The NOT Never Ever Again

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.

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?

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