One day last week, I came home from work to a chunky letter envelope in the mail. Like most black folks, I only like my mail bulky when UPS is dropping it off LOL. It turns out that the vendor of some dysfunctional product that I purchased YEARS ago were taken to court by somebody [that iddunno] and some million dollar lawsuit was filed. These somebodies that I don't know, won the lawsuit. And, I guess my name was on some kinda consumer record because dude... I got a hundred some-odd dollar check in mail. This us just one of the many kinds of little things that are making my life, like, OD right now. Now that I'm not on top of it or anything, but the world on this side of the Mason-Dixon Line is showing me hella love right now.
[t h e j o b]
I been in Philly for just over a month, now. It might be too early to call it, but this whole dirty/rusty Philly lifestyle that I'm living right now -- is actually 'A' okay so far. The job's showing me love. There are things/techniques that come naturally I've never worked with people so willing to help me EVER in life. I lucked up like hell. Very seldom does someone's job description actually match what their resume's objective is (and I don't mean the objective you concocted up before applying applying for the job). Any and everything, city owned, that gets built on what is considered Northeast Philly -- goes through me. Yeah, I be feelin like a KING round here (lol). And apparently not only work for the city, but I'm actually employed by the Commonwealth (State) of Pennsylvania. Irony in the that = both my parents are employed by the state of New Jersey. Guess it's in the blood...
[p h i l l y]
Philly is just Philly. Rusty and dusty as hell still, yet with more to offer than most realize. Of the five or so weeks that I've been here, I've been gone for four of them. So, I can't say much. I still have a whole lot on the to-do list but my homies here are looking out for me as I take care of that. Thank God for them fools. I'm close enough to Jersey to get back with ease, but far enough to miss it. Depending on if I hop a train or drive, I'm back in Essex County within two hours. That whole train thing is awesome for situations like this past weekend, when I got to wasted on a Sunday night to make the train back to Philly (I just got up at the asscrack of dawn, caught the first thing smoking, slept so more on the train -- and made it to work by 9AM).
"How was your weekend?" asked my director.
"It JUST ended." I replied.
[l o v i n g] (insert your flyest pic below hun)
Single life... it's cool. What's cool about it is that for the first time ever -- I [the king of ugly break-ups] have no ex-girlfriend drama. At the same time, these ace-boom-coon homies of mine have also recently broken up with their long-time girlfriends as well; and let's just say these niggas are trying to declare 'war' on ex-girlfriends. Hopefully I don't get wrapped up into their fiascos, but I know I involuntarily will though (always do). Nonetheless, I'm learning how to be by myself. Funny... not that I discriminate or ever did, but light-skin seems to be in [for me at least] lately. I'm definitely diggin a particular mellow yellow cutie right now. She reminds me of Tweety Bird, and I'm almost certain that she's diggin me too. Nevertheless, I'm chillin and not rushing toward commitments with ANYONE. Not til I figure myself out... nuff said.
[f a m i l y]
In the year before I moved down south, my dad and I had major issues and I [unfortunately] told him that I was moving far to ESPECIALLY get away from him. Five years later, he and I have probably gotten to be closer than we probably have EVER been in my lifetime. Everyday, I get a call at work from Big Jessie just to say "what up" -- and I always hang up with a smile. In the same token, after months of not talkin to my Grandma -- I sucked it up and called her on Mother's Day. Words were exchanged, things were cleared up, beef was squashed and we'll never let the madness happen again. Life's too short to be cutting off for dumb shit.
...and my family has grown. I have a new son in-law, Rusty the PitBull. Apparently this little harlot terrier mutt of mine has a thing for round-the-way DMX video-dog types.
I don't even think summer has officially started yet, but so far this season has been pretty eventful -- and I got some things on deck that's about to make even more BANANAS than it's been thus far. Shit, I even got a tan already...
So years from now -- when I reflect back on the Spring and Summer of 2010, it'll be because someone asked me -- "So yo, D... when did your life start becoming so dope?"
"life got dope as soon as I got back on my new jerz shit"
It's where the nation was born, and currently America's sixth-largest city. It's where a whole chunk of my family settled when my elders decided to head north back in the forties and fifties. And it's ultimately the city that gave me my first job outta grad school.
It's Philadelphia, and now... it's home.
After a year out of grad-school and numerous interviews/efforts aimed at making a livelihood in the ATL, I landed the first "northern" job that interviewed for. About three weeks ago, I was offered that [dream job] Project Management position by the City of Philadelphia. Today, I will start working for the City's Redevelopment Authority addressing vacant housing and new development issues concerning America's first city. Yo... real talk... I can't wait til people start asking me "Do you have a card?"
A couple of days ago, I hopped in the car with my dad -- drove to ATL, rounded up my belongings and moved it to Philadelphia to start all over. I really didn't feel the remorse that I thought I would when I pulled outta ATL... but I will say that I didn't look back once when we hit that road headed north. Simply put, I'm over that part of my life. Before this past weekend, I hadn't been there in two months... nor had I missed it in the least bit. Being north had reminded me of how good it felt to live for myself and be around those who understood me most. I will always remember the friends that I made and those who helped to me learn about myself in ways that I could never imagine. I'll miss the Waffle House. I'm far from religious but I consider myself pretty spiritual... and I'm thinking that things didn't work out for me in the South [as well as I planned] for reasons beyond my control. It has always seemed that in order for things to improve in my life that I had to [literally] remove myself from certain situations and stop trying to fix things that couldn't be fixed. Case and point, it was time for me to go.
So here I am, knowing that 2010 was going to be my year. I'm starting all over again, from scratch. Blogging from my best friend's couch [aka my bed for now] with nothing but my clothes, television, dog, artwork... and anything else that I managed to fit in the car coming back. There's nothing more refreshing than to finally get control over something that you [couldn't help but] lost grip of; in this case, that something is my life. Times like these, speak to me... and I feel like I'm hearing "You shouldn't have left in the first place". I thank God for those who did they're best at trying to make Atlanta resemble a home for me. Although it was pretty hard for me smile about anything over this last year-plus, I couldn't have got through any of it without them. For them, the "A" will have always have a special place in my heart -- especially when I feel like a taking a trip in the near-future. A transplant-southerner is what I thought I could be at one point, but that clearly was not the case -- which is why I also thank God for the people who are there to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of the big decisions that I make (my family and friends).
It ain't Jersey, but I'm ready to make this place that I call "iLLadelphia" mine. I have [what I think will be] an exciting career ahead of me. Despite what people say about it, I've had some great times in Philly as a late teen/early twenty-something. Now as a yuppy, wiser late twenty-something guy -- I plan on making some memorable times and getting back into the groove of being "happy by any means necessary".
One of the funniest things about life is that whether its tomorrow, today or yesterday -- you always end up where everything [that you've ever known about yourself] began in the first place. I stepped out tonight, had drinks... let loose... the whole nine at a nice spiffy "hole in the wall" just some 200+ feet from where I went to middle school. This is on top of the fact that I've been home in New Jersey for the last month. Everything that was "me" four/five years ago is back in full effect. My lifestyle, my routine and inner circle have come back tenfold. That watered down version of me is officially no longer. =)
As for the pursuit... it continues. Currently, I'm up for a Project Manager job with the City of Philadelphia. Just over a month ago, I had a first and preliminary interview with the Philly's Redevelopment Authority over the phone. I did well enough to land a second in-person interview with the Authority. At almost three weeks later -- I've been fortunate enough to make the cut and land a third and final interview with some top City directors and executives. In my mind, I'm grateful... but my heart's definitely like "I can't take no more" of this deliberation sh!t.
Whatever the case, the irony of [my] life is that in the end... I just might end up in the place in that made me... New Jersey, the northeast -- Philly included. No one knows you better than the people that you came up with. Undeniably, North Jersey made me the dude that I am today -- but even rugged-ole Philadelphia has a nice meaty chapter in my life (my boys attest to that). So if that's where I'm supposed to be, I can dig it.
I just might be making my way home, after all....?
A couple breaks up. Two months later, the couple finds themselves seeing other people and everything... but STILL, not at all over each other. For weeks, they've had no choice but to talk about everything that went wrong. The blame game continues...
HIM:...but I've already admitted that I was wrong, and I don't care about what you did wrong. I know I did some things wrong, but I get it. I'll learn to compromise. But I'm saying though -- you're a pain in the ass, too. But you're MY pain in the ass though. I don't care... I love you.
HER:Are you sure about that? Because from what I understand, you hate my guts. I mean, I thought you didn't think we'd be together forever? That's what you said, right? I can't be with somebody who is so different from me -- how would that work? I hate to know that I get on your nerves. I don't want to be another obligation for you. I ain't... I don't... I can't... I will not... You ain't... You shouldn't... I shouldn't... We shouldn't...
Etcetera, etcetera.
---
Ladies, how many times have you found yourselves feeling like some guy was feeding you the above... and responding with these same words? You were probably thinking something like... "He saying that shit now, but whatever... he don't mean that shit." You deserve to find and be with the perfect guy, right? Fuccouttaherewiththatbullsheeeit....
I hate to be a bearer of bad news (not really) but any guy in his grown and monkey ass [but] right mind has accepted that there's no such thing as the perfect girl or relationship. Do any of you feel the same? Probably not. Or is that how things work on Venus? Probably so. Shit, go rightahead and tell me that I ain't perfect. That ain't news, because, duhh.... I know I'm not. I know I have my share of idiosyncrasies that bug the hell out of people and I admit to my imperfections. But what I do know is that none of that is enough to jeopardize my ability to be happy with someone. That someone exists, and I know I'm deep/patient enough to find her if I haven't already. And loving me for me is why I'll love her for her. No conditions...
So why be hurt when he wants you to be his pain in the ass and nobody elses? We're just saying what's real.
The sad part is that EVERY guy loathes to one day be in the "but baby, I love you" position. While I equate it with the day that a boy becomes a man, it's also the day that he realizes that some woman [other than his mom or sister] may actually have some pull in his life... and maybe even his heart. Yeah, his dumbassness and decisions probably got him into such a position to begin with -- but no dude will put himself out there like this unless he really loves her and sincerely wants it to work. Undeniably, the biggest mistake guys make is failing to let that "one" know that she is the one. Why? Because, shamefully, what we're better at is showing you all how much you rack our nerves. We express feelings of annoyances better than we express security; we're quietest and implicit when comfortable while loudest and obvious when uncomfortable. That's not good, I know.. but I'm just saying what's REAL. And most of us get that, so what next? Squash the fact we might be partially or fully responsible for the escalation of events leading up to this particular situation-- what are fellas supposed to do when saying "Because I love you "[over and over again] just ain't enough? Beg? Fuck no Absolutely not. A man ain't begging unless there's a ring on it. So do we just let it burn? Letting it burn is definitely and always an option. A man won't real and existing love doesn't burn though because but contrary to popular belief... we too have crazy feelings too that make us stay in love with you. Surely, every other lady has accused her man of not saying "I love you" enough. But when we feel that shit, we feel that shit. And when we finally do say it, it trumps everything. Knowww thattt!! While saying "Because I love you" appears to be our silver bullet for everything , it's a trigger that we do really think hard about before pulling it. We're not going to tell you we do when we don't (we as in grown men, not we as in little boys who say the love you to get laid).
You could be the wrongest of wrong, far from perfect and everything BUT who we imagined being with... but sometimes loving you is all we want, all we need and all that matters. In the male perspective, love speaks louder as a word than it does as an action.Where's the reciprocity for that?
So, this is my first Valentine’s Day off in years. I’m usually either boo’d up, cupcaking or wifed up around this time of the year… but nah, not in 2010. As Valentine’s Day Weekend approaches, I’m feeling like the holiday really ain’t that bad when you’re single. Without a doubt, this day was fabricated for the females. I mean, do you REALLY think fellas find anything cute about an overweight baby with wings, flying around shooting arrows at people? Hell naw. And while the color red may in some ways, the color pink doesn’t really excite very many guys. I’ve always appreciated the holiday nonetheless. Although it shouldn’t have to be a holiday for a man to do special things for his lady, I value the 14th for how much more gratuitous the ladies become after their man has set up and set off those special effects of love from Hallmark and whatnot.
Like a buddy and fellow NJIT alum of mine from back home so beautifully puts it in HER BLOG, we dudes were born to hate obligation (love you for that one, JB). Yeah, we know the day is for the ladies… but the minute a woman turns anything [relationship related] into an obligation, we tend to defer ourselves from it. I hate to admit it but it’s just in our nature. As a result, some boyfriends have come to despise Valentine’s Day. But again, as I’ve said before -- what we do live for is competition. So, some guys like myself have learned spin it and turn the holiday into just that… for both ourselves and the ladies. For starters, this is why we like to send stuff to her job. Yeah, what we’re doing is sending a cute/fluffy/edible token of your affection… but what we’re also doing helping her piss off them “hating-ass coworker bitches”(her words) that she can’t stand from her office. Let them broads see HER balloons hanging above a sea of the cubicles, or follow the scent of flowers and candy coming from her office door. Meanwhile for guys like me who have friends with girlfriends, it becomes all about outdoing each other. “Aye dog, what you and your girl doing this weekend? Oh word? Well me my old lady gonna go here… and we gonna do this… and take it back to the crib… and then we gon'… you know.” The next day -- we talk whose girl put it work, or how we put it down, whose girl pulled out the tricks, and what time we finally went to sleep. While the ladies get excited over the heart-shaped balloons and edible chocolates that come with the holiday, we get excited over the hear-shaped nipple tassels and edible draws. We’re men, that’s how we think. Take it or leave it, c’est la vie.
But when you’re a single dude on V-Day, none of the above applies. Seemingly, many of you females loathe being single on this day [i.e. the same “hating-ass coworker bitches" (her words) from above]. The same doesn’t go for guys. If a guy wants to and can steer away from being wifed up, particularly on the 14th… then please believe, he will. And please believe he’s probably a dickhead, so RUN baby... RUN! But I digress. Guys have no problem with being alone V-Day. Right now, being single this weekend is the least of my worries. Yeah, it would have been nice to be somewhere kissing, hugging, squeezing, touching this weekend… but hey – I get to NOT spend money that I DON’T have. The same goes for a lot of these dudes’ thought processes out there. Unless he’s married, every dude needs a 14th off to sit back and reflect. That’s pretty much what I’m doing. I personally, spent my last 14th trying to do it so BIG that I forgot about paying attention to the all the little details in between. Maybe it was me, maybe it was the people I spent it with… but I tried to satisfy too many people at once. I mean, it wasn’t an epic fail but its execution could’ve gone smoother. I learned that sometimes the simpler things might be the best things to do on a days like V-Day; I got my mom chocolate-colored roses last year and that’s all it took to make her day. I guess that means it’s finally time to grow up, get over my standards and start buying flowers for other women besides her [LOL]. Iddunno…
But enough with my hang-ups -- the point is no dude hates on the next for being someone’s valentine. So for all you females who plan to hate on those nipped by the lovebug this weekend by whining about it in your status updates and tweeting something along the lines of “Love is for suckas”… don’t be like that. Dudes ain’t stressing about it, so why should you? God gives us things like NBA All-Star Weekend at times like this, so for those of you ladies who ain’t feeling basketball or the 14th… gather up some single girlfriends and do something constructive. Everybody needs love, and most people LOVE love. Let the 14th matter to those who want it to, and let cupid shoot you in the ass when he wants to.
I swear, she's stone cold bonkers... but I'll love me some Badu forever. Don't forget to pause Kid Cudi in the top right hand corner before pressing play.
I guess 2O1O will mean sampling 90s cuts like Soul II Soul's "Back 2 Life". It's a shame that even with Jeezy on it, this track gets NO airtime in the ATL. Pause that Kid Cudi up top before pressing play though...
Culturally, North Jersey and the Tri-State area is one of most richest places nationwide. As a native, I’ve found that we live life based on very self-motivating principles that distinctively mix between tradition, upbringing and reality. Those brought up with me would probably agree in saying that we were raised to resourcefully seize the today using the lessons that we learned yesterday. Essentially, there’s just a way that we live life – exclusive to North Jersey. We live youthfully with old ways. Many of us value young love. That hood love. The around-the-way love that breeds families and strong long-lasting relationships between two people who can say they have been together since before they could buy each other a drink. In the absence of this kind authenticity, living in Atlanta has always been an on and off struggle for me. It’s safe to say that I’m kinda over this whole “Black Hollywood” fad that helped to lure me here in the first place. Parts of me have concluded that there’s no more to this place than what meets the eye. Yeah, it’s all about the music and the party life here. Being seen [or discovered] is the essence of going to the club… don’t nobody dance but the girls, on themselves. And its women are [hands down] some of the most beautiful black women in America, whether they’re from here or not!
To most [and me circa 2005], this sounds like a dream, which is why people like my friends love it so much down here. I, howeve, am nowhere near disgusted by the ATL, but over time have come to look at it in the same way that Peter Pan and Lost Boys regarded Neverland – as a metaphor for endless childishness, immortality and escapism.
Yes, biased I am since I’ve yet to experience this place as a member of the “working class”… so maybe I should think twice before labeling it? Iddunno. But this all stems from a certain experience this past weekend. A popular club venue here in town hosted its second annual SuperBowl party and I went with some friends. Above all, it was a great venue and I was quite impressed with how it was outfitted for the game. BUT, the crowd itself was a whole different story. The crowd appeared mostly single, but as far the average age…. I would say it fell somewhere between the mid-to-late thirties. Now, normally I would’ve been thrilled by the chance to get gabby with a cougar [LOL]… but the women up in there were not cougars by any stretch of my imagination. If they weren’t already boo’d up, they were single thirty to forty year-old somethings who came to find themselves some other single thirty to forty year-old somethings. Among other reasons, getting in where I could fit it was out of the question; I didn’t meet the minimum age requirement!!
To see all those grown ass, pre middle-aged and single (or pretending to be) people in one place disturbed me though. For some reason, I strongly believe in the order of lifes phases; whether male of female, I feel like you sow your wild oats, commit to somebody, marry that somebody, build a life with them, retire and die with them. I don’t know where these people at this party were in life, but I do know that I don’t want to be like them. The thought of me becoming one of those baldheaded, 36 year-olds like the ones flooding that party on Sunday scares the shit out of me. I mean, it was like an epidemic or something? I blame it on this big ass mental diversion called “The ATL”. I don’t know what the excuse for all the older single ladies, but for men -- there’s no incentive here for growing up and settling down. Of the 5 million+ people here, the amount of women outnumber the number or men… and men know it. Hell, I know it… and what I’m trying my damndest not to be one of the many dudes who run with that. I hope to God that I won’t be 35 years old… in the club with a Bluetooth in my ear, Kangol Cap cocked backwards on a damn SuperBowl Sunday…STILL trying to recruit a future misses. I’m only working on 27, and feeling behind the curve because of not being someone’s boyfriend. Instead of out at the club, I would have much rather been home in front of a big screen television with friends… with a beer in one hand beer, a girl [preferably of my own] and her booty.
NOTE to SELF: Ultimately, if single and staying in Atlanta permits – I have to find my niche. Don’t get caught up in the hype of the ATL and become a hopelessly single man of a certain age that is still “on the scene.”
Disclaimer: This post gets a lil raunchy. I’m talking to the ladies, because guys already know everything I’m about to say. Surely, there’s a sister blog or post to this somewhere… with a rebuttal.
Something must be in the air. If I had to count the number of people I’ve talked to about sex over this last week or so, I would not be lying if I told you that I needed to two hands to do it. Over these last few days, I’ve been schooled on sex, vented to about it, questioned about something someone did/didn’t do, asked for my opinion… the works. And ultimately, I’m floored at how incompatible men and women really can be.
To my ladies…I can’t speak for women, but men are simple. Men have total control over the amount of emotion that they associate with sex. When it comes to the act – guys either smash, screw [f@!k], or make love. The first equates with the lowest of emotion, the last equates with the highest of, and in between is an increasing scale of emotions [depending on the situation]. More importantly, when it comes to a man’s bedroom steez, he’s a progression of two things. First, he’s himself and then he is eventually what you’re P has made him into.
When I say himself, I mean that he can be a whole host of things. He can be the business, or he can be bullshit. Call him Dirk Digler or call him a disappointment. Maybe’s he selfless or maybe he’s selfish. Naturally, he is at least one of these adjectives in that first time y’all do the do. At that point, it’s either an epic pass or fail. Proceed or don’t. If you do, just know that you have TOTAL control from there on… because after that point, it’s all about the power of the P. Now please, do NOT confuse this with me blaming women for the bad performances that men put out – but once a woman’s got that power, his red light special from there is what YOU [sweetie] have made him into. This is where you have to ask yourself, “What kind of lover are you?” And from what I gathered, women break down into being one [or a combination] of the following:
PANDORA
If you’re the kind of girl who ain’t scared to admit she wants to get it in, will WHIP OUT a dude’s “man’s-n-dem” for him and take it from him as he gradually surrenders to your kiss and the P… the you’re a Pandora kinda chic. You consider guys to be yours before they even know it, or before you even let them hit it. The name “Pandora” is a direct reference from John Singleton’s hood classic Baby Boy, in which a chic [Pandora] does her damndest to bag Jody (Tyrese). Pandora set a hell of a mood; her walk was mean as Black-n-Mild smoke filled the air, with just the right track playing in the background. And dammit, she even put the condom on for him! Talk about initiation… every move she made epitomized the body language in which men give into. Dudes just can’t resist such things.
THE CONTENDER
If you play to win and think sex is a one-on-one exhibition that involves tangling each other up in ways to make the other tap out… then you’re a contender kinda chic. A straight up FuuuREAK that wants to put on a show. You consider guys to be opponents. Anything he can do, you can do better. You know how he likes to play music to get in the mood, but you take control because you got a better cuddy soundtrack to set shit off RIGHT. Without a doubt, you definitely like to ask “whose it is” and like to hear your name said. And vice versa; you’re a good sport, unashamed to scream his name and let him know that he’s putting it down. When it comes to initiation, you’re good at instigating the fight but you’re even better at backing it up… even if it means defending yourself and the P. You shoot a fair one though. Once you put the Pout there, you definitely let him have a stab at it.
THE CO-PILOT
If you like to fly the plane too and not just sit in the cockpit and look pretty... then you’re a co-pilot kinda chic. And of course, you consider guys to be THE pilot. “You want me to take it from here?” you ask. You’re that chic that waits for that sudden change in his stroke to THINK about change positions, because you actually ARE open to changing positions (it just ain’t your priority though). You ain’t scared to get on top, but you won’t if you don’t have to. There’s an occasional imbalance in the physical exchange of the P… which poses a threat. BUT, the fact that you’re a quality chic tends to cancel it out.
MISS DAISY
If you just get in, take the backseat and go for the ride… then you’re Miss Daisy kinda chic. You consider guys to be the chauffeur. “Bang this left! And take this right!” you say. You’re that chic that likes to give directions, set the pace and decide whether to speed up or slow down. But you’re never actually behind wheel. HE has to do everything, from undressing you to opening your legs. When it comes to sex, he’s always on top... you ain’t. In your mind, you’re paying him to drive… so why should you?
THE PRUDE
If you’re idea of great sex is something you’ve seen in a movie, or heard from through the sexual exploits of others… then you’re a prude kinda chic. The stars and moons have to align and moods must be set for your hopelessly romantic ass to even THINK about getting horny. The P is fortified and comes with all these different particularities and formulas that may turn guys off. You don’t quite yet recognize your prime for what it is – that’s if it hasn’t come and gone by now. Ironically, you are probably comfortable around the most pushy and persistent of guys because of the constant gratification they provide. You tend to relieve yourself from initiating anything sexual, and your idea of doing such is by “striking a sexy pose”. Your potential doesn’t really show until you’re being pounced on… and being pounced on is VERY important.
THE SMUT
Self explanatory. It is what it is.
A statistic... another notch on the belt.
Again, my point is that each of these female types molds dudes differently in the sack. He may have been a freak when he first hit you off, but that can dwindle quick and fast if you don't provide the right arena to sustain it. The same goes the other way around -- he may have been a lame that got by on personality, but suddenly "slangin it" could be his thing now... thanks to YOU. On the upside, you have the top three types that secure guys who mostly value putting in work [sexually]. And believe me, guys will put in some work for goodP.Good Pis the cornerstone of lovemaking and good loving is a reciprocating process. Since guys are suckers for visuals, Pandora types yield submissive [and borderline lazy] dudes who think they’re living out they’re own porno scenes in the bedroom. With the same regard to men and visuals, co-pilot types get by on looks too – but they yield that dude who can get comfortable [quickly] in his swerve game while reserving the right to remind you that he does more in the sack than you. Guys are also competitive by nature, so the Contender typeyields the beast who will [eventually] bang your back out every time; since he has to sweat, he’ll work your ass to a sweat too.
On the other hand, the bottom three types should thank their lucky stars for the guys who do give it to them right. There’s no fairness in one sided loving. The Miss Daisies, Prudes and Smuts of the world seem pretty damn sexually frustrated if you ask me. That’s what happens when “what you won’t do” outweighs “what you will do”. Everyday is NOT the 14th… and when you find a guy who thinks so, you’d better marry him. Contrary to popular belief, guys – especially niggas – are a lot more willing to perform at their best when the challenge presents itself. Challenge doesn’t mean playing hard to get. That shit is for the birds. Ladies, please don’t get it twisted… conquering you is not as much of a priority to us guys as you THINK it is.
To preface this, those closest to me know how merciless I usually am when it comes to relationships. Whether the connection is intimate, friendly or even blood – I will cut your ass off quick and not think twice about it. When it comes to breakups, I’ve always been able to walk away very unfeeling of the aftermath and even been called heartless at times. It appears that now, in 2010, I actually have a conscience for this kind of thing. To put it figurative, I’m looking at three doors that will escape this fluffy mindfucking torture-chamber confusion called breaking up while in love.
The description for each door reads…
Behind door number one is the “easy” way out; say sorry and blame everything on yourself. Own up to YOUR faults and issues and dismiss whatever issues you may have with her. There are some things that you might feel are still not out in the open, but what you do know is that she wants to try again. And part of you might want to do the same. Yeah… you definitely might think some of this her fault too, and whether she realizes that or not – you don’t really care. You just choose to be with her, because deep down inside you’re still mourning the loss what you expected life to be like with her. You choose to be with her for hopes of what you two can be, just as she does the same. Regardless of the glaring incompatibilities, you still catch yourself watching her prance around, looking at the goods, etc. It seems that being with her again will justify [and let you act on] that urge of what you [still might] want to do to her. So, the two of you continue on down the yellow-brick road [again] hoping for a happy ending [again]. The challenge along this road of potentiality will be filled with hurdles of uncertainty… distrust being the biggest one of them all. These same hurdles have broken you up before… and hell, may even break you up again. They still will prevent you both from giving each other 100%. You love her and she loves you, but you are truly taking a definitive chance on getting fed up with [and even resenting] each other if you walk through this door.
Behind door number two is what I call the “callous” [or the nigga] way out. Ultimately, you don’t settle for shit. You don’t try working on anything because trying to be with her is what you thought you already were doing already! Through this door you’re proving everyone who said it wouldn’t work… right. But so what, you’re young and you can do that. Whether the fail was soft or epic, you’re convinced that you two as a couple are not strong enough to prevail through the most thick and thin or situations. Strong people love you when you’re right, when you’re wrong, weak or strong, at your best or worse… so essentially, “strong” might not be what either or you are. You as a person will probably never change, and nor do you really believe she will either… so why waste each other’s time? And screw it, she’s doing her thing elsewhere anyway – or at least that’s how it may feel. So why not move on? If you’ve never really spent any time by yourself, now would be that time to do so. You like the sound of being alone and finding yourself, but sheeeiiit – your phone and Facebook has some pretty faces on deck more than ever and the opportunity to get over her with someone else presents itself whether you care or not [and whether you’re over her or not]. It don’t hurt to talk to nobody, right? Hmmph, that how it seems. Hooking up with other people so soon after a breakup is nothing new, and if you can handle it – go for it.
Behind door number three is the “right” way out. Bow out gracefully but be open-minded enough not to burn that bridge between you and her. Drive slow, homie [to your side of the bridge]… because love and time might u-turn you right back after all. That bridge may in fact catch fire for reasons beyond your control, but don’t you be the one to ignite the blaze. If and when it does start to burn, haul ass because you’ll end up really hurt. But until then, gamble on some true time apart and keep an open friendship so that years and years worth of good times aren’t just thrown to the curb. Let the commitment go and let fate have its way as you set x amount of goals for yourself over x amount of time. Meeting new people is an option but should not be a priority. Nevermind her intentions. If you REALLY love her, you’ll give her a chance at really being happy… even if that means her being with someone else. Attaining YOUR ideal self is your priority. Walking through this door is the cornerstone for recognizing that NO relationship of yours – past, present or future – can be at its maximum potential until you are happy with you’ve become in life.
To shack up, or not to shack up – that’s is the question.
In fact, it is the age-old question. A question that [I think] I now have an answer for.
One of my childhood homies hit me up today. We caught [each other] up on five years in like five easy minutes. Excitedly, he told me that he was at the point in his life where he is taking the next step with girlfriend of four years and moving in with her. I couldn’t help but to respond with a long, drawn out hmmmmmmmph after he said it. Then I changed the topic, quick, to dismiss the irony of being in the opposite point of my life after shacking up myself almost two years ago.
Yeah, look at me now… making plans to “unshack” up and shit. Go figure.
I think he got the hint because he never really got back to the topic. I’m glad he didn’t because if he asked me to – I couldn’t give a solid opinion as to whether he was about to do the right thing or not. I thought about it more toward the end of last night, and I will say this. Shacking up… I recommend doing it if you think it’s the right thing you [as a couple] to do. Your justification for doing it should not be financial though. The incentive for doing it should instead be aimed towards growing and strengthening longevity in your relationship; it should be because “this is it” and because “y’all love each other dammit and you’re taking it to the next level”. If you’re a struggling Christian like I am, you already know the church basically forbids such actions. On several occasions, I’ve been in church [sitting low in my seat] as Pastor Creflo Dollar preached sermons about how shacking up conflicts with the sanctity of marriage. Man and wife are only supposed to live together, not boyfriends and girlfriends! Here in the South, you get judged heavily and frowned upon for such a thing… and I’ve been frowned up on plenty of occasions, OUTSIDE THE CHURCH.
But eh… in retrospect, I’m actually glad to have taken a stab at it. I learned a lot about myself with respect to women and how they live. The only sense of living with a woman beforehand came from living with my mother; [this meant like] dinner on the table around 7PM daily, televisions tuned into the Lifetime Channel, house smelling like either Endust or Windex or collard greens on weekends, vacuum lines in the carpet… etc, etc. As far as I was concerned, such was supposed to be life…
LOL, that’s if I were to be dating someone born before 1980. I swear, from that year on… all that typical, predictable default man/woman role shit goes OUT the window. Shacking up allows to you really test the dynamics of a relationship, especially under the cultural and gender shifts created by the Nineties Girl and [what I call] the Millennium Man. You learn your limits. You learn what ticks you off. You learn what you do that ticks your mate off. You get to see who’s better at what; banging breakfasts may be her thing while down-home dinners are what you do best. (My ex has me on the Spaghetti though, I like hers better than my moms. Shhh…)
Of course, it doesn't stop there. You even learn which one of you is better with money. You learn who will be the tidier of the two. You learn that you can't stand the sight of someone else's hair in the bathroom sink, or that one's wet towel outside the bathroom grosses the other out. You learn that in fact, some people don’t [and may not have to] do laundry as much as you do. The list goes on. I won’t though…
But above all, you really learn just how much of each other you can tolerate. There were times when me and mines would practically overdose on each other. So in my case, me going back home to Jersey for a few days at least once a month was probably the best thing for us. While absence made the heart grow fonder, we both got our “me” time in. Not all couples are the same though. One my boys lived with is girlfriend for a lengthy amount of time, and [from the outside looking in] her spending time away from him eventually became problematic for him. She forgot how to do things without him, and never let him have any fun WITHOUT her.
I definitely don’t regret the decision to have moved in with my girlfriend. Yeah, I am moving out now but we’d probably continue to cohabitate if circumstances were better on my behalf. Her shit is straight, its mine that ain’t. Still, I digress – the point I am trying to make is that my moving out would be much uglier had we put off moving in [with each other] until marriage. It’d be a long drawn out process involving lawyers and papers to be drawn up. This may be pushing it, but, moving out as an ex-boyfriend instead of as an ex-husband may even give us a remote chance to getting back together in the future (speaking in more broader terms if you will). Eff what you heard if you ever think that I’d move out as someone’s husband, only to get back with my wife and have to move back in. Puh-lease, my pride wouldn’t let me. Again, I digress – I just think that if you plan on being with someone for the rest of your life then you should at least be entitled test whether you can live with them or not; to me, that is a very vital step in the decision-making process toward nuptials.
So to shack-up or not to shack-up? My answer… do what you want, but be cautious and open-minded. You’ll either fly or flop. Regardless of how good it may feel, be prepared to flop at all times. The more you soar, nonetheless, the stronger your relationship will be in the long-run.
And as for me, this part of my life... this part right here?
This part is called "The Pursuit."
So it’s been like six months since I’ve blogged, even more [than that] if you’re talking about meaningful blogging. Not to mention, I’ve been blogging on MySpace for the last two years. Yeah…umm… the whole MySpace thing? I’ve definitely outgrown it. That joint came and went like BlackPlanet. Since then, I’ve mostly resorted to my journal in thinking privately (or so I thought).
One could say that six months ain’t really that long of a time; if you revisit the past, and Barack had a DC address – then it isn’t really that long ago in my book. But for me, these last six months have seemed like the longest. And for these last six months, hell has had its fury on my life and the devil has thrown everything he has in his possession at me. Aside from my friends, everything else has just seemed to fall apart.
In mid-September, there was an incident in which I was in a car that spun several times across a highway amid dangerous and inclement weather here in Atlanta. While I [really] am convinced that I was supposed to die that night, I obviously didn’t. Nor did anyone else in the car or the car itself. I give God the glory every time I think about it though. In the same breath, I also realize that I have seen way too many Final Destination movies and feel [LOL] like the world’s had it out for me ever since. I’m not saying that I’ve had near-death experiences while crossing the street like the film, but from about that day and on – shit has literally been spinning out of control ever since. Everything I have grown to know and love has just… like… died… and crumbled. Bit by bit.
Anyone who knows me knows that the most important thing to me is my family. I thought everyone’s family was like mines, but over the years I’ve had to learn that everyone’s kin isn’t always the most close-knit. But this year something happened to mine. The paternal side grew apart, as the maternal side got punched in the gut – only to become even tighter than it already was. Grandma Lawrence (grandmother of six) who always lived closer became unexplainably distant from everyone who used to matter most. Meanwhile my “Bookie”, Grandma Carr (beloved grandmother of 19), died unexpectedly of a heart attack in October. As you would imagine, this hurt me and the family DEEP. Salt got thrown into that wound when my aunt, her little sister, suddenly died right after she did. Getting over the death of my grandmother has definitely been a process and times like these (a week before what would’ve been her 67th birthday) reminds me of how that process is still ongoing. What hurts the most is having had lost her when she [in fact] was really the only elder between the two [grandmothers] who still put family on the same pedestal that I did.
And then there’s why I reference the term pursuit. Just like in my favorite film The Pursuit of Happyness, getting a job is of the HIGHEST importance in my life right now. Not having one has probably engraved another line in my forehead from moping all the time. Within the week before and after burying my grandmother, I had two interviews with the City of Dunwoody (one of ATL’s faux Beverly Hills type soccer mom suburbs) that I got pretty excited over. The first of the two being an interview to distinguish myself amongst the other dozens of applicants, and the second being my ultimate chance to land the job between myself and two other finalists. Now, obviously, if I got the job – I wouldn’t be writing this, right? Yeah, salt in the wounds. Death followed by disappointment. Nevertheless, I’ve continued to apply to EVERYTHING possible. Right around Thanksgiving, I was fortunately enough to secure another interview in Midtown ATL; three weeks ago, I interviewed for that. But I learned my lesson when it comes to hyping up a prospective job, so the month I was asked to give them in considering my application ain’t quite done yet. It’s still up for grabs as far as I’m concerned.
But, this most recent interview [as far as I’m REALLY concerned] will be my last interview in Atlanta PERIOD.
Remember that part in Happyness where (Will) Chris Gardner’s relationship with his wife suffered because of his inability to provide and be the “man” of the house? Yeah – that shit is FORREAL, dawg. While she’s much stronger than Thandie Newton, my girlfriend [after five years of dating and two years of a serious, committed relationship] and I have called it quits. Chris took the kid, I’m taking the dog. LOL… I reference the movie but I guess I should say that our situation is really not as congruent to the film as I initially make it out to be; unlike Thandie, mines took care of business effortlessly and never once made me feel bad about not being the breadwinner. And hell, she’s not leaving – I am. There are no bad guys in this. Our downfall was the cause of an ongoing, exasperated lack of communication and mismatch of [what I’ve been told is called] love-language. Her language – explicit, verbal and aggresive. Mines – implicit, suggestive and occasionally tangible, predominately through an action. Essentially, a show horse was dating a mule or [as it pertains to me] a jackass; both of the four-leggers will pull your chariot, but one’s clearly a bit more smiley about it. As it pertains to us, me not smiling as much as she did little to reflect how grateful I [in fact] was and have always been. For all I knew and cared, staying in Atlanta to be with her was a smile within itself.
But… clearly, that wasn’t the case and ultimately not enough for us to make it. Everything that happened over that last third of 2009 sent my mind into overdrive. I stressed more than ever. I missed home more than ever because that sense of family that I value so much never really existed here. My mind went elsewhere; the result, I overestimated the security of my relationship and subconsciously put “us” on the backburner. Consequently, we grew apart in ways that I’d never imagine we would. Neither of us was happy with the direction we were going, nor did we have any solutions other than breaking up. I’ve spent countless… and I do mean COUNTLESS hours alone lately and had much time to think about it all. In limited but valuable retrospect, ending it is and was definitely for the best. Lesson learned…
Still, we’ve vowed to remain friends and are doing well to remain civil and fond of each other. This could be because I’m 26 now… I ain’t that malicious, horny little 19 year old (and again at 23) that dumped one girl to be with another [God, did I learn the hard way…that NEVER works]. This could also be because she and I are still “roommates” until I get word from this job [that will decide if I leave ATL or not]. This could also be because I love her, am still kind of in love with what we were and refuse to make this an ugly breakup like the rest; because I as a person will always respect her and be thankful for all that she’s done for me. Honestly, the “friends” thing is even weird because I don’t wanna even picture her with someone else because I have yet to “undo” the mental “together-til-the-end” visuals in my mind. [To most] Still loving her would usually be enough to for us to keep to going. However, there’s a significant lack of trust that joined our list of problems toward our ending. I have never NOT trusted any girl in my life. Love or not… when you don’t trust your other half, there’s really no point in being with them at all. But at the same time, KARMA is a bitch and all that clowning/playing around in my past nipped me back in my ass years later. That’s how I’m eating this. I hate to say it… but every man needs this kind of curveball and unforeseen uncertainty in his life for him TO LEARN HOW to draft, set up shop and really appreciate the next keeper to come along. This is why I can comfortably say it’s best for she and I not to be with each other at this point.
From the bottom of my heart, I wish her the best and I hope she never forgets that.
But yeah – enough with the sappy stuff. I think I've set the stage. I conclude by bringing it back to this whole blog thing and its purpose. I really am going to get back into this. This platform for writing has always been good therapy for me and while 2009 will go down as the worst year of my life, it will also be the year that a faithfully and noted blogger like myself (yeah, y’all know liked how I used to do it) only blogged five times. For the last five years, there’s always been something relieving about blogging and [once again] I’ll let it be how I deal with being kicked in my face by the reality of this whole “starting over again” thing. All this comes after some very important chats with two very life-long female friends, both of which have known me for more than half my life and can easily have my back and tell me how wrong I am all at the same time. With them around, I feel like Terrell Owens… and they are like my... Mo and Kita, maybe? (Ok, maybe not – I won’t throw another show title into this). The verdict is, I have to fix myself first… I cannot make anyone else [especially a woman] happy until I’ve made myself happy.
"life got dope as soon as I got back on my new jerz shit"
