RIP, Boo Thang. Good Riddance, Lying-Ass
Well folks, you’ve been reading.
You all saw this coming.
People move in and out of our lives all of the time.
Seriously, think about it.
New jobs, new cities, graduating from school, going back to school, your church, death, people rotate in and out.
That is the nature of this thing called life. We are in constant motion, traveling through it.
As I told you all in my last post, I was growing weary. Time was running out for Boo Thang.
And time ran all the way out Thursday night.
When he asked to stop by, I assumed he was feeling the vibe that things weren’t going well, especially since I sent him that text about confidence.
He was happy as a clam and even brought wine. I introduced him to Moscato D’Asti and now it’s like the best thing in the world.
So being oblivious, he want to hug me and kiss me and I kept squirming like Pepe Le Pew’s unfortunate feline girlfriend who keeps falling in the wrong can of paint to make her look like a skunk.
I was blocking shots like Mutumbo.
So after a great discussion about the state of the black community, politics, the sequestration and watching Awkward Black Girl, the finale (it’s awesome), he was getting ready to leave.
I told him I wanted to talk to him about something. I couldn’t let him leave. I couldn’t take another day of being phony or knowing that I wasn’t that into him.
So he sat down in the chair and he braced himself. He braced himself.
I started out with asking him what he wanted from this relationship and where he saw things going.
Brace yourselves for his answer.
“I don’t know, I want us to keep hanging out and getting to know each other and then it can go somewhere.”
“It’s been five months. We haven’t seen each other for two weeks and we haven’t really been talking a whole lot. Things seem to be going ok to you?”
“Well things haven’t been great, but I just thought we were both busy.”
Yeah, ok, pimp.
So I go on about me wanting a serious relationship and how I’m at the point where the direction I’m trying to head now is marriage. I spoke about how at 28, just getting out of grad school, he has just started his professional life, he has just started his grown up life.
I even realized that even though there was a few years between us, in life experience, I had a decade on him.
He’s never lived outside of Maryland.
I’ve lived and worked in a bunch of different places, I’ve had ups and downs in my relationships. I’ve had to speak up sometimes and fight for things, I’ve been through a lot. I’ve learned to love myself, I’ve learned to appreciate who I am.
I told him that I have high expectations of the man who is going to be my man. I told him I mentioned the confidence thing because I can’t be confident for him I want the man in my life to really know himself and be able to make decisions and I will stand by him and be his biggest supporter. I told him he’s not there yet.
I said there was nothing wrong with that, it’s just timing.
So with big puppy eyes, he asks, “Well is it where I’m at professionally?”
Wrong again, lad.
I told him not at all. He’s where he’s supposed to be.
“Does this mean you don’t want to talk anymore?”
I said, “I would actually love to still talk to you and hang out, but we got to stop the romantic stuff.”
At this point, he already had his baseball cap on low across his eyes. Before then, his brows stayed in a permanent knot on his forehead as he listened.
I told him, if I’m off base, to correct me, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. I told him he is in transition and that is ok, but the fact I have to explain why I want to be picked up and dated and wanting some consistency, it’s a problem. No one who is five months into something does not really see or make time for each other for two weeks and they live in the same area.
So he said he’d talk to me later, we hugged and he left.
He sent me a text later, saying that he was glad to see me and appreciated our talk.
I told him I agree.
But that’s not how this story ends folks, oh it gets better. I mean, it wouldn’t be a 29tolifeblog story if there wasn’t a ridiculous twist.
A homegirl of mine said she thought she saw old boy on a dating site.
Not the one where we met and where I thought we both closed our profiles…
This fool must believe in loopholes.
So this morning she’s like, I have a screen capture of the profile. I said, well what’s the name and what’s the city?
Profile name.. was the name of homeboy’s favorite rapper and some number and I already know not many people would pick that name.
My friend sent the pic. And boom there his ass was.
Here I was, feeling sorry for him. Thinking I had broken his simple, little heart and this mo fo has been out there, probably still talking to other women.
So, that’s all folks.
Here we go again.
I’m open to suggestions. If you folks have great friends, cousins, uncles, third tier friends, send em my way.
Back to the drawing board. Again.
Tip the bartenders, God Bless and good night folks.
Here I am, in a tee-shirt, wrapped in a blanket chronicling my pitiful life for you all and having a Sex and the City marathon, because Carrie Bradshaw knows me like no one else.
I’ma keep hope alive.
Shit is real.