2.22. Beware of Dog

2013 must be the year of the dog.

Well, I’m over it.

After 2 years and 8 months of flying solo, I’ve made the sad mistake of dipping my toe into the dating pool. And I will just say, it doesn’t look promising. I suddenly have no desire to swim and foresee many days of sunbathing, dry on land, ahead for this girl.

I went on a “date” two weeks ago and…yeah. Some people will weigh one mistake against an array of awesome conversations and focus on the mistake. I can’t be perfect. This is where I shrug and admit, I wish I could have fixed that one. But hindsight is always 20/20. And so you move the fuck on. Like it or not.

I hung out with a guy this past Friday. I always call it hanging out. “Date” sounds like too much for me. But that is obviously one of my many problems. Anyways, we play pool, he takes me out to eat, we sit and talk for hours on neutral ground. We kiss. That’s as far as I will let it go, despite his best efforts to…um…offer pleasure. Side note; begging a girl to treat her body like a buffet, though amusing or exciting for some, does not work with every girl. I’m one of those girls that will decline. He even makes it so clear that he expects absolutely nothing in return. Still, I decline. A prude, I am not, but I will say this – I save scandalous sexcapades for my boyfriend (a woman should be able to be a slut for her man when need be…and only her man). And secondly, I tend to get bored when a guy goes to town. I feel like I should be filing my nails or making a grocery list. LMAO. I am sure someone will say, “well, you just haven’t had it done right.” I am not going to necessarily disagree with you….although there was that one…he was yummy, as were his skills…nonetheless, I was still making a grocery list. What can I say, I know how to multitask. HAH!

Anyways, so we kiss. That’s it. And for the most part, it was an enjoyable night.

And then, things get funny. Short answers. Weird lapses in time. Call me paranoid but a girl knows things. And hell if I wasn’t right. I send a text saying “you’re much better at expression in person than you are via text, that’s for sure.”

And the lovely response:

“I was. But I wasn’t completely honest. I wasn’t planning on anything that night. Just a friend to share a meal and laughs with. I should’ve told you that I’m married. I understand if you hate me now and don’t want to talk to me. It was unfair of me to not disclose that when things escalated. You’re a sexy, smart, charming girl and I got caught up in the moment.”

To which I respond:

“I feel really bad for your wife. Fix your shit and lose this number.”

I replay the evening and can list an abundant list of times this douche could have said “hey, I have a wife!” Why the hell are you not wearing a wedding ring? I mean, WTF?!?!?

There is a part of me that says there is someone out there for me. There is another, much stronger part of myself that says “bitch, you don’t have the time or patience to weed through the losers. Give up now.”

And that’s exactly what I’m doing.

This puzzle piece will officially stay a puzzle of one.

No exceptions.

2.20. The Crusades

Whatever.

The majestic strummed a line on the violin…blood soaked fingertips…forcing melancholy melodies into the universe…bounced back from a red planet…echoing in the midst of gunfire and a decrepit womans screams.

Whatever.

Story telling empty pages of empty books…eating from empty baskets of rotted bread…swimming in salt baths minus the water…frozen in gasoline icicles…waiting for ignition…for…release…from still rivers and looming typoons.

Whatever.

Shedding her skin…she slips under and sighs with the sinking feeling of weightlessness. As nothing has felt so freeing as the intoxication of maddening drum beats and electric currents. A senseless sense of sensibility.

Whatever.

A lifelong concussion…forbidding sleep and sanction…love that died…resurrection sucked from the realm of possibility and replaced with a fucking song that means…nothing.

Whatever.

But the sun shines…

Whatever.

No, not whatever. The sun shines, despite memories. Despite mistakes. Despite the scars of a lifetime. Despite seeing the skeleton in the mirror instead of pushing it back into the closet. Despite the nightmares that lurk in the shadows of daylight. Despite the recorder that relays a constant replay of regret and rejection and “you’ll never do any better.”

No, not whatever. The sun shines, despite me. Despite a fear to live and a fear to die. Despite each breath one takes and the ones we hold in during those questionable hours right before the moon has bidden farewell to muskrats in meadows that never really existed.

No, not whatever. The sun shines and the world moves and the people continue despite the false pretenses recognized but ignored by carnage infused children living in the catacombs of our alternate selves.

Oh shit, none of this makes a lick of sense.

But it does.

To the lost spirits who will spend a lifetime hoping and wanting and praying and needing and wishing and dreaming but refusing…to accept…to claim…to feel. To the lost spirits who will self sabotage rather than bask in the heat of magic and the draft of cooing heat. Yes, cooing.

Because we choose this life. We choose to forge on in this crusade. Alone. Altered. Unarmed. Seeking mercy but expecting malevolence.

Sinking to her knees, that girl, she begged the wrong one to accept her. To embrace her. To forgive her existence. She relinquished control to someone who knew not the damage that could be done.

A lost spirit that believed she was safe behind brick walls. Refusing to allow a soul to know a soul. Safe…no. Wrong…more than likely. A ghost lay behind those stones, all the while, that girl lay submerged under the rubble of defeat.

Whatever.

Yes, whatever. As today is, like no other day, a reason to emerge from the shell. The sun shines. The crusade is not to hide from, but to feel, the heat.

1.198 – Dear Single Mothers

It saddens me to see so many single mothers proclaiming their anger, toward themselves, for the lack of influence left by bad/half-ass/disappearing fathers.

Yes, you’ve made mistakes. No, you aren’t perfect. You can be a bitch, troublesome, lazy, annoying, needy, obnoxious, and oblivious. You can be many things BUT weak is not one of them. Not now.

We love our children. We care about our children. We stay up through the late nights, the vomiting, the fevers, the hospital visits, the potty training, the picky eating, the tantrums, the laughter, the “I want to play even though you just worked a ten hour day,” the needy moments, the gimmie gimmies, the life lessons, the emotional breakdowns, the breaking of furniture, the drawing on walls, the night terrors, the diarrhea, the piss, the shit, the constant questions of why, the cries for someone who doesn’t have the time or energy to do what we do full time, the bath times, the lazy moments, the “I don’t feel like wearing clothes five minutes before you are supposed to leave for work mommy!!!”, the chaos, the joy, the sorrow, the pain, the triumphs, the failures.

We are mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandparents, siblings, cousins, friends, teachers, nurses, therapists, trainers, nutritionists.

So, have that moment of wtf. Have that moment of damn, this is hard. Have a moment of I wish I could have given my child better.

And then…STFU and give your child better. Continue to be the very best.

As mothers, we beat ourselves up for what we can’t do on anothers behalf. We forget all that we do all on our own.

Trust me…I’m the first to kick my own ass. But I will continue. Because my baby needs me to.

1.184 – Power Outages Suck

After a nine hour shift, I was so ready to head home. That was at 8pm. It is now almost 12:30am and I’ve been home less than fifteen minutes. Where did four hours go?

Bad luck ate them.

I drove to the sitters to pick up my son, who happened to be asleep. Awesome! We might actually get great rest tonight. The sitter informs me that my son had a lapse in his potty training and spent more time pissing on the floor than he did in the potty. Okay, piss happens. I’m off tomorrow…We’ll spend all day working on it.

My son wakes up. Okay, no biggie. He’ll fall asleep on the way home and all will be well.

He says he has to go potty and does. In the potty. YES! Life is good.

We drive home and there are no lights on in my area of the complex. WTF.

I take my son back to the sitters and ask if he can hang out there until I figure out when the power will be coming back on. (We had a storm this evening so I’m assuming that’s where the power went).

I return to my complex and spot my old neighbors. I lived across from them in a two bedroom in the next building before I downgraded. I’ve barely ever spoken to them much more than a hello. I did ask the wife if I could borrow her husband to move my couch when I was moving and she said “don’t you have a baby daddy?” Yeah, okay. I get the feeling she thinks everyone wants to screw her husband.

I walk over and ask if they know anything about the power coming back on soon. The wife is sitting on a step while the husband is standing in the street. He doesn’t say a word to me and the wife says…and I quote, “you just gonna come up over here like you didn’t see me. Gonna come up and talk to my husband like I ain’t out here.” Then she does this bitchy laugh.

I would address this to that woman but I doubt her ass can read so I’m just going to say this in a very general, non-judgmental voice: it is comical how pothead, low-life, nasty ass, ghetto mentality bitches ASSUME everyone is after their pothead, low-life, nasty ass, ghetto mentality assholes. Please save your insecurity and alcohol induced attitude for someone who gives a shit about you. I asked a simple ass question and I expect a simple ass answer. This is not Maury. I don’t need to know that he probably cheated on you with a cousin or that he has multiple texts from some girl name Rashonda on his phone. So please, just shut the fuck up and do the world a favor – smoke some weed laced with something lethal and die. Thank you.

I wait another 30 minutes in my car only to see the electric people drive by my complex. Okay, this blows and I’m hungry.

I go and pick up my son and decide we’re going to IHOP for some pancakes. I type IHOP into my GPS to see if there is any location closer than the one 20 minutes away. It says there is one 12 minutes from my house. SWEET!

I follow the directions and get a feeling. This doesn’t look like it’s leading me to a place where an IHOP would be. There are houses everywhere.

I almost hit a dead possum (thankfully I didn’t, and according to my GPS, I’m around the corner from the great IHOP.

DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE GPS TOOK ME? DO YOU? DO YOU????!!!!???

International House of Prayer Housing! A FUCKING HOUSING PLACE FOR THE IHOP PEOPLE! NOT PANCAKE HOUSE STAFF!! The people who pray at this Kansas based church thingy. I’m not going to call it a cult. But they have taken over the GPS systems. I want pancakes and they took me to their den of prayer. I’m just saying – that’ some cult shit right there!

Needless to say, by this point, I want to cry, scream, and punch someone in the throat. But I also want pancakes.

I waste another 14 minutes backtracking and then make the 20 minute journey to the REAL IHOP! I don’t even get pancakes. My son gets mac and cheese only to decide that he wants to eat pickles and only pickles.

We eat. I waste 20.00 I don’t really have to spare and we head home. So here I am. 4 hours after getting out of work. I’m tired, annoyed, and moody. My son is wide awake. I don’t work tomorrow.

I’m not leaving the house. I’m not answering the phone. I’m avoiding life at all costs. My son and I will be hibernating. Because I said so.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program – already in progress.

1.176 – The Average Life

It feels like forever since I’ve sat down and written a word. But life has a way of getting in the way. So here’s the rundown of this girls life in bullet points…since I’m too lazy to do paragraphs. Apparently, those take more effort than I’m willing to put in right about now.

  • My new job is a lot of physical work so I’m still trying to get used to that.
  • I just had a meeting today with some very important people who are doing an investigation concerning money that has gone missing. Needless to say, I’m not a thief and I’ve made that very clear. I don’t think they feel like I am a threat so I’m feeling less worried than I was before the meeting.
  • I only got about 20K in words for my June CampNaNoWriMo novel. Yeah, life got in the way. I will probably attempt another novel in August. We shall see.
  • Being able to pay my bills and fill my kitchen with enough food to last two weeks is an amazing feeling.
  • Having a falling out with family members is not something new to me. But this time around, I’ve had a new reaction. I can sit here and sulk and wonder why the hell things like this happen. But I’m not going to. I know who loves me and I know who cares and I know that at the end of the day, it’s not about how much family I’ve got but how I’m going to be family to my son. Staying focused and letting go of excess baggage.
  • In the same notion, I have also realized that people can smile to your face and chirp about how they want to be friends but if they never make the effort to reach out – they aren’t friends. Period. I don’t have the time, desire, or energy to chase bonds that were not meant to be. So I say goodbye and keep it moving. Not my loss.
  • I’ve been having odd dreams lately. Had a whole love story with some guy named Max. I don’t know a Max. Never have. Had a dream I bought 22 gallons of whole milk and had a meltdown trying to figure out how to fit it all into my refrigerator before it spoiled. Just odd.
  • My son is still freaking awesome!
  • Realized I have to work on my book review blog because I haven’t touched it in quite some time despite the fact that I am putting forth a huge effort to read every day. It’s on my to-do list.

So yeah, that’s life right now. It’s not that interesting…but it’s mine.

1.175 – When You Are Happy

When you are sad, I will swim with you in an ocean of tears and become your life jacket when you are ready to let go of the feeling.

I will listen with an open heart..an open mind and hold your hand through every storm. 

When you are cold, I will become the fire that heats you…embers gifting you with a warmth to remind you that you are never alone.

I will cast away all shivers of doubt and worry with a blaze of assurance at a moments notice. 

When you are sick, I will make you the foods that fulfill your soul, play melodies that will morph into blankets of healing, and sing sunshine back into your frail little body. 

When you are lonely, I will appear in the twinkle of the stars, the sway of the leaves and the blossoming of every flower. Every raindrop will be a kiss from me to you and every tick of a clock will be my I love you. 

When you are afraid, I will slay every monster and capture every dragon. You will live atop a mountain of safety as I shatter the glass of darkness, turmoil and pain of this world. Glass you will never have to touch. 

When you are tired, I will lay down a thousand and one bedtime stories of your happiness, your love, your growth and triumphs. You will lay upon the stories of joy and wonder and fall into dreams of hope. 

When you are grumpy, I will do all the silly little things that make you giggle and tickle you until you hit the highest pitch of laughter known to man. 

I will shower you in jelly belly droplets and strawberry shortcake swirls, in fruit punches and sun kisses. 

When you are lost, I will shine upon you the radiant beam of the moon, to find you in the darkest hour. Whether a lifetime away or simply two feet…whether you are unfound or just feeling unseen…I will hold you in my heart and cast love and light upon your name. 

I will dim the light when you do not want to be found, though I will never turn my back, I will give you the space and time you need. 

When you are happy…oh when you are happy. I will bask in the glow of your joy and relish in the wonder of your smile. I will count my lucky stars for having the opportunity to be your mother and thank my lucky stars that you chose me. Saved me. Taught me what love means. 

When you are happy.

Inspired by When You Are Happy by Eileen Spinelli.

1.143 – Deleting a Life

She’s putting her dreams on hold

too often told

her words would not be sold

or could be

at discount prices

on unshopped racks

in closed bookstores.

She’s putting her dreams aside

swallowing her pride

the images in her head

better left unsaid

dead

in a pool of water

left by tears of failure.

She’s closing the book on her book

the ink in her pen dried to bone

better left alone

and sent out to sea

a vision of castaways

left upon the isle

under the beaming kisses of a sun

that could not find his wife

would not dedicate his life

to making things better

no matter the whether

or not he should have.

She writes in the night

to hide the streams

lapping the keys

because she knows

this is a dead end road

beaten and bruised

this path shall remain cloaked

with the remnants of someone elses success

all the while

the lights flicker

and her heart is faint

because the fridge is still empty

She forgets her dreams and shrugs on the shawl of

worker bee

the drone in the marching band army

singing a tune

she lost control of somewhere around the age of eleven.

But she was seven when the pain choked her out

kissed her eyes goodnight

and damned her to fail

pulling at the dirt

to no avail

the grave she lives in

the grave she dug

unable to be saved

by your God

any God

Beauty is a whisper

and so she screams

lacking the power to conquer

herself.

She’s burning the pages of her book

no second thought

no second look

wilting and withering in the brush

No dream lost

if no dream was ever had

empty palms

bleed ringlets of alphabetic droplets

spirals of vowels

showering consonants across continents

where hope died on roads to mecca

two paces forward

twenty eight back

into the womb

hiding in the dark.

Release me.

1.141 – Burning

My mother left. I hate authority.

My marriage failed. I hate relationships.

My best friend died. I avoid friendships.

My father died. I avoid love.

Any attempt to fight the inevitable is a losing battle. I’ve learned this lesson at least four times in my existence and probably much more than that. Some would say that this life is worth living, that I have so much to look forward to. But the sand is flowing through the hourglass and the the tears flood away the granules of salt destined to count the seconds until my demise. No, I will not live forever. And someday, my son will mourn me. Someday, my loved ones…the few I have left…they will be as tormented as I am right now.

How do you grieve? How long does it take? My mother gave up on me 27 years ago. Is 27 years enough? My marriage failed 2 years ago. Is 2 years enough? My best friend died 15 months ago. Is 15 months long enough? My father died 8 months ago. Is 8 months enough? I mean, when the fuck does it stop? When does it become okay? Does it ever? I want someone to tell me when! How! I need to know this shit is happening for a fucking reason. Cuz I’ve got nothing. I’ve got no fight in me.

I don’t trust anyone. I hate people who treat me like I’m expendable. I hate people who are nice to me. I hate people who think they know me. I hate people who really do see the damage despite my act. I hate people who want me to be “on” all the time. I hate people who assume it takes one. I hate walking alone. I hate silence. I hate wondering. I hate never knowing. I hate being so scared.

I want my father back. I want my best friend back. I want my hope back. I want a clean slate. A fresh start. I want to know my purpose. I am an aimless vessel, writhing in the flames of uncertainty.

1.130 – This Woman’s Worth

“When I am assertive, I’m a bitch. When a man is assertive, he’s a boss. He bossed up. No negative connotation behind ‘bossed up.’ But lots of negative connotation behind being a bitch. Donald Trump can say, ‘You’re fired.’ Let Martha Stewart run her company the same way and be the same way. [People will say] ‘F—ing old evil bitch!’ 

Love her or hate her, Nicki Minaj makes a good point. A point that rings loudly in my ears after a conversation I had on the phone last night. A man walks into a store and approaches a woman at the counter. She attempts to give him the impeccable customer service she is known for…the service that has put her just thirteen days away from a corporate position with her company. But this man, this sad little man, does not see a hard working mother of two, a law abiding citizen, a strong willed businesswoman. What he sees is a vagina. And he’s not happy about that.

“Is there a man available to help me? Shouldn’t you be at home or cleaning windows or something?”

He asks for a MANager because he assumes this will bring forth a penis. A respectable penis. A trustworthy penis. An intelligent penis.

“I’m sorry sir, but I am the WOMANager. Now, how can I help you?”

This woman, who happens to be my sister, explains to me how she is baffled by the blatant display of sexism. She is appalled by the sheer audacity of the customer. She is shocked that a black man in his mid forties could be so disgustingly hateful…certain that he has fought his own battles in our society. Why would he dish out the same type of hate that he would resent on his own behalf?

Because, sadly, sexism and racism are not viewed the same. This country is battling the race war, despite the progress made in previous decades. This country is battling a sexuality war, ingrained in religious belief and political agendas. This country doesn’t give a flying fuck about sexism because women have been viewed as and always will be considered the lesser of the human species.

God is a man. Eve came from Adam. Eve fucked everything up because her greedy ass was hungry. She was probably a gluttonous whore. I’ve seen paintings. I bet she had chlamydia. You know how them hoes are. Women are to submit and make babies and strap down their breasts in archaic bindings. Woman are meant to beautify their sexualized forms because every woman is simply a deposit box for a mans seed. Women are meant to be cute and quiet, agreeable and pleasant.

Women are supposed to bleed every month for seven days but keep it on the low because their dirtiness is unappealing to the world. Lets make tampon packages small and adorable so we’re not reminded of the the reality of the body. Women are supposed to doll themselves up and attend college to find a husband that will have them. Women are supposed to work womanly jobs and nurture the youth. Women are supposed to go through an agonizing nine months of discomfort, hip spreading, tit swelling, body morphing, emotional roller coaster to give life to the future…all the while smiling about how fucking great it is to not be able to shit. A woman should be a nurse but not a doctor. A woman should be a teacher but not a principle. A woman should be smart but not too smart. A woman should be strong but never demasculinize her counterpart. A woman should be paid less than a man because that bitch is lucky she even got the job. I bet she’s screwing the boss.

Keep quiet and allow sexism to reign? Speak up and get labeled “a typical emotional woman that can’t take the heat?” There is no winning this war. You can’t fight a battle that has not been waged…because it’s so irrelevant to people. My sister could have been spiteful and said, “you belong on the back of a bus,” and all hell would have broke loose. But he can send her back to the kitchen and there is an undertone of “oh-fucking-well.”

WOMAN GETS SLAUGHTERED BY BLACK COMMUNITY FOR BEING A BIGOT…IN A CELL PHONE STORE. 

Why wasn’t she home baking cookies, bystanders wonder. 

“How would you feel if this country was run by a woman,” the man asked my sister.

“Well, sir, it’s run by a man right now (as it’s always been) and it’s kind of shit so…”

I’m sensitive. I’m emotional. I’m frail. I’m average when it comes to being smart. I make less money than the majority of males I know. Don’t talk to me about survival…I bleed for seven days every month and I’m alive. I carried a human being inside of my small framed body for nine months. I pushed that human being out of my body despite agony. Don’t talk to me about providing…I fed that human being from the milk my body made. Don’t talk to me about strength…I carry that human being plus ten grocery bags, a diaper bag and a stroller. (Have you SEEN my son?) I can live on two hours of sleep after a night of incessant crying. Don’t talk to me about endurance…I can come home from my eight hour, underpaid shift and cook for my child, clean the house, read a book, teach my child the English language, get a work out in and perform all of the daily chores before collapsing into my bed for a quick nap before doing it all again. I can teach my son that women are no more and no less than he. I can teach my son that women are equal. That women, just as men, should be respected for the contributions to this thing called existence. I can teach my son that not a penis nor a vagina constitutes honesty, integrity, intelligence, love, compassion, courage or worth. I can teach my son that blood is red and the heart and soul define a being.

To most…I’m a bitch. To my son…I’m mommy. I’m a woman. A mother. An emotion driven vessel. To me…I’m a boss. Of my journey. If you can’t play the game with mutual respect…ya fuckin’ fired.

1.119 – Throwing That Middle Finger In The Air

Warning: This is a rant. I curse a lot. If you can’t deal – keep it moving. 

Oh no, there she goes posting another status update

Oh no, there goes another five pictures of nothing

Oh no, there goes another countdown.

Here’s the thing. Do I bitch every time you’re latest 15 updates are of fucking farmville games and redundant hokey quotes? Do I say one damned word when you post some lengthy spam – pass this shit on because you should be as bored as I am – nonsense? Do I make a peep when you go wah wah wah he doesn’t like me oh wait I’m “in a relationship” every two days?

NO, NO I DO NOT.

Do you know why I don’t?

Because your social media outlet is just that – YOURS. And if I don’t want to see it –  I WILL DELETE YOU. So do me the fucking favor – DELETE ME!

I’m sick of fake ass people who send adds because we knew eachother way back when but you don’t have the decency to answer my simply put fucking question. Bitch, I know you saw what I asked. Don’t play stupid. I’m sick of people who try to make me feel silly for counting down to MY WELL EARNED VACATION. The last time I got on a fucking plane, it was to go get my dad cremated. So if you don’t like the fact that this bittersweet vacation is exciting to me and it’s all I want to talk about because all I want is to go home to be closer to my family and a life and culture I love and miss with all of my heart but I can’t because I’m trying to be a good mother so I stay in this shit-box called Kansas so my son has his father – well, I’ve got two words for you. PISS. OFF.

I’m so over people who consider me rude and in the next act consider me too sensitive. Fuck off. I will be a rowdy ass when you cross me. When you come at me wrong. When you try playing with me like I’m just another person to laugh at. Here’s the thing…I am not your punching bag, your punchline, your form of amusement.

If you don’t like how I talk, think, act, walk, dress, etc etc etc etc…KBYE.

I will post 50 pictures of my son in the same damned pose…BECAUSE I CAN.

I will post everything that excites me, scares me, worries me and motivates me…BECAUSE I CAN.

I will not play your game. I will not be who you want me to be. I don’t need your approval. And quite frankly, I DON’T WANT IT.

I’ve said my piece. You want silence. You got it. Be careful what you wish for.