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Archive for the month “July, 2013”

Expect Awkward

Planning a weekend with the long-distance love of your life is simple.

Find the cheapest flight that gets you together the soonest, and leaves the very latest minute possible.

Planning a weekend with the former long-distance love of your life, ex-fiance, after being estranged for two years is much, much, more hairy.

It’s a polite dance really.

Picking times most convenient to the host. Delicately balancing too much time/potential emotional minefields that make a quick exit necessary.

He had the option of coming as early as Friday night and leaving as late as early Monday morning.

I decided that was too much time for this kind of trip. I don’t want the whole album, I want the sample snippets before I commit.

Coming in Friday night would have been awkward, in my opinion. There wouldn’t be much to do after 10 p.m. unless we went to the casino.

Another compromise was made. Arrive Saturday afternoon to the airport nearest me and leave Sunday night from another airport.

We’d have basically just enough time to possibly enjoy the moment, but not linger long enough to be more awkward than what it already is.

Trying to pick the flights made me nuts. He kept asking what I thought was best.

I was just thinking that I wanted us to get through it and no one be hurt afterwards but I didn’t want him to stay too long, but I didn’t want to be upset if we had a great time and it was cut too short.

But above all else, I knew him getting here Friday morning and leaving Monday morning was not going to be a good idea.

We both agreed this was going to be awkward.

Expect Awkward.

Putting the EX in Text

I was already in a semi-sleep state.

I honestly wasn’t certain I was awake. It felt like a dream. One of those regular dreams where you do regular things where you swear the next day it really happened. I’ve had those dreams of regular days and when I hopped into bed and drifted to sleep, I woke up in the now, in the real.

Well, I wasn’t dreaming. My phone buzzed loudly and I turned over. I figured it was one of my friends lamenting something or an old POF person trying to test the boundaries my freak.

Bleary-eyed, I looked at my phone and it was him.

“The only way I can make this weekend happen is if I fly into Washington.”

I waited a good five minutes to craft a casual response. It was interesting. He knew my preference was BWI because I was so much closer than Reagan.

Was he looking for me to find an excuse to say no?

“If you want to come and flying into DC is the most feasible, then do it.”

Be cool, ice cold.

“I’ll do it in the a.m.”

Another five minutes.

“Ok.”

I got up out of bed. My mouth was horribly dry.

Shit just got real.

I then realized, he might be serious. Previous times he said he wanted to, but he was too scared. Or he didn’t know what to say, or he didn’t want to upset me.

But I wouldn’t be sure, until he confirmed “in the a.m.” that the tickets were purchased. And even then, anything could happen.

But what struck me was the convo felt strangely familiar.

Just like the old days, he was online at 12 midnight, Tuesday to check the efares. He’d report to me the best fares and times, and I’d say do it.

I made my way to the fridge in the dark and poured myself a cold glass of water.

 

 

Walk By Faith, Not By Sight

I’ve been listening to a lot of Mary J. Blige, India.Arie, Emili Sande and a song by Chrisette Michele called I don’t know why, but I do.

After extending the invite for my ex-fiance to come and visit to help him clear his head and possibly start the defunkedified process (that he needs to complete solo), a few things crossed my mind.

1. What the hell did I do?

2. Am I really this strong? Or am I nuts?

3. Why does this feel like the right thing to do?

4. Why am I actually calm?

Then came the response email from him.

He said he didn’t know what to think and that of all of the people in the world to show that kind of love and care, it’s difficult for him to accept it from me. ESPECIALLY me. (He put that in all caps.)

He proceeded to shock me even further when he said that he is open to coming and will start looking into flights.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that he’ll still show up, but the fact that he says he’s open to it, leads me to believe that is progress. He said he’d been running from this for too long, and that he wanted to come and see me in April, but decided against it. He said he imagined over and over the various ways our reunion would go.

So, it appears he may just take me up on my offer.

I decided to keep my response short and sweet.

I told him that I was glad he was open to the visit and that I am not going to take back my invite at any point and that he was welcome. I told him to not second guess or talk himself out of it, but to simply come.

We’ll have good food, catch up and go and have a good time.

No expectations.

I told him I really didn’t know why I felt so strongly about this at this moment in time, but I do and that our encounter would be equally as risky for me as it is for him.

I told him to keep me posted on the flights and closed it out.

From a spiritual standpoint, I feel like this is a real test of my faith and all of the things I’ve been saying that I’ve been learning about myself and personal growth.

It is about taking a huge emotional leap, which is something I have not done.

Is this potentially dangerous?

Most certainly.

But my gut is saying that I am safe. I have enough in me to deal with him coming, seeing him face-to-face, showing him love and concern and support and then dealing with the aftermath.

I have no clue what is going to happen. But I know that if at any point, I have the right to and can simply say ok, this is enough, I’m not comfortable and we can cut it short.

You, my blog family know about this. I’ve decided not to really tell folks, because clearly, everyone in my life isn’t a fan of this guy. And I don’t blame them. If I wasn’t me, I would lovingly say, you need to leave this alone, or I don’t agree, but you have to do what you have to do.

The thing I keep thinking about is, what I’m doing isn’t even about forgiveness. I forgave him a very long time ago. Forgiveness isn’t even on my mind. He still needs to do the work to forgive himself and shake his feelings of unworthiness and self-loathing. I’ma need him to listen to Anthony Hamilton’s “Life Has a Way” on repeat.

Anyway, when I prayed for my own healing, when I’ve been seeking to better myself, a chance to prove what I’ve really learned and if I’m the woman I think I’m trying to be has presented itself.

Be that chick, chick.

It’s not easy. On one level, it seemed to be an impulsive act rooted in my wanting to help people I love, on another it was a direct challenge that said, if you are thinking on another level, if you are loving people on another level, then here is the person who has hurt you like no other.

Can you see his humanity? Yes. Have you distanced yourself and strengthened yourself enough to be there for him as a friend without taking on his burden for him and losing yourself?

Can you be an instrument of God, and show him that love is real and strong and forgiving and that forgiveness is a gift that we are all allowed to be shown? Totally.

I feel like this is beyond our history. This is deeper than me proving something to myself about my healing and growth.

I had a previous moment like this when dealing with a rival at work. The more hateful she became, I took myself out of the equation and decided this person has been hurt and hurt to such a point it’s destroyed her self-esteem and self-worth and has tried to stamp out whatever good may be in her. She sees something in me and it bothers her. It’s not about me.

Keep in mind, it took me a few years. This chick was trying to ruin my life, but when I started to see it from that point of view, it changed me and how I dealt with her. I still get irritated by her, but I have sympathy. I could not say that a few years ago. But making the conscious choice to see her humanity, I had to stop letting my hate for her build up inside of me. She has to be carrying around some painful stuff, to feel the need to treat others the way she does.

I’ve said before that my ex has a lot of pain and has programmed himself to feel like the only way to deal with it is to deal with it alone and for some reason feel like he deserves this non-stop pain and self-punishment.

It is not my responsibility to fix it. But if I have a chance to show God’s love, because His love is far greater than mine will ever be, and if my ex can see that God in me, then maybe things can change for him.

It does seem extreme that the person he hurt the most is rallying for him, but God’s love is extreme and huge and inexplicable. And that’s part of the reason that I feel so strongly about doing this and not knowing why. Maybe I’m not supposed to until God’s work in this situation is finished. And when it’s done, it’s done.

I’ve never been here before. And I don’t know anyone else who has been here before. That’s what makes this particularly daunting, and that’s what let’s me know this is the path I’ve got to walk.

I’m not afraid of him hurting me again.

I’m doing this for the right, albiet unknown reasons.

I’m going to walk by faith.

I’m On One

After having a number of eye-opening experiences this week that required me to look at myself, my heart has been pulling me in strange, unexpected directions.

I was skyping with the youngin and enjoying it. He’s a sweetheart. I like this guy. He is 23, I like him and I’ve decided that’s going to be that. We will keep talking and maybe visit one another and it’s just going to be what it is.

I told him last night if he were six years older, it would be a no-brainer. He began to sulk. But it was my truth.

Speaking of truths. I reached out to my ex-fiance.

NUTS.

Yup. But I sent him an email and I had never been so clear. I let some things off my chest after having all of these discussions about supporting black men and about my own ego. And I apologized to him.

Did everyone just flip out? Yeah. I did apologize to him and I told him that I still prayed for him and his well being.

Several hours later he wrote me back. (I told him he did not have to)

He’s still a sad sack. Which is really unfortunate. He’s still struggling with his own issues and he said that I really did not have to apologize to him and that the breakdown in our relationship was still mostly his fault.

The funniest thing to me is his assumption of my happiness. He said he read between the lines and it seems I must have found someone who made me happy.

I laughed out loud on that.

Now, I won’t correct his ass, because hey, I just won’t. I’m single as a dollar bill, but he doesn’t need to know that.

So me being me, I responded this morning.

I told him I’ve had my share of lumps and some days I feel completely shitty. We all do. Life is quite difficult. From all of the self-help books, shows, the Bible and everything else, I’ve learned that adults have to design and maintain their happy.

As babies, someone can jangle keys in our face or play peek a boo and we are tickled. If someone “takes our nose” oh man, you can’t stop us from laughing.

But as we get older, learn somethings and struggle and fail and be disappointed, it takes a whole lot to make us “happy.”

We think having nice things or money will do it. Plenty of successful folks with a lot of stuff can tell you. They still aren’t happy. Just ask Kanye West. I’m just saying. He’s the unhappiest rich person ever. Always looking crazy.

So as we all go through this planet, we have to keep readjusting our idea of what makes us happy. Somethings get old, and then we have to find new things to spice it up.

I told my ex, that I’m experimenting with what makes me happy. Reading, writing, doing tee shirts, spending time with friends and family, traveling, cooking new things, volunteering, working out or doing active things.

You can’t be happy all of the time, that’s why happiness feels so frigging awesome when we  are happy. Happy is fleeting, just as much as pain and despair is. And just like we can stretch out our pity parties, we got to stretch out the happy moments too.

I told him he’s the one who has to forgive himself. I told him that he’s actually mastered the art of surviving terrible things in life, so now he has to learn how to be a liver (someone who is alive, not the organ).

I took this whole thing to the next level. My fingers were typing ahead of me and I invited him to visit. I told him there’s no catch and I don’t even want to talk about the past. I just want us to spend a day or two devoted to being happy doing things happy people do. I told him we could have ice cream and fly kites and pet puppies all day long. But the goal is to not think about anything else but being happy. We used to be pretty damn good at it.

Now whether he takes me up on it or not, hey that’s completely up to him. But I saw someone I loved and still love still hurting.

I’m not trying to solve his problems. I learned the first time around I can’t solve them. He has to do that work.

But for some reason, that’s what my heart told me to do. It’s nuts. But I have some perspective and I’m not afraid. Having a day of being silly and kind and loving to a hurting person in need, I don’t feel like I’m giving up something or a part of my soul. I feel like at this time in my life it’s the right thing to do.

Will it open a big ass can of worms if he comes?

Probably.

But I offered the invite from a genuine, and loving place and because I did that, God’s got it. I feel good about what I did. I actually feel lighter and better. I don’t even have a desire to take it back. Because I did the right thing, I know it came from my heart.

I know he’s difficult. I know he doesn’t trust people. I feel like if I offer him this opportunity to just let it go for a day or two, in a safe place, with someone who he knows cares about him, it could potentially help him. That’s all I want to do and then send his ass home.

SBW Seeking Balance

I’ve had a lot on my mind, especially relationships.

I’ve been reading books, talking to friends and loved ones.

And then one of the things I ended up saying to someone stuck with me and it also goes back to some things I heard at Essence Fest during Iyanla Van Zandt’s session.

Being in order. Having balance.

So this week, I have been praying for and meditating on balance.

From my own mouth, I told someone that black women have a serious issue with balance. We go hard with everything, every decision, every issue can be dramatic and life and death and just huge and cumbersome, if you let us tell it.

So where’s the balance?

I had to step back and think about that.

Where is the balance in my own life?

I’ve been bouncing from one extreme to the next, bouncing from large goal or dream to another. Or, getting over one hardship or heart-break, only to barely have strength for the next. But there’s no room for real rest, or regrouping.

I feel like we’ve been conditioned this way. We’ve seen our mothers and grandmothers work and toil and give to family, and hell, take care of other people’s families and homes, in addition to community or church, but we struggle with letting other folks handle things because we want them done right, our way and in the time frame we had in our mind. Our mothers may or may not have complained out loud, their sacrifices were admirable. But weren’t they raging inside?

I don’t have nearly half the familial responsibilities that they do, but on the flip side, I probably have more economic responsiblity, but regardless, the same attitude is there.

We are tired and hurting and feeling unheard and not taken care of.

In this season of singledom, where I’m determined to at least learn some more about myself, even though people have said it before, I didn’t listen. I am impatient and I do want to be in control of EVERYTHING.

I think being impatient and wanting to be in control of everything is a dangerous mix. I’ve always seemed to have a clear-cut vision of how I want things to be and how I want things to look.

This kind of attentiveness is an excellent trait for planning a party or leading projects at work, but in the area of love, it’s so much more difficult. And for me, the folks I’m interested in or who I want to be interested in me, they NEVER follow my script.

At all.

It’s hard to surrender your control to others.  You know that when things are on you, you’ll figure out how to make it happen. You are involved in all the steps of making it happen, and even if something unexpected is thrown your way, you are in control of switching gears and finding the solution.

Surrendering control requires trusting others. Trusting people means you agree that they’ve got it. That you have the understanding that they may not do it the way you do it, but you have faith they will produce the result that THEY say THEY will produce. Not necessarily YOUR vision.

So while I’m upset my volunteer weekend coming up in August was canceled, I’ve decided to fill those days with activities to reenergize and regroup according to me.

I’m going to fix meals for a men’s homeless shelter, get a massage and throw together a book club party with some women I adore to tie it all in a neat bow. Some time by the pool and generally doing things that please me will be on the schedule.

So that’s what I want. Some balance. Instead of feeling like the world is always on my shoulders and that there’s pressure coming from every angle and this feeling of “what next?” always haunting me personally and professionally. I’m spending four days to opt out, to serve others, to love on myself and my friends and see what happens next.

 

 

I Get So Emotional Baby…

Hey everyone,

It’s been awhile. I know.

Between going to and recovering from the Essence Fest and going to my family reunion, I’ve just been all over the place. I’ve also been all over the place emotionally.

Going to my family reunion totally reenergized me. This always happens when I go and spend time with my family or go visit good friends (or they visit me) or if I go to a professional conference.

Sometimes you have to get with like-minded folks to recharge your batteries and help you refocus on what’s important to you.

I spent a good portion of last week on a mission to trace back my ancestry so I could present the results at the family reunion and I was successful.

I was able to trace back as far as the slave owner (great, great, great grandfather) who kicked off the whole party with according to records an unidentified negro woman. From there, I was able to look at census data to find out more about his son, who was born in 1839. It was insane looking at census data from as early as the 1870s and seeing my family and how they grew, and overcame a lot of difficulty as America was establishing itself.

Old census data used to show whether or not people could read or write. As time went on, you saw in my family, that the next generation always improved and more people started reading, writing and going to school and fewer children were farming in North Carolina full time.

I got to see how family members moved out of the house, or in some cases moved back in, and how they all stepped up and took care of one another, or even shared their homes with others, or boarders who also worked on the farm.

I was happy to report all of this information and had a number of family members approach me, thanking me for sharing. Even the dj came up to me and said he wanted to trace his family history after hearing my report.

I was totally inspired by the story of my family and how strong they were. Black people in the U.S. tend to know they came from slaves, but to see their names written down and to make the connection from their dates of birth, it drives it all home. It was very, very real and so were their hardships. But we stayed together and we stayed strong. Could you imagine?

Another thing that made me emotional was spending time with my nephew. He’s really awesome and to see the blend of all of us in him and his personality was cool and scary. It appears he is competitive and a perfectionist and determined and type A, like me.

We had a rock climbing wall and he was determined to get up it. But it was pretty tough. Well after my sister and I had given up, he was still talking to that rock and trying to figure it out. Keep in mind, we were in the sweltering heat. We had to talk him off the rock and convince him to take a break and get some water. Because it was not safe to keep going like that without hydration.

Another thing stuck out to me. The men in my family. I really, really, really enjoyed seeing fathers playing with and just loving on their children and grandchildren. In some cases, there are some men in my family who are taking care of children who aren’t even their own. In one case, a cousin introduced an adult daughter he didn’t know about who found him through Facebook and met for the first time that weekend.

I was proud to see my dad, who is 62, beating the pants off of people, playing basketball.

So at any rate, there were moments that I wanted pundits from Fox News or ignorant people who don’t interact very often with black men or don’t care to know their story to see these men in my family being so loving.

You could see all of these mini moments of men flirting with their wives and girlfriends, dancing with them at the party, playing games with their kids or sharing an ice cream.

I’d been mad and through with black men too. I was so annoyed with dating them and almost marrying one. But to hear my brother-in-law and nephew trade jokes and wrestle and hug, and to see he and my sister laugh and smile and offer to take turns rubbing each others feet after playing tennis, I wasn’t even jealous (which sometimes I am).

I was happy to see these snapshot moments and feel the love in them.

So now, I’m feeling super mushy. Oh boy.

And after having a spirited conversation about relationships between black men and black women and why we are having so much trouble, I do not pity black men and I won’t give trifling black men a pass, but I’m starting to sympathize a bit more.

I’m starting to check myself. I have decided to spend this week going out of my way to show my black male friends and family more love and encouragement. It’s so funny how things line up.

On my way back from New Jersey, I called up an old friend who I used to work with. He’s a newspaper editor and we had lunch. He told me stories of some of his work difficulties and difficulties trying to raise his teenage daughter. As I listened, I thought about the conversation I had about black men and their struggle. In his work environment, he has to fight against being the angry black man, and when he expresses himself passionately or is confident about his work, people see him as a threat or confrontational.

He knows he’s treated this way. But he also knows he is good at his job. He shook his head and took a deep breath. He said he wasn’t going to do anymore, or do any less, he was just going to do his job and ride it all out until his daughter graduates from high school. I could see he was tired. I sat across from him and I felt his frustration and it upset me too.

So that’s the plan. All of this week and further on throughout (I hope) I will not focus on my struggles as a black woman. I have plenty. This week I am going to show appreciation, more sweetness to the black men in my life and the ones I happen to meet a long the way.

I sent this text to one of my best, black, male friends.

 

I love you and I’m proud of you. I want you to know I am here for you and I pray for your strength and success and protection as you navigate this world.

 

 

Pharoahe Monch “Stand Your Ground”

I’m glad Hip Hop is getting it’s hands dirty and talking about something relevant. Music can elevate and educate. Cheers Pharoahe Monch. Thank you.

Breakdown

So last night, after making some dinner, one of my friends stopped by. She laid on my couch stretched out, I at my table with a fresh drink, hands on my head.

As usual, we were talking about relationships.

I said I was tired.

I said I thought I was healed from my broken engagement which basically happened two years ago. I wondered what was wrong with me? Wasn’t I better? Why isn’t anyone I’m seeing/interacting with simply good enough?

What else do I have to do.

When my friend kindly suggested that I “work on myself” that’s when I lost it. And I started to cry.

“Work on myself? That’s what I’ve been doing for the last two years! In fact, I’m tired of myself. I’m with myself all day long, all night. I’m sick of working on myself. I’ve been praying and fasting and working out and trying to launch businesses or finding classes, or looking for volunteer opportunities. I’M TIRED OF WORKING ON MYSELF.”

I even told her that I hated to admit that I’d become one of those women fixated on finding the one. I confessed that it consumed my thoughts day and night, turning me into what I didn’t want to be.

One of those chicks.

My homie thumbed through my bookshelf, made me throw out an old bridal magazine I ran to buy a week after I got engaged– I promptly threw it in the trash– and then she handed me “Oh, The Places You’ll Go,” by Dr. Seuss.

She said I had to read it aloud.

When I got to certain parts, with the fervor of an old church deacon, she’d tell me to read it again.

The book was given to me as a gift from my aunt and uncle when I graduated from college. The words are real and inspirational and Dr. Seuss was indeed a genius and gifted.

It was a reminder that life is tough and that feeling lost and defeated does happen. But we have to keep going.

I am putting a lot of pressure on myself and on the men I’m dating. I need a break.

I need to not take it all so seriously and I know that’s easier said than done.

Another friend pointed out that I am not my best self right now and that’s why I’m not attracting what it is that I want.

At the Essence Fest, I had the pleasure of sitting in a packed conference hall to watch life coach, Iyanla Van Zant share her words of wisdom. She kept saying over and over that our lives is a series of constant correction.

So whether we want to or not, as long as we breathe there’s something to fix, to make better. That concept resonated with me because it’s one of the cornerstones of my tee-shirt brand, the concept of correction and self-improvement.

Last night, I was rejecting that out loud. Does that make me a hypocrite?

No, it makes me human.

Iyanla also kept repeating the words, “Do the work.” “Do the work.”

Can we have a night where we breakdown? Can we have a day where we cry?

Yes.

But we’ve got to find the strength to get up, face another day and do the work.

The work doesn’t have to be monumental. It’s doing what you can that particular day.

My first act of doing the work has been to seriously look up programs at my community college to take in the fall.

The next is thinking of an action plan for my job. My goals, what I’d like to try and what I’d like to take on.

Getting back to my tee-shirt business and officially launching the site.

I’ll keep it light with the guys I meet online.

The first order of business, which I just did, was let the guy I went out with Friday know that I’m not interested. I did it by text. I’m a jerk. But I want to be done with it. He tried calling me a few times over the weekend. And sent a text today.

I’m sure he’s upset. But I don’t know what else to do. I can’t go on like this.

The inspiration from today’s post is an old joint from Mariah Carey.

A Booty Call Deferred

Every sit com or movie dealing with single women looking for love seems to have the scene where the woman decides she’ll take a booty call.

She’ll run through her house like a tornado and clean up, she’ll shave, she’ll shower, she’ll fluff out her hair, put on her “good” panties, pour out a drink and she’ll wait.

6:30 p.m. He texts her what time works for her, and she says she’s flexible and will be home all night. He says he’s helping his mother and will probably be done by nine.

Works for her.

And she’ll wait some more.

9:45. No big deal. He’s probably about to leave his mother’s and he’ll have to take a shower.

She’ll send a text or leave a light, simple message not to seem desperate,  but just wanting to know if he’ll still be able to stop by.

No response.

The light buzz from the drink she’s poured turns from a anticipatory anxiousness, to full-on hysterical anxiety.

He hasn’t returned her call or text. In fact, he’s said nothing.

11:30 p.m. The hours pass and she’s already angrily texted her friends.

“A booty call. This is the simplest of tasks. This is the one thing men should be running, tripping and knocking over elderly people to do. Why isn’t he here?”

Then she thinks about her age, her constant state of loneliness.

“I’m too old for this shit.”

Then she thinks about the reason why she suggested said booty call in the first place.

“I don’t want to increase my number.”

“I don’t want to take on a new lover. Too much work, or vetting. Don’t want awkward first time, I don’t know your style you don’t know mine sex.”

“This guy makes my toes curl.”

“I just needed to be touched.”

“I wanted to feel something.”

11:40 She’s resolved she’d go to bed.

11:46 She already has two texts from men she doesn’t feel like being bothered with at the moment. One text sends her into rage…”You up?”

12:00 a.m. She’s drifted off to sleep.

7:46 a.m. She gets a text. “Hey, my battery died.”

Her:  “Dude, it’s not that I don’t believe you, but that is wack.”

Him: “Sorry, but I put my fam before myself. I apologize.”

“No one said you shouldn’t put your fam before yourself.”

“No, but you said it was wack and alluded. Gosh.. things happen.”

“Kyle, it was wack because I stayed up all night. I had no clue what was going on. So from that standpoint it was wack. I knew you were helping your mom, but you said you would be done around nine.

So I didn’t even trip when ten rolled around. That’s why I simply texted ‘hey.’ I figured you’d be able to tell me it wasn’t going to work out. It is what it is. You weren’t able to charge your battery. I’m not going to argue people’s intent or what they allude to.

I care for you. I’m still going to like you again… later…

I gotta get to work.”

“Thanks for expressing yourself. I apologize. I’m not taking it lightly, I know how I would feel.”

I’m trying to be a non-dramatic, more easy-going, less tightly wound woman. I’m trying not to be anyone’s fool either. There are moments when he’s so vulnerable with me. It’s like seeing a rare animal in the woods. You have to walk carefully and quietly so it doesn’t run away. You just want to watch it for as long as you possibly can, because it’s lovely it makes you feel a certain way.

He told me deep things about going to find answers about his family this weekend and visiting family members he never met in the South and how it humbled him. There he was with a master’s degree, and his elderly relatives spoke about how proud they were of his father graduating high school, while many only had first or third grade educations.

I sat quietly as he shared with me. Didn’t want to disturb the moment of a young man finding pieces of himself he wondered about for most of his life and his excitement to finally have that connection.

Why would he share that kind of moment with me?

He pulled me in again.

For seven years, we’ve done this dance.

He pulled me in again.

I wanted to sleep with him for obvious selfish reasons, but I most wanted to sleep with him quickly because I knew his emotions were high off of this discovery this link to family. I would get the residual emotion I’ve been wanting from him, before he goes distant again.

Before we argue again.

Before we say things like, this is why we’d never work.

He’s told me before he’s terrible at relationships.

He’s correct.

I’m terrible at picking men.

Why ‘Good Girls’ Are Pissed Amber Rose Got Married

I’ve seen Twitter go ablaze today with the news that stripper, turned video chick, professional jump off to the stars, Amber Rose married her man and child’s father Wiz Kalifa.

The romance was already put under a lot of scrutiny because Amber Rose was Kayne West’s girlfriend, and even then folks were mad at that, saying a woman like her didn’t deserve a man like him. Honestly, I respect Amber Rose’s hustle way more than Kim Kardashian’s… but that’s a whole other blog.

One blogger who I like, tweeted that he wanted to know why so many women were taking it so seriously and were up in arms that Wiz and Amber jumped the broom.

It’s pretty easy.

Women are catty and mean, but it shakes our world like nothing else when it looks like the women we look down on and consider to be loose hoes get married and have families. She poses nude for magazines, I’ve never seen her completely covered up. She owns her sexuality and she puts it out there without any abandon.

There’s a whole lot of resentment and then the rants begin.

“But I got my education, I kept my legs closed. I work everyday. I respect myself. I have four degrees. I own my own business.”

Good for you.

I know I’ve verbally torn down women who I called hoes in college and high school and marveled at how they could be blissfully married or engaged and it seems like I can’t keep a man.

Particularly successful, educated women feel like we should have dibs on the best men. We have a sick sense of entitlement and a laundry list of what we think the man should be, even if we can cook and we can get just as dirty in the bed.

I think there is a resentment because you can argue both sides of the coin. Are women like Amber Rose sexually liberated? And are we mad that we can’t and won’t act out in the same way, or dress provocatively because we don’t want to be labeled as a ho or promiscuous?

Quite possibly. I think all women have a powerful sensuality and sexual side. Due to society, we repress it, but it’s a very real part of us. The women who step out of that challenge both men and fellow women. I do think women need to respect themselves, I do think women should have a certain level of decorum, but I do think women should own their sexuality in a way that is most familar and comfortable to them. It’s hard enough to figure out what we want and how we want to be touched and loved and looked at in that way.

However, when women like Amber Rose or Kim Kardashian get married, or even have successful relationships it makes us mad. It disturbs the natural order. It basically tells us the playing field isn’t even and that if you choose to play by the rules differently, or not follow the rules at all, you can still win.

That makes “good girls” want to pull their hair out. Especially if they tried being someone’s freak and then the phone calls stopped, or they were never seen in public with the guy.

Not only are women like Amber Rose getting married, but their men are serving the public affection and being very open about their admiration, another thing that infuriates the “good girls.”

Most men will tell you that they want to have amnesia and want to only believe they were the one and only man you ever slept with, so when men proudly claim women who have sex tapes out or even run into fellow musicans or athletes who were known to have tapped that ass, “good girls” are ready to throw things. They weren’t even closeted hoes. The nerve!

These women did all of the things folks told us NOT to do in terms of sexual morals, and to boot they profited off of such unbecoming behavior, became successful and continue to win the loins and hearts of successful men.

We have no problem with them being jump offs, but wives?

It’s a direct insult.

Most women place a high value on the title of wife– some women even more than motherhood (while I personally believe being a mother is probably the most intense job a woman will ever have). To be someone’s wife means a man values you enough to claim you and promise to be with you forever. You and only you. That’s the big goal. That’s the dream.

While a lot of women say they love the romantic comedy classic “Pretty Woman” with Julia Roberts as the super sweet prostitute who wins the heart of wealthy businessman Richard Gere, in real life, women aren’t really rooting for her!

They are busy comparing themselves and how much better they are than the “ho.”

We like to believe that everyone is special, and that we are all deserving of love.

And we all are.

But let’s face it. When hoes celebrity or local, get married, it feels like a knife got twisted in the chest of the “good girl who did everything the right way.”

And that, is why the “good girls” are mad.

Good luck Amber and Wiz.

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