Writing My Wrongs

I had a moment…
…and I cried.

It’s pretty earth shattering to realize that…
…you’re pathetic.

You see, all this time I have had excuses as to why I am who I am….where I am…
And that’s pretty much what they were, excuses.
I made them all the time for my behavior, for my decisions, for my actions…and now…now that I realized just how pathetic I am…
I have made myself cry.

So…as I sit here and write this out for you…I am actually turning things over in my head and I am sure those thoughts will fall upon this screen and you will see…that I am figuring this out as I go along. Like a rubics cube, I am seeing what matches, turning and turning until hopefully it all comes together to the complete piece of colors that it’s suppose to be.

It doesn’t help that Terry gave me Bonnie Ratt last night….or that KS confirmed my pathetic-ness (through no fault of his own) as we discussed my state of affairs.

Prayer…let’s start there. I can’t do it. I am struggling with that. I grew up in the church, have attended church since I can remember. Although I am a believer in the universe and a higher power, I am not sure that if I throw out thoughts and words into the universe….that the universe will hold those and make them come to fruition or make them true. I am just not sure. And even as I type that…I am feeling like I shouldn’t. I have put my thoughts in black and white and when it comes to spiritual things…sometimes I am making more trouble for myself. I believe that speaking words are powerful…and once spoken…there is no retrieving them. So….it’s double-edged.
I am conflicted.

I was seriously thinking about moving back to the bayarea… and just when I am sure that is what I want to do… Oldest lets me know that he has put one foot in front of the other to solidify his future plans…and now…because he was a part of my original plan…and even though I wanted to change plans mid-flight without telling him…he is still holding to the original plan…so I am staying on the east coast. I love my son. There is no doubt. And it would hurt me to hurt him and his plans for himself…and his plans for me.
I am…conflicted.

Have I given up on what Maslow says is the hierarchy of needs?

I am still on the first level. I see nothing in the near future that is going to make me step up to the next 4 levels. I haven’t even mastered the first one…as I am jobless, penniless, and barely able to sleep a full night without waking up with a powerful headache. Is it possible to work my way down….that way I’d essentially be at the top. And I truly think that I have started at the top…because it was but a year and a half ago that I was somewhere on top of my game… somewhere like that. Bottom to top …Top to Bottom.
I am still…conflicted.

A year and a half ago I was dating a man that was separated from his wife, looking for love; thought he had found it. Our meeting was serendipitous. I realize now…it was contrived. But I am in it… yea, I am in it. The one that I tried and gave to… you know…all of what I had to offer… the me that y’all don’t see… I got lost in my own Fairytale… now realizing that Reality is the next neighborhood over.
Let me say…through out the 4 years that I have been blogging…I have had some up’s and downs…and I have dated more men than I can remember. I had fun…fun. I was ok being me. Today…this day…I don’t want to be me. But I am.
Conflicted.

He said write it down. It’s your talent and you don’t even know it.
….but I have nothing left to write…
Just fucking do it Bloopty.

…here I am…just doing it…just writing.

You sure are a cute little muthafucka!

I stood there for a few minutes…trying to understand…just what the fuck WAS THAT SHIT!

I say, “Umm, are you talking to me?” As I turned my lip up at him.
He say, “I sure am. I’d like to do the Ving Rhames on you…”

Now I know what the fuck the VR is…but I can not imagine in my wildest dreams/nightmares believe that this grimey fool is talking about what I think he’s talking about…

He say, “I’d go Baby Boy on your little light-weight ass like WHAT!”
Ok, I was wrong…he was talking about what I thought he was… let me think how I want to proceed…
I say, “Old man, you cain’t possibly think you can handle me...whether, small or big…I’mma tall order so you GOT to be ready to pay for everything you order!”

He say, “Ooh wee…I like a sassy muthafucka!”
I say, “If you talking about me…you mean a SEXY muthafucka…” (at least that’s who Prince thinks I am…with his celibate ass…lol)

Now I don’t know about you women in blogland…but I am pretty sure that you’ll agree with me when I say…
That shit right there…is some other world shit because I find it hard to believe that this 50 year old man…with his saggy balls, loose bowels and grey pubes…is talking to my young spry ass (shudditup!) about holding me up as he hops around the house with his arthritic knees and his hip replacement.
Nor can I fathom THAT old ass reference to VR was his pick up line, his game plan, his full throttle approach…
But I have been wrong before, as I am sure…I am this time.
I think he thought he was actually putting his A-game out there, his best foot forward, his undeniable suave and smooth mack down. Yea, I am pretty sure he thought he was.

Back in the day when I was the shit…
These type of jokers knew not to even attempt a look in my direction… now that I am old shit…I get geriatrics at the lounge tryna spit game from a movie in 2001…gggrrrrrreat!
I’mma learn…
Stay my old ass in the house and cruise the internet for a man…lol Or hope the FEDEX guys is cute enough to have him come in while I sign for my package…bent over…hands on ankle as I maneuver writing my name, while dropping it like it’s hot. Or resort to flirting with the Home Owner Association president as he pulls out of his driveway every morning…you know, conveniently go check on my mail at 7:30 in the morning in my silk wrap and my furry kitten shoes with the clear heels…
Just saying…either that or go to the bar/club/lounge and get Jerome tryna spit game as he tries to hold his dentures in with his tongue…sounding like a gruff drag queen with a lisp.
I am done.

I have been in California for 7 days. The boys went back home Sunday and my father left for Bangkok, Bhutan and Kathmandu same day. I will never know why my dad goes to these places…it scares me. He can’t be reached. Granted I have hotel info…but still…

What is the song…
“…I’d rather live in his world, then without him in mine…”
I am in a conundrum.
Discombobulated.

I just started reading Ralph Ellison’s biography…it’s a tough read but I am sure it will get better. I am sure. I bought an Op-rah magazine…and couldn’t believe how much shit she packs into it each week….oh, it’s a monthly mag…lol

Found out a girlfriend of mine loves me. Odd that. Never thought she could fall in love with a girl like me. She says I haven’t changed. Says I am still mean and everything is still all about me. She has always known that and says that the people that want to be in my space would accept who I was.
All the while I am wondering…where the eff did this come from? And why in the hell does she tell me this stuff after I have been gone for 4 years? I swear every single freaking time I come back to California I get some revelations from someone professing some sort of affection towards me. And it usually starts off with… “I never told you but…”
I get that ppl in general are attracted to other ppl in general…
But it surprises me when I had not a clue…and then bop…they are telling me about “way back when”…
I think it’s wack.
But in this case…maybe, not so much.

I miss Cortney.
I miss Slish.
I miss my apartment in Harlem.
I miss NYC.
I miss fancy restaurants.
I miss pretentious lounges and the ppl.
I miss the grime on the bottom of my feet from walking the streets in flipflops.
I miss rain in Harlem.
I miss the honking of horns.
I miss the retarded tourist.
I miss not having to buy gas, just a subway card.
I miss a shoe store on every corner…along with a Strawberry’s.
I miss the street fairs.
I miss celebrity sightings.
I miss water to my left, water to my right, water all around me.
I miss the sunset as it slides between two skyscrapers.
I miss street hustlers and subway musicians.
I miss DSW in Union Square.
I miss my alternative lifestyle eye doctor.
I miss 145th street corner guys who play dominos in front of the barber shop.
I miss Golden Crust spicy beef patties.
I miss the street vendors selling their incense and shea butter on 125th street.
I miss my church; FCBC.
I miss rooftop parties.
I miss West 4th.
I miss the Bowery, Chinatown, and SOHO.
I miss my second hand thrift shop on Mercer by Bar 89.
I miss Dean & Deluca.
I miss laying across Will’s bed watching Hero’s on DVR.
I miss hating the Bronx.
I miss the drummers in Prospect Park.
I miss heading to Shea stadium.
I miss being able to go with a date to the baseball game.
I miss seeing blue and white Yankee baseball hats.
I miss Harlem Vintage.
I miss nights at Flute drinking champagne for the hell of it.
I miss sitting at the Time Inc. fountain, looking across the street at Radio City Music.
I miss Junior’s on theater row.
I miss the fireworks at Yankee Stadium.
I miss Lady Liberty to the south and GWB to the north, Jersey to the west and Long Island City to the east.
I miss Harlem River Drive and the FDR.
I miss driving across the Brooklyn Bridge.
I miss browsing Flatbush avenue.
I miss choking up when I walk past Ground Zero.
I miss the bad ass kids on 146th street.
I miss being free.
And most of all…
I miss me.

B~E~Z

Tell me this...

Suppose your signif other is having sex when you're not around. Could you get over it if it was just sex and not an emotional tie?

I am starting to wonder where my backbone has gone concerning this.

Now mind you...Dude is not my man...at least I don't see him as such even though...yea, even though. Let's say he's my man if we are scratching the very surface of what a man could be for a woman...but when it comes to the essentials...the bare bones of what's needed to confidently and with pride say he's my man...nah, not at all.

So, since I have those thoughts about who he is to me...I am sort of perplexed. I, in a sense am ok with him having sex with other people. Well let me be truthful...I think he is having sex with someone else...I know in the year and a half that I have been seeing him that he has gone outside our yard and checked out a few chicks across the street and around the block.

But today, I woke up and told myself that I don't mind him slippin' and dippin' as long as it's not an emotional tie.

What kind of bullcrap is that to tell yourself???

I mean, it's like I have lowered my standards when it's came to this man so many times that now...I really don't hold him to a standard...and in turn...have lost my standards.

He has definitely changed me. And not for the good. And I am wondering if I will ever trust another man again.

I've always assumed people had baggage. I mean at this age...who hasn't gone thru somethng that has left some sort of mark on who they are as a viable candidate for a relationship. But I have always been clear about one thing... I leave my baggage of what was done to me with the person I am leavng. That way, I can deal with the new prospect as an individual and on their own merit. When I say I am done...I am literally done and I out, that experience out of my mind and move on. Some used to tell me that was naive...but it worked for me. In doing that, I was not the bitter black woman who always felt a man was about to do me wrong.

This sit-chi-ation with Dude...hasn't allowed that. I think he has put a brand on my heart...and going forward...it may not be able to let me judge someone on who they are but rather on who they aren't or who I have dealt with before. Men will no longer be individuals but a group.

I am sure going forward I will be one of those women that will make sweeping statements about... "all men are...."this or that. It's sad really.

Sad for men but even more sad for me.

Because going forward...I am going to be suspicious, going to be mistrusting, going to be harder (than I already am) to expose parts of me (the loving parts). All wack AND confusing.