First of all he had a baby mama...that slashed my tires, called my phone and called me ugly every chance she got. My first mistake.
Second of all, from Washington Park in Chicago to Evanston should not take 15 minutes. But I've done it before just so we could argue.
The first fight happened when he was moving out of his apartment. I can't even remember what we were arguing over but I can remember being pinned to the wall and us spitting on each other. I can remember the police coming and the neighbors looking. I remember that part clearly. I remember looking like a fool.
I know. This post is not even funny.
The second one we were outside in a parking lot throwing shoes....the ones I bought...
I was young, and of course like many of these stories. Dumb. They say if you knew better you'd do better. I thank God for wisdom now.
But at the time I was so wrapped up in the fake emotion of lust that makes you believe it's love that I didn't know how to separate stupidity for tolerance or love for compromise.
I always hear stories of women who end up in fighting situations and I sit back and listen to the reactions, "Oh not me, Nun-unh the first time I'm calling such and such" or "Oh hells no I would have killed him," or this one "I'm leaving after the first fight." But the real answer is, you don't know what you would do unless you're in that situation, at that time with that person. You just never know.
We were at his aunt's house. Playing cards. I was his cousins partner, he was his other cousins partner. It took one sentence to start a dramatic night.
I said, "We gotta win this hand."
They were losing. He hated to lose.
"No talking over the table," he said with furrowed eyebrows.
"Nobody is talking over the table," I said with the screw face.
We continue to play. Next hand...
"Come on p, we got this, last hand," I mentioned.
"I said, no talking over the table."
I'm smirking because he's mad. Mad they are about to lose.
"Nobody is talking over the table, who are you talking to."
He stands up, throws his cards. "I said no Effin' talking."
I stand up. "What the hell is wrong with you. Take this @ss whoopin like a man."
He pushes me across the chair. I break the chair and fall into the floor.
His cousins run. They know....They know it's about to go down. His little cousins screams that we are downstairs fighting...His older cousin is shaking his head.
I sit there for a second and the arm of the chair is under me...he leans down to pick me up. I grab the arm of the chair. Like a bat I swing it straight across his head. He stumbles. I get up. I hit him again. I trip.
He gets up. Hits me right in the face. Right in the eye. I'm sitting there....wondering how my life had come to this.
He walks out the door. I get in my car, bruised, crying, knowing that in the morning I will go to class with sunglasses on. I know that I now must make a decision on who I want to be and who I don't. I know that...when someone shows you who they are--you must believe them. I know...that this...that...whatever that was--was not love.
The Dumb Model
His smile was captivating.
He gave me the eye at the end of the runway. You know, that "Ouu you're interesting, I'm interesting let's be interesting together."
I am not impressed.
Okay, I was. But still. He was a model, he was doing this show at my store and I know how "those" guys are. ANNOYING.
First of all. Any dude that gets his eyebrows arched...is gay.
Second of all. Any dude that suggests, mentions, insinuates, acts like, pretends to, or even looks at any feminine product that I may own, buy or like....is gay.
I don't care what you say. I mean metro-sexual is cool. But, really we have to draw the line somewhere.
For example, I was in Miami with my homegirls and her man and his friends came down too. Now her man was dead into fashion. Loves clothes, likes to see her in nice things. I love it. But we get in the club and this chic is arguing with her acting like she wants to pull it. My friend, being the "diva" she is takes a bottle and cracks it on the table to let the chic know that she was "not the one." (You know me, I'm standing beside her with 9-1-1 on speed dial). Anyway she ends up cutting her hand and we have to go to the hospital. So she calls him and tells him to meet us at Miami-Dade (I don't know if that's the name but it sounds good) Hospital. He walks in...and he doesn't say, "Are you ok"? He doesn't say, "What happened"? He comes in, looks at her sitting down, cocks his head to the side, looks at her dress and says, "Is that Roberto Cavalli"?
O_o
Moving on.
So I'm not interested but interested and after the show he approaches me. Let's skip past all the small talk. That's how small it was and we decide to go to lunch. So I'm sitting at the table and this dude is going in about his career, his this, his that. I'm over it. He had a great personality, really. But I'm just not that into him.
I'm like trying to decide how to make my exit when my phone rings. It's my mom. So he goes, "lemme talk to her." I give him the are you serious right now face. But if you know my mom or can tell by the previous posts...she's hilarious. So I'm up for a good laugh.
"Heeey, I'm with your daughter at lunch."
She goes, "Oh ok."
"She's really wonderful."
"Ok. How are you"?
"Well I'm taking one day at a time"?
My mom says, "What are you? A drug addict? That's what they tell people to say in rehab."
I...am....on....the floor.
When I get the phone back, my mom is like, "What the hell?! He talking about one day at a time, heck I wanted to know why"!
He's got the dumb face on.
So it's time to make my exit and he decides to walk me back to the store. We get to this little nook and he grabs me and tries to kiss me, like he's the Don Juan and oh so romantic that I should be swooning over him. Instead, I am spitting like a crazy woman because that's the most disgusting thing in the world is his mouth anywhere near mine. I'm hacking and looking at him like he's a curse and I make my way upstairs.
Not only did I find out--he told me a fake name and was a pathological liar through a mutual friend...but a few months later I'm about to get on the train--guess who's face passes by on an ad on a bus. SMH...only me.
He gave me the eye at the end of the runway. You know, that "Ouu you're interesting, I'm interesting let's be interesting together."
I am not impressed.
Okay, I was. But still. He was a model, he was doing this show at my store and I know how "those" guys are. ANNOYING.
First of all. Any dude that gets his eyebrows arched...is gay.
Second of all. Any dude that suggests, mentions, insinuates, acts like, pretends to, or even looks at any feminine product that I may own, buy or like....is gay.
I don't care what you say. I mean metro-sexual is cool. But, really we have to draw the line somewhere.
For example, I was in Miami with my homegirls and her man and his friends came down too. Now her man was dead into fashion. Loves clothes, likes to see her in nice things. I love it. But we get in the club and this chic is arguing with her acting like she wants to pull it. My friend, being the "diva" she is takes a bottle and cracks it on the table to let the chic know that she was "not the one." (You know me, I'm standing beside her with 9-1-1 on speed dial). Anyway she ends up cutting her hand and we have to go to the hospital. So she calls him and tells him to meet us at Miami-Dade (I don't know if that's the name but it sounds good) Hospital. He walks in...and he doesn't say, "Are you ok"? He doesn't say, "What happened"? He comes in, looks at her sitting down, cocks his head to the side, looks at her dress and says, "Is that Roberto Cavalli"?
O_o
Moving on.
So I'm not interested but interested and after the show he approaches me. Let's skip past all the small talk. That's how small it was and we decide to go to lunch. So I'm sitting at the table and this dude is going in about his career, his this, his that. I'm over it. He had a great personality, really. But I'm just not that into him.
I'm like trying to decide how to make my exit when my phone rings. It's my mom. So he goes, "lemme talk to her." I give him the are you serious right now face. But if you know my mom or can tell by the previous posts...she's hilarious. So I'm up for a good laugh.
"Heeey, I'm with your daughter at lunch."
She goes, "Oh ok."
"She's really wonderful."
"Ok. How are you"?
"Well I'm taking one day at a time"?
My mom says, "What are you? A drug addict? That's what they tell people to say in rehab."
I...am....on....the floor.
When I get the phone back, my mom is like, "What the hell?! He talking about one day at a time, heck I wanted to know why"!
He's got the dumb face on.
So it's time to make my exit and he decides to walk me back to the store. We get to this little nook and he grabs me and tries to kiss me, like he's the Don Juan and oh so romantic that I should be swooning over him. Instead, I am spitting like a crazy woman because that's the most disgusting thing in the world is his mouth anywhere near mine. I'm hacking and looking at him like he's a curse and I make my way upstairs.
Not only did I find out--he told me a fake name and was a pathological liar through a mutual friend...but a few months later I'm about to get on the train--guess who's face passes by on an ad on a bus. SMH...only me.
The Papa Bear, Part IV
He's back. You have to catch up on Part I-III--click right over there ---->
After he said I see her everyday...the tears came out of my face like rivers. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I was just like, "What"?
He was looking at me with this somber face and I couldn't quite figure out what to say. All I could do was cry. My heart had been ripped out and he was holding it. I felt like he literally was the person who I had decided to give my heart to and he was too selfish to let me be anywhere else but with him.
I looked at him and just asked him to take me home.
I screamed the whole way in the car and just wanted to know what does, "I see her everyday mean."
He had no explanation. I promise to this day his eyes glassed over, but I'm not sure.
I got in the house and called Misha.
The first thing she said was, "He live with her."
Wait.
Wait. One second.
He didn't say all that. She goes, "I told you, I asked you over the summer were you sure he didn't live with anybody." I had to hang up. I had to put two and two together. I called him. All of sudden I hear racket in the background. Screaming. Drama. It's going down.
I ask him, "You live with her"?
He responds, "I can't do this right now."
"Can't do what"?!
"Listen, this is crazy. You got me telling on myself. I'm a call you back."
I...was.....sick.
My phone rings and all I hear is his best friend in my ear, "He didn't expect you to be you, don't trip, it's gonna be okay." Everything is a blur. The blur lasted for about two days. I'm not sure I ate. I just know I slept. All I can remember is sleeping and dreaming. I wanted to disappear.
I needed to go to work....I decided to go to church first. The only fulfillment I knew was Jesus. So...I got dressed. I decided I needed to make my face up, you know get it together and look halfway decent. I had new boots I needed to break in, so I broke those out and got a nice sweater dress--I was feeling refreshed.
I got to work and I'm reading the paper. An hour or two later...two girls walk in.
"Oh word...." The little one said. "Is this suppose to be whassup"?
The other one giggles....I turned around from where I was sitting...and I knew. I knew like I know the back of my hand that it was her. She had came in. I looked at her and we were so different. She stood before me in these sneakers and her jeans, and her micro-braids...I looked at her closely. I looked at the rings on her fingers, the diamonds on her neck and in her ears. I clutched my own ears slightly, going over my diamonds as I stared into the person who was the opposite version of me.
Her eyes searched me, she looked into my face with great intent as if the reason for her own last two days of pain would be revealed somehow in my eyes. We were silent, she asked me did I know him. I think she expected me to have an attitude and be ready to fight. I wasn't. I was too hurt. I had no fight in me. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't mine. I answered her and I think my voice was so stoic and quiet that the only thing she could do was continue to stare at me and figure out what her next sentence would be. Her voice was shaky. This wasn't a dream. I wanted to tell her--trust me, I know how you feel. I couldn't I could only tell her that I'm in the same place she is. I'm on the other side. I'm feeling the same way. She wanted to know so much and a part of me wanted to be quiet, but the other part had to defend myself. I had to stand up and let her know that...that her 4 years meant as much as my 1.
I was here...I was in this project. I wasn't moving. I earned mine. As stubborn as I felt at that moment....It was nothing to the tears that had started to stream down her face....
Really? -_-
Am I gonna have to get this girl some tissue?
After he said I see her everyday...the tears came out of my face like rivers. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I was just like, "What"?
He was looking at me with this somber face and I couldn't quite figure out what to say. All I could do was cry. My heart had been ripped out and he was holding it. I felt like he literally was the person who I had decided to give my heart to and he was too selfish to let me be anywhere else but with him.
I looked at him and just asked him to take me home.
I screamed the whole way in the car and just wanted to know what does, "I see her everyday mean."
He had no explanation. I promise to this day his eyes glassed over, but I'm not sure.
I got in the house and called Misha.
The first thing she said was, "He live with her."
Wait.
Wait. One second.
He didn't say all that. She goes, "I told you, I asked you over the summer were you sure he didn't live with anybody." I had to hang up. I had to put two and two together. I called him. All of sudden I hear racket in the background. Screaming. Drama. It's going down.
I ask him, "You live with her"?
He responds, "I can't do this right now."
"Can't do what"?!
"Listen, this is crazy. You got me telling on myself. I'm a call you back."
I...was.....sick.
My phone rings and all I hear is his best friend in my ear, "He didn't expect you to be you, don't trip, it's gonna be okay." Everything is a blur. The blur lasted for about two days. I'm not sure I ate. I just know I slept. All I can remember is sleeping and dreaming. I wanted to disappear.
I needed to go to work....I decided to go to church first. The only fulfillment I knew was Jesus. So...I got dressed. I decided I needed to make my face up, you know get it together and look halfway decent. I had new boots I needed to break in, so I broke those out and got a nice sweater dress--I was feeling refreshed.
I got to work and I'm reading the paper. An hour or two later...two girls walk in.
"Oh word...." The little one said. "Is this suppose to be whassup"?
The other one giggles....I turned around from where I was sitting...and I knew. I knew like I know the back of my hand that it was her. She had came in. I looked at her and we were so different. She stood before me in these sneakers and her jeans, and her micro-braids...I looked at her closely. I looked at the rings on her fingers, the diamonds on her neck and in her ears. I clutched my own ears slightly, going over my diamonds as I stared into the person who was the opposite version of me.
Her eyes searched me, she looked into my face with great intent as if the reason for her own last two days of pain would be revealed somehow in my eyes. We were silent, she asked me did I know him. I think she expected me to have an attitude and be ready to fight. I wasn't. I was too hurt. I had no fight in me. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't mine. I answered her and I think my voice was so stoic and quiet that the only thing she could do was continue to stare at me and figure out what her next sentence would be. Her voice was shaky. This wasn't a dream. I wanted to tell her--trust me, I know how you feel. I couldn't I could only tell her that I'm in the same place she is. I'm on the other side. I'm feeling the same way. She wanted to know so much and a part of me wanted to be quiet, but the other part had to defend myself. I had to stand up and let her know that...that her 4 years meant as much as my 1.
I was here...I was in this project. I wasn't moving. I earned mine. As stubborn as I felt at that moment....It was nothing to the tears that had started to stream down her face....
Really? -_-
Am I gonna have to get this girl some tissue?
The BK Bomber
I had just moved to New York.
Two of my friends, Shanti and Mia, came from Chicago to visit me and at the time my current boyfriend had been showing me the ins and outs of Brooklyn. I knew it like the back of my hand or so I thought.
My friend knew this guy from BK and had invited him to meet us at Junior's. There was something about him I didn't like. At this time in my life instead of minding my business...it showed. I kind of had the screw face with him, but through smiling teeth. You know the one where he says something and you laugh like, "haahahhhaaaidontreallyfuggwithyoulikethathahahhaaa." You know, it's one long laugh.
At any rate my friends were staying out by JFK airport at this hotel and we needed a ride back out there. So he calls his homeboy to come and get us all to drive us back.
So they pull out front and they are..high and I realize so his he. They are not even funny high, they are like annoying high.
I tell my friend Shanti to take a picture of the license plates. We are laughing acting silly while Mia is talking to her guy, The BK Bomber.
So we all pile in the car. In the backseat is Shanti, me in the middle and Mia is sitting on her guys lap. I ask for a charger and he gives me a car charger. So I'm sitting in the middle minding my business while we are riding to the hotel.
But I don't like the way we are going.
They are playing around, going to this round a bout way and somehow, I'm like, "Where the hell are you going."
He goes, "Chill shorty, we taking yall back, we aint even gotta take you."
Really. All that?
So I go in. "This is why I don't smoke, because it makes you stupid. I know these streets and this aint the way."
And now, it's a full out argument.
Shanti is pissed like T, shut up! But I'm still going.
Finally, The BK Bomber goes, "Pull over, let these bitches out."
I'm cool with that. Mind you I'm still talking ish. "Let me out. It's nothing, I can get a ride right now. Who you think you are"??
His homeboys get out the front seats and we all get out. We are on the side of Atlantic Avenue and Shanti had to get something out of the trunk. His homeboy goes back there to open it. Mia is talking to her dude like calm down, it's nothing, etc. I'm still talking ish. I take my phone out the charger and because he was high, I guess he still thought I had it. He walks around the car and goes, "You talk too much." He grabs my face and basically muffs me. Hard.
I'm in shock.
Shanti looks up and all of sudden her face turned into this blank stare and all I could hear is, "Did you just put your hands on her"?
Mind you Shanti is like 5'9" and sexy solid. He is maybe 5'5"?
She walks up and BOOM! Decks him right in his jaw.
He grabs his jaw and when he comes up the first person he can see is Mia, Mia is attempting to cat fight him and he decks her right in the face.
BUuuuuUuut Shanti is in the corner doing her bob and weave...BOOOOM! She rocks him again and his earring flies out. Mind you we are in the middle of Atlantic Avenue at this point. He stumbles back and tries to catch his balance. Cars are stopping and people outside are like, "Daaaayyyyuuumm shorty is rocking his ass."
And, what am I doing?
On the phone with the police! "Sir I've been assaulted..."
His homeboys are like , "Yoooo we gotta go"!
THe BK Bomber is like, "My earring fell out."
His boy, "Leave that 'ish, they were fake anyway"! -_-
Here we are....all three of us. I'm crying. Mia is crying. Shanti....is pissed. Waiting for the police....
Shanti still wants to ring my neck to this day sometimes....
Told you we were gonna need the license plate.
Oh and P.S. He called my homegirl later and asked, "Why yall jump me"? O_o
Two of my friends, Shanti and Mia, came from Chicago to visit me and at the time my current boyfriend had been showing me the ins and outs of Brooklyn. I knew it like the back of my hand or so I thought.
My friend knew this guy from BK and had invited him to meet us at Junior's. There was something about him I didn't like. At this time in my life instead of minding my business...it showed. I kind of had the screw face with him, but through smiling teeth. You know the one where he says something and you laugh like, "haahahhhaaaidontreallyfuggwithyoulikethathahahhaaa." You know, it's one long laugh.
At any rate my friends were staying out by JFK airport at this hotel and we needed a ride back out there. So he calls his homeboy to come and get us all to drive us back.
So they pull out front and they are..high and I realize so his he. They are not even funny high, they are like annoying high.
I tell my friend Shanti to take a picture of the license plates. We are laughing acting silly while Mia is talking to her guy, The BK Bomber.
So we all pile in the car. In the backseat is Shanti, me in the middle and Mia is sitting on her guys lap. I ask for a charger and he gives me a car charger. So I'm sitting in the middle minding my business while we are riding to the hotel.
But I don't like the way we are going.
They are playing around, going to this round a bout way and somehow, I'm like, "Where the hell are you going."
He goes, "Chill shorty, we taking yall back, we aint even gotta take you."
Really. All that?
So I go in. "This is why I don't smoke, because it makes you stupid. I know these streets and this aint the way."
And now, it's a full out argument.
Shanti is pissed like T, shut up! But I'm still going.
Finally, The BK Bomber goes, "Pull over, let these bitches out."
I'm cool with that. Mind you I'm still talking ish. "Let me out. It's nothing, I can get a ride right now. Who you think you are"??
His homeboys get out the front seats and we all get out. We are on the side of Atlantic Avenue and Shanti had to get something out of the trunk. His homeboy goes back there to open it. Mia is talking to her dude like calm down, it's nothing, etc. I'm still talking ish. I take my phone out the charger and because he was high, I guess he still thought I had it. He walks around the car and goes, "You talk too much." He grabs my face and basically muffs me. Hard.
I'm in shock.
Shanti looks up and all of sudden her face turned into this blank stare and all I could hear is, "Did you just put your hands on her"?
Mind you Shanti is like 5'9" and sexy solid. He is maybe 5'5"?
She walks up and BOOM! Decks him right in his jaw.
He grabs his jaw and when he comes up the first person he can see is Mia, Mia is attempting to cat fight him and he decks her right in the face.
BUuuuuUuut Shanti is in the corner doing her bob and weave...BOOOOM! She rocks him again and his earring flies out. Mind you we are in the middle of Atlantic Avenue at this point. He stumbles back and tries to catch his balance. Cars are stopping and people outside are like, "Daaaayyyyuuumm shorty is rocking his ass."
And, what am I doing?
On the phone with the police! "Sir I've been assaulted..."
His homeboys are like , "Yoooo we gotta go"!
THe BK Bomber is like, "My earring fell out."
His boy, "Leave that 'ish, they were fake anyway"! -_-
Here we are....all three of us. I'm crying. Mia is crying. Shanti....is pissed. Waiting for the police....
Shanti still wants to ring my neck to this day sometimes....
Told you we were gonna need the license plate.
Oh and P.S. He called my homegirl later and asked, "Why yall jump me"? O_o
The Don't Cross My Mama
Another oldie...but oouuu wee it's a goodie.
I was a latch key kid. You know one of those kids whose parents worked until 5 and you had to come home by yourself from school?
Yep. That 3-4 hours before she got home were some of the most interesting times of my life. I've cut my arm open, started a few small fires, gotten locked out...you know nothing out of the norm. Annnnd of course, I've invited people over. BAD. BAD idea.
I was dating this kid and only Lord knows why. Maybe it was the lesson at the end of it all. We were from different sides of town, but none-the-less I liked him. So one day after school, I invite him and his brother over to hang out.
Why...oh why?
Of course, I hear the door opening mid potato chip bag and panic. You! Get in the closet, you go that way. It didn't work. My mom was through the door before the second one could hide. So now one is in the closet the other is standing in the hallway with me looking dumb. You know the...should we cry or continue looking stupid.
My mom is furious. Not only is she tired from work, but now I'm standing here with this kid in her house. She puts her stuff down and says, "Call your mom, I'm going to tell her you are in my house and see what she says."
His eyes widen.
Mine too.
He doesn't know what to do. Neither do I.
My mother proceeds to read me my rights and we both are standing there looking crazy.
Oh where's the second one? He decides to come around the corner and my mother's eyes widen even more. Why he decided to open his mouth is beyond me.
"Why you gotta scream at us"?
O_o
I'm shaking like....OMG. WHAT the hell.
Here we are, all four of us in the hallway, us three looking like lost puppies. My mother standing there with her arms crossed.
"Oh really," she says. "Fine. You're in MY house, without MY permission, let me fix this. I'm a call the police. Yall are breaking and entering."
Yeh, um, now I'm crying.
"What"? Smart mouth yells. "We came to hang out with her"!
"Oh did you"? My mom asks, "Well she don't know you either."
Oh 'ish....
I'm standing there, tears streaming down my face, silent. I can't move. All three of us are looking wild and crazy, except the smart mouth. My mom is on the phone with 911.
"There are some boys that are in my house, I caught them here please arrive as soon as possible."
OMG, she was serious.
I haven't said a word yet.
Smart mouth is cursing, screaming, disrespecting everybody. His brother is silently watching his life flash before his eyes and my mother is giving the look like I dare anybody to move.
Stupid surburban police are at the door in less than 10 minutes and we are all still in the hallway. As they come in, my mom is like, "There they are."
I still can't move.
Smart mouth is yelling "Officer we know her, we came after school. I didn't take nothing, touch her, nothing"!
My mom goes, "They were here and we don't know them. She doesn't either," and points to me.
I can't even move.
The officer...is dying. He wants to laugh so bad. He has this smirk on his face and all he can do is shake his head. He talks to my mom in the foyer area by the door and Smart Mouth proceeds to start cursing me out. Yeah, looks like we were about to break up.
The police come back and take the two boys out and drives them home, but my mom still decides to call their parents an hour later....but Smart Mouth answers the phone. Not only does he call my mother out her name but hangs up. She turns to me and says, "This is the type of boy you want to talk to? He disrepects me and doesn't care if you're in trouble either...doesn't say much about you does it"? She walked out the room.
She never put me on punishment for it, (even though I walked around for two weeks silent)those were the final words about the situation and I think she knew from that moment that I would never ever again, as long as I live date a man that doesn't respect my mother and most importantly....me.
I'd rather be alone than to deal with that.
I was a latch key kid. You know one of those kids whose parents worked until 5 and you had to come home by yourself from school?
Yep. That 3-4 hours before she got home were some of the most interesting times of my life. I've cut my arm open, started a few small fires, gotten locked out...you know nothing out of the norm. Annnnd of course, I've invited people over. BAD. BAD idea.
I was dating this kid and only Lord knows why. Maybe it was the lesson at the end of it all. We were from different sides of town, but none-the-less I liked him. So one day after school, I invite him and his brother over to hang out.
Why...oh why?
Of course, I hear the door opening mid potato chip bag and panic. You! Get in the closet, you go that way. It didn't work. My mom was through the door before the second one could hide. So now one is in the closet the other is standing in the hallway with me looking dumb. You know the...should we cry or continue looking stupid.
My mom is furious. Not only is she tired from work, but now I'm standing here with this kid in her house. She puts her stuff down and says, "Call your mom, I'm going to tell her you are in my house and see what she says."
His eyes widen.
Mine too.
He doesn't know what to do. Neither do I.
My mother proceeds to read me my rights and we both are standing there looking crazy.
Oh where's the second one? He decides to come around the corner and my mother's eyes widen even more. Why he decided to open his mouth is beyond me.
"Why you gotta scream at us"?
O_o
I'm shaking like....OMG. WHAT the hell.
Here we are, all four of us in the hallway, us three looking like lost puppies. My mother standing there with her arms crossed.
"Oh really," she says. "Fine. You're in MY house, without MY permission, let me fix this. I'm a call the police. Yall are breaking and entering."
Yeh, um, now I'm crying.
"What"? Smart mouth yells. "We came to hang out with her"!
"Oh did you"? My mom asks, "Well she don't know you either."
Oh 'ish....
I'm standing there, tears streaming down my face, silent. I can't move. All three of us are looking wild and crazy, except the smart mouth. My mom is on the phone with 911.
"There are some boys that are in my house, I caught them here please arrive as soon as possible."
OMG, she was serious.
I haven't said a word yet.
Smart mouth is cursing, screaming, disrespecting everybody. His brother is silently watching his life flash before his eyes and my mother is giving the look like I dare anybody to move.
Stupid surburban police are at the door in less than 10 minutes and we are all still in the hallway. As they come in, my mom is like, "There they are."
I still can't move.
Smart mouth is yelling "Officer we know her, we came after school. I didn't take nothing, touch her, nothing"!
My mom goes, "They were here and we don't know them. She doesn't either," and points to me.
I can't even move.
The officer...is dying. He wants to laugh so bad. He has this smirk on his face and all he can do is shake his head. He talks to my mom in the foyer area by the door and Smart Mouth proceeds to start cursing me out. Yeah, looks like we were about to break up.
The police come back and take the two boys out and drives them home, but my mom still decides to call their parents an hour later....but Smart Mouth answers the phone. Not only does he call my mother out her name but hangs up. She turns to me and says, "This is the type of boy you want to talk to? He disrepects me and doesn't care if you're in trouble either...doesn't say much about you does it"? She walked out the room.
She never put me on punishment for it, (even though I walked around for two weeks silent)those were the final words about the situation and I think she knew from that moment that I would never ever again, as long as I live date a man that doesn't respect my mother and most importantly....me.
I'd rather be alone than to deal with that.
The Get In The Closet
This is another oldie...but goodie!
Mom's was going out.
Why is that when your parents go away, the first thing you think of is inviting people over?? It's like something in your head goes, ah yes! Empty house. Freedom...I mean it's as if when they walk out the door there's a light around the phone that illuminates and the first number to be dialed is your boyfriend, soon to be boyfriend or a group or friends. Why is that?
Anyway--I had met him at the skating rink. He was tall and handsome....major cool AND he went to a different school. See, thing is my town has ONE high school. So you run out of options pppprreeettty quickly. So going to another school is MAJOR accomplishment. For my NY'ers imagine living in Long Island and dating someone from the city...ya feel me?
Okay, so mom's was hitting the town and I was like it's on. I called him up and he was down for the cause. I had to set the perimeters though...You know you gotta be reeeaaalll specific with the times. Be here at 7:15. Not 7, not 7:20. 7:15.
Then you gotta set the rules:
Don't bring nothing with you. No bags, no ipods, nothing (Don't want nothing getting left behind).
Don't park in the driveway or in front of the house...Two doors down please. Three if it's summertime.
Don't bring nobody with you, especially ya homeboy. He's way too loud. Makes me nervous.
Don't ask for nothing to drink, nothing to eat and don't mess with the VCR/DVD/DVR whatever the heck people use. One, I might forget to wash your glass, don't want extra food out and last if you jack with the recording I'm going to get it!
Finally, Don't get fresh. This aint that type of party.
Okay--now we get all this out and he gets there. We are chilling. Hanging out. You know, they ALWAYS wanna see your room...*side eye* and then it happens....
The front door closes.
There is NOWHERE for him to go.
Oh iiiissshh..
Get in the closet.
Now, my closet is 1 x 3 x like uh 4.....okay not that little but he is a good 6'2" and crunched up sitting on my hamper and under some hangers...Dang I needed twitpic back then.
So I'm mmmmaaadd nervous. Mom's is like she didn't feel good so she came home early....Nice and she wants to talk.
WHY me??
So I'm walking around the house trying to act mad normal but not normal, you know.
"What's wrong with you"? She asks.
"Nothing, Nothing, why something gotta be wrong"? I'm so paranoid.
Finally, I retreat to my room and map out a plan. Now, you're wondering why I didn't just sneak him out. How about my room is right next to my mom's room and anything leaving out or in will be seen and there's no way of getting him out the front or back door without passing the living room.
SOooooO, I open the closet like...er...um..you gotta stay here. He's sweating.
Finally...hourrrrs later my mom goes to sleep. I'm in my room fake sleeping and I can't even sneak him out until she's good and knocked out. I crack my door and I see hers is open. I tiptoe a little and not shut her door but pull it so she can't see.
I glance at the clock it's like 2 or 3 am.....ouuu I feel bad for him. I pry him out of the closet like be quiet. We tip toe past her room and get to the back door. The moment I shut it, I hear...
"T--is that you? You alright...."?
"Yeeesss," I squeak, "Just getting some water."
My heart was in my stomach.
Mom's was going out.
Why is that when your parents go away, the first thing you think of is inviting people over?? It's like something in your head goes, ah yes! Empty house. Freedom...I mean it's as if when they walk out the door there's a light around the phone that illuminates and the first number to be dialed is your boyfriend, soon to be boyfriend or a group or friends. Why is that?
Anyway--I had met him at the skating rink. He was tall and handsome....major cool AND he went to a different school. See, thing is my town has ONE high school. So you run out of options pppprreeettty quickly. So going to another school is MAJOR accomplishment. For my NY'ers imagine living in Long Island and dating someone from the city...ya feel me?
Okay, so mom's was hitting the town and I was like it's on. I called him up and he was down for the cause. I had to set the perimeters though...You know you gotta be reeeaaalll specific with the times. Be here at 7:15. Not 7, not 7:20. 7:15.
Then you gotta set the rules:
Don't bring nothing with you. No bags, no ipods, nothing (Don't want nothing getting left behind).
Don't park in the driveway or in front of the house...Two doors down please. Three if it's summertime.
Don't bring nobody with you, especially ya homeboy. He's way too loud. Makes me nervous.
Don't ask for nothing to drink, nothing to eat and don't mess with the VCR/DVD/DVR whatever the heck people use. One, I might forget to wash your glass, don't want extra food out and last if you jack with the recording I'm going to get it!
Finally, Don't get fresh. This aint that type of party.
Okay--now we get all this out and he gets there. We are chilling. Hanging out. You know, they ALWAYS wanna see your room...*side eye* and then it happens....
The front door closes.
There is NOWHERE for him to go.
Oh iiiissshh..
Get in the closet.
Now, my closet is 1 x 3 x like uh 4.....okay not that little but he is a good 6'2" and crunched up sitting on my hamper and under some hangers...Dang I needed twitpic back then.
So I'm mmmmaaadd nervous. Mom's is like she didn't feel good so she came home early....Nice and she wants to talk.
WHY me??
So I'm walking around the house trying to act mad normal but not normal, you know.
"What's wrong with you"? She asks.
"Nothing, Nothing, why something gotta be wrong"? I'm so paranoid.
Finally, I retreat to my room and map out a plan. Now, you're wondering why I didn't just sneak him out. How about my room is right next to my mom's room and anything leaving out or in will be seen and there's no way of getting him out the front or back door without passing the living room.
SOooooO, I open the closet like...er...um..you gotta stay here. He's sweating.
Finally...hourrrrs later my mom goes to sleep. I'm in my room fake sleeping and I can't even sneak him out until she's good and knocked out. I crack my door and I see hers is open. I tiptoe a little and not shut her door but pull it so she can't see.
I glance at the clock it's like 2 or 3 am.....ouuu I feel bad for him. I pry him out of the closet like be quiet. We tip toe past her room and get to the back door. The moment I shut it, I hear...
"T--is that you? You alright...."?
"Yeeesss," I squeak, "Just getting some water."
My heart was in my stomach.
The Friend's Boyfriend's Friend
Everybody knows that one couple never makes it in a friendship couple.
I don't know what it is that when you have two girls who are friends and two guys who are friends, one couple doesn't last as long. Besides the inevitable, well what did he say, and what did she say. It's like this force that pulls one couple a part before they can become something meaningful.
So you already know I got my eyebrow raised when my home girl goes, "You should meet his friend." Really? Ya think so?
No.
Of course I said okay and we go out to meet them.
He's....ok. Cool. Entertaining. Not bad on the eyes. But there's something weird about him and my friends dude.
*side eye*
At any rate at the time I was still living at home and my mom was going out of town. It was inevitable that we plan a party.
Now if you know me then you know, that not only is my mom nuts (in a good way) but every time that I have even attempted to throw a party at my house when my mom has been away it has turned into a complete and utter disaster. (Think Big Booty Judy from ATL when they said, "Her mother letting her throw another party after last year"?! and then the fire trucks pull up showing what happen last year--hmmm mmmm something like that.)She usually leaves my older cousin in charge and my cousin usually disappears after night one...
Moving on.
I plan this party and of course I have to invite my friend and her boyfriend and of course he has to bring his friend. So I get the times together and get everything situated.
So fast forward to the get-together..I mean party and I am nervoooouuus. Like, having an anxiety attack. Like are the neighbors gonna snitch? Are there too many cars on the block. What if my mom randomly comes back early? (She's like in London somewhere so that's impossible, but trust me I've seen the impossible--I was ditching school once and coming back from getting something to eat with my home girl and these guys and my mom rolls up right behind us....trust me, I'm not meant to be deceitful) So I'm like shaking in my boots.
So we are all having a great time and it's looking like it's going to be a great night. Everything is smooth sailing. I have conquered this party beast and I am a BOSS! Yeah, until my mom came home a few days later.
I get home and my mom is giving me this look like...I got a few questions. Now whenever she has a few questions it means it's....about....to....go...down. So now I'm nervous. Did the neighbors snitch? I replay every moment in my head to see where I slipped up. As I'm calculating I hear..."So where is my pager and cell phone"?
I can't breathe. I look over in the office where she kept her devices plugged up and that space...is...empty. I can't think. I can't move. I'm like wait a minute...They were there...before the friggin party....FML.
Now I have to confess...but I can't because I get the--"You better have my stuff plugged in by the time you get home tomorrow or you're going to have a problem."
I call my friend...Here is where I turn psychotic...."Well you know he is a stick up kid, he probably did take it."
O_o
I'm so pissed. You bring these kids in my house? No my momma's house and fail to tell me they are thieves?
Why me?
SOooo, I have to call my other friend because seeing how my mom was paying my car note at the time, she told me I "might" want to leave it parked for a bit.... My girl comes to pick me up and we have to take a trip an hour away to where these fools live at. I'm calling The Friend and he's like..."Toni I'm so sorry, it wasn't me it was ya girls dude." This is suppose to make it better I suppose and he reads me off his address.
We get to this mansion. No really. Sprawling grounds, it's raining. My girl pulls across the street. Me and another friend who had rode with us go to the front door. The sweetest lady in the world opens the door.
I explain to her the story, the whole truth, the party....and this lady starts crying with this concerned look on her face.
Long story short....this was this kid's foster parents and he clearly had dug a hole a long time ago with them. He had tortured them constantly with his delinquent antics and she hadn't seen him in days--as usual. She went to search his room for my mom's stuff. She profusely apologized and came back with nothing.
FML....my life was now over. I'm in the driveway. In the rain. Crying because I gotta go home empty handed....
I mean you deal with the consequences and of course this was years, years ago. But don't get it twisted....lesson learned.
Now I collect full names, log onto to NYDOC, the Fed inmate search and perform all background checks.
I don't know what it is that when you have two girls who are friends and two guys who are friends, one couple doesn't last as long. Besides the inevitable, well what did he say, and what did she say. It's like this force that pulls one couple a part before they can become something meaningful.
So you already know I got my eyebrow raised when my home girl goes, "You should meet his friend." Really? Ya think so?
No.
Of course I said okay and we go out to meet them.
He's....ok. Cool. Entertaining. Not bad on the eyes. But there's something weird about him and my friends dude.
*side eye*
At any rate at the time I was still living at home and my mom was going out of town. It was inevitable that we plan a party.
Now if you know me then you know, that not only is my mom nuts (in a good way) but every time that I have even attempted to throw a party at my house when my mom has been away it has turned into a complete and utter disaster. (Think Big Booty Judy from ATL when they said, "Her mother letting her throw another party after last year"?! and then the fire trucks pull up showing what happen last year--hmmm mmmm something like that.)She usually leaves my older cousin in charge and my cousin usually disappears after night one...
Moving on.
I plan this party and of course I have to invite my friend and her boyfriend and of course he has to bring his friend. So I get the times together and get everything situated.
So fast forward to the get-together..I mean party and I am nervoooouuus. Like, having an anxiety attack. Like are the neighbors gonna snitch? Are there too many cars on the block. What if my mom randomly comes back early? (She's like in London somewhere so that's impossible, but trust me I've seen the impossible--I was ditching school once and coming back from getting something to eat with my home girl and these guys and my mom rolls up right behind us....trust me, I'm not meant to be deceitful) So I'm like shaking in my boots.
So we are all having a great time and it's looking like it's going to be a great night. Everything is smooth sailing. I have conquered this party beast and I am a BOSS! Yeah, until my mom came home a few days later.
I get home and my mom is giving me this look like...I got a few questions. Now whenever she has a few questions it means it's....about....to....go...down. So now I'm nervous. Did the neighbors snitch? I replay every moment in my head to see where I slipped up. As I'm calculating I hear..."So where is my pager and cell phone"?
I can't breathe. I look over in the office where she kept her devices plugged up and that space...is...empty. I can't think. I can't move. I'm like wait a minute...They were there...before the friggin party....FML.
Now I have to confess...but I can't because I get the--"You better have my stuff plugged in by the time you get home tomorrow or you're going to have a problem."
I call my friend...Here is where I turn psychotic...."Well you know he is a stick up kid, he probably did take it."
O_o
I'm so pissed. You bring these kids in my house? No my momma's house and fail to tell me they are thieves?
Why me?
SOooo, I have to call my other friend because seeing how my mom was paying my car note at the time, she told me I "might" want to leave it parked for a bit.... My girl comes to pick me up and we have to take a trip an hour away to where these fools live at. I'm calling The Friend and he's like..."Toni I'm so sorry, it wasn't me it was ya girls dude." This is suppose to make it better I suppose and he reads me off his address.
We get to this mansion. No really. Sprawling grounds, it's raining. My girl pulls across the street. Me and another friend who had rode with us go to the front door. The sweetest lady in the world opens the door.
I explain to her the story, the whole truth, the party....and this lady starts crying with this concerned look on her face.
Long story short....this was this kid's foster parents and he clearly had dug a hole a long time ago with them. He had tortured them constantly with his delinquent antics and she hadn't seen him in days--as usual. She went to search his room for my mom's stuff. She profusely apologized and came back with nothing.
FML....my life was now over. I'm in the driveway. In the rain. Crying because I gotta go home empty handed....
I mean you deal with the consequences and of course this was years, years ago. But don't get it twisted....lesson learned.
Now I collect full names, log onto to NYDOC, the Fed inmate search and perform all background checks.
Oh You Fancy Hunh?
Ouuuu I just got off facebook and randomly today I saw three or four people on my list talking about dating, what a man wants, what a woman wants, what you need to do andddd Clllawd Have Mercy do I have two cents. Let me tell you why:
1. It's true a man is NOT a meal ticket...but....
A man should have is own.
I don't expect for a man to shell out his whole check, pass it to me to break down and give him back allowance. But I do REQUIRE him to--have a job, be working towards a career, have some benefits (I don't care if it is Health Plus, just be able to take your ass to the doctor or dentist)and have a steady income. For all I care you could sell CD's out of a corner connected to the dollar store--just know how to make money...oh and SAVE money. Not because I'm trying to get in your pockets--but because if I'm going to commit myself to someone, I want to know in the future if it came down to it and we got together you will be able to contribute, handle, and/or control the finances.
2. It's a club, it's 2 am--You came to party and so did I. Buying a drink is NOT a marriage proposal or security on my number later. Buttt...
It does tell me that you're interested in me. Trust me--I can buy my own drinks. I didn't come out with no money like sooommmee chics. But if I'm standing and you offer me a drink I don't take it as you want to marry me, I take it as you're being a gentlemen. Actually, I'm so down to earth, next round on me. Unlike some of these heffas I have a job. So don't roll or eyes or get huffy and puffy or feel like you HAVE to buy me a drink. It's a kind gesture. Let's party.
3. You bought that car---NOT me. Sure it looks nice buuuuttt....
There are ten other dudes all over the city with the better upgrade a different model and better credit. When you rolled into the Maserati, Mercedes or Land Rover dealership you went there with a purpose. You said something to the effect of, "Yes, I have the money (or I don't) and I am going to invest in a quality vehicle so that it represents who I am." Now with that--comes car pumpers (You know chics that will pump your car before you). FYI: Every girl does not want to hump you. Because I may flirt with you or talk to you--doesn't mean I want a ride or give a rat's ass about your car. I might find you genuinely attractive--or I did. Second of all, real women don't talk through car windows. If you need to approach, talk to or speak with me. You get out. So if you got her number because she bent over in your passenger side window....well let's call a spade a spade.
4. Sex really is NOT everything...BUT...
Trust me I understand that you been in the game for years and you been smashing since smashing was smashing..AND I'm pretty sure you have 1-4 chics that you are smashing right now. JUST because I tell you, insinuate or let you know that I'm not really on a random smash a.k.a jump off situation, doesn't mean I don't want to talk to, get to know or hang out with you. Really....Ease up a little bit. At some point and time and at this age (you should really know how to keep it in your pants) I'm sorry some of you may not agree. I don't care. Maybe if we get back to getting to know each other or really developing friendships, so many people wouldn't be running around talking about "It's complicated" and I can't go there because such and such may be there and etc, etc. Like come on! Have some class about yourselves!
5. This is NOT who wants to be a millionaire. Stop playing.
Like seriously....you're right. There are probably far more good girls out there than there are compatible men for them. But really dude, do you have to play game shows all the time? Is each woman a contestant on the Price Is Right? Sure, you have standards, AND so do WEEEEE!! You're running around with 5 chics that you "like" and are torn between two and smashing the other three. This tells me you have nothing to do with your time. Really. If you can't sit down for 5 minutes and really get to know someone--don't date at all. Continue smashing. Because don't get it twisted, as much as girls want to be in a relationship that is meaningful--so do guys. So please, please do us the favor. Stop having open casting calls every time you go out.
Ouuu I got more...but I gotta go be productive....humph. But don't worry, we will finish this!
1. It's true a man is NOT a meal ticket...but....
A man should have is own.
I don't expect for a man to shell out his whole check, pass it to me to break down and give him back allowance. But I do REQUIRE him to--have a job, be working towards a career, have some benefits (I don't care if it is Health Plus, just be able to take your ass to the doctor or dentist)and have a steady income. For all I care you could sell CD's out of a corner connected to the dollar store--just know how to make money...oh and SAVE money. Not because I'm trying to get in your pockets--but because if I'm going to commit myself to someone, I want to know in the future if it came down to it and we got together you will be able to contribute, handle, and/or control the finances.
2. It's a club, it's 2 am--You came to party and so did I. Buying a drink is NOT a marriage proposal or security on my number later. Buttt...
It does tell me that you're interested in me. Trust me--I can buy my own drinks. I didn't come out with no money like sooommmee chics. But if I'm standing and you offer me a drink I don't take it as you want to marry me, I take it as you're being a gentlemen. Actually, I'm so down to earth, next round on me. Unlike some of these heffas I have a job. So don't roll or eyes or get huffy and puffy or feel like you HAVE to buy me a drink. It's a kind gesture. Let's party.
3. You bought that car---NOT me. Sure it looks nice buuuuttt....
There are ten other dudes all over the city with the better upgrade a different model and better credit. When you rolled into the Maserati, Mercedes or Land Rover dealership you went there with a purpose. You said something to the effect of, "Yes, I have the money (or I don't) and I am going to invest in a quality vehicle so that it represents who I am." Now with that--comes car pumpers (You know chics that will pump your car before you). FYI: Every girl does not want to hump you. Because I may flirt with you or talk to you--doesn't mean I want a ride or give a rat's ass about your car. I might find you genuinely attractive--or I did. Second of all, real women don't talk through car windows. If you need to approach, talk to or speak with me. You get out. So if you got her number because she bent over in your passenger side window....well let's call a spade a spade.
4. Sex really is NOT everything...BUT...
Trust me I understand that you been in the game for years and you been smashing since smashing was smashing..AND I'm pretty sure you have 1-4 chics that you are smashing right now. JUST because I tell you, insinuate or let you know that I'm not really on a random smash a.k.a jump off situation, doesn't mean I don't want to talk to, get to know or hang out with you. Really....Ease up a little bit. At some point and time and at this age (you should really know how to keep it in your pants) I'm sorry some of you may not agree. I don't care. Maybe if we get back to getting to know each other or really developing friendships, so many people wouldn't be running around talking about "It's complicated" and I can't go there because such and such may be there and etc, etc. Like come on! Have some class about yourselves!
5. This is NOT who wants to be a millionaire. Stop playing.
Like seriously....you're right. There are probably far more good girls out there than there are compatible men for them. But really dude, do you have to play game shows all the time? Is each woman a contestant on the Price Is Right? Sure, you have standards, AND so do WEEEEE!! You're running around with 5 chics that you "like" and are torn between two and smashing the other three. This tells me you have nothing to do with your time. Really. If you can't sit down for 5 minutes and really get to know someone--don't date at all. Continue smashing. Because don't get it twisted, as much as girls want to be in a relationship that is meaningful--so do guys. So please, please do us the favor. Stop having open casting calls every time you go out.
Ouuu I got more...but I gotta go be productive....humph. But don't worry, we will finish this!
Random Rant
It's hard to come back from a bad first impression. One of my friends said that I should give The Extra One another chance. Like, he's really trying hard. Offering to cook, trying to spend time...I'm just...not...interested. That first impression did me in. I just feel like he and I don't have anything in common. She says, "But you can clean him up."
Who wants to do that! I don't have time to rearrange closets. I got my own to do.
Shady or Lazy?
Meanwhile, as he texts, calls, emails, sends Morse code, flies a plane with a message, and sends SOS signals, I'm busy waiting for a text from someone else. Why does it always work like that?
I've decided that handsome, respectful, interesting, funny, witty, smart and did I say handsome? men are hard to come by in New York City. I hung out with my extended family this weekend and my sis said that I am far too picky. But I'm saying--why do I have to compromise? As I look back on these dates and some of the people that I've crossed paths with, I think to myself--sure, they had things about them that were really good, but on the other hand, they had something that I'm not interested in compromising on.
In the meantime, I can't stop eating. I can't find any candy corn, and my vacation in two weeks can't come soon enough! I'll be starting the lemonade/master cleanse thingy in order to get in these shorts...Therefore, I will have an attitude for the next two weeks! Peace.
Who wants to do that! I don't have time to rearrange closets. I got my own to do.
Shady or Lazy?
Meanwhile, as he texts, calls, emails, sends Morse code, flies a plane with a message, and sends SOS signals, I'm busy waiting for a text from someone else. Why does it always work like that?
I've decided that handsome, respectful, interesting, funny, witty, smart and did I say handsome? men are hard to come by in New York City. I hung out with my extended family this weekend and my sis said that I am far too picky. But I'm saying--why do I have to compromise? As I look back on these dates and some of the people that I've crossed paths with, I think to myself--sure, they had things about them that were really good, but on the other hand, they had something that I'm not interested in compromising on.
In the meantime, I can't stop eating. I can't find any candy corn, and my vacation in two weeks can't come soon enough! I'll be starting the lemonade/master cleanse thingy in order to get in these shorts...Therefore, I will have an attitude for the next two weeks! Peace.
The Young Buck, The Weekend & I Hate the "D"
First of all the "D" on a message you send to BBM is equal to death until it turns into a "R." It's like WTF! I see that the message was delivered. You see that it was delivered but you don't read it. I hate that "D." You wait for it to turn into an "R" and then when it does, you anticipate the response and you see "is typing a message" and your heart beats anxiously for a deep inspired message and it says "is typing a message" for like 5 min and then you get a two word response, "OK" WTH! F-F-F-Forget BBM!
My weekend was filled with action, okay I lie. I just didn't have time to update you guys over the weekend days because I'm still wiped out from the Leo Bashments that are going on. It was pretty cool. I attempted to meet up with someone and it didn't work....making me come to the conclusion that you don't find time. You make it. I have been found quilty of telling someone that I will "find" the time to do something and ultimately never do. Strictly because (Drum roll) I don't really want to or they haven't become priority enough for me to. Or genuinely I'm really, really busy. Right? I'll let you decide.
Now on to today's single story of the day. Meet The Young Buck. I was working in retail and one day I was in the store by myself. As I looked up a bee had found it's way in the store and I began the war between me and the bee. These two kids walk in and one of them has that crazy Jay, Fab, BIG....BK swag, sunglasses, the whole nine. I'm such a sucker for swag. Ouuu "Sucker for Swag" *Updates BBM status*.....Moving on.
He offers to kill the bee and of course I don't mind. After he kills it though he goes, "Well now you have to go to dinner with me." Thinking that I could easily shut this down by choosing an overly expensive place to eat, I say "City Island."
"Cool," he responds. And I realize that now I've locked my self into a date with this knucklehead (Because I knew he was a knuckehead from a mile away), but on the otherhand, who says no to frozen drinks and crab legs? Oh Oh, girls with common sense, that's who. SMH.
So he's like I'm picking you up after work and I'm giggling like an idiot as I ring him up for his purchases....
Fast forward. I get off work and guess who's outside. Hmmm mmmm Young Buck is sitting there with the music bllllasssting out the speakers, windows down, real clown like. *Rolls eyes* But it's summertime. I've got nothing to lose. I indulge.
Why oh why.
We get to City Island and this is a real clown. Like buying flowers, talking real slick, drinking like a fish, getting loud, throwing food. Dude...are you 12? No but he is about 5 years younger than me. I'm all for a younger dude, but can you at least act your age? Nope. You can't hunh.
So we get done with dinner and the bill comes. Now, most kids don't have like a stack of credit cards....unless...unless....are you kidding me right now? You're a credit card kid? *rolls eyes* Like, if you're going to be illegal can you at least be a drug dealer and go to Rikers for something other than the 4 building?
I'm like...WTF! He pays for dinner and we get ready to leave. I am now disgusted. Then, I guess he thought I was plastered and he reaches to kiss me....*BBM talk to the hand face* Do not put your mouth on me. *Sick face* I DO NOT know you.
Then, I'm looking at the tags on the plates....rental. Are you kidding me right now? I'm like an accessory. (Wait, I'm typing this and getting nervous)I'm seething mad right now. I just want to get back to BK...ASAP. He's talking the whole way home and I'm like shaking everytime the police roll by. UGH!
We get to Brooklyn and I don't want this "class act" to know where I live, so I'm trying to think where to tell this fool to drop me off at. I decide back by my job and as he is like when are we going to hang out again? I'm slamming the door and headed for the train....
As I ignored his calls and text messages, do you know this kid shows up at my job everyday for like a week after that?
Why me...326.
My weekend was filled with action, okay I lie. I just didn't have time to update you guys over the weekend days because I'm still wiped out from the Leo Bashments that are going on. It was pretty cool. I attempted to meet up with someone and it didn't work....making me come to the conclusion that you don't find time. You make it. I have been found quilty of telling someone that I will "find" the time to do something and ultimately never do. Strictly because (Drum roll) I don't really want to or they haven't become priority enough for me to. Or genuinely I'm really, really busy. Right? I'll let you decide.
Now on to today's single story of the day. Meet The Young Buck. I was working in retail and one day I was in the store by myself. As I looked up a bee had found it's way in the store and I began the war between me and the bee. These two kids walk in and one of them has that crazy Jay, Fab, BIG....BK swag, sunglasses, the whole nine. I'm such a sucker for swag. Ouuu "Sucker for Swag" *Updates BBM status*.....Moving on.
He offers to kill the bee and of course I don't mind. After he kills it though he goes, "Well now you have to go to dinner with me." Thinking that I could easily shut this down by choosing an overly expensive place to eat, I say "City Island."
"Cool," he responds. And I realize that now I've locked my self into a date with this knucklehead (Because I knew he was a knuckehead from a mile away), but on the otherhand, who says no to frozen drinks and crab legs? Oh Oh, girls with common sense, that's who. SMH.
So he's like I'm picking you up after work and I'm giggling like an idiot as I ring him up for his purchases....
Fast forward. I get off work and guess who's outside. Hmmm mmmm Young Buck is sitting there with the music bllllasssting out the speakers, windows down, real clown like. *Rolls eyes* But it's summertime. I've got nothing to lose. I indulge.
Why oh why.
We get to City Island and this is a real clown. Like buying flowers, talking real slick, drinking like a fish, getting loud, throwing food. Dude...are you 12? No but he is about 5 years younger than me. I'm all for a younger dude, but can you at least act your age? Nope. You can't hunh.
So we get done with dinner and the bill comes. Now, most kids don't have like a stack of credit cards....unless...unless....are you kidding me right now? You're a credit card kid? *rolls eyes* Like, if you're going to be illegal can you at least be a drug dealer and go to Rikers for something other than the 4 building?
I'm like...WTF! He pays for dinner and we get ready to leave. I am now disgusted. Then, I guess he thought I was plastered and he reaches to kiss me....*BBM talk to the hand face* Do not put your mouth on me. *Sick face* I DO NOT know you.
Then, I'm looking at the tags on the plates....rental. Are you kidding me right now? I'm like an accessory. (Wait, I'm typing this and getting nervous)I'm seething mad right now. I just want to get back to BK...ASAP. He's talking the whole way home and I'm like shaking everytime the police roll by. UGH!
We get to Brooklyn and I don't want this "class act" to know where I live, so I'm trying to think where to tell this fool to drop me off at. I decide back by my job and as he is like when are we going to hang out again? I'm slamming the door and headed for the train....
As I ignored his calls and text messages, do you know this kid shows up at my job everyday for like a week after that?
Why me...326.
Top Ten Things I Don't Want to Hear on a Date
1. That you have no money.
Then why are you out dating?!
2. That you're a rapper, singer, dancer, movie maker or producer, but you are just working at the bank in the meantime.
And don't pass me that wack card with the number crossed out in pen, where you have written in your new number.
3. That you did a bid, but you were just the getaway driver.
O_o
4. That you're "sorta" dating. Either you're in a relationship or you not.
P.S. There is no government form ever that has had the box "Dating,""In a Relationship," or "Taken." If you're not married, divorced or separated--you're single/non-married.
5. That you didn't have time to change from the gym.
-_-
6. Your mom lives with you.
You either live with your parents or you don't.
7. That you're not a US citizen (Don't even ask)
8. That you're gonna "wife" me or ask me if I'm ready for kids.
9. You talk about your job for an hour.
Okay, I get it. You graduated from Cornell, doing your Masters at Columbia, working as a corporate research analyst financial planner sourcer lawyer operations officer. That's nice....I just don't want to hear about it all night.
and finally,
10. Do I want you to come to my house and make sure I get in okay.
O_o
Thanks...but no thanks. 330.
Then why are you out dating?!
2. That you're a rapper, singer, dancer, movie maker or producer, but you are just working at the bank in the meantime.
And don't pass me that wack card with the number crossed out in pen, where you have written in your new number.
3. That you did a bid, but you were just the getaway driver.
O_o
4. That you're "sorta" dating. Either you're in a relationship or you not.
P.S. There is no government form ever that has had the box "Dating,""In a Relationship," or "Taken." If you're not married, divorced or separated--you're single/non-married.
5. That you didn't have time to change from the gym.
-_-
6. Your mom lives with you.
You either live with your parents or you don't.
7. That you're not a US citizen (Don't even ask)
8. That you're gonna "wife" me or ask me if I'm ready for kids.
9. You talk about your job for an hour.
Okay, I get it. You graduated from Cornell, doing your Masters at Columbia, working as a corporate research analyst financial planner sourcer lawyer operations officer. That's nice....I just don't want to hear about it all night.
and finally,
10. Do I want you to come to my house and make sure I get in okay.
O_o
Thanks...but no thanks. 330.
The Funny One
First of all. If I have on head phones, head down, looking at a magazine, minding my business on the train, I probably don't want to be bothered....but you're going to try anyway right?
*Rolls Eyes*
"You know you look cute for a girl with short hair"!
WHAT?! WTF is that suppose to mean?? Is he serious right now? No, this is not real. I ignore him.
"Scuse me, you're mad cute even with short hair," he taps me.
I turn and look and give him the "don't eff with me," look. But he proceeds.
"Some girls can't pull off short hair."
I decide to indulge in this conversation.
"EVEN with short hair? What's that mean"? I dare to ask.
"Well I mean, I don't know how you would look with long hair, but the short hair it looks good. A lot of girls want to go short but they can't."
"So I wouldn't be cute with long hair"?
"Probably not."
Conversation done. But he continues to talk.
"I'm just saying it looks like you keep your hair up and erething, and you seem to like your short hair, so nah, long hair won't work. I mean you're cute and all but I wouldn't talk to you."
I don't want to talk to you now! Is he serious right now? I'm like this dude is going in as if he was not on the C train, not trying to bag me and not sounding like a nut.
I respond with a, "Thanks, I think." and go about my business.
He continues.
"You know my girl can't rock short hair."
LMAO. So wait, not only are you flirting with me, but you have a girlfriend, who has long hair. Only me.
He continues.
"I won't let her cut her hair, I just figure it won't work. But on you it works."
*Side eye* from my magazine.
"Hey, what do you do for fun? I throw these parties sometimes, you should come."
I look up. "Oh with you"?
"Nah, me and my girlfriend."
Goodnight. Dude....You funny. 331.
*Rolls Eyes*
"You know you look cute for a girl with short hair"!
WHAT?! WTF is that suppose to mean?? Is he serious right now? No, this is not real. I ignore him.
"Scuse me, you're mad cute even with short hair," he taps me.
I turn and look and give him the "don't eff with me," look. But he proceeds.
"Some girls can't pull off short hair."
I decide to indulge in this conversation.
"EVEN with short hair? What's that mean"? I dare to ask.
"Well I mean, I don't know how you would look with long hair, but the short hair it looks good. A lot of girls want to go short but they can't."
"So I wouldn't be cute with long hair"?
"Probably not."
Conversation done. But he continues to talk.
"I'm just saying it looks like you keep your hair up and erething, and you seem to like your short hair, so nah, long hair won't work. I mean you're cute and all but I wouldn't talk to you."
I don't want to talk to you now! Is he serious right now? I'm like this dude is going in as if he was not on the C train, not trying to bag me and not sounding like a nut.
I respond with a, "Thanks, I think." and go about my business.
He continues.
"You know my girl can't rock short hair."
LMAO. So wait, not only are you flirting with me, but you have a girlfriend, who has long hair. Only me.
He continues.
"I won't let her cut her hair, I just figure it won't work. But on you it works."
*Side eye* from my magazine.
"Hey, what do you do for fun? I throw these parties sometimes, you should come."
I look up. "Oh with you"?
"Nah, me and my girlfriend."
Goodnight. Dude....You funny. 331.
I've forgotten how to date.
I was talking with my twin the other night and I asked her should I text this guy.
After careful consideration we devised a plan that was comfortable for everyone. I would wait because I text last and then if not, I would send a message the next day saying, "Hi."
*Siiiggh*
We cursed new friendships and the rules that go along with them. But wait...Are there rules?
She was going through her own "newbie" situation and said I've forgotten how to date and I realized so have I.
I've forgotten how to be giddy with excitement--well I lie, I'm always excited. Coogi shorts in all. But I've forgotten how to communicate, I've forgotten how to set something up, is it too new for that, is it too soon for this?
I've been single for a while and been devoted to being in a relationship with myself that I've forgotten how to be in a relationship with someone else. The question is, how do I gain that skill back?
I'm so busy deciphering between is he flirting, is he into this, am I into this, is that a doo rag? (No, I'm kidding) but still, I'm like looking for so many signs to just be a girl, I don't think I'm being me.
So forget it. (I wanted to say something else besides forget). I've decided that I'm going to be a flirty, giggly girl no matter the circumstances. I mean that's me. What do I have to lose?
My dignity? My pride....Come on son, I sold my self the first time I took that ferry across the cold Hudson. There's nothing to lose. If it works out, I win. If it doesn't, I win. Why you ask? Because even if it doesn't work out I've freed myself for the person that God sees fit for me, to be in my life. I'll take that any day over a stranger picking in my plate.
I won't lie to you, I'm a little apprehensive. I really want it to be something good. But how will I ever know unless I step out of the boat. I've stepped out before and I THOUGHT I had sunk. But I didn't sink at all....I walked right across the water to the other side! How could I not see this before? Just because the other side wasn't where I thought I would end up---doesn't make it where God didn't want me to be! I may have stepped out too soon, may have stepped out for the wrong person, but none-the-less I was guided safely to my own little side...I'm very happy on this island. Matter of fact--I love this island. It's nice over here. And in the meantime....I think I'll text him now...
*Giggle*....332.
After careful consideration we devised a plan that was comfortable for everyone. I would wait because I text last and then if not, I would send a message the next day saying, "Hi."
*Siiiggh*
We cursed new friendships and the rules that go along with them. But wait...Are there rules?
She was going through her own "newbie" situation and said I've forgotten how to date and I realized so have I.
I've forgotten how to be giddy with excitement--well I lie, I'm always excited. Coogi shorts in all. But I've forgotten how to communicate, I've forgotten how to set something up, is it too new for that, is it too soon for this?
I've been single for a while and been devoted to being in a relationship with myself that I've forgotten how to be in a relationship with someone else. The question is, how do I gain that skill back?
I'm so busy deciphering between is he flirting, is he into this, am I into this, is that a doo rag? (No, I'm kidding) but still, I'm like looking for so many signs to just be a girl, I don't think I'm being me.
So forget it. (I wanted to say something else besides forget). I've decided that I'm going to be a flirty, giggly girl no matter the circumstances. I mean that's me. What do I have to lose?
My dignity? My pride....Come on son, I sold my self the first time I took that ferry across the cold Hudson. There's nothing to lose. If it works out, I win. If it doesn't, I win. Why you ask? Because even if it doesn't work out I've freed myself for the person that God sees fit for me, to be in my life. I'll take that any day over a stranger picking in my plate.
I won't lie to you, I'm a little apprehensive. I really want it to be something good. But how will I ever know unless I step out of the boat. I've stepped out before and I THOUGHT I had sunk. But I didn't sink at all....I walked right across the water to the other side! How could I not see this before? Just because the other side wasn't where I thought I would end up---doesn't make it where God didn't want me to be! I may have stepped out too soon, may have stepped out for the wrong person, but none-the-less I was guided safely to my own little side...I'm very happy on this island. Matter of fact--I love this island. It's nice over here. And in the meantime....I think I'll text him now...
*Giggle*....332.
The Extra One
First of all.
He called me to hang out. Now I wasn't sure about the whole name situation, but I mean hey, I'll try anything once. Twice, if I like it.
So now, I'm thinking that, if you've ever met or seen me you would know what's acceptable...and what's not.
Showing up in Coogi shorts, a tee shirt, a doo rag, a fitted and Jordans...is probably not your best bet...and he was high. WTF!
(Yes. Coogi shorts. I thought they was basketball shorts until I got up close on em..nah son, they was yarn.)
Did I mention he had on white Armani glasses?
Ugh...I said to myself I wasn't going to blog about this, but I mean...Really? For real?
I'm really not one to judge. I mean, I feel like everyone should have a chance to prove themselves you know. Just because I meet you in sweats doesn't mean that you walk around in sweats all day, does it?
Am I being irrational here? Am I asking for too much? I just don't get it. I'm not looking for someone to show up in a three piece suit, but being presentable is not a crime. I don't know how to even get past that. Like, not only can I not converse with you because you're high, but I have to sit here looking "cute" and have everyone wonder what the hell I'm doing with you.
But it doesn't matter what people think right? I'm so lost.
So then, I weigh the other qualities against this infraction. Job, check. No kids, check. Own home, check. Then I say do those things outweigh the bad and I'm not so sure. Am I wrong? I could be. No really, I could be turned off by something that's really irrelevant.
Or I could just have a standard....and that ain't it...333.
He called me to hang out. Now I wasn't sure about the whole name situation, but I mean hey, I'll try anything once. Twice, if I like it.
So now, I'm thinking that, if you've ever met or seen me you would know what's acceptable...and what's not.
Showing up in Coogi shorts, a tee shirt, a doo rag, a fitted and Jordans...is probably not your best bet...and he was high. WTF!
(Yes. Coogi shorts. I thought they was basketball shorts until I got up close on em..nah son, they was yarn.)
Did I mention he had on white Armani glasses?
Ugh...I said to myself I wasn't going to blog about this, but I mean...Really? For real?
I'm really not one to judge. I mean, I feel like everyone should have a chance to prove themselves you know. Just because I meet you in sweats doesn't mean that you walk around in sweats all day, does it?
Am I being irrational here? Am I asking for too much? I just don't get it. I'm not looking for someone to show up in a three piece suit, but being presentable is not a crime. I don't know how to even get past that. Like, not only can I not converse with you because you're high, but I have to sit here looking "cute" and have everyone wonder what the hell I'm doing with you.
But it doesn't matter what people think right? I'm so lost.
So then, I weigh the other qualities against this infraction. Job, check. No kids, check. Own home, check. Then I say do those things outweigh the bad and I'm not so sure. Am I wrong? I could be. No really, I could be turned off by something that's really irrelevant.
Or I could just have a standard....and that ain't it...333.
That Was His Real Name.
LMAO. Only me.
334
*Update*
Okay, so it's not his real name. I asked for ID...but you'll have to stayed tuned for the outcome of this date...
334
*Update*
Okay, so it's not his real name. I asked for ID...but you'll have to stayed tuned for the outcome of this date...
But dude...what's your real name?
I'm frightened of men who don't give you their real name up front.
No not a fake name--that's really scary.
But yesterday I was walking around looking for a fedora. When this guy stopped me. He was working on this film in production and was handsome. I was interested and then he said, "Hey my name is Tokyo."
Really?
Tokyo? I couldn't wait to write this.
Now, at the time it didn't dawn on me to ask him what his real name was. I was just so in a rush I just was like ok, whatever.
But who really calls themselves Tokyo? Or who named you Tokyo, that you think it should be the name you use? Like, I'm not even saving that in my phone.
I caught a conversation before between this girl and a guy on the street. She's smiling and goes, "What's your name"? He replies, "Boo."
Like, you're a grown ass man and you're still using that name?
But I get it. Some people do have names that stick with them. A rap name. A childhood nickname. A name friends call you. It's cool. But I'm just saying, can you evaluate that name before you give it out.
Chances are if you really think about the name, it's not that hot to be telling a woman when you first meet her and your first name will be just fine.
He called my phone and I go, "Who is this"?
"Tokyo, your new boo."
*Rolls eyes*
335.
No not a fake name--that's really scary.
But yesterday I was walking around looking for a fedora. When this guy stopped me. He was working on this film in production and was handsome. I was interested and then he said, "Hey my name is Tokyo."
Really?
Tokyo? I couldn't wait to write this.
Now, at the time it didn't dawn on me to ask him what his real name was. I was just so in a rush I just was like ok, whatever.
But who really calls themselves Tokyo? Or who named you Tokyo, that you think it should be the name you use? Like, I'm not even saving that in my phone.
I caught a conversation before between this girl and a guy on the street. She's smiling and goes, "What's your name"? He replies, "Boo."
Like, you're a grown ass man and you're still using that name?
But I get it. Some people do have names that stick with them. A rap name. A childhood nickname. A name friends call you. It's cool. But I'm just saying, can you evaluate that name before you give it out.
Chances are if you really think about the name, it's not that hot to be telling a woman when you first meet her and your first name will be just fine.
He called my phone and I go, "Who is this"?
"Tokyo, your new boo."
*Rolls eyes*
335.
The School Boy
I keep thinking that I'm going to come into this box and have nothing to say...and then I realize that's impossible.
He bagged me in the computer lab. I don't understand what's stamped on my forehead. I often look in the mirror and say, "hmmm, what do people see there." No, not people. Men. Boys. Whatever. What do they see plastered on my forehead. After reading these, I have figured out that, I am way to naive and sympathetic. This is really therapeutic.
Okay, okay, anyway.
He was cute. He had a swag about him. I liked it. Something about him was fun, comforting, you know it was easy.
I felt like it was going to be drama free.
Until, I saw a wedding band on his hand. I said, "You married"? He replied. "Yes."
Conversation done.
Now, I'm like why are you going to continue to talk to me and expect for me just be cool with talking to you, because you said, "You just want to be friends"?
If you came to me flirting and insinuating that you like me, I have to assume you like me. Right? So the idea that we could be friends would not really happen, because you like me in the first place right? Right.
I think it's so disrespectful when a married man steps beyond the vow he made and flirts with or has a relationship with another woman. I mean, don't get me wrong, I can count on my hand how many of my girlfriends have said, I was flirting with this man and he was married, but then I think about their wives..and if I were in that position I would feel a certain way. So it makes me uncomfortable.
This did too. One day I was chilling in the library and he walked up to my cubicle. I look up like, I know you're not leaning over my cubicle. But he was.
He walks around to where I'm sitting and says, "Sup."
I give him the "umm nothing," attitude answer.
He stares at me for a moment. "You have gorgeous eyes."
"Thanks"!
I go back to my book.
I look up and he's still looking at me. He grabs my face and kisses me. WTF!
Did you just put your mouth on me? *phlegh, bleh, splllrrghhs* I spit and wipe my mouth off. I can't believe it. I'm like disgusted. I stand up and the whole room is looking at me like wth is wrong with this girl. He's laughing.
I am not.
I turn to him and he really thinks this is funny. I'm spitting and cursing all at the same time and am trying to restrain myself from slapping him.
I grab my stuff, throw it in bag and I'm out.
Because we hung out in the same crew, I would see him all the time, and I guess we are "friends." I don't think so but apparently he does.
One day we're out eating lunch and he goes into this long story about his relationship and how things are strained. I'm looking like. Do I look like Tyra? I don't want to hear this drama. So I have the real intent face on, like, "MmmmmHmmmm, really? Dang for real? That's crazy."
I could care less.
Finally, I had weaned him off of thinking that we are buddy buddy and my life is back to it's normal self. Until, I was in math class and all of sudden my phone is blowing up. He's calling, back to back. I'm thinking it's an emergency. So I excuse myself from class,and go to call him back.
"What's up"? I say.
"Did you get my message last night"?
"What message"?!
"I sent you a pic, you didn't get it"?
I stare at the phone with the one closed eye. Like this: O_-
"Ummm no, what was it"?
"It was my daughter, she was born yesterday. I'm at the hospital now."
Was I suppose to say congratulations?
"Really.....that's...so...nice....but I'm in math right now. Talk to you later"
336.
He bagged me in the computer lab. I don't understand what's stamped on my forehead. I often look in the mirror and say, "hmmm, what do people see there." No, not people. Men. Boys. Whatever. What do they see plastered on my forehead. After reading these, I have figured out that, I am way to naive and sympathetic. This is really therapeutic.
Okay, okay, anyway.
He was cute. He had a swag about him. I liked it. Something about him was fun, comforting, you know it was easy.
I felt like it was going to be drama free.
Until, I saw a wedding band on his hand. I said, "You married"? He replied. "Yes."
Conversation done.
Now, I'm like why are you going to continue to talk to me and expect for me just be cool with talking to you, because you said, "You just want to be friends"?
If you came to me flirting and insinuating that you like me, I have to assume you like me. Right? So the idea that we could be friends would not really happen, because you like me in the first place right? Right.
I think it's so disrespectful when a married man steps beyond the vow he made and flirts with or has a relationship with another woman. I mean, don't get me wrong, I can count on my hand how many of my girlfriends have said, I was flirting with this man and he was married, but then I think about their wives..and if I were in that position I would feel a certain way. So it makes me uncomfortable.
This did too. One day I was chilling in the library and he walked up to my cubicle. I look up like, I know you're not leaning over my cubicle. But he was.
He walks around to where I'm sitting and says, "Sup."
I give him the "umm nothing," attitude answer.
He stares at me for a moment. "You have gorgeous eyes."
"Thanks"!
I go back to my book.
I look up and he's still looking at me. He grabs my face and kisses me. WTF!
Did you just put your mouth on me? *phlegh, bleh, splllrrghhs* I spit and wipe my mouth off. I can't believe it. I'm like disgusted. I stand up and the whole room is looking at me like wth is wrong with this girl. He's laughing.
I am not.
I turn to him and he really thinks this is funny. I'm spitting and cursing all at the same time and am trying to restrain myself from slapping him.
I grab my stuff, throw it in bag and I'm out.
Because we hung out in the same crew, I would see him all the time, and I guess we are "friends." I don't think so but apparently he does.
One day we're out eating lunch and he goes into this long story about his relationship and how things are strained. I'm looking like. Do I look like Tyra? I don't want to hear this drama. So I have the real intent face on, like, "MmmmmHmmmm, really? Dang for real? That's crazy."
I could care less.
Finally, I had weaned him off of thinking that we are buddy buddy and my life is back to it's normal self. Until, I was in math class and all of sudden my phone is blowing up. He's calling, back to back. I'm thinking it's an emergency. So I excuse myself from class,and go to call him back.
"What's up"? I say.
"Did you get my message last night"?
"What message"?!
"I sent you a pic, you didn't get it"?
I stare at the phone with the one closed eye. Like this: O_-
"Ummm no, what was it"?
"It was my daughter, she was born yesterday. I'm at the hospital now."
Was I suppose to say congratulations?
"Really.....that's...so...nice....but I'm in math right now. Talk to you later"
336.
The Don Dapa
I know, I know, I know. I don't think I can finish The Papa Bear. At least not right now. It brings up so many memories and issues. A friend was like you're clearly not over it. I shook my head all around, screw face and declared that I had forgave and moved on. But, now that I tell the story...again....I am like remembering all the stuff that went on. We definitely had more good times than bad...But I don't think I've dated someone since him that has made an impression on my life. Well, The Scar did a pretty good job. But don't worry we have over 300 something odd number days leftover. I'll get back to them.
In the meantiiiiimmmeee.
Let me tell you this one! So my homegirl is from Jamaica and I decide that it's time for me to make a trip down there. She's going back and making it seem like "Big tings a gwan"!
"It's going to be so much fun," she says, "We're going to do this and that, and blah, blah, blah"
You already know I'm crazy so I agree.
Mind you, she's going to hook me up with one of her childhood friends to hang out with.
Really?
So she bigs this kid up, like oh they are this and that, and they are going to take you here and etc, etc.
I'm like tickle pink. I just know that I'm going to have a ball.
We get to Jamaica. My phone doesn't work. This is the first sign that my life is going to be a reality show. It's going in and out, only text messages, FML.
Now I don't know why in the hell I don't ask details from people, because when she said we weren't staying in the city, "per se" but in the country...I failed to get details. I should have. When she said her grandmother was going to hold our passports for safe keeping, I should have been aware that this is not Kansas anymore.
We are dead in the country. I mean there's a house and proper bathroom, but there are lizards...on the wall...and the ceiling. I need a hoodie.
Okay, I'm going to make the best of this. Or I'm going to try. Did something just bite me?
I've been to Jamaica a couple of times and I call my God Sister...she's like listen, whenever you're ready to leave, I will call the family to come and get you. But I don't want to be rude...I'm going to stick it out.
So let's meet the Don Dapa. He lives next door and him and his friends are cool. But first of all, he's asking me to send him clothes when I get home because his are not "fresh" anymore. Really?
Second of all, he asks me can he keep my birth certificate. You serious right now?
Third, we are chilling on the stoop and his little cousin asks me does the water there taste different in the states. I take a sip. My second mistake.
Then, her grandmother makes some porridge one morning and it's good. Until they tell me that it has goats milk in it. (My stomach just turned.)
By Thursday I am laying up with a fever, while her grandmother rubs rose water on my chest and I can't even eat anything and my stomach feels like it's about to fall out and disappear.
So The Don Dapa decides that he's going to keep me company. Really? Not only can I barely understand a word he's saying...I don't want to hear it right now. I'm like doubled over can't see and he's asking me what kind of t-shirts I can send to Jamaica.
Then he proceeds to tell me that, I better not go in the airport holding my stomach, otherwise they may think I've ingested something and am "trying" to get it to the states...but then asks do I want to. Really?
My final day arrives. I still can't see straight. Since we are in the freaking country we have to drive a ways to the airport. I'm crying the whole way. Okay not really, but I'm still sick. But, I remember to straighten up. The Don Dapa and his friend are dropping us off.
I'm literally running to the gate and I thought I heard, but not sure if I heard him say I should think about staying....
Dude. Really?
In the meantiiiiimmmeee.
Let me tell you this one! So my homegirl is from Jamaica and I decide that it's time for me to make a trip down there. She's going back and making it seem like "Big tings a gwan"!
"It's going to be so much fun," she says, "We're going to do this and that, and blah, blah, blah"
You already know I'm crazy so I agree.
Mind you, she's going to hook me up with one of her childhood friends to hang out with.
Really?
So she bigs this kid up, like oh they are this and that, and they are going to take you here and etc, etc.
I'm like tickle pink. I just know that I'm going to have a ball.
We get to Jamaica. My phone doesn't work. This is the first sign that my life is going to be a reality show. It's going in and out, only text messages, FML.
Now I don't know why in the hell I don't ask details from people, because when she said we weren't staying in the city, "per se" but in the country...I failed to get details. I should have. When she said her grandmother was going to hold our passports for safe keeping, I should have been aware that this is not Kansas anymore.
We are dead in the country. I mean there's a house and proper bathroom, but there are lizards...on the wall...and the ceiling. I need a hoodie.
Okay, I'm going to make the best of this. Or I'm going to try. Did something just bite me?
I've been to Jamaica a couple of times and I call my God Sister...she's like listen, whenever you're ready to leave, I will call the family to come and get you. But I don't want to be rude...I'm going to stick it out.
So let's meet the Don Dapa. He lives next door and him and his friends are cool. But first of all, he's asking me to send him clothes when I get home because his are not "fresh" anymore. Really?
Second of all, he asks me can he keep my birth certificate. You serious right now?
Third, we are chilling on the stoop and his little cousin asks me does the water there taste different in the states. I take a sip. My second mistake.
Then, her grandmother makes some porridge one morning and it's good. Until they tell me that it has goats milk in it. (My stomach just turned.)
By Thursday I am laying up with a fever, while her grandmother rubs rose water on my chest and I can't even eat anything and my stomach feels like it's about to fall out and disappear.
So The Don Dapa decides that he's going to keep me company. Really? Not only can I barely understand a word he's saying...I don't want to hear it right now. I'm like doubled over can't see and he's asking me what kind of t-shirts I can send to Jamaica.
Then he proceeds to tell me that, I better not go in the airport holding my stomach, otherwise they may think I've ingested something and am "trying" to get it to the states...but then asks do I want to. Really?
My final day arrives. I still can't see straight. Since we are in the freaking country we have to drive a ways to the airport. I'm crying the whole way. Okay not really, but I'm still sick. But, I remember to straighten up. The Don Dapa and his friend are dropping us off.
I'm literally running to the gate and I thought I heard, but not sure if I heard him say I should think about staying....
Dude. Really?
The Papa Bear, Part III
Okay, where did I leave off?
Right, Right, the girl. On the voicemail.
So I had to ask who the heck is that?!
He said when I asked him, "That's my ex-girlfriend. She lives in Maryland. I mean, we keep in touch, we were together for a long time, but she's not here. She's nothing to worry about."
(Remember this statement for another part in this series.)
I didn't even say anything because at this point, we were halfway through our project, I had quit my job to focus on it full time, and let's face it, if ain't broke--don't try to fix it.
My birthday party was coming around the corner and he showed up as I was getting dressed. I am plastered. Four or five of my girls were in the house getting dressed also and they are all looking to see what's in his hand. It's my gift.
He says, "Wear these, tonight." He leaves to go get dressed.
I open the bag and diamond earrings stare back at me. I'm in love.
We get to my party and him and a friend show up. The party was amazing. My favorite girls were there, my extended family. I'm dressed well. I can't complain. Now it's time to after party.
And here's where things get strange.
We leave to go to another spot and he says he's not going. I can understand that. But, I said I don't want to go either. I let him know that I wanted to go with him. But he doesn't let me. He insists that I party with the girls and have a good time. I'm pissed.
But you know me, a few shots later. I'm over it.
(Remember this incident for later in this series.)
Now. Six months later, our project is still going on (I can't tell you the project because...well...it's just I can't put in all the details. Some of you already know what it was....but for the others, let's just say it was big). I'm going hard on the project and it's finally blossoming to completion or where we want it to be.
He's excited. So am I. The date rolls around and we are having a discussion inside the project. (LOL) He always messes with me, and he says, "Oh because of this project you think you bad hunh"?
I laugh.
"No, lol."
"You think you the baddest in BK hunh"?
"Oh please, no I don't."
"All the chicks are gonna hate on you though," he said.
"Yeah, all your chicks you mean."
"Well, one is probably really going to hate you," he replied. He"s staring out the window. I rarely see him in this humble manner. He's like a little boy. I can't figure out what he's getting at.
"What do you mean one"?
"Well I mean--"
I cut him off, I knew he was referring to his ex, "Oh her, why? You told her about the project"?
"Well yeah, she's just going to be pissed when she sees it."
"See," it dawned on me. What was he talking about? I was so confused. Why does it matter what we do I thought. Who is this chick? It clicked in my head and I asked, "Well how often do you see her"?
His response, was one of the sentences that literally was my first heartbreak.
He said, "I see her everyday."
338.
Right, Right, the girl. On the voicemail.
So I had to ask who the heck is that?!
He said when I asked him, "That's my ex-girlfriend. She lives in Maryland. I mean, we keep in touch, we were together for a long time, but she's not here. She's nothing to worry about."
(Remember this statement for another part in this series.)
I didn't even say anything because at this point, we were halfway through our project, I had quit my job to focus on it full time, and let's face it, if ain't broke--don't try to fix it.
My birthday party was coming around the corner and he showed up as I was getting dressed. I am plastered. Four or five of my girls were in the house getting dressed also and they are all looking to see what's in his hand. It's my gift.
He says, "Wear these, tonight." He leaves to go get dressed.
I open the bag and diamond earrings stare back at me. I'm in love.
We get to my party and him and a friend show up. The party was amazing. My favorite girls were there, my extended family. I'm dressed well. I can't complain. Now it's time to after party.
And here's where things get strange.
We leave to go to another spot and he says he's not going. I can understand that. But, I said I don't want to go either. I let him know that I wanted to go with him. But he doesn't let me. He insists that I party with the girls and have a good time. I'm pissed.
But you know me, a few shots later. I'm over it.
(Remember this incident for later in this series.)
Now. Six months later, our project is still going on (I can't tell you the project because...well...it's just I can't put in all the details. Some of you already know what it was....but for the others, let's just say it was big). I'm going hard on the project and it's finally blossoming to completion or where we want it to be.
He's excited. So am I. The date rolls around and we are having a discussion inside the project. (LOL) He always messes with me, and he says, "Oh because of this project you think you bad hunh"?
I laugh.
"No, lol."
"You think you the baddest in BK hunh"?
"Oh please, no I don't."
"All the chicks are gonna hate on you though," he said.
"Yeah, all your chicks you mean."
"Well, one is probably really going to hate you," he replied. He"s staring out the window. I rarely see him in this humble manner. He's like a little boy. I can't figure out what he's getting at.
"What do you mean one"?
"Well I mean--"
I cut him off, I knew he was referring to his ex, "Oh her, why? You told her about the project"?
"Well yeah, she's just going to be pissed when she sees it."
"See," it dawned on me. What was he talking about? I was so confused. Why does it matter what we do I thought. Who is this chick? It clicked in my head and I asked, "Well how often do you see her"?
His response, was one of the sentences that literally was my first heartbreak.
He said, "I see her everyday."
338.
The Funny Valentine
You thought it was The Papa Bear right?
Honestly, I will get back to him. I needed to take a break for a second. Around my birthday I always remember him the most, (he was the first man besides my father to buy me diamonds)....He's a sore spot...(Now you really want to know more...sigh)
Anyhoo, let's laugh for a moment.
I dated this dude back in the day and he was one of those crushes that you've had for so long that when you finally start dating you're like...wth was I thinking?
Mmmmhmmm. Raise your hand.
He lived in another state and we decided to link up for Valentine's Day in LA. Nice right?
So, in all the chaos of putting a last minute trip together, I volunteered to put the hotel in my name because not only do I not trust his taste in hotels but I don't trust his reservation skills.
Moving on.
We meet up in LA and I'm looking at him like...this is going to be a long weekend. But I put it behind me. Valentine's Day is the next day and I want to go to one of my favorite restaurants. Nice lighting, great atmosphere...fab location. I'm feeling it.
We sip on Shiraz (Sorry Drake doesn't rap about that-Google it honey) and munch on fresh pasta. I live. I get to giggling. I'm officially done. So, two bottles later, plates of food, dessert and a violinist later....The bill is ridiculous. He reaches for it. (Normal right?)
Now, you should know I'm one of the best people to go out with. No really. If I have it, I share it. Meaning I don't mind putting in on the bill. It doesn't bother me to treat you to a drink. It's nothing. I love a gentleman and I know how to spoil one. It's just my thing. Some women won't even reach in their purse--I'm not like that. Usually, real dudes won't even take my money. Some of them even find it insulting. Clearly, he is not one.
He looks down at the bill and goes, "Dang...I don't think my card is going to cover this."
A who a what a?
"What do you mean "cover,"?
"Well, like it's a lot."
*Rolls eyes*
"So how much do you have"?
"Well nothing really."
Is he serious? You traveled to another city and you don't have any money? I'm confused. Where they do that at?
I put my plastic down and I am PISSED, no for real livid.
It's cool though, I'm out of town. I want to enjoy myself. If you know me well, then it takes a lot to get me riled up to the point where I can't laugh at the situation. I'm such a free spirit and I don't let anyone take one of the most important things from me: peace.
I put my card down and request that we leave. You see that request? I'm in business mode now.
We get back to the hotel and I need to take a shower. Cool off. Sober up a bit so I can have an attitude clearly. It's hard to have an attitude with someone intoxicated, but I want to be nice and full blown diva.
I get out the shower and go into the main room. There is a smell so horrible that I can't even breathe. I look around the room to find the culprit. I look down and see that his shoes are off.
"What the eff is that smell"? *Screw face*
He looks real dumb and says "I dunno."
I look around and act like I'm going into my bag. I'm literally about to throw-up. Out the corner of my eye, this mikifiki is sliding his socks off and stuffing them in his shoes. He pushes them under the bed and gets up yawning, "Well...I'm a take a shower too."
I'm over it.
I gave him the look like, I suggest you not even breathe my way tonight...or EVER. I got up the next morning and spent the day in the airport. My flight wasn't until the afternoon but I went to fly stand-by I was so ready to get the heck out of there.
I touched down in New York City and shook my head. Only me.
But I laughed....until three days later I get the email from the hotel with the "incidentals" that were charged to my card...including the room fees.
You have got to be kidding me.....339
Honestly, I will get back to him. I needed to take a break for a second. Around my birthday I always remember him the most, (he was the first man besides my father to buy me diamonds)....He's a sore spot...(Now you really want to know more...sigh)
Anyhoo, let's laugh for a moment.
I dated this dude back in the day and he was one of those crushes that you've had for so long that when you finally start dating you're like...wth was I thinking?
Mmmmhmmm. Raise your hand.
He lived in another state and we decided to link up for Valentine's Day in LA. Nice right?
So, in all the chaos of putting a last minute trip together, I volunteered to put the hotel in my name because not only do I not trust his taste in hotels but I don't trust his reservation skills.
Moving on.
We meet up in LA and I'm looking at him like...this is going to be a long weekend. But I put it behind me. Valentine's Day is the next day and I want to go to one of my favorite restaurants. Nice lighting, great atmosphere...fab location. I'm feeling it.
We sip on Shiraz (Sorry Drake doesn't rap about that-Google it honey) and munch on fresh pasta. I live. I get to giggling. I'm officially done. So, two bottles later, plates of food, dessert and a violinist later....The bill is ridiculous. He reaches for it. (Normal right?)
Now, you should know I'm one of the best people to go out with. No really. If I have it, I share it. Meaning I don't mind putting in on the bill. It doesn't bother me to treat you to a drink. It's nothing. I love a gentleman and I know how to spoil one. It's just my thing. Some women won't even reach in their purse--I'm not like that. Usually, real dudes won't even take my money. Some of them even find it insulting. Clearly, he is not one.
He looks down at the bill and goes, "Dang...I don't think my card is going to cover this."
A who a what a?
"What do you mean "cover,"?
"Well, like it's a lot."
*Rolls eyes*
"So how much do you have"?
"Well nothing really."
Is he serious? You traveled to another city and you don't have any money? I'm confused. Where they do that at?
I put my plastic down and I am PISSED, no for real livid.
It's cool though, I'm out of town. I want to enjoy myself. If you know me well, then it takes a lot to get me riled up to the point where I can't laugh at the situation. I'm such a free spirit and I don't let anyone take one of the most important things from me: peace.
I put my card down and request that we leave. You see that request? I'm in business mode now.
We get back to the hotel and I need to take a shower. Cool off. Sober up a bit so I can have an attitude clearly. It's hard to have an attitude with someone intoxicated, but I want to be nice and full blown diva.
I get out the shower and go into the main room. There is a smell so horrible that I can't even breathe. I look around the room to find the culprit. I look down and see that his shoes are off.
"What the eff is that smell"? *Screw face*
He looks real dumb and says "I dunno."
I look around and act like I'm going into my bag. I'm literally about to throw-up. Out the corner of my eye, this mikifiki is sliding his socks off and stuffing them in his shoes. He pushes them under the bed and gets up yawning, "Well...I'm a take a shower too."
I'm over it.
I gave him the look like, I suggest you not even breathe my way tonight...or EVER. I got up the next morning and spent the day in the airport. My flight wasn't until the afternoon but I went to fly stand-by I was so ready to get the heck out of there.
I touched down in New York City and shook my head. Only me.
But I laughed....until three days later I get the email from the hotel with the "incidentals" that were charged to my card...including the room fees.
You have got to be kidding me.....339
The Papa Bear, Part II
You ever met someone so smart, I mean so smart that they don't even show it, but you know it?
The Papa Bear knows everything. I'm convinced to this day. Even when he pretends he doesn't...he does. After that night I got his information, we were like peaches & cream. It just fit.
Our personalities were so similar that my friends agreed that we were made to meet. Over the course of a few months, he had became my best friend. There was nothing that I kept from him, or felt like I couldn't tell him.
Memorial Day '06 rolled around, and Mandee, Shanti and I decided to drive (yes, drive) to Miami...last minute decision. The Papa Bear and his boys had already flown down and I was dying to get into the city so we could relax and party it up.
The minute we got to Miami. I'm like everybody get dressed. We need to get to Mansion now!
We get to Mansion and I'm walking around, searching looking and where else are they, on the stage....My girls are over me. Sorry. I was on a mission. After the club, I mean it was only natural that I disappear. The Bentley pulls up and I'm throwing up the deuces to the girls and going about my business.
Yeah, ummm I got cussed out for that one. Mandee was pissed because I left them to take a cab back to the hotel, and I'm pretty sure she called me everything but a child of God. As matter of fact I remember her saying, "If you want to leave with him, then you need to come get your sh!t and fly back with him"!
Trust me, I was tempted. We got over the fork in the road...and enjoyed our vacation. One of the many vacays that I look back on and smile...good times.
Moving on...
July 4th comes around and I'm sick. Like in the bed sick, no bashments, bbq or even going back to Chicago...The Papa Bear is in the streets as usual, and comes to my house. Plastered.
"You know I was thinking," he says. "I thought about you and I thought to myself, I love her. Like, I love you."
It was one of the sweetest things I think I had heard in a long time. I didn't quite respond, well because I couldn't. I didn't want to say it right then. The following weekend he was leaving to go out of town and he called me from the plane while he was boarding...
"Hey, I'm on my way out. Just boarded."
"Okay, cool," I said. "Be safe, call me when you get there....and hey,"
"Yes," he responded.
"I love you back."
The flight attendant comes through and says, "Sir, please put your phone away."
"Wait...wait this is crazy he laughs."
We hang up.
Ahhh memories.
Fast forward to a month later...and we decided to start a project together. It was only natural. My drive, his ambition, we were destined for greatness. In the process we ended up getting on the same phone plan and I of course was getting the bills. One week, he went over his minutes so I decided to look at the dialed calls. Funny, right after my number there would be another number. Or right after that one there would be mine. Always. This number would show up every time my number did, almost the same length of time. I did what every girl would do. Called Shanti into the room to dial the number.
A girl was on the voicemail.
340.
The Papa Bear knows everything. I'm convinced to this day. Even when he pretends he doesn't...he does. After that night I got his information, we were like peaches & cream. It just fit.
Our personalities were so similar that my friends agreed that we were made to meet. Over the course of a few months, he had became my best friend. There was nothing that I kept from him, or felt like I couldn't tell him.
Memorial Day '06 rolled around, and Mandee, Shanti and I decided to drive (yes, drive) to Miami...last minute decision. The Papa Bear and his boys had already flown down and I was dying to get into the city so we could relax and party it up.
The minute we got to Miami. I'm like everybody get dressed. We need to get to Mansion now!
We get to Mansion and I'm walking around, searching looking and where else are they, on the stage....My girls are over me. Sorry. I was on a mission. After the club, I mean it was only natural that I disappear. The Bentley pulls up and I'm throwing up the deuces to the girls and going about my business.
Yeah, ummm I got cussed out for that one. Mandee was pissed because I left them to take a cab back to the hotel, and I'm pretty sure she called me everything but a child of God. As matter of fact I remember her saying, "If you want to leave with him, then you need to come get your sh!t and fly back with him"!
Trust me, I was tempted. We got over the fork in the road...and enjoyed our vacation. One of the many vacays that I look back on and smile...good times.
Moving on...
July 4th comes around and I'm sick. Like in the bed sick, no bashments, bbq or even going back to Chicago...The Papa Bear is in the streets as usual, and comes to my house. Plastered.
"You know I was thinking," he says. "I thought about you and I thought to myself, I love her. Like, I love you."
It was one of the sweetest things I think I had heard in a long time. I didn't quite respond, well because I couldn't. I didn't want to say it right then. The following weekend he was leaving to go out of town and he called me from the plane while he was boarding...
"Hey, I'm on my way out. Just boarded."
"Okay, cool," I said. "Be safe, call me when you get there....and hey,"
"Yes," he responded.
"I love you back."
The flight attendant comes through and says, "Sir, please put your phone away."
"Wait...wait this is crazy he laughs."
We hang up.
Ahhh memories.
Fast forward to a month later...and we decided to start a project together. It was only natural. My drive, his ambition, we were destined for greatness. In the process we ended up getting on the same phone plan and I of course was getting the bills. One week, he went over his minutes so I decided to look at the dialed calls. Funny, right after my number there would be another number. Or right after that one there would be mine. Always. This number would show up every time my number did, almost the same length of time. I did what every girl would do. Called Shanti into the room to dial the number.
A girl was on the voicemail.
340.
The Papa Bear, Part I
There was this Russian girl in my English class that could "read" things about people. One day we came to class, and I had been known to mess with the professor. You know, make him laugh, tell a joke. Today she goes, don't mess with him today, he's frustrated. I feel like he lost something, it will frustrate him. The professor came into class and passed back papers. Suddenly, he missed this one girl. He couldn't find her essay. He sat at the desk frustrated and looked through all of his files. "I never lose anything," he mumbled. I looked at her, and she giggled.
One day she looked at my palm and told me that two people left marks on my life and my heart. Today...I start my series on The Scar & The Papa Bear. I could never sum up these two in a year's worth of posts...but I will try to let you in.
Let's start with The Papa Bear.
In 2003 me and the girls went to Miami for Memorial Day. At the time, I was still living in Chicago. We had a ball that year. I met this guy from New York. He was funny. So flashy. Super extra. We were so a like. We hung out on the strip, laughed, kicked it, you know regular Miami vacay. Of course, after the trip we never kept in touch.
In 2004, I had moved to New York. I thought about that guy but never really thought anything else about it. April 16, 2006, Shanti and I decided to got to Reign. It was Easter Sunday, I felt like hanging out. Funny, how I remember the date exactly. I even remember what I had on...Arden B. top, who cares what it looked like, their tops are all the same every season just in different colors...jeans..Choos...thread earrings, fresh mohawk...and killer eye shadow. Just like it was yesterday.
I'm sitting in the VIP section chilling with Shanti, having a good time. We order a bottle, things are good. We are letting loose. Then I saw him. The same guy from three years ago in Miami, is standing directly across from me. Still extra. Still flashy. Still hilarious.
I send Shanti to go ask him if his name was...You know I had to be sure. She comes back with the confirmation. Ten minutes later, he's in front of me. "I see you shorty, you look good, mad different, you're fly...look at cha mohawk. I love it." He's so New York. Everyone's having a good time..we're laughing, dancing...looking...I'm looking...looking closely at the middle of the dance floor. He's all in this other dude's face. His face is screwed up. I lean over to Shanti and say, "Yo, they about to get into it." She looks up and says, "Oh please, they are playing." She continues to dance. But I know playing when I see it. This is not it. Next thing I know this light skin dude comes from on top of a booth like superman and decks the dude that The Papa Bear is snarling at. I'm frozen. His whole crew starts molly-whopping this poor kid and the VIP section spills out and everyone is in disarray.
The VIP section unfortunately has a poor exit plan. It's up stairs and there are two walls on either side. I turn around...Shanti has scaled the wall in her heels and has hopped over because the exit is full. She pauses and remembers to look for me. I'm now attempting to scale the wall. It's not going so smoothly. She has to run and catch me. We exit the club and get to the car safely...but I can't leave...I ask her to pull around. I can't leave without his information.
Going back to get his information...became one of the best and worst decisions of my life. Literally.
341.
One day she looked at my palm and told me that two people left marks on my life and my heart. Today...I start my series on The Scar & The Papa Bear. I could never sum up these two in a year's worth of posts...but I will try to let you in.
Let's start with The Papa Bear.
In 2003 me and the girls went to Miami for Memorial Day. At the time, I was still living in Chicago. We had a ball that year. I met this guy from New York. He was funny. So flashy. Super extra. We were so a like. We hung out on the strip, laughed, kicked it, you know regular Miami vacay. Of course, after the trip we never kept in touch.
In 2004, I had moved to New York. I thought about that guy but never really thought anything else about it. April 16, 2006, Shanti and I decided to got to Reign. It was Easter Sunday, I felt like hanging out. Funny, how I remember the date exactly. I even remember what I had on...Arden B. top, who cares what it looked like, their tops are all the same every season just in different colors...jeans..Choos...thread earrings, fresh mohawk...and killer eye shadow. Just like it was yesterday.
I'm sitting in the VIP section chilling with Shanti, having a good time. We order a bottle, things are good. We are letting loose. Then I saw him. The same guy from three years ago in Miami, is standing directly across from me. Still extra. Still flashy. Still hilarious.
I send Shanti to go ask him if his name was...You know I had to be sure. She comes back with the confirmation. Ten minutes later, he's in front of me. "I see you shorty, you look good, mad different, you're fly...look at cha mohawk. I love it." He's so New York. Everyone's having a good time..we're laughing, dancing...looking...I'm looking...looking closely at the middle of the dance floor. He's all in this other dude's face. His face is screwed up. I lean over to Shanti and say, "Yo, they about to get into it." She looks up and says, "Oh please, they are playing." She continues to dance. But I know playing when I see it. This is not it. Next thing I know this light skin dude comes from on top of a booth like superman and decks the dude that The Papa Bear is snarling at. I'm frozen. His whole crew starts molly-whopping this poor kid and the VIP section spills out and everyone is in disarray.
The VIP section unfortunately has a poor exit plan. It's up stairs and there are two walls on either side. I turn around...Shanti has scaled the wall in her heels and has hopped over because the exit is full. She pauses and remembers to look for me. I'm now attempting to scale the wall. It's not going so smoothly. She has to run and catch me. We exit the club and get to the car safely...but I can't leave...I ask her to pull around. I can't leave without his information.
Going back to get his information...became one of the best and worst decisions of my life. Literally.
341.
The One That Got Away
I was so young...and dumb.
At least I can admit it right?
I can't even remember how we met, but he was so....grown. No for real. He was working on his Masters and I was in undergrad. A sophomore. So young....and dumb.
We started dating and it was cool. You know off campus house, car....he was so...grown.
Anyhoo, one Halloween he called me up to go the movies. Of course, I agreed. But me and my friends had this party to go to. On this campus, Halloween is like one of the biggest events of the year. The streets shut down. Everyone dresses up. It goes DOWN. Me and a friend I think were going as "the bomb," that year. I know right, what the heck is that. We both wore all black and made wicks out of masking tape. Then we taped to her back Tic, Tic, Tic and then to my back, BOOM! I know so young....and dumb.
I can remember what I wore exactly to his house. I had borrowed this jean skirt from my girl and this sweater. Smelling good, you know playing grown up. I remember he said, "You look cute...you trying to tell me I need to get dressed"?
So, we get to the movies, had dinner...it's now getting late. I'm dying to get to this party because I'm young...and dumb. On the way from the movies, I remember what song was playing. It was Jill Scott. He said, "Are you coming home or going back to campus"?
Did you catch that? The man said, home...not are you going to your house. But he had distinguished his house and campus. But I was so young...and dumb. I was over his house often. Studied there, spent nights there, cooking, hanging out. WTF! I want to smack myself because instead of appreciating what he wanted to build with me....I said, "Back to campus. I got somewhere to go."
I know, I know, you all just shook your heads...ugh.
So like a idiot I don't go home and go party....I think I ended up passing out somewhere....
*sigh*
Things slowed up slightly, because I was so young...(say it with me) and dumb...
I ended up leaving that school and going back to Chicago for a while. As he was building his career, he was in Chicago often and would call me up. We always ended up doing "lunch."
But I was still...okay, okay, you get the point.
Anyway, fast forward to my move to NY. Randomly I decided to look him up. Don't you love google? So we chit chat back and forth via email....I just went back to read them. SMH. I was a fool.
Until...a few months later. I got an email. There were about six or seven other girls names in the email and one guy. It was from him. The letter read, something to the effect of, I haven't been honest with myself, or my family. I have been keeping in contact with you and I have in turn hurt my wife and my children. Please don't contact me, as I will not be contacting you. Some other blah, blah and the damn thing ended with...."No response needed."
I was speechless. I didn't even know what to make of it. I hadn't seen or talk to him in at least three or four years to say the least and on top of that, wife and children? And I couldn't respond, because he left the "no response needed," comment (I use that all the time now--you shut everybody down with that) leaving us no choice but to throw that email in the trash and keep it moving. But as all this was going through my head, and I contemplated how I could bump into him one day so I could ask in person. One thing popped in my head: Why in the hell was there one dude addressed in the email?
342.
At least I can admit it right?
I can't even remember how we met, but he was so....grown. No for real. He was working on his Masters and I was in undergrad. A sophomore. So young....and dumb.
We started dating and it was cool. You know off campus house, car....he was so...grown.
Anyhoo, one Halloween he called me up to go the movies. Of course, I agreed. But me and my friends had this party to go to. On this campus, Halloween is like one of the biggest events of the year. The streets shut down. Everyone dresses up. It goes DOWN. Me and a friend I think were going as "the bomb," that year. I know right, what the heck is that. We both wore all black and made wicks out of masking tape. Then we taped to her back Tic, Tic, Tic and then to my back, BOOM! I know so young....and dumb.
I can remember what I wore exactly to his house. I had borrowed this jean skirt from my girl and this sweater. Smelling good, you know playing grown up. I remember he said, "You look cute...you trying to tell me I need to get dressed"?
So, we get to the movies, had dinner...it's now getting late. I'm dying to get to this party because I'm young...and dumb. On the way from the movies, I remember what song was playing. It was Jill Scott. He said, "Are you coming home or going back to campus"?
Did you catch that? The man said, home...not are you going to your house. But he had distinguished his house and campus. But I was so young...and dumb. I was over his house often. Studied there, spent nights there, cooking, hanging out. WTF! I want to smack myself because instead of appreciating what he wanted to build with me....I said, "Back to campus. I got somewhere to go."
I know, I know, you all just shook your heads...ugh.
So like a idiot I don't go home and go party....I think I ended up passing out somewhere....
*sigh*
Things slowed up slightly, because I was so young...(say it with me) and dumb...
I ended up leaving that school and going back to Chicago for a while. As he was building his career, he was in Chicago often and would call me up. We always ended up doing "lunch."
But I was still...okay, okay, you get the point.
Anyway, fast forward to my move to NY. Randomly I decided to look him up. Don't you love google? So we chit chat back and forth via email....I just went back to read them. SMH. I was a fool.
Until...a few months later. I got an email. There were about six or seven other girls names in the email and one guy. It was from him. The letter read, something to the effect of, I haven't been honest with myself, or my family. I have been keeping in contact with you and I have in turn hurt my wife and my children. Please don't contact me, as I will not be contacting you. Some other blah, blah and the damn thing ended with...."No response needed."
I was speechless. I didn't even know what to make of it. I hadn't seen or talk to him in at least three or four years to say the least and on top of that, wife and children? And I couldn't respond, because he left the "no response needed," comment (I use that all the time now--you shut everybody down with that) leaving us no choice but to throw that email in the trash and keep it moving. But as all this was going through my head, and I contemplated how I could bump into him one day so I could ask in person. One thing popped in my head: Why in the hell was there one dude addressed in the email?
342.
What's Your Type?
I've had several "dates" ask me if they would end up on the blog.
Mandee's response to that was, "That's some b!tch 'ish right there. What dude asks if he's going to be on a blog"?!
You have no idea.
I made a random comment to one and his response was, "Trying to find material for your blog"? Funny, I have a whole rap sheet on him. The last thing I need is more material.
And I'm not looking for material....it so happens my life is funny. Or at least I find it to be.It's not a bad thing to end up in my writing, you may even consider it a compliment. It means somehow, some way you have made an impact on my life, whether good or bad and I'm pretty sure the world will find you hilarious. Because I did.
Moving on.
There's the cutest girl at my job. She's hilarious. She started reading the blog this week and finds it funny. Last night before we left work we got to talking about what type of guys I date and it made me think...What's my type?
We've all had this discussion hundreds and hundreds of times. Some people say oh he needs to be this and that and look like this and talk like that. I've said it before too. And then you have the "self-proclaimed" advice coaches who say, throw your list out the window! You can't put a label on the person you want to be with! You never know who you will end up with. And I say to them....Go jump in the lake.
I'm sorry, I may not have a "type" so to speak. But I damn sure have a standard....and another list of things I don't tolerate. I mean sure I've grown enough to be flexible and I've grown enough to know that there is no perfect "man," but I'm sorry some things are important to me.
I've gotten into heated discussions before because one of things on my list is a man who can "match my fly," so to speak. He has to be stylish, he has to have some sense of fashion and it's just something I prefer. Now, that's not a deal breaker. I mean that can always change, or you can change that in other words. But if the world were mine...he would be able to dress himself....well.
But here's the point...we all have a list. Even if you say you don't, you do. And to me, that's okay. Without a standard or measure, you probably will go around dating anything. And I mean that in the nicest way. With a list (not necessarily a type) I think it means you've gotten so comfortable with yourself that, you know who you are, what you like, what you're about and an idea of who you would get along with. That's cool. But don't be afraid if someone who totally doesn't "fit" your mold approaches you. It may be worth detouring from the list.
I must admit, one of the reasons why I'm single is because of that standard. I'm sure plenty of men have approached me or we began to date and I found something that I wouldn't tolerate about them. On one hand I may hinder my own advancement, but on the other I uphold a standard that I for one am comfortable with.
What's your type?.....343
Mandee's response to that was, "That's some b!tch 'ish right there. What dude asks if he's going to be on a blog"?!
You have no idea.
I made a random comment to one and his response was, "Trying to find material for your blog"? Funny, I have a whole rap sheet on him. The last thing I need is more material.
And I'm not looking for material....it so happens my life is funny. Or at least I find it to be.It's not a bad thing to end up in my writing, you may even consider it a compliment. It means somehow, some way you have made an impact on my life, whether good or bad and I'm pretty sure the world will find you hilarious. Because I did.
Moving on.
There's the cutest girl at my job. She's hilarious. She started reading the blog this week and finds it funny. Last night before we left work we got to talking about what type of guys I date and it made me think...What's my type?
We've all had this discussion hundreds and hundreds of times. Some people say oh he needs to be this and that and look like this and talk like that. I've said it before too. And then you have the "self-proclaimed" advice coaches who say, throw your list out the window! You can't put a label on the person you want to be with! You never know who you will end up with. And I say to them....Go jump in the lake.
I'm sorry, I may not have a "type" so to speak. But I damn sure have a standard....and another list of things I don't tolerate. I mean sure I've grown enough to be flexible and I've grown enough to know that there is no perfect "man," but I'm sorry some things are important to me.
I've gotten into heated discussions before because one of things on my list is a man who can "match my fly," so to speak. He has to be stylish, he has to have some sense of fashion and it's just something I prefer. Now, that's not a deal breaker. I mean that can always change, or you can change that in other words. But if the world were mine...he would be able to dress himself....well.
But here's the point...we all have a list. Even if you say you don't, you do. And to me, that's okay. Without a standard or measure, you probably will go around dating anything. And I mean that in the nicest way. With a list (not necessarily a type) I think it means you've gotten so comfortable with yourself that, you know who you are, what you like, what you're about and an idea of who you would get along with. That's cool. But don't be afraid if someone who totally doesn't "fit" your mold approaches you. It may be worth detouring from the list.
I must admit, one of the reasons why I'm single is because of that standard. I'm sure plenty of men have approached me or we began to date and I found something that I wouldn't tolerate about them. On one hand I may hinder my own advancement, but on the other I uphold a standard that I for one am comfortable with.
What's your type?.....343
What Can You Bring?
I know you've been reading and waiting for the next victim on my blog. I decided to break a little bit with some of the great things I've been learning and thinking about. Hope you don't mind!
I know I have it together....well sort of. I've spent the last decade of my life, doing well, essentially whatever I wanted. I've owned a business, traveled, not worked, worked, rubbed elbows with the elite and famous, the list goes on. And I must say, I've been in love. But now that I have been single for the past 2 years or so, I've been really evaluating where I am, and where I want to be.
As I turn the corner on my birthday, I realized a few weeks ago that I know that I need to start preparing for the next decade that I may be blessed with. That includes a serious relationship, husband and maybe even children. And yes, I prefer that order. But I said what am I bringing to this equation?
Well first of all, I thought, I'm college trained, I have my own place, I'm independent, extremely talented,you know. Then I said, I'm very giving, loving and kind and then I said, I have a healthy relationship with God, have very high morals and standards and I essentially think I'm a great catch for the right person. And then...I went to church Sunday and randomly enough, my Pastor, A.R. Bernard said something profound.
He asked, what's the best thing you can bring to the relationship? We all said, love, loyalty, trust, being there...the list goes on. He said, while all those things are great....the best thing you can bring to a relationship is to GET A LIFE!
It's funny when you think about it. But really. You must come to the point where you want to be in a relationship and have a life. That means in every aspect, spiritually, emotionally, physically. All of them. Have friends, have a relationship with God, be secure. You know be your own person. Lyfe Jennings said it, "Don't be a nickel looking for a dime." Because if you don't have a life--you enter into a relationship looking for one and drain the other person. If you have one and they don't....they drain you. You know what I'm talking about. You've been there. Two months later, you're tired of the person (well at least I am, for some reason or another) and you chalk it up to incompatibility. While that may be true also, it could be someone doesn't have a life.
You get into a relationship not to discover a life, but to bring your life with theirs and start a new one....
I know, I know, that's good aint it??
Annnndd here's the kicker....Let's say you're like me, you have a life and you're single...it's probably because--you either don't want to share an aspect of your life with someone or vice versa. And if you are not ready to share an aspect of the "life" you have--then you don't need to be in a relationship anyway....(ouuu that one stung).
He was so right. I'll stop talking to someone because they have fat hands (No, really I've done it before) and couldn't quite figure out why. Truth is, I'm so busy, trying to be "busy" I haven't given anyone a real chance to share an aspect of my life. On top of that--the men that I have dated (some) weren't ready to do the same either.
HmmmMmmmm...*waves church fan* Preach Girl! Preach!
So...I say all that to say. I have a new outlook as I turn a year older. I'm continuing to set up my life, and the next person that I may consider dating, I'm asking one question: "Do you have a life"?
344.
I know I have it together....well sort of. I've spent the last decade of my life, doing well, essentially whatever I wanted. I've owned a business, traveled, not worked, worked, rubbed elbows with the elite and famous, the list goes on. And I must say, I've been in love. But now that I have been single for the past 2 years or so, I've been really evaluating where I am, and where I want to be.
As I turn the corner on my birthday, I realized a few weeks ago that I know that I need to start preparing for the next decade that I may be blessed with. That includes a serious relationship, husband and maybe even children. And yes, I prefer that order. But I said what am I bringing to this equation?
Well first of all, I thought, I'm college trained, I have my own place, I'm independent, extremely talented,you know. Then I said, I'm very giving, loving and kind and then I said, I have a healthy relationship with God, have very high morals and standards and I essentially think I'm a great catch for the right person. And then...I went to church Sunday and randomly enough, my Pastor, A.R. Bernard said something profound.
He asked, what's the best thing you can bring to the relationship? We all said, love, loyalty, trust, being there...the list goes on. He said, while all those things are great....the best thing you can bring to a relationship is to GET A LIFE!
It's funny when you think about it. But really. You must come to the point where you want to be in a relationship and have a life. That means in every aspect, spiritually, emotionally, physically. All of them. Have friends, have a relationship with God, be secure. You know be your own person. Lyfe Jennings said it, "Don't be a nickel looking for a dime." Because if you don't have a life--you enter into a relationship looking for one and drain the other person. If you have one and they don't....they drain you. You know what I'm talking about. You've been there. Two months later, you're tired of the person (well at least I am, for some reason or another) and you chalk it up to incompatibility. While that may be true also, it could be someone doesn't have a life.
You get into a relationship not to discover a life, but to bring your life with theirs and start a new one....
I know, I know, that's good aint it??
Annnndd here's the kicker....Let's say you're like me, you have a life and you're single...it's probably because--you either don't want to share an aspect of your life with someone or vice versa. And if you are not ready to share an aspect of the "life" you have--then you don't need to be in a relationship anyway....(ouuu that one stung).
He was so right. I'll stop talking to someone because they have fat hands (No, really I've done it before) and couldn't quite figure out why. Truth is, I'm so busy, trying to be "busy" I haven't given anyone a real chance to share an aspect of my life. On top of that--the men that I have dated (some) weren't ready to do the same either.
HmmmMmmmm...*waves church fan* Preach Girl! Preach!
So...I say all that to say. I have a new outlook as I turn a year older. I'm continuing to set up my life, and the next person that I may consider dating, I'm asking one question: "Do you have a life"?
344.
If You Were a Man,Would You Date Your Girlfriend?
I borrowed this from Erica Renee on Madame Noire. Interesting Read. What do you think?
According to some men, finding a good woman isn’t as easy as we would like to believe. We often hear complaints, from our girlfriends or even ourselves, about the lack of quality men in the choosing pool. Well, news flash ladies, some men have the same argument. Just because you’re educated, self-sufficient, and consider yourself a ‘trophy,’ doesn’t mean men are as impressed as you think. Actually nowadays, those characteristics are more prevalent than not.
We look at the women around us who are just as beautiful, educated, and self-sufficient as ourselves and think men have it easy. But emotional baggage, gold-digger qualities, over-independence, e.t.c. are characteristics we may overlook but men notice. So yes, your college-educated, independent best friend is both attractive and on the market but what about those qualities that even you as a best friend can’t stand? For the sake of this article, let’s reverse the roles. If you were a man, would you date your girlfriends? Let’s take it one step further, would you even date yourself?
Last week, self-proclaimed bad boy of radio, Michael Baisden raised this question to his female callers: would you date your girlfriends? Many of the callers’ answers were shocking, but more relevant than most of us ‘got it together’ women would like to believe. One woman strongly emphasized that although she loved her friends, she wouldn’t date any of them. The reasons: either they were too independent or not emotionally independent enough. Another lady confessed that most women are sneaky, conniving and looking for a man to ‘save them’ (so much for women sticking together).
In today’s society when most women are financially independent or at least on the path to becoming so, many men have become accustomed to beauty, education, financial independence, etc. What many men are complaining about has nothing to do with the superficial. Instead, it has everything to do with emotional stability, domestic values, and simply knowing how to treat a man.
So the next time you hear a man say that a good woman is hard to find, don’t be so quick to jump on the defensive end. Instead think about your girlfriend who complains about everything under the sun or your friend who is lugging around baggage from a high school relationship that happened years ago. Then evaluate those qualities that you need to work on, not only for a man, but for yourself.
I have to admit...I have beautiful friends, but I'm not so sure I would date them. Then I think to myself and today I realized that there are some things about me...that make me not want to date myself either....But on the other hand, knowing the things that I need to work on is half the battle right?....345
According to some men, finding a good woman isn’t as easy as we would like to believe. We often hear complaints, from our girlfriends or even ourselves, about the lack of quality men in the choosing pool. Well, news flash ladies, some men have the same argument. Just because you’re educated, self-sufficient, and consider yourself a ‘trophy,’ doesn’t mean men are as impressed as you think. Actually nowadays, those characteristics are more prevalent than not.
We look at the women around us who are just as beautiful, educated, and self-sufficient as ourselves and think men have it easy. But emotional baggage, gold-digger qualities, over-independence, e.t.c. are characteristics we may overlook but men notice. So yes, your college-educated, independent best friend is both attractive and on the market but what about those qualities that even you as a best friend can’t stand? For the sake of this article, let’s reverse the roles. If you were a man, would you date your girlfriends? Let’s take it one step further, would you even date yourself?
Last week, self-proclaimed bad boy of radio, Michael Baisden raised this question to his female callers: would you date your girlfriends? Many of the callers’ answers were shocking, but more relevant than most of us ‘got it together’ women would like to believe. One woman strongly emphasized that although she loved her friends, she wouldn’t date any of them. The reasons: either they were too independent or not emotionally independent enough. Another lady confessed that most women are sneaky, conniving and looking for a man to ‘save them’ (so much for women sticking together).
In today’s society when most women are financially independent or at least on the path to becoming so, many men have become accustomed to beauty, education, financial independence, etc. What many men are complaining about has nothing to do with the superficial. Instead, it has everything to do with emotional stability, domestic values, and simply knowing how to treat a man.
So the next time you hear a man say that a good woman is hard to find, don’t be so quick to jump on the defensive end. Instead think about your girlfriend who complains about everything under the sun or your friend who is lugging around baggage from a high school relationship that happened years ago. Then evaluate those qualities that you need to work on, not only for a man, but for yourself.
I have to admit...I have beautiful friends, but I'm not so sure I would date them. Then I think to myself and today I realized that there are some things about me...that make me not want to date myself either....But on the other hand, knowing the things that I need to work on is half the battle right?....345
The Grown Up Baby Boy
Never judge a book by it's cover.
Everything that glitters aint gold and everything shining aint a diamond...You see where I'm going with this right?
He worked in corporate America. Not just corporate America...but a Fortune 500 company, corner office, hell I was intimidated and that's pretty hard to do.
The first thing I ask myself when I meet men that are older, single, no children is why are they single? I mean, they may ask the same thing about me, but my reasoning is legit. There's....usually isn't.
There are usually a list of questions that most people ask right off the bat when they meet someone...Age? Location? What do you do? Children? Living situation? Something along those lines. I never like to judge right away, so I usually cover the age and what do you do section and let the chips fall where they may. Not a good idea.
Let's just skip over all the small talk, the first lunch date, you know blah, blah, blah.
Fast forward to the day he invited me to his office.
Nice. Fun guy, business orientated. I ask him his five year plan. I like.
There was a piece of the five year old plan that had my ears perk up..."I plan on finally leaving where I live and buying something in battery park..." I was stuck on this sentence. I had got wedged in between "finally leaving" and "where I live."
I know, you're thinking what I'm thinking....is he married and still lives with his wife? Does he have a roommate? And why is it finally? Like, have you been dying to leave there but haven't yet. I'm so confused. Before I could get nosy...he suggests that I come out to house for dinner. Ahhh, okay, a chance for me to be nosy.
So it's a nice summer night, you know how I feel about summer nights.
We're driving...we get to Long Island, we get to this beautiful house. No, I mean beautiful house. I'm from the suburbs, where there are vintage mansions, as a matter of fact a friend of mine had a ceiling so tall you could fit another house in the living room. His is nice.
Now I'm thinking to myself why are we entering in through the back door. You know the one next to the garage that leads to the kitchen...and yup...you guessed it. The basement.
Dude. You like a hunnid and two....you live in the basement?
Let's hear this story...
"You know, this is my house, you know, my mom's just live with me."
I don't even want to hear anymore. I'm not judging. Really. Honestly, if I were in my hometown, I'd seriously live with my parents still. No lie. But um, at his age, his stage of his career...you really live in the basement? To date or not to date?
347.
Everything that glitters aint gold and everything shining aint a diamond...You see where I'm going with this right?
He worked in corporate America. Not just corporate America...but a Fortune 500 company, corner office, hell I was intimidated and that's pretty hard to do.
The first thing I ask myself when I meet men that are older, single, no children is why are they single? I mean, they may ask the same thing about me, but my reasoning is legit. There's....usually isn't.
There are usually a list of questions that most people ask right off the bat when they meet someone...Age? Location? What do you do? Children? Living situation? Something along those lines. I never like to judge right away, so I usually cover the age and what do you do section and let the chips fall where they may. Not a good idea.
Let's just skip over all the small talk, the first lunch date, you know blah, blah, blah.
Fast forward to the day he invited me to his office.
Nice. Fun guy, business orientated. I ask him his five year plan. I like.
There was a piece of the five year old plan that had my ears perk up..."I plan on finally leaving where I live and buying something in battery park..." I was stuck on this sentence. I had got wedged in between "finally leaving" and "where I live."
I know, you're thinking what I'm thinking....is he married and still lives with his wife? Does he have a roommate? And why is it finally? Like, have you been dying to leave there but haven't yet. I'm so confused. Before I could get nosy...he suggests that I come out to house for dinner. Ahhh, okay, a chance for me to be nosy.
So it's a nice summer night, you know how I feel about summer nights.
We're driving...we get to Long Island, we get to this beautiful house. No, I mean beautiful house. I'm from the suburbs, where there are vintage mansions, as a matter of fact a friend of mine had a ceiling so tall you could fit another house in the living room. His is nice.
Now I'm thinking to myself why are we entering in through the back door. You know the one next to the garage that leads to the kitchen...and yup...you guessed it. The basement.
Dude. You like a hunnid and two....you live in the basement?
Let's hear this story...
"You know, this is my house, you know, my mom's just live with me."
I don't even want to hear anymore. I'm not judging. Really. Honestly, if I were in my hometown, I'd seriously live with my parents still. No lie. But um, at his age, his stage of his career...you really live in the basement? To date or not to date?
347.
The Bold One
Today's post is simple...but sweet. Well maybe not sweet. But short and to the point.
It was our first date.
He asked me have I ever been to Ten's. I hadn't, I had just moved to New York maybe a year before this date.
It's a summer night. Beautiful. If you have never been out on a New York summer night, I don't know what you have been doing with your life. It's as almost if God has kissed the sky to spread the clouds, sighed in amazement to push the breeze and opened his eyes to light the skyline. If you've got good company, then you've got a great night.
He's funny. Have you realized that, this is an important quality for me?
We ride across the bridge, top down...laughing, mmmmm....I can't complain.
We get to the city and he's like, my boys are hanging out at Ten's we are going to go and have some drinks and chill out.
We park and I get to the front door.
There are stairs and they are covered in red carpet and there's a bouncer standing outside. I haven't looked up yet.
He talks to the bouncer, and opens the door for me.
It's a strip club.
Now, really I'm not uncomfortable. It's cool. I mean, it is our first date. Buttt, I mean hey, good drinks, good company as I said before, and strippers. They are so interesting aren't they?
So I mean it's all good.
I'm one of those chicks that are really cool, and really down to earth. So I'm dancing, throwing his money around. Laughing with his friends. Kicking it.
Mayyybbbeee....I gave the impression that anything goes. I'm sure I did.
Because, we are leaving now...and we get in the car and he asks me did I think this one chick was sexy. I mean sure, in a stripper kind of way. He says okay.
We get down the block and he slams on the brakes, he goes, "Yeah, she was bad. Let's go back and get her and all go to my house."
*blank stare*
He was as serious as a heart attack.
"Bold aren't you"?
FML. Only me.
348.
It was our first date.
He asked me have I ever been to Ten's. I hadn't, I had just moved to New York maybe a year before this date.
It's a summer night. Beautiful. If you have never been out on a New York summer night, I don't know what you have been doing with your life. It's as almost if God has kissed the sky to spread the clouds, sighed in amazement to push the breeze and opened his eyes to light the skyline. If you've got good company, then you've got a great night.
He's funny. Have you realized that, this is an important quality for me?
We ride across the bridge, top down...laughing, mmmmm....I can't complain.
We get to the city and he's like, my boys are hanging out at Ten's we are going to go and have some drinks and chill out.
We park and I get to the front door.
There are stairs and they are covered in red carpet and there's a bouncer standing outside. I haven't looked up yet.
He talks to the bouncer, and opens the door for me.
It's a strip club.
Now, really I'm not uncomfortable. It's cool. I mean, it is our first date. Buttt, I mean hey, good drinks, good company as I said before, and strippers. They are so interesting aren't they?
So I mean it's all good.
I'm one of those chicks that are really cool, and really down to earth. So I'm dancing, throwing his money around. Laughing with his friends. Kicking it.
Mayyybbbeee....I gave the impression that anything goes. I'm sure I did.
Because, we are leaving now...and we get in the car and he asks me did I think this one chick was sexy. I mean sure, in a stripper kind of way. He says okay.
We get down the block and he slams on the brakes, he goes, "Yeah, she was bad. Let's go back and get her and all go to my house."
*blank stare*
He was as serious as a heart attack.
"Bold aren't you"?
FML. Only me.
348.
The I'm Confused
I met him in Vegas.
I had the opportunity to take one of my bestie's, Mandee to Vegas for her birthday. I needed to go for work and I figured it would be nice to take her with as she's in the fashion industry as well.
I can't remember where we all met at, she does, I know it, she's reading this going girl...at such and such...
Anyway, he was French...ahh and I mean like, tall, dark, handsome, accent, fluently speaking French. I live.
We hung out with him and his friends, good times.
On the day he was leaving, his cousin needed to drop him off at the airport, but they were still a little off from the night before.It was major early. He called me up, "Listen, can you guys ride in the car with us to the airport? My cousin will drop you back off at your hotel, he's fine, but it just would be nice to have someone in the car too."
Oh, so you want to kill us all?
We agree.
Randomly, he lives in the tri-state area and we vow to keep in touch.
We do.
We hang out a couple of times and he's cool. Besides the fact that he talks about work every five seconds and I have to drown him out for a full 10 minutes of the conversation, I can deal.
One day he lets me know that an extended family member is having a birthday party, bbq to be exact and that he wanted me to attend with him. Doesn't that sound like a date to you?
Now, I love to bake so I make some brownies, you know real wife type, I put on a sundress, and get ready to smile my way into my future! heh heh heh....
So he comes to pick me up and there's a guy in the front seat. Now...I'm thinking like okay, that's cool you brought your friend. But ummmm he needs to get in the back seat.
He doesn't.
Okay, okay. So let's reassess. This is a group trip, I'm adaptable.
They talk that voulez vous the whole way there. Thing is...I took French for seven years, so I'm not excluded, I'm just kind of like, hmmm I wanted a little pyt. Fast forward and we get to the party, introductions, smiles, you know how it goes and we pick a table outside. The I'm Confused goes around to politic with friends and family and I'm left at the table with the friend....
We are chit-chatting making small talk, but you know how you try to keep it real short so it's like, I am clearly interested in your friend.
So he says how he is in the city and that we should all hang out sometime, kick it, go out. Now, I'm sitting there like wait...am I open game? What is this? You know how you meet a group of dudes and they are all cool? Like it's real chill and it's clear that you talk to one of them, but you are cool with the other ones? No? Me either.
So now I'm looking around real odd like, looking for The I'm confused....time for him to return. ASAP.
The friend goes to find him first and they are in the corner talking....I'm so confused. Am I on a date? Is this just platonic? What's up him and the friend?
I sneak away to call my mom. She was the only one who could assess this situation. Now if you think I'm funny...You can't even deal with her.
She says, "Are they gay"?!?
Aww...dammit Gina! I didn't even think of that. He can't be, nooo, could he? Wait. I replay the afternoon in my head, you know how a video rewinds. But then I'm like nooo, because the friend asks me for my number......I live for "the boys." Wait, is he?
I'm so confused. 349.
The Belly Boy
I keep thinking I'm going to run out of stories. But then I think of some the dumb 'ish that someone does to or with me and I go nahhh...I could do this for days.
I'm walking on campus swinging my curls. It's spring time. Beautiful out. Here comes a baby light skin coming towards me.
He. is. gorgeous. Great smile. Body. Nice. Looks like he takes care of himself...I like. I give him the eye and keep walking.
It comes a time when you can appreciate a cute face and keep it moving.
He wouldn't let me keep moving. He calls me back and I can't resist. We chit chat a little and exchange information.
If you know me, then you have to know that I have horrible phone etiquette. Meaning, sometimes I won't even answer, sometimes it takes me an hour to text back. Sometimes, I will completely forget to text you back at all. It's not that I don't love you dearly, it's just that I'm a little ADD. Once I'm doing something, I'm probably doing a hundred other things too.
I say that all to say, I never got a real chance to sit and text talk to him. We went back and forth a couple of times and then finally we had a lengthy convo.
During that convo, this comes up, he says, "Who you live with"? I respond. "Myself..." His response, "Ohhh, well you need to invite me over."
Really?
Then he says, "Send me a pic of your stomach."
What?
"It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a woman. It's just a pic," he says.
Do I look twelve? I tell him, that I'm not interested in holding my cell phone away from my stomach and sending him a picture. I'm good. He says fine.
Sooo a few weeks pass by and I'm dealing with finals, school stuff, looking for summer work and a plethora of other things on my plate, so I haven't gotten back to him in a minute. One day I'm online, and he's online.
"What's up, we haven't hung out yet, you need to just invite me over."
We back on that?
I ask, "Why do you want to come to my house? What's up with this invite me over"?
"So I can eat you," He replies.
*blank stare*
"Umm no." I reply.
He asks, "You don't want me to? Why not"?
"Umm because I don't even know you."
"Well then, why'd you get my number"?
"Ummm to get to know you," I reply.
"Okay, send me a stomach pic."
*rolls eyes*
"No."
"Fine," and he logs off.
Really? I really want to know what females are allowing dudes to say stuff to them. Like what type of conversations are they having that makes these dudes think it's okay to say that out loud.
I had forgot about the conversation and I remembered that he ran, so one day I randomly text like, "I need a running buddy, what's up"?
He says, "Oh now you need me. lol. You don't need to run."
I say, "I do, I like to eat, it helps keep me toned and healthy."
I had forgot about this one.
"Send me a stomach pic." -_-
Maybe, it's me. But what is it with this sending a pic of the stomach. The only thing I can think of is like 16 year old girls who take pictures of themselves and then send it to dudes after they exchange numbers. But I'm grown. Like does he think that because he met me on campus I'm a young, wild, college thang? Well, I mean I am. but still. I'm not 18, and no where near in the same category, in no way shape or form. Me and those girls are not even in the same tax bracket let alone same mind frame. I'm over it.
"Okay now that's starting to weird me out."
"Why"? He says. "It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a female."
"I am not sending you a stomach pic, I'm not inviting you over, I'm not on that."
"Okay, well we can run next week."
I'm standing there looking at the text and was just like whatever.
Ten minutes later......
"Send me a pic of your stomach."
FML. 350.
I'm walking on campus swinging my curls. It's spring time. Beautiful out. Here comes a baby light skin coming towards me.
He. is. gorgeous. Great smile. Body. Nice. Looks like he takes care of himself...I like. I give him the eye and keep walking.
It comes a time when you can appreciate a cute face and keep it moving.
He wouldn't let me keep moving. He calls me back and I can't resist. We chit chat a little and exchange information.
If you know me, then you have to know that I have horrible phone etiquette. Meaning, sometimes I won't even answer, sometimes it takes me an hour to text back. Sometimes, I will completely forget to text you back at all. It's not that I don't love you dearly, it's just that I'm a little ADD. Once I'm doing something, I'm probably doing a hundred other things too.
I say that all to say, I never got a real chance to sit and text talk to him. We went back and forth a couple of times and then finally we had a lengthy convo.
During that convo, this comes up, he says, "Who you live with"? I respond. "Myself..." His response, "Ohhh, well you need to invite me over."
Really?
Then he says, "Send me a pic of your stomach."
What?
"It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a woman. It's just a pic," he says.
Do I look twelve? I tell him, that I'm not interested in holding my cell phone away from my stomach and sending him a picture. I'm good. He says fine.
Sooo a few weeks pass by and I'm dealing with finals, school stuff, looking for summer work and a plethora of other things on my plate, so I haven't gotten back to him in a minute. One day I'm online, and he's online.
"What's up, we haven't hung out yet, you need to just invite me over."
We back on that?
I ask, "Why do you want to come to my house? What's up with this invite me over"?
"So I can eat you," He replies.
*blank stare*
"Umm no." I reply.
He asks, "You don't want me to? Why not"?
"Umm because I don't even know you."
"Well then, why'd you get my number"?
"Ummm to get to know you," I reply.
"Okay, send me a stomach pic."
*rolls eyes*
"No."
"Fine," and he logs off.
Really? I really want to know what females are allowing dudes to say stuff to them. Like what type of conversations are they having that makes these dudes think it's okay to say that out loud.
I had forgot about the conversation and I remembered that he ran, so one day I randomly text like, "I need a running buddy, what's up"?
He says, "Oh now you need me. lol. You don't need to run."
I say, "I do, I like to eat, it helps keep me toned and healthy."
I had forgot about this one.
"Send me a stomach pic." -_-
Maybe, it's me. But what is it with this sending a pic of the stomach. The only thing I can think of is like 16 year old girls who take pictures of themselves and then send it to dudes after they exchange numbers. But I'm grown. Like does he think that because he met me on campus I'm a young, wild, college thang? Well, I mean I am. but still. I'm not 18, and no where near in the same category, in no way shape or form. Me and those girls are not even in the same tax bracket let alone same mind frame. I'm over it.
"Okay now that's starting to weird me out."
"Why"? He says. "It's just my thing, I like stomachs on a female."
"I am not sending you a stomach pic, I'm not inviting you over, I'm not on that."
"Okay, well we can run next week."
I'm standing there looking at the text and was just like whatever.
Ten minutes later......
"Send me a pic of your stomach."
FML. 350.
The BBall Boo
Finally right?
There's something about an athlete that just gets my juices flowing. Maybe it's the discipline, possibly the determination and dedication or maybe it's the sweat that be dripping all over his booooddddy...Either way. I live.
I had to interview him for the paper. Well I didn't have to. I strategically placed myself in a position to interview him for the paper. His coach said that he was the person to get a story from. I'm down.
So we exchange information and I set up the interview. I have to drag every piece of information out of him. He's humble. I like that.
Real family type, real quiet, you know but firm, strong. He went to Iraq, I asked him about the experience and he said, "It shows you who you really are, some people go cry and hide in the corner and some people get it done, I like to think I'm someone who gets it done." Two snaps in a circle..How yooouuu doing?
Interviews done and of course the next day I get a text. We begin the text conversation. It's cool, you know, he's a good guy.
Fast forward and I had just moved. He met me at the new house. Brought me dinner, put my bed together and left.
Nice.
We are dating now. So at the time, I was traveling for work a lot and sometimes he would come over the night before to hang out before I left. The first time, I had an early flight he just dropped me off at my boss' house so we could get in the car service for the airport. Normal right? She lives like 10 minutes away from my house, no biggie.
Until...One day I needed to leave out at like 5 am for an early flight. He came to visit and I didn't mention the time I needed to be at my boss' house because it only made sense that when I left out he would drop me off right? Wrong.
"What time you gotta be over there"? He asked.
"Well I better leave about 4:45."
"How you getting over there"?
....BBM confused face. "You"?
"No, I can't take you."
Okay, so I decide that I will just take a cab. It was already late and I didn't want to get into the why's and how's.
At 4 am I get up because, I need to leave out. He bids his goodbyes and I get my things together to catch a cab. But I have no cash and I live nowhere near a cash station and it's 4 am. Fine, I figure I can just get cash from my boss when I get to her house. I call the cab company. No cabs. I call another one. No cabs.
It's getting later. Fine. I figured I'd take the train two stops to where there are usually cabs waiting. I get there and get a cab. Mind you it's 4 in the morning. I have a suitcase. I'm pissed. We get to her house. She doesn't have cash. So now I'm like, Mr. Taximan I am soooo sorry. But you have to take me to the cash station. Guess what? My card won't swipe and it's the only one I have. The others I left home, thinking I was going to be living off per diem (daily allowance that the company pays you) and we were going to my hometown to work so I was staying two days later anyway and would be with my mom. FML.
I get back in the cab and have to tell this cab man that I will be back on Sunday and will call him to pick me up from the airport and I promise that I will pay him. God must have favor on me. He agrees.
Now I'm seething mad. I'm on the plane. Mad. I'm in my hometown. Mad. I'm on set. Mad. My boss is shaking her head at me laughing the whole time. My bestie, Misha, meets us at our hotel later that first night, and I'm still mad. They both are like you need to ask him why he couldn't take you and stop walking around mad about it.
Okay, so I get the phone out and get the text together. You know how it goes. You type, ask the girls what to say, how to word it. It's got to be right you know. Nah, Nah, nah, back up, delete, put that in, say this. Nah don't say that, say this, you know. So I get it together and press send. I throw the phone and hide under the pillow. I can't look!
Misha, picks up the phone and dun, dun, dun. It's lit up, "1 New Message."
I inhale. Press view.
"I was tired."
Tired? Tired? WTF. It's 4 am and you can't take me ten minutes away because you were tired??
My boss was like, well now you gotta decide if that's a good enough excuse for you.
It's not.
I don't deal with excuses, especially not I was tired.
I'm over him.
I'm so spoiled.
I'm so single....351
P.S. We still talk to this day all the time....hey, you never know ;).....
There's something about an athlete that just gets my juices flowing. Maybe it's the discipline, possibly the determination and dedication or maybe it's the sweat that be dripping all over his booooddddy...Either way. I live.
I had to interview him for the paper. Well I didn't have to. I strategically placed myself in a position to interview him for the paper. His coach said that he was the person to get a story from. I'm down.
So we exchange information and I set up the interview. I have to drag every piece of information out of him. He's humble. I like that.
Real family type, real quiet, you know but firm, strong. He went to Iraq, I asked him about the experience and he said, "It shows you who you really are, some people go cry and hide in the corner and some people get it done, I like to think I'm someone who gets it done." Two snaps in a circle..How yooouuu doing?
Interviews done and of course the next day I get a text. We begin the text conversation. It's cool, you know, he's a good guy.
Fast forward and I had just moved. He met me at the new house. Brought me dinner, put my bed together and left.
Nice.
We are dating now. So at the time, I was traveling for work a lot and sometimes he would come over the night before to hang out before I left. The first time, I had an early flight he just dropped me off at my boss' house so we could get in the car service for the airport. Normal right? She lives like 10 minutes away from my house, no biggie.
Until...One day I needed to leave out at like 5 am for an early flight. He came to visit and I didn't mention the time I needed to be at my boss' house because it only made sense that when I left out he would drop me off right? Wrong.
"What time you gotta be over there"? He asked.
"Well I better leave about 4:45."
"How you getting over there"?
....BBM confused face. "You"?
"No, I can't take you."
Okay, so I decide that I will just take a cab. It was already late and I didn't want to get into the why's and how's.
At 4 am I get up because, I need to leave out. He bids his goodbyes and I get my things together to catch a cab. But I have no cash and I live nowhere near a cash station and it's 4 am. Fine, I figure I can just get cash from my boss when I get to her house. I call the cab company. No cabs. I call another one. No cabs.
It's getting later. Fine. I figured I'd take the train two stops to where there are usually cabs waiting. I get there and get a cab. Mind you it's 4 in the morning. I have a suitcase. I'm pissed. We get to her house. She doesn't have cash. So now I'm like, Mr. Taximan I am soooo sorry. But you have to take me to the cash station. Guess what? My card won't swipe and it's the only one I have. The others I left home, thinking I was going to be living off per diem (daily allowance that the company pays you) and we were going to my hometown to work so I was staying two days later anyway and would be with my mom. FML.
I get back in the cab and have to tell this cab man that I will be back on Sunday and will call him to pick me up from the airport and I promise that I will pay him. God must have favor on me. He agrees.
Now I'm seething mad. I'm on the plane. Mad. I'm in my hometown. Mad. I'm on set. Mad. My boss is shaking her head at me laughing the whole time. My bestie, Misha, meets us at our hotel later that first night, and I'm still mad. They both are like you need to ask him why he couldn't take you and stop walking around mad about it.
Okay, so I get the phone out and get the text together. You know how it goes. You type, ask the girls what to say, how to word it. It's got to be right you know. Nah, Nah, nah, back up, delete, put that in, say this. Nah don't say that, say this, you know. So I get it together and press send. I throw the phone and hide under the pillow. I can't look!
Misha, picks up the phone and dun, dun, dun. It's lit up, "1 New Message."
I inhale. Press view.
"I was tired."
Tired? Tired? WTF. It's 4 am and you can't take me ten minutes away because you were tired??
My boss was like, well now you gotta decide if that's a good enough excuse for you.
It's not.
I don't deal with excuses, especially not I was tired.
I'm over him.
I'm so spoiled.
I'm so single....351
P.S. We still talk to this day all the time....hey, you never know ;).....
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