Thursday, June 18, 2009

Frequent Flier

I have done a significant amount of travelling.

Not the literal kind, though I have done that too. The metaphorical kind. The lyrical kind.

The love kind.

I am as familiar with the terrain as I have ever been. I have been all over Emotionally Unavailable Alley. All up and through It's Just not Meant to Be. I've dragged myself over the broken glass strewn across Brokenhearted Boulevard time and time again to get back to Safely Single.
I don't even need a map anymore.

I even liked It's too Hard to Let Go Even if it's Best so much that I went back...

I have an insane number of frequent flier miles. I know all the rules and the customs, even recognize some familiar faces. I know all about the taxiing, the gathering of power until takeoff. I know how to just chill in my seat until we've passed the turbulence, until we reach cruising altitude.

I know all about the inevitable crash landing. At this, I am a pro.

Under my bed is a box. Simple in it's design, it is wholly unremarkable. But the life it contains inside is remarkable. In it are the remnants of every trip I have ever taken, tokens and scraps of these miles I have travelled. The box is a stronghold of sorts, though it looks like no safe you have ever laid eyes on. It protects those memories that have shaped me. From the elements; from myself. It holds onto all of those things I can't bear to hold in my hands.

Because I still have to go pick up my load from baggage claim.

Sometimes I wonder, what if I had missed that flight? What if I had flown another airline? What if I hadn't been two hours early or ten minutes late?

That is the kind of thing you cannot store in any box.

No matter how many times you cash in your frequent flier miles for some indiscernible perk, the
trips are always there, a part of your travel history, a stamp in your passport if you have been taken that far.

Just because they are over doesn't mean they go away.

I travel, I fly, I guess, because it is in my nature. It might not always nurture but it is natural, I suppose. I've learned so much about the world, but it never quite seems to be enough to satisfy my need to explore the next uncharted terrain.

But really, I am tired. I miss home, wherever that is. I miss that sense of relief that comes from dropping my baggage at the door, wandering familiar earth unrestrained. I long for stairs that creak a recognizable symphony under my weight. And the particular hue that my own sheets turn under early morning sunlight. I miss space where I am free to exist as I am, not as I should or could be, if only...

In many ways, I will miss the routine, the familiarity of a journey that I have become so familiar with. But I have done so much travelling.

And where do you go when there is nowhere left but away?

Monday, June 1, 2009


As I have found myself moving solidly into grown womanhood, I have been doing quite a bit of self reflection lately. It's actually been pretty good for me. I have been able to settle and rectify alot of things in my mind, put alot of old issues to rest, and make some really good ground on dealing with some that are still present.

A few days ago, The Notorious B.O.B. says to me, "You consider yourself a good judge of character. Maybe you should rethink that."

At the time, the shit offended the hell outta me. Of course I'm a good judge of character! I wanted to yell. I dated your ass didn't I?!

But, again, having transitioned into grown womanhood, I decided to sit with it a moment, really turn it over and consider if there was any validity to this statement.

I was still sitting with it when I received a text from First Love this morning...

Back Story...

First Love and Almost Fiance coincidentally share the same forename. And, while it made it easier to remember who's name to call in bed, it has created multiple entries of said name in my cell phone. I have also had both the pleasure and displeasure of working with and befriending 3 more people who share this same, extremely common first name. So there are 5 entries of said name, or some variation there of, in my cell.

I say this to say, in a drunken haze one night around 11pm, I mistakenly texted a message to First Love that was meant for another person. Said message was nothing vulgar or ridiculous. I believe it said something like...

"Hey I just got your message. I am gonna go pick up Abe and then just meet
us at 300."

Something like this.

For clarity's sake, I also have to reiterate that, while there is a 300 in both Houston and Atlanta, I live in Houston, he lives in Atlanta, and in 13 years of friendship, we have not shared a friend named Abe.

The night goes on, bowling and drinking ensues, and I am not at all aware that the person I meant to text didn't receive my message because he shows up at the venue and buys me a Jack and Coke.

(We heart him.)

The next morning, still quite drunk and very asleep, my phone rings multiple times. On time, lets say 4, I finally get my bearings enough to realize that it is not in fact a part of my dream involving me and Idris Elba and I answer.

On the other side of the country, First Love is throwing a bitch fit.

Being again, drunk and asleep, I don't quite put 2 and 2 together. He is bitching and I am drifting in and out of consciousness. I gather that he is bitching at me about texting him. I figure that it's because his broad was with him at the time. I apologize for the mistake.

He hangs up on me.
I take my drunk ass back to sleep.

Around 3pm when I finally wake up, bits and pieces of the convo start to drift back to me.

What in the bitch nigga hell?!?!?

Sir did you really call me from 800 miles away to question me about a text that was obviously not meant for you, all because your chick, who is damn near 40 fucking years old, likes to conduct her relationship like you're high school seniors?


I contemplate, for a split second, calling him back and cussing him out for calling me with this kinda foolishness early on a Sunday morning, but I'm hungover, dehydrated and most importantly, grown.

I bitch about it to B.O.B. for a second, then put it out of my mind.

Back to the present...

I am at my desk knocking out some paperwork when I get a text. I get all excited when I first read the name because I think it's Almost Fiance, although, realistically, clearly he ain't carrying around his Black.berry in Iraq and texting niggas. I realize it's First Love.

Hey it's First Love. Thought about you and didn't realize that I didn't apologize for blowing up. My old lady was tripping and I took it out improperly, forgive me.

La wants to say...

Look what I need is for you to quit dating these crazy and insecure bitches that can't handle the thought of me even though I live 800 miles away, we haven't been together in 7 years, and I don't particularly care for the man you've become. And if you can't seem to do that then at the very least don't bring that kinda foolishness to me.

Trying to earn her grown woman stripes, instead La says...

I understand that it must have been hard for situation for you but please don't let it happen again. I do not appreciate being involved in your relationship drama over an obvious mistake.

And I get back to my paperwork, because I think this will be the end of it.

Instead I get a text that says...

Whoa, maybe to you, but the mistake wasn't THAT obvious. I wanted to show love because we are good like that. I still feel the same, I was just rude about it. Nevermind.

La REALLY wants to say...

SIR. Don't apologize to me like you are doing me a fucking favor. And when, in the history of us knowing each other have we ever shared a friend named Abe? And when have I ever come to Atlanta without first giving you a head's up? And why in THE FUCK is it ok for you to wake me up on a Sunday morning being rude because your chick is acting a fool, but I can't tell you I don't appreciate it?!

Instead I say...

If we were "good like that" you never would have called me early on a Sunday morning and been rude to me. As I said then, I apologize for the mistake. And don't let it happen again.

Now, to me, I have twice been calm and deliberate, very clear about both my apology and my displeasure at the way I was spoken to. And TWICE I have said so in such terms that could completely dead this conversation.

And so I think that's the end of it.
Except not.

I then receive a 3 page long text as follows...

Confused... if you text someone on mistake and they communicate to you that it's a problem, that's not the time for self defense. You express your intent and don't let the shit happen again, simple. I valued our friendship and am big enough to look at things whollistically. You are obviously somewhere else with it. But that's ok too. Me the bad guy, don't think so. Have a good one.


In this edition of La Wants to Say, she decides to show her ass...

First of all sir, whollistically is not a word. I cannot endure such abuse of the King's English in an attempt to sound intelligent. Actually, no, first things first, we are NOT friends sir. We are people who have known each other since we were 12 and used to date. Let's be clear. And whether my texting you was a problem or not, which I apologized for then, you do not call me on the phone that I pay for being rude and expect it to be ok. It was in your best interest that I was asleep and still drunk, otherwise I woulda surely cussed you and your silly broad out for that childish foolishness. Don't call me with drama. Pull your balls outta your ass, man up and handle your relationship business at home. Tell your bitch to act like the 40 year old she is and not a high school senior and dead the issue. And by all means, if you cannot be man enough to do that, please give me her number and allow me to do it for you.

Instead I say...

You too.


I simply cannot deal with the Bitch Nigga sneak attacks that these dudes are out here perpetrating.

And looping around to my initial point, how is it that I have managed to accumulate a roster of such bitch ass niggas? Maybe B.O.B. is right; maybe I simply am not the judge of character I thought I was.

So tell me, men especially, am I just not seeing his point of view? Did I miss the point? Is it generally ok to bitch up like this when under fire from your insecure ass broad and pull this kinda high school "call her while I am standing right here listening to what she says" bullshit?

(p.s. I am EXTREMELY interested in knowing wtf he tells this hoes about me, because ALL his chicks hate my ass, lol)