Writing My Wrongs

AJ... as requested...the blue suede peek-toe...

...as most women worth their weight...
I am not a ho...
...but I can be ho-ish. LOL

With that said...I realize I could have taken a less ho-ish pic... but it's hard as hell to take pics of your own feet... I needed to remove my clothes in order to move around comfortably on the floor.

Also helps that I opened up a bottle of Pommery Pop... I needed a glass of champagne to put me to sleep. And as decadent as that may sound... it was only Pommery. I suppose I could have had a shot of Patron... but liquor makes me feel like an alcoholic when drinking alone...
Champagne makes me feel...something else...

Enjoy y'all weekend.
...I plan to enjoy my evening... ::devilish grin::

I resorted to calling you all kinds of bitches…in my head.
Because I was silently warring with myself at how I was being the equivalent of bitchassness.
Hated myself for caring and not only that…
Not only that…
But I wanted…needed to try and make shit right…even though I was the one that got the ball rolling on this.
I don’t know about most women…
I only know about this woman…
And this woman…well when I let someone up inside of me…it’s because there is some degree of love that’s there. I ain’t just fucking for fuck sake, if that were the case… I’d be walking around here with a fat ass swollen and chafed pussy.
I’m not.
If you really want to know…which I know you don’t…
My pussy is in need of some fucking petting…or is that fucking and petting.
Either or…she’s neglected.
With that said…I was in love…and as the norm concerning this woman…love don’t look good on me…or maybe, I’m not the bus love need to hop on.

So back to him being in me and now me ending it badly and how he won’t let shit just die and me re-thinking a great decision but feeling like bitchassness may not be all that bad to immerse myself in.
Dude…
Come the fuck on…Let it fucking die.
Because the constant barrage on my ears, heart, mind, soul…are going to have me go back to some bullshit that’s just as unacceptable now as it was then.
I’m a weak woman …me in all my bitchassness.

This was that fairytale shit that I wished for…finding out three quarters of the way through it, that it’s not quite the fucking picket fence…but I saw a possibility that I hadn’t seen in too many other people…so I settle for some half way shit that leaves me compromised and …lonely in a situation that requires two.
Yet, because I wanted it so bad…I settled on making this relationship work all by myself…and that “us” that somehow mystically converted to just me, rather than a couple…put a strain on me.
I can’t participate anymore.
I think I have said that…again and again…and possibly a couple more times while no one was listening.
So I’m…ignoring phone calls…but what about work? How many times do I quietly push the release button praying he doesn’t call back? How many times do I push “ignore” on my cell phone? How many times do I hear his voice on voice mail and quickly delete it before I can hear that voice that makes my heart cry.

Can a heart do that?
Cry? ‘Cause I feel like someone has taken it and wrung it out like a washcloth…tiny drops of love are dripping out and …it feels like tears.
You ever had your love leak out of your heart… it’s just as wretched as sobbing while your eyes turn red and get puffy and your nose snots up…and then comes the racking of your shoulders…and that love…that leaked out of your heart…now becomes those huge gulps of air because not only have you reached a hysterical sob but it’s now become a panic attack… because you want to make sure all the love doesn’t leak out because you need to save some for.. the next love.
And you panic because you feel the need to exorcize whatever remains of your “happily ever after” because anything you felt for him…has to be removed so you don’t dwell on it a second longer. You become irrational in your thinking and trying to convince yourself that your better off even though your brain keeps flashing those damn memories in your minds eye, of looking into each others eyes, of walking hand and hand, of playfully wrestling, of nights in each others arms, of a time when you felt safe and protected.
So you resolve to not cry anymore.
You straighten your shoulders…look yourself in the mirror and promise yourself that not one more drop…
…not one more muthafucken drop is coming out of you over him.
You start to get mad at yourself for having feelings.
Knowing it’s natural but hating yourself for falling for that okey-doke…okey-doke being love and you being the love-less in that love affair.
You’re mad because you’ve been in this same muthafucken place before and you are saying now what you said then…but back then, you were telling yourself to never let shit get this far again…
And your anger makes you stubborn and your stubborn-ness makes you…
Wash your face, splash some cold water and you try to resume your mundane and routine life…knowing that this episode will come back again…and you’ll promise yourself again...
…not one more muthafucken drop.
A heart should not cry over love…

I feel like you are waiting for me to show up...

It’s not my duty to remind a muthafucka when he’s out of line.
It’s not. I refuse to take that responsibility.
He’s a grown ass man…and I am a grown ass woman. I know when the fuck I am doing wrong…whyyyyy this muthafucka …all the sudden needs to be taught some new shit at 40-fucken years old, is beyond me. Get the fuck outta here with that bullshit.

An email:

Bloopty,
Even if I never know you the way I think I should… I will always believe that you were the best person I ever met.

...and I was sent this song...

I needed these last weekend... instead...I wore no panties.
~~~~

I’ve been in this Nina Simone stage for quite sometime now…and I am wondering what the hell that’s about because…well it’s rather dark.

I don’t know what it is about New Orleans…it makes me feel…dissolute, harsh, decadent, and sinful.
I’ve been thinking about moving there. I know that sounds so far out of left field and ...well…I doubt I’d actually like it if I was in the midst of “country” folk… and by country, I mean...gold fronts, red/purple/green extensions in the hair and that slow ass talking they do. Yea, I’m a pretentious city girl. Case in point…I used to think Beyonce was sort of slow in the yellow bus type of way for the longest time because she sounded like her tongue was too big for her mouth. Which is sort of ass backward because…I sound intelligent…but…

I wouldn’t live there forever…just a year or two. Cortney says I am too old to be trapezing around without setting down any roots somewhere. I had to ask him if I was suppose to settle for what he thinks life should be…or if I could live my own life the way I felt. He got quiet as any child who has been reprimanded would for speaking out of line.
Who decides what I should do with my life…or your life? Individually we do. We determine what works for us and what we need.
All we have is time…until time is all done with us…
...wouldn’t it stand to reason that I live that life how I see fit.
So…New Orleans is now on the radar. Doubt it will come to fruition…but nonetheless, it’s a thought.

Back to Nina… I had “IPutASpellOnYou” on repeat last night. It’s guttural…rather her voice is. I was thinking that… she was gangsta for the line’s in red below.
She’s like…I give a fuck what you want or think…right now…I am yours.
But before that she’s like…calmly saying… “you know better daddy”…

I’ve got a drafted post…titled “You Knew”…and that line reminds me of it.
Yea, she’s put me in a dark place…or rather…I’ve joined her there.

I’ve put a spell on you…

I put a spell on you
cause you’re mine

You better stop the things you do
I ain’t lyin’
No I ain’t lyin'

You know I cant stand it
You’re runnin’ around
You know better daddy
I cant stand it cause you put me down

I love ya
I love you
I love you
I love you anyhow
And I don’t care
If you don’t want me
I’m yours right now

You hear me
I put a spell on you
Because you’re mine

Last night I was out to dinner and my friend said… let’s call each other stuff off the menu…

“So Honey Short Ribs…what are you having for dinner?”
“Not quite sure my Cool Cucumber Salad, how about you?”
“I think I’ll have the skirt steak, my little Parmigiano Chicken.”

Yea, you know who it was… the one who tells me “Spaghetti” because he knows I dread hearing “I love you”.

I think if I was to get with him for real (which I wouldn’t), I’d end up being as big as a house. He’s built perfectly…p-u-r-f-e-c-t-l-y…but he eats constantly. Plus, he likes to cook. Yea, I learned long time ago, he’s bad for my health.
Plus…eh, he’s just not the one for me. Sometimes I feel bad when I talk to him… he tries so hard…so hard to figure out what it is I want, that I sometimes feel like he’s not watching out for himself.
And fucking with me, y’all know…he should really be looking out for himself because…gifts of diamonds; does not make a long term relationship. Matter of fact, the last joker to give me diamond earrings wasted his money too…they’ve just been sitting. Would I be the ass if I pawned them? Just saying…they’ve been just sitting for well over a year now.
~~~~

My dad always had two pet names for me, Sweet Pea (below pic) and Alli-babe…and to me, they’ve always belong to him and I.
Well one Thanksgiving I found out that he’d been cheating on me by giving his wife-at-the-time my beloved “Sweet Pea”.
The year, 2003…the whole family had trekked to Maryland for the holiday. We were all standing around the table doing as we HAVE to do and telling what we are thankful for…some cry and others rush through a small thank you because “we” hate speaking in front of people…we all finish and prayer is said before we start to eat. Me, sitting two seats down from my daddy and his wife…she was some damn where at the table…it is not my damn job to watch where that woman sat!...

We are all passing food and reaching for food when my father says,
“sweet pea, pass me the green beans.”
Well…simultaneously I reached for the bowl…while she reached for it too. Well…y’all don’t know me like my family knows me and all of the sudden the table got quiet. Not a single peep. Everyone just looked at me…including my daddy…waiting on bated breath to see if I said something shitty to the wife.

See…what’s mine is mine. You take my shit from me and well…yes…you are gonna hear about it. So my words weren’t for her, they were for my father. ‘Cause he knew he’d fucked up. Like yelling another woman’s name during sex… he waited to see my reaction.
My reaction…just to be an ass…I held on to the bowl a minute too long, I didn’t yank it from her…didn’t apply any pressure…just looked in her eyes…then slowly looked at my dad...raised my eyebrows as if to say
“oh yeaa, your gonna get a earful on this one mutha-effa”…then I let go of the bowl.
Awkwardly, my aunt tried to start a conversation but it didn’t actually flow until I finally spoke… I realized it was my duty to make everyone at the table feel comfortable despite me being the one that was slighted.
My family knows that I am a spoiled little sumtin’ or other…sometimes. They know that I chose my words carefully when I am trying to kill you softly… they know that I am quick to pick up a knife concerning my daddy…but they have never seen me slighted by my father either. So… they waited. And I stepped up to the plate and made them feel better so that we could finish out Thanksgiving dinner.
I had some words for my dad in hushed whispers in the back room after the evening was finished. To this day…sweet pea and alli-babe remain mine. I've never yelled at my dad or cussed in front of my dad..and I didn't then...but I think I might have threatened him...and told me that it was unacceptable and that he hurt my feelings. My father promised me that they were...all mine...for all time.

And to this day… my family may bring it up…but it’s just in passing as they steal a look in my direction to see if it’s ok to “kid” about it… I either shake my head “no”…or I smile for them to proceed. At this point I don't too much care about the one time that happened...but for pretense, I keep it up so that they know that when it comes to me and pa...I don't fuck around and you can't come between.

I said all that to say…
Pet names…specifically for me…make me feel special… from Lady Love to Baby Girl… I love them. I scoot down into the comfort those words give me when I hear them from someone that makes my soul feel good.

But when they are used in a way to manipulate my heart… it bothers me.
AND…to use a pet name my daddy gave me…as a way to feel more connected and to get in the door that’s been shut to you… well…it confuses me and vexes me because… there is power in the name’s my daddy gave me…and there is still a love for the man that chose to use it this morning…
…so…
Texts that read…
“Alli-babe…dress warm, all that snow…wouldn’t want you to get the flu again.”
Leaves me feeling… a warmth in seeing my pet-name and in reading words of care and concern….but vexed that he’d use my daddy’s name for me…here at the finish-line of our relationship.
I recognize that shit for what’s its worth…and I am confused because I don’t want to feel good about reading that shit. How does someone feel good about knowing they are being manipulated…

Here—at this final hour, in this quiet place—Harlem has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes—extinguished now, and gone from us forever. For Harlem is where he worked and where he struggled and fought—his home of homes, where his heart was, and where his people are—and it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again—in Harlem—to share these last moments with him.

For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who have loved her, have fought for her and have defended her honor even to the death. It is not in the memory of man that this beleaguered, unfortunate, but nonetheless proud community has found a braver, more gallant young champion than this Afro-American who lies before us—unconquered still.

I say the word again, as he would want me to: Afro-American—Afro-American Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his use of words. Nobody knew better than he the power words have over minds of men.
Malcolm had stopped being a Negro years ago. It had become too small, too puny, too weak a word for him. Malcolm was bigger than that. Malcolm had become an Afro-American, and he wanted—so desperately—that we, that all his people, would become Afro-Americans, too.

There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends of the Negro people, to tell us to revile him, to flee, even from the presence of his memory, to save ourselves by writing him out of the history of our turbulent times.
Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial and bold young captain—and we will smile. Many will say turn away—away from this man; for he is not a man but a demon, a monster, a subverter and an enemy of the black man—and we will smile. They will say that he is of hate—a fanatic, a racist—who can only bring evil to the cause for which you struggle! And we will answer and say to them:

Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch him or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did, you would know him. And if you knew him, you would know why we must honor him: Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood!

This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves. Last year, from Africa, he wrote these words to a friend: My journey, he says, is almost ended, and I have a much broader scope than when I started out, which I believe will add new life and dimension to our struggle for freedom and honor and dignity in the States.

I am writing these things so that you will know for a fact the tremendous sympathy and support we have among the African States for our human rights struggle. The main thing is that we keep a united front wherein our most valuable time and energy will not be wasted fighting each other.

However we may have differed with him—or with each other about him and his value as a man—let his going from us serve only to bring us together, now.

Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother of all, secure in the knowledge that what we place in the ground is no more now a man—but a seed—which, after the winter of our discontent, will come forth again to meet us.

And we will know him then for what he was and is—a prince—our own black shining prince!—who didn’t hesitate to die, because he loved us so.

Remember.

# posted by Blah Blah Blah : 10:41 AM  7 Gave Their Buck 76

This song stays on heavy rotation in my iPod. It's one of those songs like "Womens'sWorth"....that just sits in the pit of my stomach and makes me feel something...not sure what...but something that can make my eyes well up...

I'm holding on your rope/Got me ten feet off the ground/I'm hearin what you say but I just can't make a sound/You tell me that you need me/Then you go and cut me down, but wait/You tell me that you're sorry/Didn't think I'd turn around, and say...It's too late to apologize, it's too late/I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late/I'd take another chance, take a fall/Take a shot for you/And I need you like a heart needs a beat/But it's nothin new - yeah yeah/I loved you with a fire red-Now it's turning blue, and you say.../"Sorry" like the angel heaven let me think was you/But I'm afraid...It's too late to apologize, it's too late/I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late/It's too late to apologize, it's too late/I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late/It's too late to apologize, yeah/I said it's too late to apologize, /yeah-I'm holdin on your rope, got me ten feet off the ground...

You need an answer so you know how to deal… Because avoidance is something you can’t do anymore.

I guess I have been avoiding you…but it wasn’t my intent when you first left me on the 10th. I figured your inability to communicate came from a place within that you weren’t familiar with. I let it pass and said by weeks end you would be ok.

Then it dawned on me that the more I waited for you to communicate…the more days that passed with no word from you…the more I started resenting almost everything about you. Reminding me that the reasons on October 1st were the same reasons I was feeling the way I was, maybe even a few more things added since now I have known you longer. So “avoidance” isn’t something that was intended…just something that happened. I just didn’t feel inclined to communicate. As far as I was concerned… you said all that needed to be said in the days following our trip to New Orleans….NOTHING.

On more than one occasion...several occasions, you have left me feeling clueless and never felt the need to explain yourself... so I find it ironic that you are feeling the same way that you have made me feel.
Surprisingly...it doesn't bother me that you may be hurt by this.
You have so often gone into retreat mode and "avoided" me...that now... I feel like I am giving you your due by returning the favor. Not out of spite…more out of… I just don’t feel inclined to say shit to you. After all, what is there to say…

You see, I know all the good in you. Well, maybe not all the good…for my interaction has been very limited. I see what you want me to see…in my space…in my town. But you get what I am saying hopefully. I think you are a good guy. There was a time when I wanted you for mine and I was thinking of all the ways we fit together. I saw myself wanting to be a better me…for you. I wasn’t sure what that meant but I was willing to find out. I wanted to be what you wanted…needed. Yea, there was a time when I thought that.
We've had conversations and ... I believe, as much as you spoke about the future... we never really had one. We had “now” and “the moment” but I never felt like we (mainly you) were working towards anything. You made me feel like this was "for now"...until it wasn't anymore. I also knew that I was compromising myself to be with you. Little things that I knew in the long run would start to eat away at me…at my self esteem, at my spirit. The things that are unacceptable to most women…and men…but for you and your double-standards, they’d be fine…and you weren’t open to change.

I no longer want to wonder about you…
…I was wondering so many things about you. You consumed me.
I felt drained and depressed. Sad and Lonely.

If you’re in a relationship…the characteristics of any relationship should not consist of Sad or Lonely. And if it does, then I have to believe that I have been compromising my happiness. Compromising my definition of what companionship is about.

I know that I am not being specific here… but I have been specific with you in the past and nothing has come of it… so now…at the end… I feel it would be a waste of my energy and time to tell you of all the good in you… and all the things bad about you… and all the things good/bad about you and I being an “us”.
There were things that I thought that I'd live with because...well, believe it or not...I always conform to the man in my life. I did when I was married and I have done it with you...but inside there is a part of me that hurts...because I feel as if I am always compromising myself to be something for someone else. Certain behavior is not acceptable...but I accept it because I was thinking...in the "big picture"...life is not always fair. Thinking that maybe I am being spoiled and ultra-sensitive. But I'm not. I know what I want...and I have been settling for what seemed good in the moment. Dude, you were good in the moment...when we were in each others presence. Yet...there were so many things wrong with us.

I no longer think it’s important to communicate anything to you. I am bitter, I am bothered, irritated, hurt, agitated…I want to yell at you…make you feel like shit… but I can’t…and I won’t… because I still love you…still care. I will write about it, expunge myself that way…as I have told you, I write to keep myself sane…I write so that I don’t keep it in, so it doesn't mildew my heart.

I am done.
Goodbye.

I’ve been sitting and waiting for this heaviness to lift. To make me feel lite again. Again? Maybe not again…but more like finally.

You know what I am speaking of…the lite-ness that makes me smile and hum for no reason whatsoever…as I pick wildflowers in the field with little birds flittering around my shoulders…with a soft breeze playing in my hair.
That lite-ness.

Yea, I’ve never had it but I think a part of me has always wanted it. I think.

There are a ton of songs out there that will speak of how I feel… but the one that consistently comes to mind, is the one I heard by DianaKrall…

“…they’re writing songs of love…but not for me…
…lucky stars above…but not for me…”

There was a time I was amative. Now...I’m just…
~~~~
I am finally feeling better. I have been sick since Saturday. The worst it got was Monday night when I thought that I would faint… I didn’t of course. I only lay in medicated hell as snot pooled to one nostril. That of course made me constantly move from side to side during the night, trying to even out the excess snot-age to both nostrils, in hopes of falling asleep and not dying of mucus asphyxiation. Imagine that coroner’s report… imagine.
~~~~
I know it’s written somewhere that all things must come to an end, this world and our lives are ever changing and the make-up of today’s society is in no way what we grew up with in the past.

With that said… can we please get rid of the skinny leg jean?... Please!
Now by no means am I fat…maybe a little sloppy in the waist area… depending on the pant giving off that muffin top look… maybe a little fluffy in the “big down blanket” type of way…I give comfort dammit! So with those two things… the skinny leg pant doesn’t look good on my no shape having ass. Now, I am very minor…little…un poquito in the way of lovely lady humps…so even with the added advantage of skinny legs I still have no badonka donk to fill out the derriere assigned section in the back of my pants...
~~~~
Tonight I am partying like a rockstar… actually I think I am going to party like a rap star… less random wildness with much ‘tude and coolness. I know what I am wearing…something to show off my double D’s…ok ok ok…so what if I over exaggerate the girls…tonight I am Kanye dammit and over exposure on feminine softness is called for… so if I wanna call my 36C…double D’s…I can...and I will…and I’ll wear the bra that makes you think maybe…just maybe…

Now this is how wack my birthday is…and it’s only wack because…well…you read the first part of this post so…you know the wackness I speak of…
I have some friends in Cal…one of them is having their 40th birthday here in NY (since he is from NYC)…so a group of 10 people flew out here to attend my friends black tie party…on my birthday. So I will be hanging with them tomorrow…on my birthday. Maybe. I do know that tonite I will be wild…for old time sake for this old gal. It’s been so long since I have dressed up and flirted.

Granted I was just at Mardi Gras…but I was with a man and…well…I ain’t wanna get drop kicked in the neck for being outta pocket so…no flirting was going on. At least, I don’t think…no seriously…I don’t remember.

Fire water is the debbil I tell ya!!!

So even though I am feeling unfulfilled, unwanted, and alone… I will try and make the most of tonight… I have to. I think a little of my sanity depends on me being wild tonight. If not, I think I may just commit myself to some asylum and wait out my days there.

Yea, things are a tad precarious right now… Precarious and fucked. But that is neither here nor there and …well, no need to worry your pretty little heads with that.

Enjoy this long weekend…it is the only one until Memorial day… at which time…one or some of us should get together and do what we all love…drink.
~~~~

Lesson #956:
Repetition does not turn a lie into the truth.
It only convinces the liar of thier own lie.