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Archive for the tag “moving on”

One and A Half Feet Out the Door…

I have a whole lot of grown woman songs in my head right now.

I’m slightly annoyed but entirely enlightened.

I was talking to two of my close friends. I said the magic words, “I think I may keep so and so around. I like him.”

So and so is the older gentleman, and we’ve been spending a nice amount of time together lately.

The most we’ve done is a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek.

We’ve been trying all kinds of restaurants, he’s teaching me to play golf, we have gone to the casino and we have a really long list of museums and other things to check out and experience together. It’s no drama. He’s open and honest.

Words are powerful. As soon as I said what I said yesterday, I knew the universe heard me loud and clear, and would challenge me to hold me to it or back down.

As soon as I said it, I then followed up saying, “I can feel my ex coming. I haven’t heard a peep for too long, and now that I’ve said that, he’s going to pop up.”

I should have also included that I wanted a million dollars, because just as I was saying goodnight to my date after going out for seafood and then playing a few rounds of the Scrabble card game Scrabble Slam, my ex-fiance sent me a text.

You know the good ol’ how are you one.

I knew it.

I felt it, I knew.

His testosterone levels must have dropped, he felt a tingle in his balls, because I was having a really good time with someone else.

So I’m an active participant in my own torture. I return the message and then he asks to call.

So fine. We talk.

He let’s me know about his new job and he does his signature move of dropping information on me nonchalantly.

First, I said something snarky, so he playfully joked he would use all of the frequent flyer miles he’s racking up with his travel-heavy gig and come “hunt me down.”

To that I replied, “I’m at the same spot. There’s no hunting down necessary. No body is scared of you. Besides, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I guess he saw this as a challenge.

So then he brings up the fact his company is headquartered 15 minutes from me. Duh, the last time we talked is when you hit me over the head with that info and then disappeared for three weeks, leaving me to deal with it, by sobbing uncontrollably and leaving work for the day. So no reminder is necessary.

He decides to announce that he’s told his superiors that anytime there is an opportunity to go to Maryland, he wants to be the person assigned.

Now, before when he mentioned this it seemed he would be assigned to go there from time to time, now he’s asking to be the one sent ANYTIME.

So he drops information, and I really didn’t react. I think I said something else snarky or changed the subject completely. He said I was acting stank when he just disclosed that he basically volunteered to be sent to Maryland as much as possible.

In my mind, I was asking myself what does this have to do with me? A year ago this information would have given me hope. Oooh, he asked them to send him to Maryland every time they need someone to go out there. Now, I just feel tired. Big deal.

The question is what are you trying to do once you get here?

What is your plan surrounding me?

At this point, I’d rather him go all out and say whether or not he wants me back and deal with my reaction than for him to drop all these hints waiting to see how I’ll react.

You’ll get a reaction out of me if you said, “I’m moving to Maryland permanently and I will do whatever it takes to be in your good graces again.” If he can do that or play P.M. Dawn’s “Die Without You” on two kazoos out his ass in two-part harmony, I’ll strongly consider he is really serious about me.

For right now, what he is shoveling me is filler.

And if you’ve seen me have a bad crab cake, you know how much I detest filler.

I honestly wanted one face to face over dinner to hash out some leftover stuff and move on, while looking ridiculously hot, give him blue balls and go home in triumph.

Even if he came back to Maryland for work after that grand event, I wouldn’t jump if he said he was in town.

But there he goes, upping the ante just slightly to get a reaction out of me. My reaction was not sleeping well last night and waking up annoyed this morning.

If he wanted to see me, he would have seen me by now. Long distance was hard enough the two years we did it. Now with him having a job where he’s gone and traveling four days out of the week, every week, he has no time for me.

He didn’t even mention any progress on his plan to obtain guardianship of his nephew, so I guess that isn’t even on his mind right now. He seems very much focused on himself… Oh that’s a newsflash. So that also pissed me off.

Dating the older gentleman taught me somethings. He treats me wonderfully. Like really great and we haven’t even rubbed up on each other. I may end up with a new car if I drop that thang on him. LOL. Just kidding. But I even told him, hey it’s so nice to be treated so well. I really appreciate it. The older gent said, “You deserve much, much, much more.”

Well hot damn.

He’s right.

While my ex is trying to earn frequent flyer miles to hunt me down, or come to my state when he gets assigned to do so once again illuminates that I am not a priority.

Following the first weekend we spent together, he wanted to see me so bad, he was on his job that Friday after booking a ticket in the morning and boldly walking off his job (his boss was out) to catch a flight. He even said if his boss called in to check, he could have gotten fired.

So if you had the balls to do that off of our first meeting, and you actually asked me to marry you, you would have found a way to come see me if you really wanted to.

I deserve much, much, more. So with that, I really think I’m almost done. I still love this man, yes, but really. I’m tired.
One of my favorite grown woman artists. Tweet. This is a gorgeous song. I’m going to cry, because this is one of her not well known tracks and it’s so on point. Lord this woman is a beast.

Life and Timing Strike Again

I had an awesome weekend celebrating the 30th birthday of one of my dearest friends.

We covered a lot of ground in D.C. and had great drinks, great food, great company and non-stop entertainment– even at a grimy Wendy’s at 3 a.m.  Don’t ask.

Naturally, I was exhausted from all of the revelry.

This morning, one text took my breath away and threatened to steal all of my progress and my healing in one swoop.

Long story short, my ex fiance has a new job that will include a lot of traveling. That I knew.

He informed me his company is headquartered 15 minutes from my house.

That’s right.

Life and timing bite me in the ass, yet again.

Two years ago, he and I would have gone Katniss and Peeta on anybody any time, anywhere for that kind of opportunity that could lead to him flying to see me on the company dime and in business class, and maybe after currying a little favor and impressing his employers, him eventually being able to move here for good.

I felt sick.

I was going to explode.

I quickly had to make my way to my work mom/mentor’s office where I could cry uncontrollably behind a closed door.

She sat quietly while I sobbed.

It all hit me at once. I was shaking.

I was crying and shaking and reacting because, fine. I still love him. But I was working to accept that I needed to get over it.

Just a week ago, he and I texted each other and nearly said our last rites. We literally talked about how our paths were diverging and how it seemed we were being pushed apart by circumstances, but never emotionally.

Maybe the irony of such a fresh discussion where it seemed both of us accepted our lives that would hardly ever intersect again in a meaningful way is what caused my emotional breakdown this morning.

I’m not dreaming of romantic movies and happy endings where all of this drama, all of the suffering and headaches lead us back to one another.

I don’t even want to be hopeful, to only be crushed again, and it really being my fault this time for being stupid.

I’m just mad at fate.

There was a reason it didn’t work at the time, but this latest twist in our story is downright painful, spiteful and mean.

I’ve been actively trying to move on. If you have been reading this blog, my struggle has been well documented and brutally honest.

What’s going to happen now? Your guess is as good as mine.

This is as far as I can go writing today. I’m sure you’ll understand. And now this song will be on repeat for the rest of the day…

Prelude to a Kiss

Heather Ernest/Flickr

Hey folks,

It’s been a minute. I’ve been on my staycation, catching up on some rest, actually getting to see the Wendy Williams Show and watching as many Baby Daddy DNA trash shows as possible.

I hate the Baby Daddy DNA shows, but I love them just as much, and then I contemplate a career in medical billing and coding or becoming a culinary artist, because those commercials running non stop surely make it look good.

The thing about staycations is, you can do things like see a matinee in the middle of the day, get waxed, plucked and pummaced, and do whatever you please and the next day you can do it all over.

I actually didn’t realize how much I rush, until I was in the grocery store on Monday. It was like, slow down, you’ve no place to go and when you get home, you still aren’t going to finish writing your novel or clean. So. Just. Chill.

Being on a staycation also makes you realize how much working is a big part of your life and how you can’t stay in the house all day and watch T.V. because you will lose your mind. My heart goes out to unemployed people who feel the way I do. It has to be a very difficult thing.  So I totally appreciate having a job. I appreciate having a job and vacation time even more, because I sincerely needed a break and a recharge.

Back to the thought of this post.

As I mentioned previously, there is an older man in the mix with intentions to gain my affection. By older, I mean a good 15 years, as I stated before in another post.

To make myself feel better, I think that Carrie and Big (of Sex and the City, duh) had an age gap, but maybe the gap I have is more Natasha and Big and in the end it didn’t work.

Ok, I’m going to stop thinking about it.

But it’s not so much the age. I really don’t think about it when I’m with him. We have great conversations and a lot of fun.

He’s courteous and kind and a hard worker and has streaks of mischief. He’s also handsome. He becomes more handsome to me the more I see him and the more I like someone, the more attractive they become. I think he looks a good six years younger than what he really is.

So with all of this said, I was doing everything in the book at the end of the night to not kiss him.

I’ve had good, bad and downright ugly goodnight kisses.

I don’t think he’d be a bad kisser, but I can tell he’s into me and if I kiss him and like it, down the bunny hole we go.

Will this mean I’m officially ready to move on? Am I ready to build something with someone again?

I complained about being lonely.

Here he is. Gift horse. All up in his grillpiece with a flashlight…

In a twist of irony, my ex-fiance texted me during dinner with good news that he landed his dream job.

Now if you read deeper into this, you could say, oh. He got his dream job. He’s finally getting himself together. I mean isn’t that why your engagement dissolved, because he said he was afraid that he couldn’t be a good husband and he didn’t have it all together yet?

But I’m way past reading deeper into that text and hoping for a happy reunion. For that, I am proud and thankful. Six months ago, that may not have been the case.

I told a friend, there must have been a tingling in his testicles just when I laughed at my date’s joke or started flirting. Little sirens went off in his balls. “She’s about to forget about you! She’s about to forget about you. Really!”

So back to me.

At the end of the night, I did everything in the book. The long hugs, the burying my face in his chest, the patented head turn away from his face, the cheek brush.

But I couldn’t kiss him.

I love this new getting to know you, innocent phase before emotions and hormones get out of hand. I know it can’t last forever, but we are only on the second date anyway. Is it wrong for me to drag it out?

If I kissed him, I knew I’d see stars and fireworks. We got along too well for him to have clam mouth. I could see a slight hint of disappointment in his eyes, but being the respectful, charming man he is, he quickly shrugged it off and told me what a wonderful time he had, and that I gave the best hugs.

Besides. I was drunk. I broke the early dating rule. I didn’t eat enough, stupid, stupid. But we didn’t want to leave the restaurant and stop talking, so we figured we should order, just one more and drink it slow. I barely got through four sips and I knew I was done. I told him I’m so sorry for wasting the drink. Being the sweetheart he is, he simply said, well you only had that one crab cake and it’s great that you know when to just stop.

Awwww. He should be a politician.

I don’t think it’s fair to kiss someone for the first time when you are drunk.

I distinctly remember my first kisses from the men I loved the most and usually they just couldn’t take waiting on me anymore and they snatched me up and I was done.

One of my most favorite first (early in the relationship) kisses came from one of my shortest beaus (5″8). I was walking out of a restaurant with a friend to our car and he trailed behind us and just as I was going to hop in the car, he looped his finger in my belt, pulled me into him and went for it. Our first, first kiss we were in a club. And actually it was ladies night, in the south. Long Island Iced teas were a dollar, and all of a sudden he grabbed me on the dance floor and planted one on me so wonderful, I couldn’t hear the pulsating music around me. It was like being submerged under water and then splashing to the surface when it was over, trying to catch my breath. To this day, he will say, “I thought you were either going to slap me, or get with it. Either way, I knew I just had to go for it.”

Damn I’m a liar. My best kisses involve me being inebriated. LOL. Too funny.

I’m thinking of my other favorite first kiss. This one involved my ex-fiance and we were watching the holy grail of love movies for educated black people, “Love Jones.” He offered to get up and pour us another drink, started making his way to the kitchen, stopping instantly. He made and about-face, marched over to me, grabbed my face and laid one on me. “Love Jones” turned into “Meet the Adults of Charlie Brown.” Whomp, whomp, whaaa, whaaa, whaaa.

When I hugged that man last night, I swear, my right leg shot up like I was welcoming him home from war in an iconic photograph. Old school. I even caught myself and put it down. But it shot right back up like a reflex exam.

So my friends.

Am I a nut job? Am I not really over my ex? Do I have a right to be scared of actually liking this man? I need some help.

Something tells me I need to apply my staycation philosophy of not rushing and taking the long way, to my love life.  What’s that? Do I have a love life? Gee whiz!

All Aboard! The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon

Bandwagons are most famously used to describe people who don’t care about a particular losing team until the team actually starts winning consistently. Bandwagonism is particularly acute when said team actually has a chance of  winning a championship.

Folks start buying the jerseys, tee shirts, hats, and they pay exorbitant fees to step foot in a stadium they never bothered to before the championship game.

The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon actually works the opposite way. It attracts losers. Not in the sense that you are hopeless and wack, but those who have literally lost in love.

Bitter, angry women hop on, and even take turns driving the thing. And boy are they enthusiastic about how love sucks and is one big joke and that all men are the same and they are better off alone. They buy the shirts, the hats, and they spread the word far and wide that love is a lie and that no one can possibly have a healthy relationship because they didn’t.

Every man is going to lie and cheat and be shiftless, or lack ambition, or not want to grow up.  Chicks with the unlimited pass on the I Don’t Need A Man Wagon believe that it’s better to be angry and give up on men completely and paint them all with the same brush, because the next man is bound to screw it up too.

I don’t hate on the I Don’t Need A Man Wagon. I just hate on folks who never leave it.

In the case of a sports team on a winning streak, bandwagon fans help fuel the economy. Local restaurants are making money hand over fist, street corner bootleggers are getting paid for their wares, even the homeless are getting a few extra bucks outside the stadium. Everyone wins. Bandwagons bring people together for a common cause and generate a larger excitement.

The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon spawns blogs, books, kickboxing classes and single gal vacation packages. The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon pays for new hair cuts, freakum dresses, penis cakes, MAC makeup binges, and endless boxes of girl scout cookies, birthday cake ice cream, SPANX and all sorts of alcohol. The I Don’t Need A Man Wagon could probably form a serious PAC if they wanted to.

So the I Don’t Need A Man Wagon is necessary. It’s a traveling triage unit for broken and bruised female egos. Like sports bandwagons, the IDNAM wagon is fueled by emotion and the desired outcome of winning is always left to chance, so therefore it’s very unstable.

The key is to knowing how and when to get off and move on, which is what bandwagon riders do best anyway.

While on the ride, we all know when even the potential hint of love comes around again, we are going to yank that “this is my stop” rope and leave the rest of those whining, pitiful hags on the wagon with the quickness.

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