you cannot begin to heal being right up on the person that caused you pain. You are consumed with them, what they are doing, where they are, what you are doing, why you are where you are while they are where they are. No good for anyone. You gotta DEAL, first. Assess the situation like, WTF do I NEED to do? When it seems too hard to get up and floss because no one will be there to admire your pearly whites (or not so pearly whites, in my case), that is when you need to get your ass up and floss the MOST.
When all you wanna do is lay up in your bed, listen to Brian McKnight, and eat caramel cone ice cream, DO THAT. (Didn't think I would say that, did ya? Well, that is a form of healing!) Allow yourself a minute to deal with the immediate situation, give yourself a moment to wallow, then get right up outta that. Your kid(s) need you to be a stabilizing force for them, and you need to feel capable again. The trick is in not allowing this feeling to impact your entire life. Otherwise, your work will suffer, your other relationships will suffer, YOU will suffer.
Being dumped is a different kinda animal. It makes you feel inadequate, and the reason why someone is leaving you is that somehow, somewhere, you didn't meet their needs/wants. That realization hurts. LIKE HELL. It will make you doubt your capabilities, your looks, your attractiveness, who you are, what you bring to the table.
The goal is to not allow someone control what YOU think of yourself. I struggle with that right now, but I also know that when I ponder too long on what HE (not the man upstairs He, but my baby daddy HE) thinks, I am on a downward spiral. As my BFF told me the other night, it's almst as if I am blaming myself for his actions, and that is not fair to myself either. *deep sigh*
Life is hard right now, but I'm taking things one day at a time. It's all I can do. Hold on folks, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!
Esta Vida Loca!
So, I have been crying, sleepless, tired, experienced a loss of appetite, and experienced my appetite returning (PMS is a BITCH!). I have come to grips with the fact that my baby daddy has a new chick, that I am still in love with him, and that they are seeking a third party for threesomes. I confronted BD about this, and he had the audacity to ask me if I wanted to join them.Ummm....Seriously?????WTF?!?!??!?!!?!?!?
I have learned some life lessons, and as I discover them, I will be sharing, so here goes.
1. Life will show you just how far you can go on "E".
You know how you learn your car can go 13.7 miles on "E"? By using all your gas and being stuck. If you are one of those people who will never discover that, awesome. For the rest of us, adversity lets us know just how much we can deal with. In the last month, I have cried myself to sleep more times than I can count. I have seen the sun rise and set repeatedly without catching a wink of sleep, and have allowed days to go by without eating a thing. This from a woman who used to pride herself on "never missing sleep, a meal, or crying over a man".
Riiiight....I have learned. There were days that the pain would literally collapse me and I would break out in sobs from the hurt, the pain, embarrasment, failure, all around devastation of this situation.
2. First you deal, then you heal (especially when you have kids)
If you are like me, you cannot begin to heal being right up on the person that caused you pain. You are consumed with them, what they are doing, where they are, what you are doing, why you are where you are while they are where they are. No good for anyone. You gotta DEAL, first. Assess the situation like, WTF do I NEED to do? When it seems too hard to get up and floss because no one will be there to admire your pearly whites (or not so pearly whites, in my case), that is when you need to get your ass up and floss the MOST.
When all you wanna do is lay up in your bed, listen to Brian McKnight, and eat caramel cone ice cream, DO THAT. (Didn't think I would say that, did ya? Well, that is a form of healing!) Allow yourself a minute to deal with the immediate situation, give yourself a moment to wallow, then get right up outta that. Your kid(s) need you to be a stabilizing force for them, and you need to feel capable again. The trick is in not allowing this feeling to impact your entire life. Otherwise, your work will suffer, your other relationships will suffer, YOU will suffer.
Being dumped is a different kinda animal. It makes you feel inadequate, and the reason why someone is leaving you is that somehow, somewhere, you didn't meet their needs/wants. That realization hurts. LIKE HELL. It will make you doubt your capabilities, your looks, your attractiveness, who you are, what you bring to the table.
The goal is to not allow someone control what YOU think of yourself. I struggle with that right now, but I also know that when I ponder too long on what HE (not the man upstairs He, but my baby daddy HE) thinks, I am on a downward spiral. As my BFF told me the other night, it's almst as if I am blaming myself for his actions, and that is not fair to myself either. *deep sigh*
Life is hard right now, but I'm taking things one day at a time. It's all I can do. Hold on folks, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!
In the beginning....of 2008!
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
New Year, Same Isht...
As I sit back, relax, think a sec, drink a Becks (shout out to Biggie), I realize that ain't a damned thing changed in 4 months.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!
I had actually been avoiding reading my journal because I knew it would make me feel like shit. What I do know is that sometimes, you know the answer, and you are still powerless to answer the call.I know what I need to do. But I am afraid. There. I said it. I am afraid to be living on my own, afraid I will make the same mistakes I made before, afraid my son will hate me in 10 years, come to me with some "you made my dad leave us" shit.
The craziest part is that if I were listening to my story, I'd be all like "leave him, girl! You can do bad all by yourself."The relationship is at the point that my absence would not be noted. Seriously. Ole boy says he's stepping out for a bit at 4pm, and returns the next morning.
Months ago, we had an argument, and I told my son I was gonna get him a real daddy. Now, my baby daddy uses my words and says that he leaves because he hates that I said that and he can't get over it. He asks why I'm mad that he just leaves and doesn't call to ask about Sen until midnight, when he knows Sen will be asleep. *deep sigh*
Right now, I am underemployed and over extended. My fondest wish is to just fly away. Seriously. Just grab my son and leave everything else behind. I have nothing else of value. My confidence is so shot right now, I am in a state of shock at knowing I am a shell of my former self. This sounds like some crazy shit I heard a white chick say on Oprah, but it's true. I have Erykah Badu's "Green Eyes" on repeat right now. I have all this pent up emotion, and I am praying for help from God to channel it in a positive way. The way I feel right now, I either explode in anger or bust out crying if I think about this situation for too long, and I have all the time in the world .
I am determined to make this year different. I MUST get out of this funk and rediscover myself and my capabilities. I'm real lost right now, and the time has come to stop being pissy about the shit I cannot change, and DO SOMETHING about this fucked up life.
I will be writing more frequently now, just to get some things off my chest. I have to say - this is really therapeutic. It satisfies my inner exhibitionist (cause I'm letting folks know A LOT of my business), as well as being a safer release than breaking shit I can't afford to replace.
New Year, Same Isht...
As I sit back, relax, think a sec, drink a Becks (shout out to Biggie), I realize that ain't a damned thing changed in 4 months.
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!
I had actually been avoiding reading my journal because I knew it would make me feel like shit. What I do know is that sometimes, you know the answer, and you are still powerless to answer the call.I know what I need to do. But I am afraid. There. I said it. I am afraid to be living on my own, afraid I will make the same mistakes I made before, afraid my son will hate me in 10 years, come to me with some "you made my dad leave us" shit.
The craziest part is that if I were listening to my story, I'd be all like "leave him, girl! You can do bad all by yourself."The relationship is at the point that my absence would not be noted. Seriously. Ole boy says he's stepping out for a bit at 4pm, and returns the next morning.
Months ago, we had an argument, and I told my son I was gonna get him a real daddy. Now, my baby daddy uses my words and says that he leaves because he hates that I said that and he can't get over it. He asks why I'm mad that he just leaves and doesn't call to ask about Sen until midnight, when he knows Sen will be asleep. *deep sigh*
Right now, I am underemployed and over extended. My fondest wish is to just fly away. Seriously. Just grab my son and leave everything else behind. I have nothing else of value. My confidence is so shot right now, I am in a state of shock at knowing I am a shell of my former self. This sounds like some crazy shit I heard a white chick say on Oprah, but it's true. I have Erykah Badu's "Green Eyes" on repeat right now. I have all this pent up emotion, and I am praying for help from God to channel it in a positive way. The way I feel right now, I either explode in anger or bust out crying if I think about this situation for too long, and I have all the time in the world .
I am determined to make this year different. I MUST get out of this funk and rediscover myself and my capabilities. I'm real lost right now, and the time has come to stop being pissy about the shit I cannot change, and DO SOMETHING about this fucked up life.
I will be writing more frequently now, just to get some things off my chest. I have to say - this is really therapeutic. It satisfies my inner exhibitionist (cause I'm letting folks know A LOT of my business), as well as being a safer release than breaking shit I can't afford to replace.
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