Saturday, June 30, 2007
If that wasn't true, he'd totally get 5 like everybody else, lol. Here goes...
1. If you could plot the evolution of your relationship with the mexican musically what would the songs be?
Oooooh wow why is that such a good question? I dunno. I'm gonna have to do some ipod research. I'll get back to you.
2. What's the countriest thing you eat?
Lol! Let's see... its probably I tie between pork rinds and okra. I know, I know, SOOO country. But soooo good. In both cases, my grandma got me to eating both foods. I can eat both allllll day and be perfectly happy.
3. What would your ideal movie role be?
I'd like to play a serial killer actually. And I don't mean like the whole Charlize Theron in Monster kinda serial killer, I mean a completely, totally left of crazy, psychopath. Why? Because those kinds of roles are generally left to men. Even know that there are women playing roles traditionally left to guys i.e. cops, more often than not the character is so sexed up that it loses any and all authenticity. I'd like to have the opportunity to play something along the lines of a female Hannibal Lector; someone so off, so creepy and scary that there's no way the character could be sexualized and would become somewhat of a touchstone for all future crazies to be based upon. Mostly, I'm really attracted to being able to play the types of characters generally relegated to males. I'd really like to play a female gangster too, like a Scarface in a skirt, lol. I'd just mostly like to do something that broadens the scope of women either being the sexy love interest or the intellectual but completely asexual sidekick/eventual damsel in distress with no shades of gray in between.
4. Why do you like tattoos and piercings so much?
In an interview a couple years ago, Angelina Jolie said something that I think completely sums it up; "As actors, we spend our lives living in other skin that is not our own. Tattoos are an external way of marking your skin for you, a sign that you were, in fact, present even when others flowed so freely though you." That hit it right on the head for me. I've removed all my piercings (except my ears) but to this very day I love all my tattoos. They all represent different periods in my life, different messages that I needed to get to myself and wished to carry with me forever. Each of my 4 tattoos is special and has its own meaning. I considered each of them very carefully and they all have their own story. Take for instance the tattoos on my wrists. On my right, is a symbol for war, on my left a symbol for peace. The inspiration for them came from a poem I read I in high school that said, "the essence of life is the journey to find balance between war and peace in ones soul. When the scale tips too far in either favor, is when the journey ends; either a warrior's demise or ultimate peace." I can't tell you how many times I have been in the middle of something, had no idea which direction to take, to fight it out or to let it go, and suddenly I'd be staring at a tattoo that gave me the answer as though it were brand new to my skin. Somewhat kooky and new age-y, I know, but my tattoos are a constant reminder to me that I live in my skin, and I am the only one that has to like it.
5. What's your favorite feature?
Hmmm... I wanna say something extremely video ho like my ass (which is nice) or my boobs (which are spectacular). But I really like my lips. They're small, but the bottom lip is slightly larger so my mouth is always drawn into a perpetual pout. And I love the beauty mark on my chin. The only thing I've never really liked about my mouth was my teeth, and now that I have braces, I know I'm gonna feel far less insecure and my mouth will probably a favorite feature for a good long time.
6. What is the one thing that unequivocably attracts you to a guy?
Are you asking me this because I won't sleep with you? Lol I am undeniably attracted to swagger. But let's get something straight; many people think swagger is an attitude, the ability to get attention. Swagger, to me, and is what is most attractive to me, is an intoxicating mixture of prescence and charm which COMMANDS attention from the very energy in a room, not seeks it out thru actions.
7. Lets get the dirty details of how you lost your virginity.
Lmao! Wow. Um... ok. I lost my virginity at 16 to First Love, after about 4 years of us being together. I don't remember the date or anything like that. It might have been spring...? I think I remember having on long sleeves. Anywho, I was downright prudish through much of middle school and high school (which was ironic considering I dated the same boy and wasn't having any sex but was still labeled a ho) and god bless that boy for being patient with me being so petrified of sex, lol. I barely remember how it happened either (damn I'm the worst), I just remember lots of kisses, me stepping away from him to peel off my clothes, and him making sure I really meant it and felt comfortable before anything happened. Most of the girls I knew in high school said their first times sucked, but mine was pretty damn good actually. I contribute it mostly to the fact that we had been together for so long; when it all fell into place, there were little to no inhibitions left between us. I remember thinking afterwards, "why the FUCK did I wait so long to do this?!?" and from that point on it was never an issue again, lol.
8. You're 50 years old. What's your life like?
Oooh another good one. I'd like to be retired. I'd like to have my school open by then and I'd like to be teaching and travelling. I wanna have my glass house down in Atlanta somewhere, a couple dogs. I'd like to be married, and have someone to have all of that with. I imagine myself being one of those impossibly stylish older women with an impeccably cut silver bob that always smells like Chanel #5, lol. Mostly, I'd like to be able to look back over my 50 years and smile, and be proud of it, and content with where I am, having satisfied all my youthful ambitions and free to live the rest of my years however the hell I see fit.
9. How many times have you truly been in love?
Wow you're in my business worse than Jarrod, lol. I'll not be specific and name names, but shockingly enough I truly think I've only been in love once. I have certainly loved the tiny contingency of men I decided to be in relationships with, but I think I've truly only been in love once.
10. If you could go back to any one ex who would it be and why?
DAMN!!!! Lol Sigh. I'd have to say that would have to be Almost Fiance. The good (and bad) thing about our breakup was that there was really no fundamental "wrong" with us; we simply just got involved under awful external cirumstances. We enjoyed each other, we supported each other, we loved each other, good and bad, we laughed together, we were good to and with one another. But life had different plans for us. He was a good boyfriend, he would've been a great husband and father to the kids we would have had, and I don't doubt that we could have been reasonably happy. Hell, he'll be an excellent husband and father to whoever he so chooses, because even with all his faults, he's a good guy. (He will also, might I add, get married first, therefore owing me one of his paychecks as per the terms of our bet, lol) Of all my breakups, our was the one that was probably the least out of either of our control. Though I couldn't see it at the time, life just happened to us in such a way that it was impossible to move forward with us. He set the bar pretty high for how I expect to be treated because even from thousands of miles away he was a better boyfriend to me than men I'd had in my face everyday. Because there was no real fault to find with us, I'd have to say he'd be the one I'd go back to, if I had to go back. Over the 5 years I've known him, I've watched him grow into the type of man his uncle would be proud of, and essentially, that's all I ever really wanted.
*You get to plan your funeral. What is it like?
I like how you tried to slip this one in with a star like it's a bonus question like I wouldn't notice you got 11 questions in. You ain't slick, lol. Anyway, I really want my funeral to be like a party. I, much like Jam, have never been particularly afriad of dying. I've always been more afraid of not living. To that end, I want my funeral to be a celebration of that mantra. No dark colors, no black, brown, or gray, none of it. There can be tears, but very few. I'd go as far as to say that I'd prefer to not have a church service, but I think that might just be too much for my fairly traditional mother. Ideally, I'd like it to be some cross between a dinner party and a bbq; classy but still comfortable, the way I fancy myself to be. I'd like to be creamated and I'd really like this entire process to be a weekend away for my family and friends #1 because I'd like to have my ashes scattered at sea and #2 because I'd like them to have a couple days to lean on each other before they go back to their lives, which is what I would want. I can't decide if I'd prefer my ashes being scattered in Gulf Shores, where I spent many summers with my family or off the coast of Georgia since the state is such a large part of who I am. Hopefully, I'll have many more years to decide. I'd want everyone to eat and drink and laugh and swap funny stories about how I was always falling off stuff, about me always threatening to beat bitches down, being stubborn, being sweet, being difficult, being sarcastic, just BEING. I'd like them to look back over my life and be proud that I lived my life exactly the way I wanted to without regrets or permission to do so from anyone. I think that's part of the reason I've always been so "balls to the wall" about living life; if I died tomorrow I'd like someone to be able to look back over my life and say, "la did it. Even when she was scared, she was fearless and did it anyway." I'd like to think that maybe someone would walk away from my funeral feeling uplifted by my life and charge back into their own with the same sheer force of will that I hope I will have lived my life with. Really, I just want it to be a celebration of who I was; I want it to be the people I love rejoicing in my accomplishments, my faults, and my character and knowing that even if they're sad, it would not be serving my memory and the way I chose to live my life to wallow in the sadness of loss forever. Even if, by chance I am not creamated, I know what i'd like my headstone to read; "Absolutely no regrets." And I want it to be true.
Now as you may or may not have been able to deduce, La is not the most politically correct person on Earth. And actually, I take quite a bit of pride in this. I've seen so many lose themselves in the mire of acting like they're "supposed to". And it drives me crazy. Seriously, it's a big pet peeve of mine. Just, BE. Don't be how you're supposed to be, what's considered correct or acceptable. Just be YOU. DAMN.
Today in Starbucks with my Mama and Godmother, we started talking about she and Godfather's wedding many moons ago. Somewhere in the conversation she said something about, "socially acceptable." It was around this time that I said to my mother, "You will NOT be getting a "socially acceptable" wedding from me, IF you get a wedding at all."
They both get silent, and give me the look like "you say that now." Which is another thing that bugs me; at 23, having lived the life I've lived, I feel as if I'm MORE than capable of solidly making my decisions and sticking to them if I so choose. I'm no longer an 8 year old child who says I'm gonna be an astraunaut. I don't wanna get that look anymore.
I GOT this.
Being the talkative person I am, I've indulged in many a random convo with people older than me. And when I state my opinion, they discredit it with being the unstable opinion of a child. I'm not a child. And I certainly have the prescence of mind to not make big sweeping statements I've not thought through.
I acknowledge that there are many people, of varying ages, who don't think as I do. But they're not ME. But what really gets to me is the sweeping statements about my generation. You've heard them. We're all shiftless, aimless, apathetic. And I'm SICK of it. I'm not shiftless, aimless or apathetic. And I'm tired of the work that I've done on myself to build my character being discounted because I'm 23. Moreso than an age, I am ME. If I say I would prefer to elope than have a wedding attended by friends of friends and business associates to be "socially acceptable" I MEAN it. I've thought about it. I've considered it. And right now, at 23, "socially acceptable" is the least important thing in the world to me. And I'm happy about that. Proud of that.
I try, at times, to be understanding of the vast generational gaps that exist between us. I remind myself we think differently, times are different, we live our lives differently. I'm young right now, I live my life on a whim, on my insticts and my impulses. The baby boomer generation, my mother's generation, sought stability; the white picket fence, mini-van, 2.5 kids. I can't relate. I try to remind myself that the way I seek to define and enhance my life is vastly different. I remember having a convo very similar to this my freshman year at Howard and the fundamental difference between us can be summed up with what I said then;
Our parents' generation thought that to become CEO you must work for 20 years to climb the corporate ladder to get on top. We are the generation to go out and start our own business for us to be CEO of.
I try to be objective. But I get tired of my prescence of mind being undermined because I am 23. That is almost as bad as being undermined because I am a woman, because I am a minority. It is a different kind of prejudice, but a prejudice nonetheless, that shouldn't be tolerated just because it's "socially accpetable."
At 23, I hold these truths to be self evident; right now I am married to my career. If such a time comes that I do decide to share this life with someone, PLEASE believe any marriage ceremony will NOT include invitations to people I don't know for social acceptance or more gifts. The people I want surrounding me on what should be one of the happiest days of my life are the people I know and love, the people who will actually be my village when my marriage is going well, when my marriage is going bad. I choose that. I choose not to be surrounded with people who don't know that my wedding, my life, will not be "socially acceptable".
And that's what I'm proud of.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Well, I'ma try real hard, lol.
I work a half day at work and towards the end of it, I get a phone call from my mama. I'm superbusy and about to walk out the door in 15 minutes to go meet her, pick up the rental car and get on the road. She tells me to check my text messages. She sounds weird. I break away finally, and get to my phone.
She's being admitted to the hospital.
Once I get outside to my car, I call her and see what's up. She doesn't sound good. I go home, grab my bags, and go to the hospital.
Did I mention I'm terrified of hospitals?
So, I sit in the parking garage for a long time willing myself to go in. Once I get upstairs, we do the usual waiting-around-for-the-doctor-to-decide-he-wants-to-give-us-info song and dance. Tests, pain medicine, nurses in and out. My mama finally falls asleep (well, more accurately, passes out because of the morphine) and I stay there for awhile curled up in a chair watching her sleep. Finally, they announce that visiting hours are over and a nurse comes around and kicks me out.
I get in my car and head towards home. The closer I get, the more I'm debating whether or not I'm gonna stay in Texas. Staying in Godforsaken Redneckland over the weekend means two things:
#1 I'll have the weekend off with nothing to do but try not to have a panic attack at the thought of walking into a hospital. Oh, and also waiting on my mother hand and foot, which she adores, but I have been doing all my life so I'm notsomuch with the adoring.
#2 I will miss a job interview in Atl that I've been trying to get for a month now, thus further delaying my plans to escape Godforsaken Redneckland.
I pace for awhile.
And then, I say fuck it, grab my (literal) road dog Honey and get in my truck.
The drive to Atlanta from Houston isn't so bad. It's not until you you're driving through Alabama that the boredom makes you want to die. After pulling over and an accidentally-too-long delay for sleeping, I hit Atl about 3pm Friday.
I realize, as I'm texting my usual suspects to let them know I've arrived (Joy, First Love, cousins) that in her excitement, Joy has somehow forgotten that I've been up all night. I have to remind her that I am definitely due for a nap. Bless her heart.
I nap for about 17 seconds and then we hit Atlantic Station which is like a Georgia equivalent of Georgetown in DC, the Harbor Shops in Miami, Soho in NY. We shop for about two minutes before we have to leave to prepare for the evening.
This is where our accounts of the evening begin to differ.
Joy has told me previously that it's her friend Thurm's bday and invited me out. I previously said yes, not remembering that I've already told my friend, let's call her Rockhead, that I would meet her and her line sisters at The Compound. (It was Greek picnic weekend in Atl so everybody and their frat was there.) While we shop I debate; I'm still kinda sleepy so I kinda don't wanna go anywhere. I told Rockhead I'd chill with her a few weeks back. I told Joy I'd go with her to this club I've never heard of but Thurm "said the music was good." I was still debating by the time we got back to my house. In the end, I decided to go with Joy. I ignored the calls from Rockhead for the rest of the night.
I guess my FIRST clue that this wasn’t going to be exactly my scene was the fact that Joy had on jeans and sneakers. Now, La may be a tad bit hood, but La is TOTALLY saddity when it comes to her club selection. If it doesn’t have a strict dress code, or at least a dress code of some type, I’m not in it. At the risk of sounding racist, if the patrons are at least 80% Black or Hispanic it’s probably not gonna be my scene. If the parking lot looks like a set for the Fast and the Furious Tokyo Drift, I’m taking it back to the house. If it doesn’t have a cover, I won’t be inside. If I have to pay said cover, I probably won’t go. (Being at HU spoiled me; between me and Reka, we always knew somebody that could put us on the list. I paid a cover all of once all my 4 years in DC to get into a club.) (And if you ask, I’ll explain my reasons why those are my club standards.) I’m a Love in DC type, a 40/40 or Butter in NY type. The Compound or the Velvet Room in Atl type. So her obvious lack of disregard for any possible dress code shoulda been my first clue. When we pulled up and the entrance looked like a tunnel to an underground tornado shelter, I knew it was gonna be… interesting.
The music WAS good. But it was more music I would listen to at a BBQ or… you know if I was on some purple with my musician friends, lol. NOT music I go to shake my ass to (which is the only reason I get in the mood to club) and NOT even music that’s a acceptable backdrop to network (why I go to 30 and over events). But I DID however get a DAMN good Long Island and we had fun.
Outside of Thurm continuously humping my leg like a horny dog and complimenting my breasts of course.
Around 2ish, the sleepy and the Long Island catch up with me and I decide to call it a night. I finally find my car and just as I’m pulling outta the space, my phone rings. It’s First Love. Pleasantries are exchanged, yada, yada and he asks me where I am.
“Oh, down on Ponce near the shop (where I get my hair done).”
“Then you’re right down the street from my new crib. You should stop by for a second and see it.”
“I dunno. I’m tired and I still have to drive across town just to get up and come back this way at 7am for my hair appointment.”
“You’re like 3 minutes away La.”
You call me at 2am to invite me to “see your new place”?
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT nigga. Right.
To Be Continued…
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
I'm looking for The Mexican's number.
I can't find it because I erased it from my phone.
I erased it from my phone because he isn't the guy I can call anymore when I've had a hellascious day.
I sigh. This is always one of the hardest parts; learning to disentangle your everyday habits from "us" and settling them quietly into the singular. I'm still for a moment in the darkness, feeling swallowed by the wide expanse of the empty parking lot, staring at the phone in my hands. I feel small right now.
I have about 2 seconds to feel the weight of that moment.
"No need to call me babygirl, I'm already here."
His smile is like a blanket warm from the dryer. Before I know it, he's folding me into his big arms, kissing my head through my hair.
"You're supposed to still be in Chicago," I say, the sentence partially muffled by his muscled chest.
"No, I'm back for a few hours, then off to Miami in the morning. And since I was already packed I thought to myself, 'self, what do I wanna do right now?' Before I could answer, self had gotten us in the truck and I was parking beside you."
"Aww, that's sweet... in a felonous, stalker kinda way."
"You could ruin even the sweetest thing." We laugh and for a second I'm enraptured by the way his mouth moves.
"So," he says, his eyes settling on mine, "get in."
"Where are we going?"
"Just get in."
"Are you gonna dump me in a river when you're done?" He shakes his head at me.
"I just wanna feed you."
"You watch too many Chris Rock movies."
We laugh again at the inside joke.
"The only way I'm coming is if I drive." Without a word, he tosses me his keys and walks around to the passenger side. I step back, get a running start, and jump up into the Rover. I start adjusting my seat, but I'm still pretty tiny in comparison to the truck.
"You need some phone books there, chairwoman of the lollipop guild?"
"Blow me." I start the engine.
We end up at Waffle House, laughing and talking shit, he's telling me about his trip, I'm telling him about mine. I'm looking at him, watching the way he looks over me, the way he smiles and laughs.
"So did you see any exes while you were in the A?"
"Yeah, I saw First Love."
"Should I be concerned?" I burst out laughing.
"Concerned about what?"
"That I got some competition." I laugh even harder.
"You only comp right now K.B. is me, and I'm a hell of an opponent." He stares me down.
"Why you gotta be so hard all the time?"
I lean back and away from him.
"Everybody plays the game. Some were born to do it. Others, like me, are taught as a result of how others play."
"I'm not playing."
"But you're trying to win."
"No maybe. You want me because I told you that you couldn't have me. You can't be wrong."
"Why can't I want you just because I want you?"
"Why do you want me?" He hesitates.
"Checkmate." We're silent, gone are the giggles from mere minutes ago. I exhale hard.
"Look, I like you. But-"
"There's always a but." He looks me square in my eyes. I keep waiting for him to shrink away from my gaze. He doesn't. I try again.
"I like you, but I can't be with you right now."
"Because I like you."
"WHAT?!?!" We try to hold it, but we burst into laughter.
"I can't date you because I like you. And I'm not looking to like anyone right now."
"Tell me you realize that makes no sense."
"If you dealt with me right now, I'd fuck you over." He's quiet again.
"He really fucked you up. Didn't he?" I shift uncomfortably. "Seriously La. You don't have to be so damn hard." We're quiet again, him looking at me intently.
"You miss him?" I consider his question.
"I miss who I thought he was. I miss who I thought we were." I consider my next point carefully. "I miss who I was back then."
"You could be that woman again. I'd like to meet her."
"I don't wanna be that woman again. Spaceships don't come equipped with rearview mirrors." We're looking at each other, barely blinking, eye to eye. He softens around the edges. He reaches across the table for my hand, his big one engulfing my tiny fingers.
"I know you got fucked over. And I'm not trying to push. Well, I'm trying not to push." We giggle.
"I can recognize your head is a little fucked up right now. And I'll try to respect that. But La, I'm not that nigga. That's some childish ass shit to pull on somebody. I'm a grown ass man, lil mama."
"Ooooh that was sexy. Say it again."
"You're such a nigga," he tells me, and we laugh.
"Question," he says, running his thumb over the top of my hand. "Do you think he really loved you?"
I consider it for a long time.
"No. No I don't. If he did-," I clear my throat, "it wouldn't have been so easy for him to-" I falter. "Just- no. No I don't. Otherwise it wouldn't have been so easy for him to forget us, to forget me." I clear my throat again, the backs on my eyeballs stinging. I blink rapidly.
"It's ok to cry."
"No." I clear my throat. "No," stronger this time. "Not wasting the tears. He's not crying over me."
"I doubt he's forgotten you. You're not the kinda woman a man just forgets or tosses aside. Or, hell, anyone for that matter."
"The evidence speaks to the contrary does it not?"
"Why you gotta be so goddamn HARD?!?"
"I'm soft in the right places."
"And goddammit why are you such a nigga?"
We laugh again, loud enough to attract some attention.
"Maybe," he starts and then I guess he thinks harder about whatever he's about to say. "Maybe, you should try to patch things up with him."
"WHAT?!?!?!" I look at him like he's grown another head.
"Seriously, hear me out. You obviously loved this man, and if even half the things you've said and written about him are true, he loves you too. Do you really wanna just walk away from it without giving it everything you've got? You said he texted you Thursday night and wanted to talk to you-"
"I haven't heard from him-"
"So why don't you call him?"
"Because I'm not the one that broke us."
"But you are one of the people who cares about fixing it so-"
"Is there a point?"
"My point is that you should at least get some closure. Maybe you don't go back to him but-"
"It might help."
"You miss him." Our rapid fire convo screeches to a hault. He looks at me with soft eyes. "Just call him La. Blind people could see you miss him. At least try."
"Goddammit stop being so stubborn and prideful and-"
He looks me over and leans back. I sigh and try to explain myself.
"To me he used to be the guy that would never, ever do anything to hurt me. He's not that guy anymore. And maybe he never was. I dunno if there's coming back from that."
"You don't know? So why don't you find out." I'm silent. Suddenly, the peeling paint on the wall is terribly interesting.
"Look La, real talk, this is all I'ma say about it then I'ma leave it alone-"
"Doubt that shit-"
"Oh would you just shut the fuck up for once? DAMN." I smirk at his irritation.
"Don't be that girl babygirl. Don't be that girl that most men couldn't build to be any better, but you're just all fucked up over some childish ass nigga playing little boy games."
Am I that girl?
Sunday, June 24, 2007
... the bridesmaids are wearing gold... lame.
... the combined total carat weight in the grills of the wedding party is more than the bride's ring... both male and female.
... the "chapel" is in a strip mall.
... the bride has to tell her family that the wedding starts at 4pm when it really starts at 5pm.
And they were still late.
... the flyest chick at the wedding is wearing a homemade gold dress... with matching gold gloves... with the fingertips cut out... and a straw hat spray painted gold to match
... members of the audience feel it necessary to sing along with the prerecorded music... loudly and offkey
... the bridesmaids have singlehandedly put every beauty supply store in a 10 mile radius out of supply of gel, premium yaki weave, and Pump it Up to create the elaborate updos that make them all about a foot and a half taller.
... people take pictures of the bride's entrance with their camera phones.
... while waiting in the chapel the groom's family brings "refreshments" to others... "refreshments" of the red cup variety.
... the minister is late.
By 45 min.
... the bride's family engages in a 30 minute debate about whether or not one of the members of the groom's family is a man or woman... or both.
... all the groomsmen are wearing "Chanel" shades... indoors... at a wedding.
... when the minister finally gets there, he looks as though he has yet to hit puberty.
... fingers waves and french rolls are present.
... the idea of appropriate attire to many guests in attendence include stripped polos and brand new Air Force Ones.
... the minister only has a passing acquaintance with the English language. And stumbles through a prayer complete with an uncomfortable 45 second silence.
... some of the bridesmaids walk around the reception in house shoes. Others, walk around completely barefoot.
Funny as hell right? You know what's not funny...?
This was my cousin's wedding this weekend in Atlanta.
*sigh* Yes V, maybe La is a lil hood, but all the Catholic schooling in the world didn't stand a chance up against this kinda shit. Lol
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Men are the new women.
Take, for example, this convo between myself and K.B.:
La: Feel me on this shit, that relationship shit just ain't really what I'm on right now.
K.B.: you won't know that until you try it. And I think I'm the person you should try with. I could change your mind.
La: you know what... you think like a bitch.
He got mad! I don't understand why... :-)
All laughter aside... ok no wait....
Ok. NOW all laughter aside.
What is up with dudes right now? The Mexican pulled his bitch move, Jam's no longer significant other did what I can only assume was another punk ass dude move, K.B.'s on that "I can change you into loving me" shit that most chicks get on. Wtf? I don't get it. When did men get to be such... well, pussies?
Monday, June 18, 2007
Um... well, I'm not gonna put the reason(s) out there on the internet, lol. But I'll tell you during our road trip! :-)
2. What else have you never told me?
Um... I dunno... lol. I tell you alot of stuff. Did I tell you I blew you off one night to almost sleep with Westley but chicken out of it? lol
3. How are you really doing in TX?
Texas sucks. You know how I am about my friends and family, and I don't have either. I feel very isolated and alone. The friends I've made out here are cool, but they don't really KNOW me. Nor do they really have an interest in getting to know me. Not because they're horrible people, but because that's how they are. They're cool to go out and drink with but I don't feel like they know me as a whole person. So I hate it out here. It's miserable. I try to make the best of it because I know it's only temporary, but it sucks. Alot.
4. Have you decided when you are moving BACK to ATL?
I'd like to move next month, ideally. But you know life never seems to work out that way for me, lol.
5. Do you want anything from Seattle?
I want some Dick's!!!! lol
*5. AND WHY ARE YOU BEING MEAN TO K.B.? LOL
I'm not being mean to him per se, he's just really sweating me SO HARD. Like, I told him I wasn't looking for anything serious and he's all, I could change your mind about that. Did I ask you to change my mind? NO NIGGA. Gimme 50! Shit. I hate when dudes try to convince you that what you want ain't really what you want. And I'm really not about just dating one dude right now. I'm all about that starting 5. LOL
1. Can you teach me Spanish? I need to know what's being said about me in more than one language.
I don't know Spanish fluently enough to teach it. I'm more of the hear it, understand it, and answer in English variety. But one of my goals this year is to learn. Wannd do it with me?
Well, not with me, as you are there and I am here in Godforsaken Redneck Land. But you know.
2. Why Howard?
I visited HU when I was like 10 and I instantly felt at home. That was really all I needed. Ever since then, my goal was to get there. When I got there, it was no less disappointing. I still have the same sensation everytime I pull up on campus. A sense of peace comes over me, and I feel at home. That feeling was the reason I wanted to be there. I just got lucky that it just so happens to be one of the best schools on Earth... and the ONLY real HU there is.
3. What kind of a mother do you think you'll be? What will you do different or the same that your mother did?
A friend of mine made a joke once that I'm gonna raise all sorts of new age-y hippie kids. And the more I thought about it, the more that seemed right. I'm all about home remedies and not taking medicine and free thinking, freedom of self expression. My kids will be a varied bunch, I'm sure. I think alot of time parents forget that they're raising little people; people who have to care for themselves, think for themselves, who will have to make up their own minds about who they are and what they want and make their own way in life. I think I'd be a fairly easy going mom. I think I'd be there for guidance on their path, the occassional beating when necessary, lol. I'd be the cool mom that my kids could talk to about sex and that all the other kids wished was their mom.
What would I do different... well, I think alot of my life had to do with the things my mother didn't have or didn't get to do. And alot of it was spent dealing with the issues she introduced into it. So I think mostly, I'd like to make sure that my life is a seperate entity from their growth and the path that their lives take.
4. Do you think O.J. did it?
HELL YEAH O.J. DID THAT SHIT. And I have never been happier to see a guilty person get off, lol. It's about time we got one past the legal system. I personally am a believer in the conspiracy theory that many of the minority men in prison are injustly there. So OJ makes me feel slightly, SLIGHTLY better about that. lol
5. Do you find it hard to throw yourself back in the dating world after going through some bullshit yet again?
Not really. Well, somewhat. The dating isn't hard. It's the trusting people that's even harder. I've never been particularly trusting of people anyway, but this whole situation has made it much worse. I guess more than anything, I am realizing that I can be dispensible to people, so they have become dispensible to me. I guess I shouldn't have been shocked by the whole situation though. His way of dealing with people and situations he doesn't know how to handle is to cut them off and pretend they never existed. I never thought that would apply to me, but obviously I was wrong. So I just take that knowledge into every situation I am presented with; that no matter how "different" they claim to be, they're probably not.
Oooh that sounded bitter. Lol
Saturday, June 16, 2007
1. What was the worst day of your life?
Hmm... I had to think about this one. The actual worst day of my life I will not share over the internet. So this is the 2nd worst. I think the worst day of my life was the day my grandmother died. I have never felt so guilty. I wrote about it awhile back. So go read that. I still feel pretty guilty so I don't wanna rehash it. But I've never felt worse in my life.
2. Who and what do you hate?
Groupies. Oh God how I hate groupies. Groupies of celebrities, groupies of normal men who got something going on for themselves. At Howard, I used to hang out with a bunch of guys who were all attractive, smart, talented, funny, and VERY attractive. To watch the way hoes fell all over themselves for them made me wanna throw up in my mouth a lil. And what's even worse is the men who's whole disposition changes because these silly bitches sweat them so hard. I've seen the most extra regular ass niggas get all on their own dick just because they crossed a greek org and bitches were on them or because they were in the fashion show and bitches were on them... whatever the case may be. And don't get me started on celebrity groupies. I personally don't get star struck cuz I feel like these people breathe and shit just like I do. But I hate to encounter celebrities who automatically assume you wanna fuck them just because you're in their orbit... i.e. Usher and his "curved" ass. Ugh. Personal story. Part of many reasons why I think he is a shitty human being.
3. The best sex you've ever had. Tell me all about it.
Do you mean who with or what instance? Or both? My best time was with The Mexican after he told me he loved me for the first time. It was all the best things about slightly drunk sex and "something big just happened in our relationship" sex. SOOOOOOOOOOOOO DAMN good. But um, that's all I wanna say about him. He gets no more compliments from me.
4. What was your favorite toy as a child?
I had one of those little dogs that did flips and barked. I LOVED that thing. It was white. I had it since I was a baby. It met it's unfortunate end one day when I broke it's legs... not because I am crazy before you even say something smart ass, but because as I grew up, I started feeling the urge to figure out how things worked which is why I'm so good at fixing stuff.
5. Think about something that a man does to you that leaves you DONE. What is it?
In a good way or a bad way? Let's go with the good way cuz I'm over being bitter... for the moment.
To see a man play with kids is the worst thing a guy could ever do to me if I'm really feeling him. After that, it's pretty much a wrap for me hiding any feelings I have for him. There's something about watching a man who is not only good with kids, but completely just lets himself go and is a kid with them. Actually, the first time I realized that I was in love with The Mexican was watching him play with this little girl one day on campus. Completely did me in.
And now back to being bitter...
I HATE when a man ignores me. Anyone, really, but especially a man. Like, seriously? I KNOW you heard me nigga. I'm LOUD. lol If you don't wanna answer me then say that, but at least acknowledge that I just addressed you. That is just a horrible way to avoid a convo you dont wanna have. It IS however, a good way to get La to go from 0 to 100 in under 3.782 seconds.
Next interview please!
Friday, June 15, 2007
1. Vegas...spill it!
Yeah, so my Vegas trip was enjoyable but not at all scandalous. Wanna redo so you can show me the ropes? LOL
2. What's been most useful to your career, your beauty or your brains? (not at all compromising either one)
Hmm... honestly I'd have to say my brains. More people give me a chance because I'm pretty but my brain has been what's helped me make wise decisions about what I should and shouldn't do. That plus the fact that being attractive has certainly led people to typecasting me and underestimating my intelligence. But the brain is what sets me apart from the millions of other pretty girls trying to do what I do, and relying on it will be what helps me succeed.
3. You ever get your azz kicked? If no, what's the biggest brawl you ever been in?
Wise, come on, seriously. Do I seem like the type of chick to get her ass kicked? lol No ma'am I have not ever gotten my ass kicked. The only person I've ever known that I knew off top could kick my ass is a very good friend of mine now, lol.
Biggest fight I've ever been in was many years ago outside a club in Atl. My "cousins" knew this dude from high school, ran into him and his girl and her girls in the club. Introductions were made and then I turned to the bar and tried to see how far I could get with the sexy chocolate bartender making super potent drinks. Somehow as the night progresses, she starts shooting me dirty looks from across the club and her and her girls start doing that bitch shit bitches do when they're "the type, loud as a motor bike, but wouldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight." Once the club closes, the guy leaves with his boys, I walk out into the parking lot with my cousins and my girls and all of a sudden I feel something kinda tap me like on the back of my knees. I turn around and realize THIS BITCH HAS HIT ME WITH HER GODDAMN CAR. That was her FIRST mistake. Her second and most critical mistake was having long hair (weave) and leaving her window down. I proceeded to calmly walk around to the driver's side and pull her outta the car through the window by her hair and beat her ass in the parking lot. I guess it wasn't really a brawl cuz her girl's didn't jump in so my cousins didn't have to and it was mostly me trying to beat her to the edge of oblivion. But that was the last fight I was in. I think. That was a couple years ago. I've never started a fight because I'm not that type of person, but I will end that shit. I will end THE FUCK outta that shit. And I've only fought for good reasons, like when fake trill bitches roll their car into me.
Ooh that shit got me heated all over again, lol.
4. Name 5 cities you never been to but want to and why?
Damn, just 5? I've always wanted to be a kinda nomad, just travelling around, picking up and going when I feel the need. So this is hard.
- DYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING to go to Venice. I was obessesed with Italian culture when I was younger and I remember going through long periods where I had tons of pictures of Venice plastered all over my walls like it was a boy band.
- Second is Pompeii. I've always wanted to walk the ruins. I remember learning about the city for the first time in 5th grade and being fascinated by the idea that an entire city could be laid to ruin so quickly, and more importantly, that the lava perfectly perserved everything.
- Toronto. I hear it's gorgeous and clean. Gotta go in the summer though. Not fucking with the Canadian winters.
- Pacific Harbour or Suva. Both are islands in Fiji. I can't pick just one. Pacific Harbour is a tourist center with deep sea diving, snorkeling, sky diving, jet skiing, 5 star resorts, etc. Suva is the capital and, much like Madrid, has been populated with resturants, shopping, etc but the architecture is still colonial. I wanna go to Fiji soooooo bad.
- Krakow in southern Poland. It is actually home to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. Although it's been liberated for 60 years, it still stands as a museum today. The Holocaust was one of those things in history class that fascinated me and I spent hours reading about it. (If you haven't guessed by now, I'm a huge history nerd.) Auschwitz was the largest and most deadly camp in Poland, a large compound with 34 sub-camps. There were only I believe 3 more much larger camps in Germany that killed more Jews during the Holocaust out of the estimated 15,000 that existed. I've always wanted to go and walk the grounds.
*Honorable Mention- Rio de Janeiro. Mostly to act a fool. But I'm not pretty enough to go there longer than a couple days for vacation, lol.
5. How do you say 'nigga' in Spanish?
It depends. Spanish, moreso than most other languages because it's usage is so widespread, has subsets of the language and slang specific to particular regions. There isn't in particular a word in Spanish that translates exactly into nigga though some Spanish speakers (mostly those of the European derivative) refer to black people as les negros which literally means "the blacks." The only slang term I know of which somewhat translates into nigga from Spanish is 'nocca' which is actually used to address darker skinned Latinos (Cubans, Panamanians, Dominicans, etc.) You'll find in Latino culture, the word nigga is almost nonexistent, especially considering that many Latino cultures (especially those in Central and South America) are closely related to many aspects of African American culture.
Yeah nigga, I know stuff, lol.
Who else wants a term to interview or be interviewed?
Thursday, June 14, 2007
1. You write amazing prose; who are your favorite authors/books, and why? Share a favorite passage.
OOOOOOOOH. Don't make me pick. Hmmmm.... I'm a HUGE Pearl Cleage fan. HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE. She writes almost like music; it's intelligent without being too lofty. She can write real life scenarios and characters and make them believable without losing the beauty of the fictional story. Seriously. LOVE her. I saw her at a resturant in Atl once. First of all, she's GORGEOUS. And I think she's the only person of all the famous people I've ever met that actually had me starstruck. I totally forgot EVERY SINGLE WORD of the english language. Smooth, I know. I can't recall a favorite passage of hers because most of my books are in storage (in my defense of my shoe fetish, I have just as many books as I do shoes; around 200). I also really enjoy Eric Jerome Dickey. To be honest, I am not a fan of most black lit; it's badly written, cheesy, unrealistic. But the 2 books that really turned me into a fan of his were The Other Woman and Between Lovers. Both were well written with realistic and likeable characters and a damn good plot, somewhat erotic without losing it's artistic value, and something that you think about long after you've turned the last page.
2. What pair of shoes in your closet/under your bed/in storage is your favorite, and why?
LMAO! You know me so well. Um... let's see. Seriously, this is hard for me, lol. I have a pair of black Nine West strappy sandals that I wore to my 11th grade prom. They've got a strap across the toe with rhinestones going across and a skinny strap around the ankle, like a 4 inch heel. THEY'RE FABULOUS. Everytime I wear them, it's like foot jewelry. They are NOWHERE near comfortable, but my legs look utterfly fierce in them. I should really go get them outta storage.
*Honorable Mention* these black Via Spiga ankle boots I bought with my first paycheck from my first job in high school. They were the very first pair of expensive shoes I bought myself. I LITERALLY wore them til they feel apart cuz they went with everything, they were fabulous and they were COMFORTABLE. It wasn't until I fell down the stairs one day working the stockroom at Banana and broke the heel clear off that I was able to let them go.
Mind you, that was well into college. lol
3. Why do you think Tupac is the prototype?
Anyway, it's because he's the perfect balance of artist and thug, militant revolutionary and sensitive poet. That is entirely appealing to me. With the exception of a few crushes and Will, I have never been particularly fond of pretty boys for the long term. Despite my seemingly being a Kappa magnet, it is usually guys that are... ahem... a little "rougher around the edges" are the ones I fall hard for. I contribute this mostly to the fact that most of the men I've come in contact with in life (family, friends, associates, etc) were more hood than a little bit. However, to satisfy my artistic side, he has to possess the ability to be deeper than your typical street thug too. That balance is what I find attractive; the ying and yang of being "hard" (not really the word I was going for but it's 2:30am) and still have some artistic, social and economic sensibilites about him. The corporate thug type. Also mostly because I find that this particular type is the only kind that can truly handle the force of nature that is La, lol.
I dunno if I explained that as well as I needed to... lol
4. If you could devise a (hypothetical, of course!) perfect murder, what would it be?
How good are these questions?!?! omg!
Hmm... if I had to devise the perfect murder, I probably wouldn't be the one to do it. I don't think I could ever kill anyone myself unless it was in self defense. But I would have to be the mastermind behind the whole operation. I can't think of anyone I've ever wanted to kill, but knowing me, the murdered party probably wouldn't be the intended victim. They'd probably just be collateral damage in me trying to set someone else up for it. It would have to be fairly bloody and it would have to be done with some sort of weapon that would have to allow the murder to get very close and intimate with the victim. Something like a knife or an axe or a fish hook. Usually because deaths that involve a hand held weapon generally are believed to indicate more rage and premeditation, this would likely increase the chances of whoever I was setting up getting the death penalty. I'd wanna be like the puppet master, pulling all the strings but never seen. And then once the person I set up was sentenced to death, I'd probably do something evil like go see them in jail and somehow without admitting it let them know it was me who set them up. Think a cross between Wild Things and Motives.
That was kinda creepy and little evil. Moving on...
5. Who do you love?
I'm gonna need... more information... lol
I love my friends, and I don't mean the thousands of people I know peripherally from Howard or the people who I can barely remember from high school even though we hung out everyday. My dearest friends (Joy, Shani, Reka, etc) are vitally important to me. They are the people who, when they are not around, the world feels slightly askew. They're the people who know me, inside and out somehow, despite me being so sneaky and secretive and private. They're the people who could, if they wanted to, single handedly devastate me, but never would. I love my puppy cuz even when she drives me crazy, she is still the biggest source of complete, utter and blind total affection all the time. I feel so loved when I come home and she meets me at the door wagging her tail and jumping. I love my family, even the ones that drive me crazy, because they ground me, and in their own special, occassionally vindictive way they remind me of where I come from. And as strange as it sounds, I love my blog family here in the annonymous world on the Internet. If you really consider it, you all have been with me through some of my best and worst moments as much as anyone has to listen, to laugh, to give advice, to vent. Reading regularly, commenting, in a certain way is agreeing to bear witness to my life, and that is no small undertaking to bear. I know that long after I stop writing, I'll still wonder what's going on with Stace and Dreezy, whether or not Jam has conquered the world yet, if Wise has settled into her 30s nicely and accomplished all she wants and managed to make it look damn good, if Jarrod is producing the nightly news segment I watch every night. I've always kind of judged online daters, but after blogging it makes slightly more sense. If you choose to seize the opportunity, the internet can provide the annonymity to be far braver, far more bare than you are in real life. And if you're lucky, one day, like me, you'll wake up and realize that bravery has spilled over into your everyday life and you're a better person for it. Romantically speaking, there's no one around right now, obviously, lol. But one day, many, MANY, MANY years in the future, I'm sure someone will come along that makes me wanna settle them into my life when I'm like 40 and old and settled in my ways, and I guess I'll have to love him too.
But only if the sex is good. :-)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I'd DEFINITELY be a New York chick. I think in another life I was totally some Queens chola, all my curly, crunchy hair, bamboo earrings, and too darkly drawn in eyebrows, cussing people out in Spanish, lol. Like most New Yorkers I know (*cough* Wise), I am loud, I am opinionated, I am aggressive. So it's a good fit. I remember when I was in high school, I was in a dance concert doing a hip hop piece. The choreographer told the makeup artist, "Let's bring out her inner Nuyorican." I am ashamed to say that even the ghetto wore on me well, red lipstick and brown lip liner and all, LMAO!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
So you should come over tonight and let me cook for you. I throw down in the kitchen with dinner... and breakfast too. Your call :-)
Oh you're pushing it.The texts stop after I send that. Momentarily.
Just come over after work. Lemme cook.
I'll let you know.
Stop playing so damn hard to get and just let a nigga do something nice for you.
Who said I was playing?
Call me when you get to the gate.
I didn't say I was coming.You're coming. Call me.
I go of course. I never turn down a homecooked meal.
I get there and promptly jump up on his counter, sidekick in hand, IMing some friends.
"Ay get your big ass off my counter."
"You know you've been trying to figure out a way to get my ass on your counter since you met me," I retort, barely giving him my eyes.
He smiles but says nothing. I keep typing. He's putting the finishing touches on the food and I'm pretending it doesn't smell as good as it does.
"Put the phone away. You're on my time now. Food is ready."
"Excuse you?" I say, all neck rolling and attitude.
"I said, PUT. THE. PHONE. AWAY. I cooked for you, the very least you can do is give me your undivided attention for awhile."
I do, but I take my time with it.
We eat, and the food is sooooooo good it's ridiculous. Chicken fettucini and capers, fresh tossed salad (no homo), garlic bread, tiramasu for dessert. SOOOOOO GOOD. I'm impressed.
After we eat, we grab a bottle of wine and curl up on the couch, on opposite ends, my feet in his lap. We start to talk, shallow at first, slowing wading out into the deeper side of the ocean. It happens. Inevitably, the conversation turns to me, to my last relationship. I shift uncomfortably and try to gloss over it. He calls me on it.
"Be real La. It's just a question." I clear my throat.
"Well," I start, unsure of my footing on this terrain, "we were together-ish for about 2 years."
"Yeah. Let's just say we were involved for 2 years and extenuating circumstance," I make air quotes with my fingers, "kept us from making it official until much later."
"So why are you here with me instead of wherever he is with him?" I clear my throat again.
"There is no... him... anymore... for me."
"Did he die?"
"Then there is a him." Again my throat needs clearing. "So," he says, "tell me about him."
"What do you wanna know?"
"Anything. Tell me whatever you want. How did you two end up together?"
"The same way as everyone else. Friends first, we hit it off, could talk about anything. We were just... drawn to each other." He grunts.
"You met at Howard?" I nod. He smiles at my discomfort.
"La, I'm just asking you about your man," he says, amused at my vague answers.
"He's NOT my man," I say, a little too loudly. I see him recoil. It's his turn to clear his throat.
"So how did that happen?"
"How did he go from being someone you were drawn to, to someone who's name you refuse to speak?" We're quiet for a long time. I'm shifting. I'm uncomfortable. He waits.
"I- I don't... I don't completely know." He stares at me curiously. "We haven't... had... a conversation."
"So for all you know, he could still be thinking that you're together."
"Uh no, I doubt that," I say, with more than a little bitterness peppering my tone. He's quiet for awhile. I am too, feeling right on the verge of throwing up in my mouth.
"It's hard when you realize that not only what was, isn't anymore, but it probably never was to begin with."
"What do you mean?" he asks me, his fingers kneeding gentle circles in the balls of my feet. I lean my head back on the arm of the couch and slouch down.
"He and I, we went through... so much. I stayed, he stayed, when so many other people would have thrown down their hands and walked away from the table. We... worked. We worked hard at us. And..." My voice trails off.
"And...?" he prompts me.
"He just gave up on me. He just walked away. It was so easy for him. And..." This time he waits.
"And I don't understand how that's possible. How, after all this time of talking about everything, being there for everything, he could just... let me go. Without a word, without a fight. He just gave up two years like it was... nothing."
"And that's what you feel like now; nothing."
"Nothing to him. Nothing at all to him. Nothing was all I ever was to him."
"I don't think you can say that."
"It was just SO EASY for him," I say, louder, more heated now. He looks at me like he wants to hug me. I shake off the sensation. I lean my head back again. We sit in silence for minutes that stretch on like days. The next time I speak my voice is barely above a strained whisper.
"I think I finally just realized that he didn't love me. He doesn't love me. He couldn't. This isn't love."
"That's not fair La. You can't discount 2 years of togetherness just because of a breakup."
"Why not? He did."
"He loved you La. He probably still does. I don't know any man that would spend 2 years with a woman he didn't love."
"Well," I say, clearing my throat, "I guess none of that matters anymore."
Once more we're silent, him rubbing my toes, me pulling at the hair at the base of my neck. I can feel the energy in the room, running over my skin. I feel him wanting to ask more questions.
"You can ask me," I tell him, not bothering to meet his eyes. I can feel them on me.
"So how do you feel about him now?" I am still, waiting for something particularly poigniant to come to me.
"I did all the things I was supposed to do. I erased his number from my phone so I can't call or text. I deleted all his screen names. I went through my email account and erased all our emails, 2 years worth of emails that I had saved, gone. I haven't called, haven't written, and I won't, because he doesn't even care enough to get in touch with me. I took down the pictures, erased him from... everything. But, most of the time I still feel right on the verge of throwing up. There's just... nothing. Every emotion I even think I feel about it comes and goes just as quickly. I'm just... nothing. I'm just coming to terms with the fact... that he didn't, doesn't love me. Or respect me. Or want me. Or... anything for me anymore. And probably never did. That's what I get to remind myself of everyday."
"That can't be the case La. You're not the type of woman you pretend a whole relationship with."
"Well, he did a damn good job didn't he? And here, I thought I was the actress."
We're still. I force my mind to go blank. I listen to the air crackle around us. I feel him looking at me, I sense his instinct to protect me, to make it better for me, to want to make me not be hurt anymore. I feel him getting attatched.
"Why are you single K.B.?"
"Because I am tired of being a ladder for women."
"I don't get it."
"Women see me, see my life, my apartment, the cars, the people I know, the places I go, and they see me as a stepping stone to get to the next level of living they don't think they can reach on their own. They see me as a potential husband, not as a person, not as a whole man. They just wanna be the one to say, "I got him." And I'm past the point in my life where I'm willing to spend every date being evaluated like I'm on a job interview." He pauses.
"My last girlfriend, we were together for 3 years. She cheated, broke my heart. I didn't date for awhile afterwards. When I finally did start dating again, I found that every woman I met was doing fine for herself, but was looking for more. Not someone to come in and enhance what she had, but rather someone to come in and give her what she felt she was missing. I'm not that guy."
I look at him slightly different now. I never considered it from the other side of things, what it's like for a man like him who's considered the prototype for many women. Just wanting someone to take you as you are, not take what you can give them.
"So what do you want now?" I ask him, and I'm pretty sure I know what the answer will sound like.
"I just want something real." I look up and he's looking square at me. He's asking me a question. I groan on the inside.
"K.B. I'm not gonna be that something for you."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah I do. If for no other reason than because I don't wanna be."
"You could change your mind." I chuckle to myself. Sometimes men are such... well, women.
"I won't change my mind. I'm not at the point where I want something real. I just wanna be."
"But you won't always feel that way and-"
"You're not waiting around on me to decide that maybe one day I wanna be someone else's girlfriend. I won't let you."
"How you gonna tell me what to do?"
"Look, I'm being as upfront as I know how to be. I WILL NOT be that girl for you. I don't want to be. You can do whatever you want to with that. I've given you fair warning. Anything that happens from here on out is on you." I return his stare, letting him know I'm dead serious, hoping he feels the weight of what I'm saying.
"Aiight then La. Let's play."
Monday, June 11, 2007
1) what was your (now) laughably worst date ever?
Oh my damn. I went out on a date with this guy, I think it was after Almost Fiance and I broke up. He was great on paper; funny, intelligent, great job, no serious mama issues to speak of, so on and so forth. We go to the Cheesecake Factory cuz I am seriously craving some chicken fettucini. We start talking about our relationships with our parents; nothing too serious, just light, shallow first date convo. All of a sudden this grown ass man STARTS TO CRY into his food. And I'm just sitting there like.... OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?! SO BAD.
2) why are you such a fighter?
I think it's because I am small, and because I am light skinned. I've always been underestimated because of both. People thought that because I was small they could pick on me. Girls thought because I was pretty, that I was an easy target. I couldn't possibly be pretty AND stand my own ground. I couldn't be smart AND be able to fight. So I spent alot of time proving myself growing up, and I guess the defense to fight just never quite left. I can honestly say I have never started a fight, but I'm always waiting for someone to try me, and I'm always ready to go for broke when they do, lol.
3) i believe you said you could cook, what's the meal or dish you do when you really want to impress someone?
It depends on the person. Usually I throw down southern soul food style; fried chicken, mac and cheese, greens, hot water cornbread, green beans, and I make DAMN good ghetto tea. If I'm trying to be fancy, I make a pretty good chicken alfredo. And if I'm feeling my roots, I make pretty good flautas and empanadas. In short, I throws down in the kitchen when I want to.
4) if you weren't a ride or die, southern hoodrat chick (lmao! i know you're gonna love that), what would you be? one of those ride or die hood chicks from jerz, ny or dc?
LMAO!!! Jam if I didn't love you like I do... I'd totally have to admit that statement is semi right. I think no matter where I was from, I'd be the same ride or die way, and that goes for my man or my friends. I think it has more to do with how I was raised and the things I saw growing up; loyalty was always a big, important issue. It's SO important to me. I ride for the people I love because there are very few people I let in; and those I do, I'd die for. Because if they're important enough for me to love them, then they're important enough for me to lay down my life for. There are few and far between. But it's just a part of my makeup. A sense of loyalty and honor was just instilled in me from so many influences early on. I think even if I was from anywhere else, I'd be the same. I'd just have a different accent, lol.
5) what was the most defining moment of your life?
As corny as it sounds, I would have to say my parent's divorce. I was pretty young when they broke up and it shaped the entire rest of my life. I couldn't always see it at the time, but looking back on many things I can see how it's all related. People always say that divorce changes children for the rest of their lives but you never really grasp that concept until you're the child. It has shaped so much, from my outlook on relationships, to my ideas on family, communication, my drive for my career, just, EVERYTHING. It fundamentally changed me. I think had my parents not broken up, I'd be a totally different person.
Yay! Who else wants to interview me? And who wants to be interviewed? Leave it in the peanut gallery...
"Ay, slight change of plans. You gotta evening gown?"
And that's how I ended up at some black tie function on Kappa Boi's arm. Luckily enough for him I had a red gown in the back of my closet that I've been looking for a good excuse to break out.
I met him at his place, my dress slung over my arms, in sweats and my hair pulled back.
"How long is it gonna take you to get ready?" he asks me, already in his pants and a wife beater. I try not to stare at his arms outright. I all out fail.
"Um, maybe like 15, 20 minutes?"
"All I gotta do is put on my dress and freshen my makeup and pull my hair down."
"Let's bet on it."
"What you got?"
"Dinner at SkyBar on the loser."
"Deal." We shake.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm walking back out of the bathroom. I stand behind him and clear my throat. He turns.
And drops the glass from his hand.
"Well- uh- damn," he stutters. "I guess, it was only gonna take 15 minutes. You are..." His voices trails off.
"Yeah," I reply. "I'm all that shit you said."
He helps me climb up into his Rover and we head to the event. He turns and looks at me.
"I know it was supposed to be a night in. But I need to be here tonight. I promise not to keep you long, ok?" He kisses my shoulder. I adjust my tits.
We enter the room and immediately he's the center of attention. I expect him to take center stage and for me to retire quietly to the open bar for the rest of the night to make friends with the bartender. I start to walk away and he grasps my fingers in his without even looking at me.
"La, this is Boss Man. Boss Man, this is La."
"Oh, wow," Boss Man exhales, taking in my dress. "So YOU'RE the woman that's got Kappa Boi so bent outta shape. I've heard alot about you." I look up at Kappa Boi. He's carefully avoiding my gaze. He introduces me to some more people and it all is about par for the course; the men slap him on the back appreciatively, the women introduce themselves through clinched teeth.
We work our way through the room and find a table. K.B. grabs us two flutes of champagne.
"So," I start, "Boss Man told all your business a little." He smiles his perfect smile. "So you been talking about me, huh?" I continue. He still says nothing. I laugh. "Alright, be that way."
We make small talk with the people at our table. They start to play a Frank Sinatra song I recognize.
"So you gonna dance with me and make everyone else in the room jealous?"
"Let's do it," I say as he takes my small hand in his big one and escorts me to the dance floor.
For a few songs, we talk and laugh and talk shit about all the people in the room. Eventually, we grow quiet, and he pulls me closer to him. The band strikes up the opening strains of "The Way you Look Tonight" and before I know it his entire frame is damn near wrapped around me, his head resting on the top of mine. When the song ends, I pull away and look up at him. He traces the outline of my jaw with his fingers. I clear my throat.
"I'm gonna run to the bathroom."
I run immediately to the bar. I'm being foolish. I know I am. I text message the wife. She and I talk for awhile as I sip my SoCo and lime and watch him watch me from across the room. Through every hand he shakes, every conversation, every pat on the back, his eyes never leave mine. He's so damn charming that no one he talks to even notices. Even while I'm typing, I feel his eyes tangled in my curls. When I look up at him, he winks, his smile warming me from all the way across the room. I text Shani furiously. And I sigh. I sigh alot.
After some time, he comes and retrieves me from the bar for more networking. We work the room together, laughing, smiling, shipping champagne. Well, he sips; I am damn near a walking bottle of Cristal by the end of the night. As the event winds down, we walk hand in hand back to the car, laughing and being silly.
"I'm hungry K.B."
"I know this great place to take you that you'll love."
"What the hell is open? Everything in this godforsaken town closes at 7."
I expect him to take me to some dim, fancy place downtown with items on the menu I can barely pronounce. Instead, he pulls up in front of a tacky little diner, burning bright with a million flourescent lights. I laugh at him. He's surprising.
So we go in, me in a $400 BCBG gown, him in an Armani tux, eating greasy fries dipped in mayo and ketchup mixed together to the perfect color orange, and drinking milkshakes. We stay and talk for a long time, swapping stories and laughter. I start to relax a little. He's talking and I'm learning a different side of him outside the parties and the night clubs and the charming guy that's always the center of attention. He's DAMN funny. And that gets me.
After we eat, we get back in the truck and drive down Allen Parkway. We park and walk awhile, with him making fun of me for being at least 2 feet shorter after taking off my heels. Somehow, we wind our way back to the car. He turns on the ipod in the car and we let the back down, sit and talk. We start talking about his music. It's almost as random as mine. We sit side by side, not touching, but some kinda energy radiating between us. He tells me about himself, a little bit, and it starts to round him out. I start to see him as an entire man and not a personality. I'm quiet. I listen. Around his teenage years, he starts to get uncomfortable. He starts to fumble over his words and shift uncomfortably.
"We can change the subject you know," I say to him quietly.
"That would be GREAT." We laugh.
We're back to the music. That seems a nice gray, safe area. We start asking random questions.
Me: What's your favorite kinda car?
Him: Where's one place you're dying to travel to?
Me: Favorite toy as a kid?
I was all about Operation
Him: Who's your idea of the perfect guy?
"Tupac is my prototype."
"REALLY!??!" he says, all shocked. I chuckle. It's so typical.
"Yeah. He's my idea of the perfect guy."
"Hmmm... that's interesting."
We talk some more, the minutes sliding past without so much as brushing by us. Before long we've been out for a couple hours, and decide to head in. As he walks me around to my side of the truck, "Me and My Girlfriend" comes on. We both crack up.
In the middle of our laughter, he pins me to the side of his car, puts his hands in my hair and kisses me, Tupac playing in the background.
I told my mama I would trade my life for yours
Behind closed doors
The only girl that I adore
He finally pulls away after what seems like an eternity. He rests his forehead on mine, while we both catch our breath.
"Damn," he says, his voice low and scratchy, "how hood was that?"
We laugh. I can't help but smile. He helps me into the truck, scooping my dress up behind me, and kissing the tattoo on my shoulder. He closes the door and I sigh.
Damn. That was great. But...
Yet and still, it makes me think maybe I should give K.B. a fair chance.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Sidenote: doesn't it suck when you fall crazy in love with his family like you do him? Like I SERIOUSLY MISS his mama and his sister. Had I not been worried about overstepping my boundaries, I even thought about flying to DC for her graduation cuz I love her THAT much. Sigh.
I was nervous. I didn't tell anyone that. He and I have been talking and texting alot. I haven't told anyone that either. Now before everyone gets all "la what are you DOING?!?!" on me, I realize that nothing about our situation has changed. So hoe, sit down.
I probably got a little too cute to go pick him up at 8am. In my defense, I did have somewhere to be after I dropped him back off. But even still, it was probably a bit much for early am. But anyone who knows me knows I don't believe in letting enemies or exes see me if I'm not looking my best.
I'll save you all the details but I wore pink (which he loves) and was giving alot of clevage (something he also loves) and I had on my best give-j-lo-a-run-for-her-money-jeans. (Seriously, my ass is devastating, lol.) I debated with myself about whether or not I looked like I was trying and if I should just put on some sweats. I had to make myself walk out the door just to get there on time.
I met him down in baggage claim. Our eyes caught each other simultaneously. I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't speed up a little bit. I took a deep breath and hoped it wasn't to obvious. He smiled. I smiled. It was just us in the world for a second.
It hit me that I haven't laid eyes on him in like two years. They've been kind to him. He's settled nicely into that grown man weight and he seems taller. He hugs me long and strong. He even smells familiar. We walk to the car and I don't fail to notice he keeps falling behind me, probably to watch my ass as I walk as he always has.
I was worried, once we got in the close confines of my truck, that it would be awkward since we haven't seen each other in so long. But before I could even give it too much thought, we were laughing and joking like we used to, except this time I was in the drivers seat. Maybe I yadda yadda yadda-ed too much. Did I mention I was kinda nervous?
We ate and went back to the house. He played with Honey and gave me some tips on how to train her (he works on a K9 unit and trains dogs everyday). For a second, watching them on the floor playing, I couldn't help but picture life as it was for me and him way back when, how we thought it was gonna be forever. I know nothing has changed, but for a second I allowed myself to fantasize about what it would be like if this was our life; getting up and going to breakfast, sitting all curled up on the couch, playing with the dog, laughing, talking shit. I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't make me smile.
I'd also be lying if watching him be all cute and fatherly with my dog didn't make my mind wander elsewhere but hey, I'm a woman, the sex was good, and it's been awhile, lol.
We talked about nothing, laughed at even less, and it just felt so damn comfortable. After he jokingly propositioned me to "shack up" being the hopeless romantic he is, we made a bet about which of us will get married first. I told him I'd give him a year before he called me saying he'd fallen in love with some Kansas cowgirl named Becky and I was gonna have to start looking for a revealing dress to wear to the wedding. If you think that was bad, his plans for my wedding included a bloody massacre of all my friends and family, lol.
"Well if you would just gimme everything I want you wouldn't have to worry about coming and shooting up my wedding because it would be you," I told him.
"I don't think I make enough money to give you everything you want."
"What? That's not what I want. I thought you knew me better than that."
"I do know you better than that La," and there was something about the way he said it, about the way he says my name that gives me chills, that simultaneously made me happy and sad.
Oh, dammit just sigh.
I think there will always be love there between us, restrained by the knowledge that life just didn't work out for us the way we wanted it to. And that's ok.
For those couple hours, I just enjoyed being with someone who knew me so intimately, who got my jokes, who made me laugh. I think more than anything, I'm glad that I was wrong about us when we broke up. I'm glad that there has come a day when we can not just be cordial, but genuinely be friends.
One day I'll even be happy for him when he gets married and owes me his entire paycheck for being the first one to bite the dust.
Aiight maybe not happy per se but...
Ok I'll work on it.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
It all started with a candy paint Chevy. An SS Chevelle to be exact. See, when I was a little girl, my daddy thought he was creating a fun game for us to play when he'd teach me about old muscle cars, how to fix them, what engines were in what make and model and year.
What he really gave me was the world's greatest pick up line that seems to make every red blooded man wanna surrender his freedom and lay down the keys to his place at my feet.
I couldn't stop staring at the car. The paint was immaculate, fully restored, white wall tires, white leather interior. I mean this car was just gorgeous. When I stepped outside the diner, I had to get a closer look. I was only gonna be a second. I didn't wanna be one of those geeks who gawked over cool cars.
He caught me before I could even make a full circle around.
"What's good ma?"
I turned around and looked up.
And kept looking.
He stopped about a foot above me, around 6 foot 3. I'm pretty sure I might have sighed.
I took him in head to toe. Long hair braided back in intricate cornrows, skin the color of brown sugar, big wide eyes, heavy lashes, full lips, square jaw. I outright stared at everything going on below the neck. He had on a nice suit, but it did nothing for hiding the fact that he spent many an hour in the gym.
It was around this time I realized I'd been staring at him without blinking or saying anything for quite some time. I'd never felt less cool. Maybe, I thought to myself, if I stand still enough he'll think I'm a statue and he'll go away.
"Ay ma you good?"
Jesus La at least blink or something. Anything! ONE THING!
"Yeah. Sorry. Just... your car. It's... gorgeous.."
"It's really nice on the inside, fully restored. Wanna see?"
"Actually," I replied, "if you're offering, could you pop the hood?"
Now was his turn to stop blinking.
"The hood. Can I look under the hood? What kind of engine do you have in here? If you're smart you didn't gut it and mount some half ass new chrome engine in and you just restored the original. From the looks of it, its gotta be like a '64, right? It's not late enough to be a '70 so you don't have the LS6 454. So it's gotta be either a 283 or a 327 V8."
He looked at me like I was from another planet, his mouth wide open.
"How do you know all that shit?"
"My daddy." He looked me over.
"Well damn lil mama thank your daddy for me please."
"Will do. Now can you pop the hood?"
For the next 20 minutes or so we talked cars. I didn't know as much as he does, but he looked downright shocked I knew anything other than where the gas pedal is. While we talked, I felt his eyes sliding over me, taking me in. I could tell, by the way he shifted his massive frame towards me, that the rest of him appreciated what his eyes saw.
The convo turned to the inevitable:
"So your ring finger is empty."
He laughed at me, we talked for a second about why I was so anti-relationships. I told him about the latest devastation of a breakup (1).
"So, you're single," he concluded at the end of my synopsis.
And that was that.
I had alot of time on my hands since the whole breakup had pretty much isolated me from my friends. We talked alot. He made me laugh. He talked about me for being country. I talked about him for being so damn New York. He made fun me being so clean. I made fun of his ultimate bachelor pad including black leather couches and dimmer switches. So he made me redecorate. Before I knew it, I was sneaking in and out of DC, making weekend trips to NYC to see him.
Me and Harlem spent alot of time just out in the city, or chilling at his place. At the time, he was a much needed escape from my life that had gotten too painful, too hectic, too hard. When I couldn't sleep, which I couldn't often, I called him. When I needed to get away, he'd make sure I got to the city. For awhile, we laughed and talked and argued and cooked and smoked and just chilled. He let me drive the Chevyand we took long drives out of the city. We redecorated his place and got into paint fights. For a long while, he didn't ask me about what I was running from. It was one of those unspoken things we let sit in the corner and collect dust, just like I didn't inquire too deeply about what he did for a living. I just knew there were certain rooms in the apartment I wasn't allowed in.
One night (2) chilling up on his roof, we started smoking some weed, talking shit. The higher we got, the freer we got. We started trading stories; he'd tell me something, I'd tell him something. We talked until the sun came up that night. When day broke, I looked at him and realized he was looking at me differently than he had before.
We stayed there, silent, my head in his lap, him twisting my hair around his fingers for the longest time. After that night, I knew I wouldn't come back.
For months afterward he called me. He asked me to come back up. Texted to check on me and make sure I was doing ok. Sent me emails. Flowers. I rarely answered.
One night leaving work, I spotted him leaning on the Chevy across the street, arms folded, looking at me, jaw set.
He held my hand while we walked and talked that night, while I tried to explain to him where my head was at, what I was going through, why I couldn't be the chick he wanted to wife.
When we finally got back to the car, he took his face in my hands.
"Look La, whenever you wanna come back to me you gotta key. It can be just you and me again, like it was. I'll get you on the fastest thing coming my way, aiight?"
He was so sincere. And I was so fucked up. He kissed my forhead, my nose, my lips. He leaned his head against mine.
"Just- look- just come the fuck back aiight ma?"
"Was that supposed to be fuckin' romantic nigga?!?!"
We laughed. I took the echoes and tried to commit it to memory. He kissed my forehead again before he got in the Chevy.
"Oh, one more thing," he said, leaning out of the window. He put a silver key in my hand.
"It's to the Chevy. If you're ever around to drive it, it's yours."
He peeled out, showing off, his testoterone levels peaked and on display. Damn the male ego.
I looked down at the key in my hand. I'd look damn good behind the wheel of that car. I put the key on my ring.
And to this day, that's where it still is.
* in response to all the emails and phone calls I've gotten asking me to explain this mystery man no one knew anything about
(1) this was waaaaay back sophmore year when I broke up with Will
(2) please see entry "Hello" which introduced this entire story
Thursday, June 7, 2007
After I picked myself up off the floor from laughing, it made me realize I should explain some stuff.
Everyone keeps waiting for me to fall apart. Everyone keeps pushing me to talk, to cry, to write, to go out on a date (ok maybe just 2 people want me to do that), to just DO SOMETHING about this whole breakup thing. And they don't understand why I won't. So here's the story.
The truth is, this has been building for the better part of a month. Its actually the reason I never finished my New Orleans recap; I just couldn't bring myself to recall all those warm and fuzzy feelings from our trip when he was being distant. And distant he definitely was being.
Me and The Great Houdini talked alllll day everyday. IM, text, email, multiple phone calls, something. It was part of the reason we were able to stay so content during our time apart; talking all the time made sure we were included in each other's daily lives, so we still felt connected.
After we got back from New Orleans, that just stopped.
At first it was just him not responding to IMs all of a sudden and disappearing for hours at a time. Then the phone calls stopped. We got into it over that. He said he was just busy with work. That was fair because he had taken off quite a bit of time lately, partially to come see me. So I tried to take that blow and continue being the understanding girlfriend I'd always been. Then it came to the point where there was nothing. For 4 days, I didn't hear from him. Finally I sent him a text asking if he wanted to be single. The next day, he emailed me from work, yadda yadda, his phone wasn't working, whatever. For me, this was no excuse; there are too many ways for us to get in contact with each other. And he would never EVER allow me to go missing for days at a time without being on the first plane out to Houston to lay hands on me. It was about then I started to get worried. I let it ride. More days went by. Still nothing. I was going to just take the L and let go but my sister convinced me I should call him, email him, something and tell him what I was thinking and not just jumping to conclusions and saying it was over. So I did. I sent him an email to his phone.
Seven hours later when he responded I was pretty much done. He wrote that he had just been going through some things that he didn't know how to talk to me about.
I think that was when everything changed for me.
The important thing to know is that me and The Mexican have always been brutally honest with each other. And no I'm not talking about how you claim to be honest with your man but you both know there are things you don't say. This is the man with whom, in the early phases of our relationship when we were both seeing other people, I said, "Hey, I'm with another dude. I'll have to hit you back in the morning." And we were cool.
Yeah. THAT kinda honesty.
And through everything that had always been our constant. Being able to talk about anything. I mean, I've told him things I never wanted to tell ANYONE let alone him because alot of it could have threatened our relationship. But it didn't. It made us stronger.
So that's why I didn't understand.
I forwarded the email he sent me to Joy because I'd been venting to her this whole month about him. Except I sent it back to him. He got upset about me "forwarding his words that were meant for me". We went back and forth about that. He acknowledged that we needed to talk.
I didn't hear from him for 3 more days.
I sent 1 more text. He hit me back saying he still wanted to talk to me. I texted him and said nevermind. You've pretty much told me all I needed to know about our relationship. He insisted on talking to me, but said he'd understand if I didn't want to. That he would "hit me when he had the time to give the conversation the attention it deserved."
That was 4 days ago.
So yes, I know you're all waiting for me to break down and all, but I'm not. Sometimes I'm angry, but mostly I'm just so damn disappointed. He's not the direct, upfront person he said he was. That he could just so easily discard me from his life because he was "going through some stuff" is what blows me. That's never been who we were. Even when the problem was each other, we could always be there for the other. And he wouldn't let me do that. I told him that over the last month, he's shown me that I could live without him if necessary.
And that's what I'm doing.
No we still haven't had a conversation. And I guess it's not gonna happen and I'll have to be good with that.
So no yall, I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna fall apart. I'm gonna spend about as long mourning this as he did ending it...
And I'm good.
There will be no crying, no sad love songs, no extensive penned missives about him. (I don't think. I'm not feeling that right now, but I reserve the right to change my mind. Who knows, maybe I'll look up in a month and be all kinds of crazy.)(probably not though.)
That's not to say I don't have questions, or I'm not angry and disgusted and disappointed. Cuz I'm all of those things.
But I'm also La. And one monkey don't stop my show. All I need for the show to go on it me.
And I am present and fucking accounted for.
So there you go Wise. I'm healed.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Less fuzzy around the edges.
Unlike the last couple days, I am clear.
My first thought waking up was, "I haven't sung in a really long time."
That's unlike me. I get up slowly, like my limbs are made of lead. Partially because I feel so heavy.
Partially because no one should EVER be this hungover.
I put on some Etta James, and hum a few bars. My voice sounds distant, detatched, a little shaky. For a woman who's been constantly praised for the strenth of her belting alto, this comes as a shock to even me.
I let Etta do it. She sings and my soul feels eased. I love the smoky depths of her voice. A few songs in she starts to sing the opening strains of one of my favorites.
"I want a Sunday kind of love, a love to last past Saturday night..."
I love me some Etta. And I love this song. I start thinking about the words.
Don't we all want that Sunday kind of love?
I've always dreamed of having someone to lay around the house with on Sundays, cook for, watch all the games with. Someone who, when the makeup from Saturday night is washed away and all the fancy clothes are in a pile in the corner, would still want to spend time with me when I'm in my Howard sweats and a ponytail. Sunday love is the kind of love that's not fairy tale love; its not elaborate wedding and big diamond ring love. It's washing dishes and walking the dog love. It's not he bought me a nice car and we live in a big house love. It's eating greasy Chinese food and watching the Discovery channel on the couch love. It's covering them up when they fall asleep in their favorite chair love. It's taking the kids to their football games love. It's doing the laundry and mowing the grass love. I've always wanted that. I've always thought I could have that.
And now I don't.
I think that's what hurts most about losing someone. True, you may feel like you've wasted your past (or maybe just 2 years of it), but all the visions you allowed yourself to imagine of your future are shattered. It's just... nothing.
I keep thinking back to this email Wise sent me a couple weeks ago. She wrote a blog about a friend of hers who's professional success made her second guess how far she's gotten in achieving her goals in her personal life. Something made me email her for advice. Everything she said was dead on but one thing she wrote back stuck with me and I've been rereading it everyday for weeks:
"I think you're also keenly aware that PEOPLE will disappoint you over and over again. So while you feel a level of control over your long distance relationship, you still know that putting in the work may not net you the same results as doing so professionally."
I keep reading it.
"People will disappoint you over and over again..."
"Putting in the work may not net you the same results..."
And it got me to thinking. And crying. And cleaning.
Damn that Wise. I hate that she's so... Wise.
For awhile now, I've been keenly aware of the fact that the things Ive been wishing for in my relationship just might not come to be. Not because we aren't good together, maybe even perfect for each other, not because we don't want it, but just... because. I thought at least we could make a clean, relatively unpainful break, mutually graceful and mature, maintaining the love we have for each other but moving in different directions.
No such hopes of that.
So in case you haven't guessed it, I'm single. Again. And I want to be optimistic. I do. I really do. I just don't have it in me. The future is just...
One day I'll tell you the story. But not today.
Part of me wants to cry. Most of me wants to cry. I want to fall apart. But I won't. I promised myself I wouldn't. I'm hurting right now. I'm not sure I've ever been so heartbroken. Or just felt so broken, period.
But I refuse to cry.
Instead, today the pictures came down, his hat came off the top of my mirror. I found another date to my cousin's wedding this month. I got the plane ticket I bought to surprise him next month refunded. His screename got blocked, his number erased, his ringtone gone. The emails I've saved for the last 2 years got erased. It took me a couple hours, to do those couple deeds, and it felt like preparing for someone's funeral. But I guess in a way I am. I'm laying us to rest.
I could fall apart. But I've done that whole falling apart thing after a breakup. I remember it, acutely, not only the pain of losing someone but most importantly, losing myself. I won't do that again. I refuse.
Instead, I'll embrace what it feels like to spend my Sundays alone. I'll make my peace with it as best I can without the other party involved, as he obviously doesn't really want to be, and I'll move on.
I keep it moving.
Because that's what I do.