Some Girls Be Like…😒

At some point we all make horrible choices when it comes to relationships, myself included. Here’s a glimpse of my journey into “triflingness.” Let it bless you…or convict you. #nojudgment

As I sit here, half-past 10 PM, eating a sandwich and chips and listening to J. Sullivan, I recall the first time I knew that he liked me. My friend of eight years, who was about to get married in six months sent me a message on Facebook. I had just signed up, browsing the page on my day off. He hit me up in a chat saying, “I’ve always had a crush on you.” I panicked; I was scared, excited, and…angry. Why would he tell me now when nothing could be done, could be pursued? I didn’t remember what he said next, just some flirting back and forth. I should have ended the conversation, but something about the forbidden excited me. We were cool acquaintances before, but now, it seemed like more. It felt like we were connected, even though I knew we couldn’t be.

I don’t think most people start out having affairs with one decision; I think most indiscretions start out innocently. Something small happens, small but inappropriate, and then, gradually, it progresses into something more. At least, that was the case for me; first, we were chatting, then texting. I remember clearly how we “linked up,” as he liked to call it, for the first time.

I had to chaperone a football game, and afterward, I had dinner with a co-worker. However, I was distracted because he had been texting me throughout the game. I told myself that he was keeping me company, keeping my mind off of the fact that I didn’t want to be at work on a Friday night with a bunch of disrespectful, bad-attitude-having-ass, high schoolers. As I sat at dinner, the conversations continued. The frivolity of it all, in hindsight, is so absurd, but in the moment, it was…everything, romantic, fun, and intriguing. Most of all, it was seductive.  I remember telling him about my favorite singer, Jill Scott, and my favorite song at the time, “Come See Me.” He responded, “I want you.” I grew warm inside. My heart and my head were all over the place, and I needed to understand what we were doing. Why was he saying these things now? What did all of this mean? Was he not going to get married? I’m not booty call material; I’m an all-or-nothing type chick. I sent him a message around midnight when I was leaving dinner: “We need to talk.” We were only going to talk, I rationalized. He responded, “I’m on my way.”

It was one in the morning when he arrived. In my mind, it made sense because I was strong and in charge. He walked in, looking and smelling good. We sat on the couch. “What’s up?” he asked. “The question is what’s up with you?” I needed to understand where all of this attention was coming from six months before he was to be married. His answer didn’t even matter. The real question was, what made me decide to play with fire? To entertain the foolish thought that this was nothing more than a conversation. To meet inappropriately after midnight with a man who was clearly unavailable.

I thought I was strong, and in the beginning, I was. I said emphatically, “This can’t happen. I will look like the other woman who stole somebody’s man. Nothing will happen to you. And, in the end, we will not be able to be friends again.”

He chuckled, “I have more to lose than you think, and we will always be friends.”

“If you have so much to lose, why are you getting married?”

With a slight shrug of the shoulders and the smirk that made my heart melt, “It’s just time.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. We had been talking for at least two hours. I don’t know how we ended up in bed together, but there he was holding me, but not touching me at the same time. I was still trying to convince myself that nothing was going to happen between us if I could just get through the night. He didn’t try anything; he just held me. He didn’t kiss me or caress me. The only thing he did was pull me closer to him when I tried to move away. He pulled me close, like I belonged to him, like he had claimed me. His breath on the back of my neck and his heart beating against my chest felt good. It was satisfying just to be claimed, and I was starting to believe the lie. Maybe he will change his mind, maybe he won’t do it. “Just be patient,” I told myself. I should have understood that I wasn’t being claimed. I was just a warm, breathing body next to a man with his eyes closed, eyes closed to the fact that he wasn’t ready to be married, and he was using me as a distraction.  If I had allowed myself to accept that realization, I would have saved myself some heartache.

He didn’t change his mind, about her or me. I kept saying no, but he kept calling and texting, and we kept having our visits. He continued keeping me company on my late nights at work. I’m not sure when I started to become that chick, that crazy chick. That chick that rationalizes her bad behavior, the one who is happy one minute and crying the next. I think I knew in the end I would be left out, but I couldn’t pull back. It wasn’t so much that he had a hold over me; it was more than that. This was all about me. I needed to see what would happen, what could be, or what should be because in my heart I knew…he was the one for me. But he knew differently. He liked the idea of me but not the reality of me. I required too much, and I was his choice and his consequence all at the same time. His decision to see me, to love me, to care for me, meant that he needed to face the reality of who he was. He was a cheater. An adulterer. But in his mind, “I’m not married yet,” made a difference. To me, it didn’t, but I climbed down that rabbit hole anyway because one night over hot dogs and tater tots, he kissed me. He kissed me long, deep, and strong, and that kiss held a promise that one day he might love me.

He never did. I don’t hate him though. We shared a lot, an intimacy that I had never experienced before. In my mind, no one knew, but on the real, everyone did. We were connected. When we were in the same room, the energy changed. He was too attentive to me, and I tried too hard to ignore him. Looking back, I’m sure it was obvious to everyone but us.

I learned a lot, too, like what strength really means. It means picking yourself up when you are devastated, and you have no one to blame except yourself. It means smiling when tears are all you have. It means recognizing how scared you are of being alone and that you are willing to be second in someone’s life. I was desperate for love and craving attention. I was willing to sacrifice my integrity and lower my expectations for fear that I might miss out on knowing what it means to feel loved. I was willing to accept videos and hot wings so we didn’t have to go out, and secret meet-ups at Alvin Ailey because it seemed romantic and illicit and because I thought he loved me but was afraid to call it off.

Strength is accepting responsibility for your part in the destruction of a relationship. It is understanding that walking away when you know something is wrong is the only answer. It is writing this piece with the understanding that he might read it and know that it is about him, but not caring because you know it is time to release whatever guilt you are holding on to. It means letting go and moving on even when standing alone. There’s an old adage that says, “The best way to get over a man is under a new one.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. Yet, I knew that would only make things worse. Make me worse. I needed to heal. I wanted peace. I wanted to stand tall on my own. It took a while. More tears. Some alcohol. Some “come-to-Jesus” sessions with my girls and a few ratchet dates. But, here I am.  Strength is learning never to say never. I had never been the side chick. But there I was. I will never do it again, even if it means being alone. I’m worth more than that.

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Forty-Year-Old F*ck Boys

Let me say this right now, if you are a super-sanctified saint and you don’t like cussing – stop, do not pass go; this is not the post for you. I’ll try to keep it PG-13, but I make no guarantees. God is working on me; however, I just need to get this off of my chest just like I feel it. This is mostly for my homegirls who have been married or in a relationship for ten or more years, and they keep asking me and a plethora or my single girlfriends, “Why aren’t you married yet?” I used to give credence to the theory that was postulated to me that I am too mean, too unapproachable, too strong, too independent, and too stuck in my ways. Oh, and I forgot about, “You ain’t got no man because you can’t cook.” Yeah, I believed all of that bullshit for years, and I tried with all of my might to conform, to change, so that I, too, could be counted among those who were lucky enough to land the big catch and get married. Alas, after softening my approach, after smiling a little bit more to let my guard down, after expanding my circles to meet more people, after shooting my shot on Tinder and Match, and after trying my hand at a meal or two, here I am, still single. 

How is this possible? And it’s not just me. I have about fifty other friends just like me: single, educated, professional, no kids – or if they have kids, they have been THE sole parent and have some raised pretty awesome kids without too much help from the non-custodial parent with no baby mama drama. They are homeowners who are civic-minded with pretty decent credit. Meh…me not so much in this area; budgeting is not my ministry, but I owe no man nothing. I’ve been perplexed about this issue for a minute and decided to do some serious research which consisted of talking to my friends. Here is what I gathered from my intel, we, my other gal pals and I, are not the problem! The problem is, and has always been, forty-year-old f*ck boys. Yes, I said it. Ninjas who are still out here playing games well into their forties and fifties. You would think that dating at this age would be simple, but it’s not. At almost a half-century, why am I still encountering the same shit I used to deal with in my twenties? What’s a f*ck boy, you ask? Why do you call them that? When you are a grown man and you are still playing childish games in order to get the goodies, you are a f*ckboy. When you are grown man, but you don’t know how to take responsibility for your actions, you are a f*ckboy. They are real; they exist. Sis, if you are suspicious and wondering if your man is a f*ckboy, then he probably is. But just to be certain, here’s a list of things f*ckboys might do so you will recognize one when he shows up. Or, if you think you might be a f*ckboy, but just aren’t sure, here’s how you know:

•Sliding through someone’s DM’s and you have a whole girlfriend or wife.•Planning a date but not confirming or canceling because, “Oh my bad. I fell asleep.” Could it be that your girlfriend, significant other, or wife, actually came home and said that she had something planned?

•Being too afraid to shoot your shot because, oh God, she might turn you   down. Ninja, she said no. It’s ok. Move on and ask the next girl for a date. But she just might say yes…if you ask her.

• Lying…of any sort. Flat out lying, lying by omission meaning leaving out significant portions of the truth, embellishing the truth, little white lies…they are all lies!• Breaking up with folks before holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, or other significant events• Being behind on any amount of your child support.

• Bragging about not paying child support.

• Not being willing to give anything a label. Am I your girlfriend, boo, wifey?  What? Ninja, you are too old for a situationship. And why the hell doesn’t anyone know who I am to you, huh? The devil is a lie!

• Trying to DM me all the time.

• Trying to text me all the time. If you want to get to know me, call me. Take me out on a date.• Flirting with your co-workers, when you know you have a wife.

• Living with your wife, while you take your girlfriend out on dates. AND, getting mad when your girlfriend gets another man!• Having a whole baby on your wife AND your girlfriend!

• You’re sexually attracted to men but pretend that you like women when you really don’t. If your sexuality is fluid or if you are bisexual, be upfront about that. Give a sister the option to choose. If she doesn’t choose you, that’s ok, too. I promise you there is a woman, or man, out there who will be ok with your sexuality. What’s not ok is being on the down low. F*ck boys live on the DL.

•Living with your mama if she is not in need to constant care because of an illness or old age. Taking her out and posting about it like it’s a date. #creepy

•Not joining the singles ministry because there aren’t enough single women in  it, or not joining because you have dated the majority of the women in the ministry. I’m sorry, I thought this was supposed to be about Jesus.

• Asking a woman when is she going to cook for you, but you’re not willing to take her car to be serviced, cut her yard, or fix her fence.

• Posting pictures of yourself on social media ALL! THE! TIME! Especially if you are halfway fit and have a six pack. The pic with the shirt showing your shaved treasure trail. The pic of you and your sock game. The pic of you and your beard game. Not cool. #thirsty

• Sending random d*ck pics. No, just no!

I could go on, but I’m tired. I’m tired of people asking me why I don’t have a man. I’m tired of people assuming I’m/we’re the problem. I’m tired of people assuming that because I’m alone, I’m lonely. I’m not. I’m tired of married folks walking around and acting like they are holding hands, kissing, and eating cupcakes every day. I’m sick of seeing the #mcm’s and #wcw’s every day, then two weeks later wifey done changed her name on Facebook because she caught hubby with her best friend, and now they are headed to divorce court. Y’all out here “Facebook Frontin’”, and we all know the truth anyway. I’m not saying marriage is horrible; it’s not.

I believe marriage and relationships are great, but they are complex and take a lot of work. You have to nurture them, and you have to compromise. AND COMMIT! When done correctly, I am sure they are amazing, but some of y’all are out here lying. You’re pretending that you’re living the easy life, and the rest of us are looking to have the same thing because we have #relationshipgoals but don’t fully understand what it takes because you aren’t being truthful. So, we fall for f*ckboys because we think somebody, anybody, is better than nobody. I’m here to tell you that IT’S NOT.

If you’re a f*ckboy, I have one thing to say to you: GROW THE F*CK UP. ~Peace.

P.S. If you think I’m talking about you specifically, I’m not. That’s probably the Holy Spirit telling you that you’re a f*ckboy and you need to grow up. Well, the Holy Spirit doesn’t cuss, so that’s just me, but He IS telling you to grow up. Jeesh!

P.P.S. To all the women out there putting up with f*ckboy shit, stop it! Stop it right now, I say! You’re making it hard out here for women with standards and expectations. Why does he have to grow up when you allow him to be mediocre with you? Ugh!

The Best Revenge is Living Well

“…you, my friend, are a QUEEN. A woman too good, too valuable, too DOPE to let a dude make you think that you are incapable of ANYthIng…LIVE WELL!”

Valentine’s Day has come and gone. Some of you were in your feelings because you spent the day alone. Maybe it was because you chose to be, but it might be because the guy you thought held the key to your heart actually stomped on it with his Luccheses or Tims. If you are a part of the latter group of ladies understand this: 1.) You are not alone. 2.) You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and 3.) Things are a lot better than you think. Keep reading.

That dude who pissed you off. Walked off and left you in the bed with a mountain of used snotty Kleenex, eyes that looked like Roma tomatoes, and wondering whether or not you should pull a Jasmine Sullivan on that @$$ and bust ALL his windows out on, not just the car, but the house too. The dude who said you weren’t good enough; or, the one that cheated because someone else was more convenient. How about that dude that told you what you wanted to hear? Words that sounded so good they felt like chocolate and caramel melting when it touches your tongue. You held on to Every. Single. Drop. Only to find out that it was terribly bad for you. After the rush of deliciousness, you crash from the high that left you feeling guilty and ashamed. Yeahhhhh … that dude.

Thank the Lord he is gone, but let’s be honest. He did you a favor when he moved on. You know it, and he does too. He knows he is trash warmed over. He is fish left in the sun for three days. He is the area in the back yard designated for dog poop. HE. IS. NOT. THE. ONE. So let go already!  But in your heart you want to hang on. Why? Because you want to win. Letting go is like losing the Super Bowl by a field goal, a boxing match by split decision, the World Series by one run. Victory was in your grasp, and you watched it slip through your fingers. Friend…the new girlfriend is the victory parade that he flaunts in your face.

But I tell you what, take that “L” like a champ and move on. You really are the better for it and you know it.  Sis, recognize that dude just gave you an opportunity. The opportunity to live your best life minus the baggage that is him. You see if he cut you off, then he obviously is not the person for you. Anybody that is not meant to be in your life is baggage. Weight you are carrying around that isn’t beneficial to your progress.

You can you win this war. Yes, war because that is exactly what it is. A war for your dignity and strength. You need to win this Relationship-Geddon because you need to know that you, my friend, are a QUEEN. A woman too good, too valuable, too DOPE to let a dude make you think that you are incapable of ANYthIng, especially of receiving the love you deserve. So you are about to win this war. And this is how: LIVE WELL!

Yes ma’am. DO IT! Live the best life you can imagine. Travel to exotic places. Eat rich and delicious food every once in a while. Pursue your passion. Do you like to cook? Host a dinner party for your friends. Take a class and learn to sew. Get healthy. That’s right. Get HEALTHY by eating right and exercising. Those endorphins will kick in and boost your attitude, and your skin will glow. The pity party is over. This guy is no longer a factor in your life; he chose not to be. So don’t allow this opportunity that he gave you to go to waste. This is the perfect time for you to say, you know what “I can show you better than I can tell you.” Then show him, girlfriend!

You know what’s great about living well? You won’t even have to tell him! Other people will. “Have you seen______________? She looks good!” “Did you know that ________________went to Costa Rica? Man, I saw her on Facebook. She doing it BIG, homey!” You will know that he knows, too. When you get that late night text that says, “Hi,” don’t answer. Hit delete, then roll over and go to sleep. Trust me. The headache you will have re-opening that door isn’t worth the 10 minutes you are going to waste responding to such foolishness. No, don’t answer! Just continue to live your best life. Bottom line, you aren’t doing this for him anyway. You are doing this for you; you deserve to be happy. You deserve to experience life and appreciate the journey. You deserve the opportunity for the world to see how magnificent you are. You see, you were going to do this anyway, and you tried to invite dude along for the ride. He chose to get off, so let him. That was the Divine Conductor’s way of getting rid of baggage that would surely slow you down.  More than anything, you deserve to live in a space where you are alone but not lonely. You deserve to flourish in your single-hood, so much so that you can stand on your own and be OKAY. You also deserve to be loved by someone who sees these things in you and will step to you the right way. And when you give that person a chance, he will understand that this IS an OPPORTUNITY, and he will work his hardest not to F. IT. UP!

So, stop crying, get out of the bed, take a shower, get dressed, and start living. Look up, thank God, and say, “Thanks, dude. You did me a favor.”

#deucestolosers #notbitterbutblessed! ❤️💅🏾