Thursday, December 31, 2009

Day 365 (The Real Folk Blues)

The past is the past and the future is the future. A man is a man and a woman is a woman. The present is the present. I am who I am and you are who you are. That's all there is to it. Does it really matter? Or do we just think it does?

No end of the year diatribe. Just well wishes for everyone to have a happy new year.

I leave you with this: have the ability to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. If you want to dream, dream alone. That way, you control the outcome of your dreams.

Goodnight, 2009.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Day 364 (Separation Issues...)

Separate the real from the fake, the milk from the silicone
The cornbread from the pads, the gym from the Body Magic you put on at home
The glasses from the colored contacts, the natural from the weave
The handcuffed from the engaged, the truth from the lies you believe
The polish from the acrylic, the attention grabber from the attention whore
The woman you love from the woman you met at the grocery store
The beauty inside from the makeup made up on the outside
The one who has your heart from the one who can backslide

I'm having major separation issues, but I know exactly what to do...
Real recognize real... and I don't know you. *walks away*

Monday, December 28, 2009

Day 362 (Music Monday)

Things I Learned In 2009 #7: iTunes Shuffle hates my logic and embraces my emotions.

Let me explain.

So, on Twitter, Mondays are reserved for music, hence the hashtag #MusicMonday. Usually on Monday while I answer emails and silly questions (Her: Email me a copy of this email, please? Me: Um, I just did. In that very email.), I put my iTunes on random and let my near 40,000 songs go crazy.

Well, a couple of Mondays ago, I listened to a lot of stuff, from Korn to Tricky to the Seatbelts, even some Slum Village... but then it got kinda weird.

iTunes was trying to stab me in the heart.

Mayer Hawthorne. Portishead. Little Dragon. Corinne Bailey Rae. Röyksopp. Sia. Then towards the end of the day, it kicked me. Hard.

Adele came on.

And I wanted to throw my laptop out the window.

I have an unresolved issue with someone that I need to clear up in 3 days. I will not carry this bad memory into next year with me. I refuse to. At the same time, this person is going through their own emotional roller coaster, so part of me is saying it'll be selfish to add this to the list of problems they have, let it go; obviously they have, why not you?

The other part of me is screaming 'Does it matter?'

Logically, it doesn't matter. We haven't had a real conversation in almost 3 months. Logically, it's already dead and gone; nothing to answer, nothing to say. Logically, I'm the only person trying to save a friendship that's long gone. Logically, I need to just walk away.

However, music affects my emotions. Heavily. Has been doing so since 1988. Possibly earlier. So, when Adele's 'Melt My Heart To Stone' came on, logically, I was thinking in work mode.

But emotionally, I was cracking up. And I don't mean laughing.

Emotionally, I still want 2 questions of mine answered. Emotionally, I need closure. What's worse is, emotionally, if I don't get it, I'll do some foolishness.

With no logic involved.

But of course, this was all in my head (and in my ears). My heart has shed that old skin and moved forward to greener pastures. The minute Mos Def popped up in my mix, I was back to nodding my head and tapping my desk.

Why wait until 2010 to make a resolution that I can resolve now?

I refuse to let people make me their personal mood ring anymore. Your attitude and emotions will not affect my color. I've been through enough; no need to drag my heart through any more.

Music, though?

Yeah, music will still tug my heart strings.

Things I Learned In 2009 #7: iTunes Shuffle hates my logic and embraces my emotions.
Now playing: The Seatbelts - Memory
via FoxyTunes

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Day 356 (2 Nights Before Christmas)

'Twas two nights before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, well, maybe my mouse;

Her stockings were hung on the door with care,

In hopes that I soon would be there;

She was nestled all snug in her bed,

While visions of breasts danced in my head;

And sexy mamma in her négligée, and I got my 'cap',

Got ready for 'work' and a "long winter's nap",

When out on the lawn I heard my car window shatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window *WAIT* I don't need to flash,

Pulled off the sheet and threw on the sash.

The moon on the breast of the now-gone snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to my car below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a wobbly Santa without eight reindeer,

With a little woman driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be Mrs. St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his bags they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Sony! Now, iPod! Now, Mini TV's and Video Vixens!

On, GPS! On Gas Money! On, Droid, we blitzing!

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

To break in- he sees us! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So away from the house- down the street they flew,

With the car full of toys, (my toys) and Mrs. Claus too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard not a poof

But the squealing of tires- wait, did they break the moon roof?

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

I heard the back door crash with a sound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of my toys he had in his sack,

And he looked like a peddler just trying to sell them back.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

Until he realized it was him, that guy I know;

The stump of a blunt he held tight in his teeth,

And the weed smoke: it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a big Desert Eagle and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby, no, fat, a wrongfully jolly old elf,

And I got angry when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I not better chase him, instead;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And took all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a what's up nod, he even took my wife's rose;

He sprang to his car, to his girl gave a whistle,

And away they both drove off like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Merry Christmas to me, 'cause I'm robbing all night!"

© She Hate Me 2009

Totally random, I know. But I was bored. Meh.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Day 348 (Pieces...)

She was too big for him, he was too big for her; that was the truth. The relationship had never really progressed, it had simply fallen apart into a series of fragments.

She embodied everything that he'd ever wanted out of a life partner; spontaneity, humor, intelligence, sexiness.

He embodied everything that she'd ever wanted out of a life partner; sexiness, intelligence, humor, spontaneity.

Almost as if looking into a mirror. Almost as if they were soulmates. Almost as if they were twins.

To say he was scared is an overstatement. Nervous is more like it. He treated her like a Fabergé egg; put her on a pedestal that she never wanted to be on.

He knew this, yet he did it anyway.

In some ways, she was scared too. Too many times she thought to herself that this type of relationship doesn't exist, that the major issue was that there were no major issues. It made her nervous.

They parted ways, without communication, without acknowledgment. A series of fragments. Different people came along and picked up what pieces were left, but none were salvageable.

He missed looking at her; a forest that he could lose himself forever in: and almost did.

She missed being with him; quirky yet humorous charm, a sense of being and self realization.

Yet, for every time they thought about doing the dance again, another partner stepped in, the music would change, or the party would end.

For what seemed to be the first time in human history, 'what was' turned into 'what if'.

How disappointing for them. No glue to bond them together again. No bond strong enough to hold them together again. No more together again. The fantasy shattered.

Pieces, pieces.

Tiny. Splintering. Painful. Pieces.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Day 342 (The Game)

**NOTE** I began writing this back in July. I wanted to publish it, the problem was, the story had some hiccups and I.... never mind. However, I feel like I need to get this out. It is long, but it does have a point and purpose. Read it if you want to. Thank you. **END NOTE**

I sat there for 7-8 minutes.


She had left me in the car. Closed the door and went into her apartment building. Did tha- did that really just happen? I can't believe it.

I stare off into space replaying the events that happened today. I haven't moved a muscle since she said good night. Then, almost as if on cue, I start laughing.

Laughing hard and long. Laughing at myself. I was an idiot. The advantages were there, the opportunities were there, the openings presented themselves and what did I do?


In a daze, I start the car and pull off. I get to light at the end of the corner, and I hear two females outside yelling. I turn my head, and they are pointing at me. I can't hear them, all I hear is the blood rushing through my veins. The car behind me beeps the horn. The light has been green for a while. I make my left hand turn and drive over the bridge. I'm still in total disbelief. Was a spark there? Was that my chance for the first-

Horns are blaring at me. The car behind me is flashing his lights. I have no idea what for. I drive to the end of the corner, and a car pulls beside me. A man pops his head out the window and says "YO! CUT YOUR HEADLIGHTS ON!" I look down and see that I haven't cut my lights on. I haven't even buckled my seat belt.

I complete the aforementioned tasks and turn on the interstate. Immediately, my mind travels to 4 and a half hours earlier. Back when everything was cool. Back when I still had a plan.

Back when I was still in the game.

She opens the car door and gets in. "So, how are you?"

I smile. She was always friendly. "I'm good, how are you? Ready to eat?"

"Yes! I'm starving!"

As I pulled away from the corner, I glanced at her. Wearing a mostly green top with splashes of brown, white and black colors interspersed, some black pants, and some green sandals, she looked quite beautiful. I chuckle to myself; she caught me staring. Check. Early.

"What?" She cocks her head to the side.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." I make eye contact.

"Hey, where are we going to eat?"

"Applebee's." I break eye contact. I'm out of check.

"Then, don't you think you need to be in the left lane?"

"Oh." I get into the left had lane and go down the road. We talk about the last time that we ate at Applebee's 4 weeks ago. As I turn into the parking lot, we bring up the reason why she didn't want to eat there.

"So, let me get this right. You don't want to eat here because that lady that was picking her feet and eating her food at the same time might be here?"

She laughs. "Exactly. This is why women let men think they are making the executive decisions, but in the end, the women make them. Oooh, this place is crowded."

I smirk. "Then I'm making an executive decision, and we're gonna go to Ruby Tuesday. How do you like them apples?"

She smiles and shakes her head. "Ruby Tuesday is fine. Kinda where I wanted to go in the first place, but you know..."

Damn. Even when I think I'm making the decision, she had made it already. My first line of defense is already gone.

A wrong turn and a couple of steering wheel grabs later, we end up at Ruby Tuesday. After getting seated and ordering our drinks, she takes off her sandals and places her feet on top of mine. We get comfortable and then the serious conversation begins.

"So, I've been thinking about what I told you last night."

"Hmm. And what have you been thinking, my dear?"

She looks deep into my eyes. I can hold this gaze for about 10 seconds tops before I have to turn away; her eyes are very arresting. "I don't think that a relationship will work between us." Check.

"Well, why not?" I ask.

"Because... because I don't want a 'yes man' and from what you've been telling me over the years about me and what you desire, you would give me everything I ever ask for, you would agree with me just to make me happy, and to be honest, I'm not this... this queen that you've built me up to be. If we get together, I'll make you think to your self 'I don't like this bitch as much as I thought I would'. I've done it to other men that I've dated. And I don't want to do that to you."

I sip my tea before I answer. "Is that what you think? You think that I'll be like other men? You think that I'll agree with you on whatever and not have my own opinion?"


"It doesn't matter what you think, darling." She looks at me quizzically. I continue. "There is a difference between me and other men, quite frankly, they aren't me, could never be me, and I'm not them. So, don't lump me into the same position as them."

"I'm not doing that. I just know how other men have done with me and-"

"So, you're saying that I'll be like them. You won't give me an opportunity to prove you right by entering into a relationship with me, and if I say that I'm not like them, it's just words, it doesn't mean anything. Action speaks louder."

I can tell by the look on her face that she's impressed. I counter her check with one of my own.

We sit there for almost 45 minutes before we even order, and when we do order, we get the salad bar. The waitress, who was bubbly in the beginning, is upset that we don't even order off the menu. She grabs our menus and storm off.

We start talking about things we like and we realize that we have a lot more in common that we originally thought. It gets weird almost, like we were best friends growing up together. Then the obvious comes up; we have our first parity.

"Black Tux or White Tux at our wedding?"

I smile. "Black. Sorry, I'm not wearing white."

She frowns. "No, my husband will wear white."

"Then I guess I will become your husband then, I'm just not wearing white."

She cocks her head to the side. "Did you not hear me, I said my husband will wear whit-"

"I heard you." I interrupt her. "And this is proof positive that a relationship will work if we put in the work; I will NOT be your yes man, and I have my own ideas. You won't get everything you want from me, because I'm not wearing white. And if we disagree on that, something that important to you, what makes you think we won't disagree on other things?"

She smiles, then straightens her face up quickly. "Maybe we should go eat."

I shake my head. "Maybe we should."

She gets up. "But first, I need to fix my face in the restroom, you just said something fierce to me."

I smile. "Yeah, you should go do that." She smiles back and goes to the restroom. I put her into check.

The night continues like this, back and forth, check, check, check. At the parking lot at Wal-Mart, she had me in a MAJOR check, flirting with me, touching me, daring me to act on my carnal desires.

Walking between two cars to get to mine, she stops. I bump into her backside. I don't move. Neither does she.

"Do you like that? You like how it feels?" She began taunting me. "Go ahead. Touch it. You know you want to."

I swallow hard. My mouth gets dry immediately. "I- I, uh.." I clear my throat. "Yeah, I like that. but you better move before-"

She giggles. "Before what? What are you gonna do?" She turns around and whispers in my ear. "If I give it to you, would you take me right now in the parking lot?"


"I, uh. Hm. I don't think you want me to do it here. Not only would you like it, but we'd get arrested for lewd conduct and disturbing the peace because of noise ordnance." I stuttered that one out.

She laughs and walks to the car. "Uh huh. Right."

I'm out of check. But I'm not out of danger.

We go to a pool hall to shoot some pool. There's some trash talking, as we were prone to do and some teasing as well. Our body language has let the other patrons looking at her sensual walk and my confident stride know that we are in competition with each other; not only for the domination of the table, but for control of the sexual tension building between us. I easily take the first game. The second game is where things got interesting... and where I lost my most important pieces.

Frowning playfully she says, "OK, you won. Your break." She smiles at me.

I rack the pool balls and prepare to break when I see her bent over the other end of the pool table. Her cleavage is deep; she's pulling her shirt down a lot lower than what it was.

"Um, don't you want to move? This cue ball gets jumpy when I break."

She grins. "You don't worry about me. Just break."

I chuckle. "I can't, you're in the way."

She grins harder. "OK, I'll move." She stands up and walks over to me. She comes close to my ear and...

...does nothing but breathe.

"Can you break now? I would like to play today."

I take a deep breath and prepare my shot. As I push my cue stick forward, she blows a short and light stream of air in my ear. My arm jerks, my shot goes wide, and I scratch on break.

We're tied 1-1.

Also, I'm in check.

She smiles as she goes to reset the pool balls. I shake my head.

Now I scowl playfully. "OK, you win, your break." I grin.

She shakes her head. "I can't break that well."

I smile. "Here. Let me help you." She holds the pool stick properly as I come from behind her and hold her. She grinds her backside into my crotch. I ignore the swelling in my slacks as I whisper in her ear.

"Hold the stick like this. That's right. Make sure you grip it well with your right hand. And tight. Move the stick up and down like this with your left hand. Good. Now pull back as far as you can go and..."

She goes to make her shot and I lightly kiss the back of her neck. Her shot goes wild, the cue ball lands on the floor, and she laughs.

She asked, "What was that?"

I smile. "Nothing. You did good, though."

We continue like this through three more games. At one point, she privately shows me her breasts while I was trying to make the game winning shot. At another point, I slap her ass while she's trying to make a shot. The sexual tension has grown to a fever pitch. We exit the establishment and I lose my queen.

In the parking lot, she stops and asks me a question.

"So, you grabbed it. Squeezed it. Did you like how it felt?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I could never get the right handle on a pool stick."

She chuckles. "You know what I'm talking about. When you were behind me, did you imagine you handling this from the back?" She bends over slightly.

"I didn't imagine anything." I'm trying not to look at her curves, but my eyes defy me.

She sneers gently. "Oh really? Well, I felt your friend, and your friend said that he liked it. A lot. And HE was definitely thinking about handling this from the back."

I laugh. "Well, he does have a mind of his own."

I go to open the car door for her and she comes close. She unbuckles my pants and puts her hand on my member.

"Maybe not right now... but you MIGHT be able to handle this." She laughs and gets in the car.

I stand there. Stunned. My heart racing a million miles a minute. I feel every beat of my heart in my throat and in my boxers. My Queen is gone.


As we are going back to her home for me to drop her off, she leans over and puts her head on my shoulder.

"You're quiet. Did I go to far?"

I shake my head while smiling. "No. I'm imagining right now."

"What's on your mind, honey?" She scoots closer.

As we pull up in front of her place, I let her know. "Kissing you. Wondering what your tongue would taste like in my mouth. Wondering if our tongues will match pace with each other. Wondering if we kiss, how far we will go."


We stare at each other for a long time. The heat in the car has risen; I'm starting to get a dry mouth. She looks at me. I look at her. She smiles slowly. I do the same. I move in for the kiss and...

"Ok, I'm going in the house now. Call me when you get home safely?"

I stammer. "Wait, what? That's it?"

She laughs. "What do you mean 'That's it?' Yeah, that's it. It IS the end of the date, you know."

Damn. Checkmate. My kingdom, toppled by a queen.

She leans back in the car and kisses me on the cheek. "I guess maybe next time, you'll want to stop wondering and just do it. Good night, honey."

She closes the door and walks up the sidewalk. She turns around and waves, then laughs because I still have the same 'I can't believe that just happened' look on my face. She walks up to her door and disappears inside.

I sat there for 7-8 minutes.


She had left me in the car. Closed the door and went into her apartment building. Did tha- did that really just happen? I can't believe it.

I've just been checkmated. In a game that I didn't even know I was playing until my King was toppled. I was toyed with all across the board, from beginning to end. From the first move I made, I was a Pawn pretending to be King. I was bested tonight. I was checkmated.

And I enjoyed every last minute of it.

Now playing: Common - I Want You
via FoxyTunes

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Tiger... 1 Wood, 2 (or 3?) different holes...

Ok, so, normally, I'm not that outspoken.

I'm lying.

I'm outspoken to a degree. When I see a topic that I passionately care about, I usually can argue debate all day about it.

Today, I logged onto Twitter, and I see people talking about Tiger and his inability to keep it at home.

As if you were really that surprised.

It has NOTHING to do with him being a MAN. It had EVERYTHING to do with him being RICH.

What's crazy is, people were trending (#side chick awareness) as if it was some sort of rules to being a man (or a woman's) side piece. Here's a shocker for you:


Once you make that conscience decision to cheat, the rules are done. Somebody in the "relationship" is going to get hurt. I used relationship in quotation marks because it's not real. It wasn't real the minute you didn't speak to your partner about what you were feeling.

Communication is key in a relationship. I've preached that since forever.

Anyway, I didn't want to get into it at first because I'm nobody's mirror. I'm no Dr. Phil (yeah, I don't give people a bunch of psychobabble and call it "help") and I was just indifferent about the whole thing.

But four friends of mine told me to go in. I smiled, cracked my knuckles, and here's the end result: **NOTE: I'm not changing one word of what I said. I may be adding a word here or there because Twitter only allows 140 characters at a time, but this is what I said, verbatim.**
First off, Men: Stop letting these million (and billion) dollar dudes dictate how you act with your wife. They can afford to cheat. You can't. Steve Harvey can marry and divorce to his heart's content. Why? He got money. So does Shaq. Apparently, so does Tiger. You? NO. You still work 50 hour work weeks. And some woman walks in the office with a short skirt; next thing you know, you knocking it down. Then you wonder why your woman, your sister & your momma calls you a dog. Because you are. Period. Stop blaming women for YOUR lack of will. Pussy has NO power, as long as you don't give it any. If you in a relationship, there IS no side chick. There's the woman you "love" and the women you "fucking". That's it. But you don't see that, do you? You don't love her. Stupid motherfucker. If you love her, ask her to suck your dick differently. Ask her to wear a wig. Ask her to dress up. Ask her to stop (or start) bitching. Women who LOVE their man are willing to be a different woman EVERY night for him. Period. You simple dudes don't know that, because you don't ASK. Closed mouths don't get fed, you thirsty bastards.

Now, women: (Oh yes, you gets it too...) STOP LOOKING AT OTHER WOMEN'S MEN. *ahem* You want to know the REAL reason why men cheat? Because some women can't keep their pussy at home. YOU KNOW HE WITH HER. But you don't care. "He got money." "He got good credit." "She told me he be SLANGING that thing." And you're jealous. You're a woman. Men aren't THAT hard to find. A good one? Yes. But hell, if you wanted a good man, you'd be a good woman. Logic, ladies. Stop blaming men for being "dogs". You're a "bitch", what does that say about you? I'm not talking physically, but DAMN. Can you straighten up? Stop asking for HIS money. You got your own, right? Stop driving HIS car. You ALWAYS singing Beyonce, then act like her. BE YOUR OWN WOMAN. BE YOURSELF. If your besty is a slore, chances are, so are you. You are the company you keep, you know.

It's not that hard to be committed, ladies and gentlemen. You find a woman you like, don't lie to her, and it's ALL GOOD. Ladies, stop playing mind games. It's ok to say you really like him. Your best friend just mad cause she didn't talk to him first. Men, stop trying to be MACHO. Nigga, you got feelings, too. So what, you like the girl enough to shred your "Playa's Card". Who cares? That's ONE LESS WOMAN after me when I get involved with someone. If men kept their women happy, there would be no cheating men. And vice versa. *drops mic*

That was pretty much it. It's one or two points that I didn't say on Twitter that I will say now. First off, it's not about Tiger being a man and that old "all men cheat" thing. It's not. Stop deluding yourself.

Tiger is an ignorant rich person.

You don't believe me, huh? Ok. Look at it this way:

Tiger tells his wife the truth, long before he cheats. "I'm not attracted to you that much anymore. Sex is disgusting with you. You're boring. You're turning black. Blah, blah, blah. I want to get some other women." Once he does that, Elin has two choices: stay, or go. If she stays, she enjoys the money, the lifestyle, etc. If she goes, she gets NOTHING. Why? There was no breech of the pre-nuptial agreement. He didn't cheat, he simply told her he wanted to. In the state of Florida, where they live, a significant other cannot receive damages for irreconcilable differences if they have a pre-nup. So, Elin gets nothing. She walks away with her dignity... and a couple of thousand dollars. Logically speaking, Tiger could've have put her in a "kept woman" status. Us, the public? None the wiser, unless he passed away first from old age and she releases a tell-all book.

And for those that are thinking only rich men do that, well....

*looks at Oprah and Stedman.... looks at Debra L. Lee and her kept man*


Leslie McRay (Google her) was the most famous kept woman in all of Hollywood. THAT'S how you play the game, folks.

If you're going to play, know the rules.

Tiger didn't know the rules, and he's paying for it, BIG TIME. The women who are outing themselves as Tiger's side pieces may find a man to be with them for right now... but come on. Yeah, you're fine (subjective, you're not all that cute to me), but what does it matter? All you are is an object for a man's pleasure. You may have gotten the best of them, but only after they got what they wanted from you to begin with. They got the best you had to offer. Those decent men that you're gonna say don’t exist, but really do… well, they don’t exist, not for you. They are going to pass you over. Let’s face it… you aren’t what they call ‘relationship material.’ You’re the type that most men wouldn’t clean their homes for, let alone the backseat of their cars. Because when men smile at you… you know what’s behind that smile. All you are is a beautiful body with an ugly soul. People may want you, but nobody will love you.

And that goes doubly true for men with all money and no soul. Money can only get you so much... love is NOT one of them.

Two, for both sexes: Yes, I truly believe that if you love your wife/S.O./girlfriend, then you shouldn't cheat. Bottom line. However (and this is NOT a pass to cheat, people), if you eat chicken every night in the same way, one night, beef is gonna look REAL GOOD to you. Even if someone cooked that beef wrong as hell, you'll eat it anyway because you're tired of that same old chicken.

But, there are over 1,000 different ways to cook chicken. Even if you take 365 of those ways and cook chicken differently every night, you'll be happy when that first dish comes back around.

Even better, you'll find out what chicken dishes you REALLY like and ask for them more often. Soon, you won't even care about beef.

Now replace the food with your relationship.

It's truly simple. And for those that say it isn't, that it's hard because of whatever wack ass reason you come up with, I say this to you: Are you single right now? Because if not...'re gonna be. And it's all your fault. Period.

Let's stop worrying about Tiger. He'll be fine. You have to make a mistake to learn a lesson sometimes, and he just did. I promise, Elin isn't going nowhere. Look at Vanessa, Kobe's wife.


Take a moment to asses your relationship before you comment on someone else's relationship. There are women and men who want their S.O. to only have them in their life, but they got 50 other women and men floating around.

If you're cool with being second place, by all means, play your position and shut the hell up about it. If you know you're the side piece, you can't get mad when s/he cuts you off, or when S/HE cuts him/her off and s/he has to cut YOU off.

OH, and a free piece of advice: If you're in a relationship and you just HAVE to cheat, STOP LEAVING A ELECTRONIC TRAIL. Tiger, nigga, you worth a billion dollars! Get your gopher to go to this girl house and break her damn SIM card! Stop sending emails and texts and pictures! If you know you in a relationship, your side piece should be Santa Claus: that person don't exist! Never have, never will! You might see her/him dressed up in the mall certain seasons, but it's just a costume! A figment of your imagination!


I think I'm too smart for my own good. I just outed every person cheating.

Oh well. Better chances for me to find a good woman.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Day 335 (Astronomy...)

Things I Learned In 2009 #6: There is still beauty left in this world.

Tonight, I saw a Halo around the moon. I was amazed. While I studied the phenomenon of Halos around the moon in Astronomy in college, I had never seen one myself. It was the most amazing thing I've seen this year. What is a Halo, you ask?

A halo (also known as a nimbus, icebow or Gloriole) is an optical phenomenon produced by ice crystals creating colored or white arcs and spots in the sky. Many are near the sun or moon but others are elsewhere and even in the opposite part of the sky. They can also form around artificial lights in very cold weather when ice crystals called diamond dust are floating in the nearby air.

What I saw tonight was a circular halo. It made me think and realize that there are still very beautiful things that I have not experienced yet in this world, and that I need to take time out to experience them. I called a friend of mine and woke her out of bed to see it. At first, she thought something was wrong but once I got her to step outside (and after calmly telling her that the moon is not falling), she also thought that it was beautiful.

I think the halo is a wake up call for me. I've been doing things off base for the past month; acting really out of character for myself. Emotionally, I've been stable, but mentally, I've been in and out of things, and this halo made me realize that I need to put things back in all the right spots so that I can go into this next decade with a renewed sense of self.

To everyone I've ever hurt and to everyone that hurt me: I'm sorry and I forgive you.

To everyone that I support and to everyone that supports me: Thank you and you're welcome.

To everyone I've ever loved and to everyone that has ever loved me: *salutes* You are truly respected.

To everyone that loves me now and to everyone I love now: You are truly appreciated.

Things I Learned In 2009 #6: There is still beauty left in this world.

P.S. You're the shining example of beauty still left in this world, Ladybug. *bacio di bacio*

Monday, November 16, 2009

Day 318 (Twice)

Twice I turn my back on you
I fell flat on my face but didn't lose
Tell me where would I go
Tell me what led you on, I’d love to know

Was it the blue night
Gone fragile
Was it both men
In wonder steady gone under
Was it the light ways
So frightening
Was it two wills
One mirror holding us dearer now

Thought I had an answer once
But your random ways swept me along
Colossal signs so I got lost
With so many lovers singing soft

Was it the blue night
Gone fragile
Was it both men
In wonder steady gone under
Was it the light ways
So frightening
Was it two wills
One mirror holding us dearer now

Now playing: Little Dragon - Twice
via FoxyTunes

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Day 313

Things I've Learned In 2009

#5. I found out the reason why I'm single.

Before I begin, let me say this. This is in no way firing at every single female in world. I have yet to meet you. You have yet to befriend me. I have yet to talk to you. You have yet to lie to me. I have yet to give you my all. You have yet to disappoint me.

With that being said, let's begin.

My Ladybug tells me that I'm worth every dollar and cent spent.
My Poetess tells me that I'm dreamy.
Dimples tells me that I'm patient enough to wait for a good thing to come along.
My Sugar Momma tells me that I'm loved, every day, whether I know it or not.
My Mistress tells me that I'm a genius; that leadership is sexy, brains are sexy, therefore, I am sexy.
Chesty McSparkles (her name, not mine) tells me that I'm damn near incredible.
My Best Friend says that I'm awesome and someone one day will realize that.
Serendipity says that I'm a very good man.
My Sister says I'm one of the best single men left.

The problem comes in where these women are telling me things that I SHOULD already know. However, I'm dense. I can't get past that people are actually saying this about me.

I'm single because I have a self-esteem issue.

My self-esteem issue is the reason why I settle for those who can't afford me.

I settle because I don't know my own self-worth.

Well, I didn't. Until about a week and a half ago.

I love me enough to know that you don't (and won't) love me enough. Ever.

And you know what? That's OK. I had to come to grips about that.

I'm worth a hell of a lot. And one day, some woman will come along and hold up the receipt and let me know that she was willing to pay to have me. Until that day?

I sit in the glass case of my emotions and thoughts, waiting on someone who has enough to pay the price on my tag.

#5. I found out the reason why I'm single. Nobody worth having thinks I'm worth having. Yet.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Day 310 (Missing In Arrival)

I'm nervous.

I've been up all night, knowing that you'll be here soon.

What do I wear? Which cologne do I put on? Hat or no? Argh. This is maddening.

I miss you. I've missed you for months now; missed your face, missed your smell, missed your laugh and giggles. I missed looking into your eyes. I miss kissing your lips. I missed hugging you, holding hands, playful fights, small attempts of PDA.

I miss your voice, even though I just hung up with you a few hours ago before you got on your flight.

I miss everything about you and even though I know in less than a hour you'll be in my presence, I can't get over the fact that I feel this way about you.

I'm not supposed to feel this way.

I'm not supposed to be this nervous.

I'm not supposed to miss you.

How can you miss what you've never experienced?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Day 306 (Princess Peach's Diary)

Dear Diary,

I think I may have put the Mushroom Kingdom in danger. I don't know what I was thinking. It just kinda happened.

I left Mario. For Luigi.

I know, I know. That's bad enough. What's worse is that he didn't even find out from me, I posted it on The Mushroom Inquirer.

I love Mario. I do. I've told him so, on numerous occasions. He's always been there for me, helping me, making sure I'm ok, just being him. He never asked for anything in return. He's an overall great guy, it's just that...

Luigi is tall. Slim. Talented. Aesthetically pleasing. I'm not saying Mario isn't any of these things- ok, yeah, I am. But I'm a woman.

I can make my own decisions.

I still haven't talked to Mario about this. I tried to, but the words just wouldn't come. And he's such a gentleman, he didn't ask about what he saw, and I know he saw it. I don't know if he's mad or not. Actually, I know he's pretty pissed at me, because not too long ago (like maybe 2 months or so ago) I told him that I wanted to be with him. Of course, as you can see, that really didn't happen. Princess Daisy said that he's not showing any signs of hurt, but that's Mario for you. He might show a facial tic with anger, but then, it's gone and he's back to smiling and laughing and yahooing all over the place. Yesterday, he called me and asked if I wanted to go Go-Karting with him. So, I'm still kinda confused. This morning, he came to our Tee Time of 9AM. And we did play Tennis together Sunday evening.

I don't even know if he's officially not talking to me; I'm spending a lot of time with Luigi. He's Dreamland dreamy, got me thinking I'm in Sky Land or something. The other day he gave me a Fire Flower. To be honest, for a quick minute, I thought about Mario and how he used to do the same.

My problem comes in where, if something happens to me, who's gonna protect the kingdom AND come save me? As much as I like Luigi, he's not really all that without his brother. Yeah, there was those two times he saved his brother, but it took him a while. Mario was always there for me. Come to think of it...

Never mind. I don't even know why I wrote this entry. If I scream loud enough, Mario, as he's always done, will come to my aid. He's too much of a gentleman and a good person to let me down.

Besides, he's my friend. Friends are always there for each other, right?




P.S. If I have to tell Luigi that he's still second player no matter how he uses Starman one more time, I'm gonna scream.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Day 304 (Rehab)

Dr. Simmons gives me a once-over.

I fidget in the chair. I look everywhere but in her eyes.

She taps her pen on the clipboard.

"When was your last hit?"

I stare blankly at the ground. "Hit?"

She shakes her head. "Hit. Score. Taste. Fix."

"Oh. Um, it was 2 Thursdays ago."

She writes.

"What are you writing, Doc?"

"That's none of your concern. How do you feel?"

I look up at the ceiling. "Rested. Um, sometimes, I still want..." I trail off.

She raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes?"

"I've been trying to ween myself off the drug, you know? Actually stop cold turkey. It makes me feel really high and then when I crash, it hurts. This last time... I think I hurt myself. I got too deep into it."

"Self inflicted pain. You don't like that, do you?"

I shake my head.

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I want to go into rehab with you, Doc. Try to get this drug out of my system. Detox, if you will."

"What if I offered you the drug now? Would you take it? Would you relapse?"

I don't answer immediately. She looks over at me. "Well?"

I sigh. "I don't want to relapse. I'm tired of the roller coaster. The highs are incredible, but the lows? The lows are terrible."

She writes some more. "You still haven't answered my question."

"No. No more. I won't get fooled into getting high again. I don't want an artificial high. I want a natural high, or maybe not even be high at all."

"Well, I'm here to help you, but you have to help yourself. You have to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get back on the right track."

I rub my hands together. "Will I ever get cured?"

She stares at me. "I think that you'll be fine this time. It's different than from when you came in a couple of months ago. You're ready to leave it all behind and move on. I will help you in any way that I can. Did you do like I asked?"

I nod my head.

"So let's hear it."

I clear my throat. "Scratch. Itch. Feening. Fix. 2 dollars? Not enough. Steal some stuff, isn't that tough. Get a job. Get a place. Get somewhere to hide my face. Now I get my fix more often. Speech is getting better daily. I don't have to go without, as a matter of fact it's rarely. I look in the mirror, I sure do look different. Feel that way, too. Now I got my own personal supply, heh, who knew? I'll never sell it though, this Lady is my best friend. She was here through everything, stuck by me till the end. I married the dope. Tried to think of different ways to get high, but none works, nope. She gets mad, disappears too fast, simply because now I always wants a piece of her ass. My friend called, said to come through, stat. She's got something new for me to taste, it's called Crack. It's time to divorce you and leave you alone. You've already taken my car and home. All I got left is this coffee mug... I wish that you weren't my favorite drug. But you are. Time for a new high."

She smiles. "Poetry?"

I nod my head. And for the first time, I look her directly in her eyes. "It was the only way I could express myself."

She stands up. "Well, I certainly didn't expect you to express yourself in this way; I must say, it was quite enlightening. We're done here for today, but let me leave you with this: take your time. In due time, everything you want to get out of this program will come to you if you do what you need to do and follow my directions down to the letter. Understood?"

I nod my head. I exhale.

Time to start detox. I'm in rehab.

Now playing: Jay-Z Feat. Pharrell - I Know
via FoxyTunes

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Day 286 (The Barbie Standard)

Things I Learned In 2009

#4. There are women who actually want to be Barbies.

If you consider yourself a "Barbie" anything, you might not want to read this.

Still here? OK. I gave you fair warning.

I hope you got some Kevlar.

There is a alarming trend spreading like wildfire throughout the female gender. No one quite knows where it started, but what I can do is show you it's biggest offender:

This here is the 'Harajuku Barbie' herself, Nicki Minaj.

First off, let's see exactly what a Barbie is:

Barbie is a fashion doll manufactured by the American toy-company Mattel, Inc. and launched in March 1959. American businesswoman Ruth Handler (1916-2002) is credited with the creation of the doll using a German doll called Bild Lilli as her 'inspiration'.

So, it's a toy. A children's toy at that. But what makes a grown woman want to be a children's toy?

Barbie syndrome is a term used to loosely describe the desire to have a physical appearance and lifestyle representative of the infamous Barbie doll. It is most often associated with pre-teen and adolescent females but is applicable to any age group. Usually it is female youth that will attempt because it is associated with puberty and the awkward stages. The child will want to look her best and most beautiful to males and believes in looking beautiful like Barbie, though Barbie has radical body proportions. Someone afflicted with Barbie syndrome strives for an unattainable body type.

Barbie syndrome, huh? So, let's get this right. Grown women, all around the country (and world) are calling themselves Barbies. They want to be fashionistas, have the body type, and pretty much attract any man they can. But let's look at Barbie's proportions:

A standard Barbie doll is 11.5 inches tall, giving a height of 5 feet 9 inches at 1/6 scale. Barbie's vital statistics have been estimated at 36 inches (chest), 18 inches (waist) and 33 inches (hips). According to research by the University Central Hospital in Helsinki, Finland, she would lack the 17 to 22 percent body fat required for a woman to menstruate. In 1965, Slumber Party Barbie came with a book entitled How to Lose Weight which advised: "Don't eat." The doll also came with pink bathroom scales reading 110 lbs., which would be around 35 lbs. underweight for a woman 5 feet 9 inches tall.

So, let's get THIS straight. Women want to be called a piece of plastic that is underweight with proportions that are not only damaging to health, but nigh unobtainable?

That's sickening.

Every day, I log into Facebook, and I see ANOTHER woman calling herself a Barbie. I get on Twitter, and it's @BarbieBlahBlah or whatever their screen name is. I see a group of women falling failing for another trend, one that won't last. Just yesterday, I was in line and I saw a woman with a "Barbie" tattoo on her arm.

Women, you've got to be smarter than this. You're walking around perpetuating a subculture that is being led by THAT Queen Bee above. While everybody has their own subculture that they belong to, please, think smarter about being led around by a woman who really isn't what she says she is.

Being a Barbie means some things, but not what you think. If you're a Barbie; you're an airhead, you're plastic, malnourished, you can't menstruate, and you're constantly walking around looking for Ken, and that guy has no genitalia at all. You're not real. You're a figment of a woman's imagination and I can guarantee you that she didn't imagine this. Hell, she's not imagining anything; she's dead. What makes her figment worse is, she basically STOLE this idea from someone else. Not only are you not real, but you're not even original!

How about from now on, I want women to say they are WOMEN, not little plastic toys. You Barbies out there can try to dress this up any way you can; say that it represents power for a woman, or the ability to have what you want. Let me ask you a question: when did a Barbie ever have a job that didn't involve her bust? Hell, her little sisters Skipper and Stacy had real jobs. What the hell does Barbie do for a living? Eat and throw up? Wait for Ken to come home with that money so she can go buy her "Barbie Mansion"? Drive around in her Corvette and burn up gas all day? I've NEVER seen a Doctor Barbie, Real Estate Barbie, Lawyer Barbie, etc. But they had a Baywatch Barbie in a swimsuit. They had a Stewardess Barbie with the outfit so ridiculous that they took her off the shelves the next year. Is this REALLY the image you want to pass along to your children and nieces and cousins?

You really want to be fake? The second you come in contact with a little heat, you melt. Nothing about you is real, yet you want to be taken seriously. That defies all logic.

But by all means, who am I to stop you? I'm just an ordinary dude. Laughing at you along with the rest of the world.

Stop being plastic.

*shots fired*

Monday, October 12, 2009

Day 284

4:06 in the morning.

She permeates my thoughts.

We are a volatile mix. A anomalous brew of the hottest fire and the coldest ice.

The result is something astonishing.

Her standing naked in the candle light.

Me inhaling the very essence of her.

She smiles at me. I smile at her.

We stand and hold each other.

Our love is a friendship caught on fire. We stand in the flames, feeding them while the flames feed us.

Our incorporation of our thoughts and emotions and feelings combine to make love.

Yes, we create our love.

We fight it. Not because we aren't ready. Not because we don't want one another.

We fight it because our love is a pure high; easily addictive, dangerously enslaving.

We get lost in our love. No one else matters.

Her kisses nibble at my very soul. My touch makes her tremble with euphoria.


It is what we are.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Day 283

This is a quickie.

Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you? Am I making believe I see in you, a woman too perfect to be really true? Do I want you because you're wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you? Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream, or are you really as beautiful as you seem? - Oscar Hammerstein II

That is all.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Haiku....or two...times two...

Cries turn into moans
The pleasure was all mine or
Was it just for her?

Selfish with the love
Stop, look, listen, but don't touch
That job is all hers.

Throbbing sensation
Yearning for her wet embrace
But her well is dry.

Sheets pulled tight to face
Silly dry reality
Hello my wet dream.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Day 280

Things I've Learned In 2009

#3. I haven't had many firsts.

Tonight, I was outside staring at the stars, just reflecting on a lot of things when I got a text from a good friend of mine, Shay. We chit-chatted back and forth until I asked her what she was doing. She said that she was baking cookies for the kids. She then proceeded to ask me what my favorite type of cookies were (chocolate chip, with peanut butter coming in as a close second) and then asked me had any female ever baked cookies for me before.

Outside of family, I hadn't had someone bake me cookies.

She felt bad. She said that it would be a first that I could have courtesy of her. I smiled and then thought about it.

When it comes to the opposite sex, I haven't had many firsts.

In my mind, I started listing all the things that I haven't had done for me (or to me) by someone else. Here's what I came up with:

-No female has ever baked me cookies. I had a cake baked for me once, however.
-Never had a massage or foot rub.
-Never received flowers. I've gotten 3 cards, all from my ex-wife, all at the beginning of the relationship.
-Never been cooked breakfast. Purchased breakfast, sure. But cooked? Nope. Not even by my ex-wife.
-Never fell asleep on a woman's lap/shoulder while watching TV.
-Never had a bath ran for me.
-Never had my clothes ironed for me.
-Never had a sandwich made for me. (This is true. Seriously, I was with someone for 5 years, and never once did I ask her to make me a sandwich and she did it. It actually turned into a running joke between us. As a matter of fact, we still joke about that now.)

There are many more, but those are quite personal, and I'm not in THAT much of a personal mood today.

I know that some of you reading this is thinking that the things I mentioned are quite trivial. As a matter of fact, I know some of you are like "Why would a man want things like this done?" It's quite simple, actually.

A lot of times, men like to feel appreciated, just as much as women. Sure, we might not want the same things, but those things let a man know that he's appreciated, even if it's just a little bit. While it wouldn't have to be an every day thing (or an every week for that matter) it good to know that someone cares about you enough to do said things.

I get on men all the time about letting their woman know they are appreciated. Tonight, ladies, I want you to take that special guy and let him know that while yes, you love/care about/like him, that he is also appreciated by you. Give him that little note in his work clothes or wallet. Wake him up to homemade breakfast. Run him a bath. Give him some flowers. Make him a sandwich.

I promise, while he may not say anything right then, he will certainly love the fact that you would do something like that for him.

And guys?

I shouldn't even have to tell you. Get busy.

#3. I haven't had many firsts.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Day 278

Things I've Learned In 2009

#2. People misunderstood the meaning of Fairy Tales.

Cinderella was a beautiful woman. Her step sisters and step mother were jealous, so they make her do all of the housework. She couldn't tell her father, he was so in love with them, he wouldn't believe her. She cries in the basement. Her Fairy Godmother hears her, grants her the opportunity to go to the ball where the Prince will pick his bride. She gives her a stunning outfit, but tells her that her curfew is 12:00. The Prince and her falls in love, but she has to run before she can tell him her name. She loses slipper. Back to the maid work. Prince goes around town looking for the girl with the glass slippers. Step mother believes her two daughters are the ones who can fit the shoe. Nope. Cinderella can, though. Prince marries her, father is left with his evil wife and evil stepdaughters.

Snow White's step mother tried to kill her because of her jealousy of Snow White's beauty. Step mom disguises herself three times to kill Snow White, but 7 dwarfs comes along and saves her. The third time, they couldn't save her, but a Prince comes along and kisses her. Snow White wakes up and marries the Prince. Step mom is quite upset, but for her evil ways, she's fitted with 2 hot iron shoes.

Sleeping Beauty slept until her true love kissed her. A old fairy cast a spell on everyone in the castle and they were put to sleep. 100 years later, a Prince falls in love and kisses her. She wakes up, marries the Prince.

Little Red Riding Hood was eaten by a wolf, but a hunter comes along and saves her and her grandmother.

Hansel and Gretel we're tricked by their father (via their step mother) to be lost in the woods, only to be captured and almost eaten by a witch. They kill the witch, grab her jewels, and go home to a grateful father whos now alone because the step mother died.

Beauty and The Beast was about a Beast who was cruel to one old lady, and a fairy turned him into a hideous beast. Belle's father wanted to provide for his three daughters; two of which were selfish and spoiled. Belle, through a series of events, had to stay with Beast. They eventually formed a friendship, and through a minor setback (see: death), fell in love.

The Princess and the Pea had a simple story: Prince want princess. He found no suitable partner. Girl comes in from a storm seeking shelter. She claims royalty. Prince's mother doesn't believe her. Has her sleep upon 20 mattresses and 20 featherbeds with one pea underneath. Girl wakes up with bruise. Prince believes that only a Princess could be as spoiled enough to feel a PEA under 40 layers. They marry. The End.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the point. Or do you? What is connecting all of these stories? Here, I'll tell you:

Women get bitter as hell in their old age. Men are stupid. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time usually nets you what you've always wanted, provided you go through some hardship. Your step mother is a bitch. (Sorry for the crass language, but it's true.) Your father is a great man until he remarries. Then he is a punk.

Oh, and if you ever go skipping in the woods, a man carrying an axe is following your every move. (Where's Chris Hansen when you need him?)

I jest.

Seriously though, one of the most important things is this. Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.

Whatever the odds, no matter who is against you, even if it's family, if you step up and fight for what you want, you can succeed where others want you to fail. Keep your head up and stay focused on what you're reaching for. Shoot for the stars, even if you fail, you'll still be among the clouds.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Day 274

This is my series for a minute. I can't promise you guys I'll do it every day, but I'll try to. Yes, I know there are 91 days left in the year, and I'll update if I learn anything new. But for now...

Things I Learned In 2009

#1. Everything dies. Everything.

Three men I watched when I was growing up passed away this year. Patrick Swazye, who I admired for doing Roadhouse; Ed McMahon was Johnny Carson's co-host, I used to stay up late and watch him be Johnny's straight man to his act; and Michael Jackson, who I loved, period. I honestly wanted to be Mike. Dance like him, sing like him.

Farrah Fawcett was an angel. Charlie's Angel at that. I remember my older cousin had her infamous poster and I used to look at it all the time.

Natasha Richardson was a very good actress. I loved her in The Parent Trap and Maid In Manhattan.

Bea Arthur, who was on Golden Girls, she's gone too.

DJ AM and DJ Roc Raida passed too. Two great DJs, both gone.

David Carradine, who was in one of my favorite movies Kill Bill, and also start of Kung Fu, died.

Dom DeLuise, a funny, funny man. Dead.

John Hughes shaped my childhood completely. His movies, whether written or directed, were the stuff of the 80's. I still quote at least one of his movies daily.

Les Paul made the guitar of legends.

Ricardo Montalban. Steve McNair. Ron Silver. Ted Kennedy. Vernon Forrest. Arturo Gotti.

This is just the celeberties. Let's not talk about Oscar Grant. Or Derrion Albert. Or Bernard Monroe. Or Jamaal Valentine.

Personally, I lost friends, I lost family, I lost a lot. I just found out my older cousin died 20 minutes ago. A childhood friend died earlier this year. I had a... I don't even know what it was. It was something special, I know that; no matter how short it lasted. And that's dead.

But while I learned that eventually everything dies, I also learned that I have the strength to carry on, to move forward. And that's the important thing; we carry the memories of what has came before us and died out. So, I need to change this first lesson, because that wasn't the lesson I learned.

#1. Everything dies. Everything. I have the memories and strength to move on and move forward.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Day 270 (Throwback)

*I wrote this in 2007. A bit of a relapse, if you will.*


I thought we was supposed to make it through anything?
At least that what I thought when I gave you that wedding ring...
Blessings and wishes rained down on us 3 years ago.
We shared our dreams, embraced our love, and let our fears go.
But now, a host of problems later,
Seems as if to our relationship we don't cater.
Forget getting an abundance of love, you can't even place the order.
No more home cooked food, you best run for the border.
We don't even talk... about nothing at all.
Looks like our lust for each other set us up for the fall.
Sex was good in the beginning, now, even that's fallen to the wayside.
So, nothing else is left for us to have in common, and you wonder why my emotions I hide?
Scared of you to find out the truth, which is what I believe
to be the end all, be all, final straw, last nerve to make you leave.
I knew about your boyfriend, saw him kissing your lips.
I didn't get mad, I actually gave him some tips.
See, those days where you said you was in class,
I knew you was at his house giving up some ass.
Sorry for being so crass, but I guess it needed to be said.
I want you to be with him, simply because our relationship is dead.
Or was it even alive in the first?
Place my trust that he'll treat you better, satisfy your thirst.
He'll be your Sprite, you'll be his Pixie.
We've gone too far for this to be fixed, see.
I had to learn how to let you go, it's better for us both.
A flower needs sunshine to facilitate it's growth.
I had to stop drowning you with rain or burying you with more dirt.
You don't need me anymore, and I know this is more hurt.
Band-Aids over bullet wounds does nothing but make things more sticky.
So saying this to you made things a little more tricky.
More complicated, more difficult, I keep saying more, but I need less.
Less of you, less of us, less of what we call stress...

And that's Love.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Day 265 (Purple Honey)

Sexuality is at a peak
So let me take a peek
Not at your panties, no
I wanna see your soul so
Open your eyes, look into mine
Give me a moment, everything will be fine
Don't blink, I might not see it
What society wants, I might not be it

But you soul says 'I don't care'
And your eyes say 'Stay right there'
And you're holding my hands tight
And your moan says 'Cancel plans tonight'
And your hips say 'Come closer baby'
And your yoni's wetness is driving me crazy
And it's getting very thick between us, the air.
And I'm dying for another taste of your Purple Honey, that which is so rare.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Day 263 (Awkward)

I remember the last time I saw her.

It was February of 2008. We went to Red Robin to talk about why we shouldn't date anymore.

Well, that was coming from my end. She still wanted to date me.

We were incompatible at best, plain wrong for each other at worst. She was a homebody, a non-book reader, didn't like ANY music, could care less about current events (worldly or pop), very reserved, almost shy.

I was the complete opposite.

So, that night, I wanted to tell her that while I think she's a good person (she was), I just don't think we mesh well enough to date. I'm too extroverted. I read a lot. I'm up on the news and up on pop culture. I love music. It just wouldn't work for us.

She caused a scene; first trying to beg and plead with me to work things out (as if we were already in a relationship) and then resorted to calling me all types of names, said I was out to "have sex with her" (mind you, I only HUGGED the woman, never even tried to kiss her, so sex was the furthest thing from my mind) and that I was racist.

That's right, she said I was racist. Because she's Caucasian. She said that she thought I was just trying to be seen as different because I was a black man dating a white woman.

Sad that she felt that way.

I started dating her because I thought she was interesting. You know how sometimes quiet people have that "thing" about them? Well, she did. And being the inquisitive person I am, I had to find out what that "thing" was. It didn't have anything to do with race; I love women, period.

Flash forward to 19 months later.

I was running errands today and I needed to make a quick stop. As I was in the store, I felt a couple of eyes on me. I turn and look, and it's her. She comes sauntering down the isle, trying to blink her eyes in some sort of seductive way; honestly, it looked like she got some dust in them. She looked different, hair went from chestnut red to dirty blond. She had shoulder length hair when I met her; now, she had the Kate Gosselin cut. It really didn't suit her round face. She lost some weight; I noticed that immediately. Not that she looked completely bad, but she didn't need to lose the weight, unless it was for health reasons, and I can't imagine that for her. She looks at me and the most awkward conversation I've ever had began.

Her: How are you?!? I haven't seen you in a LONG time!

Me: I'm fine, how are you?

Her: Oh, I'm doing great! After we stopped dating, I went on a small diet and started exercising. I lost some weight.

Me: ...I noticed. You look... different.

Her: Oh, the hair? *runs fingers through it, tried to flip what's there* I decided to get a bit dramatic, you know, not be such a mousy person.

Me: Mousy isn't really a word I would use to descri-

Her: And I got back with my ex. I should've never left him in the first place, but everything happens....

Me: *blank stare*

Her: Yeah, me and my ex are back together.

Me: So... you took a step back?

Her: *cackles* You always had that defense mechanism about you.

Me: That's not really a adjectiv-

Her: I think my tits got bigger. Look at them.

Me: *blank stare*

Her: And my ass? OH. It has gotten SO firm. Wanna squeeze it? It's ok. My boyfriend and I have an open relationship. It was his idea when we first got back together.

Me: *blank stare* So... you took TWO steps back?

Her: *cackles* You are so funny! And you still cute, in that boyish type of way.

Me: Um... thanks?

Her: I was thinking we should exchange numbers... catch back up with one another.

Me: I don't think that would be appropriat-

Her: I need a "buddy" if you know what I mean. He's not having sex with me right now.

Me: Um, I really didn't need to kno-

Her: I'll give it to you. You can have it. You can tak-

Me: You know what? Yeah, I think I need to go.

And so, I walked away shaking my head.

What bothers me the most is, I felt like she was serious. I'm a goofy guy, I can take a joke or two, and I have a good sense to know when someone is tugging my chain. But this? This felt like a sad attempt from a woman who got back with her ex because she felt like no one else would want to be with her.

It's awkward to see someone you used to date, and they try to make themselves more desirable for you, as if you'll just drop everything and say "Oh, I've DREAMED of a moment where we could possibly date again, thank you for giving me that chance."

It's downright depressing.

I see it all the time, especially from men. "Yeah, so, remember when you dumped me in high school 15 years ago? Well, now I got this new truck, and my house is paid for, and I can have any woman in the world." But you're trying to pick up an old classmate? On some old revenge thing? Fail.

Women are just as bad. "So, you know, after I lost 300 pounds and stopped smoking weed, I decided to get fake breasts. Don't I look sexy now?" No. You look desperate. No self respecting man wants a desperate woman. Fail.

There is something to be said about having a desire to prove to someone who "dumped" you that you're better than you were before. The problem comes in, in those cases, that it's not about being dumped, it's about not being compatible with someone. If you don't like at least one of the same things I like or you don't even want to attempt to broaden your horizon, then what's the reason for me to even get to know you, much less date you?

It's just my take on the situation.

Dating is bad enough, I don't need to re-date bad dates.

That's like re-heating already burnt cooked popcorn. The pop is gone, you can't get it back.

And it tastes horrible.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Day 262 (While you were sleeping...)

The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

So, last night, I slept alone.

This is starting off good, no?

Seriously, I've been sleeping alone for a minute now. It's not a big deal to me, yet last night, I felt the pain of reaching out for someone who wasn't there.

It's funny; I learned to be by myself, to know myself and enjoy me... but it doesn't mean I like it. I wish I had a female laying next to me - me via Twitter

When I was happily married co-habituating, sleeping with her at night, even for those short 3 or 4 hours before she had to wake for work was... soothing. She used to hold me at night; she said she couldn't sleep comfortably otherwise. To have a warm body next to you, to feel their breathing patterns while sleeping because their breasts are pressed against your back because they are so close to you, to hold someone close and plant small kisses on their neck while they sleep, to feel them snuggle closer to you... it's a feeling that is simply wonderful.

And it's one that I miss. (The feeling, not her. Replace her with Kerry Washington, and I would have the same feelings. Maybe some extra.)

Mind you, while I have my own comments about "cuddle buddies", last night was the first time I could understand why some women (and men) have them. (For the record, basically I feel like if you two aren't good friends, you should never have someone of the opposite sex sleeping in your bed for nothing but the art of sleeping with someone, that's bad business. Even if you two are friends, be careful of the emotions and feelings that may emerge while half asleep, both good AND bad.) The late night talks about nothing at all. The intertwining of fingers and legs. Nothing sexual, but just.... closeness. Turning over and watching that person sleep; the facial twitches as they dream, looking at their REM (Random Eye Movement), that smile as they wake up and realize they are sleeping with someone they are comfortable with.

In all fairness, part of me feeling this way last night had to do with me just being alone. Not all the time; I'm surrounded by people I love, but even being around the ones I love, I noticed that they all have something I don't: a person to fall asleep with. I'm not gonna get into the whole "third wheel" thing, but sometimes, I wistfully look at my brother and sister and see how happy they are. Or my mom and her boyfriend. My grandparents, even. I see them, and even with all the joy I have in my life, and all the exciting things I have going on, I still feel a twinge of envy.

Envy about not having someone there to hold, or to hold me.

In the end, however, they are just passing emotions. They do re-occur every now and again, and they pass in that same 'every now and again' moment.

But while you were sleeping last night, I was awake. Staring at a ceiling.

Wishing she was here, sleeping beside me.

Now playing: Flying Lotus - Tea Leaf Dancers
via FoxyTunes

Friday, September 11, 2009

Day 253 (The Self Imposed Embargo and Guest Blogging)

So on Monday (which was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day © Alexander. Not to mention, Tuesday was worse), I decided to impose a embargo on myself and not post or use social networking for a while.

We see how long THAT lasted.

The reason for my embargo was simple; I just didn't feel like bombarding people with my sad, confused, and depressed emotions. I was (and still am) dealing with an important issue in my life, and I just don't think it needed to be put out there.

Besides, I didn't want to have to answer the Million Dollar Question: What's wrong?

Answering that would've been a 45 minute soliloquy conversation.

What lifted my embargo, however, was a request from a friend of mine in NC, Alise. She asked me to guest blog for today, and I obliged. Two reasons; one, it was a favor for a friend, and two, I could get some of these emotions off my chest without having to explain what happened.

I succeeded in both.

So, without making you wait any longer, here's the link to Alise's WONDERFUL blog.

Black Woman Lost And Found

Also, I did an editorial in July on another site. I think that I raised some important points and questions. Please, feel free to visit my two female ATLiens on their site.

ATL State Of Mind

I have some other sites I'll be guest blogging for in the upcoming weeks, so be sure to keep checking back. As always, however, the place to get my weird, yet always honest point of view will always be here.

Blogs Of The Invisible Soul

Stop by. Take a look. I promise, you'll like what I have to say, or your money back.

*Seeing as you REALLY didn't put any money in, I'd say that's a win-win, no?

~She Hate Me

Sunday, September 6, 2009


raw emotion
pure devotion
that's what you wanted right
but it's not enough, like
we have to always fight
like, every other week, ending in goodnight
like, i'm not who i say i am
like, i don't kneel down and pray i am
like, someone better but there's nothing more than
what it was and
since i was at fault i
take it on the up and up man
i mean man up, dude
no need to be rude
to her, she don't deserve
what you're pitching is straight curve
but that's not true
to what you believe, you
want to be there but
you heart is nowhere but
where it wants to be
with her on her pillow
as she weeps and will o
will i keep promises to self and
play background up on the shelf and
make moves in silence and
keep us in balance i
can't keep doing this we
can do better she
thinks i'm ungrateful
so she spits out hateful
things that hurt more
almost as much or
maybe even worse
than that night, i write in verse
because at times i want to curse
myself for our ship's in a hearse
about to buried six feet under dirt
and i do feel hurt but
men don't feel pain
so i am questioning if i'm sane
i promised myself once
to never go here again
yet i find myself
back in the same position
and i find myself wishing
that we could just walk it out
but even then would we talk about
how you treat me now
and how i treated you then
and my treatment now
about you being more than a friend
when all i want is for
this ship to reach shore
but we are sinking too quickly
for us to keep it strictly
at arms length and
i'm losing strength and
my stamina's getting low and
that's the way love go
back to being jaded
thoughts are r rated
ready to be contested
and hotly debated
this is what's left inside
is these words that i scribe
i wish i could stop expecting
and just start accepting
that nothing is ever meant to be
not you, not me, not us, not we...

I can't say any more than that.

*steps back*

Monday, August 31, 2009

Day 242 (Mint Cookies And Cream)

What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. - T.S. Eliot

So this is it.

August in Virginia ended the same way it came in: raining.

31 days later; I'm 31 days older, 31 days wiser, and 31 days have been added to my personal journal (which I share with you, my dear readers).

I went through some problems this month; some serious, others hilarious (remember my tweets about being vain?)

And I documented it all. I even took pictures.

Today started off bad. I didn't want to get up for work. When I did get up, the vehicle's battery decided that it quit me and my brother. What fun. I was late for work. My boss decided that she's better than everyone else, so she can say what she wants. I used my wit and sarcasm to shut her up.

But then...

At 7:07 PM, I received a text that made me smile from here to San Diego. And now, I'm here, writing.

I'm extremely grateful for each and every one of my readers. I'm taking the time out to thank you guys, for if it wasn't for you, there wouldn't be a reason to post this online.

What's in my future? Well, I don't know. That's the exciting part about it. I will probably do one, maybe two more Post-Everyday-For-A-Month blocks. I've got a couple of backlogs that I need to get out.

Don't think of this as the end. Think of this... as the beginning. Like how you need vanilla and mint and cookies to start making Mint Cookies and Cream ice cream; I need to live, write and for you to read to make Blogs Of The Invisible Soul.

This is only the beginning. I promise, there's some exciting stuff coming down the pipeline for me.

And I can't want to share it with each and every one of you.

As an old friend of mine wrote in my yearbook from high school: Laugh often, Love fearlessly, and Live in the moment.

*P.S. Hey, Serendipity. I love you.

Now playing: Ledisi - Turn Me Loose
via FoxyTunes

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Day 241 (Chocolate Trilogy)

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love. - Neil Gaiman

I miss her something fierce.

My emotions are really sharp at this moment in time. I'm putting this down tonight as a time stamp on how I feel; not to say that it will change tomorrow, but as a reminder of how people get inside of your skin (in a good way) and how you don't want them to move out of it.

This is the end of my chocolate series, and the second to last post of my 31 flavors. I've been personal the past 30 days, and I'm about to get as personal as one can get on a blog.

She permeates my soul. She digs into the inner most recesses of my heart and pulls out feelings I thought I locked away for good.

Her smell invades my nostrils. I can still smell her, even though I haven't been around her. Every time I close my eyes, I see the very last time I saw her, and the half smile she gave me as she exited the vehicle. I still feel her hand on mine, feel the smoothness of her skin. I still hear her laughter and the hush tones we spoke in at dinner. I still taste the last words we spoke, how I think too much; the bittersweet taste of how she's right, and how I can't help it.

She plunders my every waking moment, and pilfers my every sleeping dream. Some (her included) would say that I'm in too deep, I need to fall back, I need to relax and let things happen naturally.

While I do agree with letting things happen naturally (and that's something I'm Dante Smith working on), I can't just fall back.

I'm in too deep, I'm drowning in love, and for the first time in my life... I welcome the sweet afterlife that'll come after I drown. Please, don't revive me.

Love is SO exhausting... yet so exhilarating and exciting. I'm addicted to her. (And she wouldn't have it any other way.) The thought that crosses my mind often, and what gets me so introspective is: What if she's just not where I am? This has happened to me before, where I've jumped ahead of the other person. What if I'm just crazy as hell and I fell for her too quickly?

Then I get the text that lets me know that I'm crazy, but not that crazy. She loves me too.

We're just moving at our own pace. And so, I look into the mirror every morning and remind myself that I need to give Love time.

I don't know if I really miss her or I miss the feeling of knowing that someone loves me just as much (or maybe more) as I love them. Either way, I know that I miss her.

I miss her something fierce. And I wonder if she's misses me too.

(And Serendipity, I already know you're gonna send me a text or call me and cuss me out. It's ok, by all means, please do. Yes, it's mushy as hell, but it's my feelings at the moment, and I do miss the hell out of you. You know I think way too much. *wink*)

Now playing: Röyksopp - Miss It So Much
via FoxyTunes

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Day 240 (Pineapple Sherbet)

Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated. - Confucius

So, I'm gonna make this really simple:

I'm letting it all go.

Every last bit of it. All the so-called "problems". I'm simplifying my life.

There are too many molehills that I'm turning into mountains. It's not really that serious.

I realized tonight that I'm beating myself into the ground and I need to treat myself a lot better.

I'm moving forward.

Now playing: Flying Lotus - Slow It Down
via FoxyTunes

Friday, August 28, 2009

Day 239 (Raspberry Sherbet)

The formula for achieving a successful relationship is simple: you should treat all disasters as if they were trivialities but never treat a triviality as if it were a disaster. - Quentin Crisp

OK, so let me start by giving you, my dear readers, a warning: Tonight's blog will be harsh. It will be full of vulgarities and truth. If you can't handle it, please, stop reading now.

You're still here?

Then let's dig in.

This is for the sorry ass men out there who treat their women like shit and release them back out into the wild for men like me to fix.

I'm tired of cleaning up your shit. MEN who are like me is tired as well.

You bastards won't treat your woman right, you disrespect her, you call her out her name and smack her around like her head was a tether ball, cheat on her, bring home diseases, and then decide that she's not good enough for you (or get tired of having sex with her), and leave her out on the corner.

On the outside, she's a strong woman. Very well put together. Hard worker. Then she meets me. And in the beginning she likes me. I show her attention, I call when I say I will, I'm gainfully employed, and I show all the qualities that she's looking for in a potential life mate.

The problem comes in when she feels like everything that I'm doing is too good to be true.

I tell her she's beautiful every day. She thinks I'm full of shit or hiding something. That's because your stupid ass never appreciated what you had.

I tell her that I believe that she can do whatever she puts her mind to and that I will always have her back no matter what. She thinks I'm just saying that so I can get her in bed. That's because your no expectation having ass don't expect nothing from your illiterate self, so you don't expect her to do better.

I call when I say I will. She thinks I'm out cheating. That's because you NEVER called. Well, you did, but only when you wanted to come through and smash with that disease infected limp noodle you got.

I give her money when she needs it. She thinks that I'm paying her for sex. That's because your broke ass never had no money, so you exchanged sex for money. (And let's get the record straight, it's OK to give YOUR woman money. If she's your woman, and you're supposed to be a team, why would you NOT help your team out? Only broke dudes swear every woman is out to stick them for that measly ass $50 she needs.)

I don't have a problem with a woman with kids. She thinks it's because I got 6 or 7 kids I don't take care of. That's because... YOU got 6 or 7 kids by 6 or 7 different women and you don't take care of the ones you DO have.

I don't argue loudly or raise my hand to her. She thinks no matter what I say, I will one day. That's because you beat her like a bass drum and then have the audacity to bring your pussy ass back to her with that sorry, half-assed apology. And can them crocodile tears, you couldn't act your way out of a wet paper bag.

I never once say anything disrespectful like her hair is messed up or she needs to get her nails done or that she's getting fat. She thinks that I don't care how she looks overall. That's because you were always on her about keeping her appearance up, but then again, your broke ass NEVER go get a haircut, clip your dirty ass nails, and you don't mind being 5'6" 375 pounds, but she better not EVER say anything about your weight because it hurts your feelings. Fucking asshole.

This is just a small example of the shit I have to clean up. I have to endure getting called too intense, too mushy, too clingy, or whatever is the term for the day because to you, EVERY woman is a ho, and you could never marry a ho, at least that's what the streets said. You think every girl you date has to look like Rosa Acosta or Halle Berry, but then, you don't look like Morris Chestnut or Denzel Washington. There is nothing wrong with wanting to date a dime, but understand that you need to treasure the woman you DO have. Stop trying to upgrade your woman and upgrade yourself, you uneducated, no dream having, dumb fuck.

I get sick and tired of dating a woman who is just fine the way that she is, that can do whatever she puts her mind to, and as soon as I say that she's lovely, I get the third degree because she thinks I'm you.

Fuck you, you rat faced bastard, I'm not you, and you're right, I could never be you.

I'll never let myself slip that damn low or be a failure like you.

Women, listen up. You are beautiful just the way you are. We ALL have issues, every last one of us. Embrace your flaws, and trust me, someone out there will do the same. You just have to stop settling for these wack ass, don't-do-right LITTLE BOYS who couldn't take care of home with $100 million dollars and an instructional video showing them step by step how to make sure your woman is happy enter your life. These dudes is backwards, they don't understand that if they make YOU happy, you will do whatever is in your power to make your man happy.

I would say that these are life lessons, but some dudes have never lived, so they've never learned these lessons.

Dude. You're lame. It's not a game so I can't tell you to step your game up. These are REAL women with REAL feelings. But what I can tell you is to get your shit straight.

But I don't even know why I wrote this. You won't read this. You can't read. Simple ass nigga.

Now playing: Dj Rasta Root - Classic Example : The Rest of Dilla Vol. 1 Mixed by: Dj Rasta Root
via FoxyTunes


Blog Widget by LinkWithin